Sam, in his slightly distant mental state, only had one question about the game: "Why...are you c-c-calling the ball a lady?" It seemed redundant. The ball didn't even look like a lady.
He didn't really want the shell necklace, but due to the aforementioned fear he found himself nodding in agreement to the suggested wager. As for what he had on his person...Sam hummed and reached into his bag, rummaging around for a moment. Despite his panic and fogginess, he did at least have the presence of mind to choose something that was not that valuable to him. A quill with a beautiful feather, but one that had been terrible for writing with, often splitting or spilling the ink.
"This." He put down the black quill, the feather shining green and blue where light hit it.
