okay, that’s good. that’s good.
( he doesn’t mean to be shrill, but it leaves his throat reedy anyways. he squints, readjusts his specs again— this guy’s hunched-over body only partially blocks out the buzzing fluorescents. )
( bated-breath, when he leans close to the monitor, watches this poor sap nearly topple plato’s cave-man and pit stop in the camera room.
the stray’s one of three- all separated, two barefoot- and doing considerably worse. )
[ Forest green against nauseating yellow. Got all the right parts- four limbs, two eyes, a humanly nervous disposition.
Either a memory a little /too/ on point, or someone else found a way in. ]
yep, uh- well- that’s debatable.
( they go glance-for-glance, phil’s glasses jumping off the bridge of his nose when he starts mildly. he swallows, wipes his mouth, gesticulates vaguely— gathering himself. )
[ There's always a chance, when you're pspsps-ing a cat, that it'll jump ten feet and scramble off. Brush its tail and watch it run—to his credit, he doesn't scream, even when he trips over himself and winds up against the wall.
Both hands shaking, in their follow-the-leader ;
( arms up over his head, neck craned to peer through the overlap that separates the hapless from an only slightly more experienced fool. open palms as a landmark, and as a white flag— )
hey. hey, buddy.
[ Straggler C's been playing Gretel for the past half hour. Digicam up to his eye, some glued to his palm ; every turn he takes leaves gunk to bleed into the carpet. So much for breadcrumbs. ]