It seems, for a moment, like the voice - flat in affect, bland, yet somehow still just a hint of snide - is coming from the previously-cheerful kiosk, as though it's gotten sick of Daniel's shit in response to that kick.
But - no. Where then? Disembodied?
Also no.
From behind the reception desk, popping up like a target in whack-a-mole, comes a head of spiky black hair and a particularly bored-looking dour teenager, depositing armfuls of manila folders onto the desk surface and starting to leaf through them. Blank, blank, more blank. The boy's eyes are shadowed by the fall of his scruffy bangs at this angle, but they very much don't look like they're in the gamut of normal eye colors. And - the irises are spinning. Slowly. Around the centerpoint of his pupil. Without the eyes themselves moving at all.
C. not sorry
It seems, for a moment, like the voice - flat in affect, bland, yet somehow still just a hint of snide - is coming from the previously-cheerful kiosk, as though it's gotten sick of Daniel's shit in response to that kick.
But - no. Where then? Disembodied?
Also no.
From behind the reception desk, popping up like a target in whack-a-mole, comes a head of spiky black hair and a particularly bored-looking dour teenager, depositing armfuls of manila folders onto the desk surface and starting to leaf through them. Blank, blank, more blank. The boy's eyes are shadowed by the fall of his scruffy bangs at this angle, but they very much don't look like they're in the gamut of normal eye colors. And - the irises are spinning. Slowly. Around the centerpoint of his pupil. Without the eyes themselves moving at all.
"Good luck with that."