(no subject)

[popandlock]

[ sooooo, there is a familiar kid over here, that one twiggy teenager who tends to drop into the room unceremoniously from ceilings or crawl in from air ducts in the floor. and he is just. sprawled on a raggedy old couch with a copy of One Piece draped over his face. the crinkled pages flutter a little every time he breathes (accompanied by the occasional snore).

his right elbow is wrapped in what looks like a ThermaCare heating stretch pad, and a few of his fingertips are covered in Band-Aids. tennis elbow, callouses; somebody's been working hard, basically! no surprise there, folks know he's a dart-thrower. and a dancer. and... maybe not other stuff, but, y'know. s'all good. ⚆‿⚆?

falling asleep and winding up here was probably unintentional, though. err. ]

(no subject)

[hisrighthand]

--ready by tomorrow, sir. If you give me the notes on the Sarker file-- yes, sir, that's exactl-- No, sir. On schedule for eleven hundr--

[Enter: one young man in a crisp suit which does little to disguise his scrawniness, though that's more likely the fault of his own frame than that of the designer. He's been speaking into an earpiece in soft, clipped tones, but the moment there's the unmistakeable click of the door latching behind him, he stops abruptly. His right hand freezes over the tablet cradled in his left arm, and he goes utterly silent.

Five seconds. Ten seconds. He zips up the tablet's carrying case and tucks it primly under his arm. And for the moment, he just stands very, very still as he takes stock of the room.]