(no subject)
Jan. 20th, 2012 03:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hisrighthand posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
thedressingroom--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.]
[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.]