the tick-tock of the clock is painful [open]
"Now this," the quantum physicist says, looking around with a nervous expression. "This ain't the Hyperion. I know the Hyperion. Windows and doors and chairs and writing, writing on the walls. My writing. This ain't the Hyperion."
Fred glances around wildly, trying to find something that looks familiar - a street sign, the front of a building, anything. She knows LA, too, even though most of its features have been pushed into the back of her mind, with Pylean twin suns and caves and hellbeasts rising up to take their place. This isn't LA. Nervously, she reaches up to press her glasses up the bridge of her nose and sets off, flinching at every stray sound - a dog barking, a car alarm going off.
"This is interestin'," she murmurs. "Very, very interest--oh, tacos!"
She'll be in the process of making her way towards them unless someone stops to intercept her.
Fred glances around wildly, trying to find something that looks familiar - a street sign, the front of a building, anything. She knows LA, too, even though most of its features have been pushed into the back of her mind, with Pylean twin suns and caves and hellbeasts rising up to take their place. This isn't LA. Nervously, she reaches up to press her glasses up the bridge of her nose and sets off, flinching at every stray sound - a dog barking, a car alarm going off.
"This is interestin'," she murmurs. "Very, very interest--oh, tacos!"
She'll be in the process of making her way towards them unless someone stops to intercept her.