[ah. he once lived in a place where another old friend had also left his name behind. that old friend had a habit of being a psychotic fuckhead with every given opportunity. in a bad mood and having been stranded here for months, he knows it isn't fair--but he can't help but see the similarities.
his eyes glaze away again, and his limbs follow. he ducks to the side, starts walking around the intruder to make his way towards a jumbled construction of laptops, monitors, and cables splayed out over the width of a couple of sloping card-tables.]
What are you doing in my living room, Steve?
[he sounds put-out, now. the sentence may as well have ended with a period.]
no subject
his eyes glaze away again, and his limbs follow. he ducks to the side, starts walking around the intruder to make his way towards a jumbled construction of laptops, monitors, and cables splayed out over the width of a couple of sloping card-tables.]
What are you doing in my living room, Steve?
[he sounds put-out, now. the sentence may as well have ended with a period.]