[ The man Martin waves down is standing at the bar, tense and impatient, unwilling to commit to a seat. He's only come in because he needed to find out whether the waitstaff felt wrong in the way of the hotel's receptionist, hollow as a carnival mask. It makes his skin crawl in ways he can't place, but of course he's been trying, pushing himself to worsening headaches— he is certain he knows this. It's just out of reach.
Barring any real clarity, he's settled for a pen and paper.
So: Jon Sims is scrawling notes in tight, cramped handwriting across the back of a napkin, looking tense and harried. This is a very normal and calm thing for a person to do. ]
The pie?
[ He looks up, utterly skeptical at this of all interruptions, and regards Martin's food with open distrust. ]
1. speedrun five seasons of development challenge
Barring any real clarity, he's settled for a pen and paper.
So: Jon Sims is scrawling notes in tight, cramped handwriting across the back of a napkin, looking tense and harried. This is a very normal and calm thing for a person to do. ]
The pie?
[ He looks up, utterly skeptical at this of all interruptions, and regards Martin's food with open distrust. ]
You're certain it's safe to eat?
[ So normal. ]