[ Mister Dickerson is 40-something, balding, torn sharp through the cartilage of one ear, and looks like he may not know how to laugh. His shoulder thumps into the doorjamb upon Wysteria’s impact, one hand thrown up late to stop him being bodied into the office entirely.
The look he cuts back to her is unappreciative, time taken to straighten his vest, which does not need straightening. ]
A volunteer, [ he tells her, plenty of room for her to pass him by once he’s stepped inside. And, more quietly in aside and with slightly more of an edge: ]
I wouldn’t qualify the previous incident as an ‘activation.’
no subject
The look he cuts back to her is unappreciative, time taken to straighten his vest, which does not need straightening. ]
A volunteer, [ he tells her, plenty of room for her to pass him by once he’s stepped inside. And, more quietly in aside and with slightly more of an edge: ]
I wouldn’t qualify the previous incident as an ‘activation.’