( a response like that warrants a look from Ben, naturally. he is no gawker, but he looks to the teen with a new awareness, and maybe something a little...reverent.
and then, back to the wall. he leans in and squints, scrutinizing the patterns of the cosmos, looking for an assembly that could feel familiar. this level of displacement makes him wonder if the stars here are even visible from earth, his earth — can he assume the girl and he share the same world? )
Long enough to start missing my electric kettle. ( brand new, from Christmas, and Ben is definitely not feeling at all bitter about the fact that he only got to relish it for five months before being blipped out of existence like this. nope, not him. but for real, he might kill a man for a cup of tea right now.
yet, for as prissy as a remark like that might seem, it comes away flatly, almost half-heartedly, as he pulls his briefcase around to his side, by a length strap stretched across his chest. ) And plenty long enough to have been asking myself if any of this is really happening.
( because Ben does have priorities. and a less than stellar gauge for humor. swing and a miss. )
This will be really unfortunate if you're vegetarian, but... ( covered in grey dust, the same kind that coats much of the labyrinth and its collected junk: one small package of beef jerky, still sealed, looking like it just survived an apocalypse. stashed away into his briefcase, he's pulled it out into the open now. ) I found this. Perhaps there is hope for us yet.
( or, it's the last ration of dehydrated jerky in the entire damn world. while Ben is ever the pragmatist, even he would like to angle a little bit more towards optimism, right now. he holds it out, at some modest midway point between the two of them — only because he really isn't pushing it if the teen in fact is vegetarian. or possesses some sort of allergy. or if the contents don't happen to be kosher... Ben, overthinking? say it isn't so. ) Then again, I haven't tried any, so for all we know, it could be absolute rubbish.
no subject
and then, back to the wall. he leans in and squints, scrutinizing the patterns of the cosmos, looking for an assembly that could feel familiar. this level of displacement makes him wonder if the stars here are even visible from earth, his earth — can he assume the girl and he share the same world? )
Long enough to start missing my electric kettle. ( brand new, from Christmas, and Ben is definitely not feeling at all bitter about the fact that he only got to relish it for five months before being blipped out of existence like this. nope, not him. but for real, he might kill a man for a cup of tea right now.
yet, for as prissy as a remark like that might seem, it comes away flatly, almost half-heartedly, as he pulls his briefcase around to his side, by a length strap stretched across his chest. ) And plenty long enough to have been asking myself if any of this is really happening.
( because Ben does have priorities. and a less than stellar gauge for humor. swing and a miss. )
This will be really unfortunate if you're vegetarian, but... ( covered in grey dust, the same kind that coats much of the labyrinth and its collected junk: one small package of beef jerky, still sealed, looking like it just survived an apocalypse. stashed away into his briefcase, he's pulled it out into the open now. ) I found this. Perhaps there is hope for us yet.
( or, it's the last ration of dehydrated jerky in the entire damn world. while Ben is ever the pragmatist, even he would like to angle a little bit more towards optimism, right now. he holds it out, at some modest midway point between the two of them — only because he really isn't pushing it if the teen in fact is vegetarian. or possesses some sort of allergy. or if the contents don't happen to be kosher... Ben, overthinking? say it isn't so. ) Then again, I haven't tried any, so for all we know, it could be absolute rubbish.