[This is not what he expected to hear when he opened the journal, much less wanted. He shuts the book and seeks her out in the house. Doing this the old fashioned way.]
[ . . . and, naturally, that isn't hint enough for her to take responsibility. A pause, he's more or less been brushed off, and once he recovers he looks and inquires,]
[She hits a button on the top. The cylinder vvzzts and bzzts, opening up compartments and folding into itself until the surface is covered in circular lights.
Then it starts playing a heavy techno beat as coloured strobe lights flash all around the room.]
Miss Pascal.
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About the party . . .
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[He should be the one asking questions.]
You didn't talk this out with the others, did you?
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Ah! Here it is! [She pulls out a metal cylinder about the size of a waste-paper bin and plops it on the ground next to her.]
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What are you doing now?
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[She hits a button on the top. The cylinder vvzzts and bzzts, opening up compartments and folding into itself until the surface is covered in circular lights.
Then it starts playing a heavy techno beat as coloured strobe lights flash all around the room.]
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Arms crossed, he watches quietly. The lights are blinding and it's noisy. Finally, he comments,]
It seems a tad excessive.
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You can't seriously be thinking about using that here.
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We don't know if there's going to be a party yet. What is it even for?
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