INTRO... sort of.
It's early in the dressing room! Or perhaps it's very, very late. The pocketwatch, still ticking away in the boy's pocket, tells him that it could be either, and who is he to contradict those needle-fine hands? No one, of course.
Whichever it is, it doesn't matter. The room is dark and the walls are strange and unknown, but there's no trace of worry in his expression as he perches on a bed that isn't his own. Instead, Oz leans on his hand to peer at whoever's currently sleeping. It's only occurred to him that this might be a problem if the owner weren't in it. And surely there's no chance of that.
"Hey. Hey, are you awake?"
Of course, the answer to this question doesn't matter either. Poking follows shortly.
Whichever it is, it doesn't matter. The room is dark and the walls are strange and unknown, but there's no trace of worry in his expression as he perches on a bed that isn't his own. Instead, Oz leans on his hand to peer at whoever's currently sleeping. It's only occurred to him that this might be a problem if the owner weren't in it. And surely there's no chance of that.
"Hey. Hey, are you awake?"
Of course, the answer to this question doesn't matter either. Poking follows shortly.