The watchtower is as silent as it ever gets, monitors and terminals humming softly in the background. The ravaged packaging of something very like an Earthen chocolate box - or two - is barely visible in the refuse receptical. The lighting is turned up as brightly as it will go, and Dreadmoon is standing in front of a wall of screens - looking
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Something like that. *optics go slightly shifty despite myself*
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*optics narrow a little* *with a hint of sarcasm* Thank you.
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*without turning, rests one hand on the nearby console and a cable connects with a port on my gauntlet* *activates the room's laser defenses and sends you flying out through the swiftly-opened door, closing it as rapidly as possible, with the impression of a sigh of relief even if I do not allow myself the weakness of one*
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*runs a finger along the side of a recently cleaned comm. console. Spotless, it squeaks*
Want to tell me what happened here?
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I, needless to say, did not.
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