[ There's more anomalous behavior as Qubit goes through his routine. Little things, if taken in isolation. First he can't decide what to wear - Is it that important? Just pick something. He settles on a dress shirt and sweater vest. Neat but casual. Normal. Don't overthink it.
Then it takes him longer than usual to do his hair. Out of necessity, he's gotten very good at styling it quickly, over the years - but this time he takes it a little too quickly and ends up with a lopsided bird's nest, forcing him to wash out all the product and start over (which itself chews up some time, given the kind of industrial-strength product he uses).
Meanwhile, the little voice of his inner critic spends the whole time shouting for his attention. Quit fussing with it! You're overstyling. He's not even going to notice. What about the data? You know, the thing he's actually coming here for? Why aren't you prepping the data, Qubit?
He holds the hot-air brush in place. ... two, three, four ... The data will still be there in thirty seconds. He's almost done.
This isn't just vanity, is it?
- FIVE. He sets the brush down a little harder than necessary, then runs his fingers through his hair, inspecting it in the mirror. There! Good enough. It's not as if Carlisle will take grievous offense at a hair or two out of place. Don't overthink it.
Just then, he hears something. Or thinks he hears something, anyway - he can't immediately place what or where it is. As he peers out into the lab, though, the sound comes again, and this time he recognizes it - the faint "tink" of something hard bouncing off the lab door.
Sighing, Qubit drags a hand down his face. Seriously? He's throwing rocks at the door again? It's the damn glyph, of course - with that thing repelling him, it's impossible for him to get close enough to knock like a normal person. Sure, Carlisle meant well by inscribing it there, but in practice all it's been is a headache for them both. He comes over and toggles the door open. ]
You know, I keep telling you, it's easier if you text...
[ On actually seeing Carlisle, though, he trails off, surprised. It's been a while since he last saw him wear anything besides the usual, and... he doesn't know what to make of it. For a second, his mind sort of goes... blank.
no subject
Then it takes him longer than usual to do his hair. Out of necessity, he's gotten very good at styling it quickly, over the years - but this time he takes it a little too quickly and ends up with a lopsided bird's nest, forcing him to wash out all the product and start over (which itself chews up some time, given the kind of industrial-strength product he uses).
Meanwhile, the little voice of his inner critic spends the whole time shouting for his attention. Quit fussing with it! You're overstyling. He's not even going to notice. What about the data? You know, the thing he's actually coming here for? Why aren't you prepping the data, Qubit?
He holds the hot-air brush in place. ... two, three, four ... The data will still be there in thirty seconds. He's almost done.
This isn't just vanity, is it?
- FIVE. He sets the brush down a little harder than necessary, then runs his fingers through his hair, inspecting it in the mirror. There! Good enough. It's not as if Carlisle will take grievous offense at a hair or two out of place. Don't overthink it.
Just then, he hears something. Or thinks he hears something, anyway - he can't immediately place what or where it is. As he peers out into the lab, though, the sound comes again, and this time he recognizes it - the faint "tink" of something hard bouncing off the lab door.
Sighing, Qubit drags a hand down his face. Seriously? He's throwing rocks at the door again? It's the damn glyph, of course - with that thing repelling him, it's impossible for him to get close enough to knock like a normal person. Sure, Carlisle meant well by inscribing it there, but in practice all it's been is a headache for them both. He comes over and toggles the door open. ]
You know, I keep telling you, it's easier if you text...
[ On actually seeing Carlisle, though, he trails off, surprised. It's been a while since he last saw him wear anything besides the usual, and... he doesn't know what to make of it. For a second, his mind sort of goes... blank.
Well, he's not overthinking it. ]