His mother tells him that's not normal, but what's not normal is the mother you created telling you something isn't normal. What's not normal is that he's spending a beautiful Sunday afternoon moving his sister's shit-in-a-box from one room to another, all because she likes the dark in the second room better than the dark in the first room. That's weird. That's concerning.
He's juggling two boxes in his arms like oversized toddlers and hopping on one foot as he exits the hallway into the foyer, behind the front desk. His ankle catches the door on his way in, slamming it shut behind him. Also not normal: an unexpected guest on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Guests are never unexpected, not in Vikram's establishment, not on Vikram's Earth. Vikram knows the name of every person who enters this lobby, except the name of the man currently standing behind the desk, waiting to be serviced.
Vik squints at Milo, at his hand on the bell, and says, finally, ) Be with you in a sec, mate.
( Just needs to put his sister's shit-in-a-box down in a corner, to be dealt with later. He slaps thick, caked-on tendrils of dust from his shirt and jeans, turning back to Milo for another head-to-toe assessment. Well, he does look familiar. Occasionally Vik forgets he's God and that sometimes he receives guests on beautiful Sunday afternoons. )
You here for a convention? ( Leaning over the countertop, Vik crab-pinches Milo's shoulder lightly, rubbing the material of his suit between his thumb and forefinger. ) Very nice. I like the fit. Let me guess: Don West? Lost in Space, 1998? ( Then, further clarification: ) Matt LeBlanc? The bloke from Friends.
( Unfortunate that all of Vik's pop culture references are from the late nineties, early noughties. )
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His mother tells him that's not normal, but what's not normal is the mother you created telling you something isn't normal. What's not normal is that he's spending a beautiful Sunday afternoon moving his sister's shit-in-a-box from one room to another, all because she likes the dark in the second room better than the dark in the first room. That's weird. That's concerning.
He's juggling two boxes in his arms like oversized toddlers and hopping on one foot as he exits the hallway into the foyer, behind the front desk. His ankle catches the door on his way in, slamming it shut behind him. Also not normal: an unexpected guest on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Guests are never unexpected, not in Vikram's establishment, not on Vikram's Earth. Vikram knows the name of every person who enters this lobby, except the name of the man currently standing behind the desk, waiting to be serviced.
Vik squints at Milo, at his hand on the bell, and says, finally, ) Be with you in a sec, mate.
( Just needs to put his sister's shit-in-a-box down in a corner, to be dealt with later. He slaps thick, caked-on tendrils of dust from his shirt and jeans, turning back to Milo for another head-to-toe assessment. Well, he does look familiar. Occasionally Vik forgets he's God and that sometimes he receives guests on beautiful Sunday afternoons. )
You here for a convention? ( Leaning over the countertop, Vik crab-pinches Milo's shoulder lightly, rubbing the material of his suit between his thumb and forefinger. ) Very nice. I like the fit. Let me guess: Don West? Lost in Space, 1998? ( Then, further clarification: ) Matt LeBlanc? The bloke from Friends.
( Unfortunate that all of Vik's pop culture references are from the late nineties, early noughties. )