remodeled: SWORDS (Default)
ʀ. ᴅᴏʀᴏᴛʜʏ ᴡᴀʏɴᴇʀɪɢʜᴛ ([personal profile] remodeled) wrote in [community profile] pictureshows 2014-04-25 10:35 pm (UTC)

( it was cold in the stairwell.

not that it ever was otherwise during this time of year, but this was the first observation that dawned on dorothy after she had rehabilitated from her first ever (and hopefully last ever) negotiation tailgate, where she had experienced her first ever (and hopefully last ever) bout of brainwashing at the hands of mr. beck. this was all following her first ever (and hopefully last ever) kidnapping, which had come as a result of her first ever —

— well, there was a common theme to the recent events in dorothy's life.

a common color palette, too. it was growing dark; the first traces of winter unfolding outside. not even pausing to take in the dusk through the bow windows across the second floor stairwell, dorothy started down the stairs - step by step - aiming for the spaces between the balusters with her duster proper. from her vantage point, she could see norman talking to roger on the first floor, and she could hear roger grunting a noncommittal reply to whatever that was said. something to do with dinner, most likely. 8:30pm, sharp. never a minute more, never a minute less.

setting her duster by her feet, dorothy places her hands on the rail and redoubles her stare at roger from his open study room. humans could not refocus their senses so much as to perceive things directly out of their line-of-sight... at least, not immediately. how long would it take him to notice he was being watched? would he ever notice he was being watched? if he did not notice, was that a critical failure on part of a professional negotiator, who was supposed to be especially sensitive to these kinds of things?

thirty seconds. she'll give him thirty seconds.
)

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