[ The knock at the door is sharp and rushed, like whoever is on the other side is low on – or simply completely out of – patience. It's followed by the sound of something being shuffled, like a weight being hoisted with the vague accompaniment of skin against cardboard. ]
Pardon the interruption, [ comes a tired, vaguely disinterested voice raised only just enough to be barely audible. ]
But pardon it quickly. I don't want to stand here too long.
[Travis isn't expecting a package, and Oscar, on one of his rare departures from their apartment, never gets food delivered. This firmly slots this unexpected guest into one of 3 categories: 1) door-to-door salesman, 2) missionary (are even there any of those on an alien planet?), or 3) a hitman trying to get the jump on him in his own home (maybe not on Noctium, but-- you never know).
Whichever it is, he doesn't wanna speak to them in the least. His footsteps are silent as he creeps over to the door to shove his face against the peephole. It's... a guy... with a box?]
You need something?
[Salesman and hitman are beginning to look more likely. The door remains firmly locked.]
[ Well, this question in the face of his soon-to-be charitable action puts a bit of a damper on the whole thing. He shifts his weight – body and box – as he exhales in a manner suspiciously akin to a sigh, gaze briefly flicking skyward as if in question. ]
Don't you?
[ Does he have the address right? Isn't this a low income area? Based on the surroundings... well... ]
I'm here to make a donation but I can't do that through the door. Am I being sent away?
Please also do that quickly if you're planning to.
[A beat of silence. There's a jangle-- the chain on the door has been undone-- and a faint click to signal that the door itself has been unlocked, too.
(It could still be a hitman, but, hey: maybe he can get some free stuff and a good workout.)
Instead he seems a rather unassuming gentleman hefting what Travis assumes are the donations. He makes a face.]
Who's sending the donations? I didn't sign up for anything.
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action heaven help me
Pardon the interruption, [ comes a tired, vaguely disinterested voice raised only just enough to be barely audible. ]
But pardon it quickly. I don't want to stand here too long.
no subject
Whichever it is, he doesn't wanna speak to them in the least. His footsteps are silent as he creeps over to the door to shove his face against the peephole. It's... a guy... with a box?]
You need something?
[Salesman and hitman are beginning to look more likely. The door remains firmly locked.]
no subject
Don't you?
[ Does he have the address right? Isn't this a low income area? Based on the surroundings... well... ]
I'm here to make a donation but I can't do that through the door. Am I being sent away?
Please also do that quickly if you're planning to.
no subject
(It could still be a hitman, but, hey: maybe he can get some free stuff and a good workout.)
Instead he seems a rather unassuming gentleman hefting what Travis assumes are the donations. He makes a face.]
Who's sending the donations? I didn't sign up for anything.