All Taran did was cut across from one arrow-marked hall to another, and boom. Goodbye desk chairs, hello endless mattresses. He tries to wind his way around a few (must resist jumping across all of them and inevitably twisting an ankle) when he catches sight of an uncharacteristically grubby mountain of pillowsā¦ Or no, an entirely characteristically grubby Jack.
And heās sleeping.
āI meanā¦ā
He shouldā¦ do something, right? Not kill him! Butā¦ something.
Taran pulls some pillows out of a big bin and makes a comfy seat to Contemplate from. Fort Cat Ears. Part of him wished Jack would wake up so he didnāt have to deal with a situation like this, but chances are he was wiped. Come to think of it, Taran may not last too much longer, it had beenā¦ at least hours since he had that last-minute energy drink back at the gig.
He should at least snoop through Jackās stuff a bit. Disarm him a bit if heās holding onto a knife or something. He didnāt do much with the gacha machine, but maybe what he did pull was important to somebody?
Welp, better now than later, for some definition of ābetter.ā Taran makes his approach. Donāt skid your shoes, stay on the annoyingly thin store carpet, donāt cast shadows over his faceā¦ and- shit, Taran brushes against a bedpost, causing the mess of Ito-flashdrive-keychains in his pocket to make a dull, aluminum clinking sound. He grabs them in his hand to mute them. Man, he needs some storage.
No visible change in Jackā¦ Nobodyās that good at faking it, right? Taran quietly exhales, composes himself, and reaches for Jackās bagā¦
