[Sunglasses inside... also, 'relax'? He doesn't know the meaning of the word. The expression on Sunday's face is — worried. His mouth forms a tightly unhappy line, brow furrowed, every muscle in his body the epitome of tension, a stiff-jointed doll drifting in the air — he could not be more fragile-looking, in that moment, if he was made of glass.
His fall from the heights of Penacony was humiliating, but this is a close runner-up. At least everyone below is too high or wasted to notice his distress. Except for this man, it seems.]
What exactly is your idea?
[In a pathetic little attempt at making him more reachable, Sunday extends his foot, only to lose whatever meager sense of balance he'd achieved and flipping backward, hair hanging down over his face.]
Ugh. Just... [???] Never mind. If you're going to try something, please do it quickly.
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His fall from the heights of Penacony was humiliating, but this is a close runner-up. At least everyone below is too high or wasted to notice his distress. Except for this man, it seems.]
What exactly is your idea?
[In a pathetic little attempt at making him more reachable, Sunday extends his foot, only to lose whatever meager sense of balance he'd achieved and flipping backward, hair hanging down over his face.]
Ugh. Just... [???] Never mind. If you're going to try something, please do it quickly.