picnokinesis

Light sifted through the partially drawn blinds, shielding the raw glare of the African sun from the dust particles that drifted aimlessly through the beams. Occasionally one would catch the light and would flare for a second, before moving onwards and dimming. The light was a warm, morning yellow, and the room glowed a little. The furnishings were simplistic – a sofa, two armchairs and a wooden table, on which sat a lonely cup with the remnants of coffee ageing at the bottom. A StarkPad had been laid next to it, and the pair waited patiently for their owner to return and attend to them both (although the StarkPad had more reason to hop

“Rye, come back here right now! RYE!” “Keep your hair on, Curtis,” Rye smirked into his ear-piece as he squeezed under the gate. On the other side, the grunge-smeared tarmac was wet with rain and mud. He shook his fur before ducking into the shadows and heading towards the silhouette of a facility. “Everything’s under control.” “I respectfully disagree. You’re putting the whole mission –” “Really?  Respectfully? I don’t think I’ve known you do anything respectfully, especially when it comes to me.” “Rye, shut up – you are breaking protoco