Behind a tall, cracked tube, Tim freezes at the voice, coming from somewhere up ahead, inside the mountain. Okay, he wanted to find out what was going on, but he had every intention of doing that alone. He had been hoping to not meet anyone at all. Really, he was hoping that if it was all some nightmare induced by an undigested bit of beef or blot of mustard.
He doesn't recognize the voice, but it's not like he was expecting to find friends here.
His hands fumble at the costume to find something useful, but, of course, there's nothing, not even a good, heavy broach. Tim eases down and picks up a broken off scrap of plastic. It's terribly flimsy and absolutely useless for anything, but he still tucks it into his belt. Maybe it will make enough noise if he throws it to be a distraction. He just doesn't want to have absolutely nothing.
There's no way he's going to waltz up the ramp to the loading dock - right now, it's open and gives the advantage to whoever's further inside, because it's easy to see from darkness into light. The ramp is looking way too much like the ever-narrowing corral to the slaughterhouse, and his original thought, climbing from the ramp up onto that little lip before the roof took a 45 degree slant, would leave him more prone than he was out here, right now, until he got up there.
He could run, but he's curious and wants to see what this voice has to say and what its owner will do. He doesn't answer, but waits down near the bottom of the ramp.
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He doesn't recognize the voice, but it's not like he was expecting to find friends here.
His hands fumble at the costume to find something useful, but, of course, there's nothing, not even a good, heavy broach. Tim eases down and picks up a broken off scrap of plastic. It's terribly flimsy and absolutely useless for anything, but he still tucks it into his belt. Maybe it will make enough noise if he throws it to be a distraction. He just doesn't want to have absolutely nothing.
There's no way he's going to waltz up the ramp to the loading dock - right now, it's open and gives the advantage to whoever's further inside, because it's easy to see from darkness into light. The ramp is looking way too much like the ever-narrowing corral to the slaughterhouse, and his original thought, climbing from the ramp up onto that little lip before the roof took a 45 degree slant, would leave him more prone than he was out here, right now, until he got up there.
He could run, but he's curious and wants to see what this voice has to say and what its owner will do. He doesn't answer, but waits down near the bottom of the ramp.