[Davesprite is hard to miss at the best of times, but his noticeability factor is through the deadly, icicle-laden roof of the tunnel right now. Monsters tend to do that, let alone the neon orange ones.]
[And yes, though he spots her second, that is Harley he sees. He hears her questions, but the first thing he does it reach up and nudge the pointy sunglasses out of the way of his eyes. Then lenses still stubbornly reflect the image of Harley's own death, but his eyes may draw their own attention, bulbous and round and glassy as a doll's. The irises are red; they shift in jerky movements as he looks her over, pausing on the box cutter, then at her mouth. No light.]
[He lets the shades fall back into place.]
Hoo hoo, haa haa, hee hee.
[That dumb little giggle is all the answer she gets, voice soft in volume but higher in pitch than it would be naturally. He turns his head from her and drifts forward. Without a light to steal from her, she's of no interest—boring. And if not interrupted, he'll float right on by her down the tunnel without any further fuss.]
no subject
[And yes, though he spots her second, that is Harley he sees. He hears her questions, but the first thing he does it reach up and nudge the pointy sunglasses out of the way of his eyes. Then lenses still stubbornly reflect the image of Harley's own death, but his eyes may draw their own attention, bulbous and round and glassy as a doll's. The irises are red; they shift in jerky movements as he looks her over, pausing on the box cutter, then at her mouth. No light.]
[He lets the shades fall back into place.]
Hoo hoo, haa haa, hee hee.
[That dumb little giggle is all the answer she gets, voice soft in volume but higher in pitch than it would be naturally. He turns his head from her and drifts forward. Without a light to steal from her, she's of no interest—boring. And if not interrupted, he'll float right on by her down the tunnel without any further fuss.]