Ironic surprises and confusing half-answers have started to give Mia a headache long before she was finding any answers to her 3312 clothing crisis. In the face of an apparent monster invasion (Do the pandas count as part of that? They're monstrously large...), a totalitarian dictatorship, and a time traveling resistance force, finding the nearest thing to a strip mall or even someone willing to loan a spare shirt and pants was understandably low on everyone else's totem pole.
Pushing still damp hair back off her face, Mia admits to herself that had she been brought here wearing anything mostly decent, she'd be about as disinterested in shopping as everyone else has been. As it stands, any old pervert could come up behind her and attempt to get fresh with her for their own twisted reasons.
“There’s a chance you misinterpreted the dress code...Kitten.”
Yes, just like tha -- Hold it!
She doesn't quite stop herself from starting as she whips around, wet hair sticking to the side of her face as it shifts with her momentum. It's not what he says so much as the fact she recognizes that voice as something impossible. The shock has to be really settling in if you're imagining hearing Diego, she tells herself, mouth opening for a retort that dies on her tongue.
If she'd startled when he'd spoken, coming face to face with him has her straightening up and tucking her chin in with surprise. "... I don't think I got the updated dress code policy," she says at last, trying not to openly stare at the mask and bright red lights across the upper half of his face. "It... must have been thrown out with the draft notice."
Diego might have mastered the art of moving past shock to whatever else lay in store, but Mia still didn't have it quite down to pat. "Diego?"
It's official. You've lost it. And you've got some of your hair in your mouth.
no subject
Pushing still damp hair back off her face, Mia admits to herself that had she been brought here wearing anything mostly decent, she'd be about as disinterested in shopping as everyone else has been. As it stands, any old pervert could come up behind her and attempt to get fresh with her for their own twisted reasons.
“There’s a chance you misinterpreted the dress code...Kitten.”
Yes, just like tha -- Hold it!
She doesn't quite stop herself from starting as she whips around, wet hair sticking to the side of her face as it shifts with her momentum. It's not what he says so much as the fact she recognizes that voice as something impossible. The shock has to be really settling in if you're imagining hearing Diego, she tells herself, mouth opening for a retort that dies on her tongue.
If she'd startled when he'd spoken, coming face to face with him has her straightening up and tucking her chin in with surprise. "... I don't think I got the updated dress code policy," she says at last, trying not to openly stare at the mask and bright red lights across the upper half of his face. "It... must have been thrown out with the draft notice."
Diego might have mastered the art of moving past shock to whatever else lay in store, but Mia still didn't have it quite down to pat. "Diego?"
It's official. You've lost it. And you've got some of your hair in your mouth.