ᴘʜᴀsᴇ ɪɪɪ. [So he's just escaped death several times over, and now he's suddenly awoke amidst a bunch of shit, drones that want to recycle him (reminiscent of the brave little toaster, not that he's got a spare second to think on that) and is ultimately dropped before a massive incinerator.
Except it's moving so slowly and is primarily jammed? Faulty? Should he stand in place for a bit to avoid hurting the incinerator feelings? He kicks a bag that's apparently been filled with bricks, hissing in response but refraining from doubling over, at least.]
Alright. [Somewhat strained.] Alright. I've pretty much had it with this shit, what the hell's all this about?!
[He might be venting unto himself. Why would he be the only person trapped here, though? Makes no sense.
The rifle strapped to his back may make him either infinitely more intimidating, or a desired breath of relief. He does seem irate, though.]
ᴘʜᴀsᴇ ɪᴠ. [Owen's not much in the mood to go dumpster diving as per continuation of epic bullshit happening to him for no apparent reason. This, however, changes once his eyes are drawn to something that looks remarkably like his motorbike.
Except, why would that be in a junkyard?]
...No, no no..!
[No amount of raptor-training composure prevents him from barreling over to it, only to grip onto the handle of something that's got nothing to do with his bike at all, but the handle of some mostly-rusty, extremely hepatitis-looking scooter.]
This -- was not here a second ago! Who took my bike?!
[And as he goes to shove the scooter over (for good measure) it seems to be stuck to his hand??
Hepatitis-ey indeed.]
ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ. (feel free to tag in with your own ideas!)
owen grady / jurassic world / ota
[So he's just escaped death several times over, and now he's suddenly awoke amidst a bunch of shit, drones that want to recycle him (reminiscent of the brave little toaster, not that he's got a spare second to think on that) and is ultimately dropped before a massive incinerator.
Except it's moving so slowly and is primarily jammed? Faulty? Should he stand in place for a bit to avoid hurting the incinerator feelings? He kicks a bag that's apparently been filled with bricks, hissing in response but refraining from doubling over, at least.]
Alright. [Somewhat strained.] Alright. I've pretty much had it with this shit, what the hell's all this about?!
[He might be venting unto himself. Why would he be the only person trapped here, though? Makes no sense.
The rifle strapped to his back may make him either infinitely more intimidating, or a desired breath of relief. He does seem irate, though.]
ᴘʜᴀsᴇ ɪᴠ.
[Owen's not much in the mood to go dumpster diving as per continuation of epic bullshit happening to him for no apparent reason. This, however, changes once his eyes are drawn to something that looks remarkably like his motorbike.
Except, why would that be in a junkyard?]
...No, no no..!
[No amount of raptor-training composure prevents him from barreling over to it, only to grip onto the handle of something that's got nothing to do with his bike at all, but the handle of some mostly-rusty, extremely hepatitis-looking scooter.]
This -- was not here a second ago! Who took my bike?!
[And as he goes to shove the scooter over (for good measure) it seems to be stuck to his hand??
Hepatitis-ey indeed.]
ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ.
(feel free to tag in with your own ideas!)