Being not stabbed (yet) was a pretty sad thing when it was the best thing you can say about your day. And that was about where Dennett was currently at, because, my god. People were killing each other out there. What was wrong with this place?
A not so great thing to say about one's day, though, was the one he was confronting, as he read the small informative plaque in front of the enclosure. 'Death adder' did not sound promising, and the fact that the glass was off the front of the enclosure, a bit of straw spilling over the lip, also did not bode good things. Maybe 'death adder' was hyperbole? He could hope.
He was still mouthing 'death adder' as he turned, hearing the--familiar?--voice. "A-alex?" This was a surprise, but, good or bad? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that suddenly the knife he'd snatched seemed, well, awfully inadequate. "Clara? No. I haven't--she's here, too?"
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A not so great thing to say about one's day, though, was the one he was confronting, as he read the small informative plaque in front of the enclosure. 'Death adder' did not sound promising, and the fact that the glass was off the front of the enclosure, a bit of straw spilling over the lip, also did not bode good things. Maybe 'death adder' was hyperbole? He could hope.
He was still mouthing 'death adder' as he turned, hearing the--familiar?--voice. "A-alex?" This was a surprise, but, good or bad? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that suddenly the knife he'd snatched seemed, well, awfully inadequate. "Clara? No. I haven't--she's here, too?"