There were signs Brainy was here long before the party. Just little rumblings and easily ignorable things, but they added up to a chaotic little picture for anyone paying attention. And they may have spotted him here and there through the day.
For a brief moment, he could've been seen in the halls peeking around at the New Hires to see if he recognized any faces. Someone else may have see him ambling through the halls, projecting an air of simple curiosity, trying to be discreet about following a specific person in a lab coat to her final destination.
At one point there was a strange rumble through the rig and some vibrations, but it wasn't much cause for alarm. The rig surely had engines that gave out the occasional grumbles, right? Surely, it sometimes hit a brief patch of rough terrain.
And the announcements on the intercoms that followed hadn't been that alarming. They'd simply called for a few teams to certain areas, but the people making announcements had been calm, hadn't they? No mention of anything being code this or code that. No red alerts. Certain teams could easily be called to make simple repairs or work on the engines to help get the rig past a mild rough patch.
The only tangible signs he's responsible for anything are in how he looks as he enters the room. He has a split lip, oozing green blood, but already scabbing over. A lightly bruised cheek. His coveralls are slightly torn like he's been in a fight, and they're covered in a little soot. Also, another sign he's been up to something: the way he enters the party. Two guards shove him into the room. He winds up tripping and landing on his butt, then lays on the floor on his back, looking a little sapped.
Then he cranes his head back to look at the room upside down.
When he speaks, he has a bit of an unidentifiable accent, his mouth committing hard to all the consonants and ignoring a few of the vowels.
"Is that cake? Normally, I don't indulge in sweets that often, but I'm positively famished." The green-skinned alien drags himself up, stumbling over to the food table to start working on the worst breakfast ever. His voice is the picture of relaxed calm, like his physical state is no sign for concern. "It looks vile, but I skipped breakfast and lunch; I had quite the eventful morning."
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For a brief moment, he could've been seen in the halls peeking around at the New Hires to see if he recognized any faces. Someone else may have see him ambling through the halls, projecting an air of simple curiosity, trying to be discreet about following a specific person in a lab coat to her final destination.
At one point there was a strange rumble through the rig and some vibrations, but it wasn't much cause for alarm. The rig surely had engines that gave out the occasional grumbles, right? Surely, it sometimes hit a brief patch of rough terrain.
And the announcements on the intercoms that followed hadn't been that alarming. They'd simply called for a few teams to certain areas, but the people making announcements had been calm, hadn't they? No mention of anything being code this or code that. No red alerts. Certain teams could easily be called to make simple repairs or work on the engines to help get the rig past a mild rough patch.
The only tangible signs he's responsible for anything are in how he looks as he enters the room. He has a split lip, oozing green blood, but already scabbing over. A lightly bruised cheek. His coveralls are slightly torn like he's been in a fight, and they're covered in a little soot. Also, another sign he's been up to something: the way he enters the party. Two guards shove him into the room. He winds up tripping and landing on his butt, then lays on the floor on his back, looking a little sapped.
Then he cranes his head back to look at the room upside down.
When he speaks, he has a bit of an unidentifiable accent, his mouth committing hard to all the consonants and ignoring a few of the vowels.
"Is that cake? Normally, I don't indulge in sweets that often, but I'm positively famished." The green-skinned alien drags himself up, stumbling over to the food table to start working on the worst breakfast ever. His voice is the picture of relaxed calm, like his physical state is no sign for concern. "It looks vile, but I skipped breakfast and lunch; I had quite the eventful morning."