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EIGHTEEN 「the box hole」 ＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚
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THAT STUPID, BRILLIANT, ludicrous shank. This was unbelievable. Sylvia was so appalled, so shocked, that she actually could not move for a moment or two. She was absolutely enthralled with something close to admiration and an emotion that was not quite rage.
Oscar had officially impressed her. Somehow, he'd managed to go throughout the entire Homestead during the night and hung up pictures of Gally on each and every surface he could find. It was the same picture of Gally repeated ten fold. There were pictures of Gally on her walls, on her desk, on her bed, on her dresser. How had he managed to do this without waking a single Keeper?
Once she recalled the previous night, she remembered one of the Cooks brewing a succulent tea, and since he still had cheeks full of youthful, innocent color and had been so excited to have made it, all the Keepers were bound to try it. She figured Oscar must have struck a deal of some sort with the young Cook and had him brew a natural melatonin comprised tea.
When she had walked into the hallway after shaking off the initial shock of waking to Gally's face surrounding her, she found even more pictures pasted along the walls of the hallway. Troye was already in the hallway studying the picture closest to his door. "Quite the headshot." He muttered.
"Your room too?" She said, and he nodded.
"So you admire the work?" Oscar said from the end of the hallway, near the stairs. He was pasting up one last picture with a bit of tape.
Sylvia let out something close to a laugh, "You did this?"
He smirked, "Who else?"
Only moments afterward came disaster, when Gally stepped out of his room with a broiling rage lining every single one of his features. He held a crumpled picture in his fist and his face was bright red. He looked around the hallway, "Who—" he cut himself off once he'd spotted Oscar and scowled, "You!"
