[ thanks, he hates all of this. mostly he hates the appalling taste, dear god. were they always this bad?

the answer is yes, of course, he knew that. more than that, being surrounded by all these booths and super hero lovers is making him antsy. he's not known to anyone, thankfully, no one here should know who phasar is and what ripley did to him. still, he finds his palms all sweaty and all it takes is being pushed around by the crowd when —

— when he accidentally vanishes a child's action figure. blip, gone. ripley gawks before stammering an apology to the parents who were glaring at him. ]

I'll pay for it? I mean, I can — I will pay for it, oh god make him stop crying.

[ why is he always in the wrong place in the wrong time? why can't he ever get lucky? ripley holds his hands, palms facing forward as the dinosaurs try to corner him. he's not afraid, not yet anyway but he does have an ethical dilemma on his hands. ]

Look, I could zap you to the Artic. Or a fridge. And that's bad right? For uh dinosaurs? Reptiles? My point is . . . don't? Just don't?

I only want to go home and watch the Great British Bake Off.

[ they don't seem to be listening and ripley is slowly being backed into a wall . . . ]

[ got a different prompt you’d like to do? ping me on timmtams / pm this journal. here is his information! ]