[The low muttering behind him is kind of annoying. Not on a personal this-offends-me level so much as a you-know-I-can-hear-you-making-noise level. Still leading the way, he's free to roll his eyes and mouth feverish (and so mostly nonsensical) complaints about her as they walk along, avoiding what hall traffic there is on the second floor to reach their destination.]
no subject
Two eighty-eight.
[He even points out the three numbers.]
Are your daisies ready?