Upon leaving Prose to her own devices, ScorchMan found himself immersed in the deep sort of quiet that only large empty spaces could contain. Finding a window confirmed the theory, a resounding lack of noise a telltale sign of abandoned wildspace. Even the atmosphere felt stagnant; had there been any wind, the rush of air through the industrial corridors might have hinted at their elevation. Griffin might have said something, but occupied as he was with his workout, ScorchMan's perception stayed limited to his own senses.
Metal gave way to brittle gravel underfoot, and very soon to an altogether new texture. Curious, ScorchMan kneeled to run a glove through the cooled stone. The sensation felt oddly moist, comparable to a fresh-baked loaf of bread: solid on top, but soft enough to give if pressed. He inched a little closer, reached a little further out to the residual warmth - and all at once his senses came alive. Smoky tang of melting rock and skittering scrabbling tapping crawling all along a tunnel wall filled to bursting with tiny moving starbursts of heat heat heat and the deeper he felt the more the plug of the tunnel began to feel very, very thin.
A vision only for the sighted: Griffin rolling his shoulders, PET in hand, setting it down in front of him as he knelt on the gym mats. It was time for the Griffin Reim Abdominal Power Hour (GRAPH for short) that had landed the fireman the December page three years in a row, and a few interviews in fitness magazines besides which. "Dude, save some for the rest of us!" Mr. April cried out in dismay as Griffin arched his spine in a yoga-inspired stretch that highlighted just a couple of things. To Prose's viewscreen, positioned on the floor just in front of Griffin, he almost looked to be crawling towards the camera.
A confession not to leave Griffin's head: he didn't really know what he was doing, this particular moment. His tastes in women had never strayed far from what was physically there in front of him, and most all of the Navis he'd actually interacted with had been purpose-built, virtual creatures content without, shall it be said, any organic proclivity, ScorchMan included. Indeed, a Navi had never before appeared to Griffin as any sort of sexual being, let alone one compatible with him.
These were not the thoughts predominant in Griffin's head, true enough they might have been. At the end of the day, he was young, straight, and had been single awhile, and here was a girl who clearly liked what she saw and wasn't shy about saying so. Where Griffin was concerned, it didn't need to be any more complicated than that.
With the PET on the floor, Leo and Mr. April were out of frame, their voices fading to background noise with the microphone pointed away. Griffin's face looked just as good wearing mirthful humour as it did when the laughter died off, and what was left seemed considering
. A world away, this close to a viewscreen, Prose had a solid chance of feeling strongly and distinctly eyed up and down. He opened his mouth, ready to say or do something that would no doubt escalate things further, when the other screen on his end lit up yellow-orange.
"Griffin, I'm gonna need chips very
soon!" ScorchMan shouted. His Operator didn't reply verbally, but the ensuing scrabble and receding pound of footsteps as Griffin booked it out the room told him enough. A blast of flame propelled ScorchMan back through the bottleneck between rooms, busters trained on the growing sensation of heat. "Prose, we've got incoming," he turned partially towards the other Navi, too aware of how little time he had. All in a rush he called out, "Keep doing your thing, I'll try to hold them off!"