[ Lyr might be walking, but others are all but sprinting. Laden down in voluminous robes and jingling coppers, he's still running amok in the orchards, half-emulating the heroic attire he'd left back on the station. Challenging a hill, slowing to a jog as he comes around a corner and nearly collides with the other
uh
"faux-alien". ( Carbauschian, the race they're pretending to be, he knows. ) He hits his brakes, coming to a fast stop on his heels -- someone's breathing hard under those veils. He's likely been keeping up with his pre-dawn exercise regime, alien planet and need for subtlety or not. ]
You do this every day? Notice anything good?
[ BLUNTLY, but with a sharp eye for things, as he half-jogs in place, bouncing from heel to toe to keep his blood pumping. ]
LYR.
uh
"faux-alien". ( Carbauschian, the race they're pretending to be, he knows. ) He hits his brakes, coming to a fast stop on his heels -- someone's breathing hard under those veils. He's likely been keeping up with his pre-dawn exercise regime, alien planet and need for subtlety or not. ]
You do this every day? Notice anything good?
[ BLUNTLY, but with a sharp eye for things, as he half-jogs in place, bouncing from heel to toe to keep his blood pumping. ]