52
The bags under Langton’s eyes were deep and heavy enough to pack for a trip to Australia. His voice had none of yesterday’s charm or excitement. His hands gripped the podium like they needed to both anchor him and hold him upright.
If something Dale had organized had gone this badly, Dale would be hiding under the stairs with a teddy bear. Langton had to have will of steel.
Or at least aluminum.
People’s conversations sank from rolling thunder to a confusing babble.
Dale took the moment to log into the BSD North IRC channel, then to study his plate. His spirits plunged even further.
He’d let his hands fill the plate while his attention had been on the mezzanine. Clearly his hands were trying to murder him, only with calories. Four half sandwiches, medium-rare roast beef and chedda
