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It'll be much easier to take a decent picture from less distance.

Too close, already in motion. Snatch it out of her hand.

This linoleum is fast approaching. Swan dive! Face first.

Disarm her, now!

You could probably jump out of the blast radius. Probably.

Feet are staying on. You're going to jump out of the way.

His voice was distant. Not beside you.

The man behind you lies dead, leg missing in action, a skew of jagged bone protruding from his thigh like a primal knife.

Blood seeps around the leather edges.

Leaving a smear of blood across the left ear seam.

The transluscent sticker fills with blood, but holds.

You lean against the tram's movement, managing to maintain your balance.

Have to be extremely fast though.

Her voice was distant. Not beside you.

Close quarters working against him -- no space to line up a proper shot...

A surprisingly fluid, graceful movement.

Gears and wheels. Tiny atomic cogs. You're going to slip between them.

Your hands are trembling.

Faster than you.

Funny name, difficult trick. This is about training.

Barely wide enough to stretch. Privacy would be nonexistent.

Controlled, subtle. The man has had formal training.

He'll make a call, as soon as you step away. It will work out.

Fast reply! Definitely awake.

All those dance routines have given Ultra Violeta a sculpted ass. They need to incorporate glute exercises into their fan-shifting.

Damn right there isn't. You could do flips over this sofa that would put the dolphins to shame.

Must be stiff, holding a position that long.

Positioned with uncanny tenderness.

Eyeballs shouldn't do whatever that was.

The motion is automatic, practised, self-soothing.

The spiky plastic and severe angles make it nearly impossible to drink from without taking an eye out. Form definitely came before function.

Your neck twinges.

That is not Tempo's hand.

Those are just people who have no choice.

If it weren't for the handset he's clutching you would've laid him right out.

Your approach is laughably unbalanced. See how he deflects you with a flurry of maladroit gestures.

The physical body often telegraphs the feelings that trouble the insides.

He is all limbs, an unloved body at home only in the most ergonomic of chairs.

Motions entirely devoid of grace. A complete lack of bodily control.

High-end threadware, to seize his attention.

You're a true Shape-Changer, a high archon of fashion.

Pre-orgasmic tremors jiggle the padded shoulders of his jacket.

Your body dissolves, separates, but coheres.

Big money foreign girl, spending money on space she doesn't even use.

Jacket: Pristine, not bootlegged. Nails: Recently manicured. Money: Made.

Go for polymer. You'll move with it, not against it.

His balance is off today. He's favouring his left leg, like the right one can't be trusted. Like it hurts.

256 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual