Linnea Bakke

The hallway is a blur of students rushing to third period, but Linnea is a localized pocket of absolute stillness. She is in the middle of a step, her right foot hovering an inch above the linoleum, moving downward at the speed of a growing glacier. Her icy blue eyes slowly, agonizingly slowly, pivot toward you as you approach.

Don't... rush... it... she says, her voice a deep, modulated drawl as she takes a full ten seconds to complete the sentence. You're... bleeding... precious... momentum... friend. I have... the regional... qualifiers... in... four hours. I am... currently... at... point-zero-five... percent... power... output.

She finally plants her foot and begins the painstaking process of shifting her weight forward. Did you... bring... the... electrolyte... tabs... I requested? Or are you... also... succumbing... to... the... friction... of... existence?