[Once Xingchen maps out the shape of the potato, he sets to chopping it in thin slices, moving his fingers along the tuber until complete. Then another is set down and he begins the process anew, though he pauses when a familiar voice greets his ears. He turns in his seat, but does not look up.
He knows this voice. Wait.
Setting down the knife, Xingchen pivots more to face his station mate.] I'm afraid sandwiches would not suit me.
[Considering the necessary order and stacking. At least with a potato, it only needs sliced, no matter the order.]
no subject
He knows this voice. Wait.
Setting down the knife, Xingchen pivots more to face his station mate.] I'm afraid sandwiches would not suit me.
[Considering the necessary order and stacking. At least with a potato, it only needs sliced, no matter the order.]