[indent][b]So admittingly, Soumer wasn't paying any attention[/b]; he could be wrong, but he swore this had all happened before. 

The smell of melted cheese was a trigger as he shot out of preoccupation. Under dim lighting, the glow of his phone screen peeked from under the edge of the table like a searchlight, dancing off the chandelier. The little reflections would turn from white to green, the texts rolling in, the occasional meme, and Soumer's inevitable "lol" -- then to yellow as he swapped tabs, took a picture of the floor, tapped out an innocuous comment, hit 'Send,' kept his streak. He could do it subconsciously, which gave him a window to look surprised, though, with the heaviness of his brow, he may have looked more irritated than anything. 

Soumer had never eaten a "grilled cheese" in his life -- if this was his first time at the meeting. If it wasn't, the only time he would have tried one or [i]recognized[/i] one was here. The only time he had sat at the head of [i]this[/i] table, right of [i]this[/i] "Game Master," within [i]this[/i] basement. 

Maybe he should make his character psychic or something. If this was even portentous. To Soumer, it just felt disorienting, like living in a dream, or having something crash on you and having to recreate off of memory. 

[i]This was a convoluted way to refuse a sandwich.[/i] [color=#D5C4C4]"Ah. N-no thanks."[/color]

In the same stammering dialect, he says to the group, [color=#D5C4C4]"It is just me, but I am feeling a déjà vécu here."[/color]

[hr][right][sup][color=#D5C4C4]257[/color] words - ft. [b]Soumer Sault[/b] in Groundhog Day.[/sup][/right][/indent]