The inverted glass was the size of a cage or small jail cell, but it was still recognizably a bathroom-type tumbler, as if for gargling or post-brushing swishing, only huge and upside-down, on the floor, with him inside. The tumbler was like a prop or display; it was the sort of thing that would have to be made special. Its glass was green and its bottom over his head was pebbled and the light inside was the watery dancing green of extreme ocean depths.
There was a kind of louvered screen or vent high on one side of the glass, but no air was coming out. In. The air inside the huge glass was pretty clearly limited, as well, because there was already CO2 steam on the sides. The glass was too thick to break or to kick his way out, and it felt like he might have possibly broken the leg’s foot already trying.
There were some green and distorted faces through the glass’s side’s steam. The face at eye-level belonged to the latest Subject, the dexterous and adoring Swiss hand-model. She stood looking at him, her arms crossed, smoking, exhaling greenly through her nose, then looked down to confer with another face, seeming to float at about waist-level, that belonged to the shy and handicapped fan who O.’d realized had shared the Subject’s Swiss accent.
The Subject behind the glass would meet Orin’s eye steadily but did not acknowledge him or anything he shouted. When Orin had tried to kick his way out was when he’d recognized that the Subject was looking at his eyes rather than into them as previously. There were now smeared footprints on the glass.