A Hollow Tin

The tall figure that stood next to me earlier was gone, leaving the wide desk curiously open and quiet. As I took a few stiff steps across the matte laminate surface, my claws brushed against an empty metal pencil tin lying on its side. It rolled slightly, letting out a deep, rolling clatter. Why did this metal box amplify the scrape of my sharp fingertips so much louder than the plastic fence had? I bent closer, extending one claw to tap inside its hollow belly. The metallic chime echoed straight back at me, making my own internal springs buzz with delight.