first hand: [Audio/Video Post]
Feb. 12th, 2010 09:23 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
liberatingamble.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
mooglenet_backup[Observers of the mooglenet are probably noticing an audio post that appears to be entirely unintentional--which, in fact, it is. It's mostly scuffling and mechanical sounds amid a background of falling rain, but snatches of groans and a man's voice--tired, annoyed, and sounding like he would prefer to be back in bed--can be heard amongst the rustles, clicks, and whumfs.]
--what kind of contraption--
Edgar, you and your--[static, click, BEEPBEEPBEEP]--drop this by me--[vwrrrvwrrVWRRRRRRR beeeeeeeeebeebeebeep]--a submersible castle but he can't write some directions, I'll...
[With a click and a flash of light, it is now a video post! On the other side of the screen a youngish man, horribly scarred and drowned-man-pale, with messy silver hair, is also reacting to this revelation, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching at his head.]
Oh Gods--Gods, my head... Should have stopped after the eighth one. What's this... [He's pausing to study the screen and interface more, squinting a lot. This would be so much easier if he wasn't quite obviously hungover. As he's looking it over, anyone who can tear their eyes from a badly scarred albino is probably noticing the rainy, gloomy sights of Burmecia behind him, though he's taken shelter under an eave.] ...Recording? There must be another one in Figaro, then... [He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, then begins speaking in a more measured tone.] Edgar, this joke is no longer funny. Where did you hide the Falcon, and where did you drop me off? At least tell me you have coffee prepared.
[His tone changes as he begins fiddling with the device in an attempt to turn it off for now.] Damn this weather...it reeks of wet choco--what?! [Nudge. Nudge. Kweh!] No--! Down, girl--[Headbutt. Kweeeeeh.] Get away! I don't--[Oh but you do, Setzer. Kweh.]
[It cuts off abruptly as he closes the device.]
--what kind of contraption--
Edgar, you and your--[static, click, BEEPBEEPBEEP]--drop this by me--[vwrrrvwrrVWRRRRRRR beeeeeeeeebeebeebeep]--a submersible castle but he can't write some directions, I'll...
[With a click and a flash of light, it is now a video post! On the other side of the screen a youngish man, horribly scarred and drowned-man-pale, with messy silver hair, is also reacting to this revelation, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching at his head.]
Oh Gods--Gods, my head... Should have stopped after the eighth one. What's this... [He's pausing to study the screen and interface more, squinting a lot. This would be so much easier if he wasn't quite obviously hungover. As he's looking it over, anyone who can tear their eyes from a badly scarred albino is probably noticing the rainy, gloomy sights of Burmecia behind him, though he's taken shelter under an eave.] ...Recording? There must be another one in Figaro, then... [He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, then begins speaking in a more measured tone.] Edgar, this joke is no longer funny. Where did you hide the Falcon, and where did you drop me off? At least tell me you have coffee prepared.
[His tone changes as he begins fiddling with the device in an attempt to turn it off for now.] Damn this weather...it reeks of wet choco--what?! [Nudge. Nudge. Kweh!] No--! Down, girl--[Headbutt. Kweeeeeh.] Get away! I don't--[Oh but you do, Setzer. Kweh.]
[It cuts off abruptly as he closes the device.]
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[video]
Date: 2010-02-13 10:52 pm (UTC)[video]
Date: 2010-02-13 10:57 pm (UTC)Re: [video]
Date: 2010-02-14 12:53 am (UTC)