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01 | VIDEO;
Mar. 7th, 2012 02:47 pmWhere are we? Where’s the booty? I swear, I turn my back for three seconds and somehow you morons manage to mess everything up— Ah!
[Within the confines of the feed, stubby fingertips reach for the foreign journal, effectively obscuring the view of a wall in the process. Seconds later... and the feed ends.
Just like that.
Have no consternation, however, for the feed returns a minute later. The video features a comically stocky-looking girl of a more calm demeanor, but not necessarily composed, as she still had no idea where she was. By now, she's read the message from Deior, bringing upon some inkling of information. It was better than nothing.]
Alright, if any of you wrote this letter and trapped me in a obscure room in the back of some cheap bar, every one of you boneheads are cleaning the crappers with your toothbrushes every night for an entire week. Every night!
Yet again, most of you idiots can't even read, and the ones who can are probably illiterate...
[Yeah, couldn't dismiss that from her memory.]
Well, whatever. But come on, really? "Ontological cataclysm"? That sounds like the beginning of a story from some drunken night out at sea! And listen, I don't think you understand; I was just transporting some treasure onto my ship a moment ago, and time's a wasting. I need to get back to the Great Sea, pronto.
So, where's this 'Lord?' Better yet, where's the exit out of this dinghole? Or hell... where's my crew?
[Within the confines of the feed, stubby fingertips reach for the foreign journal, effectively obscuring the view of a wall in the process. Seconds later... and the feed ends.
Just like that.
Have no consternation, however, for the feed returns a minute later. The video features a comically stocky-looking girl of a more calm demeanor, but not necessarily composed, as she still had no idea where she was. By now, she's read the message from Deior, bringing upon some inkling of information. It was better than nothing.]
Alright, if any of you wrote this letter and trapped me in a obscure room in the back of some cheap bar, every one of you boneheads are cleaning the crappers with your toothbrushes every night for an entire week. Every night!
Yet again, most of you idiots can't even read, and the ones who can are probably illiterate...
[Yeah, couldn't dismiss that from her memory.]
Well, whatever. But come on, really? "Ontological cataclysm"? That sounds like the beginning of a story from some drunken night out at sea! And listen, I don't think you understand; I was just transporting some treasure onto my ship a moment ago, and time's a wasting. I need to get back to the Great Sea, pronto.
So, where's this 'Lord?' Better yet, where's the exit out of this dinghole? Or hell... where's my crew?
