1:12 AM
[The camera clicks on, showing a small bit of the cherubs' apartment, specifically near a window; there is a trash can in which something is burning, and the smoke is filtering out. Mostly. The glass is gone, but it has since been cleaned up, if the lack of shards anywhere is any indication. However, it looks like the room is a mess.]
[It is Caliborn who speaks, off-camera as he may be, and his voice is ever-separated from Calliope's by his spitting harshness.]
Hello, fuckheads.
So. Since it might be pointless to firebomb the kiosk. Tempting as it may be! We will play a different game today. Today, we are appeasing the bad rule-breaking juju. With a sacrifice.
[He dips a drawing in front of the camera—done by Calliope, and thus competently rendered and recognizably Aradia.]
Oh. Look. My sister's ugly art. Where did this come from? [He moves, still mostly out of frame. But his arm is briefly visible, and bandaged. He drops it into the wastebin.]
Good riddance.
Wow. Look. What a find! [He shakes a sheaf of papers filled with computer-typed text.] An entire essay on troll romance. Complete with horrific details about their reproductive rituals. Icky barf. I know just what to do with this.
[In it goes, too. Along with, apparently, a USB stick.] Ahh. That smell, those noxious fumes? That is the smell of the juju turning back to our favor. And, bonus? We are not sharing the same air as such horrific filth.
[He walks over to the communicator and ends the feed—for the prison at large.]
[Filtered to the Family Issues Therapy group.]
If you tell anyone our secret. I'm biting off her drawing hand. I don't even care.
Am I fucking clear.
[It is Caliborn who speaks, off-camera as he may be, and his voice is ever-separated from Calliope's by his spitting harshness.]
Hello, fuckheads.
So. Since it might be pointless to firebomb the kiosk. Tempting as it may be! We will play a different game today. Today, we are appeasing the bad rule-breaking juju. With a sacrifice.
[He dips a drawing in front of the camera—done by Calliope, and thus competently rendered and recognizably Aradia.]
Oh. Look. My sister's ugly art. Where did this come from? [He moves, still mostly out of frame. But his arm is briefly visible, and bandaged. He drops it into the wastebin.]
Good riddance.
Wow. Look. What a find! [He shakes a sheaf of papers filled with computer-typed text.] An entire essay on troll romance. Complete with horrific details about their reproductive rituals. Icky barf. I know just what to do with this.
[In it goes, too. Along with, apparently, a USB stick.] Ahh. That smell, those noxious fumes? That is the smell of the juju turning back to our favor. And, bonus? We are not sharing the same air as such horrific filth.
[He walks over to the communicator and ends the feed—for the prison at large.]
[Filtered to the Family Issues Therapy group.]
If you tell anyone our secret. I'm biting off her drawing hand. I don't even care.
Am I fucking clear.