[video]
04 October 2011 at 08:37 pm
[it’s hard to acquaint one’s self with new technology when you don’t even know how to turn it on properly. truth be told, Herbert wouldn’t be surprised in the least if it turned out that this was just a very elaborate toy or if it didn’t work at all. this might be a lucid dream but he's not even gonna wonder where the logic in this particular one is or what kind of awful, nasty things his brain is trying to tell him by picking out such a - colorful locale.
imagine his surprise when it turns out that the thing does work. the video feed opens to him primly sitting on his knees, neat as can be even with the ugly cuff wrapped around his right foot. he shifts a few times, causing the chain to rattle gently, before dipping one hand out of frame to where the welcome basket is beside him. seconds later, he comes up with a bag of pretzels. whether or not he’s bothered that the clothing he’s wearing is covered in copious amounts of dried blood and viscera or if it even registers properly remains to be seen. If he is aware, he doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it.
after a few minutes of crunching away, he swallows and wipes a few crumbs off his lips.]
I don’t like salted pretzels. [he says this nonchalantly but in a tone that suggests everyone with half a brain should know this incredibly vital bit of trivia.] More importantly, I don’t like the ocean. I was under the impression that near-death experiences cause your life to flash before your eyes, but considering that I haven’t been to a beach since the age of five, it would seem that I’ll have to reevaluate my assessment.
[he pops another pretzel into his mouth, and this time his expression becomes very…unamused.]
Dream, then. Is this the part where I’m supposed to learn something enlightening about myself, or the part where manifestations of my psyche come to ridicule me? Either way, I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible, if you please. [CRUNCH.] I have something that needs to be taken care of back in Arkham. A way to remove this - [again, the chain rattles.] - would be ideal as well. If I’m going to be traipsing about here for God knows how long, I would like to do it in relative comfort.
imagine his surprise when it turns out that the thing does work. the video feed opens to him primly sitting on his knees, neat as can be even with the ugly cuff wrapped around his right foot. he shifts a few times, causing the chain to rattle gently, before dipping one hand out of frame to where the welcome basket is beside him. seconds later, he comes up with a bag of pretzels. whether or not he’s bothered that the clothing he’s wearing is covered in copious amounts of dried blood and viscera or if it even registers properly remains to be seen. If he is aware, he doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it.
after a few minutes of crunching away, he swallows and wipes a few crumbs off his lips.]
I don’t like salted pretzels. [he says this nonchalantly but in a tone that suggests everyone with half a brain should know this incredibly vital bit of trivia.] More importantly, I don’t like the ocean. I was under the impression that near-death experiences cause your life to flash before your eyes, but considering that I haven’t been to a beach since the age of five, it would seem that I’ll have to reevaluate my assessment.
[he pops another pretzel into his mouth, and this time his expression becomes very…unamused.]
Dream, then. Is this the part where I’m supposed to learn something enlightening about myself, or the part where manifestations of my psyche come to ridicule me? Either way, I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible, if you please. [CRUNCH.] I have something that needs to be taken care of back in Arkham. A way to remove this - [again, the chain rattles.] - would be ideal as well. If I’m going to be traipsing about here for God knows how long, I would like to do it in relative comfort.
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