[The feed opens to the sound of a loud yell and fast-moving air battering the microphone... followed quickly by a loud, plastic crunch and a crash. A dull flash of light suddenly brightens up the feed as the communicator flies out of whatever pocket it was concealed in, bouncing once or twice before clattering to the concrete to reveal the back of
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[ OH HALE NAH, THERE IS A SUDDEN AND VERY WARNING LOOK. ON THIS FACE. ]
OH NO, cabrón!! [ He holds up a hand to stop him, suddenly taking on a very hardcore Spaniard persona for some reason here. ] Those shades ain't yours to fondle.
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... What?
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[ GOOD. THAT'S RIGHT WHERE HE WANTS YOU. ]
Brosef. Do you even know what you're messin' with?
[ Bro even moves his hand up for a moment as if to touch his own shades - it's probably a point where he'd tip them down and wiggle his eyebrows over the top of them, but he keeps forgetting -- well, that they are not on his face right now. ]
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Yeah, I'm gonna call you brosef.
They're stylish and awesome and if you take them off -- [ He gropes around verbally for a moment before he holds up one of Fakir's hands, grabbing it with a fist and staring at the screen. ]
I only gotta deal with broken fingers for a li'l while, but you?
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