010 // [TEXT-VOICE] // SILENCE IS MORE MUSICAL THAN ANY SONG.
[Trowa activates his Guide, meaning to make a serious-business entry. He even gets partway through it!]
It's interesting. The ship continually has problems with the mission selection program, but there are never missions designed around fixing it. I wonder if they would accept v
[He means to put it away just then, what with the person whose door he'd been knocking on answering it at last. Unfortunately, things don't always go the way you want them to. Funny, you'd think he'd be more careful, considering where he'd been before. Chalk it up to impending godawful distraction and be amazed as Trowa accidentally transfers it to voice function. Whoever the other being is that's talking to him, they have a voice that sounds like rocks grinding against corrugated steel. Sorry about that.]
--ou want, fleshbag?
Telegram.
Didn't ask for no zurkin' telegram.
[As calmly as you please.]
People send them. You don't ask for them.
Hrrm. You skin-trees gonna charge me for this thing?
It's already been paid.
...Hurry up, then. I got an appointment with the polishing salon.
[Trowa clears his throat once, and only once. Given his hesitation to begin after that, it's probably obvious that he isn't at all used to doing this. He's not going to win any space equivalents of the Grammies or anything, but he's not that bad either, if fairly restrained and far moodier sounding than a cheer-up telegram singer really ought to be.]
When you're so very very down
Got your heart way on the ground
And you want to strand yourself out on some planet
Don't come darkening my door
'Cause I don't want you anymore
But hey, be happy, man--my sister's fond of granite.
[There's a silence, and then an angry, rumbling yell, followed by a metallic crunch and the feed ending. Also, if you would like a telegram from Trowa, action it up and I'll have him deliver one~]
It's interesting. The ship continually has problems with the mission selection program, but there are never missions designed around fixing it. I wonder if they would accept v
[He means to put it away just then, what with the person whose door he'd been knocking on answering it at last. Unfortunately, things don't always go the way you want them to. Funny, you'd think he'd be more careful, considering where he'd been before. Chalk it up to impending godawful distraction and be amazed as Trowa accidentally transfers it to voice function. Whoever the other being is that's talking to him, they have a voice that sounds like rocks grinding against corrugated steel. Sorry about that.]
--ou want, fleshbag?
Telegram.
Didn't ask for no zurkin' telegram.
[As calmly as you please.]
People send them. You don't ask for them.
Hrrm. You skin-trees gonna charge me for this thing?
It's already been paid.
...Hurry up, then. I got an appointment with the polishing salon.
[Trowa clears his throat once, and only once. Given his hesitation to begin after that, it's probably obvious that he isn't at all used to doing this. He's not going to win any space equivalents of the Grammies or anything, but he's not that bad either, if fairly restrained and far moodier sounding than a cheer-up telegram singer really ought to be.]
When you're so very very down
Got your heart way on the ground
And you want to strand yourself out on some planet
Don't come darkening my door
'Cause I don't want you anymore
But hey, be happy, man--my sister's fond of granite.
[There's a silence, and then an angry, rumbling yell, followed by a metallic crunch and the feed ending. Also, if you would like a telegram from Trowa, action it up and I'll have him deliver one~]