16 blueprints - moar frustrated dictation
Stupid. Freaking. CASTLE!
[If one person were sent home every time that phrase was used, then the castle would be undoubtedly empty by now. So what's it done this time that Ted feels a certain need to reiterate his contempt for his current residence?
Furious writing can be heard. Furious, because if Ted had been using the pencil properly and with some amount of delicacy, it'd be very unlikely that anyone except those with keen hearing would pick up the sounds. But no, this time, they ring sharp and clear through the air, the movements so rapid and harsh, one might have thought Ted was having a war with his paper.
They wouldn't have been entirely wrong.]
Ughn... rrrhhhh.... Come on!
[It's obvious that from his lowered tone, that this is one of many accidental recordings of the journal. Perhaps not completely accidental, however. After all, even to hear violent writing (sketching?) so clearly, the book had to be open very nearby, so Ted should be aware of its presence.
And then there's an angered crumpling of paper, a punctuated Augh! as Ted throws it across his room. His breath could be heard, and it was wavering with rage. But when Ted speaks again, there's a hard determination in his tone:]
You're not going to best me, you stupid excuse for a castle... No matter what it takes, I will start designing again. You can't beat passion like this. No. Nothing will snuff out my desire to create. I've been doing this since I was a kid. If you think a few months being design-blocked is going to stop something I've been doing for practically all my life, then you are sorely mistaken, Paradisa!
Puh... Paradisa... More like Helladisa...
[If one person were sent home every time that phrase was used, then the castle would be undoubtedly empty by now. So what's it done this time that Ted feels a certain need to reiterate his contempt for his current residence?
Furious writing can be heard. Furious, because if Ted had been using the pencil properly and with some amount of delicacy, it'd be very unlikely that anyone except those with keen hearing would pick up the sounds. But no, this time, they ring sharp and clear through the air, the movements so rapid and harsh, one might have thought Ted was having a war with his paper.
They wouldn't have been entirely wrong.]
Ughn... rrrhhhh.... Come on!
[It's obvious that from his lowered tone, that this is one of many accidental recordings of the journal. Perhaps not completely accidental, however. After all, even to hear violent writing (sketching?) so clearly, the book had to be open very nearby, so Ted should be aware of its presence.
And then there's an angered crumpling of paper, a punctuated Augh! as Ted throws it across his room. His breath could be heard, and it was wavering with rage. But when Ted speaks again, there's a hard determination in his tone:]
You're not going to best me, you stupid excuse for a castle... No matter what it takes, I will start designing again. You can't beat passion like this. No. Nothing will snuff out my desire to create. I've been doing this since I was a kid. If you think a few months being design-blocked is going to stop something I've been doing for practically all my life, then you are sorely mistaken, Paradisa!
Puh... Paradisa... More like Helladisa...