[ 015 - Videostream ]
[ Footsteps over broken glass, the crunch beneath each one reminiscent of someone that does not see the damage done, that they have caused. ]
[ A gun clatters to the ground amidst the debris-fragments of a torn up sofa, ridden with bullet holes, stuffing hanging out, spilling across the floor, floating about the room and down toward the floor in cottony globs; smashed chairs and a table, wood splinters jutting up at odd angles in a range of places around the three-seater, within it; broken plates and cups; a home that has come undone, been turned inside out, and for what? ]
[ One foot is raised, and a boot kicks over an overturned arm chair so that it sits right side up once more. The owner's body is then dropped into it, silver hair settling over his shoulders, over leather as black as pitch, barring certain patches that have been brushed with dust. Green eyes reflectively glance around the room, and then down at the Forge in hand. ]
...I'm still here.
[ Yazoo picks a fleck of fluffy cotton stuffing from his hair and tosses it aside. ]
With vermin...without Mother.
[ An elbow is driven into the arm of the chair, a leather-clad palm pressed to his cheek as he leans his head upon it. A knee is drawn up, the hand holding the Forge resting atop it, sitting more steadily now. ]
I suppose...there are some of you that want to say I told you so...hm?
Well, go ahead.
Because only peons would be satisfied with doing nothing, with...remaining here forever.
I, for one, still plan to leave this place...
[ A pause. A glint to those alien eyes. ]
...What a pity those law officials weren't of any help after all.
[ End transmission. ]
[ A gun clatters to the ground amidst the debris-fragments of a torn up sofa, ridden with bullet holes, stuffing hanging out, spilling across the floor, floating about the room and down toward the floor in cottony globs; smashed chairs and a table, wood splinters jutting up at odd angles in a range of places around the three-seater, within it; broken plates and cups; a home that has come undone, been turned inside out, and for what? ]
[ One foot is raised, and a boot kicks over an overturned arm chair so that it sits right side up once more. The owner's body is then dropped into it, silver hair settling over his shoulders, over leather as black as pitch, barring certain patches that have been brushed with dust. Green eyes reflectively glance around the room, and then down at the Forge in hand. ]
...I'm still here.
[ Yazoo picks a fleck of fluffy cotton stuffing from his hair and tosses it aside. ]
With vermin...without Mother.
[ An elbow is driven into the arm of the chair, a leather-clad palm pressed to his cheek as he leans his head upon it. A knee is drawn up, the hand holding the Forge resting atop it, sitting more steadily now. ]
I suppose...there are some of you that want to say I told you so...hm?
Well, go ahead.
Because only peons would be satisfied with doing nothing, with...remaining here forever.
I, for one, still plan to leave this place...
[ A pause. A glint to those alien eyes. ]
...What a pity those law officials weren't of any help after all.
[ End transmission. ]