001 | Voice ... and Action
[Boris is entirely unamused. He seems to have fallen afoul of one of the many, many depraved mad scientists currently tearing the country he helps administrate apart: that's the only explanation he can think of for suddenly being in an unfamiliar town with nothing but his clothes, his balalaika, and a lingering sense of injustice.
Oh, and this odd watch on his wrist which he certainly didn't have before and which certainly doesn't mesh with his other style choices. He's been fiddling with it for the past few minutes while he tries to decide how best to approach the situation (even with an eidetic memory, this isn't a scenario he can say he's seen before), and has just managed to accidentally turn it on.]
[Anyone listening will be treated to a few moments of silence, a loud, huffy sigh, and a deep Russian voice. Apparently, Herr Dolokhov is talking to himself.]
Think, Boris Dolokhov. You awoke in an unfamiliar place in what looks to be a wagon of some sort: wooden and rather shoddily made, no technological aspects to speak of. No one here appears to speak Russian or German, and their English is accented in a way you have never encountered before. You have nothing to your name but belongings which would not make practical weapons and this... whatever this is, which... which seems to be some sort of recording device, now that you look at it more closely.
I would assume that means someone is listening. Are others in this predicament as well, then?
[Later, he'll be walking around, peering at things, looking generally haughty, and having four arms. Bother y/n?]
Oh, and this odd watch on his wrist which he certainly didn't have before and which certainly doesn't mesh with his other style choices. He's been fiddling with it for the past few minutes while he tries to decide how best to approach the situation (even with an eidetic memory, this isn't a scenario he can say he's seen before), and has just managed to accidentally turn it on.]
[Anyone listening will be treated to a few moments of silence, a loud, huffy sigh, and a deep Russian voice. Apparently, Herr Dolokhov is talking to himself.]
Think, Boris Dolokhov. You awoke in an unfamiliar place in what looks to be a wagon of some sort: wooden and rather shoddily made, no technological aspects to speak of. No one here appears to speak Russian or German, and their English is accented in a way you have never encountered before. You have nothing to your name but belongings which would not make practical weapons and this... whatever this is, which... which seems to be some sort of recording device, now that you look at it more closely.
I would assume that means someone is listening. Are others in this predicament as well, then?
[Later, he'll be walking around, peering at things, looking generally haughty, and having four arms. Bother y/n?]