0.1; [video: translated from french]

Jul 28, 2009 08:34

[There is a skeleton on the communi-kay. If you're one to notice such things, the shape of the pelvis makes me male. He's squirreled away in a dark side alley, is peering down at where he's set his communicator.]

Bienvenue. [Dryly] Hah. [His bones are crossed, eyes closed airily.] Here we are again, and as usual no welcoming committee. Though this time I would have appreciated one. People are screaming at me. Though that's hardly surprising. I assumed the fact that I had been brought here would make me a common sight, but I was wrong. Merde, I could use a cup of coffee.

[He peers back down into the communicator, phalangeals tapping over his radius in a clicking tattoo.]

At least last time everyone looked like me. Though, they still hunted me anyway. But women with babies are screaming at me. [he sounds wounded by this, he is.] Some men chased me, wouldn't listen to a word I said. Head hunters. Finally back on Earth and--

[His attention drifts up and he curses violently in French, snatching up the communicator, holding it close to his skull, you have a good view of the inside of an eyesocket.]

Help.

† victor tourterelle | mardi-gras ashes

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