"Hallo," Fitz replied and doffed an imaginary hat. "I'm outside the Santucary in Central, and-- damn, I should have thought to have a box for donations."
Yeah? That's fab. I play a little bass and piano, too. [ and the recorder but that's so much less cool. and while he's in rock god mode he opts to go with the stage name. ] I'm Fitz, Fitz Fortune.
A shelter that was capable of protecting and providing for the citizens in case of an emergency was an excellent idea, especially given the unpredictability of the city.
"The institute I brought with me is stocked with useful items. Extensive first-aid kits, blankets and sleeping bags, fire-extinguishers, rations, several types of tools..." Brennan trailed off, shrugging. "And that's only a small fraction of everything available. As the research side of the institute is largely empty due to myself being the only employee here, it would be rational to donate these unused items to the shelter."
Sometimes it paid to bring with you a huge museum complex that had to be able to sustain hundreds of employees in case of possible lab lockdowns.
"That would be most unnecessary. I'm quite happy to offer what assistance I can without anybody resorting to such extremities," Brennan replied factually, missing the joke entirely as she tended to do nine times out of ten.
"I can have the supplies delivered straight to the shelter, if you'd rather avoid cluttering your establishment."
[After that, Stefen isn't sure he trusts his voice, let alone his appearance. And he was all about appearances. The songs here are so strange, but he does listen. And listen well. He knows how to--it's his job, after all.
Something makes him want to respond, but he fights to find the words to say it (a Bard of all things struggling with words), but he eventually manages something small and not entirely addressed to the song that he wants and doesn't want to talk about.]
Paul arches a brow. "You got lessons from Hendrix?" he asks, not bothering to hide his skepticism beneath politeness. "....why am I even asking, of course you did. Hey, are you human?"
This is now a question he feels he has to ask, in fucking Taxon. Jesus Christ.
"I mean, it's alright if you're not, I've just reached a point where I like knowing the species of who I'm talking to. Advance warning helps me do a lot less spit-taking when it comes out in casual conversation they're 2,000 years old, or were grown in a test tube, or something."
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No idea there was another musician here. You're pretty good.
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Yeah, there's a couple of us around I think. Still looking for a rhythm section, though.
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"The institute I brought with me is stocked with useful items. Extensive first-aid kits, blankets and sleeping bags, fire-extinguishers, rations, several types of tools..." Brennan trailed off, shrugging. "And that's only a small fraction of everything available. As the research side of the institute is largely empty due to myself being the only employee here, it would be rational to donate these unused items to the shelter."
Sometimes it paid to bring with you a huge museum complex that had to be able to sustain hundreds of employees in case of possible lab lockdowns.
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There is precisely no excuse whatsoever for the amount of meta in that statement.
"But thank you, anything you can spare would be appreciated."
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"I can have the supplies delivered straight to the shelter, if you'd rather avoid cluttering your establishment."
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"That'd be brilliant, I think. Centralizing resources would be a good thing. I could meet you there, take an inventory?"
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Something makes him want to respond, but he fights to find the words to say it (a Bard of all things struggling with words), but he eventually manages something small and not entirely addressed to the song that he wants and doesn't want to talk about.]
That might be a good idea, a shelter like that.
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[ self deprecation! it is indeed a glorious thing. ]
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"You're likely better at phrasing the 'let's help each other out' crap than I am. Got any responses yet? ...also, you're not terrible on the guitar."
This is high praise from this guy.
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He snorted at the...compliment and fussed with the guitar's tuning knobs. "Glad to hear those lessons from Hendrix are paying off."
Okay so he sat a few rows back at a Hendrix show and paid very close attention. That totally counts.
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This is now a question he feels he has to ask, in fucking Taxon. Jesus Christ.
"I mean, it's alright if you're not, I've just reached a point where I like knowing the species of who I'm talking to. Advance warning helps me do a lot less spit-taking when it comes out in casual conversation they're 2,000 years old, or were grown in a test tube, or something."
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