contact//messaging//¿por qué hacer eso?

[treadingdawn]

[Click.]

[Is this for real?]

[Why yes. Yes it is.]



Hello. Um, this is Caspian--

[BEEEEEEEEEEEP. Sultry woman's voice:]

Hola. Caspian del buzón de voz está roto. Esta es su refrigerador.
Por favor, hable muy despacio y voy a mantener su mensaje a mi mismo con un imán!
Gracias.

[BEEP. End automated message.]

LABEL MESSAGES AS TEXT, TXT MSG, OR AUDIO. EVERYTHING IS PRIVATE, NO PARTY LINES.
Action for Narnia crew, anytime, anywhere, or pre-arranged with anyone else.

Comments

Dirge

[highcost-living.livejournal.com]

That blur outside the window looks like the lovechild of Pollock and Monet works. Splattered, obscured and in need of focus to enjoy. She likes it because she's hat the time to study it standing still. Someone else is bound to enjoy it in their way. Or not.

"I won't turn down a challenge if that's what you really want," Death answers. She leans closer and rests her elbow on her knee in order to prop up her head. All the better to study his face at an angle. The Telmarine is such the courtly sort. A king through and through, not the begging sort. "Fight here though?"

Death has let enough people go. They call it cheating or having a near experience. She calls it a change of plans. Or a change of priority. Something akin to waiting for an appointment. Whenever it is.