IC INBOX

[slayer_not_player]

This is Tillman, I'm not here right now. Leave a message and I'll get back to you.

[Grudgingly:] If it's an emergency, try contacting Simon Silverton, designation zero zero two, zero twenty-nine.

Comments

audio; baaaackdated to the day of the memorial (I couldn't resist I am not sorry)

[sweetmotherofgod]

[so it probably sounds a lot like Heather stuck her communicator in her pocket and then sat down and dialled Tillman with her butt because what he'll hear is a lot of movement and people shifting around. People talking, but a little distant, like they're not addressing the communicator (they're not).

When the sounds even out a bit, it'll be clear she's transmitting Hotspur's memorial service. It's muffled because the communicator is in her pocket, she doesn't want people to see and ask about it. She doesn't much feel like talking.

If he doesn't just turn it off then right towards the end, he'll hear her voice. Quiet; she's not talking to the crowd.]

With rue my heart is laden
for golden friends I had,
for many a rose-lipt maiden
and many a lightfoot lad.

By brooks too broad for leaping
the lightfoot boys are laid;
the rose-lipt girls are sleeping
in fields where roses fade.

[and finally, the feed ends.]