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driftfleet2017-02-25 11:26 pm
perfecting) wrote in driftfleet2017-02-25 11:26 pm
Entry tags:
（ ００１ ｜ ＶＩＤＥＯ ＋ ＴＥＸＴ ）
Who: Nancy Wheeler and you;
Broadcast: yes
Action: n/a - Marsiva
When: current.
( A; VIDEO )
[ the video opens, abruptly, to what is undoubtedly the marsiva. The girl who walks into the frame, her back to the camera is on the younger side. When she turns, a few things might be easily concluded. This is a teenager - pale face, blue eyes, a golden necklace of two ballet slippers, tightening her dark jacket over her sweater.
Unaware of the camera, she will lift a bandaged palm and neatly undo the bandages, inspecting a well-healed palm. Look closely and you might notice a thin, pale scar just in the middle of her palm before she'll tighten her hand into a fist.
She's entirely alone, it would seem. Nothing but the eerie, cheerful music of the Marsiva. Looking around at the food and drinks, she breathes a little faster. Her alarm is quiet; there is no hysteria or panic - but there is certainly fear.
And apparently, anger. A moment later she will catch a glass and throw it onto the floor, smashing it. When no response comes, something will snap and methodically, she will begin throwing and smashing plates and glasses, pushing aside cots, toppling them over and when this surge of quiet anger stops -
nothing. but this lack of response seems to unnerve her and she bends over, picks up a broken shred and holds onto it, as if she is still awaiting an attack from an unknown party. ]
( B; TEXT )
[ several hours later, most of which were spent watching the messages on the network and trying ( and failing ) to understand their meaning, she seems to understand this is a mean of communication of a sort. but then, how? if there is no one with her?
figuring this works like a phone of a sort, only with words, she will send a single word out, a tentative, unsure attempt: ]
Hello?
Broadcast: yes
Action: n/a - Marsiva
When: current.
( A; VIDEO )
[ the video opens, abruptly, to what is undoubtedly the marsiva. The girl who walks into the frame, her back to the camera is on the younger side. When she turns, a few things might be easily concluded. This is a teenager - pale face, blue eyes, a golden necklace of two ballet slippers, tightening her dark jacket over her sweater.
Unaware of the camera, she will lift a bandaged palm and neatly undo the bandages, inspecting a well-healed palm. Look closely and you might notice a thin, pale scar just in the middle of her palm before she'll tighten her hand into a fist.
She's entirely alone, it would seem. Nothing but the eerie, cheerful music of the Marsiva. Looking around at the food and drinks, she breathes a little faster. Her alarm is quiet; there is no hysteria or panic - but there is certainly fear.
And apparently, anger. A moment later she will catch a glass and throw it onto the floor, smashing it. When no response comes, something will snap and methodically, she will begin throwing and smashing plates and glasses, pushing aside cots, toppling them over and when this surge of quiet anger stops -
nothing. but this lack of response seems to unnerve her and she bends over, picks up a broken shred and holds onto it, as if she is still awaiting an attack from an unknown party. ]
( B; TEXT )
[ several hours later, most of which were spent watching the messages on the network and trying ( and failing ) to understand their meaning, she seems to understand this is a mean of communication of a sort. but then, how? if there is no one with her?
figuring this works like a phone of a sort, only with words, she will send a single word out, a tentative, unsure attempt: ]
Hello?
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I guess.
I mean, everyone knows everyone, there's that.
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So, which village are you from?
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In the magazines, I mean. I don't know anyone who's ever been there.
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Makes sense that I'll meet someone from New York in outer space.
It's actually more likely than meeting a New Yorker in Hawkins.
no subject
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Kind of, yeah. Does it ever get quiet in New York?
no subject
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Is it quiet?
no subject