[Travis Touchdown listens to this and turns on the video feed to reveal the boring, textureless ceiling of one of the hallways. In a voice that is a truly terrible imitation of Archimedes:]
Hello, Mr. Volk. You have reached the inbox of the deadest motherfucker on the ship, Travis Touchdown––
[Okay this impression is bad. He rakes a hand through his hair so it's a little more upright, adjusts his shades on his nose, and he jerks the phone to focus on his face instead.
Tahdah! Here's one Travis Touchdown, in one piece. This is now a walk-and-talk vlog type affair.]
I'm just pulling your leg, I'm fine. And hey, don't worry about it. You probably would have lost your shit out there. I realized there was fucking nothing out there, figured there was no way off-planet, so it went sideways pretty fast.
[A pause, presumably a thoughtful one, but that expression just looks vacant on Travis.]
But you know, without you... we really were missing the brains of the operation.
[Travis knows Sylvia she could kill him for displaying her in something as boorish and tacky as a Hawaiian shirt, so he makes a compromise: he puts it on her and styles it so it's tied up in the front, Daisy Duke style.
Oh, you know. Not many candles on board, but plenty of moonlight. I had to do most of the work, but she’ll take whatever I give her. Had to make it count, considering it was our last date night for a while.
[ On the second night of port, Travis receives, without caption or commentary, a dozen or so pictures—mostly of airships, docked or in flight, but also a distant early-morning shot of the Marquis' mansion, the crystal flaring from it like enormous tongues of blue flame; a contented-looking chocobo, its eyes closed; and what might look like an ordinary patch of sky but is actually a glimpse over the edge of the city.
William's not a photographer and there's no self-conscious artistry here—some of the flying ships are little more than colorful blurs—but he's struck by details and patterns, the wings of a steeling fixed to a ship's bow, the needlelike procession of grates along a ship's side. ]
[On this second night, the buzz of his communicator snaps him out of idle thoughts. Travis wipes a hand off on his shorts and fumbles to find his communicator amidst his rumpled bedding, and squints at the whole-ass gallery incoming from William. The green-eyed monster in him says fuck this, I hate this F***l F**nt**y-type bullshit anyway. I don't care, who cares? Why would anyone care? But oh, fuck, he thumbs back and forth between these photos four times, indulging in the kind of FOMO he'd usually squash. How often do you miss out on a place like that? He could kick himself.
silco;
[ there's like, blood in here. someone probably got cuffed. ]
travistouchdowncrownlessking
[Now that Archimedes replaced his communicator and he is no longer shackled to a table, anyway.]
no subject
[ what truth, doesn't matter. don't care. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
around the time when either rhys pops out of solitary or waver tells volk what happened -
If you're actually alive and reading this I want to apologize for[Deletes that. Doesn't send. Can't think of how to phrase it. He clicks on audio.]
I should have stuck with you. I... thought you were dead until about four minutes ago. I'm sorry. I - ugh.
I'm not doing well with the space thing. I'm doing bad.
Maybe being there wouldn't have changed anything, but whatever happened I should have helped move us forward.
You are actually alive, right? If I'm about to get the owl making a dial tone noise I'm going to be pissed.
video
Hello, Mr. Volk. You have reached the inbox of the deadest motherfucker on the ship, Travis Touchdown––
[Okay this impression is bad. He rakes a hand through his hair so it's a little more upright, adjusts his shades on his nose, and he jerks the phone to focus on his face instead.
Tahdah! Here's one Travis Touchdown, in one piece. This is now a walk-and-talk vlog type affair.]
I'm just pulling your leg, I'm fine. And hey, don't worry about it. You probably would have lost your shit out there. I realized there was fucking nothing out there, figured there was no way off-planet, so it went sideways pretty fast.
[A pause, presumably a thoughtful one, but that expression just looks vacant on Travis.]
But you know, without you... we really were missing the brains of the operation.
audio
Video
audio
Re: audio
audio
audio
audio 1/2
audio 2/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
happy birthday sylvia
sylvia's bunk.
don't get chilly xo ]
no subject
An Attempt Was Made.]
j.barnes, backdated to the day after "date night"
so how was date night?( because he needs to know how this even works when she can't literally answer him. or eat. or. well. date. )
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
l.morningstar
[ A Plan, it is happening. ]
l.morningstar
We doing arms? Legs? Core?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
text | c.fraser | idk when
How long did it take you to figure out it was Loki?
text | travistouchdowncrownlessking
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Rhy$.$trongfork
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
j.todd
( the fight, that is. or whatever it was that ended up happening. )
Re: j.todd
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
a.starkov
Did your eyesight come back?
Eventually right?
[ What a great thing to be asking in text form. ]
Text | travistouchdowncrownlessking
[A thing he’d totally be typing blind, of course.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Rhy$.$trongfork
[ attached: PONG2.exe ]
It's just the beta, and Archie will need to execute it for you on your device, but you're getting the first look at the program as agrred.
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
bhujerba 📸
William's not a photographer and there's no self-conscious artistry here—some of the flying ships are little more than colorful blurs—but he's struck by details and patterns, the wings of a steeling fixed to a ship's bow, the needlelike procession of grates along a ship's side. ]
no subject
He taps out:]
You're killing me, bro.
[And half a moment later:]
Get to fight anything cool?
(no subject)
(no subject)
hdu make me look up fantasy currencies
😎
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
text; j.todd
text
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Into action?? lol
yes
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)