((Overall content warning for language and inane chatter. Voice testing. ShadowSpirits. Will match style.))
A. shrine offerings
No, thank you, I'm not--I'm not ready for that level of commitment in your ah... fine establishment here. Don't get me wrong! It's a nice place! I just--
[Sorry, Solvunn, there's this weird-ass middle-of-fuckin'-nowhere Redneck walking about the commune. He's chattering up anyone he passes, but moving on just as quick, before the conversation gets too loaded, before they drag him in deep. It's the Mathmetists again. Which is fine, if just not his thing. He could've helped out there though, just the same as here.
Except he stops, this time, at some nice old lady mentioning Vagn, and death to him, and then he's grabbing the next person he sees, alarm in his expression.] Hey buddy. Hey. I think I died. Again? I don't know, I don't really remember the first time. Or this last. [By the way he briefly stares off unblinking, that might be a lie.] Is my boy Brylock here, too? He's gotta be, right?
[So, so sorry for whoever is now in his crossfire.]
B. Goatnado
I'd prefer to see how the hunting's like. [He keeps going to his rifle like it's a security blanket. That is. Not there. That's bothering him far more than the weather, which he seems to just be going along with, only squinting occasionally through the water on his face.
But he'll help out just as much as the next guy, he's not an asshole, even if he may look like one.] But, come on, wind's wild and turns out I still need a roof to sleep under tonight. Not sure what they think tying down the goats are going to do though. Goats don't stay put. No fence will keep them bound! Probably dove right into the twisters themselves. But we'll get 'em.
Travis Guidry | Tales From the Gas Station | Solvunn | The Chariot
A. shrine offerings
No, thank you, I'm not--I'm not ready for that level of commitment in your ah... fine establishment here. Don't get me wrong! It's a nice place! I just--
[Sorry, Solvunn, there's this weird-ass middle-of-fuckin'-nowhere Redneck walking about the commune. He's chattering up anyone he passes, but moving on just as quick, before the conversation gets too loaded, before they drag him in deep. It's the Mathmetists again. Which is fine, if just not his thing. He could've helped out there though, just the same as here.
Except he stops, this time, at some nice old lady mentioning Vagn, and death to him, and then he's grabbing the next person he sees, alarm in his expression.] Hey buddy. Hey. I think I died. Again? I don't know, I don't really remember the first time. Or this last. [By the way he briefly stares off unblinking, that might be a lie.] Is my boy Brylock here, too? He's gotta be, right?
[So, so sorry for whoever is now in his crossfire.]
B. Goatnado
I'd prefer to see how the hunting's like. [He keeps going to his rifle like it's a security blanket. That is. Not there. That's bothering him far more than the weather, which he seems to just be going along with, only squinting occasionally through the water on his face.
But he'll help out just as much as the next guy, he's not an asshole, even if he may look like one.] But, come on, wind's wild and turns out I still need a roof to sleep under tonight. Not sure what they think tying down the goats are going to do though. Goats don't stay put. No fence will keep them bound! Probably dove right into the twisters themselves. But we'll get 'em.