CD: 1P limited means you know what I know, and I don't know that I got healed just enough to be able to talk. Not every scene will be that constrained, but by Thor, I stick to it when I do it!
CD, Rob: Emotionally repressed man surrounded by emotionally repressed teenaged girls. Pfft- no. Who would start anything?
I am now imagining Troll!Jail engineering compromising situations. You have doomed us all.
CD: Canon!Quattro wouldn't be able to talk with me. At me, sure. Oh, look! A butterfly.
Dartz: Interesting post. You didn't ask the right question. When could it be? Also, end of entry. Sorry for the short.
**********
"You wonder, perhaps, how I know of your dream?" The 'good' doctor didn't respond; he was busy typing on another of those handy holographic displays, muttering to himself, his eyes glittering with a manic light. I looked over to Uno, only to receive a shrug, and a raised palm- I was fairly sure she meant that I should wait for a bit- in response.
A minute or two later, I was getting antsy, shifting from foot to foot, trying to ignore the burning sensation coming from the spots I'd been bound. My frustration was soon ended; Scaglietti soon stopped muttering, and with a few decisive-looking stabs of his finger, closed the window he'd been working in. Looking up, he gave me a long, searching gaze- one eye drifting to what looked like a recorded vital-sign display- only to nod in satisfaction. "Why, Mister Prefect, I believe I rather like this wonderful proposal of yours. Now, tell me more about this information you claim to have. How is it you know so much about my dream?"
I smiled. "My people may not have many mages," -or any at all- "but the ones we produce tend to be strong." Like Admiral Graham, or Nanoha. "One day, I received a series of files, " -on those DVDs I ordered from Geneon- "documenting a series of events occurring across dimensional space. Some of them have already happened," -in flashbacks- "but a great number of these events have yet to occur."
At this point, I let the grin slide off my face, to be replaced by an utterly serious expression. "Fully half the files in the collection documented you, Jail Scaglietti- where you came from, what you've done, and what you're planning to do. I've seen it all, from the creation of twelve combat cyborgs and a duplicate of the last Sankt Kaiser, to the Saint's Cradle ascending high into the skies of Mid-" raising my hand as I said this, almost as high as I could reach, and then slamming it back down- "only to crash before it reached the moons."
The stunned expression on Scaglietti's face was priceless.
In response, I smiled, as sweetly as I could manage. "Would you like to know more?"
My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Brother Atom Bomb of Courteous Debate. Get yours.
I've been writing a bit.
CD, Rob: Emotionally repressed man surrounded by emotionally repressed teenaged girls. Pfft- no. Who would start anything?
I am now imagining Troll!Jail engineering compromising situations. You have doomed us all.
CD: Canon!Quattro wouldn't be able to talk with me. At me, sure. Oh, look! A butterfly.
Dartz: Interesting post. You didn't ask the right question. When could it be? Also, end of entry. Sorry for the short.
**********
"You wonder, perhaps, how I know of your dream?" The 'good' doctor didn't respond; he was busy typing on another of those handy holographic displays, muttering to himself, his eyes glittering with a manic light. I looked over to Uno, only to receive a shrug, and a raised palm- I was fairly sure she meant that I should wait for a bit- in response.
A minute or two later, I was getting antsy, shifting from foot to foot, trying to ignore the burning sensation coming from the spots I'd been bound. My frustration was soon ended; Scaglietti soon stopped muttering, and with a few decisive-looking stabs of his finger, closed the window he'd been working in. Looking up, he gave me a long, searching gaze- one eye drifting to what looked like a recorded vital-sign display- only to nod in satisfaction. "Why, Mister Prefect, I believe I rather like this wonderful proposal of yours. Now, tell me more about this information you claim to have. How is it you know so much about my dream?"
I smiled. "My people may not have many mages," -or any at all- "but the ones we produce tend to be strong." Like Admiral Graham, or Nanoha. "One day, I received a series of files, " -on those DVDs I ordered from Geneon- "documenting a series of events occurring across dimensional space. Some of them have already happened," -in flashbacks- "but a great number of these events have yet to occur."
At this point, I let the grin slide off my face, to be replaced by an utterly serious expression. "Fully half the files in the collection documented you, Jail Scaglietti- where you came from, what you've done, and what you're planning to do. I've seen it all, from the creation of twelve combat cyborgs and a duplicate of the last Sankt Kaiser, to the Saint's Cradle ascending high into the skies of Mid-" raising my hand as I said this, almost as high as I could reach, and then slamming it back down- "only to crash before it reached the moons."
The stunned expression on Scaglietti's face was priceless.
In response, I smiled, as sweetly as I could manage. "Would you like to know more?"
My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Brother Atom Bomb of Courteous Debate. Get yours.
I've been writing a bit.