Post by Dimov on Apr 4, 2019 11:47:37 GMT -5
The following is all private journal entries, recorded through either text, audio, or video stored on a standard communications holographic pad. It belongs to Orion.
4/4/19. Audio. Playback initiated.
[It is immediately evident from the ambient audio that she is somewhere within The Mire, but not near the constant dull hum of the central platform.]
"Where is Syed, I wonder? I mean, clearly he's behind that veil, doing his worst." Judging from the shuffling of clothing and quiet schlopping of boots moving through mud, it seems she's walking. "I don't like debts. I hate debts. I hate owing them. I hate them being owed to me. But that doesn't mean..." The low shhhhink of metal grinding against something, followed by two loud thwacks... trailblazing. "..doesn't mean I forget 'em. No, no. What's mine is mine. No more taking from me." Thwack. Thwack. "It's always a man, isn't it? Always men that take from us. Our time. Our money." Thwack. Thwack. Her tone shifts. Anger. Bitterness. "Our freedom, our friends. Our dignity." She huffs, thwacking her machete into a tree hard enough to stay on its own. The brushing of fabrics leads one to believe she's sitting now. "It is so lonely out 'ere. I wish I could-" she pauses, a quiet, startled gasp coming from her. "S'not real, Orion. S'not real. He's dead. He's dead.." she mutters to herself.
End playback.
4/4/19. Audio. Playback initiated.
[It is immediately evident from the ambient audio that she is somewhere within The Mire, but not near the constant dull hum of the central platform.]
"Where is Syed, I wonder? I mean, clearly he's behind that veil, doing his worst." Judging from the shuffling of clothing and quiet schlopping of boots moving through mud, it seems she's walking. "I don't like debts. I hate debts. I hate owing them. I hate them being owed to me. But that doesn't mean..." The low shhhhink of metal grinding against something, followed by two loud thwacks... trailblazing. "..doesn't mean I forget 'em. No, no. What's mine is mine. No more taking from me." Thwack. Thwack. "It's always a man, isn't it? Always men that take from us. Our time. Our money." Thwack. Thwack. Her tone shifts. Anger. Bitterness. "Our freedom, our friends. Our dignity." She huffs, thwacking her machete into a tree hard enough to stay on its own. The brushing of fabrics leads one to believe she's sitting now. "It is so lonely out 'ere. I wish I could-" she pauses, a quiet, startled gasp coming from her. "S'not real, Orion. S'not real. He's dead. He's dead.." she mutters to herself.
End playback.