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Fifth Morph - Video
August 27th, 2012 12:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
guerrilla_morph[ A lot of things happened to Marco after his last post. Well, maybe not a lot, but he did things that seem pretty momentous while suffering depression. And thanks to Jesse Pinkman's rather generous donation, he was more than able to get an apartment: he was able to get a job. A real job, mind you. No more consoler Marco, little kids. Summer's over, time to go to school.
When Marco presents himself, he's in a different room now. No hotels, no plain looking beds with plain looking prints of beach paintings. No, there is a real room, a table that looks like it is actually being used. That's a real dinner plate to the side. Behind him is the kitchen, with the oven and the fridge and a toaster and something that looks suspiciously like a waffle iron.
Perhaps the most surprising change of all is Marco. Previously he looked at the NV with a mop of dark hair with crinkled clothes and eyes that just look like he is done with the Universe's jokes and wish them to stop. Now? He's brighter somehow, wearing an actual suit for once. He looks cleaner and sharper, and looks like he even took a small haircut. He still holds the swagger and the shit-eating smirk, but that cold glare he gave to everyone in his previous post is now gone. There's still no warmth to his expression, but it's cocky, as though saying Fuck you world! I'm the better comedian, and I can see the buckets of dog pee that you are and I laugh at it all.
Well, maybe people might not understand exactly what his look is describing as, but they'll get the point. If not, he will be making it clear very soon. ]
I've got a job.
[ He sounds terribly pleased with this. ]
Now, I thought about going to school. Gave it some real, deep, serious thought. I thought about home. I thought about being here. I thought about home again, and then I realize: no way I am going to be the same kid from home.
Screw home. Screw it all. Gangs are one thing, those are a dime a dozen and they still shoot you in the head. I can deal with gangs. Well, I rather not, I hate them, personally, but I can tolerate them. It's a human thing I can deal with, you know. But good God I'm tired of home. I'm tired of going to school. You know what school is? A place where you have to pretend you learn everything, do things half the time you don't even care, and come back again.
But then I have to go home, pretend I'm asleep, and go out at night to be part of a secretive guerrilla war. And Hell just happens to be directly underneath my school.
If that won't solidify your hatred for your school, I don't know what will.
So I'm going to take a job that might not give me the risk of getting shot, or disemboweled, or stealing old men's toupees.
I think being an actor covers that, don't you?
And hey, if I have to sing the praises of AGI on the side . . . well, I'm good with that too.
When Marco presents himself, he's in a different room now. No hotels, no plain looking beds with plain looking prints of beach paintings. No, there is a real room, a table that looks like it is actually being used. That's a real dinner plate to the side. Behind him is the kitchen, with the oven and the fridge and a toaster and something that looks suspiciously like a waffle iron.
Perhaps the most surprising change of all is Marco. Previously he looked at the NV with a mop of dark hair with crinkled clothes and eyes that just look like he is done with the Universe's jokes and wish them to stop. Now? He's brighter somehow, wearing an actual suit for once. He looks cleaner and sharper, and looks like he even took a small haircut. He still holds the swagger and the shit-eating smirk, but that cold glare he gave to everyone in his previous post is now gone. There's still no warmth to his expression, but it's cocky, as though saying Fuck you world! I'm the better comedian, and I can see the buckets of dog pee that you are and I laugh at it all.
Well, maybe people might not understand exactly what his look is describing as, but they'll get the point. If not, he will be making it clear very soon. ]
I've got a job.
[ He sounds terribly pleased with this. ]
Now, I thought about going to school. Gave it some real, deep, serious thought. I thought about home. I thought about being here. I thought about home again, and then I realize: no way I am going to be the same kid from home.
Screw home. Screw it all. Gangs are one thing, those are a dime a dozen and they still shoot you in the head. I can deal with gangs. Well, I rather not, I hate them, personally, but I can tolerate them. It's a human thing I can deal with, you know. But good God I'm tired of home. I'm tired of going to school. You know what school is? A place where you have to pretend you learn everything, do things half the time you don't even care, and come back again.
But then I have to go home, pretend I'm asleep, and go out at night to be part of a secretive guerrilla war. And Hell just happens to be directly underneath my school.
If that won't solidify your hatred for your school, I don't know what will.
So I'm going to take a job that might not give me the risk of getting shot, or disemboweled, or stealing old men's toupees.
I think being an actor covers that, don't you?
And hey, if I have to sing the praises of AGI on the side . . . well, I'm good with that too.
