harry "the great chicago fire" dresden (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
forzare) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sirenspull2013-01-13 08:04 pm
forzare) wrote in sirenspull2013-01-13 08:04 pm
Entry tags:
[accidental post | video]
[ The NV’s feed is a little shaky, considering Harry is trying to make a record of his exploits single-handedly while the other hand is busy hefting a rather large, rather expensive looking bottle of foreign whiskey. Looks like some guys make out with all the luck, especially after that week long leap into the past.
Beyond his hand and the bottle, there is the battered door of his (and John’s) newly bought, somewhat-renovated house. There is a rickety porch, a patched doorframe, and some obnoxiously orange paint. The feed focuses on all of that for a moment, and then the image is joined by the sound of his voice as it comes filtering through. ]
-- I mean, they christen boats, why not with a house? What am I going to call you? The Good Ship Marmalade? Das Orange Haus? Stumble Inn? Ooh, I like that one. Stumble Inn. I dub thee: Stumble Inn--! [ The NV gives a rather excitable wiggle as Harry cocks his other arm back, clearly prepared to smash the bottle all over the front door. What a loss of good alcohol.
Which, apparently, is just what his roommate thinks. In a matter of moments, the slight wiggle of the NV turns into a jarring motion, a tangle of limbs and the sudden appearance of another figure. Harry has to clamber to his feet, and the NV does a very good impression of Cloverfield as he does so. John’s voice (muted, but clearly irritated) rises over Harry’s aimless protests. The NV rounds on him in turn (je accuse!), after John has rescued the poor bottle of whiskey from a meaningless fate and is currently gingerly cradling it in his hands. Thank god someone has sense. ]
-- waste of good whiskey that we could be drinking instead.
Gee, I honestly didn’t know you were such a connoisseur.
This is a single-malt Highland Park imported onto the island and you want to smash it into the door?
I’m sorry, is this against the rules and bylaws of the country club? Is it giving you a case of the vapors?
I miss the days when I was allowed to shoot you.
Scumbag.
Firestarter. And also, you've sent your personal recording to the Network.
[ It’s John who reaches out and appropriates Harry’s NV, looking sternly into the camera. He looks very put-together for a man who just bodily tackled a six-foot-nine wizard. ] I apologize for my associate’s brash actions. I won’t leave him in possession of good alcohol again. Have a good evening, all.
[[OOC: As usual, blue is Harry, green is John and they'll be answering posts separately.]]
Beyond his hand and the bottle, there is the battered door of his (and John’s) newly bought, somewhat-renovated house. There is a rickety porch, a patched doorframe, and some obnoxiously orange paint. The feed focuses on all of that for a moment, and then the image is joined by the sound of his voice as it comes filtering through. ]
-- I mean, they christen boats, why not with a house? What am I going to call you? The Good Ship Marmalade? Das Orange Haus? Stumble Inn? Ooh, I like that one. Stumble Inn. I dub thee: Stumble Inn--! [ The NV gives a rather excitable wiggle as Harry cocks his other arm back, clearly prepared to smash the bottle all over the front door. What a loss of good alcohol.
Which, apparently, is just what his roommate thinks. In a matter of moments, the slight wiggle of the NV turns into a jarring motion, a tangle of limbs and the sudden appearance of another figure. Harry has to clamber to his feet, and the NV does a very good impression of Cloverfield as he does so. John’s voice (muted, but clearly irritated) rises over Harry’s aimless protests. The NV rounds on him in turn (je accuse!), after John has rescued the poor bottle of whiskey from a meaningless fate and is currently gingerly cradling it in his hands. Thank god someone has sense. ]
-- waste of good whiskey that we could be drinking instead.
Gee, I honestly didn’t know you were such a connoisseur.
This is a single-malt Highland Park imported onto the island and you want to smash it into the door?
I’m sorry, is this against the rules and bylaws of the country club? Is it giving you a case of the vapors?
I miss the days when I was allowed to shoot you.
Scumbag.
Firestarter. And also, you've sent your personal recording to the Network.
[ It’s John who reaches out and appropriates Harry’s NV, looking sternly into the camera. He looks very put-together for a man who just bodily tackled a six-foot-nine wizard. ] I apologize for my associate’s brash actions. I won’t leave him in possession of good alcohol again. Have a good evening, all.
[[OOC: As usual, blue is Harry, green is John and they'll be answering posts separately.]]
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[Raaambling, oops.]
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