audrey horne. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mandatum) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
calling_net2016-08-30 11:21 pm
mandatum) wrote in calling_net2016-08-30 11:21 pm
Entry tags:
one 🌹 audio | un: audacious
--ll I'm saying is, this place is the pits.
[This more or less out of nowhere. A very loud statement bursting through the devices along with a cacophonous burst of Bar Soundsâ„¢. Someone is audibly quaffing. Some other people are banging what are presumably pints, or possibly horns, of ale on the table in rhythm. There is a folk song somewhere in the background about a maid who came a-wandering.]
[Audrey sounds disgusted.]
You can't just drip beer down your beard and never wash it. No, I can tell you never wash your beard, buddy. I can tell it, I can smell it, I can see last week's lunch in it. Don't play games with me. You didn't even skin that lion right. I know all about skinning. I live at a lodge. No, don't--don't start picking bacon out of it! Go home and shower. Go. Get out. And leave me your beer.
[There's relative silence for a moment (the folk song continuing on in the background, because nothing stops a folk song), then a grumble and retreating footsteps. A loud, put-upon sigh.]
There's blood on this floor. Cripes. I thought home was bad--wait, did I turn this--
[. . . which appears to be all.]
[This more or less out of nowhere. A very loud statement bursting through the devices along with a cacophonous burst of Bar Soundsâ„¢. Someone is audibly quaffing. Some other people are banging what are presumably pints, or possibly horns, of ale on the table in rhythm. There is a folk song somewhere in the background about a maid who came a-wandering.]
[Audrey sounds disgusted.]
You can't just drip beer down your beard and never wash it. No, I can tell you never wash your beard, buddy. I can tell it, I can smell it, I can see last week's lunch in it. Don't play games with me. You didn't even skin that lion right. I know all about skinning. I live at a lodge. No, don't--don't start picking bacon out of it! Go home and shower. Go. Get out. And leave me your beer.
[There's relative silence for a moment (the folk song continuing on in the background, because nothing stops a folk song), then a grumble and retreating footsteps. A loud, put-upon sigh.]
There's blood on this floor. Cripes. I thought home was bad--wait, did I turn this--
[. . . which appears to be all.]
no subject
On the other hand, you're getting drunk far faster than I did when I first got here. You might count that as a win.
So where's home, that it looks so rosy compared to this?