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[never_very_good]

[VIDEO]

[Looking rather frustrated, Frankie Dalton is... doing dishes. At home. Only the top rows of text on his shirt are visible:

I'M ABOUT TO BE
TORN TO PIECES BY

but, perhaps, the rest can be inferred? He's still scowling down at the sink.]

Fucking City,

[he mutters with characteristic eloquence, still unaware. A few dishes later, the connection times out.]



[ooc; ...A HORDE OF HUNGRY VAMPIRES &c.]

Comments

[doeswhathewants]

Torn to pieces by what? The suspense is killing m- oh, perhaps not the most sympathetic choice of words.

[never_very_good]

Deal with it.

[doeswhathewants]

Rude. You are are the one advertising your untimely death, after all.

[never_very_good]

City did that. I'm scrubbing plates.

[doeswhathewants]

I sympathize.

But what are you about to be torn to bits from? Something preventable? Perhaps you will have a last minute save? Perhaps you could kill yourself here and remain in The City forever. Or as long as that lasts.

[never_very_good]

Plan to stay long as I can. I figure I won't have time to miss it, after.

[doeswhathewants]

Plans do tend to change here, what with the hands of the so called city gods dealing in our fates. Why not make your own fate here? Or are you hoping there is a chance to change it back in your universe?

[never_very_good]

Not a chance. City's all I've got.