(no subject)
((Trying this again because LJ decided to eat my text the first time round....))
It appears as though the odd little man in the black clothing, deep red frock coat, top hat, and almost overwhelming scent of chocolate has a question. Or, at least, one might guess that by the way he steps onto a slightly raised object and rummages in an inside pocket of said coat, producing... cue cards? Ahem. He hasn't got much of a voice for shouting, but he'll give it a go anyway.
"Attention, Nexus--no, that makes it sound like the place is on fire. Uhm... Greetings, Nexus!" A snerk. "Take me to your leader," he giggles. Ah, here we go. "Hello, Nexus!"
Clearly, the cards haven't got anything else to say on the matter because after a few moments of darting his gaze about the place like a deer caught in headlights, he stays true to form and says the first thing that comes to mind, which is this: "Little metal bottle tops. If you put them on the floor... you will get the impression... that you are walking upon... little metal bottle tops."
The silence is helpfully filled by the Obligatory Awkward Silence Filling Cricket Chorus.
"No? Hmm. How about this one: Oh what do I do/ O what do I do?/ This library book is forty-two/ years overdue./ I admit that it's mine/ but I can't pay the fine./ Should I turn it in/ or hide it again?/ Oh what do I do/ Oh what do i do?" A beat. "Any of those hitting any sort of ... inspiration?"
He even sings: "Frenzied adenoids/ infest the hills and slopes/ everyone avoids/ the deadly stethoscopes/ oh, the Amazon/ is caaa-liing me.... On the Amazon/ the pax vobiscum bite/ on the Amazon/ the epiglottis fight/ on the Amazon/ the hemispheeeeres at night all slink/ where the agnostics drink..."
Oh, this is hopeless. He wilts.
"What d'you do when nothing inspires you? Poetry, singing... ficus leaves.... Any ideas?"
It appears as though the odd little man in the black clothing, deep red frock coat, top hat, and almost overwhelming scent of chocolate has a question. Or, at least, one might guess that by the way he steps onto a slightly raised object and rummages in an inside pocket of said coat, producing... cue cards? Ahem. He hasn't got much of a voice for shouting, but he'll give it a go anyway.
"Attention, Nexus--no, that makes it sound like the place is on fire. Uhm... Greetings, Nexus!" A snerk. "Take me to your leader," he giggles. Ah, here we go. "Hello, Nexus!"
Clearly, the cards haven't got anything else to say on the matter because after a few moments of darting his gaze about the place like a deer caught in headlights, he stays true to form and says the first thing that comes to mind, which is this: "Little metal bottle tops. If you put them on the floor... you will get the impression... that you are walking upon... little metal bottle tops."
The silence is helpfully filled by the Obligatory Awkward Silence Filling Cricket Chorus.
"No? Hmm. How about this one: Oh what do I do/ O what do I do?/ This library book is forty-two/ years overdue./ I admit that it's mine/ but I can't pay the fine./ Should I turn it in/ or hide it again?/ Oh what do I do/ Oh what do i do?" A beat. "Any of those hitting any sort of ... inspiration?"
He even sings: "Frenzied adenoids/ infest the hills and slopes/ everyone avoids/ the deadly stethoscopes/ oh, the Amazon/ is caaa-liing me.... On the Amazon/ the pax vobiscum bite/ on the Amazon/ the epiglottis fight/ on the Amazon/ the hemispheeeeres at night all slink/ where the agnostics drink..."
Oh, this is hopeless. He wilts.
"What d'you do when nothing inspires you? Poetry, singing... ficus leaves.... Any ideas?"