[.01.] we're lost like refugees [VIDEO;; week 1, day 1]
[ The Hitomi clicks on, and the network is treated to a view of some indistinct cracks of light, revealed soon to be the spaces between the fingers of the person holding it loosely in his or her hand.
Evidently the holder must have awoken now, for the Hitomi is suddenly flipped around a couple times, as if in surprise. Glimpses of trees, of grass and flowers, of someone dressed in a tailored black suit with gold and purple trim and perhaps even a face too quickly to be made out all flicker past. The feed rests for a bit on a patch of grass while the person holding the Hitomi speaks: ]
Is this a new...phone? I wonder what’s the occasion?
[ The voice sounds male - perhaps belonging to a young man, no older than twenty-five, if that. His English is perfect, with a slightly unfamiliar accent -- something between well-educated American and Received Pronunciation, if that's even possible. He switches over to reading the Japanese text perfectly as well, with only the tiniest hesitation: ]
Hito...mi.
[ He flips it over to examine the controls, and now his face can be seen. He looks even younger than he sounds-late teens, early twenties maybe-with eyes a light amethyst in hue and delicate features. His dark hair is badly mussed, as if he’d been wearing a hat or helmet of some kind. He mutters to himself, in English again: ]
A new model? Maybe it’s only come out in J-
[ He suddenly cuts himself off, a spasm of something like horror and realization crossing his face. He looks down at the screen and immediately seems to recognize he’s broadcasting. His hand comes down over the Hitomi, and ends the transmission. ]
Evidently the holder must have awoken now, for the Hitomi is suddenly flipped around a couple times, as if in surprise. Glimpses of trees, of grass and flowers, of someone dressed in a tailored black suit with gold and purple trim and perhaps even a face too quickly to be made out all flicker past. The feed rests for a bit on a patch of grass while the person holding the Hitomi speaks: ]
Is this a new...phone? I wonder what’s the occasion?
[ The voice sounds male - perhaps belonging to a young man, no older than twenty-five, if that. His English is perfect, with a slightly unfamiliar accent -- something between well-educated American and Received Pronunciation, if that's even possible. He switches over to reading the Japanese text perfectly as well, with only the tiniest hesitation: ]
Hito...mi.
[ He flips it over to examine the controls, and now his face can be seen. He looks even younger than he sounds-late teens, early twenties maybe-with eyes a light amethyst in hue and delicate features. His dark hair is badly mussed, as if he’d been wearing a hat or helmet of some kind. He mutters to himself, in English again: ]
A new model? Maybe it’s only come out in J-
[ He suddenly cuts himself off, a spasm of something like horror and realization crossing his face. He looks down at the screen and immediately seems to recognize he’s broadcasting. His hand comes down over the Hitomi, and ends the transmission. ]