33rd Report. [ UNINTENTIONAL VIDEO POST ] ~ IT’S NOT ANOTHER MONOLOGUE EVENT, I CAN TELL YOU THAT.
[Considering the mundane setup of the scene and the high, tilted angle in which we are subjected to, it’s obvious that this is just another inadvertent recording broadcasted over the network. Nautilus veterans would all know what those are like.
Here, we see Aya sitting at the dining room table; she looks exhausted. (One may also note her wearing this shirt as well, but that is neither here nor there.) It isn’t until a few seconds in that we are treated to a monotonous, epically dramatic-sounding disembodied voice (nothing like the one that Aya’s house had taken on). No, this one sounds like it belongs to some guy who’s taken several sleeping pills and downed them with a shot of vodka:]
SOMETIME... IN THE DISTANT FUTURE...
[Aya abruptly sighs, exasperated. Seems we have discovered the most recent cause of her restlessness.]
“You’ve been saying that all morning! Doesn’t sound so distant anymore, if you ask me.”
...SHE WAITS... IN THE STILLNESS... AND CALM... SNARED IN THE TWIST OF TIME THAT STAGNATES IN THE PERPETUAL SPIRAL OF FUTILITY... AND AT THE END OF THE SPIRAL LIES... A STREAM... A STREAM THAT CONNECTS TO THE NOW.
[Aya, in her endless irritation, slams her fist down on the table, causing her cereal bowl to rattle on the surface. One hand rubs her temple as though she is nursing a headache. Wouldn’t be surprising to say that she has one right now.]
“What the hell does that even mean? Can you answer me that, at least?”
...FUTILE HER ENDEAVORS MIGHT BE, AS SHE STANDS IN THE COILS OF ANARCHY... ALONE...
“Oh. Well. That’s comforting. Thank you so much.”
...FORSAKEN IN A PROSPECT OF HOPELESS ORDER, WITH ITS DENIZENS OF CHAOS SWALLOWING THE IDEOLOGY OF SANITY... THERE IS NO REST FOR THE WICKED...
[Both hands rub her own face as she leans against the table, looking down at the bowl of cereal she had set out earlier, but now is having some difficulty having the stomach to eat much of anything.]
...FOR IT IS SHE WHO MAY VERY WELL BE A GIFT FROM HEAVEN...
[Aya leans back in her chair, taken aback by this accusation.]
“Wow, this is starting to sound pretty pretentious. Not... sure how I’m feeling about this.”
...AND IT IS SHE WHO STANDS FIRM, SURROUNDED BY THE SCHEMES OF THE TWISTED AND THE CORRUPT...
“Do you even realize what you’re saying?”
...AND SO... I OFFER THIS GIFT... TO SHE WHO HAS AWAKENED FROM HER LOST... PAST...
“...I’ll take that as a no. And for that matter, I’m not talking to you anymore.”
...SHE MAY BE...
“You’re done.”
...TIME...
“Done!”
...
[For a few seconds, there is silence. The disembodied, melodramatic voice quiets down to an easy silence; Aya’s shoulders loosen with relief as she sighs. She looks down at her bowl of cereal, picking up a spoonful and-]
...AS SHE CONSUMES THE CIRCLES OF ETERNITY...
“For Christ’s sake, they’re just Cheerios!”
[Aya is ragged, and good manners are secondary to her cause.]
Here, we see Aya sitting at the dining room table; she looks exhausted. (One may also note her wearing this shirt as well, but that is neither here nor there.) It isn’t until a few seconds in that we are treated to a monotonous, epically dramatic-sounding disembodied voice (nothing like the one that Aya’s house had taken on). No, this one sounds like it belongs to some guy who’s taken several sleeping pills and downed them with a shot of vodka:]
SOMETIME... IN THE DISTANT FUTURE...
[Aya abruptly sighs, exasperated. Seems we have discovered the most recent cause of her restlessness.]
“You’ve been saying that all morning! Doesn’t sound so distant anymore, if you ask me.”
...SHE WAITS... IN THE STILLNESS... AND CALM... SNARED IN THE TWIST OF TIME THAT STAGNATES IN THE PERPETUAL SPIRAL OF FUTILITY... AND AT THE END OF THE SPIRAL LIES... A STREAM... A STREAM THAT CONNECTS TO THE NOW.
[Aya, in her endless irritation, slams her fist down on the table, causing her cereal bowl to rattle on the surface. One hand rubs her temple as though she is nursing a headache. Wouldn’t be surprising to say that she has one right now.]
“What the hell does that even mean? Can you answer me that, at least?”
...FUTILE HER ENDEAVORS MIGHT BE, AS SHE STANDS IN THE COILS OF ANARCHY... ALONE...
“Oh. Well. That’s comforting. Thank you so much.”
...FORSAKEN IN A PROSPECT OF HOPELESS ORDER, WITH ITS DENIZENS OF CHAOS SWALLOWING THE IDEOLOGY OF SANITY... THERE IS NO REST FOR THE WICKED...
[Both hands rub her own face as she leans against the table, looking down at the bowl of cereal she had set out earlier, but now is having some difficulty having the stomach to eat much of anything.]
...FOR IT IS SHE WHO MAY VERY WELL BE A GIFT FROM HEAVEN...
[Aya leans back in her chair, taken aback by this accusation.]
“Wow, this is starting to sound pretty pretentious. Not... sure how I’m feeling about this.”
...AND IT IS SHE WHO STANDS FIRM, SURROUNDED BY THE SCHEMES OF THE TWISTED AND THE CORRUPT...
“Do you even realize what you’re saying?”
...AND SO... I OFFER THIS GIFT... TO SHE WHO HAS AWAKENED FROM HER LOST... PAST...
“...I’ll take that as a no. And for that matter, I’m not talking to you anymore.”
...SHE MAY BE...
“You’re done.”
...TIME...
“Done!”
...
[For a few seconds, there is silence. The disembodied, melodramatic voice quiets down to an easy silence; Aya’s shoulders loosen with relief as she sighs. She looks down at her bowl of cereal, picking up a spoonful and-]
...AS SHE CONSUMES THE CIRCLES OF ETERNITY...
“For Christ’s sake, they’re just Cheerios!”
[Aya is ragged, and good manners are secondary to her cause.]