[ jax is kicked back in the gunnery, the pieces of a desert eagle spread on a t-shirt across the console in front of him, the comm propped at an angle. he's cleaning the as he speaks, his movements practiced and methodical, darting quick looks at the comm. ]

Y'know, back in Charming, we had a barber. This guy named Floyd, gave me my first haircut, and every one after that. Irreplaceable, that fucking guy.

[ homesick? maybe. jax pauses, gives all his attention to the gun for a minute, like he's forgotten he has an audience. ]

Anyway, what I'm getting at is I need a damn haircut. And I can't stroll down Main Street and get into Floyd's chair, so are any of y'all capable of giving me a hand here?

If anyone missed it. Wheatley is gone.

Does anyone know what happens when we vanish from here?

[She's still not sure how to feel about this. She got to punch him once at least. And the stuff he left behind....well that reminds her.

Well the chirping turret behind her reminds her.]

Unrelated: Does anyone know the story of Prometheus? Something about gods and being pecked by birds.

Hello, my dear friends and employees, or otherwise unpaid labor, of varying qualifications and levels of skill. [The woman in the video looks like a man, actually.

Specifically, a younger specimen, fair-skinned, possibly English in ancestry for those of us for whom the idea of England has not gone entirely out of style or yet to come in. He has squidgy eyes, floppy brown hair, a smirk that gets him laid, sometimes, usually only if he's using it to format a particularly nerdy pick-up line. Charles probably looks approximately as inebriated as the last time you saw him, if you saw him since Arima, but that certainly is his comm device.] This is Charles Xavier, whom you should recognize as the leadership of the recent Xenobiology undertaking in the etcetera etcetera.

[He waves, vaguely. Etcetera. From the perspective of the video, it appears that the left half of his shirt buttons has been closed up two holes too high, leaving the front obviously misaligned.]

I regret to report that I'm entirely pants at drinking, and I am in consequence quite shagged. Not in the fun way, [he reassures.] No, I reassure you in that department I remain devoutly deprived. However, I would like to encourage you all to take the day off work, as I will be nursing a hangover in the thing. [He gestures off-screen, vaguely also.] And we must lead by example. Tuhraah.

[Click.]


(OOC: Done with permission.)