３６４１１－ ᴛʏᴋᴇ × ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ ᴋᴇᴇ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
puppydogeyes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxion2011-12-08 03:58 pm
puppydogeyes) wrote in ataraxion2011-12-08 03:58 pm
ONE: video
[The video starts out at an odd angle, the device left on the bed as Taylor sorts through the other items she'd found in her locker. She's confused and a little disorientated, but she still starts out with an accusatory tone in her voice, clearly thinking that she is addressing someone specifically.]
Is this another test mission? You should give us briefs, you know, it's not like we ever get a real mission where we just wake up wherever and fumble through it.
[Quiet for a long minute, waiting for a response, checking a gun over to make sure it's all in working order. Still no response, though, and she continues, more anger seeping into her tone.]
Or maybe you're finally trying to get rid of me. [Her expression hardens.] Fuck it, whatever. Guess the worst I can do is survive whatever this is.
[She looks the gun over one more time before holstering it, then starts gathering the rest of the items up; three grenade-like devices that she settles onto the uniform's belt; chewing gum, dog treats, mascara, spare ammo - all go in various pockets. Lastly, she scoops up a dog - a chihuahua, surprisingly calm looking for the strange environment - and rests him on her hip.]
Oh, yeah. And don't ever stick one of my dogs in a fucking locker again.
Is this another test mission? You should give us briefs, you know, it's not like we ever get a real mission where we just wake up wherever and fumble through it.
[Quiet for a long minute, waiting for a response, checking a gun over to make sure it's all in working order. Still no response, though, and she continues, more anger seeping into her tone.]
Or maybe you're finally trying to get rid of me. [Her expression hardens.] Fuck it, whatever. Guess the worst I can do is survive whatever this is.
[She looks the gun over one more time before holstering it, then starts gathering the rest of the items up; three grenade-like devices that she settles onto the uniform's belt; chewing gum, dog treats, mascara, spare ammo - all go in various pockets. Lastly, she scoops up a dog - a chihuahua, surprisingly calm looking for the strange environment - and rests him on her hip.]
Oh, yeah. And don't ever stick one of my dogs in a fucking locker again.