fromearth: (On the Plains of the Red Planet)
Okay, is this thing worki--yeah, it's... I'm in the frame? I... yeah. Right.

[The cowboy straightens, clears his throat, hooks his thumb in his belt, and gives the communicator his most calm and collected scowl. All a matter of looking like none of this bothers you, even when it's a hideous mess. Which this is looking like it is. Business as usual.]

All right, folks, this is Marshall Sparks Nevada, representative of the Mars-Earth coalition. I know this place likely ain't on either planet, but this whole business jumped up to the top of my priority list. Mostly on account've all my other business is in another dimension, so you know, whatever.

Point is, here, I'm gonna hafta ask all've you to provide a list of your name, your home planet... the planet you were last on, if'n those two ain't the same... what space-year you're from, and your dimensional zip code.

Reckon I may have a ways afore we're gettin' out of here proper, but more I can know about how far-spread a problem this is, the more appropriate charges can be put on the culprits for this nonsense once I wrap it all up.
unrecovered: (Default)
[The video flickers on to show both Wash and North in what looks like one of the hotel rooms. It’s far enough away that it’s obvious they’ve set it up on a flat surface somewhere. Wash is still wearing his helmet; old habits die very hard.]

Hey. Does anyone know anything about these Dream Eater things? We know they can fight and that you can make them from little rainbow pieces; aside from that, I’ve got nothing.

[There’s a squeak from offscreen, and Wash looks over-] Hey, get over here. [-and leans out of the frame.]

[North, meanwhile, has his helmet off, because all things considered, this area’s probably safe and he can let his guard down a bit. ]

Also, do they all carry loose change or something? It’s an odd way of making money.

[He glances over at Wash.]

Everything alright, Wash?

Yeah, fine, just- c’mere!

[There’s more squeaking offscreen, and finally Wash leans back into the frame, pulling his bat into his lap. The bat squeaks piteously, and it’s pretty obvious that one wing is bandaged.]

Is there a vet around here, or someone who knows how to take care of this? [He gestures at the bandage.] I can do this much, but that’s about it.

[Responses will come from both Wash ([personal profile] unrecovered) and North ([personal profile] brodakota).]


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