Re: Mini-Grand 5103 [Rou'); /home/gbce/.Trash]
06-12-2011, 08:16 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
"Shit shit shit shit son of a fucking shit."
Selvsetter was confused and (with a predilection for exacerbating more computer problems than she could fix) comparatively useless in this setting, though not for the reasons her co-battler upstairs had concluded. While she was standing in a dollhouse, the other side of the room was a veritable forest of broken text - the kind of sure sign of things going wrong the young woman was notorious for avoiding.
Selvsetter exhaled in a way that was a little too quick to be a sigh, glanced around, and sat cross-legged on the floor when she failed to find something tangible enough for her tastes to lean on. The flooring seemed undecided on whether it was carpet or hardwood or oh hey that's a sea of leeches or shagpile. She figured, growling quietly as she extracted her laptop, that if this was what she thought it was, then a volley of gunfire barely warranted worrying about.
At least, until she'd met the shooter and established some need for a grudge. Or for them to sate their bloodlust. Point was, Selvsetter wasn't too concerned about it, despite her initial exclamations on the matter. If this was what she thought it was.
The laptop grumbled like a bear as Selvsetter smacked it out of hibernation, followed by a sunny little tone as she rapped out a password upon its keys.
"The fuck? How the... oh fuck it." Selvsetter was pretty sure she was well the hell out of the range of her home network (considering the damnable router often lost her in the obscurer corners of the house) but wasn't complaining. She saved that for when her browser opened, then crashed without comment. Then did it again. And again. And again.
"You are fucking shitting me." Her voice was deadpan. Her voice was often deadpan, but this was the "gonna-throw-this-uncooperative-piece-of-crap-through-a-window-if-it-won't-read-my-thoughts-and-shape-the-fuck-up" type of deadpan.
Her chat client dodged her wrath, and even refrained from bugging her that she still had to pay for it. A "thank fuck" was the extent of the woman's eloquent gratitude as she waited for it to connect, keeping an eye on the staircase while she tried to open her uncooperative web browser again.
* Now talking in #grandbattle
If this was what she thought this was (and hell, even if it wasn't), someone was going to be doing a lot of explaining. No doubt over Selvsetter's foul-mouthed complaints.
"Shit shit shit shit son of a fucking shit."
Selvsetter was confused and (with a predilection for exacerbating more computer problems than she could fix) comparatively useless in this setting, though not for the reasons her co-battler upstairs had concluded. While she was standing in a dollhouse, the other side of the room was a veritable forest of broken text - the kind of sure sign of things going wrong the young woman was notorious for avoiding.
Selvsetter exhaled in a way that was a little too quick to be a sigh, glanced around, and sat cross-legged on the floor when she failed to find something tangible enough for her tastes to lean on. The flooring seemed undecided on whether it was carpet or hardwood or oh hey that's a sea of leeches or shagpile. She figured, growling quietly as she extracted her laptop, that if this was what she thought it was, then a volley of gunfire barely warranted worrying about.
At least, until she'd met the shooter and established some need for a grudge. Or for them to sate their bloodlust. Point was, Selvsetter wasn't too concerned about it, despite her initial exclamations on the matter. If this was what she thought it was.
The laptop grumbled like a bear as Selvsetter smacked it out of hibernation, followed by a sunny little tone as she rapped out a password upon its keys.
"The fuck? How the... oh fuck it." Selvsetter was pretty sure she was well the hell out of the range of her home network (considering the damnable router often lost her in the obscurer corners of the house) but wasn't complaining. She saved that for when her browser opened, then crashed without comment. Then did it again. And again. And again.
"You are fucking shitting me." Her voice was deadpan. Her voice was often deadpan, but this was the "gonna-throw-this-uncooperative-piece-of-crap-through-a-window-if-it-won't-read-my-thoughts-and-shape-the-fuck-up" type of deadpan.
Her chat client dodged her wrath, and even refrained from bugging her that she still had to pay for it. A "thank fuck" was the extent of the woman's eloquent gratitude as she waited for it to connect, keeping an eye on the staircase while she tried to open her uncooperative web browser again.
* Now talking in #grandbattle
If this was what she thought this was (and hell, even if it wasn't), someone was going to be doing a lot of explaining. No doubt over Selvsetter's foul-mouthed complaints.
peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow