[network] @ASolomons; audio, afternoon of 347 [open]

[devoutish]

[The recording starts up and Alfie says in a rough, no-nonsense voice:]

Where are you? You're alive?

[There's a brief pause, and then he continues, his tone markedly different - it's a bit softer, but also more tired. Less guarded.]

Where are you? I'm in one of the newer areas; I'm in a funeral home I've never been in. Fucking cultist markings all over the walls-- answer as soon as you can, mate; please.

[Another pause, and then:]

Hello.

[He almost sing-songs his words, but only enough to just barely hide the hardness that lurks underneath.]

Do you know who I am?

[Once upon a time, this disjointed, confusing post was several separate messages. Unfortunately for Alfie, once he hit send, all privacy filters were removed - a consequence of his current death loss. For a guy who prefers private conversations over public ones by a large margin, this will not be fun.]

Comments

[devoutish]

Funny that you say that - he's the sort to insist that he doesn't.

[darkincrement]

Someone should remind him to check his messages then. Someone with name god send is promising to keep messaging until he comes back.

[ Though he hasn't really kept that promise. It's odd. :< ]

[devoutish]

[Ah, Gabriel.]

That's not gonna be my job, the reminding.

[darkincrement]

I didn't think it would be. I mean, you don't really seem like the type.

[devoutish]

I am the type with enough on his fucking plate already.

[darkincrement]

[ That's sombering. ] Yeah, you do. I mean, this place is a lot. [ That's what it feels like. ]

I meant that you seem like someone who wouldn't want to waste their time. [ And if Vanitas doesn't get it or accept it now... it might be pointless for others to hit him with it. ]

[devoutish]

Right, well - let me ask you something. How much do you feel that you understand this place?