That is -- it's like Roland became a completely different person. In all the Voidtreckers in all the voids, they walked into the wrong saloon, or something. That's what it's like when the guy slicks up his voice so far, that actual mud or some other thick substance must be counting Roland's throat. How does he do that? But Tidus decides, he's got to go just as hard when he talks. However he's doing that. You think Tidus is backing down from this challenge he set? Never.
First he has to lean back his head from the wafting of paper threatening to slap him in the face, a small noise of annoyance ready to become more. But luckily, Inigo stops, and Tidus watches, zoning in on Roland; and oh, maybe he doesn't need to worry about tarring his throat with some of the spare honey in the stores anyway, when that look--
Got him. Perfect. Tidus doesn't hurry to speak, wanting everything to occur: The realisation, the confirmation, emotions upon emotions rolling upon themselves. Directions that lead from piece to piece, arm socket connecting to a lower portion, a shield. Wordless, but precise; instructions that even a young Aremica boy could follow, but requiring patience that young boys rarely come equipped with.
Tidus waits for the most opportune time, hand gripped excitedly into the side of the steel counter.
"Yuuuup," he starts with a lazy drawl, would be a sigh, if not so made so heavy. "We sur' foun' a good 'un. A good fried fer a good man. We know yer no coffee boiler, ol' Rol. Thas why our price is a generrrous one. A hoog-killin' time once we'urrr done with this here comin' job."
He is doing. His best!!! And with a look over to Inigo, he gives the signal: Your turn!
no subject
That is -- it's like Roland became a completely different person. In all the Voidtreckers in all the voids, they walked into the wrong saloon, or something. That's what it's like when the guy slicks up his voice so far, that actual mud or some other thick substance must be counting Roland's throat. How does he do that? But Tidus decides, he's got to go just as hard when he talks. However he's doing that. You think Tidus is backing down from this challenge he set? Never.
First he has to lean back his head from the wafting of paper threatening to slap him in the face, a small noise of annoyance ready to become more. But luckily, Inigo stops, and Tidus watches, zoning in on Roland; and oh, maybe he doesn't need to worry about tarring his throat with some of the spare honey in the stores anyway, when that look--
Got him. Perfect. Tidus doesn't hurry to speak, wanting everything to occur: The realisation, the confirmation, emotions upon emotions rolling upon themselves. Directions that lead from piece to piece, arm socket connecting to a lower portion, a shield. Wordless, but precise; instructions that even a young Aremica boy could follow, but requiring patience that young boys rarely come equipped with.
Tidus waits for the most opportune time, hand gripped excitedly into the side of the steel counter.
"Yuuuup," he starts with a lazy drawl, would be a sigh, if not so made so heavy. "We sur' foun' a good 'un. A good fried fer a good man. We know yer no coffee boiler, ol' Rol. Thas why our price is a generrrous one. A hoog-killin' time once we'urrr done with this here comin' job."
He is doing. His best!!! And with a look over to Inigo, he gives the signal: Your turn!