audio;

[extradite]

[ As painfully unnecessary feeds go, please appreciate this one for having 254.6(6)% more muttering, fumbling and awkward pauses than your average sheepish interlude. ]

...sorry. Sorry about everything that's been happening. The losses. The... inconvenience. Sorry about all that.

[ It appears he is growing a spine for the next part - ]

And sorry, but - what's a good job for someone who... can't do anything?

[ ...and that the spine has now entered evolutionary recession. Muffled rambling mode: engaged. ]

Not fix things, not tell jokes, not do your physics homework, not herd cattle, not... be a... witch, not really punch, not carry the groceries without ruining the eggs, not... nothing. Nothing at all.

[ Sigh. ]

What's a good job for someone like that? And where could they get it? Along with about forty-two mops. Thank you.

Comments

[lookingfordragon]

There might be some mops in your house.

[extradite]

...I'm already counting on those.

[lookingfordragon]

What about the shop?

[extradite]

Which shop?

[lookingfordragon]

There's got to be one that sells mops.

[extradite]

But you need money for that. It's why I'm searching.

[lookingfordragon]

Oh, You don't have a job either?

[She thought he was a cleaner.]