Constable George Crabtree (
19centconstable) wrote2011-12-26 08:27 pm
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Case # 37: Video
[Someone is holding the communicator carelessly in one hand, as though they don't know it's on. The floor passes by slowly under the camera's lens. Whoever they are, they're walking hesitantly toward something. Bathroom tile appears, and then: the base of the toilet.]
Sweet wounded Jesus. I've died and gone to heaven.
[It's a boy speaking; his voice soft and high, his accent somewhere between Irish, British, and Pirate.
In other words: George Crabtree.]
Sweet wounded Jesus. I've died and gone to heaven.
[It's a boy speaking; his voice soft and high, his accent somewhere between Irish, British, and Pirate.
In other words: George Crabtree.]
Spam!
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You're tiny!
Spam!
And I'm really not tiny! I'm twenty!
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I didn't mean...you talk like you're bigger!
Spam!
Because I am bigger!
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Was it...did a witch do this?
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I don't think you can be a man-witch.
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Where are we going?
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He trails after her like an over-grown puppy. Some things will never change.]
Spam!
Open it!
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And stops in his tracks.]
This...is no boat.
[It's a space station?]
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The stars are so close. Can you touch them?
[George is not clear on what stars are made of.]
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Sorry.
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I'm not sure what Indians do in the snow, though. They might sleep through it, like bears.
[Oh, Jimmy McLeod (George's Native American manfriend): George will learn one day.]
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One...two...
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Laughing, she went to hide behind another chair to wait.]
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...do I get hints?
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