Voice

[deservinghell]

[Having determined the netbook is capable of a video feed, Henry makes certain to broadcast only his voice when he reaches out to the network; given the effect his condition has on reflections and even digital images, presenting an empty backdrop for no apparent reason is not the way he'd like to initiate first impressions. With the channel open, there's the clearing of a throat, then:]

And thus the whirligig of time brings in his revenges. I suppose it's about time fate doomed me to fight another man's war, eh? The Devil knows I've been asking for it. But it begs the question... What did the lot of you do to deserve it?

[The accent is unmistakably English, though a sharp ear might infer he hasn't been among Englishmen for some time.]

Comments

[allsongs]

[with no face to follow for expressions, it's a little tricky. her eyes scan the keyboard aimlessly while she listens, dissecting the sounds and the tone to find the right answers. you're speaking, she's got. the rest is very lovely, but not anything she knows for certain. yet.

her best guess is a question as to why she's spoken up in the first place.

her fingers lift and settle on her collarbone.]

I, Simmaeri. [they tap twice.] You, speaking more, [her eyebrows lift a little, nodding.] I learn more.

[her head turns a little to give a bit of ear to the screen, smiling a small smile.] You will?

[deservinghell]

[She'll be happy to know speaking is something Henry is exceptionally good at.

Although she can't see him, he does smile. There's an air of innocence about the conversation that's incredibly refreshing.]

It's a pleasure to meet you, Simmaeri. My name is Henry.

[allsongs]

[my name. she's quick to catch that, too.

matching his cadence:] Henry. You?

[deservinghell]

Yes, I am Henry. [A pause. He realizes visual cues might help the situation, but he doesn't have the luxury of offering them.] These aren't my words, but I think you might like them anyway:

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;
And that which governs me to go about
Doth part his function and is partly blind,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch:
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch...

[allsongs]

[without anyone or anything to see, it's easy for Simmaeri to close her eyes and listen. she shifts a little, a slow, side-to-side, brow knitting slightly now and then when she hears something familiar. some of the sounds, in different pacing, were words from other languages she knows. but these are new.

a moment well after the conclusion of the verse, she opens her eyes again, shoulders rising with a slow breath. she smiles very warmly, pleased.

her hand moves, sweeping around her face, settling over her heart as she breathes out a few words of some other language. beautiful.]

[deservinghell]

[That she seems pleased by his delivery of the sonnet is enough to satisfy Henry.]

I'll take that as a sign of approval. Perhaps we'll meet face to face someday, Simmaeri, and I'll be more than happy to give you a proper introduction to the Bard.

[allsongs]

[her eyes crinkle a little with her smile, folding her arms against herself and leaning forward, as though that would magically bring forth an image to see.

ah, no matter.] Henry. Thank you.

[deservinghell]

[He does regret that he can't circumvent the camera issue.]

You're very welcome.