013 - Video, morning after everyone's safely back from the port.

[fuckitybye]

[The camera clicks on revealing Malcolm, no longer bespectacled and looking absolutely fucking awful, like he just spent the whole night pacing and cursing in his cabin. Which he did. He starts to say something, then scrubs his hands over his face.]

Fucking fuck it.

[And he reaches out and slaps the camera off. If anyone responds, his responses will be in text only.]

[OOC: Malcolm's Masterworld Daily Briefings? Are all publicly visible to anyone who feels like backtracking in his public journal entries. He doesn't know it yet.]

Comments

[Voice]

[doeswhatido.livejournal.com]

Perhaps you could put your writing talents to a better use here.

[Voice]

[fuckitybye]

Oh, don't you fucking start. I get enough of that from Dayton.

[Voice]

[doeswhatido.livejournal.com]

What? It's true. If it I wasn't laughing at all the swearing, I'd've been pretty swayed myself if I weren't in my right mind.

[Voice]

[fuckitybye]

Look, in my real fucking life, I'm the Director of Communications for the Prime Minister of the UK. Which might sound like being a propaganda tit, but has a fuckload more dignity to it, and that's all I want to get back to doing, yeah?

[Voice]

[doeswhatido.livejournal.com]

[[Oh dear. Just like the men he'd be hired to shoot back home.]]

Was I wrong in assuming you were an Inmate?

[Voice]

[fuckitybye]

Wish I could say you were fucking wrong, but no, you're not. Apparently God's a fucking Tory.

[Voice]

[doeswhatido.livejournal.com]

Oh...well. I see.

[[He really doesn't hurr hurr]]