An Insufferable Situation of Failure (Craft)
|An Insufferable Situation of Failure (Craft)|
|Date of Cutscene:||22 February 2016|
|Location:||An Eclipse Lab|
|Synopsis:||Craft thinks 'Please don't kill me, please don't kill me.'.|
|Cast of Characters:||Craft|
Craft looked white like a ghost. SOMEONE had to contact Wraithton about the situation change. Usually, this was Pennington's job- but he'd pawned it off on him. It made him angry, yes, but he was more scared and frightened. The boss was not a particularly pleasant man. Powerful. Straightforward. Not a shred of compassion to be found. Compassion was 'inefficient'.
The communicator was a large brass dome, with a lens built into the front with some sort of Jacob's ladder on either side. Craft fixed his tie. He removed his bowler hat and stared at the device for a good few moments. He picked up the receiver, that looked like some sort of ridiculous old-timey microphone.
With hesitance he flipped the machine on and it made it's call. The figure fade into projection, projected by the lenses up against a field projected by the Jacob's ladders. The figure was cloaked in shadow. It appeared to be evening on Gearwork. He could see an airship tram in the window that helped to obscure the defined, black suited figured of Wraithon, the evening sun glaring into the receiver. Craft had to turn down the brightness with a large brass knob on the side.
"Report." asked the figure. Straight to business. Efficient.
Craft just wanted to say 'Handled. Reporting back soon.'. Infact, that was the plan when they arrived. Instead, he had to think about it. "There is... a situation." he said.
Ohhhh this wasn't going to be fun. Craft cleared his throat. "W--well, the fairy-- he-- found a match for--one of the watches...!" he began to stammer, any sort of wherewithal he had fading into nervous stammering. The transmission went dark and replaced with an image of a dog with his ear up to a gramophone's speaker. 'Standy'. Oh dear.
Craft's foot began to tap. They were going to demote him, oh dear! Oh no! His hand and the receiver began to shake. Maybe if he hung up and than ran away for a month while relentlessly hunting the new Sentinel, this'd all blow over! Yes. He thought. Maybe they'd forget he screwed up then!
The transmission came back up, Wraithton was resettling in his seat. There was clearly some discussion going on that wasn't for his ears. When you can't see someone's face, you can't read reactions-- and Wraithton's tone was /always/ cold and monotone- always chilling. Even when things were going good.
"The Laymen will remain on 'Earth' until the fairy and all 'Sentinel Watches' and active 'Sentinels' are 'accounted' for. The prior arrangement with 'Eclipse' will stand until this work is done. You will await further word otherwise." said the figure.
Craft was in a state between relief and frustration suddenly. Was that it? That's good- but, this planet. Ugh! To be stuck here!? Barbaric punishment he thought. Such an unorganized chaos! "Acknowledged, sir!" is all he could say-- nay, was expected to say.
The communicator shutoff after that. Well. That was as good as it could get, Craft thought. Thank the maker for small favors, he thought, if he believed such a thing.
Craft pulled out another sheet of paper. So he had a little firefly to handle. No matter. He just needed something to fight a fire....