SOUND TESTMust've been weird for him. One minute, you're on your way home from work, and this weird LARPer in a cowboy hat and broken mask keeps trying to spark conversation, getting harder and harder to ignore; until the next minute, you're tied to a chair, and you realise you have no idea where you are, or how you got here, or what's going to happen to you. He was talking, that's all you know. You were listening, because that's all you could do, until it was all you could do.
Now, the poor bastard was sitting in a chair with his tendons slashed, and Lament was sitting opposite him with a microphone.
The warehouse was cold and dark, owing to the heavy tarpaulins that covered the overhead windows. Not that they'd let much in at this hour, anyway- a little past two on a night in fall, the sun was more a distant memory than anything else. Still, it meant that it hadn't heated up the inside during the day. These places trap heat like nothing on Earth- if Lament was going to be sitting here in his heavy leather jacket, he'd rather not be drenching it in sweat.
Hm. His current method was a little counter-intuitive, tending up instead of his usual down, but, fuck it, nothign else had worked. What if the thing he was listening for could actually be heard? He sounded bored, by now. At least the hostage had learned to shut up, at least- only speaking when asked to, likely owing to the taser Lament kept in his spare hand.
Lament scowled beneath the mask. What a fucking pain this was. Fucking bastard. Fucking fuck. He kicked his own chair out from under him, launching it halfway across the warehouse. It seemed to take him a few seconds to compose himself before he could try again.
"Alright, alright. Eight."