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Schneizel el Britannia
12 September 2011 @ 02:59 pm
[The screen is dark for a moment, before the shroud - a hand - moves, flops aside. A white-clad shoulder shifts, a soft, sleepy mutter barely audible over the feed. The view is one from inside a croft, the sleeper just visible at the edge of the camera. He rolls onto his back, showing a mop of pale blond hair, but the angle is too awkward to see his face.

He's waking up. His eyes open, and then, audibly, his breath hitches, the exclamation of shock quiet and quick but definitely there. Abruptly, he sits bolt upright, and now he comes into view. It's Schneizel - there's really no doubt about that, though his shoulders are far less broad, his expression far less composed.

He mouths something, but it's impossible to discern what that something is. His brow knits into a frown. The Prince looks around, the shock and suspicion evident upon his face - until his eyes fall upon the communicator at his side.

Immediately, his demeanour shifts. His expression turns stoney and difficult to read, his guard going up like a wall that suddenly snaps into place. With narrowed eyes he picks it up and the feed goes dead.

For a minute or so.]


It's an interesting change of scene, certainly. Though I have to wonder about the practicality of the device.

It may well be foolish to ask why I'm here, so I'll disregard the question. Perhaps, instead, you'll tell me what I'm waiting for?


[y e p he thinks he's been kidnapped. SUCH IS THE LIFE OF A PRINCE.]


((Tags will come from inbrilliancy!))