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killtime[ The camera angle is. Bad. This is a person who does not know how to use their communicator well. They probably can't even take a proper selfie. All that's showing is a pair of combat boots moving around in the grass — someone's backyard? — and in the distance, much farther out, a tree that (oddly enough) has a single board nailed to it for a reason only the gods know. It's not even nailed on straight.
The boots stop wandering. It's quiet for a moment.
Then there's a thwip, almost like the sound of a rubber band, and a thunk moments later, as an arrow hits the crooked board, dead center.
Unceremoniously then, a woman's voice: ]
Any of you know shit about teenagers?
[ Another thunk. A second arrow, its head practically kissing the first where it strikes. ]
What do normal fifteen-year-olds do these days?
[ Thunk. A third arrow. Three for three.
A mutter then, half to herself: ]
Fuck. Probably better get around to the whole "birds and bees" thing.
The boots stop wandering. It's quiet for a moment.
Then there's a thwip, almost like the sound of a rubber band, and a thunk moments later, as an arrow hits the crooked board, dead center.
Unceremoniously then, a woman's voice: ]
Any of you know shit about teenagers?
[ Another thunk. A second arrow, its head practically kissing the first where it strikes. ]
What do normal fifteen-year-olds do these days?
[ Thunk. A third arrow. Three for three.
A mutter then, half to herself: ]
Fuck. Probably better get around to the whole "birds and bees" thing.