#firedrill

visuals for Goodwill Diggin

Datafruits.fm DJs dug up bangers from the CD bins at thrift stores, I dug up video sludge off the internet

Firedrill - Dog House

Datafruits

Featuring the Black Eagles Strike Force

The monastery is mostly dark and quiet at 4:30 in the morning. Hubert checks his watch, readying the stopwatch. “And now!” he grins.

The dark mage sets a flare off into the air. Suddenly the shrill blasts of horns break the silence of the night in the monastery, ruining the peaceful sleep of its inhabitants and causing some to shriek in horror as their blissful slumber is disturbed.  Rooms light up in quick succession, their occupants scurrying feverishly.

Silently he purposefully marches to the front entrance of the monastery, perched at the top of the stairs like a vulture waiting for its next meal to die. He raises his cup to his lips, the nearly boiling hot liquid slides down his throat, filling him with acidic bliss and adds to his own bitter and acidic attitude.

Edelgard is the first to arrive, of course. She stands to his left, Amyr in hand and absolutely prepared. (Nobody will ever know that he woke her 30 minutes prior to sounding the horns and assisted her with getting her hair ready and placing the crown upon her brow.)

Bernadetta, Dorothea, and Petra arrive next. Petra looks wide awake and absolutely ready for battle as she tweaks the fit of her swordbelt and checks her bow and quiver. Dorothea’s hair is not quite perfect and she is yawning profusely, leaning against Petra slightly. Bernadetta is dressed, however she buttoned her blouse one button off and has a terrible bedhead. The terrified archer is visibly trembling with anxiety and shivering in the low light of early morning.

Ferdinand’s armor announces his approaching presence, followed by his voice. “It is a glorious day for a battle. Bring them here and let me strike them down. All for the glory of the Empire!” He is way too loud and cheerful for this time of day. He has been beckoned from his bed nearly one hour prior to his normal arising, where he begins each day with a morning trot upon his faithful warhorse, Cinnamon.

Caspar finally trudges to the already assembled group of the Strike Force. He carries Linhardt piggyback. The healer has his robe pulled onto his back, with his nightgown still on underneath it, the robes flailing in the breeze behind his noble steed.

As Caspar takes his designated position, Hubert clicks the stopwatch.  “Sixteen minutes. Much improved. Thank you everyone, back to your whatever…” The tall dark mage waves them off as if he is shooing a cat from his vicinity.

“Why are you making us do this again?” Caspar groans, Lin still sleeping on his back.

“We must always be prepared for the next battle! Who knows when the church will strike again! Ever vigilant, ever ready!” Hubert declares, trying to sound encouraging, however it always sounds more like a threat.

Bernie hightails it back to her room three times as fast as when she came out. Dorothea convinces Petra to carry her back and call it strength training. Ferdinand bursts into song and heads for the stables.

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