John Rodriguez — Audiobook VO Reel
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EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General) North American (General) North American (US New York, New Jersey, Bronx, Brooklyn) West African (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
John Rodriguez. This is from all systems read by Martha Wells. Dr. Mensah opened the door and peered in at me. I'm not good at guessing. Actual humans ages. Even with all the visual entertainment I watch, people in the show's don't usually look much like people in real life, at least not in the good shows. She had dark brown skin and later brown hair cut very short, and I'm guessing she wasn't young or she wouldn't be in charge. She said. Are you all right? I saw your status report. Ah, that was the point where I realized that I should have just not answered and pretended to be in Stasis. I pulled the blanket around my chest, hoping she hadn't seen any of the missing chunks without the armor holding me together. It was much worse. Fine, so I'm awkward with actual humans. It's not paranoia about my hat governor module, and it's not them. It's me. I know I'm a horrifying murder, bott, and they know it, and it makes both of us nervous, which makes me even more nervous. Also, if I'm not in the armor than it's because they wounded and one of my organic parts may fall off and plop on the floor at any moment, and no one wants to see that fine. She frowned. The report said. You lost 20% of your body mass. It will grow back, I said. I know to an actual human I probably looked like I was eyeing. My injuries were the equivalent of a human losing a limb or two, plus most of their blood volume. This is from Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne. Sophia first felt mean to have listened to Martha. But when family did not mention a wage either that evening or anytime later that week, Sophie began to think that Martha had been right. Maybe I am being exploited, she told a hat. She was training with red silk and a bunch of west Cherries. But someone has to do this, or there will be no hats it all to sell. She finished that hat and started on a stock black and white, one very modish, and a quite new thought came to her. Does it matter if there are no hats to sell? She asked it. She looked around the assembled hats on stands or waiting in a heap to be trimmed. What good are you all? She asked them. You certainly aren't doing me a scrap of good. And she was within an ace of leaving the house and setting out to seek her fortune until she remembered she was the eldest and there was no point. She took up the head again. Sign She was still discontented alone in the shop next morning when a very plain young woman customer stormed in, whirling a pleaded mushroom bonnet by its ribbons. Look at this young lady shrieked. You told me this was the same as the bonnet Jane Ferrier was wearing when she met the count. And you lied. Nothing has happened to me at all. I'm not surprised, Soapy said before she had caught up with herself. If you're fool enough to wear that bonnet with a face like that, you wouldn't have the wit to spot the king himself if he came begging. If he hadn't turned to stone first. Just at the sight of you. This is from the Silver Linings playbook by Matthew Quick. Just how many pushups are you gonna do, Pat? Mom says when I start a second set of 100 without speaking to where Nicky likes. Ah man with ah developed upper body, I say, spitting out one word but push up tasting the salty sweat lines that are running into my mouth. The August Hayes is thick, perfect for burning fat. Mom just watches for a minute or so, and then she shocks me. Her voice order quivers as she says. Do you want to come home with me today? I stopped doing push ups, turn my face up toward Mother's squint through the white noontime sun, and I can immediately tell she is serious because she looks worried, as if she is making a mistake. And that's how Mom looks when she means something, she has said, and isn't just talking like she always does. For I was on end whenever she's not upset or afraid. As long as you promise not to go looking for Nikki again, she adds, you can finally come home and live with me and your father until we find you a job and get you set up in an apartment. I resume my push up routine, keeping my eyes riveted to the shiny black ants scaling a blade of grass directly below my nose but my peripheral vision catches the sweat beats leaping from my face to the ground below. Pat, just say you'll come home with me and I'll cook for you And you can visit with your old friends and start to get on with your life. Finally. Please. I need you to want this. If only for me. Pat, please. Double time push ups, My pecs Ripping growing pain, heat, sweat change.