So it's getting late, there's only time in the studio for single takes for most of the lines. Note that I'm not there for this, but I get to hear the recording later on from our overly-delighted sound engineer, Fred Hatch, who says, smiling, "hey, you have to listen to this, Avellone."
Our audio director is getting Ron through his lines, when Ron hits one of my unintended alliteration minefields in one of the end sequences.
He does a few takes, getting madder each time, until he finally says, "Who is this Chris Avellone guy?"
At this point, I realize that because I am a formatting nazi, I have put my name at the top of each page of the script in case the audio director had any questions.
As this sinks in, Ron exclaims. "I want him dead. I want his family dead. I want his dog dead."
BTW, I don't have a dog, but if I did, it would most likely have been peeing on the floor like I was doing.
He calmed down, though, and I continued to empty my bladder in the floor of Fred Hatch's office.
And that is the day that I always made sure to read every line I wrote out loud just to make sure my imaginary dog would live to see another day.
So our audio director turns to me, and asks me to describe the “character” that Ron’s playing this session, which for Heart of Winter is a dragon (which is fine) who has taken the form of a barbarian (which is fine), except that the dragon’s a woman, and before I can edit myself, the words “oh, you’ll be playing a transvestite dragon” comes out of my mouth, and I feel my bladder bracing itself again.