The line gives a click! as it's picked up, and instantly, music begins.
Or... it tries to begin, it seems. Compressed-yet-cheerful horns begin a fanfare that never seems to proceed past what sounds to be the start of the song. However, they're quickly spoken over by a voice, the sound of it just as compressed as the audio; the speaker makes up for it that with volume and gusto.
"CONNNNNNNGRAT-U-LATIONS!" The voice on the other end of the line cheers, making the phone's speaker squeak with the volume, before he quiets down to something more manageable. He loses none of his cheer, however. "You've gotten the SLICK DIGITS of Spamton G. Spamton, which must mean you're either a DEBT COLLECTOR, or a GRAND PRIZE WINNER! Press one if you're a GRAND PRIZE WINNER! Go to the AFTERLIFE YOU DESERVE if you're a DEBT COLLECTOR!"
And then, abruptly, save for that ever-looping fanfare, silence, awaiting a response.
no subject
Or... it tries to begin, it seems. Compressed-yet-cheerful horns begin a fanfare that never seems to proceed past what sounds to be the start of the song. However, they're quickly spoken over by a voice, the sound of it just as compressed as the audio; the speaker makes up for it that with volume and gusto.
"CONNNNNNNGRAT-U-LATIONS!" The voice on the other end of the line cheers, making the phone's speaker squeak with the volume, before he quiets down to something more manageable. He loses none of his cheer, however. "You've gotten the SLICK DIGITS of Spamton G. Spamton, which must mean you're either a DEBT COLLECTOR, or a GRAND PRIZE WINNER! Press one if you're a GRAND PRIZE WINNER! Go to the AFTERLIFE YOU DESERVE if you're a DEBT COLLECTOR!"
And then, abruptly, save for that ever-looping fanfare, silence, awaiting a response.