06-25-2023, 09:05:28 AM
[It's another rainy evening in Titania. And Syringe Amano, the fallen morning star, shuffles amongst the crowd to find another opportunity to preach their words, or peddle their wares.
It had been... how long had it been, since their fateful departure from Mission? Who knows; they certainly hadn't bothered with keeping count. It didn't seem like something worth memorializing—they found someone else just as disadvantaged as them, teamed up with them to make their escape, and went their separate ways once all was said and done to greater decrease their chances of getting caught. Simple as that. In the time since, they'd come to find solace in two careers. By daylight, they used their inherent connection to the Little Gods to inspire hope in the people: preaching sermons of optimism and glory, performing little miracles, whatever they could to remind the masses that They were still there, that They were still watching, preparing for the day They will liberate the city and its inhabitants. In the night, under the cover of what little darkness there was left beneath the neons and with assistance from their... admittedly somewhat stunted height, their charismatic spark instead went towards advertising and selling weapons: defending against the encroaching darkness and doom, as long as the price was right—and they liked to think their prices were fair, fairer than some of their less moral competition at least. It wasn't the easiest life, much less an easy double life, but... it was enough to satisfy them.
They had thought tonight would be no different than usual. But unexpectedly, as they shifted their gaze through the gaps between people to seek a sufficient selling spot, a strange feeling wells up in their chest. ...No, not strange. Familiar. Something they hadn't felt since their escape, and yet something much stronger than anything they ever felt that day. They silently bring a hand to their chest, hesitating to move forward for long enough that they start getting shoved around by the oncoming crowd. Was this... dread? No. It was recognition. Recognition that someone else like them, perhaps even multiple, were near. And they have a sneaking suspicion some of these multiple may be more familiar to them than others.
A small smirk creeps onto their face.] "Gods, be my guide."
It had been... how long had it been, since their fateful departure from Mission? Who knows; they certainly hadn't bothered with keeping count. It didn't seem like something worth memorializing—they found someone else just as disadvantaged as them, teamed up with them to make their escape, and went their separate ways once all was said and done to greater decrease their chances of getting caught. Simple as that. In the time since, they'd come to find solace in two careers. By daylight, they used their inherent connection to the Little Gods to inspire hope in the people: preaching sermons of optimism and glory, performing little miracles, whatever they could to remind the masses that They were still there, that They were still watching, preparing for the day They will liberate the city and its inhabitants. In the night, under the cover of what little darkness there was left beneath the neons and with assistance from their... admittedly somewhat stunted height, their charismatic spark instead went towards advertising and selling weapons: defending against the encroaching darkness and doom, as long as the price was right—and they liked to think their prices were fair, fairer than some of their less moral competition at least. It wasn't the easiest life, much less an easy double life, but... it was enough to satisfy them.
They had thought tonight would be no different than usual. But unexpectedly, as they shifted their gaze through the gaps between people to seek a sufficient selling spot, a strange feeling wells up in their chest. ...No, not strange. Familiar. Something they hadn't felt since their escape, and yet something much stronger than anything they ever felt that day. They silently bring a hand to their chest, hesitating to move forward for long enough that they start getting shoved around by the oncoming crowd. Was this... dread? No. It was recognition. Recognition that someone else like them, perhaps even multiple, were near. And they have a sneaking suspicion some of these multiple may be more familiar to them than others.
A small smirk creeps onto their face.] "Gods, be my guide."
> Pull down your shades a bit and look for the source, or perhaps sources, of this feeling. See if there are any faces you might recognize amongst the crowd, as well.
SYMPTOMATIC
THIS DISEASE
SO DRAMATIC
PANIC AUTOMATICALLY
THIS DISEASE
SO DRAMATIC
PANIC AUTOMATICALLY