Sett, the Boss (
themightybosstone) wrote2024-07-15 04:39 pm
[StarRail PSL]
[The world was one of a constant, strange, cyclical war.
When the night fell on the highest moon of the furthest month, a Howling Storm took the planet, cut its cities off from each other and the visitors from their homes, When the Storm's first whining, hot wind struck, the imposing gates of the iridescent metal of this world would close, folding up and over, in a wall only Qlipoth could love.
The thud of bodies, the scrape of claws, mandibles and fangs added to the cacophony that the setting of the red sun provoked. It ebbed in the morning, but never enough to be safe. Never enough for the walls to come down.
In defiance, however, in these little hubs of survival, the nightlife was something quite impressive. Loud music played, lights blared, the night market was a roar of throats - the call of sellers and the flirtation of buyers.
All to carry on like a shield wasn't holding back the certain death of nearly everyone in the spaceport.
But you're here, waiting for the tired relief of morning. For the spaceport to open back up in a week.
It should have already ended. It SHOULD have been open yesterday.
But the Storm is longer than it's ever been here...]
When the night fell on the highest moon of the furthest month, a Howling Storm took the planet, cut its cities off from each other and the visitors from their homes, When the Storm's first whining, hot wind struck, the imposing gates of the iridescent metal of this world would close, folding up and over, in a wall only Qlipoth could love.
The thud of bodies, the scrape of claws, mandibles and fangs added to the cacophony that the setting of the red sun provoked. It ebbed in the morning, but never enough to be safe. Never enough for the walls to come down.
In defiance, however, in these little hubs of survival, the nightlife was something quite impressive. Loud music played, lights blared, the night market was a roar of throats - the call of sellers and the flirtation of buyers.
All to carry on like a shield wasn't holding back the certain death of nearly everyone in the spaceport.
But you're here, waiting for the tired relief of morning. For the spaceport to open back up in a week.
It should have already ended. It SHOULD have been open yesterday.
But the Storm is longer than it's ever been here...]

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... Not that she could leave anyway, just yet. She was not much of a nightlife person but after days of hearing the hustle and bustle of everything below her hotel room the curiosity got the best of her. She was, unfortunately, not immune to hawkers' persuasions, and even aside from a nice little dinner she'd also found herself in possession of some skewered fruit, coated in hard sugar-- a treat entirely foreign to her world but nonetheless familiar enough to be tempting.
Not wanting to be tempted by anything else while she ate, though, she took herself to a quieter (not by much) space to contemplate the shielding curtain above them. Hadn't it been longer than predicted...? ]
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Luckily, if that steel could keep whatever was out there out, it could almost certainly handle keeping him in.
Still, the irritation of knowing his quarry was getting away while he was trapped her needed an outlet.
He really didn't expect to find it in a familiar face.
For a moment, his tail swishes, the Foxian tip poised-
- And a proper introduction to someone who's stabbed you before?
Yeah. It's attempting to steal a bit of that fruit right off the skewer. ]
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-- And there he is. On reflex she drops the fruit skewer (he can certainly catch it if he's quick enough) so she can reach for her gun or her knife but.
But there's people around. Too many people, and they're too obvious, and they're both too out of place with the other species on this planet in general-- and she owes him, after all. So she freezes, awkwardly, with her hand at her waist before forcing herself to relax. ]
-- You again, borisin.
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And flicks one of the tanghulu berries into the air and catches it in his mouth. It crunches between his teeth - they're only slightly fanged. But she's seen how much that's a lie, the crack and rearranging of bone into something far more formidable. ]
Oh. Hey. This aint bad.
[ He's not offering the skewer back, notably. ]
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[ her snack... her neckwings do droop, slightly, but not enough to notice if he's focused on crunching berries. But she still remains reasonably tense, looking up at him. ]
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[He stares at the snack. Doesn't look like she'll FIGHT for it... Shrugs and tosses it back.]
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... Um?
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[ stares at him a bit longer, brow furrowed. ]
I didn't expect you to give it back.
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He seems to be clutching a metal briefcase to his chest with one hand - and a stick of the same sweets she's eating in the other. He also seems to have just stopped by the nearest source of light, bent over slightly, having trouble eating the candy: he bites into one, and it falls apart immediately, falling to the ground.]
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And then the recognition begins to filter in, because there's no way you keep tabs on the IPC's bounties and not recognize the man who sits at the very top of it, even ridiculously overdressed. So she freezes, and stares, every feather on both pairs of her wings and every hair on her body beginning to lift with alarm because Imbibitor Lunae is right there and-- and what if he intends to do something, here? Are the people in danger? Is his existence in this place heralding a greater force of abominations outside the walls?
Her free hand lowers, to the gun at her hip, while all of these thoughts fly through her mind. ]
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Or tries to, some of the sugar seems to have stuck his fangs together. This might be a good time to bolt. Or maybe she'll have mercy on him as he makes weird hacking noises as he tries to lick away the stickiness. Look at him! He doesn't even have any sort of weapon or sharp thing visible on him! How cruel!]
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...
What is he doing..........
She watches him for a long moment entirely baffled-- maybe this was the wrong guy? -- before slowly trying to back away, and melt into the crowd. She can't exactly try to take him out when there's so many people, and... if he's the wrong person... how embarrassing it would be for her family. Best regroup and monitor him for a time. ]
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Until, of course, she starts noticing, in the crowd she'd dispersed into, out of the corner of her eye: someone that resembles him? Is it him? He's bent over a stick of crunchy sugary hawthorn like she'd left him.
No matter where she turns to, or how big or small the crowd is, it seems like he's there. Stuck with sugar in his mouth. How strange.]
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She does her best to ignore it, continuing to put distance between herself and what she hopes is his main body. But eventually she runs out of crowds; she quickly turns down another street, as if looping back will lose him at all. ]
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[He's bent over in the middle of that street, straightening up, having finally defeated the tanghulu as he crunches through it.]
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Cautiously: ]
-- My apologies. I am not a doctor.
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Must you be a doctor to help those in need?
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... I'm afraid I would not have known how to help you, regardless. I hope you have a good rest of your night, sir.
[ and she tries to step back and away. ]
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I know how you can help me.
[Yes he's following her. No, no amount of body language will make him go away.]
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