Futuristic New Oasis: Moonshot

[Saturn_moon]

NEW OASIS

MOONSHOT

Spoiler: Atlantis Post Code

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[/comment]May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing][comment]

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[/comment]XXX[comment]

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Spoiler: Amestria Post Code

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[/comment]Month XX, XXXX | Arc X [XX][comment]

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[Saturn_moon]

The Narrator

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Atlantis

PARTICIPANTS:

Angel, Curtis, Easton, Gilbert, Irene, Whitney

HOPE IS A FLEETING THING

A new day dawns on Atlantis and there is excitement all around. It is Redemption Day, the tenth one in fact. The day when Atlanteans celebrate the new life they have been given and pay remembrance to the sacrifices that had been made. Ten years since hope was once again bestowed upon humanity.

It’s early in the day but the streets are already bustling as people prepare for the celebrations that are to happen. There will be a party tonight, a grand one held in Excelsior Plaza, and everyone’s invited. Colorful bunting and streamers have been strung up along the streets and large holographic screens all over the city flash brightly with the words “HAPPY REDEMPTION DAY”. That said, there really is little need to dress up a city that is as magnificent and wondrous as Atlantis. Towering skyscrapers of steel and glass illuminated by clusters of neon. High-speed trains running on magnetic levitation, better known as the Lunar Rapid Transportation or LRT, speed by carrying citizens from one district to another seamlessly and efficiently. There’s even a 100ft tall waterfall cascading down the side of a cliff into scintillating misty pools. Encompassing all this is the literal crowning glory of Atlantis; a massive glass dome that not only protects its inhabitants from the dangers of space but has also been designed to recreate the skies on Earth, its colors programmed to change in accordance to the time of day. A collision of functionality and art. This city really is a testament to the power and might of mortal beings to make their own future and destiny.

However, in the depths of Atlantis we do not see the brilliant blue of a digitally rendered sky nor do we see the endless expanse that is space. Instead, we find a confusing network of passageways and elaborate machinery. This is the Meridian Labyrinth, which is really just a fancy name for the city's power generator. Right at the center of the labyrinth is a massive crystal that sits encased in a glass vessel, gleaming, polished to pure reflection of its surroundings. Remember what I said about the dome being the city's crowning glory? I take it back. THIS is the true crowning glory of Atlantis. A technological marvel even in this day and age. It pulses like a heart, emitting a cool blue light that sets the room aglow. There is no other engine like this in the world and the reason why a city like Atlantis can even exist. It's really a pity that most of the city's population does not even know of its existence.

Standing in front of this complex, pulsing, metaphorical heart at this moment is none other than Atlantis’ creator, Oliver James. Oliver is a tall, lanky, fair-skinned man who is a bit older than his looks might suggest. He has on a well-pressed black suit and his shock white hair falls in a tousled mess over his forehead. He is looking - no, studying the crystal with intense focus, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. He twirls a screwdriver in his hand almost absentmindedly.

Just a few feet behind Oliver is a humanoid figure, feminine in appearance, with metallic-looking skin. Metallic-looking probably because it actually is made out of metal. She stands poised and at attention with a tablet in her hand, patiently waiting.

Suddenly, the screwdriver that was in Oliver’s hand clatters onto the ground. The female figure’s eyes lock onto this screwdriver. She wants to pick it up. Everything in her programming is telling her to go pick it up. But she also notices something that she has never seen before and she isn’t sure what the adequate response in this situation should be. Oliver James looks… frightened. His brows are deeply furrowed and his hands are trembling ever so faintly.

“Grace.” Oliver’s voice resonates sharply through the chamber.

“Yes, sir?” She is already at his side, ready to do as he requests.

“Call a meeting with the council. Tell them it is an emergency.”

With a polite bow, Grace excuses herself and disappears quickly back into the Labyrinth. Oliver James is not one to exaggerate. He is a man of science and a result of that is he always speaks plainly. So when he says it is an emergency, you better believe it is an emergency.

What exactly is the emergency?

To put it plainly, the moon is falling out of the sky. Again.

AriAriAbabwa gxxberkit Slav Sylvio simj26 Damafaud
FYI: NeonArmageddon Elenion Aura Inheritance morbidity miki Eteri Tortuga Beluga​

 

[Slav]

Curtis Merrill

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Atlantis: Excelsior Plaza

PARTICIPANTS:

Angel, Curtis, Easton, Gilbert, Irene, Whitney

Hope is a Fleeting Thing

For many, Redemption day was a day to celebrate. For Curtis, this day always made his job harder. Having people packed in like sardines and partying without a care created issues more often than not. Drunks fighting, public indecency, or just general chaos, the whole package was provided on a day like this. He enjoyed the relative peacefulness of Atlantis, he hated seeing it go down the drain for a day that gave people an excuse to act like animals. Despite his reservations, there wasn't anything he could do but watch from the sidelines, making sure the populace didn't get out of line.

Curtis's gaze scanned the plaza, bringing his morning coffee up to his lips as he oversaw the preparations for the party in the plaza. With how many people he expected to show up, his presence was futile. He still had a job to do and as long as he had the physical ability to do it, he would continue on with his duties. "I hope a meteor smashes into this plaza to take me out of my misery." Curtis's lance lay next him on the bench, staying within eyesight at all times. He didn't expect anything to happen while he had his morning coffee but you always had to be prepared.

A pair of girls walked past Curtis, one of them making a comment about his lance. "Hey, do you mind if I hold it? My friends want to take a picture of me doing a pose with it." The girl gave Curtis a smile but Curtis didn't return it. After taking a long sip from his coffee, Curtis shot their plan down. "The lance isn't a toy. If you want a toy, I heard the toy store is open at this time. I suggest you leave me alone and let me enjoy my coffee. I have better things to do." Curtis was blunt about the situation, taking another long sip as the girl stood there, offended.

"You're such an asshole, who ruined your day?" The girl's question got a quick response from Curt. "You." The girl stormed off, rejoining her friends. Curtis watched them walk away, chuckling to himself as he enjoyed his coffee some more. He was paid to protect people and enforce the law, not to be some tourist attraction. He already knew that this was going to shape out to be an interesting day.

 

[Damafaud]

Irene Alison

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Atlantis: Excelsior Plaza

PARTICIPANTS:

Irene, Curtis
Easton, Gilbert, Irene, Angel, Whitney

HOPE IS A FLEETING THING

"Dear, would it kill you to look at your mother?"
"No," answered Irene as her eyes remained stuck to her screen. Maria sighed exaggeratedly. "Your grandmother would be rolling in her grave if she knew you are working on a holiday."

Irene peered up with a skeptical look at Maria's device on the table. "You're reading lab reports."

She scoffed. "You can't expect me to drink coffee and do nothing while you are ignoring me, can you?"

Irene's Redemption Day began with a headache. Right came four o'clock, just as she prepared to do work she couldn't in office hour, her mother came barging in and announced their participation in the day's festivities. Her fault, really, for forgetting this happened every year. And for not answering her mother's call yesterday. Still, not even a round of massage and dolling up in a new dress drove her worries away. Maria's cup clacked against the tabletop.

"You are in too much of a hurry, dear."

"I am not-"

"And not worried enough about your personal life." Maria interrupted. "Burton hurried you too much. Connection is not for just the office, dear. They are also for your social well-being. I didn't mention this before because you wouldn't have listened, but you would now. My advice as a careerist is to take it slow, get to know the environment in Resource Department before making any big moves. My advice as a mother is to make friends with someone unrelated to your department and destress."

What words Irene had building behind crumbled under Maria's pinpoint barrage. She bit her lower lip, shifting uncomfortably in the naked feeling of being known. At last, there was nothing she could do but sigh in defeat. She turned her device off.

"Maybe I had been in too much of a hurry."

"Yes, you have. Now go and have a chat with that handsome lad on the bench outside. I think you two have a lot in common."

???

Irene looked outside and saw Curtis driving two girls away. She looked back at her mother in shock. Maria raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I didn't set you up for a blind date. But you can predict habits, dear. Especially with some private investigators. Now are you going out or should I introduce you over like back at kindergarten?"

---

In the end, Irene exited the cafe with a stifled feeling. Her mother had a talent for leaving people speechless and unsatisfied. Even a managerial meandering meeting couldn't leave her as breathless. She walked, not too fast nor slow. It's just making acquaintance. She had background information on Curtis. She also had a prop. Just do it like she always does.

"Hi, Curtis Merrill?" Irene greeted with a smile that blossomed warm. "I'm Irene. Doctor Alison saw you and told me to say hi. And to give you this."

With casual ease, Irene used the prop on her right hand: a warm slice of fanciful pizza on a napkin. Not everyone liked sweet things and Curtis already had coffee, but everyone liked pizza.

"Do you still do check-ups with her?" She asked, like to make conversation, because that was what she had planned. Conversations.

Many people existed in Excelsior Plaza

tag: Slav

 

[Saturn_moon]

The Narrator

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

Angie, Charlie, Cole, Cyrus, Elena, Lenora, Marion

HOPE IS A FLEETING THING

In the desert, there is a crater. Those who don’t know better might call it a canyon, but officially it’s a crater. The crater is approximately 250 miles wide and over 2 miles deep, in other words, it’s pretty big. You wouldn’t expect anything less though, seeing as this was where the moon decided to land after falling out of the sky.

At the bottom of this crater is… I don’t really know what’s at the bottom of this crater. I’ve never been to the bottom of this crater nor do I want to go to the bottom of this crater. Have you seen what comes out of this crater? It’s fucking terrifying. You have to be an absolute madman to even consider going down there. Peering into the crater from the top of it, all you can really see is pitch blackness. Never mind that it’s high noon and the sun is blazing down on the dry and dusty plains around us. The darkness in the crater is so dense it’s as if black velvet has been laid on top letting no light in or out. That’s probably how it got its name “The Abyss” which is very apt in my opinion.

Not far from here, less than a day’s ride away is a town. Once a thriving metropolis, New Oasis is now just a chaotic assembly of decrepit skyscrapers and jerry-rigged homes made out of any materials one could find tightly clustered around this spindly metal tower with a cable stretching off into the sky. Somewhere in this town is a small, almost dried-up well, and nailed to the front of this well is a wooden sign that reads “New New Oasis”. The inhabitants of this town at the very least still have their sense of humor, a rarity in these times.

Approaching the city we see a train of wagons painted in vibrant colors, pulled slowly along by large mechanical horses. Driving the wagon at the very front is a tall, heavyset man with long, thick, dark hair that is just starting to show signs of grey. He’s dressed in a very nice purple robe trimmed with gold that matches the gold jewelry that adorns his neck and ears. While a bit ostentatious for me, he is handsome in a George Clooney kind of way if George Clooney had brown skin and dreadlocks. Perched beside him is a woman. She shares the same coffee-colored skin, hazel eyes, and love for statement fashion as the man but is younger and currently has a spyglass held up to one eye.

“What do you see?” Okoro asks his daughter, his voice low and gruff.

“Trouble,” Lenora responds, retracting the spyglass with a snap and tucking it back into her satchel. “The military seems to have taken up a presence in New Oasis.”

Okoro falls quiet for a moment as if contemplating. “We do what we do best then.” He finally says. “We put up a show.”

Riding up to the gates of New Oasis, two military guards step forward with guns resting by their sides and raise their hands. “Woah there.” Okoro pulls on the reins in his hands bringing the mechanical horses to a stop. He hops off the wagon, kicking up a small dust cloud as he does. “Good day, kind sirs. How can we help you?”

“State your business.” The guard on the left demands.

“Business?” Okoro repeats with a tone of incredulity. “Why, we’re the Circus of Wonders!” He exclaims this while spreading his arms with a flourish, gesturing to the wagons behind him as if that is supposed to explain anything. “Surely you have heard of us? Our business is merely to entertain and bring a little joy back into this dreadful place!”

The guards clearly have never heard of the Circus of Wonders in their lives. How could they? The circus doesn't exist, not for the last fifteen years at least. What they do now is far more illegal and would probably warrant the guards to shut the gates on them faster than a jackalope on Redbull.

“Please, we’ve traveled a long way.” It is Lenora who speaks up this time. Her voice is softer, smoother, and has suddenly taken on a more breathy quality. She leans forward from her seat, allowing the shawl that had been draped over her shoulders to slip down revealing just a bit more skin. “We just want to reunite with our friends and settle down for a much needed rest. Preferably before sundown.”

The guards glanced at each other, unsure about what they should do in this situation. Should they call for the General? Would he be offended that they summoned him for something as trivial as a security check?

“Ca Alors, it’s not like we can really hide from you, can we? We’re the most attention-grabbing thing in this entire town. You’ll always know where to find us. In fact, do find us. I’ll be more than happy to offer you a reading. The first one’s on the house.” Lenora throws in a wink at the end and the guards are hooked like bait on a fishing line.

The right one clears his throat and begins to step aside. “Very well then. Just be sure to stay near the tower so we know where to look for you if needed.”

With child-like glee, Okoro shakes both of their hands before jumping back onto the wagon. The guards were not prepared to find these people so immediately and oddly... likable?

It doesn't take group long to find the tower. For a group of nomads, New Oasis was the closest thing to home. A pretty shitty home but home nonetheless. Without waiting for the rest to disembark or unload, Okoro is already making a beeline for the large clapboard building just off the square with the tower sits. The Last Drop is technically not open at this time of day but Okoro doesn’t care. He bursts through the doors and bellows loudly “CHARLIE, LOVE. THE CIRCUS IS HOME.”

Elenion Aura NeonArmageddon Eteri Inheritance miki morbidity​

 

[Inheritance]

Cyrus Metonia

SCENE:

May 22, 2185| Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

All the Earth Homies

Hope is a Fleeting Thing

"Remember, man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return"
Touching line, really. A touching line from a text so far forgotten it might as well have not existed. But exist or not, it seemed to be true now; the dying planet was now covered with enough dust that one might believe it was the work of billions of long-dead humans. Billions. Earth had all but fallen at this point, now inhabited by only a fraction of the once dominant populace that finally achieved the distinction of a type 1 civilization. But that was a long, long time ago- back and back and back. That was when the Earth was alive and vibrant, when people came together by the millions with the goal of going somewhere. Earth had been a paradise! It was a hub for cultural and scientific advancements that made humanity worthy of a type-1 title. Earth was the pinnacle of humanity...until Atlantis.

Oh yes, it was easy to see Atlantis as a success. It was easy to hope that they could build another star-base and everyone could leave and be happy again. It was easy to sit around and wait for Atlantis to save them...but easy would not save Earth; the only time Atlantis gave a damn about the dying planet was when they needed to siphon what little recourses Earth had left. It would be met with protest from Earth's government, followed by empty promises and deals that would lead to more and more tension developing between the two groups, and the cycle repeated. But the tension only pulled at one half of the parties-Earth. Earth was the one suffering, not Atlantis. Earth didn't have the power to stop Atlantis from draining what little they had, so Atlantis took what they wanted and pretended that the next time would be different...but it never was.

General Cyrus stared at the map of the town from his office. Fortifications had been put up and strategic troop placement had been implemented. The government believed that the rising Abyssling activity was warrant for one of the military's high command to take up a post in this shitty little town, but Cyrus couldn't help but scoff at the orders. What were they protecting here? Atlantis had made another demand of their recourses and would be here soon- and they wanted their General to sit in this dust covered hellscape? They needed him now more than ever! How foolish could they be?

A crack startled him out of his retrieve. He stared at the broken pen in his hand, cursing under his breath and tossing it across the room. The two halves missed the trash bin and hit the ground next to the fifty other pen shards that he had tossed.

If I don't get an update from the Scouts soon, I'm gonna lose my mind. He thought bitterly. This place sucked...at least most of it did.

Maybe a drink would help him out- he hand't had one in a while. The Tavern here happened to provide a great beverage and, sometimes, interesting company. With a sigh he pushed himself from his desk and exited his temporary command center. The dust stung his remaining eye.

Don't get too mad at it. He told himself with grimly. Soon enough, you'll return to the dirt yourself.

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

Gilbert Griffin

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Atlantis

PARTICIPANTS:

Angel, Curtis, Easton, Gilbert, Irene, Whitney

Hope is a Fleeting Thing

In a wide clearing, a crowd had gathered. At the epicenter was a stage marked by flagpoles with banners for all to see. Plastered on them was the signature helmet that everybody knew as Gilbert "Gizzy" Griffin. And on the stage, where the eyes would fall from the poles, the man himself stood, sporting the exact attire as in the banners. Beside him was an 11-year-old girl and a tall hunk of metal; a robot far less flashy than likely anything else in Atlantis.

"ARE YA'LL DUDES READY TO RUMBLE?"

A meshed cacophony of "Yes" reverberated through the air in response to the surfer-like accent.

"GOOD! NOW KEEP YOUR EYES TRAINED ON THIS LITTLE FELLA, AND PREPARE TO BE AMAZED!"

Through the cheers, Gilbert approached the robot, twisting different colored knobs and flicking switches. It made a start-up noise—so far so good! Now to hit the big red button blatantly on the—wait. Gilbert scratched the top of his helmet. "What's this button for?"

"Daddy, you're so silly!" The child on stage, his daughter Gwendolyn, appeared between him and the robot. "You added that button to convert the radioactive energy of the plutonium into a safer burst of energy that distributes through the machine's neural network to create a feedback loop to keep the process ongoing and simultaneously power the other functions!"

Gilbert slapped where his forehead would be. "Wow! Of course!" He cackled gleefully. "I don't even remember making this! I'm such a genius!"

His daughter shrugged behind him. "You're welcome."

He turned to her, clueless. "For what?"

"Oh! well, um..." Gwen smiled up at him, running into his leg to give a tight embrace. "I love you, daddy!"

He felt his heart melt into goop. "D'aww, I love you, too!" Gilbert scooped her up in his arms, smooshing her with the helmet's visor. Exasperated laughter escaped her.

Gilbert slammed the button. In moments, steam erupted from the ears and shoulder joints of the robot. The dials planted on its back spun into a red zone. Light bars on the front shot up and down. The entire machine shook and brought a rumble to the stage they stood on.

The audience watched in equal parts awe and worry.

Flames then erupted from the robot's neck—its head detached, spiraling like a rocket into the sky. Propelled by steam and fire, it tore through the air at breakneck speeds.

It seemed like things were going wrong! But how could it be? Gilbert "Gizzy" Griffin never failed in his inventions! Speaking of, neither he nor his daughter flinched at any of this! Was this all normal? Were they truly safe? The audience could only stand in wonder.

The fire extinguished after a different gas leaked from the body, smothering it in the cold. The robot raised its arms up and down—the audience could hear cogs turning within.

Its head landed—exactly where it took off from. It was as if it had never detached to begin with. "Success," a harsh, clearly robotic voice spoke. After such a display, the crowd's eyes were hooked. Just what was this machine for? What preposterous idea had the Gizzy come up with?

Emerging from freezing gas that dissipated into the air like a blanket of fog, the fruits of its machinations appeared...

An ice cream cone with chocolate coating and peanuts sprinkled on.

Gwen took it and happily dug in.

"Success!"

The crowd's excitement prior was nowhere to be found, however. Instead, a worried murmuring made itself known, comprising lines like "Was that it...?" and an, "All for... ice cream...?"

Gilbert chuckled. Adjusting his mic closer to his lips, he yelled, "LET'S GO ATLANTIANS! I LOVE ALL Y'ALL BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!"

A roar of cheers erupted from the crowd.

"Idiots." Gwendolyn ate more of her ice cream. "They're all idiots..."

 

[Eteri]

Marion Szalay

CS Link

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

Angie, Charlie, Cole, Cyrus, Elena, Lenora, Marion

HOPE IS A FLEETING THING

"Brother Marion!"

"R-Rio!"​

"Brother Rio, help!"​

A cacophony of young voices pierced through the steady background noises of a street filled with people going about their day. Most of them were ragged to the bone. Clothes stitched together out of fabrics, whose origins are sometimes better left in the dust; forgotten between the remains like they were once before. Bodies forged by the unforgiving heat of the sun and polished roughly with the help of the sand that lingers between the soles of their shoes and the air in their lungs. There are scars and healing injuries wherever you look, painted on them as if it were a trendy fashion statement or a gift for Christmas. If only it were that lighthearted.

Welcome to the poorer district —compared to most other areas in the city at least— of New Oasis, where resources were hard to keep and the will to continue even more so. Where the chance of crime spiked during the day and the fear of lurking monsters at night.

It was most surprising, though, how seemingly untouched by the circumstances one man was as he walked through the street compared to the rest of them. His clothes were in one piece, even appearing to be of a relatively expensive and well-made material, and his skin was visibly untouched by the kisses of a steel weapon. It was more surprising, though, how no one seemed to bat an eye at his existence. Marion walked peacefully through the masses without any of them thinking about dragging him to the nearest alley to relieve him of his possessions, or worse. It was as if there was a mutual agreement in the air to spare him, mentally signed by everyone that lived here as a regular and forced upon those that visited.

This, however, didn't include the mischievousness and trouble-seeking behaviour of a trio of kids running up to Marion. Coincidentally, they were also the owners of the young voices that shouted just moments ago. With light and quick footsteps, they weaved through the legs of the other adults, panting heavily for air. Marion didn't even have time to turn around completely when the little imps already crashed into his legs, clinging quickly to his pants.

"Woah there, little ones, what troubles your minds?" Concern lingered in Marion's voice as he looked down on his new acquisitions. He placed his hands on their heads, starting to stroke soothingly through the hair of two of them while they slowly regained their breath. They stared intently at each other to see who dared to speak first, sometimes glancing up at Marion. Raising an impatient brow at them, the youngest one, Emily, finally relented.

"A scary man was chasing us…"​

"More like a goat, the way he screamed at us."

"Ollie!"​

"What?"

The black-haired frowned at his friend, who only shook his head disapprovingly as an answer.

"Whatever."

Foreseeing another argument between the two young boys, Marion firmly interrupted them, "And where is that man now?"

Before any of them could respond to that, the answer announced itself with heavy footsteps and tightly clenched fists.

"Ya little assholes! Do ya know how long it took for me to gath' everything and assemble that shit? I will fucking slit your ankles if ya dare to run again!"

Reacting quickly, Marion extended his arm with a spread hand. The universal stop motion surprised the man well enough to stop him in his tirade while Marion guided the kids to hide behind him.

"Dear friend, I am sure we can solve this in a more pleasant tone."

"Pleasant? I will show you how pleasant I can be!", shouts the man. Balls of spit spraying out of his mouth in anger. Unaware of all the negative attention he is drawing to himself. "Who in the hell are you even? Their nanny?" He eyes Marion suspiciously, darting between him and the children.

"A second guardian.", corrects Marion. Glancing at the broken metal pieces that the man was still holding onto, it wasn't particularly hard to put one and one together. "They played next to your creation and broke it in the process, didn't they?"

The man nodded tensely while Marion shushed the children with a firm gaze downward and a small shake of his head. "They sure as hell did!"

"If it offers you any consolation, you can come by later to my place, and I will guide you to an engineer who can help you fix it. Free of charge, of course."

"For what fool do ya think me to be? Whos' gonna hold ya to yar' word?" The fuse of the man was short, and it didn't take long for him to raise his fist threateningly, hand high in the air. He could feel the kids bristling as a reaction and a bunch of onlookers, as well. The man himself didn't notice it, though, so before he could do something he would learn to regret, Marion calmly gestured to the sides. To all the people that were watching them intently, their own business long forgotten. "Any of them. Gladly, they would also guide you to where the Kindling is located if you are not familiar with its location."

Glancing at the people he was shown to, the man quickly lowered his hand, his shoulders slightly shaking out of discomfort. An intuition was telling him not to do anything rash here, to not strike, because otherwise this would be the last thing he would be doing here. "I-I will hold ya to ya'r word, prick! Ya better be there."

Turning on his heels, the man quickly fled. The more speed he gained to escape the stares burning holes into his neck the more he stumbled over his own feet and bumped into people, like a deer caught in the headlights.

After he had completely vanished in the masses, Marion turned and slightly crouched down to the kids. The disappointed look on his face was fairly visible during that.

Faltering under his gaze, they shuffled nervously on their spot, hands behind their backs, their heads turned to the ground. Some tense seconds passed before Daniel folded under the pressure.

"We will be good from now on and stay away from shady people on the streets."​

"…Will tell everything to our parents…", continues Emily.​

"And?"

"And help you with your next errand."

"Good kids, now run along. Do not let me see you today again." Righting himself back to his full height, he gently pushed them away from him.

It didn't take long for them to quickly grasp each other's hands and start walking down the street again. A giggle hidden behind closed lips. He knew that this, or any, lesson won't be able to teach them anything worthwhile. That they will turn around the corners and do their next act of trickery. Marion could only hope that when the consequences hit them, it won't be more than a slap to the wrist.

"Oh, and Daniel?", Marion called after the oldest one before he could completely vanish. Daniel stopped and turned around to look at Marion, waiting for him to continue. "Tell your mother that the cake was deeply appreciated."

"I will! Thank you again for the ointment. Her back is much better now!" Turning back around, he saw that his friends were already going on without him. "H-Hey, guys? Wait for me!"

Marion smiled after the now-running boy, keeping an eye on them as they vanished between the legs once again. He would do a lot for those three.

Right now, he had to continue on his way, though. There was a certain place he had in mind when he left the sanctuary of his home. Something he wanted to see with his own eyes to understand the troubles of some, but it was nowhere near here, so Marion still had quite a bit to walk.

 

[Elenion Aura]

Cole Morrow

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

Angie, Charlie, Cole, Cyrus, Elena, Lenora, Marion

HOPE IS A FLEETING THING

Hungry buzzards circled a naked sun hanging high over an endless rolling sea of sand. Dust clouds plumed on the horizon, the unpaved gravel shivering as the sound of a rumbling engine drew nearer. The bike—a relic of the old world, much like the man who rode it—thundered across that bare and barren landscape; its snarling engine was the stuff of nightmares. Harsh rays of sunlight glinted off faded chrome, casting shadows along a scarred and weathered frame.

Before them, the air itself shimmered under the relentless heat as the lonely rider traversed the ruined landscape of a once-vibrant, now-withering world. Soon it'd all return to the nothing from whence it came, ground down into powder by the sands of oblivion, and blown away on a Westward Wind, never again to return. Cole thought that was kind of beautiful in its own way, but he'd always been a lousy poet.

His duster coat billowed behind him as he rode, with the wind whipping by on either side of that open and desolate road. The harsh sun glinted off the mirrored surface of his sunglasses, casting stark reflections onto what had once been a bustling highway. Now, only echoes remained. The only shade afforded him was the shadow of the cross that loomed ever at his back, as its ragged cloth wrappings fluttered and snapped like the white wings of a dove.

Mountains rose up on his left, except they weren't really mountains at all. When the moon fell, it tore up the earth and left an impact crater fathoms wide, ringed around by jagged ridges of blasted, molten rock, like bony fingers clawing toward a cold and uncaring sky. Cole squinted at the sight of a towering spire emerging in the distance. His destination was dead ahead. With a swift twist of the throttle, Cole fed the ravenous engine, and together man and machine blazed a trail over the cracked and ravaged land, the promise of oasis urging them on.

As Cole crested the last of the dunes, he slowed and let the growling engine idle. He stared down into the valley below. Dust trails lingered in the air. A caravan had just pulled up outside the gates. His dark eyes narrowed as he spotted the familiar sight of military fatigues swarming the old city like ants over a rotting carcass. They weren't here before, Cole thought as he leaned forward, his forearms resting on the handlebars, and watched as the caravan was waved inside, and as the city gate closed up tight behind them.

A tumbleweed skittered by.

Cole turned his gaze skyward. Already mid-day. He didn't have enough time to get anywhere else before the watchful night settled in, and he was low on food, water, and—well, everything, really. There's nothin' for it, he thought with a resigned sigh as he saddled up and pressed on down the forsaken expanse.

"Woah there," said the first guard, raising one hand to bid Cole hold, as the other reached for his sidearm. The other guard followed suit, laying both arms meaningfully across the nasty-looking stun-rod slung over his shoulder. A muscle in Cole's jaw twitched.

Cole tamped down the desire to run them both down like bowling ball pins and did as he was bid. He kicked down the stand and swung himself down off the heavymetal chopper before fishing in his pocket for a pack of dusty rolled cigarettes. He flicked a lighter out from parts unknown and struck up the smoke, cupping the meager flame with his palm, shielding it against the hot wind of the desert.

"State your business," the first guard commanded. His gaze then swept over Cole, lingering on the hulking shape of the cruciform hitched to his bike. A crooked grin split his grizzled face as he eyed the intriguing cargo, and a note of avarice—something that Cole didn't appreciate one bit—tinged his voice as he added, "What you hauling there, cowboy?" Clearly this one's the chatterbox. As if to punctuate his point, the guard stepped closer to Cole and his bike, hand now firmly against the holster at his hip.

... And there was that familiar itch again. Some habits were just too hard to break. Swear, love, I tried. In lieu of an answer, Cole took a long drag, the ember burning brighter as he filled his lungs with smoke. The moment lingered, the tension mounted. Then he exhaled it forcefully, the cloud swirling into the guard's screwed up face.

"..! H-HEY!" The guardsman coughed and sputtered. With a flailing hand, he attempted to clear the lingering smoke before reaching to clamp a heavy, armored hand down on Cole's shoulder. It was all the provocation he needed.

Shrugging off the man's grasp, Cole clenched his fist to the dry, visceral crackle of knuckles tightening one after the other.

His fist swung in a precise arc, the blow landing with an echo that reverberated like the shot of a cannon through the arid stillness. The guard's eyes widened in shocked disbelief, his face contorting as if it were made of putty, molded by the shape of Cole's fist before his whole body was sent flying backwards. He tumbled ass over feet before landing yards a way, a crumpled heap in the dirt. He elicited a low, pained groan, enough to let Cole know that he'd live. Probably.

Cole brushed a hand under his nose, shaking out his fist and admiring his handiwork. Remembering the second guard, he turned and with a cocky smirk, opened his mouth at last.

"Heh! And how 'bout you? You want som—"

The only thing he remembered after that was pain.


Cole came to, and was greeted with the sight of an oppressively low grey concrete ceiling above him. Unfortunately, he recognized the view. The city jail. Peeling himself off from the bench where he'd been so unceremoniously dumped, Cole grimaced as a sharp twinge lanced up his side. His hand instinctively clamped around the tender spot on his flank where the guardsman had jabbed him with that electron baton of his.

"Bastard," Cole hissed through gritted teeth, the word echoing faintly off the cold, uncaring walls of his cell. He would've laid back down and slept the rest of the hurt away, but for the sudden wave of panic that washed over him. Cole stumbled to his feet and staggered toward the bars, his eyes frantically scanning for a glimpse of well-worn grey and white bandaging, his heart quieting as he spied its unmistakable form leaned up against the wall in the far corner of the room.

He let his head hang down between the bars, both relieved, and silently kicking himself for making all the old, familiar mistakes.

 

[Sylvio]

Whitney Choi

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Atlantis: Excelsior Plaza

PARTICIPANTS:

Angel, Curtis, Easton, Gilbert, Irene, Whitney

Hope is a Fleeting Thing

Redemption Day was a day for Whitney to catch up on her self-care routine and sleep 12 hours a day because she wasn't spending 45-hour work weeks in the lab. You'd think in a classless utopia she would pick her hours and time to not spend 8 hours working in the lab, but things weren't going to be simple when the moon just falls from the Earth. And why was she even out here on the LRT going to Excelsior Plaza? Mostly just needed an excuse to go outside and escape from her thoughts. Whitney was happy, happy to be alive with her necessities met. But she felt like she was stagnating in her life and it reflected in her life overall, she hasn't felt a need to do anything beyond the bare minimum. So maybe trying to have fun would do her some good. But what would she do is the problem, she grumbled to herself as she realized she didn't have friends outside of work and even then they were colleagues, not so much friends.

"This is Excelsior Plaza. Please mind the gap as you leave the train. Make sure you check your surroundings and you have all your belongings before exiting the train."

She snapped back from her thoughts as she looked up, many other people were shifting signaling that they were about to get off as well cause of course they were. As the train pulled into the station, Whitney prepared herself as the doors opened and a drove of people exited and she followed the herd onto the platform. The herd was making their way down from the elevated platform, Whitney now with her thoughts silenced, eyed around and saw a lot of happy people. Couples who were happy, some with children who were fortunate to be born on Atlantis, and groups of friends who were happy to spend time together. And Whit was back to feeling down. She felt alone again, she didn't have anyone to spend time with who wasn't her mother.

She loved her adopted mother Lamisa, but she didn't wanna come though because she didn't like all the noise, especially during Redemption Day. And it's hard to do the things you wanna do with someone who's climbing in age and can't do much. So maybe this was her chance to meet people who were around her age who had similar interests or just... anyone really.

As Whitney exited the train station she was bombarded by the grandeur of the plaza, in a way it was kind of obnoxious.

She didn't know where to start but the crowd around a stage in the middle of the plaza intrigued Whit so she figured why the hell not. She managed to slip through the blob of bodies to get to the front and see the stage firsthand.

Color her surprised when she saw Gilbert Griffin AriAriAbabwa . The It Boy of Atlantis. Whitney never actually saw him in the flesh and no one she knew really had anything to say except the fact he existed. He was always just... 'there' it would seem. Whitney might as well sit threw his demonstration and see what he was all about.

She was taken a bit by surprised to see a little girl who identified herself as the man's daughter and Whitney was more intrigued, she was probably learning from him. That was kinda cute.

"Daddy, you're so silly!" The child on stage, his daughter Gwendolyn, appeared between him and the robot. "You added that button to convert the radioactive energy of the plutonium into a safer burst of energy that distributes through the machine's neural network to create a feedback loop to keep the process ongoing and simultaneously power the other functions!"

Gilbert slapped where his forehead would be. "Wow! Of course!" He cackled gleefully. "I don't even remember making this! I'm such a genius!"

Oh ok... he's an idiot. She thought to herself.

Still though might as well entertain herself since she pushed her way to the front. When Gilbert slammed the button on the robot, she couldn't help but stare blankly at it just making concerning noises. Her face shifted to that of concern as the robot was rumbling and gasped as its head shot up into the sky. This machine even if it did 'work' seemed very impractical in its function, and the crowd was just as confused as she was. The head landed back on its body like nothing had happened and then a gas had admitted. Was this even tested? Whitney thought to herself as if Gilbert went through the proper procedures in the technology sector to make this thing possible.

After what seemed like a day's worth of the longest car crash ever, an ice cream cone.....

Her jaw dropped. "This guy...?" Was all she thought.

Gilbert chuckled. Adjusting his mic closer to his lips, he yelled, "LET'S GO ATLANTIANS! I LOVE ALL Y'ALL BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!"

The cheering crowd was enough to make Whitney actually pissed off. Her eyes twitched and her fists clenched. "BULLSHIT!" She yelled loud enough for enough people to take notice.

 

[NeonArmageddon]

Elena Clairmont

SCENE:

May 22, 2185| Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

All the Earthbound. All of them.

Hope is a Fleeting Thing

"Aaand there..." the doctor let out a sigh of relief as she finished bandaging the leg of a middle-aged man. "Good as new... well, almost. I'm going to need you to rest for a while, the leg needs to heal. And stay away from any more dogs, please. I'm still impressed that in the middle of everything going on here, you managed to suffer a dog bite of all things." She walked over to her desk and scribbled something down in her notepad. Well, perhaps 'scribbled' wasn't the right word, beating all stereotypes about doctors, Elena actually had pretty neat handwriting. Actually legible, too. Though that was effort on her part - she wasn't going to count on the poor soul at the pharmacy being able to decipher hieroglyphics, everyone had it hard enough as it was.

"Thank you, Miss Clairmont... how long exactly do you think I should rest?" the man asked her.

"A week, at the very least. Unless you want the wound to open up and for you to have to crawl back here, but I'm guessing you probably don't." Harsh words, but the doctor has learned over the years that sometimes, you do need to scare your patients a little for their own good. If she had a yen for every "oh, the injury is not that bad, I'll be fine" followed by a painful trip back to her clinic by her patients, she would probably have enough to keep the place running for half a year more without worries.

"A week... but Miss, I need to... my family needs me." the man protested. "I, uh... I was actually bitten trying to provide for them..."

Elena froze in place. God dammit. She should be used to hearing her patients' sob stories by now. Everyone had one, after all. There probably wasn't a single person who hadn't experienced some pain, tragedy, hardship. Hell, even the doctor herself knew all too well, from her own experience, what it means to suffer. And yet, it always tugged on her heartstrings nevertheless. Though she couldn't say she had full sympathy for the man. These days, most dogs were guard dogs... so the only logical conclusion was that the man got his leg maimed while trying to... steal from someone. It was probably a miracle on its own that he got out of there alive, if the dog's owner was around, or if the dog was any more persistent, he probably would've been smelling the flowers from underneath right now.

Still, she could understand the desperation. She'd sent her loved ones off to Atlantis, so they were safe and taken care of... but if her little brother had stayed behind with her, or her mother... well, she couldn't say with all confidence she wouldn't have done the same as this man to keep them alive. As sad as it was, the world was pure chaos, and everyone was just... trying to get by somehow. Elena herself was trying to help everyone, but she was one of the few... for most, it was every man for himself. Who cares who you doom as long as you get to live another day? It was horrible, yes... but so was the situation the world was in.

"I... I'm sorry to hear that." Elena wasn't even sure what to say. What do you even say to this? "Well, if... if you for some reason get injured again... I... I will take care of it, free of charge." She finally said. She knew she probably couldn't stop the man from ignoring her suggestion, so the next best thing was making sure to help him when it eventually backfired. If he came back to her in one piece, which she was hoping he would...

"Thank you, Miss. You're like an angel sent from heaven..." the man gave a grateful smile, and then got up. "Well, I best be going now... have a good day, doc." He said, and then started limping out of the clinic. Angel? She was no angel, she was just someone who desperately tried to be one for everyone. Well, everyone besides one person.

"I... need a drink." she sighed when the patient left the clinic. "Or someone to vent to... or both." She looked at the clock. Noon. A bit early, she had to admit... but then she looked down and saw her hands were shaking. Yeah, this was not a good sign. She hung up an "Out For Lunch" sign on the clinic's door... though by now, everyone knew that was just code for "I'm at the Last Drop."... which is exactly where Elena was headed... as usual not even bothering to take off her white coat... though these days, it was a bit more yellowish than white.

 

[Saturn_moon]

Lenora Ndiaye

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

Angie, Charlie, Cole, Cyrus, Elena, Lenora, Marion

HOPE IS A FLEETING THING

In her relatively short life, Lenora has accumulated quite a repertoire of interesting stories. She could tell you about the time the circus was invited to perform for the royal family of Oranje, or that time they were chased through the jungle by a Bengal tiger and miraculously survived, or the summer she spent traveling through Messina with a once-famous actress that shall not be named. There are also stories that mention ghosts, sorcerers, and portals to strange distant lands. And yet, no matter how absurd these stories end up sounding, one can't help but be enraptured by her tales and may even find a part of themselves convinced that there exists a fragment of truth in them.

This is Lenora's greatest skill. The ability to make people believe the impossible, and put their faith in the unknown. It was what made her such a great fortune teller. Her mother once jokingly commented that had her daughter somehow found religion, she could very easily have become a pastor.

Standing atop the wagon with her hands resting on her hips, Lenora scanned her surroundings, taking in every detail. Children were playing on a rickety swing attached to a barren tree. Bob Ewell was slumped on the bench across from the general store, already passed out drunk even though it was barely past noon. And Mrs. Finch was on her balcony furiously beating the dust out of her rug. Besides the guards now stationed at the gates, everything else in New Oasis had remained exactly the same.

Speaking of the guards, one of them - the one that had let their group through - was now heading in their direction, hauling a large black sack behind him. Bringing her hands up to her eyes like a pair of binoculars, she squinted to try and get a better look. Turns out, it wasn't a sack at all. It was a person in a familiar dark duster coat. "Some things really never change." She said with a small smile.

Turning back to the wagons, the circus troop had already begun unloading their cargo, carrying trunk after trunk into The Last Drop which was to be their base for the next six months. It was at this time that she caught sight of a man, handsome in that intentionally rugged way with a carefully trimmed goatee, walking steadfastly towards the cabaret. His military-issued armor, while a little old and scratched up, was polished to a shine and his hair was cut to military precision.

"Hello darling," She called loud enough to catch his attention. "Do you mind giving this damsel a hand?"

It should go on the record that Lenora was more than capable of managing the trunks on her own. She has been doing this for the last fifteen years after all. But carrying the trunks in on her own was a lot less fun than getting a man to carry it in with her. This is especially so if the man just so happened to be a General of the Amestrian army with a trove of information waiting to be elicited.

Inheritance
Mentions: Elenion Aura​

 

[AriAriAbabwa]

Gilbert Griffin

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Atlantis

PARTICIPANTS:

Angel, Curtis, Easton, Gilbert, Irene, Whitney

Hope is a Fleeting Thing

The singular boo brought a deafening silence to the crowd, as each of them turned at least once toward the direction of the shout.

"Woah, a sensible person..." Gwen muttered.

A conjoined murmur grew amid the crowd. Uncertain voices spoke similar sentiments. They comprised "Come to think of it, all it did was make ice cream..." and the occasional jabs of "It was kind of lame, huh?"

Gilbert, looking over the increasingly disdained faces, didn't miss this. He scratched his helmet. "That... That's odd, this usually doesn't happen..." He didn't bring anything else to show, because why would he need to? Negative responses were unheard of!

"Daddy!" His heart melted as his daughter tugged on his shirt. With a messy face from wolfing down the sundae, she remarked. "You forgot to tell them that this isn't normal ice cream!"

"I—It's not?"

"Nope! After all, you told me the whole point of the ice cream was to hide this contraption you made!" Pinching through the ice cream, Gwen retrieved a coin-like piece of metal.

He didn't recognize it. But if that's what he told his daughter at some point, there was no backing down! Failure in front of a crowd was one thing, but disappointing his daughter was unfathomable! "That's right!" Gilbert's gusto returned, and he addressed the audience. "You've all been tricked, backstabbed and, quite possibly, bamboozled. Only because this whole thing was just a set-up!" He took the device from Gwen's hand, raising it for all to see. The audience's attention returned. "Clearly, I didn't make such a show for something beneath your satisfaction!"

Gilbert pressed the button.

In an instant, the device flew up, stopping and spinning mid-air. From around the skies, chunks of metal barreled towards the coin. They joined each other like puzzle pieces, molding and bending in the process. Color materialized on them in moments, and from the exposed parts of each chunk, people could see the inner workings of a vehicle come together. The last chunk flew in. The finished piece was a motorcycle, matching Gilbert's signature neon rainbow color scheme (with a sidecar and helmet in the seat just for Gwendolyn). Its engine roared a deafening roar.

It landed heavily beside the two, practically asking for a driver. "Hey, hey! This is a pretty slick ride, if I say so myself! To think I built and set this up at one point!" Gwen already hopped into the sidecar, tightening her helmet gleefully.

Much to her dismay, however, Gilbert took her helmet and lifted her out. He looked right at the girl who turned the crowd against him: Whitney Choi. The inventor pointed as if to declare a challenge. "You're the one who boo'ed at me, yeah? How about a free ride around the streets? I'll show you the true powers of a Griffin! Powers enough to make even the most sullen-looking lady like yourself head over heels!" he declared with a laugh.

Behind him, Gwen cringed—her face said it all.

Sylvio

 

[Inheritance]

Cyrus Metonia

SCENE:

May 22, 2185| Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

All the Earth Homies

Hope is a Fleeting Thing

Ever since he had taken up residence in this town the reception of the locals had been less than warm. Nobody had been outright disrespectful or hostile, but they hadn't exactly been welcoming. As Cyrus trudges across the town towards the Tavern, he was hailed by a woman unloading a wagon. Straitening his stance and approaching, he kept his face neutral as he heard her request...
Unload her wagon? Really?

He allowed himself a slight frown as he looked over the trunks. It didn't seem this woman needed too much help, but she had asked him for a favor. It was his duty to help out the people of this town, no matter how degrading the task. He looked around briefly to see if there was a grunt he could order to aid her, but seeing none he gave a small nod and moved forward to help her unload.

"It would be my honor." He said as he began to help her unload. The trunks were not terribly heavy and gave him no difficulty. "Where might I be moving these, ma'am?" He considered asking her name or perhaps introducing himself but decided against it. If she wanted more information she could ask; for now he would help her out as any good soldier would.

 

[Saturn_moon]

Lenora Ndiaye

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

Angie, Charlie, Cole, Cyrus, Elena, Lenora, Marion

HOPE IS A FLEETING THING

"Well, aren't you polite? You can just call me Lenora." The woman said as she hoisted one of her own trunks up onto her hips. This one contained all the ammo they had managed to salvage on their recent run. Salvage was the nice way to put it. The not-so-nice way involved them sneaking into a severely undermanned military base up North. Lenora had been careful to not hand off the trunks that contained any of the contraband they intended to sell once the market was up and running to the man. Sure, playing with fire was exhilarating but she knew where to draw the line else she got burned.

"And what should I call you? General, perhaps?" She waved a hand nonchalantly in the direction of the stars on his uniform. "Of course, if you prefer darling or handsome that's also perfectly fine with me as well." A coy smile played on her lips as she walked side by side with him to The Last Drop. "I hope the townsfolk have been welcoming. It's not often we get the military paying us a visit in these parts." In fact, the military has never paid them a visit and Lenora knew very well that the best the townsfolk could muster towards anyone relating to the government was indifference. Not that they could be faulted. After the moon fell out of the sky, New Oasis had been deemed a lost cause due to its proximity to the crash site and left on its own to live out its remaining days. Resources were put else where the government had reasoned. Everyone expected the city to fall within the month and when that didn't happen, they moderated their expectations to a year.

It has been ten years since and somehow the city still stands. Kind of. New Oasis was lacking in a lot of things but the one thing they didn't lack was grit and perseverance. I guess that makes it two things.

As they neared the door, Lenora could just make out her father's jovial laughter. She stopped and placed a hand on the General's arm. "If you don't mind me asking, what is the military doing here anyway?"

Inheritance​

 

[simj26]

Angel Gauthier

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Cafe Sans Frontieres, Atlantis

PARTICIPANTS:

N/A

La vie est triste quand on est seul

Redemption. A word he was loathe to recognise existed in his dictionary. There was no redemption for those who have wronged him. Worse still, the accursed name for this day was far from what it represented, much less the energy that surrounded him. This was a day of remembrance, of mourning, of praying for the sacrifices. Whose sacrifices? The people that stayed on on their breaking, reeling homeworld? Or the money spent on creating this utopian facade? Even in this relatively quiet cafe that he frequented, he could still hear the cacophony. Worse, he could still see it.

Curse them all.

The sound of ceramic shattering and hot tea spilling across his table grasped his attention away from the crowd and the infernal noise that they were producing. He gazed down at his hand, where only shards of his teacup were now grasped tightly in it. Blood dripped from his palm and blended with the contents that the cup once held. An attending staff rushed over, speaking and asking something, her voice full of worry, but he barely even registered the words.

How long had it been since he had felt pain? How long had it been since he had spilled blood of his own? He released the ceramic shards, and plucked the stray pieces that pierced his skin out of his hand, and laid them down with the rest of them. “I’m alright,” he muttered, ignoring the fact that the attendant had already wrapped a cloth around his bleeding hand.

“I’m fine.” He finally turned to face her, offering a slight smile. “My apologies for the mess. Could you please prepare me another cup? Please,” he indicated to the second staff member who was now rushing over with a first aid kit, “leave that here. I will attend to this myself.”

Thankfully, the staff took his words, perhaps either intimidated or convinced by his radiant personage. After cleaning up the table, they darted away to fulfill his second order of tea. Very calmly, he opened up the first aid kit, and removed the cloth from his hand, peeling away the now slick and crimson towel, and got to work on fixing himself up. A painful procedure, by any means, but his facial expression never once changed. The same calm and peaceful look lingered on his face as he patched up the gaps in his skin. The pain took him away from all of this, all of the lies, all of the false hope that the people clung onto.

They forget who they were. They forget what suffering was. They chose to forget, and they chose to abandon their very own selves. They were celebrating the agony of the people on Earth. There must be something done for them. There must be something done for him. He trusted that he could very well be fine alone, but he could not stand the very idea that they were not together. Even after 15 years, that hole in his heart remained, like a gaping wound, and every day for the last 15 years felt as if he was bleeding out a little bit more.

 

[Slav]

Curtis Merrill

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Atlantis: Excelsior Plaza

PARTICIPANTS:

Angel, Curtis, Easton, Gilbert, Irene, Whitney

Hope is a Fleeting Thing

Curtis's eyes watched the new woman approach him, lowering his coffee from his face. He was slowly starting to lose his patience. Why did he have to be approached by the whole plaza? After Irene introduced herself, Curtis visibly relaxed. Had she not been related to Doctor Alison, his demeanor would have been different. He graciously accepted the slice of pizza, holding it in his free hand. "Nice to meet you Irene. You can just call me Curt for simplicity sake." The aroma from the pizza was enticing, though he didn't want to eat it like an animal during a conversation.

After taking a small sip of his coffee, Curtis promptly answered Irene's question."Every once in a while. I used to do check ups more often after my initial surgery. Now I just go to make sure it's working properly." He said, referencing his arm. While he was thankful for the new arm, he would die just to get his old one back. Nothing can beat the ability to feel your surroundings. The coldness of his artificial arm was something he was still getting used to. He took a bite from the pizza, trying his best not to make a mess. Eating with one hand wasn't always the easiest endeavor.

Once he swallowed his chow, he now had his own question to present to Irene. "I know you're not speaking to me out of the kindness of your heart. So... what's on your mind? You can be blunt with me, my feelings won't be hurt." Curtis relaxed more into the bench, letting his shoulders get the support they needed. He was intrigued by Irene's presence. He didn't like to converse with strangers, in fact, he didn't really like conversing to begin with. Curtis liked straightforward conversation with simple objectives. Beating around the bush wasn't his thing. That's why he considered himself a good peacekeeper. Simplicity ruled all. What would Irene need from a peacekeeper like him?

( Damafaud )

 

[Damafaud]

Irene Alison

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Atlantis: Excelsior Plaza

PARTICIPANTS:

Irene, Curtis | Easton, Gilbert, Angel, Whitney

HOPE IS A FLEETING THING

Irene sighed inwardly. If her coworkers had half the frankness Curt had, Atlantis would have more progress than the last decade combined. She sat down on the far edge of the bench, her smile fading to a miffed look. "Not a hint of lie. My mother wanted us to chat. She said it will be good for the workaholics to find an ilk outside." She let out a resigned huff. "She is still watching from the cafe. Unfortunately."

At the very least, she could be candid toward this peacekeeper. Her mother knew them well in that small talks bored them equally. Silence lingered for enough time for a bite or a sip of coffee. Then, Irene tilted her head closer on the bench. "Have there been an increase in illegal cybernetic implants lately?"

The report she read in the morning concerned the decreased output of a particular titanium depository. The supervisors onsite cited insufficient workers and equipment maintenance year, but Irene was unconvinced. From the five-year plan, the depository was supposed to be in its golden period of production. Suppose the reported output was missing ten, no, five percent of the real total. How much could be done with 100 tonnes of titanium in secret?

"Take it as me being curious of your field of expertise," said Irene casually as she took out her device. She suspected something was amiss, but that was all there was to it. Suspicion.

tag: Slav

 

[morbidity]

View attachment 1091714

Charlie Love

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

New Oasis folks
but specifically:
Saturn_moon and probably Inheritance

Hope is a Fleeting Thing

"Every word has already been said. Every sentence already structured. Do what inspires you, and don't be afraid to follow the footsteps of the ones you admire," Charlie placed his hand on the shoulder of the woman in front of him, his copper eyes glinting with warmth. Comradery. "If you worry too much about being an individual, you'll never get far enough to become one. It's fine to learn from those around you. Besides, if the path you're on one day isn't what you want, you can always stray."

"Did you stray?" The woman questioned, her fingers now interlaced with Charlie's. She was curious, scared even. Tonight was the first night she was doing her own number, and she had just confided in Charlie that her set may be too reminiscent of other starlets from back in the day.

Charlie pulled her hand to his lips, giving her a gentle, almost mother-like peck. "So many times, darling. And that's okay too."

----​

Father to some, Mother to all, Charlie and The Last Drop is known as the 'Grand Jewel of New Oasis'. Everyone knows about the place and its grandiose nature. Sure, the outside of it didn't look as stunning as one could imagine, but on the inside was an extravagant world where the beauty of the Earth was showcased. Broken-up crystals turned into chandeliers. Once common, now rare flowers planted in hollowed tree trunks. Statues made of the finest stone and marble, any broken bit fixed with a crystalline like substance. Everything seen was picked up and collected by Charlie, who refused to let the beauty he knew existed perish.

Charlie sat on the edge of the stage, his body wrapped in an ornate tapestry that he fashioned into a dress. His waist lessened by one of the many corsets he created out of Abyssling leather. So hard to work with, but so damn worth it, in Charlie's eyes.

"Don't be mad-"

Charlie's head whipped to Penny - his adoptive- who sat behind the bar, a large grin plastered on her face. She knew she wasn't allowed there, but did she ever listen? Of course not. In front of Penny sat a drink, mixed with various liquids, all alien to Charlie.

"I think I made something that can cover the taste of most poisons-" Penny continued, her eyes full of pride and eagerness.

Charlie quickly stood, his heels clicking on the wooden floors as he rushed towards her. "POISON!? You are mixing drinks to cover up POISON!?"

Penny rolled her eyes, then cocked her eyebrows in a disappointed manner. A grimace crept over her face, "Dad... You were the one talking with Lenny about something to cover the taste. Well, I found that."

She was right. Penny was almost always right, to the detriment of Charlie. He raised a head-strong girl who only wanted to help. He knew that, but something about her mixing drinks for his compatriots, and now mixing drinks for poison, made his stomach queasy. He wanted her to have a life away from the violence that surrounded them, but he also knew that was next to impossible.

"Is there poison in there now?" Charlie picked up the drink from the bar, now swishing it back and forth from the cup.

Penny let out a small giggle, her face quickly changing from displeasure to excitement. "No. We need to taste it first to see if we can-"

"If it could be a special. Yes. I get it." Charlie quickly cut her off, already conceding. They had the same thought process, and he hated it. She truly was his daughter, even without blood connecting them. Charlie took a large swig from the glass she presented, eyes widening at the taste. "Holy shit-"

This time Penny cut him off. "I fucking know, right? Lenny and her pops are going to freak."

----​

Lenora and Okoro had become quite the staple in Charlie and Penelope's lives. They floated in and out seamlessly, and even Charlie couldn't stop himself from calling Lenora 'Aunty Lenny'. Not that he wanted to stop. He found comradery in the duo, and even loved a good flirt-session with Okoro. Not like anything would happen there, hell, Charlie was closer in age to Lenora than Okoro.

Should I have been flirting with Lenora instead?... Charlie giggled at the thought. Oh, Charlie, Love, you are rotted.

The sound of the door swinging on its hinges moved through the room, causing Charlie to turn his attention to the front of the cabaret. Before his eyes could even perceive whoever entered, a familiar voice pierced through the building.

“CHARLIE, LOVE. THE CIRCUS IS HOME.”

Charlie let out a delighted squeal, moving forward and wrapping his arms around Okoro to greet the man. "Darling! How are you!? How was your ventures? Oh, we have so much to talk about! Where is Lenora? Oh, Penny is going to be thrilled-" Charlie moved to Okoro's side, linking his arm with his. Okoro was most likely used to Charlie bombarding him like this whenever he returned. It was the Charlie way.

"I'm guessing Lenny's outside?" Piped up Penny from somewhere behind Charlie, causing him to jump slightly.

"OH HEAVEN'S MURPHY, WHERE DID YOU COME FROM!?" Charlie shouted, his eyes forced off of his handsome compatriot for a moment.

Penelope rolled her eyes(he swore they'd fall out), ignoring the existence of her father. "I'll go help with her things... Make sure my dad stays somewhat... normal." Penny grumbled before moving off to help with anything Lenora might need.

Charlie gave a playful pout to his daughter as she left, then turned back to Okoro. His face turned serious, his eyes filled with intent. "Now, truly, tell me everything."

 

[Inheritance]

Cyrus Metonia

SCENE:

May 22, 2185| Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

All the Earth Homies

Hope is a Fleeting Thing

One didn't survive on this hellscape without being exceptionally good at least one thing. For some it was intelligence, for some it was raw strength. Some people were crafty, some were quick. Some knew how to say the right things at the right times and some were just flat out lucky. As General and leader of one of the main hands of the government (albeit a crumbling one) Cyrus needed to be a jack of all trades. He was a decent speaker, he was strong, and he had the right connections to get where he needed to be. While he might not be crafty, he was strategic; where he lacked in bookmarks he made up for in instinct. Instict. That's the main reason he was alive.

And right now his instinct was telling him that this all-too-friendly woman might have other reasons for asking why they were here. How was it that everyone in the town looked upon him with cold indifference except her? The odds that she was the only friendly person in town were astronomical...he wasn't buying it. Was she an assassin? A spy for Atlantis? He had no idea, but he felt it best to play it friendly until he knew her real motives for the friendly behavior.

"Cyrus will do just fine." He said with a small smile. "No need for formalities in a tavern, ma'am."

He tensed as he gave a quick glance at her touching his arm, almost jumping back. How long had it been since he had felt a touch that wasn't a begrudging handshake or an enemy trying to attack him?

"I can't say our welcome has been well received. I don't suppose New Oasis is used to the government extending its reach to protect it." Would he tell her about the information about the abyssling rise? Surely she already knew about it. He certainly wasn't about to tell her about his suspicions of heightened Black Market activity here- she could be one of them! This cargo could be stolen! But of course that would be ridiculous! Why would she ask him to unload illegal contraband?

Cyrus was almost ashamed of his zeal involving the utter destruction of the Black Market. When he first started, his primary goal was to wipe out the Black Market and all who used it. As he advanced, he maintained his hatred and even at his current rank (where bothering with the Black Market should be beneath him) he still felt a duty to destroy it.

"The government is not as cold-hearted as one might think. We have new leaders, new laws. We want to take steps to rebuild the trust people have in us; what better way than to send support to one of the strongest and most iron-willed cities we have?"

In truth, the town's "iron will" was a detriment as well as a bonus. The people here were strong and could be the cornerstones for a rebirth of Earthling dominance. On the other hand, this will also made the town ripe for rebellion. Cyrus knew of the risk and hoped to eliminate it before they rose up. Military presence in an iron-willed, powder-keg of a town never led to revolutions...right?

 

[Saturn_moon]

Lenora Ndiaye

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

Angie, Charlie, Cole, Cyrus, Elena, Lenora

HOPE IS A FLEETING THING

Lenora was quick to catch that Cyrus had defaulted calling her 'ma'am' and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was nothing personal. She simply thought the word to be far too prim and proper for her liking. Mrs Finch was ma'am. Ms Mori who taught at the school house was a ma'am. Lenora was most definitely not a ma'am. Still, she decided not to push it. She would find a way to get him to lower his walls eventually. Most people did around her. If anything, his hesitation to let his guard down around her was about as telling. He was either very very gay or he was here to address matters other than just the Abyssling attacks. Lenora had her money on the latter with an inkling of what those matters might concern.

In the past decade, the Market of Wonders had managed to build up quite a reputation for itself across the country, procuring rare and precious commodities that are incredibly hard to find or would have fallen under the government's regulations. Sure, there were the usual firearms and controlled substances but for the most part, people came to the market in search of everyday items. A punnet of fresh strawberries, a bottle of perfume, an electric kettle. Old comforts that have since become small luxuries. Things that helped remind them of the lives they used to have.

Unfortunately, the growth of their business meant they have also become more susceptible to getting caught. In the past few years, there had been several close calls involving the authorities. Despite all that, they were never too worried for there was always New Oasis they could return to. The one place the government had no interest in. Until now. The thought of it made Lenora defensive and she so desperately wanted to run through the town with her shotgun chasing every armed soldier out. It was a stupid idea and more than likely to get her thrown into the cell next to Cole. Very stupid indeed. She repeated over and over in her head.

Lenora looked Cyrus straight in the eyes, her tone suddenly serious. "The one thing I've learned is the government is very good at telling people the things they want to hear. I hope you mean it when you say that you are here to change things for the better. New Oasis might not look like much but this place is very special." At this moment, a doe-eyed, blonde-haired, porcelain doll of a teenage girl emerged from the Cabaret and Lenora instantly slipped back to her usual chirpy demeanor.

"Penny?!" She exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest dramatically. "How you have grown!" She kissed the girl once on each cheek before starting to ramble off a series of questions. How has school been? What hobbies has she been indulging in? Was there a beau in her life?

"Oh, I almost forgot. This is Cyrus, my new friend. And he was just telling me how he would like very much to get to know the townsfolk better." She turned back to Cyrus and flashed him the brightest smile. "So, I was thinking we should hold a party. And look, there are already others on their way here!" Appearing in the square was a figure Lenora vaguely recognized. Standing up on her tippy toes, she waved Elena over enthusiastically.

Inheritance NeonArmageddon morbidity (Penny)​

 

[Elenion Aura]

Cole Morrow

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

Angie, Charlie, Cole, Cyrus, Elena, Lenora, Marion

HOPE IS A FLEETING THING

"Bastard... Bastard," Cole said again (and again), to no one in particular. It was like he'd forgotten all other words, and he'd be stuck spouting bastard alone for the rest of his life. When he got out of here—the thought left his mind as quickly as it had entered it. Not because he expected not to fly this particular coop (he'd done it before), but because just as he was about to start testing the bars, the door that led to the outside world (an old wooden slab tacked to the wall with rusty iron and prayer) rattled. Instantly Cole's hands snapped to his sides and he took an instinctive half-step back from the bars, like a kid trying not to get caught buried up to his forearm in the family cookie jar.

Bastard... The word came up like a lump in his throat as he glared at the rattling door, listening to the sound of jingling keys from the other side. His hands clenched into fists, as his mind flipped the coin of whether to tear through these bars and whallop the face of whoever was stepping through the dimly lit threshold at that very moment. Come on, motherfucker, show your ugly mug! Cole snarled, blinking as the daylight streamed in, as a large silhouette engulfed the doorframe. Cole blinked, letting his eyes adjust, as recognition flushed out any lingering aggression from his features.

"Oh," was the only sound he could muster. That was unexpected. His mind quickly caught up to the situation, but that only elicited more questions. He took a breath and prepared to fire on off, only for the large, late-middle-aged man—who wouldn't have looked out of place in a men's worldclass bodybuilding competition (back when such things still occurred)—to cut him off with a word and a gesture. "Thanks will not be necessary, Mister Morrow." The Doctor said in his theoretical, abstract, academic way of speaking. The hook-nosed Doctor Daelos turned to the guardsman behind him—Cole hadn't noticed him there for the shock of the doctor's appearance, and for the fact that the latter had eclipsed the former entirely up until this very moment—and said in that same, softspoken, utterly incongruous voice of his, "Good sir, would you please unlock this cage. Thank you, kindly," the doctor ordered and to Cole's surprise the guardsman obliged.

Just like that, Cole was free. It occurred to him then that he hadn't spoken a word. Dumbfounded, Cole stepped across the echoing stone floor towards his things, still piled in the corner. The doctor had told him to shove his thanks and so he did. Cole reached out a hand to sling Mercy over his shoulder, grab his coat, and get the hell out of dodge.

"Not that."

Cole groaned. He figured as much. "Doc, c'mon, not more a' your freakydeak tests." Cole protested, mostly out of desire to keep the Cruciform in his own possession, and a little out of fear that Dr. Daelos might inadvertantly break it. For a doctor, his bedside manner left plenty to be desired.

"Yes, more freakydeak tests. I believe I am close to a breakthrough. I will return the device to you in short order."

Cole grumbled. The Doc' had him in a corner, here. It wasn't like he could refuse a favor for the man who'd just sprung him out of jail. With a groan, he begrudgingly offered up the leather strap to the giant man's outstretched hand. "Not one scratch what ain't already there. I'm countin'. You know I will."

Dr. Daelos chuckled. Cole groaned.

He groaned all the way to the Last Drop, feeling naked with Mercy at his side. He groaned not only because that backalley bastard had swindled him out of his stuff, but because he'd been forced to crawl through a maze of dingy alleyways to the back entrance. One look at those shiny stars out front and Cole knew he was probably better off taking a detour. He doubted he'd get lucky twice in one day.

And so, now he sat, and grurmbled. Chin propped up on hand, elbow propped up on bar, he waved at the barkeep to hit him again. He'd already downed the first in one gulp. He reckoned he'd need a fair few more to wipe the stain of the day's shitty start from his mind, if not the sting of the welt the smarted at his side.

Rock bottom, my old pal. Hell, at least it was only onward and upward from here, right?

 

[Saturn_moon]

The Narrator

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Atlantis

PARTICIPANTS:

Angel, Curtis, Easton, Gilbert, Irene, Whitney

HOPE IS A FLEETING THING

The council’s chamber sits at the end of a cathedral-like hallway within the Halls of Justice at the very top of the Selenian summit. Not the actual Selenian summit, that went down with the half of the moon that crashed into Earth. This Selenian summit was more of a tribute to what once was as a lot of things are in the city of Atlantis.

The chamber boasts a spectacular entrance carved out of marble and heavy double doors gilded in gold. When the doors breach, the symbol of the blazing sun relieved into the center fissures, spilling light from the other side into the hallway. The two halves swing open in a slow grandiose manner, creaking and groaning in a way that they have been engineered to do. This is the council's chamber; The doors are not creaky because they have been poorly maintained. They are creaky because they are trying to make an impact.

And they do. As Grace steps into the chamber, eight pairs of eyes immediately turned on them. They seek out only one. Seated in the highback leather office chair with the word 'technology' embossed across the headrest, is Oliver James looking a little more weathered than when they last left him. He is resting his face in the palm of his hands, a sight seen whenever he was bored or has decided he was done with an ongoing conversation.

"I have the reports you requested Mr James." Oliver gives his assistant a curt nod and they approach the table, placing a folder in front of each council member.

"As I was trying to say before you interrupted with your fatuous bickering," If Oliver had noticed Councilwoman Bovary's jaw fall open in offense and outrage, he evidently did not care. "While I come bearing unfortunate news, I also offer a plan that has been clearly laid out in the folder in front of you." As if on cue, they all begin to flip through the folder, eyes rapidly darting across the pages trying to make sense of said plan.

It is Councilman Iyengar who catches it first. "You want us to return to Earth?" He sputters in bewilderment. "Are you insane? If the Earthbounders don't try to kill our people first, the Abysslings certainly will."

"The Earthbounders are not barbarians. We will speak to the government. They will understand."

"We are on thin ice with the government as is!" Councilwoman Bovary chimes in. "A request like this is su-" Her sentence is abruptly cut short as the room starts to shake. The shaking is mild and lasts for less than half a minute but it is not just the room that is shaking. It is the entire city. Far below the Selenian summit, Atlanteans have come to a standstill, confused by this sudden slightly worrying anomaly that is happening on what should be a day of celebration.

Even Oliver is caught off guard by this although his expression reveals nothing. The only perceptible sign is that of whitened knuckles as his hands tightly grip the armrests of his seat. On the other hand, the rest of the council who are fully aware of Atlantis' predicament are panicked. Councilwoman Bovary is cowering under the table, Councilman Iyengar is seeking the favor of every god he knew of in the form of prayers, and Councilperson Kagoshi was now sporting a wet patch between their pantlegs. If the situation were not so dire it would actually be pretty funny.

Clearing his throat, Oliver rises from his seat and speaks to the room with an air of finality. "As you can see we do not have any time to lose. Kagoshi-san, please have a message sent out to your peacekeepers to bring in Gilbert Griffin, Whitney Choi, and Irene Alison as soon as possible." He pauses for a moment before adding on sheepishly. "Perhaps, after you have had the chance to change your clothes."

AriAriAbabwa gxxberkit Slav Sylvio simj26 Damafaud​

 

[NeonArmageddon]

Elena Clairmont

SCENE:

May 22, 2185| Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Amestria, New Oasis

PARTICIPANTS:

Saturn_moon (Lenora), Inheritance (Cyrus),
morbidity (Penny)

Hope is a Fleeting Thing

It wasn't a long walk from Elena's clinic to the Last Drop, which was one of the many reasons she frequented the place, but it was definitely long enough for the doctor to get lost in thought over her situation. She's been doing this for years now, trying to help everyone, and at times she had to wonder how much more she had in her. How many more "it is what it is" until she can't just wave things away anymore? Humanity was struggling to stay afloat, and maybe one day it would be time to accept nobody would be pulling it out of the water... but it was not yet that day. Sure, Elena couldn't help everyone, but she was still doing her best, wasn't she? There were so many people who wouldn't be here today if it weren't for her... so maybe it wasn't pointless, even if she wasn't doing something grand. At the very least, she was giving people some hope that there's still good in this world, which is something many could've lost by now... it sometimes really felt like it was every man for himself, so showing people not everyone has that mentality was... good, actually.

With that thought, that she was at least helping keep hope alive, she finally arrived at her destination... she might not have been as shaken up as before, but she still could use something to silence the philosopher in her mind... unfortunately, alcohol was often the only thing that could do it, sober she always had the tendency to get tangled up in her own thoughts, always a million things on her mind, and most of them being worries, problems, or self-pity. If there was a way to switch that off without a few glasses of something stronger, Elena would've happily done so and just carried on with her work.

Approaching the Last Drop, she noticed some sort of a commotion outside. Some people unloading something from a wagon... and on closer look, she recognized some of them. It was hard not to know Penny, of course... with how often Elena visited the cabaret, she saw her pretty much every day. The man... hm, the doctor couldn't say she'd ever seen him before, which meant either he'd never gotten injured the past few years (which the eyepatch made her highly doubt), or he hasn't been here for too long. Either way, a fresh face. And then there was Lenora, who was currently waving at her. Elena wasn't really too closely acquainted with the woman - as far as she knew, she was just a fortuneteller, nothing more... but she's seen her around, mostly at the Last Drop. Charlie and her seemed to be on good terms, which was a good sign to Elena. Say what you want about him, but Charlie was a decent judge of character, so if he trusted her, Elena had no reason not to. And so, even though she was 50/50 at first on whether to join this merry group, or turn heel and head back to the clinic, seeing the woman wave to her, she decided it might be polite to at least say hi.

"Good afternoon, everyone." She gave a small wave as she joined the group. It might've only been a quarter after noon at best, but she wasn't going to sweat the details. "Is there some... event happening that I haven't heard of? Penny, is your dad organizing something, or...?" she raised her eyebrow, looking at the teenager, hoping she would know more about what was going on. She kind of wasn't betting on it, though... she was pretty sure if Charlie was organizing something, she would be one of the first to know. And so, her gaze quickly turned to the other adults there... she could swear she heard Lenora say something about a party or something, so she mostly focused her attention on her.

 

[gxxberkit]

EASTON

SCENE:

May 22, 2185 | Arc 1 [Hope is a Fleeting Thing]

LOCATION:

Rooftop

PARTICIPANTS:

N/A

Hope is a Fleeting Thing; Despair is Everlasting

Easton was not lucky enough to remember the glory of the astral bodies within the expanse of the sky.

Past the dome, the sky was stark black. Within the dome, a fake sun hung far above Easton’s head, as though taunting them. For a decade, this was the foul simulacrum that took the place of the natural lights those on Earth were still able to admire. An imitation of something that was taken away from her.

His legs dangled over the bustling city, his hair pushed by the artificial breeze.

What a joke.

Easton had taken to the tops of buildings, separating from the harsh dissonance of the stupid celebration taking place just under them. For many, this was a day of hope. For Easton, for those forgotten on Earth, for a piece of the angel that had taken Easton in only a few years ago, this was a day of despair.

More people were on the streets than any other day of the year, neon lights flashing above the world of corpses they had left to die.

Easton would have loved to be on the surface of the dying world. Instead, they were here, high above the city of redemption.

So, Easton would instead love to see the city of redemption get what’s theirs. Call it karma, call it revenge. Easton would call it destiny. Fate. Bound to happen. The world was cruel, but the universe, in its cold, infinite breadth, was crueler. Easton was eager for its uncaring hand to unexpectedly hit the ignorant residents without batting an eye.

But Easton would probably be left behind again.

What would they do, if they were left in space? Floating aimlessly until they die?

Ha. Hahaha. “HaaaaahahahahahahAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” She was already doing that! How funny…

His laughter eventually died out into an expression as empty as the sky beyond the dome.

Her eyes lingered on the city below them. A sigh escaped from their bitter lungs. For a moment, they considered…

Promptly, they stood up, walking away from the ledge. “I should get back.”

They made their way down the building, into the dark alleyways free of partiers. She looked to the heavens once more, using the faux clouds she could barely see through the neon garbage to guide her way through the streets. With a click, music played in their ears as they maneuvered past buildings and banners plastered throughout the city.