Post by soothSlayer on May 19, 2016 22:52:52 GMT
((Open to any of Clustermess' Prospit dreamers))
Aw, shit.
You really beefed it up this time.
Or rather, porked it up. You had just spotted one your coplayers in the distance and gathered the resolve to roll down the baconhill you were perched atop of. Sadly for you, all that greasy meat is not conducive to sticking a solid landing, and you barreled into the poor girl. Rattling your braincage enough, you've seemed to have lost consciousness! You hope this sudden head trauma won't have any lasting effect.
But hey, look on the bright side- Your dreamself seems to have awakened. Speaking of bright...
You stick your head out of dream room, peering out from atop the golden spire where your dreamself lay dormant. You can kind of get it when people say Prospit is too bright. That is, you can get why they're stick in the mud assholes who need to wear some sunglasses and stop whining. Skaia's warm glow sits upon your brow as you peer down at the golden city below.
Well hey, what are you waiting for? You might as well go down there. Gently floating out of your window, you sink down to the winding, serpentine streets of Prospit's moon. As your comfy slippers meet the golden pavement, you're immediately met with a quartet of baton wielding Prospitian Regulators. Blocking your path, they gruffly inform you that you're not allowed to pass. Crime scene under investigation, one says, We can't let anyone interfere. Another regulator motions at the caution tape clearly blocking off the path. You hadn't seen it initially, on account of it blending into the rest of the yellow scenery. You glare at one of them, ready to say something. You close your mouth instead, not keen on damaging your moon rep already over such a useless squabble.
As you get ready to turn around and be on your way, you catch glimpse of the victim in question. A Royal Sentry is sprawled across the pavement, the bright yellow stained with fresh red. Someone must have ran a weapon through the poor guy with a single, clean blow. It's the kind of wound a no-nonsense, all-efficiency sort of murderer might inflict. Whoever killed that guy must have been one cold-blooded dude. You take a glance at the broken strap on his shoulder. Poor sod must have been carrying something with him that was worth the act of taking him out. This doesn't bode well at a-
Are you still here? No rubberneckers!, One of the guards grumbled, attempting to shoo you away. It'd probably be for the best to take his advice and get out of dodge. You float back up to your tower and slide through the window, carefully landing on your bed. It takes a good half an hour of tossing and turning to come to. Yikes, you must have really done a number on yourself.
Soon enough, though, you feel your eyelids grow heavy and your mind get hazy. The soft shine of Prospit fades from your vision...
Aw, shit.
You really beefed it up this time.
Or rather, porked it up. You had just spotted one your coplayers in the distance and gathered the resolve to roll down the baconhill you were perched atop of. Sadly for you, all that greasy meat is not conducive to sticking a solid landing, and you barreled into the poor girl. Rattling your braincage enough, you've seemed to have lost consciousness! You hope this sudden head trauma won't have any lasting effect.
But hey, look on the bright side- Your dreamself seems to have awakened. Speaking of bright...
You stick your head out of dream room, peering out from atop the golden spire where your dreamself lay dormant. You can kind of get it when people say Prospit is too bright. That is, you can get why they're stick in the mud assholes who need to wear some sunglasses and stop whining. Skaia's warm glow sits upon your brow as you peer down at the golden city below.
Well hey, what are you waiting for? You might as well go down there. Gently floating out of your window, you sink down to the winding, serpentine streets of Prospit's moon. As your comfy slippers meet the golden pavement, you're immediately met with a quartet of baton wielding Prospitian Regulators. Blocking your path, they gruffly inform you that you're not allowed to pass. Crime scene under investigation, one says, We can't let anyone interfere. Another regulator motions at the caution tape clearly blocking off the path. You hadn't seen it initially, on account of it blending into the rest of the yellow scenery. You glare at one of them, ready to say something. You close your mouth instead, not keen on damaging your moon rep already over such a useless squabble.
As you get ready to turn around and be on your way, you catch glimpse of the victim in question. A Royal Sentry is sprawled across the pavement, the bright yellow stained with fresh red. Someone must have ran a weapon through the poor guy with a single, clean blow. It's the kind of wound a no-nonsense, all-efficiency sort of murderer might inflict. Whoever killed that guy must have been one cold-blooded dude. You take a glance at the broken strap on his shoulder. Poor sod must have been carrying something with him that was worth the act of taking him out. This doesn't bode well at a-
Are you still here? No rubberneckers!, One of the guards grumbled, attempting to shoo you away. It'd probably be for the best to take his advice and get out of dodge. You float back up to your tower and slide through the window, carefully landing on your bed. It takes a good half an hour of tossing and turning to come to. Yikes, you must have really done a number on yourself.
Soon enough, though, you feel your eyelids grow heavy and your mind get hazy. The soft shine of Prospit fades from your vision...
