Haha, most people I've met say the same. Of course, Snezhnaya's climate is so harsh that you freeze to death if you stop moving for just a little too long, so even we tread with caution.
[If he notices her reaching for him, he doesn't show it, sliding his hands in his pockets as he turns to lead the way to the simulation room. As for Anders, he can't help a soft laugh--not a cruel sound, just a bit dry.]
As long as you don't manifest an anti-justice, anti-mage demon, I'm sure it's fine. If we stop using rooms that people die in, we'll run out of spots to enjoy before they come back.
[Also he just refuses to give up his favorite room just because it's a crime scene]
[Makes something of a face, both at the sound of the cold (TAKES A LEVEL OF EXHAUSTION) and also the anti-mage anti-justice demon.]
There's a level of practicality to that kind of thinking, I suppose...
[She did go back to the places her friends died in on the Eudora. There wasn't much choice otherwise, unless they had docked at planet already.
But when they arrive she will take the reins, imagining where she might like to visit best at the moment. Her castle was lovely but it wasn't where she liked to spend all of her time. Mostly, she misses her friends.
So what manifests instead upon opening is a burst of fireworks. Children running, laughing as they spin noise-makers around and toot horns and play tag, crowd the kiosks. There's adults here too now, actually. Notably a prince in green finery, lily pads embroidered on his tunic and crown a touch crooked as he clinks his whisky shot with a tall, handsome young man, who laughs in an incredibly deep voice — the polar opposite of his puppet youth. There's an elderly fellow too with a tome underhand, reading to a now pretty and rebellious young woman in a red hood, even if the cacophony might make that impossible. Yet the book glows faintly as he reads. Curled up on the counter between them is a slim black cat in a pair of sandals, who may seem innocuous, but he opens an eye as a man passes and bats a paw at his waist, steathily collecting a small purse to tuck beneath his slumbering form. The man walks on none the wiser.
The place itself is a wooden planked wonderland, smelling strong of sea salt and hot fudge and strong liquor, cigars. All manner of mayhem and mirth. There's a broad banner flying high above the floating carnival: WELCOME TO TOY ISLAND.]
It's not my home, exactly, but I find myself missing it the most right now.
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[If he notices her reaching for him, he doesn't show it, sliding his hands in his pockets as he turns to lead the way to the simulation room. As for Anders, he can't help a soft laugh--not a cruel sound, just a bit dry.]
As long as you don't manifest an anti-justice, anti-mage demon, I'm sure it's fine. If we stop using rooms that people die in, we'll run out of spots to enjoy before they come back.
[Also he just refuses to give up his favorite room just because it's a crime scene]
no subject
There's a level of practicality to that kind of thinking, I suppose...
[She did go back to the places her friends died in on the Eudora. There wasn't much choice otherwise, unless they had docked at planet already.
But when they arrive she will take the reins, imagining where she might like to visit best at the moment. Her castle was lovely but it wasn't where she liked to spend all of her time. Mostly, she misses her friends.
So what manifests instead upon opening is a burst of fireworks. Children running, laughing as they spin noise-makers around and toot horns and play tag, crowd the kiosks. There's adults here too now, actually. Notably a prince in green finery, lily pads embroidered on his tunic and crown a touch crooked as he clinks his whisky shot with a tall, handsome young man, who laughs in an incredibly deep voice — the polar opposite of his puppet youth. There's an elderly fellow too with a tome underhand, reading to a now pretty and rebellious young woman in a red hood, even if the cacophony might make that impossible. Yet the book glows faintly as he reads. Curled up on the counter between them is a slim black cat in a pair of sandals, who may seem innocuous, but he opens an eye as a man passes and bats a paw at his waist, steathily collecting a small purse to tuck beneath his slumbering form. The man walks on none the wiser.
The place itself is a wooden planked wonderland, smelling strong of sea salt and hot fudge and strong liquor, cigars. All manner of mayhem and mirth. There's a broad banner flying high above the floating carnival: WELCOME TO TOY ISLAND.]
It's not my home, exactly, but I find myself missing it the most right now.