C [The tall young man has been peering at the job board for a minute or two by this point. With an expression dominated by narrowed eyes and a mouth pressed into a frown, he's seemingly not very excited or impressed by what he has found there. Maybe an orphan from Mars should know better, that beggars can't be choosers, but he's been the boss of his own mercenary company for long enough now that the idea of returning to such menial work grated a bit.
His attention is gradually distracted by occasional looks he's been getting. Since security detail was one of his wheelhouses, a sort of natural paranoia made them stand out like beacons in the dark — he returns one or two with a stern gaze before drifting away from the board, walking back towards the apartment building.
It all gives him a profoundly bad feeling.]
Doesn't seem to be a lot of love lost between the people of this city and us. [He'd noticed how they seemed to seek out the hollow of his throat, looking for something, though the scarf he was wearing had denied them the ease of it.] Anyone know who kicked whose dog?
[Only a figure of speech, of course.]
G [Orga squints at the handful of flowers he had been handed. Red, yellow, and purple, the clustered blossoms don't really mean anything to him. Despite having named his company after one, there weren't many flowers to be had on Mars. He wouldn't know where to start in identifying one for its meaning.]
Hey, but what do they — [He's asking the fortune teller, though he looks up to find that in his short moment of consideration, she'd already started distributing flowers and fortunes to a group of girls.]
Mean. [The rest of the question falls a little flat, the moment passing.]
I [They'd seen snow on their way to Edmonton, though the situation had been dire enough that using it as a source of entertainment hadn't really been anywhere in their minds. With trappings of sedition and warfare removed from his mind and the snow beginning to pile up in drifts throughout the afternoon, he decides to pursue a whim.
First he builds a small wall, testing how well the snow stuck, and, satisfied, he continues in a circular pattern around himself, building onwards and upwards. Unfortunately, the snow underfoot is all used up after some time of construction, and there's just this one hole in the northern wall he needs to fix...]
Oi. [Sorry, fair passerby, but it's just your timing. He gestures you over.] Give me a hand, would you? Just need enough snow to fill in this hole in the wall here. [He holds his hand over the one remaining empty spot in the otherwise solid fortification.
He'd step out to get the snow himself, but it's about waist-high by this point and he'd probably knock it all over prematurely...]
no subject
[The tall young man has been peering at the job board for a minute or two by this point. With an expression dominated by narrowed eyes and a mouth pressed into a frown, he's seemingly not very excited or impressed by what he has found there. Maybe an orphan from Mars should know better, that beggars can't be choosers, but he's been the boss of his own mercenary company for long enough now that the idea of returning to such menial work grated a bit.
His attention is gradually distracted by occasional looks he's been getting. Since security detail was one of his wheelhouses, a sort of natural paranoia made them stand out like beacons in the dark — he returns one or two with a stern gaze before drifting away from the board, walking back towards the apartment building.
It all gives him a profoundly bad feeling.]
Doesn't seem to be a lot of love lost between the people of this city and us. [He'd noticed how they seemed to seek out the hollow of his throat, looking for something, though the scarf he was wearing had denied them the ease of it.] Anyone know who kicked whose dog?
[Only a figure of speech, of course.]
G
[Orga squints at the handful of flowers he had been handed. Red, yellow, and purple, the clustered blossoms don't really mean anything to him. Despite having named his company after one, there weren't many flowers to be had on Mars. He wouldn't know where to start in identifying one for its meaning.]
Hey, but what do they — [He's asking the fortune teller, though he looks up to find that in his short moment of consideration, she'd already started distributing flowers and fortunes to a group of girls.]
Mean. [The rest of the question falls a little flat, the moment passing.]
I
[They'd seen snow on their way to Edmonton, though the situation had been dire enough that using it as a source of entertainment hadn't really been anywhere in their minds. With trappings of sedition and warfare removed from his mind and the snow beginning to pile up in drifts throughout the afternoon, he decides to pursue a whim.
First he builds a small wall, testing how well the snow stuck, and, satisfied, he continues in a circular pattern around himself, building onwards and upwards. Unfortunately, the snow underfoot is all used up after some time of construction, and there's just this one hole in the northern wall he needs to fix...]
Oi. [Sorry, fair passerby, but it's just your timing. He gestures you over.] Give me a hand, would you? Just need enough snow to fill in this hole in the wall here. [He holds his hand over the one remaining empty spot in the otherwise solid fortification.
He'd step out to get the snow himself, but it's about waist-high by this point and he'd probably knock it all over prematurely...]
J · WILDCARD!
[Let's work something else out!]