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Well, here we are.
You were woken up from a midday nap by the grinding of the brakes as the train arrived at X-X Station (pronounced "Double Cross," according to a clerk), and thus missed the first opportunity to queue for a quick exit from the car, as you were still quite drowsy and groping around to ensure that your possessions had (also) arrived unperturbed. Now you have queued behind a pair of rotund priests (Reformists, you think), as they gingerly step onto the platform and lose themselves in the sea of people. There are more people here than you've ever seen in once place, at least since you were a child. It's hot: hotter than it would ever get in Iscthymia. At least it's a dry heat there. Here you can feel every layer of clothing beginning to drip. But you can't take off your jacket just yet. It's dangerous, you think.
If there is one thing you hate it's traveling over-encumbered, so, in the spirit of new beginnings, you packed only the bare essentials. There's a nagging feeling of regret as you begin to intuit that perhaps you wouldn't know what would really count as essential in this new chapter of your life, in Chaotzakka, with its fourteen million people. These are things you would've pondered on the train ride had you not dozed off immediately. You're carrying a hardshell briefcase, a backpack that's coming apart at the seams, and a little bum bag crossed over your shoulder. You lift your patrol cap to see more clearly; you don't want to remove it as your hair is almost certainly a mess, but the material is itchy. The cap and bag are from your year of mandatory civil service. The backpack is from your school days. The briefcase used to be your dad's.
You're trying to get used to the smells and sounds. It seems like everything ticks, rings, or thuds in this city. You are buffeted by a blast of hot steam and struggle to breathe for a moment. Unlike a country bumpkin such as yourself, city-dwellers know to back away from the train as soon as they get off. That's why they call the station the "sauna." Just a little sample of that big-city wit for you.
You thought you'd checked that you had everything before getting off the train, but a sudden irrational panic grips you and you fear having left your most important possession behind. But of course this isn't the case; you can feel its weight on your right hip. Still, just for assurance, you reach down with your free hand and grip your
>Blade
>Pistol
>Staff
You were woken up from a midday nap by the grinding of the brakes as the train arrived at X-X Station (pronounced "Double Cross," according to a clerk), and thus missed the first opportunity to queue for a quick exit from the car, as you were still quite drowsy and groping around to ensure that your possessions had (also) arrived unperturbed. Now you have queued behind a pair of rotund priests (Reformists, you think), as they gingerly step onto the platform and lose themselves in the sea of people. There are more people here than you've ever seen in once place, at least since you were a child. It's hot: hotter than it would ever get in Iscthymia. At least it's a dry heat there. Here you can feel every layer of clothing beginning to drip. But you can't take off your jacket just yet. It's dangerous, you think.
If there is one thing you hate it's traveling over-encumbered, so, in the spirit of new beginnings, you packed only the bare essentials. There's a nagging feeling of regret as you begin to intuit that perhaps you wouldn't know what would really count as essential in this new chapter of your life, in Chaotzakka, with its fourteen million people. These are things you would've pondered on the train ride had you not dozed off immediately. You're carrying a hardshell briefcase, a backpack that's coming apart at the seams, and a little bum bag crossed over your shoulder. You lift your patrol cap to see more clearly; you don't want to remove it as your hair is almost certainly a mess, but the material is itchy. The cap and bag are from your year of mandatory civil service. The backpack is from your school days. The briefcase used to be your dad's.
You're trying to get used to the smells and sounds. It seems like everything ticks, rings, or thuds in this city. You are buffeted by a blast of hot steam and struggle to breathe for a moment. Unlike a country bumpkin such as yourself, city-dwellers know to back away from the train as soon as they get off. That's why they call the station the "sauna." Just a little sample of that big-city wit for you.
You thought you'd checked that you had everything before getting off the train, but a sudden irrational panic grips you and you fear having left your most important possession behind. But of course this isn't the case; you can feel its weight on your right hip. Still, just for assurance, you reach down with your free hand and grip your
>Blade
>Pistol
>Staff
