Quoted By:
}=> PLAY
~~~Initializing~~~
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
OLOOM{set}=> ACTIVE
SCISS{set}=> ACTIVE
INPUT{set}=> RED
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
~~~Connected~~~
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
{Begin.}
"-ssionary work in the past, though it proved to be fruitless in the end. Without any potable water, the village was forced to relocate. I told Papa from the outset, to those people, any patch of mud is as good as the next. Why complain?"
Your ears are ringing. The back of your throat grinds thickly as you swallow, full of congealed smoke. The portly little man hasn't noticed that your eyes are fixed on the nearby mirror- not that he's paused to allow for any real conversation thus far. The man you see in the reflection.. He looks tired, face weathered, his dark, pin-sharp eyes set over dark purple bags; yet, with pitch black hair only slightly graying at the temples, you suppose you might be younger than you initially supposed, if only far worse for wear.
The room behind you bustles with the warmth of hundreds of bodies, the smell of ambergris and caviar, and the kind of people who have the raw charisma to convince one another that fish eggs and whale vomit are, in fact, quite chique.
Cynicism seems to pervade your entire body. Your host must truly despise being here, but with each absent nod, you can feel a deep, guttural rumbling of your stomach. You're so hungry it hurts, and it's all you can do right now not to pounce on one of the waiters and hoover up a whole tray of hors d'oeuvres like an animal. You're here for a reason, and you get the notion that the man rambling about pygmies may be your employer.
}=>_
