[103 / 7 / 1]
You sit alone at a large desk in a dark room. You were escorted in here roughly fifteen minutes ago so that you could have your interview with The Hunters Bureau. The de facto group for dealing with the supernatural. And while things have surely changed since the Bureau's inception- around a thousand years ago now- it still holds onto its core belief that anyone could be a Hunter… yes, anyone. Before you got shoved into this box you were sitting in the waiting room, surrounded by all types of characters: ex cops, ex cons, prostitutes, androids, chrome heads, dope heads, children and even some respectable looking citizens in there too.
A sound suddenly fills the room, the sound of a handleless door sliding open, followed by a faint square-shaped beam of orange light. Though both of these stimulants are kicked out of the room as an old man steps into the room- the door sliding back closed. The stench of smoke fills your nostrils before your eyes can adjust to actually see the man's face. A bald head, grey moustache and Dreamland Co: Asteroid Blue mega-cigarette are the only details you can make out on him. That and his bulky, torn jacket, adorned in damaged medals and sewn patchwork squares. He lowers himself into a chair on the opposite side of the table, placing a chunky tablet on the table. He plucks the mega-cigarette out of his mouth and presses the side of the tablet- the harsh blue light that erupts from it almost makes your eyes water. And then the harsh white ceiling light he turns on with a tap on the screen actually makes your eyes water. With a few grumbles, screen taps and hits of the mega-cigarette he finally meets your gaze.
“I'm sure you know why you're here so I'm gonna skip parts of this script they got for me-” He holds up the tablet with a flimsy grip before putting it back down- from the brief glimpse you got of all the text on the screen you couldn't be more grateful. “Gimme your name. First and last.”
>[SHORT & SLIGHTLY STANDOFFISH] “<span class="mu-i">Write in</span>.” | This man is willingly smoking Asteroid Blues, he's clearly just like you. Antisocial.
>[REHEARSED & PROPER] “My name <span class="mu-i">Write in</span>.” You fix your posture and reach out for a handshake. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?” | This man is willingly smoking Asteroid Blues. Some order in the chaos (his life) would be good for him.
>[HAPPY… LIKE WAY TOO HAPPY] You reach out with a strong smile and, forcefully, shake his hand “My name is <span class="mu-i">Write in</span>! Nice to meet ya!” | This man is willingly smoking Asteroid Blues. He desperately needs a friend.
>[REJECT SOCIAL CONVENTIONS] Stare and say nothing. | This man is willingly smoking Asteroid Blues, clearly he doesn't want to do his job.
>[WRITE IN] In the words of a great philosopher: “Ahhh go crazy.”
A sound suddenly fills the room, the sound of a handleless door sliding open, followed by a faint square-shaped beam of orange light. Though both of these stimulants are kicked out of the room as an old man steps into the room- the door sliding back closed. The stench of smoke fills your nostrils before your eyes can adjust to actually see the man's face. A bald head, grey moustache and Dreamland Co: Asteroid Blue mega-cigarette are the only details you can make out on him. That and his bulky, torn jacket, adorned in damaged medals and sewn patchwork squares. He lowers himself into a chair on the opposite side of the table, placing a chunky tablet on the table. He plucks the mega-cigarette out of his mouth and presses the side of the tablet- the harsh blue light that erupts from it almost makes your eyes water. And then the harsh white ceiling light he turns on with a tap on the screen actually makes your eyes water. With a few grumbles, screen taps and hits of the mega-cigarette he finally meets your gaze.
“I'm sure you know why you're here so I'm gonna skip parts of this script they got for me-” He holds up the tablet with a flimsy grip before putting it back down- from the brief glimpse you got of all the text on the screen you couldn't be more grateful. “Gimme your name. First and last.”
>[SHORT & SLIGHTLY STANDOFFISH] “<span class="mu-i">Write in</span>.” | This man is willingly smoking Asteroid Blues, he's clearly just like you. Antisocial.
>[REHEARSED & PROPER] “My name <span class="mu-i">Write in</span>.” You fix your posture and reach out for a handshake. “To whom do I owe the pleasure?” | This man is willingly smoking Asteroid Blues. Some order in the chaos (his life) would be good for him.
>[HAPPY… LIKE WAY TOO HAPPY] You reach out with a strong smile and, forcefully, shake his hand “My name is <span class="mu-i">Write in</span>! Nice to meet ya!” | This man is willingly smoking Asteroid Blues. He desperately needs a friend.
>[REJECT SOCIAL CONVENTIONS] Stare and say nothing. | This man is willingly smoking Asteroid Blues, clearly he doesn't want to do his job.
>[WRITE IN] In the words of a great philosopher: “Ahhh go crazy.”
