![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
WELCOME
Good morning.
Or perhaps it might be more appropriate to say good evening instead, considering how it is moonlight that will rouse you into consciousness. And what a bright moon it is, half-full and clear without contest in the sky as it outshines the stars and galaxies in the backdrop. But it’s all the better to emphasize that the buildings that speckle the landscape before you are all completely devoid of any light. And by the way—do you always sleep outside?
The lack of light can be something to deal with later though, at least when you've properly gotten up from the cold, unyielding stone below you. And that chill down your spine—no doubt that probably has something to do with combination of cool temperatures and poor sleeping conditions, but it’s odd how it seems to linger.
Checking your person for any items that should be in your possession yields disappointing results, but it seems you're not empty handed (or pocketed) because you are now the proud owner of one (1) small bundle of black cloth. Unwrapping it reveals a key imprinted with a roman numeral, along with a simple note.
“Come at 6PM to the place circled on this map:”
“Don’t be tardy, dear Survivors, that’d be a bad first impression. If you don’t want your stay here to be more unpleasant than it’ll already be, you’ll want to avoid seeming careless or disrespectful. You’ll want to listen to my opening speech~!”
Finally, after an empty space that may be simulating an intense pause, there’s one last line:
“I know what you’re thinking, so I’ll say it straight: if you don’t come, you’re as good as dead.”
The news likely isn't welcome, but it's a start. And it seems you're not alone in your plight, though whether company is within arm's length or a stone’s throw away is up to fortune’s whims. For now, you're free to explore the town square and the surrounding areas as best you can in the dim light.
For some reason or another, Krakow, Poland is now your new home. That much is clear from the sign posts that you can inexplicably read, as red and white flag posts with "Święto Niepodległości" flutter lightly in the wind. While the storefronts are dark, the street lamps that scatter the town provide some measure of light, providing some solace against the layer of fog that's begun to creep in.
( OOC: Welcome to Antumbra! This intro log occurs ICly Sunday. Your MM's will be around at 6pm EST to hear your complaints. )
no subject
[Zangetsu is also in the pantry, looking through everything and... also throwing it aside as he does, making a huge mess. At least nothing is broken. He stops when he finds a can of something called "Potted Meat".]
Potted... meat.... is it really meat, though....?
[he doesn't seem to notice Ignis, yet, as he squints at the label in the dim light the candle be brought provides]
no subject
[Said from helpfully behind him, because what good is getting the drop on someone if you're not going to startle them?
Ignis has to agree with him, though - there's nothing good here. It's all canned garbage and he's not looking forward to trying to make it palatable.]
no subject
He does not like this]
Holy shi.... Don't...! DON'T SNEAK UP ON PEOPLE LIKE THAT!
no subject
My apologies. It was not my intention to catch you unawares.
[He might be full of shit.]
no subject
Don't do it again. If this were any other place, you'd be dealin' with a sword through your heart fer a stunt like that.
[he huffs, indignant, and grabs the potted meat off the floor]
no subject
He's not going to just ask what the fuck he is when he's already so pissy, though.]
I'll keep that in mind, lest you decide payback is in order.
[He nods towards the can.]
That seems to be most of what the protein available here is, though.
no subject
... Hrrghgh. Great. Just great.
[Zangetsu tilts his head to one side and lifts the can... then jerks his head and punctures the can with one of his horns. Instant can opener. He peels back the lid and inspects the contents]
....
............ under no circumstances did this come from an animal. It was grown in a lab. It must have been.
no subject
That's a possibility, though I do believe the texture comes from heavy processing. It doesn't require heating, after all.
[He's Helpful!]
no subject
Is it supposed ta be... gelatinous?
no subject
[It's not ideal. He looks sympathetic, at least...]
no subject
[he puts the stuff in his mouth and swallows quickly. He sticks out his tongue, which is an alarming shade of bright blue]
.... It's not as bad as I was expecting.... it's so salty!
no subject
Mm, yes, most processed foods do tend to be over-salted.
[Spoken like a true snob.]
They don't understand the delicate balance of seasoning.
no subject
... Hhhh.
no subject
Perhaps next time you can make it more palatable.
[...With the tons of options they have.]
no subject
no subject
It could be salt and flavorless vegetables. It's all about balance.
[It could be worse, he supposes.]
no subject
no subject
Oh? It's unfortunate this is your first experience with food.
no subject
You seem to know a lot about food.
no subject
no subject