[ Pyrrha’s patrol often took her to the more questionable corners of Random Jamjar City, complete with questionable NPCs milling aimlessly. Only a few hours of day - if they’re good, if the City’s programmers and architects on high deem so, using only a compass known to them - before night swallows again. With it, threats are woven into the brick walls, the paved streets, the flickering lampposts. Back home, she had been a Huntress-in-training, so it made sense to Pyrrha for her to Protect (capital P) and Serve (capital S) to the best of her ability. To this day, a foe hasn’t been able to get a scratch on her.
That’s not to say she isn’t wary, in these webbed corners. The hair on the back of her neck prickles, as it would for anyone, when a child’s unearthly giggle comes just so close to her ear. Turning and finding nothing there only makes it worse. Amid the grouping of NPCs, teeth bared and eyes narrowed in mistrust, she spots another Transplant - like her, a foreigner, tugged by the programmers into this strange world. It’s not hard to spot one another if you know what to look for. The very air longs to reject them, after all.
But this isn’t a safe place, and that’s what goads her into speaking. At six foot nothing, with her javelin and shield strapped to her back, Pyrrha hardly looks compromised - but can the same be said about him? ]
Excuse me.
[ Her tone is even and elegant, as ever, with not a hitch raised. ]
It’s awfully late. [ Late, in this incident, is code for dangerous. Behind them, NPCs begin to stand, their eyes firmly on Odin and Pyrrha. This is not a place the two of them are welcome. ] Would you like me to escort you to the nearest train station?
I don't know what this is. ):
That’s not to say she isn’t wary, in these webbed corners. The hair on the back of her neck prickles, as it would for anyone, when a child’s unearthly giggle comes just so close to her ear. Turning and finding nothing there only makes it worse. Amid the grouping of NPCs, teeth bared and eyes narrowed in mistrust, she spots another Transplant - like her, a foreigner, tugged by the programmers into this strange world. It’s not hard to spot one another if you know what to look for. The very air longs to reject them, after all.
But this isn’t a safe place, and that’s what goads her into speaking. At six foot nothing, with her javelin and shield strapped to her back, Pyrrha hardly looks compromised - but can the same be said about him? ]
Excuse me.
[ Her tone is even and elegant, as ever, with not a hitch raised. ]
It’s awfully late. [ Late, in this incident, is code for dangerous. Behind them, NPCs begin to stand, their eyes firmly on Odin and Pyrrha. This is not a place the two of them are welcome. ] Would you like me to escort you to the nearest train station?