RE: Cloudsea
06-13-2017, 10:48 PM
Yodeling, flying walrus. You remember that. It makes you smile a little to think about it. Your parents were famous- Are famous? Presumably ARE, since you're still receiving money every week. They could have a fund for that sort of thing, but unless they paid an exorbitant amount to keep it secure, that seems unlikely. If they were lost to the Cloudsea or passed, you haven't been told about it- (That you know of.) and considering you never go to the bank, it would probably be really easy to just... make that money disappear?
You pass by the large chroniker in your living room. Third Champsday under the Epelle moon. Almost 20th chime. The bakery will be closing up soon. But that means you can likely pick up something slightly stale for a little cheap- Whoops! You bump into your dust devil, and get a little dirt on the floor. It whistles at you in an annoyed tone and swirls around, picking the dirt back up and dusting off your clothes. Sorry.
Truth of it is, you've gotten really good at making people stay away. Books are easier to deal with. They're full of words- and you're REALLY good with words. Any attempts to send you tutors or guardians were quickly dissuaded with a harrowing series of pranks. Harmless though, honest!
That's not to say you don't have friends thought! Hardly! You know all three bookstore keepers in the city. You know most of the restaurant owners on this and nearby streets? Are those friends? You think so. Sometimes the bookstore keepers send you lists of upcoming books, if you haven't been out lately, and at one point you were pen pals with one of their children. Something glitters in the distance. Something tickles your nose. There's a ringing sound.
Occasionally people will come to your house to ask you things. Everything has to be submitted in writing though, and they have to stay in the parlor while you do your research and- Oof. The baker must be having a bad day, it smells like they burned the morning... rolls.
The bakery is on fire. The buildings are on fire. The city. There are ships floating overhead, the 'windbags' of Their Imperial Majesty's Gentlemen locked in combat with ships of some strange design you've never seen... They're so... Mechanical? Natural? Biological? How would you describe them?
. . . Did you remember to grab your weapon before you left home? Every citizen of the Imperial Sphere is trained in some form of combat. Your parents made sure of that, even if it was self taught.
You pass by the large chroniker in your living room. Third Champsday under the Epelle moon. Almost 20th chime. The bakery will be closing up soon. But that means you can likely pick up something slightly stale for a little cheap- Whoops! You bump into your dust devil, and get a little dirt on the floor. It whistles at you in an annoyed tone and swirls around, picking the dirt back up and dusting off your clothes. Sorry.
Truth of it is, you've gotten really good at making people stay away. Books are easier to deal with. They're full of words- and you're REALLY good with words. Any attempts to send you tutors or guardians were quickly dissuaded with a harrowing series of pranks. Harmless though, honest!
That's not to say you don't have friends thought! Hardly! You know all three bookstore keepers in the city. You know most of the restaurant owners on this and nearby streets? Are those friends? You think so. Sometimes the bookstore keepers send you lists of upcoming books, if you haven't been out lately, and at one point you were pen pals with one of their children. Something glitters in the distance. Something tickles your nose. There's a ringing sound.
Occasionally people will come to your house to ask you things. Everything has to be submitted in writing though, and they have to stay in the parlor while you do your research and- Oof. The baker must be having a bad day, it smells like they burned the morning... rolls.
The bakery is on fire. The buildings are on fire. The city. There are ships floating overhead, the 'windbags' of Their Imperial Majesty's Gentlemen locked in combat with ships of some strange design you've never seen... They're so... Mechanical? Natural? Biological? How would you describe them?
. . . Did you remember to grab your weapon before you left home? Every citizen of the Imperial Sphere is trained in some form of combat. Your parents made sure of that, even if it was self taught.