[ The rain is coming down in sheets that night, though the clouds did nothing to hide the flashes of light that marked the descent of the meteor storm. It's with increased urgency that a young, white-haired lady stumbles and dashes through muddied country roads and unkept cobblestone streets; she speeds along with tentacles and feet both, hoping to escape the storm before it can hurt her, hurt her friends. There's the crashing of thunder and stone in the distance; the howling of wind; and, amidst them both, an older woman's voice: ]
[ "We'll catch up, Tonn! Meet us at the seaside!" ]
[ The young woman can barely spare a glance back to the source, a brunette who was now tending to the young child beside her, and in her haste she tumbles, rolls — ]
[ — a gust of wind strikes her once, twice, sends her careening past a hill top and toward the roaring of the ocean below — ]
[ — and then, she wakes. ]
[ She comes to with a start, the sloshing of the sea ringing in her ears as she rights herself, and with her tentacles and her limbs she starts making her way to shore. Tonn's sure to hide the extra appendages as she comes close to the sand, not wanting to startle anyone, and once her feet touchdown she's immediately wandering, trying to make sense of what just happened. ]
2] little pictures in the rain;
[ Rain doesn't bother Tonn; as folks scramble past her, trying to get indoors, she's taking as leisurely of a pace as she could, with neither raincoat nor umbrella on her person. ]
[ It's the little things, really. ]
[ The cuttlefish on her shoulder doesn't seem to mind overmuch, either, its little tentacles reaching this way and that as drops fall around it. ]
Look at you! If I didn't know better, I'd say you could be a real fish.
I'm about as real as can be, excuse you, [ comes her daemon's lilting, slightly-digitised voice, one tiny red tentacle tapping Tonn's ear. It's enough to make the young woman laugh, warm and bubbly, as she dips into a building at last. ]
[ The foggy windows that line the entrance hall seem awful empty, and it's after a moment of consideration that the soaked young lass settles in front of one. She spares a quick, furtive glance before she lets slip one of her tentacles, using it as a third hand to help her trace and trail wavy lines and spiraling curves along the glass. ]
Tonn Beag ⚓ Original Character
[ The rain is coming down in sheets that night, though the clouds did nothing to hide the flashes of light that marked the descent of the meteor storm. It's with increased urgency that a young, white-haired lady stumbles and dashes through muddied country roads and unkept cobblestone streets; she speeds along with tentacles and feet both, hoping to escape the storm before it can hurt her, hurt her friends. There's the crashing of thunder and stone in the distance; the howling of wind; and, amidst them both, an older woman's voice: ]
[ "We'll catch up, Tonn! Meet us at the seaside!" ]
[ The young woman can barely spare a glance back to the source, a brunette who was now tending to the young child beside her, and in her haste she tumbles, rolls — ]
[ — a gust of wind strikes her once, twice, sends her careening past a hill top and toward the roaring of the ocean below — ]
[ — and then, she wakes. ]
[ She comes to with a start, the sloshing of the sea ringing in her ears as she rights herself, and with her tentacles and her limbs she starts making her way to shore. Tonn's sure to hide the extra appendages as she comes close to the sand, not wanting to startle anyone, and once her feet touchdown she's immediately wandering, trying to make sense of what just happened. ]
2] little pictures in the rain;
[ Rain doesn't bother Tonn; as folks scramble past her, trying to get indoors, she's taking as leisurely of a pace as she could, with neither raincoat nor umbrella on her person. ]
[ It's the little things, really. ]
[ The cuttlefish on her shoulder doesn't seem to mind overmuch, either, its little tentacles reaching this way and that as drops fall around it. ]
Look at you! If I didn't know better, I'd say you could be a real fish.
I'm about as real as can be, excuse you, [ comes her daemon's lilting, slightly-digitised voice, one tiny red tentacle tapping Tonn's ear. It's enough to make the young woman laugh, warm and bubbly, as she dips into a building at last. ]
[ The foggy windows that line the entrance hall seem awful empty, and it's after a moment of consideration that the soaked young lass settles in front of one. She spares a quick, furtive glance before she lets slip one of her tentacles, using it as a third hand to help her trace and trail wavy lines and spiraling curves along the glass. ]
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