skippedabeat | Round 3: Test Drive

Entry tags:

test drive

Round 3: Test Drive

Welcome to the third test drive!

Please don't worry too much about using your Personas correctly or following the prompts exactly. They're meant to give you starting ideas, but by all means, go wild and add more options!

The objective here is to try out characters and see who you could have the most fun with in the game's setting. However, feel free to follow this link to request a Persona be generated for you as if you were part of the game. (Please try to limit this to only one of your test drive characters if you can as to not overwhelm us!)

If you have questions about the test drive itself, you can ask them here! If you want to play an AU don't forget this entire post can be used for you to get AU scenarios set up and see who your character might have been related too or know before Awakening.

Now then, let's begin...

Prompt 1 - The National Leviathan Habitat

Eddan's shimmering sapphire of an aquarium, the National Leviathan Habitat, is holding a series of special events at its location in Royal Mount. Students and family groups get half off, with certain events being completely free. This include a full night's stay at the aquarium sometime during the week for any person who checks in with their card. While spots are limited, it's such a large aquarium, and nights can be booked in advance, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem. So come, everyone! Enjoy whale spotting, aquarium strolling, educational shows, and a night surrounded by water. However, unknown to you, something else might be starting to beat in the deepest, darkest depths of your heart.

Similar to the flower festival that was used in the prior TDM, Unawakened characters can get a flash of memory sometime during this prompt and Awakened characters will be able to occasionally pick them out. For more information on the National Leviathan Habitat, which is a player introduced location, please check here.

Additionally, if both test drive player and game players agree, the aquarium test drive threads can also become game canon! As long as the test drive character is played as being completely unaware of what has happened in the game up to this point. Keep in mind that they would NOT have had a message on their phones. Two Test drive players can also make these game canon if they get accepted (and they keep the same requirements as above).

Prompt 2 - From Dawn to Dusk

The city has been abuzz for the past few weeks. A new string of murders is making front page news and serving as a grim reminder why the nightly curfew is so important. As families, perhaps even someone close to you, mourn, pressure continues to rise at the many police stations and at city hall. The people are afraid and they’re demanding answers.

There's not much time for you to dwell on this.. Like everyone else in the city, you have a lot to do, and a tight schedule to do it in, even on summer vacation. (Or maybe because of summer vacation for the local schools.) You don't even notice the application that has appeared on your phone's screen. The headache that follows, however, is strange and disorienting, and it brings with it an odd sensation that something is wrong today. You’re just not sure why.

The day passes by and soon, it's close to midnight. Your body, if you're not in bed by now, is completely exhausted. Despite your best efforts, you'll find yourself closing your eyes. Too bad it's quickly interrupted by a strange noise, and movement like something pulsating softly.

It's your phone, or at least you think it's your phone, but it's never glowed this orange before. There’s mist rising above it almost like fire...something's definitely bizarre about this. Despite your fears, you forces yourself to open it, and click on that strange snake-like icon.

It opens revealing a single statement and blank box;

To begin, please write your name.

Your fingers move on their own. Before you have time to really think about it, and as the pain inside your head becomes so terrible you start breathing rapidly and sweating, you've entered a series of letters and pressed enter. Now you're in a large chatroom with many others...but your 'name' you've never even heard of it...have you? It almost feels like you have...

Prompt 3 - Awakening

The last rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon almost an hour ago, yet here you are, walking through the apple orchards located behind one of the campus wings. The strange app that's been sending you strange clues the past seven days now says you're ready to face the truth. It told you to come here tonight, but never to travel alone. Repeatedly, it warns you to make sure to have someone close by if you're to survive…but besides some friends, what else did you bring with you? Did you pack for this, or did you figure you'd make it up as you go? Are you in a position to be able to bring weapons with you that no one would suspect?

Something is out there, and it's getting closer.

Before you can think, you see it: a large, blackish mass, almost like slime, slithering along the ground resembling a vaguely humanoid shape with glowing yellow eyes. When it roars again, it reveals rows and rows of teeth. This was a mistake your brain warns. The strange name from the chatroom, the days leading up to this...you're fairly certain even if you are prepared that you're going to die.

And yet, something inside you stirs. Even as they move closer, you find yourself charging instead of running, as your heartbeat increases. A voice inside is guiding you, each movement bringing forth a surge of memories of a past that you had lost. You’re angry and confused, but your pain, your fears, your rage for all of this… all of that needs to be taken out on those creatures.

All you need to do now is to tear out your heart.

Prompt 4 - A new, old life

Now that you have your memories back, the strange veil of this world has been somewhat lifted. Things that seemed simple now seem strange. You have so many questions, but not enough answers. Then there's the new weapons you wield and the strange creature inside of you...your Heart Persona.

During the day, you are encouraged to continue to live as you did before, but with old and new memories together, sometimes it is difficult to keep acting like you did. Will it cause issues in your job or school life? Will it change your reactions to whatever life you had here? Do you notice others like you who have awakened?

Maybe it would be a good time to send a chatroom message, just to ask others what they are planning to do. Maybe you should set up a meeting to fight shadows at night. Maybe you’ll organize a plan of attack or set up a club to escape the strange looks others have been giving you. Maybe you just want someone's opinion on the best place to have pizza. Hey, no one said you had to use the AppleNET just for serious things, after all.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Oh, for goodness sake...]

Is that what they're saying nowadays?

[Kit shook his head, gaze trained on the smear of ash left in the wake of Vincent's heavy foot.]

It wouldn't matter how talented the individual, even fresh celery is much too flimsy to perform a job like that. Lotus root, on the other hand...

[This was exactly why he had a reputation. He never denied the stories, he just made them worse by spouting simple facts in a manner most could, and often did mistake as being threatening.

Of course...some of what had been said about him in the past was justified. But those weren't tales Kit was eager to recount for anyone, and if Vincent ever accidentally touched upon one, well...he'd know.]

Sure, but you couldn't eat the evidence right away.

[lotus root wasn't toxic raw, but consuming it without cooking it beforehand seriously heightened the potential of spreading bacterial infections or worse. that was probably pretty tough posturing in a prison, sure, but it didn't do very much for one's likelihood of living to see their parole day.

he chuckles, expelling another soft cloud of smoke. celery was already pushing his 'informant's' cultural boundaries as it was; having to relate the same story with the substitution of lotus root would probably be enough to trigger an aneurysm.]

And it's not like you even need any tools to take out on eye.

[speaking of replies that could be construed as threatening...]

It wouldn't be very practical to consume evidence that can be traced the moment that it passes. Besides, I could dispose of it just as easily down someone else's throat.

[Oddly enough, Kit didn't seem to mind the shift in topic. For one who didn't want to give his foster parents cause to worry, he was awfully quick to continue discussing worrying things. His choice in conversational partners wasn't much better, either. If they could see him now, pulling on a cigarette next to a boy whose face may as well have been streaked with war paint, their fate might not be all that different from Styx's.

But it felt natural to him. Like slipping out of an uncomfortable suit and into his own skin.]

In any case, you're right. Depending upon how much pain you want to inflict, it's more efficient and precise to use your own hands.

[Only those who were clinical in their methods or squeamish would avoid doing so, not that Kit could say he blamed them. Nature could be a beautiful thing, but it was never wise to mistake it as tame. The world was a savage garden ready to consume the unwary. People were much the same, as willing as they were capable of tearing each other apart. The resulting pulp didn't always sit well with some stomachs.]

That's assuming anyone's going to accuse you in the first place. Not much of an intimidation strategy if someone's still going to talk.

[and that was the only reason something gruesome but nonlethal would be perpetrated - in a prison, at least. Vincent can think of more than a few other scenarios in which someone might want the eye of a still living donor. depending on where they booked their next gig, he might even get to witness one of them himself.

if they do, maybe he ought to invite Kit. it's a curious consideration to have popped into his mind, although not entirely surprising at this point. this is one of the longest conversations he's had with another person in quite some time. whether that was due to the stress of the evening or the company itself, he still couldn't say.]

More personal to do it yourself, too. If you're that pissed then you shouldn't be looking to soften the blow.

People always talk.

[Kit took another pull from the cigarette and finally turned his gaze back toward Vincent. If people hadn't talked, he wouldn't have heard the rumor about Kit. If people hadn't talked, Kit wouldn't have gotten sent to the juvenile detention center. Anything that could form an opinion and could voice it could only be trusted so far.

Himself included.

All that he'd brought up, didn't that constitute as talking too much? He may not have given away too many personal details, but some people were observant enough to read between the lines. As such, there were things better left unsaid. Especially in the company of someone...who made him feel nostalgic.

Yet he kept talking, and he hadn't left.

Why was he really still there? Was it for Vincent's sake, or his own? He knew the answer. Or thought he did...and the selfishness of it disgusted him.]

It wasn't an eye, in any case.

[It hadn't been personal, either...though Kit had long since given up trying to convince himself of that fact. He was a selfish creature by nature. His defense of someone else had also been in his own best interest. That was all there had been to it.]

It was a cafeteria tray and someone lost...six teeth, I think? It's difficult to recall. They were pretty yellow and we were served corn that evening for dinner. [He flicked his ashes, and this time stamped them out so Vincent wouldn't have to.] There was an uproar and so much food started flying that it took the corrections officers on duty almost ten minutes to figure out all that blood wasn't condiments.

[And when he'd been asked why he'd done it? All Kit had told anybody was that he'd warned the other boy to stop talking if didn't want to be eating through a straw.

He never mentioned the things that piece of garbage had said about his roommate. About what he'd promised to do the moment Kit's back was turned.]

[they always did, he supposed. despite only looking out for themselves, people had a nasty habit of poking their noses where they weren't needed. it was something that he forgot, sometimes. it's a hard thing to remember when you're always leaving.

Kit's unprompted correction of the severely botched story elicits laughter from his companion - real laughter. it takes Vincent several moments to formulate a response, the cigarette bouncing jauntily between his fingers in time with the trembling of his shoulders. it was a brutal image, and yet there he was laughing as if he'd been told a fantastically amusing joke.

when was the last time that he'd laughed like this, without cynicism? the answer lies somewhere so long ago that he's no longer able to recall even the vaguest approximation of a date. an eternity since this sound had emerged...and yet he'd already done it twice tonight.

that was very dangerous.]

He never could tell vegetables apart.

[he murmurs the observation to himself, allowing one last soft chuckle as he finally settles down enough to take another drag off his cigarette. Styx could wail with the best of them, but he was never going to be an intellectual.]

It sounds like they should've been thanking you to me. Extractions are always a pain in the ass.

[Fully charged laughter was the last thing Kit expected from his companion, but after his initial surprise had worn off, he found Vincent's amusement to be quite understandable and infectious.

In hindsight, knowing how the incident had turned out for everyone involved, it really was very easy to laugh about. He hadn't walked away from the confrontation completely unscathed, but he'd felt that the minor scrapes and intensive community service he was given were both prices worth paying. For his own pride, and for the security of someone he...had come to view as a friend of sorts. Or a close acquaintance.

...the word itself didn't matter. He protected his associates. He always had. Except when he hadn't. When one had been a traitor and the other had told him to go.

Why had he listened? Was he so desperate then to save his own skin...?]

So...

[He shook his head, and with it, cast away his grim train of thoughts.]

You knew someone who was there at the same time as I was. I'm glad it wasn't the toothless one.

[However, there'd been so many coming and going all the time that isolating which person it was would be no small task. Anyone who couldn't even differentiate vegetables wasn't likely someone who'd drawn much attention from Kit.]

I should probably apologize for however many other erroneous stories you were told.

[he makes a vague noise of agreement, glad in his own way that the veil of amusement seemed to have dropped down on them both. it was more likely to prevent Kit from pointing out the sincerity in his laughter at a later date.]

If he'd been stupid enough to lose his teeth I'd have never met him in the first place.

[a vocalist with a speech impediment was hardly useful, even for a genre that often stretched its lyrics out into borderline gibberish. it's funny to think about now, though. if they'd chosen a different vocalist for the band then he likely would never have accepted Kit's invitation and found himself here. funny how paths moved like that.]

The bullshit's good for a laugh. If I actually believed any of them I'd be too braindead to deserve an apology.

[either way, there was no action required on Kit's part. people would talk, as he'd said.]

[Vincent might have been right in that Kit wouldn't point out the sincerity in his amusement, but that didn't mean he hadn't taken notice or that he'd forget. As surely as he'd registered his own comfort around his companion, he'd observed the way Vincent had seemed to relax significantly around him over the course of the night.

He almost wished he hadn't, of course, thinking himself undeserving of even the most tentative trust, but Vincent wasn't someone who appreciated being told what to do. Kit's only option in that case was to sit back and let things unfold as they would.

And...if it became too much? He looked at the stairwell across from where they stood. He knew where the exit was.]

How did you meet, then?

[There's a story there. A reason for why Vincent's friend having his teeth was important. And Kit was willing to listen to anything right now that would silence his self-sabotaging internal monologue.

Let them be the ones who talked for a little while. Just a little...]

[Kit will have to suffer on his own for just a little bit longer, as his companion draws out the silence for several agonizing moments as he contemplates whether he wants to divulge details as personal as that.

an ordinary person would hardly count such a trivial story as personal, but Vincent was intensely private. after all, the pair of them had suffered through so much tonight and he still had no intention of giving out his name if he didn't have to. but this involved someone else more than himself, and it never hurt to give the band a little publicity...

he makes a thoughtful sound, vaguely dissatisfied, and finally speaks up.]

We needed a vocalist for the band. He's not all that bright but he can at least read music and he's got a hell of a growl.

[...and their other shortlisted candidate was a little too into Satanism and had gotten himself arrested for leaving headless roosters in his ex-girlfriend's yard. petty details.]

You're in a band...

[Despite the note of surprise in his voice, Kit's words weren't posed as a question. He hadn't expected someone as unsociable as Vincent to be drawn to such an exuberant profession, but on second thought, perhaps it was its excitement and theatrical nature which provided appeal. On stage, Kit imagined a performer could behave almost any way he liked, or be anyone he wanted. In the right light, with the right song, even someone small could seem larger than life.

Had he known anyone at the detention center who was interested in music? For the life of him, he couldn't remember. But he thought that someone with a hell of a growl would have stood out if he'd met them. Or at least, they would have if he'd had the chance to hear such a thing, but considering how often he tuned out his peers...would it have been too surprising if he'd heard and simply chosen not to take notice?]

Growling... [With one final pull from his cigarette, Kit stamped out the butt against the wall and, before flicking it into the nearby trash, made certain there was nothing still left burning inside.] Metal, I presume?

[he nods, waving his own rapidly-dwindling cigarette and leaving a trail of smoke and carcinogens in its wake.]

Black.

[it's important to make the distinction. the subgenres of metal were as numerous as the stars in the sky, and Vincent didn't want to be mistaken for dabbling in any of the softer bits. but maybe that went without saying, that he'd gravitate towards whatever made others the most uncomfortable.

Kit's comment wasn't posed as a question, but he'd have to be deaf not to hear the surprise in his words. he supposed that without knowing the sort of music it might be shocking to hear he'd deign to interact with so many people that way, but as it was he couldn't say that it was all that intolerable - he and the others got paid to screech insults and threats of death at a thrilled audience. there was really no way he could lose.

still, he supposed if he'd come so far as to mention it, some vague form of explanation was in order.]

I'm irreplaceable, so they can't kick me even if they wanted to.

[At the mention of kicking Vincent out of the band, Kit only laughed. The mere thought of anyone trying to force the other boy into doing anything he didn't want to do, whether or not he really was irreplaceable, was something Kit knew to be more difficult than scaling a mountain. Truly, Vincent defined obstinate.]

The founder, perhaps? Or...

[Appearing more thoughtful, Kit considered the way his companion had been poring himself over that notebook of his earlier. He wished he'd taken a closer look at it when he'd held it in his hands, but for now he could only take an educated guess.]

...maybe the lyricist or, to be more precise, the songwriter?

[Players and even vocalists were easier to replace than the one who defined the signature sound of the band, or at least that's what made the most sense to Kit. But could the same theory really be applied to a genre as poignant as black metal?]

[a flicker of irritation crosses his face as his companion slams the nail on the head, overshadowing any satisfaction he might have felt over the laughter. it was true, after all - he rarely did anything he didn't want to, and his bandmates had far less stamina than Kit.

unfortunately, sometimes what he wanted was completely out of his hands. such is the case with his identity as the group's writer, despite his preference to keep that detail in the dark. Vincent makes a 'tsking' sound before crushing the lit end of his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger; the sting is an excellent way to keep him from brooding on the matter. it was his own fault for letting someone sneak up on him.]

Maybe. Guess it depends on how much you think I'm capable of.

[...well, not entirely out of his hands. Kit may have sussed out the truth, but that doesn't mean that he has to confirm it so readily. let him work for it a little bit.]

After our little experiment earlier, I'd feel comfortable betting that you're capable of enough to support your claim of being irreplaceable.

[Intimate knowledge of demonic folklore and cultural rituals? Kit couldn't think of a background that was more "metal" than that, except perhaps being raised by a Satanic cult. But then, what did he really know of the genre? It wasn't as though he'd ever felt compelled to listen to that brand of music on his own, his tastes tending toward the more melodic in nature than the obscene.]

Then again, even if I was correct, I don't suppose you'd feel courageous enough to produce evidence?

[He couldn't help his curiosity. What sort of lyrics had Vincent been writing earlier? Were they far-fetched and fantastical, or perhaps even inspired by something he'd seen in one of those hallucinations? Reading them off a sheet of paper might not yield the same effect as hearing them yowled into the deafening cries of a zealous audience, but for Kit...it would be preferred. Especially if it told him something more about his companion.]

As if you needed it to know that.

[the fact that he was irreplaceable was never the past up for debate, and it's obvious by the little smug grin on Vincent's face as he chucks the now-dead cigarette into the trash to chase after his companion's. he was the heart and soul of that band, the driving force that none of the others had the willpower to stand up to. every performance bore his handprint.

despite his prick of temper just moments before, the pain of his burn has given Vincent enough clarity to see what the other boy is trying to goad him into doing. he cants his head to the side to look at Kit more fully, grin curling up into something a little more playful.]

But courage's got nothing to do with it. Nobody sees evidence like that without a cash advance.

[did Kit's curiosity have a price tag? he was about to find out.]

[And just like that, Kit's curiosity seemed to vanish in the blink of an eye, the expression that was left in its wake best described as indiscernible.]

No one with half a brain pays for anything before he's confirmed whether or not it's worth the asking price.

[And in their case, it didn't even matter what that price was, only that it had been suggested before Vincent had produced even a scrap of proof to support his bombastic assertions. If it weren't for how much Kit had already grown to like him, he'd have been offended at having been taken for such a fool.

As it was, his mild irritation was perfectly veiled, his question posed more like a calm business negotiation than a response spawned by insult.]

So what's the problem? You're already concussed.

[well, he figured that it would go like this. but Vincent had wanted to have a little fun with him before inevitably succumbing to the siren song of his pride having been put into question. Kit had technically shorted him on their previous cash agreement by drinking his soda, after all. he owed the other boy a little trouble.

he'd let it go for a few more rounds before pulling out the notebook, assuming that Kit hadn't quit on the idea entirely by then. they both knew that it existed - drawing attention to it during the conversation as 'proof' would simply be pointless.]

Would you like to be, too?

[The question was void of any real threat despite Kit's dissatisfaction. Instead, he found himself wondering how he could lift the notebook off Vincent's person without his permission. It would be easiest to get into close proximity with it if they were to come to blows once more, but if he wasn't fighting seriously, it would be painfully obvious what his real goal was. Vincent was clever enough to see straight through such a haphazard plan, Kit was certain of that.

So, what were his alternatives?

On one hand, he could abandon the idea of hearing or seeing any of those lyrics himself. It wasn't ideal, but it was an option. Or he could supply Vincent with what he wanted, or a form of what he wanted. And that was...

...more than even money, Kit supposed what Vincent wanted was indulgence.

And it made some sense. Someone who placed so much importance upon himself would probably want nothing more than for others to recognize and accept his self-proclaimed worth. Whether or not it was deserved at this point had really never been the right question.

Sliding his back down the wall, Kit took a seat on the ground and drew both knees up to his chest, arms wrapping around them.]

In any case, if you don't want to show me, that's alright. It can't be a very attractive proposition, sharing something so intensely personal with someone you don't know well. It's not like I'd be a very good judge, anyway. Reading a lot of books is one thing, but lyrics are another.

[even if there had been any real danger in that question, it would have elicited the same response from Vincent. he chuckles lowly, shoving his hands nonchalantly into his jacket pockets. his fingers curl around the notebook resting there almost protectively, as if he expects to be accosted in an instant.

his mind knows better, though. they've only spent a single evening together, but Kit is clearly the sort of person who uses finesse to filch people of what he wants if he can't get them to hand it over themselves. a full-blown assault would be closer to his own style.]

There's nothing personal about them.

[his gaze flicks downward to follow Kit's descent, brows already bent in minor annoyance. it was back again, that trait which had irritated him so much about this boy earlier - that damned habit of simply making assumptions about what he must be feeling. there was no reason for him to have drawn that conclusion based on his responses otherwise.]

I'd have to be a fucking idiot to write anything personal in something that dozens of people are going to hear. Most of them aren't smart enough to get it in the first place.

[They were on a different level now, and from Kit's current position he was forced to tilt his head up to gaze at Vincent. A deliberate move on his part, but then...he seldom did anything at all without purpose.]

I suppose that proves my point, doesn't it? Music isn't something I know a lot about.

[It wasn't a lie, of course. For all that he'd read a great deal while he'd been at the juvenile detention center, his target interests had been very specific and hadn't included music. He enjoyed listening to different melodies and compositions, but if he was honest, there was nothing quite like the calm clarity that only silence could provide. That, or the "music" of the world around him. The ambiance of people and traffic, animals, and even the inner workings of his own body. His lungs ushering air into and from his chest, heart pumping blood, and a pulse like an ever steady rhythm in his own ears, one that beat according to his conduction...

Still staring up at the other boy, gaze unwavering, Kit continued.]

I wonder, though...if they aren't very smart, wouldn't they be the perfect audience to receive personal lyrics? Like hiding the truth within plain sight.

[It was both an opportunity to bask in one's superiority, as well as a way to contend with the risks of being discovered, a challenge that could scarcely be turned away by someone so enticed by peril as Vincent was.]

[a derisive puff of breath escapes his lips, equal parts amused and unimpressed. his gaze moves away from Kit to look out at nothing as he rolls his shoulders idly.]

It doesn't work like that. For every ten morons in the crowd, there's always one like you.

[someone with clear eyes and too much time on their hands, staring straight through the band on stage to the dark moments behind the curtain that had brought them there. he could cloak his emotions in as much mystical imagery as he liked, but they would always know.

...not that it had ever stopped him. Kit was mistaken in believing that only his songs were intimately tied to him - every aspect of every show was a facet of himself, carefully planned and displayed with brazen pride. in moments like these he might hide such details, but the moment the stage lights flickered on he was practically daring the audience to call him out on baring all.

so far no one ever had. whether it was ignorance or fear, he couldn't say, but both possibilities were intensely satisfying.

for now, he lets his stare fall back down onto his companion. intentional or not, he appreciates having the metaphorical upper hand when it comes to height for a little while. it didn't happen often without some intentional positioning of his own.]

You don't need to know about music to figure that out. Just people.

[Kit could hardly believe his ears. Had Vincent just paid him an actual compliment?

There was no other explanation, for the other teen's insults thus far hadn't exactly been subtle.

But there was more to those words than recognition of his acuity, Kit thought. Vincent was telling him that the window between them was visible from both sides; if Vincent was transparent to Kit, then Kit was also transparent to Vincent. In a way, and perhaps because he expected it, having already acknowledged the other boy's cleverness, Kit found the whole exchange to be a relief.

It was better to have such things out in the open and it allowed something softer to return to his expression at last.]

I suppose you're right, but I wonder...why would you perform at all if what you're playing isn't personal in some way? I think would be a lot like standing on a stage and giving someone else's speech: ultimately devoid of all meaning and unsatisfying. And certainly not a way to make one's mark on the industry.

[it's a compliment, yes, but one that could easily be turned on its head had Kit chosen to pursue it further. he'd never said which trait made these imaginary concertgoers 'like him', after all.]

Anything can be satisfying if you're paid enough for it.

[it's delivered only half-seriously, but there's a note of truth in his words. before running away Vincent had rarely ever thought about money; his parents were more than well off enough to be able to cover his wants and needs alike with extra to spare.

since then...he's become a lot more aware of any possible opportunity to make even a single macca. extreme poverty, even temporarily, would do that to a person, although he frequently wondered if it wasn't simply an outgrowth of his own natural selfishness.]

Just because it doesn't mean anything to me doesn't mean I can't get into it. There's a difference between personal and exciting.

I suppose.

[Conversations with Vincent were a lot like playing a game of snakes and ladders. Just when one thought he was getting ahead, some unsuspecting snake reared its head and undid all the progress that was made. Such was how Kit felt when he suddenly found himself recalling his past once more. He'd thought he'd moved on from that, had distracted himself enough with talk of music...

But he was wrong.

There was a time, not even that long ago, when he'd thought that way. Even now, there were times when the rewards for doing a job were enough to convince him to take it. But there was no real satisfaction in anything that was purely for monetary gain. Such things were like an infertile paradise. Once all the fruits were plucked, there was nothing left. It was empty. And he'd filled so much of his youth chasing such treasures...spent so much time looking in all the wrong directions and not for what was truly important.]

I've learned that risk reaps the greatest rewards, but I've also discovered that the type of risk is an important factor in that equation.

[Turning his gaze away from Vincent, Kit lowered his chin to the top of his knees and stared out over the empty and dimly lit lobby. He was hesitant to continue speaking, as if voicing his thoughts would dredge up old feelings, or amplify and make those already present that much worse. But he did not remain silent for long.]

The more of ourselves we sacrifice, the greater the prize that awaits. Like playing roulette, with everything you are hanging in the balance — that sort of risk is the most exciting of all because it yields the greatest return.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject