[X] Head on down to a street corner and play for your breakfast. It may start like every other day before it but you're sure the rest of today will be different.

[X] Head on down to a street corner and play for your breakfast. It may start like every other day before it but you're sure the rest of today will be different.

>Not playing as Mystia.

Lame. Oh well...

"Today is the start of a new life for me and nothing can get in my way~?"

The lyrics flow from somewhere in the back of your mind as you sing into the hot air above some sizzling eels. Nobody is around to listen, but nothing makes a day better then a melody and some words to go along with it. The dawn is coming as the sun peeks over the horizon and with it another day of steady customers and profit.

The small talk will be the same as always. The weather and the food. Maybe some village gossip from the women. Maybe some bussiness talk from the men. And all the time you'll nod your head and give your best impression of somebody who is actually listening. A sing-song "yes" and "no" here and there to keep from falling asleep. Humming over the grill to keep the boredom to a minimum. Just like every other day.

[X] Hunger be damned, you feel like following the wind first thing today. Something feels right about it.
Destiny will provide.

[X] Hunger be damned, you feel like following the wind first thing today. Something feels right about it.

>>19313
I take it you posted the first part, made a comment on that other thread and then came back here to see some already voted?

Ah well

[X] Hunger be damned, you feel like following the wind first thing today. Something feels right about it.

[x] Maybe it's time you turned to a life of crime? You have the knife you use to whittle your reeds. It's about time you took what you earned rather then begging for scraps.

>>19311
I'm not sure what won, but this may be like KM. You have to get the outsider there first, before you can start playing as anybody else.

[0] Hunger be damned, you feel like following the wind first thing today. Something feels right about it.

[x] Hunger be damned, you feel like following the wind first thing today. Something feels right about it.

>>19313

>Playing as Mystia

Yay~

[??] Head on down to a street corner and play for your breakfast. It may start like every other day before it but you're sure the rest of today will be different.

[x] You are horrible with decisions. Flip a coin. Heads you play for food. Tails you take a walk first.

>>19339
That would actually make a nice theme.

A scarred face only Mystia could love. She takes pity on us, and can see us for the beautiful person we really are.

>>19340
Wasn't the woman Dent was originally married to extremely dedicated, even after the whole business with the face?

The problem isn't the evil. The problem is that Dent kind of lost a few bolts up there when the acid hit. He decides fate by the flip of a coin, for god's sake. It isn't a theatrical quirk, it's the result of him having gone thoroughly 'round the bend.

So, is this dead or what?

I really shouldn't launch things the day before a convention weekend. Especially a convention I'm expected to help set-up, work, and tear down.

Anyway, now that I have some sleep under my belt. Back to writing.

The streets seem bright even in the fading sunlight. Where did the day go? You lift your head off of the concrete to get a grasp of your surroundings.

Dark clouds cover half the sky as the sun retreats beneath the horizon, shining intensely for the last moments. The buildings seem unfamiliar but impressive, a part of the city you've never visited. Offices, a park, billboards selling ad space, the sights tickle your memory. You were just following the wind as you walked the streets this morning. High in spirits and light on your feet, you practically skipped to this new part of town, and when you arrived, your slightly off beat rhythms and off key melodies brought in more cash then your most perfect of performances on other days. You were just packing up and heading off to get some grub when some guys pushed you into an alley.

"Oh yeah... I was mugged," you remind yourself. Your hand raises to the spot on your head where some shrimp got in a big swing with a baseball bat. The blood running down your forehead trickles through your fingers. "And I guess that explains the headache," you laugh to yourself. You have nothing left now you realize. They took the sax and its case with all the money. They emptied your pockets of lint, took your coat off your back, and ran off with your shoes.

You smile to yourself as you press your hand to your forehead and lean backwards onto some dull red brick wall, hoping the blood will clot before you lose anymore. It was such a promising day. Even now you don't feel miserable. Except for your stomach, but the two of you haven't been on good terms lately anyway. Your stomach growls at your incompetence but you don't spare it the attention.

You rest as the your head swims in pain, and it begins to rain. A cold rain that comes with the dark nights. And you suddenly wish you had your coat. Your legs don't feel like moving anymore. No apartments "For Sale or Rent" on this side of town anyway. You laugh a cold, jilted chuckle as you let yourself drift back into an unconsciousness that resembles sleep.

-----------------

"Yo," a voice drifts over the beating of rain. An annoyance that seems to want to keep you from sleeping. You try to just ignore it, but a kick to your left shin quickly reminds you that even you have only so much patience.

"WHAT!?" you bark as your back straightens and your eyes shoot wide open to stare daggers at this brat. Some teenage girl. She yawns at your outburst. Who does she think she is? From her looks she might be seventeen tops and she looks like she's into punk with her dark hoodie, patched skirt, bright pink hair, and long pink nails wrapped around an umbrella handle which she holds carefully to keep the rain from touching herself. The street lights are too far away to see anything else.

"You smell," she states matter of factly, smiling at your anger. She probably just wants a rise out of you for kicks.


[ ] Ignore her. She'll get bored and go away.
[ ] Wait quietly for her to say something more. You are in no mood to start conversation, but if she went as far as kicking you she better have something more to say.
[ ] Say something to her.
[ ] Laugh like a maniac. You've never pretended to be crazy, but hell, you don't feel that far off right now.

[x] Say something to her.
- [x] "Yeah I had better days. I doubt you came out here to kick a man while he's down, right?"

[X] Say something to her.
-[X]"So what did you expect? This city ain't clean, in all meanings of the word."
I am somehow imagining this character as a britfag.

[x] RAPE.

You don't kick a hobo, man. That's just asking for it.

[X] Say something to her.
-[X]"So what did you expect? This city ain't clean, in all meanings of the word."

[X] Say something to her.
-[X]"So what did you expect? This city ain't clean, in all meanings of the word."

[X] Say something to her.
-[X]"So what did you expect? This city ain't clean, in all meanings of the word."

"So what did you expect? This city ain't clean, in all meanings of the word," you spout back at her, but she seems content to just look down on you with that smile on her face.

"I dunno," she shrugs in response, and with no other fanfare she turns on one foot and walks away.

Rid of her you lean back and return to passing out. A process only taking moments and likewise only feeling like it lasted an instant. As though you blinked, closing your eyes on the streets flooded with cold and rain and opening them to a dry and warm place. You wonder for a moment if you are dead. You certainly feel toasty warm, and there isn't any pain. Even your stomach doesn't seem to complain for that matter. But then again, you somehow expected more then a dark blue couch in heaven. The world is a blur other then the couch and moving seems impossible. You feel as though your body simply doesn't exist anymore. You stare at the fabric of the couch for some time deliberating whether you are dead or not and the ramifications thereof before you drift into a more restful stupor. You have come to a conclusion...

[ ] You are dead and the afterlife is just boring. You expected more virgins.
[ ] You are dead and glad for it. Life sucked.
[ ] You are not dead and that sucks. You have nothing left to live for.
[ ] You are not dead and couches are awesome. Couches are awesome.

[X] You are not dead and couches are awesome. Couches are awesome.

[ ] You are not dead and couches are awesome. Couches are awesome.

[x] You are not dead and couches are awesome.

[x] You are not dead and couches are awesome. Couches are awesome.

[x] You are not dead and couches are awesome. Couches are awesome.
How can I not pick this.

Your mind opens to this new world again. You can feel something metalic in your mouth, cold and smooth. It takes far too long to remember that this is a spoon. It moves of its own volition out of your mouth and beyond the edge of vision returning again to put something in your mouth. You bite and swallow mechanically noticing that you can feel your throat. It's sore. And then the the spoon leaves your mouth once more.

Again and again this circle of events repeat, and every time you bite down and swallow without thinking or even savoring what you are eating. Some time passes and you fall back asleep.

Your neck and shoulders are sore as you wake up for the umpteenth time in this small world. You can feel someone lifting you into a sitting position, reaching a bowl of another soup around you with one arm while laddling the contents into you with the other. Tomato soup this time. It seems unreal that you are still hungry after the arm finishes laddling, and you wonder how long you had been feuding with your stomach.

Time passes.

You can use your voice again. You try to ask where you are and what's happening, but you get shushed in response. Time passes. You can see the room looks like an undecorated study, hard wood floor and walls lined with a couple picture frames and some open books on the floor. Time passes. For the first time, you are awake while being sponge bathed. You despise the blindfold almost as much as being outright unable to feel your lower torso. Time passes. You feel your cheeks lathered and shaved by the same hands as usual. You realize that being blindfolded has become ceremony since some time ago, but the unwavering motions of these hands are distinct enough for you to tell they are the same. Time passes. You can move more now. Your walking is an embarassment, but its better then nothing. The room isn't much larger then what you could see before. A bathroom is adajacent on one end, a window overlooking an alleyway. The only door in and out is locked. Ever since you began walking, food just appears by the door every so often. Rarely the same thing twice.

You have had time to grow content with your situation, but ever since two days ago the door has been unlocked.

[ ] Paranoia grips you. You don't know what kind of person is keeping some street trash like you or why, but you doubt the reason is wholesome. Soylent green? Slave labor? You don't know and don't want to know, cause you'll get the drop on them before they can get a chance.
[ ] Overcome with humility and abashed at how long you have impossed on this stranger, you decide to try and thank them, prepared to do anything to repay the favor.
[ ] Not sure of anything, but confident that it was a simple mistake that the door is unlocked, you decide to not leave this room or the awesome couch within.
[ ] Not sure of anything, but confident in your acrobatics, you decide to not leave this room in a way your captors would expect. Escape through the window.

[X] Overcome with humility and abashed at how long you have imposed on this stranger, you decide to try and thank them, prepared to do anything to repay the favor.

[x] Overcome with humility and abashed at how long you have impossed on this stranger, you decide to try and thank them, prepared to do anything to repay the favor.

[ ] Not sure of anything, but confident that it was a simple mistake that the door is unlocked, you decide to not leave this room or the awesome couch within.

[X] Not sure of anything, but confident in your acrobatics, you decide to not leave this room in a way your captors would expect. Escape through the window.

[ ] Overcome with humility and abashed at how long you have imposed on this stranger, you decide to try and thank them.

Not so hot on the idea of doing anything for them. It's an unpleasantly exploitable thing.

[ ] Not sure of anything, but confident that it was a simple mistake that the door is unlocked, you decide to not leave this room or the awesome couch within

[x] Not sure of anything, but confident that it was a simple mistake that the door is unlocked, you decide to not leave this room or the awesome couch within.

[x] Not sure of anything, but confident that it was a simple mistake that the door is unlocked, you decide to not leave this room or the awesome couch within.

[x] Overcome with humility and abashed at how long you have impossed on this stranger, you decide to try and thank them, prepared to do anything to repay the favor.

They're not going to forget to lock it, they're seeing if we've recovered enough to leave the room on our own.

[x] Overcome with humility and abashed at how long you have impossed on this stranger, you decide to try and thank them, prepared to do anything to repay the favor.

[X] Not sure of anything, but confident that it was a simple mistake that the door is unlocked, you decide to not leave this room or the awesome couch within.

Content with the way things are you decide against braving an encounter that may cause it all coming to an end. Like a dream world, the slightest of things may cause it to disappear around you in an instant.

You sit in your favorite corner of the room composing a new tune in your head. You'll never be able to play it now, but you can't help this daily ritual. You promised. When the old man was dying, he just had to say that to you. "The music you play is something else son. Make a song just for me some day, ay? That'll be something else." He even got you that sax after you swore you'd make it big.

Your big break went horrible. Everything that could go wrong did. Your reed cracked. You caught a cold. Your hand was broken from being slammed in the doorway on the way in. And the talent scout never came. Something came up is what she said. Hope it wasn't too much trouble for you, she comforted, but they found somebody else for the job. Don't worry about it, you told her, it happens all the time. And then she left, leaving you with the tab. It happens all the time.

Dum duh doot doo doo ~?. You hum to yourself a new song, something capturing captivity and freedom as you think about how much more free you are in this small room then you ever were on the outside.

The day passed fast, you perfected the song, memorized it, and filed it away in your mind for later. The hand that feeds reached in as usual. Slender. The door closed with the familiar click of a lock. Security. Something worth keeping safe.

Two more days pass.

You are humming another new phrase to a song, lying on the couch and nibbling on an end of bread. The notes are tinged with a happiness that is subtle between the slow swaying rhythms. You open your eyes to the ceiling and notice something on the edge of your vision. Your head turns. A face too close to your own.

[ ] Scream like a little girl.
[ ] Pretend it's not there, return to humming and bread crust nibbling.
[ ] "uh? Hi?"
[ ] Write in...

[x] "uh? Hi?"

Chances are it's a mirror. Boy are people paranoid...

[x] "Thank you."

>>19509
If it is a mirror, we'd just be talking to ourselves. If it's not, might as well say something good.

[x] "Thank you."

[x] "uh? Hi? ?

[x] "uh? Hi? ?

[0] "uh? Hi? ?

[x] "uh? Hi? ?

>>19511
I like this.

[??] "Thank you."

X[]X ?uh? Hi? ?

Thanksgiving- writing later tonight

>>19603
no you didn't

>>19603
Lying is bad, you should know this.