Medium · Perception ≥ 4
Still, you see something akin to respect in his eyes.
Motorics
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
703 · Voice lines
Still, you see something akin to respect in his eyes.
It's a purposefully shrill laugh. Like he's practised it for the express purpose of annoying people.
On the islet? There is almost no wind, just snow quietly falling on the reeds. Bulrushes swaying on the waterline, long dried leaves chafing against each other.
Air flows out of a pillbox window. There is very little there. The air cossets flowers on a meadow? Absolute silence. Reeds motionless. Bulrushes motionless.
On the islet? There is almost no wind under the rain quietly falling on the reeds. Bulrushes swaying on the waterline, long dried leaves chafing against each other. The soft raindrops...
On the islet? There is almost no wind, just the light movement of air through the reeds. Bulrushes swaying on the waterline, long dried leaves chafing against each other.
The far away roar of the city, distant like today's dream. Before it, the sound of sand. The low tide filtered through its grains... a bird tending to its feathers.
A drop of rain falls on a black log. Of an extinguished camp-fire.
The dry grass crackles under your feet as you stop. Far away birds' wings touch the still surface of the sea...
A jitter. A sound impatient to happen, but not yet in this world.
A silent hiss, sea air moving through the needles of a pine tree.
Raindrops fall on water, strangely quiet, forming circles in the distance...
Snow falls on the water, melting away without even a whisper.
The flock of quail departs; now more than a hundred metres away... a hundred and two... a hundred and five...
A flake of snow falls on an extinguished camp-fire. Hiss...
A low hum. The air slowly moves through a concrete box -- through its ancient slits and cracks. Resonating. Hollow. A big building.
Pollen drifts in the light shaft.