Challenging · Shivers ≥ 6
Heavy drops of rain fall on the colliding eyebrows and run down the worn faces. The world outside this stand-off almost doesn't exist.
Physique
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
711 · Voice lines
Heavy drops of rain fall on the colliding eyebrows and run down the worn faces. The world outside this stand-off almost doesn't exist.
Snowflakes fall and immediately melt in the heat of the colliding eyebrows. Nothing exists outside this moment.
It's as if the entire world is frozen solid in awe of this great clash of brows. Nothing exists outside this moment.
Sheets of rain over the water. A flight of stairs leading into the ocean. Wave after wave washing the coast of Martinaise, with its motorboats and gently swaying reeds.
A yard. Rain falls onto the roof of a woodshed. The lingering odour of decomposition mixes with that of damp soil.
Looking up at the sky, cold water dripping from your hat.
A traffic jam. Rain thrumming on the roofs of motor vehicles. Inside, drivers watch water streaming down their windshields. The statue of a king shudders, he too is cold. The canal bridge has been raised.
No. You are just one of the hundreds of thousands who watch them rise across the bay from Martinaise every day.
Two green snakeskin shoes stand at attention on the mosaic paving of the plaza.
Standing in the rain, looking north, where Jamrock Rock City stretches inland.
The great gates of the industrial harbour are locked. A chill runs down your back. You shudder like an animal trying to shake water from its hide.
A yard. Rain falls onto the roof of a woodshed. Coal leaks into a puddle beneath a dead man's feet. He swings from a tree, bloated. Droplets of rain slip from his cold cheeks.
A yard. Rain falls onto the roof of a woodshed. Coal leaks into a puddle beneath the feet of a dead man. He swings from a tree, a gaping hole in his bare, rotting chest.
To be in Martinaise, where no one goes. At the run-off point of a long-forgotten canal, in the whitest part of town. In the shadow of the day the Revolution failed.
In the rain-swept distance above the rooftops of Jamrock, a re-purposed silk mill stands perched above the motorway exit. Precinct 41 hunches in the rain.