Medium · Shivers ≥ 4
Outside under the rising sun -- tattered, and in ruins; the windows of the cafeteria aglow with her morning light.
Physique
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
711 · Voice lines
Outside under the rising sun -- tattered, and in ruins; the windows of the cafeteria aglow with her morning light.
Outside in the midday sun -- ruins. The pavements are cracked and the benches peeling. Newspapers blow in the wind.
Outside in the nightlight -- quiet, dressed in sodium lamps. Torn and in tatters...
Suddenly the wind picks up outside. You hear it rattling the large windows in their frames. It carries newspapers, circles the Whirling-in-Rags in a warm column...
Howling somewhere, lashing the boardwalk with brine and rain -- an ancient warmth crawls under your skin.
Outside, the melting snow seeps into the cracks in the walls and the cobblestone streets. All the way down into the sewers... Above ground, the first May bells blossom. You can feel it. A great cold. Then the shiver passes.
A chill runs down your spine when you hear the name of your light -- Revachol...
An imposing figure with almost mythical proportions fills the entire room. He's hunched over the sink and muscles, like waves on the ocean, roll under his skin with even the smallest of movements.
There should be something here -- a memory, a feeling, even if it's just a glimpse -- but the depths of your psyche remain silent. You don't have a single memory of your mother.
Something moves in the depths of your mind, sending shocks of cold through the connective tissue. You're sitting on a kicksled, whizzing through the snow. A warm, kind presence is guiding the sled behind you, her mittened hand resting on your back. You feel very, very loved -- and very, very safe.
The hair on you arm stands up as you hear wind howl behind the window... An outline of a small bathroom appears in your mind's eye. Above the sink -- in a tumbler -- is a pair of labelled toothbrushes...
Shaving -- or about to chop firewood because... Oh, he is shaving! Sliding an enormous axe blade down his bristly chin -- with grunts accompanying the process. Steam is emanating from his naked body... The image blurs.
One of them is labelled 'Martha' and the other one -- which appears to be a chewing bone -- has 'Jairzinho' carved into it. A shadow falls over the ceramic tumbler...
Outside, spring rain seeps into the cracks in the walls and the cobblestone streets, and into grated storm drains. All the way down into the sewers... Above ground, the first May bells blossom.
Somewhere out there -- a kilometre to the southeast -- a gust of wind shakes the Feld building, rattling dusty windows, beckoning with strange coldness. To ask the wind once more.
A cold breeze hisses through dense thickets of reeds.... Something sweet in it, somnolent. A damp chill goes down your spine. When you look around, you're still in the Whirling-in-Rags.