Alternative lines · 3Conditional
Trying to talk to the wind? The city? Whatever you thought would happen did not, and now you're just standing there with your hands fallen to your side.
Physique
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
711 · Voice lines
Trying to talk to the wind? The city? Whatever you thought would happen did not, and now you're just standing there with your hands fallen to your side.
Trying to talk to the wind? The city? Whatever you thought would happen did not, and now you're just standing there, in the dusk hour. With your hands fallen to your side.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? A terrible cold comes over you as you think the words. They echo in your skull, alien suddenly.
Suddenly there's a sigh, carried on the molecules around you, moving, flowing from high pressure to low pressure. Like that of a woman emptying her lungs. She wraps the collapsing stone box in front of you in her breath, flowing through it...
Anyway -- you do it sector by sector. Go over the whole peninsula, ask the locals, enter the places which you can enter first.
Someone crouches, heels digging into wet sand. Hands sweep across the sand, grains sticking to the frayed skin of the fingertips. An old man sits on a slab of concrete and taps his fingers against the glass of a scope... you shudder.
Somewhere on the outskirts of Faubourg, a scrawny teenage girl stands by the side of the road, greeting passing vehicles with a calloused thumb turned upward. She's tired. She wants to leave. But she knows she will come back.
As you hold the opened door you can feel the air moving. A little draft. A whistle...
A soft rustling. The snow seems to have gotten between your ears somehow...
A soft rustling. Between your ears, a winterscape with fast falling snow...
A slight frisson at the point where your neck meets your spine. Something about the lieutenant's words, directed at you, but not you.
A slight frisson at the point where your neck meets your spine. You can feel the lieutenant's presence, even though he's nowhere to be found...
Every lightswitch, every motor carriage, every doorbell, tea kettle, and radio in Martinaise, all mingled with electrical interference caused by scattered thunderstorms over Ozonne.
A young woman kneels on a sheet of ice as if looking for something lost ages ago. She bends until her right ear touches the frozen water. She listens to it crack, slowly.
A young woman kneels on wooden planks, still looking for something lost ages ago. She's nodding her head along to the signal coming in through her headphones.
Cold air seeps in through the crack in the glass, cooling the sweat on your forehead. Makes you shudder...