<span style="font-weight: bold">@Glaive and Darkmark (Malice):</span>The morning light casts along the ground and scrapes along the bottom edge of the clouds, giving the impression that God had scraped the rippling undersides flat with a razor blade covered in neon red.  Even here in this simple morning greeting in the dingiest end of town, a pleasant, serene atmosphere offered as sanctum from harsh reality as you two greet one another.  That peace is only broken by a hooded figure holding himself at a mere five feet, strutting through the streets alone, moments before the city's awakening.  His shadow cast, even for the angle of the sun, is terrifying; it seems to reach you from a block away despite his small stature, and ripples occasionally in a manner that does not reflect the billowing of his robes.  If it is, even, a he; the figure pauses, and edges its shadowed face to the only other two on the streets at the moment.  First to Malice, then to Glaive, and it blinks.  “What on earth are you doing here?”  Almost imperceptibly, a smile curls up from the corners of its lips.  “Of all the damned...” The creature slowly reaches in its pocket, taking its first step your way.  “Gentlemen.”<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">@KavenBach (Santi):</span>It's quiet.  Indeed, empty vending stalls are locked up and secured along either side of the Ratio side shopping district.  One coffee place was open on the block, with several patrons inside and out.  People move to and fro on either side of the street in handfuls.  Work was starting here, Ratio always woke up just a bit earlier.  A newspaper vendor slides open his stall just as you pass, headlines pouring out at you along with the bittersweet aroma of imported Velle coffee.  The whole of the city was a ripe pear to be picked, if one's fingers were nimble enough.  And oddly enough, Santi isn't the only one who sees it this way – across the street, charging amidst sudden yelps and shouts, a figure in sneakers and a hooded sweatshirt, keeping his face under cover, plows through an unsuspecting group of people, making off with not one, but two purses as his pursuers in tow fall behind quickly.  Only yards ahead, however, a passing group of what seem to be kids from the other side of the wall (Velle) wander by in their baggy robes, usually an easy pick...<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">@Ome (Stella):</span>“What... what... what the fuck is this? ... YOU'RE WIRED!”  *PLAM-PLAM-PLAM!*  “Christ, Gina... how do you... tongue like that... keep going... keep... I'm gonna... ahhh...”  “...Rolling over in his grave, ME, getting audited by the IRS?”  “I strongly prefer 'well-compensated establishment provocateur' to 'mercenary,' sir...” “Man, this place gets greasier every time I eat here...”<br/><br/>Yes, some of the most interesting things could be heard if one kept an ear open.  And that was only on this block.  The neatest thing about the ear, though, human or otherwise, is its logarithmic sensitivity; a sound ten times as powerful is only twice as loud, so the young man walking out of the diner right beneath you, getting ready to open the place up, and dribbling half-cooked egg all over the steps as he eats, is no irritation even as you barely have to strain to pick up on the apparent $6K pot deal behind Parvoti's Pizza and Wings.  Or the communicator mirror giving off an ethereal hum at your left hip – the Velle equivalent of a cell phone.  But with visuals.<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">@Chiro (Onyx):</span>About your residence there lingers the stink of fresh paint, it's getting remodeled. This is made especially apparent by the numerous signs taped to each door, including yours; most of them are one sheet, flat, but at your door, the sign is folded down.  Even before you open the door, a breeze from an open window, open to wash away the headache-inducing pale-blue paint fumes, a pamphlet flutters to the ground, face up.  Some of these, you might notice, are stuck under door after door through the hallway, and inside, you find a furious rant...<br/><br/>“1000 A.W.!  Paradigm merge, the end is near!  Reconciliation will shatter the fragile shell that holds Id safely away from us!”<br/><br/>More of those fanatics, it seems, who believe Velle and Ratio should remain segregated.  Of course, such a major event, the first millennium after the wall, had induced fear for ages in prophetic star-watchers of Velle in particular, who marched throughout both nations to denounce the few who saw science and magic as one.<br/><br/>The halls are empty.  Clouds quickly blot out a good lot of the sunlight pouring in from the windows at each end of the third-story hallway.  As you turn the key to open the door to your place, you feel that it won't turn all the way, and then you realize why; it's already unlocked.  Did you forget to lock it when you left last?