[This has got to be the worst hangover ever, and she didn’t even drink THAT much. It’s so cold, she can’t believe Marco and the others just left her passed out here on the sand - wait, sand?
Raynie sits up in confusion. How did she end up on the beach - a beach, it doesn’t even look familiar? She pinches herself - noticing the scratches on her arms in alarm - and grunts when pain tells her that no, this isn’t a dream.
She can barely start warping her head around the situation when someone cocks a gun behind her. An angry man who calls her a freak and yells about “puttin’ them down while they’re still human”, or something. Raynie tries to interrupt the tirade to ask what the hell is going on, but he just shouts louder and waves the gun around. She stops listening and focuses on finding a way out.
There’s an opening soon enough. The man’s clearly not a professional; he’s too upset, too invested in telling her what he’d do instead of just doing it. By the time someone comes to check what’s with the noise, the man is lying on the ground with Raynie’s boot on his stomach.]
Let’s try again, buddy. [She aims the man’s shotgun at his head. She’s never fired one before, but how hard can it be from point blank? She got this] What’s going on? Less gloating and more explaining.
TWO
[There are too many pamphlets. Raynie flips through impatiently, going over a line here and a paragraph there, hardly bothering to read one in full. She never had the patience to read so many words, especially not something this ridiculous. Raynie doesn’t want to believe any of it, but it’s hard to keep telling yourself someone’s just pulling a prank when proof is all around her, shedding feathers or skittering on too many legs. She can write some of them off as Beastkind, but others… they really look like, like - ]
Arrgh!
[Raynie slams the stack down in frustration. Screw this, she doesn’t want to see it anymore. She’s walking away - not knowing where to, just that she needs to get away from this madness - when she passes by another billboard. This one claims to have “monster approved, REAL information!” Raynie groans and rolls her eye.]
Is that supposed to be helpful? I don’t care if axehounds don’t exist, turning into the “real” things sounds even worse.
[If the person she addresses happens to be a monster, there’s a beat and Raynie adds:]
No offense.
THREE
[Having found her way into the arcade, Raynie gives the robots a dubious look. Compared to a thaumachine, they’re pretty underwhelming.]
You know, I’m not exactly religious but -
[She presses a pinball machine’s buttons, watching the flippers move.]
I was expecting a temple or something. What kinda lame god gets worshipped here?
Raynie | Radiant Historia
[This has got to be the worst hangover ever, and she didn’t even drink THAT much. It’s so cold, she can’t believe Marco and the others just left her passed out here on the sand - wait, sand?
Raynie sits up in confusion. How did she end up on the beach - a beach, it doesn’t even look familiar? She pinches herself - noticing the scratches on her arms in alarm - and grunts when pain tells her that no, this isn’t a dream.
She can barely start warping her head around the situation when someone cocks a gun behind her. An angry man who calls her a freak and yells about “puttin’ them down while they’re still human”, or something. Raynie tries to interrupt the tirade to ask what the hell is going on, but he just shouts louder and waves the gun around. She stops listening and focuses on finding a way out.
There’s an opening soon enough. The man’s clearly not a professional; he’s too upset, too invested in telling her what he’d do instead of just doing it. By the time someone comes to check what’s with the noise, the man is lying on the ground with Raynie’s boot on his stomach.]
Let’s try again, buddy. [She aims the man’s shotgun at his head. She’s never fired one before, but how hard can it be from point blank? She got this] What’s going on? Less gloating and more explaining.
TWO
[There are too many pamphlets. Raynie flips through impatiently, going over a line here and a paragraph there, hardly bothering to read one in full. She never had the patience to read so many words, especially not something this ridiculous. Raynie doesn’t want to believe any of it, but it’s hard to keep telling yourself someone’s just pulling a prank when proof is all around her, shedding feathers or skittering on too many legs. She can write some of them off as Beastkind, but others… they really look like, like - ]
Arrgh!
[Raynie slams the stack down in frustration. Screw this, she doesn’t want to see it anymore. She’s walking away - not knowing where to, just that she needs to get away from this madness - when she passes by another billboard. This one claims to have “monster approved, REAL information!” Raynie groans and rolls her eye.]
Is that supposed to be helpful? I don’t care if axehounds don’t exist, turning into the “real” things sounds even worse.
[If the person she addresses happens to be a monster, there’s a beat and Raynie adds:]
No offense.
THREE
[Having found her way into the arcade, Raynie gives the robots a dubious look. Compared to a thaumachine, they’re pretty underwhelming.]
You know, I’m not exactly religious but -
[She presses a pinball machine’s buttons, watching the flippers move.]
I was expecting a temple or something. What kinda lame god gets worshipped here?