Rygen storyteller
Character
It was that awkward time that was not quite dusk and not quite night. The twinkle of the Altiria/Anarris primary star hung just on the cusp of the horizon for those who were willing to look hard enough at its edge to find the first heralds of its coming glory. All but the weakest of stars across the dismal black sky still blazoned out with passion, refusing to be daunted in the endless struggle of night and day that was about to enter its next phase.
There was stillness on the streets. Most of the populace was too wise to do anything but sleep at this hour. Even the bars and clubs had been closed for hours at this point. The most ardent drunks had already turned home to get a few hours of rest before their work day. Only a few trucks were on the streets. One crossed by, collecting refuse from the sleeping people who cared to donate to the planet's growing fills. The noise to the sleeping people was hardly enough to cause them to stir in their beds. Or at least, most of them.
Another speeder with the early morning news printed on flimsy for those who were so deeply imbeded in the oldest of old school rolled by. The droid in its back deftly hurled papers from its open back with machine precision to the proper recipients. It was a near perfect system, after all, with a 99.99998% efficiency. The future was now. The future was all but fool proof.
The sidewalks were empty. This was the hour of industry, not the hour of the people. Only the hardest working and least thanked, least seen workers who underpinned society itself were out at this hour. It was the unspoken rule.
But every rule has an exception.
A single figure moved into the haze of one of the lights that illuminated the sidewalk. The fluorescent lights made her alabaster skin framed in a black bob cut look even more washed out. She vanished into the darkness between lights before emerging again. Her black trench coat swished with each step of her matching leather boots. She vanished into the darkness again, her two green glowing eyes piercing through the darkness still. She moved with efficiency. She moved with purpose. She didn't sway with the seductiveness of a hooker, who even at this hour had given up their work. She didn't amble with the geniality of a consumer. The dedication of each step enforced the message of her timing. This woman moved with purpose. She was on a mission.
She stopped at one specific shop front suddenly. It wasn't organic. It was sharp. It was mechanical. It would have been jarring to any onlookers--if there had been any. Her head turned and she eyed the door, the building, confirming the location. With a single motion, her left hand dipped into the pocket of her trench coat and stuck an envelope to the door, held there by tape. Without another thought, she marched forward again.
As the first rays of sunlight came onto the door, it became clear the color of this envelope. It was that strange near-white creme color. The texture was rough, and suggested an organic origin that was unrefined, old, and possibly expensive. A faint breeze came up the street, but it remained unmoved with the same stalwart nature the deliverer had marched down the streets.
NPC Treasury
There was stillness on the streets. Most of the populace was too wise to do anything but sleep at this hour. Even the bars and clubs had been closed for hours at this point. The most ardent drunks had already turned home to get a few hours of rest before their work day. Only a few trucks were on the streets. One crossed by, collecting refuse from the sleeping people who cared to donate to the planet's growing fills. The noise to the sleeping people was hardly enough to cause them to stir in their beds. Or at least, most of them.
Another speeder with the early morning news printed on flimsy for those who were so deeply imbeded in the oldest of old school rolled by. The droid in its back deftly hurled papers from its open back with machine precision to the proper recipients. It was a near perfect system, after all, with a 99.99998% efficiency. The future was now. The future was all but fool proof.
The sidewalks were empty. This was the hour of industry, not the hour of the people. Only the hardest working and least thanked, least seen workers who underpinned society itself were out at this hour. It was the unspoken rule.
But every rule has an exception.
A single figure moved into the haze of one of the lights that illuminated the sidewalk. The fluorescent lights made her alabaster skin framed in a black bob cut look even more washed out. She vanished into the darkness between lights before emerging again. Her black trench coat swished with each step of her matching leather boots. She vanished into the darkness again, her two green glowing eyes piercing through the darkness still. She moved with efficiency. She moved with purpose. She didn't sway with the seductiveness of a hooker, who even at this hour had given up their work. She didn't amble with the geniality of a consumer. The dedication of each step enforced the message of her timing. This woman moved with purpose. She was on a mission.
She stopped at one specific shop front suddenly. It wasn't organic. It was sharp. It was mechanical. It would have been jarring to any onlookers--if there had been any. Her head turned and she eyed the door, the building, confirming the location. With a single motion, her left hand dipped into the pocket of her trench coat and stuck an envelope to the door, held there by tape. Without another thought, she marched forward again.
As the first rays of sunlight came onto the door, it became clear the color of this envelope. It was that strange near-white creme color. The texture was rough, and suggested an organic origin that was unrefined, old, and possibly expensive. A faint breeze came up the street, but it remained unmoved with the same stalwart nature the deliverer had marched down the streets.
NPC Treasury
