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Anthropomorphism is real. It is the human mind doing its best to interpret signals from beings that communicate in more estranged ways.

Something behind all the meticulous layers of professional politesse. A hunger. Not for food nor sex nor even, really, for beauty...

Followed up by looking around you, as if something else caught her attention.

That shrug was a little stiff. He's her type.

He can't have just been waiting for you.

Her demeanour softens ever so slightly.

Almost like she's offended, or can't stand to look any longer.

Keeps her voice low, even, and her eyes downcast.

Matches a certain hustler near the roundabout who calls you baby-girl.

That description almost fits Ramses, though you wouldn't describe him as heavyset, just big.

Taking in Vespar's face, then yours -- younger, not yet burdened by five years of guilt.

Quiet scepticism as she re-assesses you.

No sign of grief, though she appears faintly sad to be the bearer of bad news.

Never drank himself.

It took him a long time to warm up to people, but once he did he was loyal to a fault.

Slouched in the booth, affect too stiff to be believable.

You really were scrubbing the hell out of those tables. Probably scared a few people off.

Voice carefully neutral.

Her eyes dart across your face, trying to find reassurance.

Only a trace of sympathy.

Like she's explaining to a simpleton.

Looking past you, careful to keep an eye on his table.

Looking past you, keeping half a careful eye on Ignatz.

Poor trade. PSEUDOPOD seems to be enjoying himself.

He didn't fully buy it. More.

Sarcasm. He knows you're together.

You feel PSEUDOPOD's unsettling gaze on you.

He's gone totally off script.

He looks down at his empty hands, imagining the mugs.

He does not give a single fascist fuck about any deathless heroes.

She pressed all of them.

Arms crossed, brow furrowed -- not a hint of paternal care.

He traces the veins on the back of his hand, under the thinning skin.

The way he said 'service'... like he meant...

You sense a change behind his eyes. A decision has been made.

His face seems to say: 'but not if this job carries on the way it is'.

No need when your body language matches a spider as it stiffly curls up into a ball to die.

He grimaces, wearing the same look as when you asked him about the moon.

It's locked away deep inside, far away from the surface that he's comfortable presenting.

You see the pity for the miners in the man's eyes. Men and women drying out inside barren rock, the billowing dust steadily making them blind...

He hid it well. What else could he be hiding?

Mention of La Luz never fails to make your hairs stand attentive.

Something's up. This is a distraction.

As if expecting a miracle to materialise before him.

He seems exhilarated to have caught something as obvious.

The universal sign for 'never heard of it'.

His familiarity toward you is, for all intents and purposes, real.

Brow slightly ruffled, not entirely sure where to look. He's not used to having his picture taken.

Brow slightly ruffled, not entirely sure where to look. He's not used to having his picture taken.

811 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 9 of 17