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ROLL OUT THE WORKERS. RESTORE FORMER GLORY.

It's better than admitting you don't know why you're here.

Behold, an orgy of elderly audiophiles. A show not to be missed, standing room only!

A chime echoes somewhere in the back of your memory... 'Re-no-tel'.

As good excuse as any, and one handed to you on a plate.

'Sex line'? The lack of trousers grows more ominous.

It's as if you just told her a secret, the same secret she has kept for many of her patrons.

A TRUE PARTISAN.

Is there any part of you left that's still of Mircea?

NOT PARTY ALLEY. THE PARTY'S ALLEY.

The Palace of Culture in Novessa is grand, imposing, and in a constant state of renovation and expansion. You've never seen it without at least one wing closed for construction.

Inside a dark desk drawer, contracts and architectural drawings for a sixteen-story luxury apartment building and retail complex await the day the Palace's ceiling finally caves in.

IN ANOTHER LIFE YOU SING SONGS OF LIBERATION AND BRAID CARNATIONS INTO EACH OTHER'S HAIR.

THE CITY-STATE'S INDIVIDUALIST STREAK HAS LEFT IT WEAK AND EXPOSED.

Your hand shakes. Your mind buzzes with worst-case scenarios. It could get so much worse than she thinks.

She suspects the answer is 'now'.

She's just happy you took the hint -- she truly doesn't want to dwell on this.

Never drank himself.

He'd devour the world if there were no one to stop him.

He'd cover you if you whined about it, but only if he was already getting one for himself.

Like one of those master sword makers the government subsidises to make two blades a year.

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

Like a bear in his den, always on the cusp of hibernation.

Unable to disappear into her own coat, she attempted to recede into the painted backdrop.

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

And your work made her lie to him, betray his trust. He could sense the distance growing between them, but could not bridge the gap.

Back to the nearest wall.

He even began to distrust those towards the end.

The memory of the endless ring when you called to tell him the boat was going to leave without him still itches at you.

An attempt to spare your feelings.

This is the correct level of emotional response for someone in your position.

Product of her generation. She knew how to keep herself to herself.

Gäng's poured plenty of drinks! How hard can it be?

Fresh soap smell mixed with the sweetness of sticky malt, the sharp tang of alcohol.

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

Shoulder, shoulder, elbow, elbow. You do everything to maintain your grip.

You hold your cool as the glasses rattle, attracting the attention of a few worried onlookers.

Shake. Stir. Pour.

Your short-term memory is being severely tested. Fried, even.

Voice carefully neutral.

A little pit opens in your stomach.

She won't say what she really thinks of him. Not yet.

A vision of changing jobs, relocating, but it takes a lot, leaving a whole life behind.

An uncomfortable reminder of his assumed familiarity with you.

She'd almost prefer if he just tried to assault her. She's used to that.

Every time she leaves home: dread.

Not only is this woman not in your class -- she's not even in your field.

Without the long lens of the camera between you, she suddenly seems horribly normal.

Another null entity?

9,179 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 93 of 184