TM_RP (Open to Mary/anyone who'd happen to be in Liberia)
and if you're not EQ-canon and can think of a good reason to be here...that's totally cool too :3
Preston had decided to take the children with them.
Robbie and Lisa did not particularly enjoy going to the rationing center. It was a dark place, a formerly abandoned warehouse with a large "Ost-O" Sign above the enterance. Preston presented his identification to the guards.
"Welcome Cleric."
Such formality was required. He was at the forefront of Liberian society after all.
Rationing centers were a side-affect of the third world war that no one had been able to get rid of. In the period before the upheavel these places had been hubs of activity. Preston and his children walked quietly through the stacks of nessescary items, people all moving silently. He tried to picture what this place would have been like, full of people having chattering conversations, arguing about prices...
"John?"
Preston turned sharply, Robbie's gaze studying him with an intensity that matched his own.
"Yes?"
"Lisa and I require a new clothing ration." He said seriously, "We're going to go procure it and we'll meet you at the checkout shortly alright?
Preston managed a dim nod and watched Robbie walk off, hands behind him. His sister followed, eyes downcast as a liberian woman's should be...
He walked, cart (The purpose of such carts was obvious, but they were recycled. This one had a dim label faded by time that said "alphs") in front of him. Liberians, despite their lack of emotion, were excellent cooks. Preston could think of eight dishes off the top of his head he was thinking of making that week-now if he could only find a rack of lamb...
He turned a corner sharply.
Preston had decided to take the children with them.
Robbie and Lisa did not particularly enjoy going to the rationing center. It was a dark place, a formerly abandoned warehouse with a large "Ost-O" Sign above the enterance. Preston presented his identification to the guards.
"Welcome Cleric."
Such formality was required. He was at the forefront of Liberian society after all.
Rationing centers were a side-affect of the third world war that no one had been able to get rid of. In the period before the upheavel these places had been hubs of activity. Preston and his children walked quietly through the stacks of nessescary items, people all moving silently. He tried to picture what this place would have been like, full of people having chattering conversations, arguing about prices...
"John?"
Preston turned sharply, Robbie's gaze studying him with an intensity that matched his own.
"Yes?"
"Lisa and I require a new clothing ration." He said seriously, "We're going to go procure it and we'll meet you at the checkout shortly alright?
Preston managed a dim nod and watched Robbie walk off, hands behind him. His sister followed, eyes downcast as a liberian woman's should be...
He walked, cart (The purpose of such carts was obvious, but they were recycled. This one had a dim label faded by time that said "alphs") in front of him. Liberians, despite their lack of emotion, were excellent cooks. Preston could think of eight dishes off the top of his head he was thinking of making that week-now if he could only find a rack of lamb...
He turned a corner sharply.