(no subject)
Who: timeturntable and legislacerator
What: The most sicknasty first date in the entirety of paradox space.
Where: Zone 01's teleporter, moving on to a nice restaurant with horrible decorations in [LOCATION REDACTED]!
When: Wednesday, August 24, starting at 7 PM exact.
There have been five incredibly rudebrazen first dates since 1624 A.D., when one young Jamestownian accidentally walked alone with another pilgrim for a space of time no less than fifteen minutes. (Before then, new couples were formed via a complicated string of proposals relayed by courier.) And though the precise rating of first dates is a terribly difficult thing, often leading to great controversy, you have already determined that this one will leave them all behind.
You have already picked up your custom pastry design, and in fact taken a moment to marvel at just how hideous it turned out (in a beautiful, color-vomit sort of way). It lies safely stored away in SLOT 7, awaiting your SHITTY-ASS DESSERT call. You have cautiously dry-cleaned your best pink sparkle suit, well aware that Kanaya will not alter any damages done to it. You have even been thinking about how to handle things after the meal if the night is still young, and have in fact figured out a number of contingency plans and locations to visit that could still passably be construed as "winging it."
You are showered, well-kept, and overall hygienic. Your hair has even curled properly around your horn - by far the most time-consuming part of this whole ordeal.
You are ready for this. You are SO READY.
And so, at 7 PM sharp (you've basically given up on ever being fashionably late again), you arrive at the Zone 01 teleporter, adopting your characteristic slouch. If you can't be late, you will at least (of course) look like the coolkid you are.
What: The most sicknasty first date in the entirety of paradox space.
Where: Zone 01's teleporter, moving on to a nice restaurant with horrible decorations in [LOCATION REDACTED]!
When: Wednesday, August 24, starting at 7 PM exact.
There have been five incredibly rudebrazen first dates since 1624 A.D., when one young Jamestownian accidentally walked alone with another pilgrim for a space of time no less than fifteen minutes. (Before then, new couples were formed via a complicated string of proposals relayed by courier.) And though the precise rating of first dates is a terribly difficult thing, often leading to great controversy, you have already determined that this one will leave them all behind.
You have already picked up your custom pastry design, and in fact taken a moment to marvel at just how hideous it turned out (in a beautiful, color-vomit sort of way). It lies safely stored away in SLOT 7, awaiting your SHITTY-ASS DESSERT call. You have cautiously dry-cleaned your best pink sparkle suit, well aware that Kanaya will not alter any damages done to it. You have even been thinking about how to handle things after the meal if the night is still young, and have in fact figured out a number of contingency plans and locations to visit that could still passably be construed as "winging it."
You are showered, well-kept, and overall hygienic. Your hair has even curled properly around your horn - by far the most time-consuming part of this whole ordeal.
You are ready for this. You are SO READY.
And so, at 7 PM sharp (you've basically given up on ever being fashionably late again), you arrive at the Zone 01 teleporter, adopting your characteristic slouch. If you can't be late, you will at least (of course) look like the coolkid you are.