Who:
diadermic AND OPEN
When: Noon, before the sirens go off.
Where: Sector 4 in the streets unless taken somewhere else.
Summary: "My name is Altaïr, and this is my favorite bench in the whole Siren’s Port." MAKE HIS LIFE HELL
Warning: NOPE or not yet anyway OPEN FOR ANYTHING???? oh and possible philosophical stuff lolol.
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There was a man sitting nearby. Not an uncommon sight, really, though his posture could indicate a number of things. That he was comfortable, or perhaps drunk like most of the homeless scattered around the city. Yet his clothes hardly fit the view of a man impoverished, more similar to a rather striking white hoodie Alex had seen before. There was some thing more elegant about this man's, a style unfamiliar to Alex or any of his memories. Something from another time, maybe.
"Sirens are gonna go off any minute, you know," Alex spoke up as he neared, staring at the man directly as he did so. Most people refused to look him in the eye, but it wasn't uncommon for him to stare. He stood some feet away, eyes upon the figure in white all by his lonesome on that bench.
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When the man came within several feet of Altaïr, the assassin didn’t flinch, instead he only tilted his head with his hood still hiding his vision from the other. A split-second of a glance up before he lowered his head and he spoke in a low sharp mutter, "I’ll wait." Though to what point was Altaïr waiting for?
To say that there was some sort of odd feeling of tranquillity wouldn’t have been a lie, but it was in contrast to the annoyance that he felt of people that muttered incoherently that soon turned into background noise as he continued to address the other with a tone that was not any different to what he spoke of before, "Place your concern elsewhere, I am not deaf to the sirens." As much as his words were borderline condescending, his tone was anything but.
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Not the most informative, but he figured he'd at least make an effort.
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Moving himself away from the other, Altaïr only spoke, "What do you speak of?" A potential threat was still a threat, and if Alex was wary enough to warn him, then Altaïr would pursue the issue.
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"--The companies, mostly," he spoke quickly, as if trying to brush off his reaction. It was instinct, really, and an irritatingly hair-trigger reaction.
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"SERO, and AGI." Altaïr spoke, the words seeming foreign as the word rolled off his tongue and he continued, his tone more demanding, but not threateningly so, "Tell me what you know."
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"They run the Port. You wanna get out, they're supposed to be the ones finding the exit. Which would be great, except they do shit like human experimentation and slave trade."
He paused to let that sink in.
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