[MPC 74C] Your first Station: Conversation (in progress)
May 8, 2020 7:27:41 GMT
Post by Bero on May 8, 2020 7:27:41 GMT
MPC Name: It’s the Journey, Not the Destination
MPC Number: 74C
Reward Requested: Bits
It was the dead of the night, the hour already striking midnight. The moon was high in the sky, blessing the ground below with it’s pearly shine. Sneaky, dark digimon were making use of the dim lighting to go about their business in subtler ways they couldn’t do under the blaring sun. The soft rhythmic bumping defined the movement of a vehicle through the middle of the dark wilds. The Trailmon loyally followed it’s given rails to do a dead-of-the-night ride between two far locations. It’s sights were aimed at Terminus, but it wasn’t set to arrive there soon. Those within the trailmon were those that either liked to sleep while traveling or wanted to remain unnoticed while traveling with the Trailmon.
Black flames were surrounded with a sensation of subtlety and very lackluster presence. His dark body was one with the dim lighting of the world around him, making him naturally stealthy, something he took a great liking too. He definitely fell within the latter group, trying to evade notice if at all possible. It was necessitated by the intricacies of his current life and the modus operandi he upheld these days.
Trailmon travel was nothing unusual for Bero. He almost lifelessly sat in his spot, eyes glazing over the passing terrain that zipped by outside, no one in the immediate area to bother him. Good. He wasn’t happy to be forced to live a life without (as much) fighting, so at the very least he could do it without being bothered by annoying digimon.
He couldn’t help but recall that one time he was kicked out a trailmon without doing much, just because of his shitty reputation and his penchant to raise his voice. He actually still had that penchant, but he forced himself to shut his controversial yap way more often… It was that very same day he had this damn limiting helmet placed on his hat. The multicolour pastel helmet started glowing. His anger was welling up. But he let it reduce just afterwards.
His flame-made body roiled and spiraled out as fire naturally would, all the while not emanating any heat and still blending into the surrounding darkness. He took a careless look around to see that the cabin area around the spot where he was seated was still empty. He only had a cheap seat, the kind that almost any digimon could afford. He expected that he’d be denied anything except the worst treatment in daily convenience anyway. A sour reputation would be an understatement. Pretty much the most infamous person of the rather niche ‘Rookie Bully’ category, Bero didn’t expect much of a good treatment.
He was only fortunate he could find a subtle spot to sit, where his reputation wasn’t biting him in the ass. His lilac eyes started to gloss over the area and look outside once more, the smallest hint of light in them thanks to the shining moon outside.
490/1000 words
MPC Number: 74C
Reward Requested: Bits
It was the dead of the night, the hour already striking midnight. The moon was high in the sky, blessing the ground below with it’s pearly shine. Sneaky, dark digimon were making use of the dim lighting to go about their business in subtler ways they couldn’t do under the blaring sun. The soft rhythmic bumping defined the movement of a vehicle through the middle of the dark wilds. The Trailmon loyally followed it’s given rails to do a dead-of-the-night ride between two far locations. It’s sights were aimed at Terminus, but it wasn’t set to arrive there soon. Those within the trailmon were those that either liked to sleep while traveling or wanted to remain unnoticed while traveling with the Trailmon.
Black flames were surrounded with a sensation of subtlety and very lackluster presence. His dark body was one with the dim lighting of the world around him, making him naturally stealthy, something he took a great liking too. He definitely fell within the latter group, trying to evade notice if at all possible. It was necessitated by the intricacies of his current life and the modus operandi he upheld these days.
Trailmon travel was nothing unusual for Bero. He almost lifelessly sat in his spot, eyes glazing over the passing terrain that zipped by outside, no one in the immediate area to bother him. Good. He wasn’t happy to be forced to live a life without (as much) fighting, so at the very least he could do it without being bothered by annoying digimon.
He couldn’t help but recall that one time he was kicked out a trailmon without doing much, just because of his shitty reputation and his penchant to raise his voice. He actually still had that penchant, but he forced himself to shut his controversial yap way more often… It was that very same day he had this damn limiting helmet placed on his hat. The multicolour pastel helmet started glowing. His anger was welling up. But he let it reduce just afterwards.
His flame-made body roiled and spiraled out as fire naturally would, all the while not emanating any heat and still blending into the surrounding darkness. He took a careless look around to see that the cabin area around the spot where he was seated was still empty. He only had a cheap seat, the kind that almost any digimon could afford. He expected that he’d be denied anything except the worst treatment in daily convenience anyway. A sour reputation would be an understatement. Pretty much the most infamous person of the rather niche ‘Rookie Bully’ category, Bero didn’t expect much of a good treatment.
He was only fortunate he could find a subtle spot to sit, where his reputation wasn’t biting him in the ass. His lilac eyes started to gloss over the area and look outside once more, the smallest hint of light in them thanks to the shining moon outside.
490/1000 words
