Conversation Space IV.

[powersthatbe]

The small room is painted a dark beige, with stained wood paneling on the lower half, and lush burgundy carpeting. The ceiling, however, is cracked and bowed, sagging alarmingly, occasionally shedding chips of plaster. Wrought-iron lamp-posts in the corners suspend pale, wan globes of light, and between them along the walls run rows of painted sunflowers, all turned towards the center of the room as if listening attentively. A jutting spire of granite rises from the floor on a diagonal, its flattened top sporting a cracked wineglass from which the wine (a white) slowly spatters teardrops across the plinth. And there is no chair, but a therapist’s couch, blue with gold trim, and ornate scrollwork on the legs, beside which the fluted horn of a phonograph player pipes music into the room, quiet enough to just be background ambience.

Comments

[powersthatare]

"IT Is ... foremost."

[chalicejoker]

Hajime scowls. "You just want someone who knows how to wreck things, to hell with consequences, then?"

[powersthatare]

"NO. CONSEQUENCES Are... everything."

[chalicejoker]

"The hell kind of consequences are you looking for, then?" Hajime is getting a little fed up with all the vagueness here.

[powersthatare]

"DISASTER. pandemonium."

He pauses, turns, then looks over his shoulder.

"revolution."

[chalicejoker]

Well, Hajime can understand that. "...the Apocalypse."

Nope. Nope. Noooooope.

[powersthatare]

"YES."

[chalicejoker]

"And if I won't?"

[powersthatare]

"THEN OTHERS Without my guidance will."

[chalicejoker]

"I'm not starting any apocalypses."

...if he can help it. If he can just keep fighting his fate...

[powersthatare]

"THEN YOU Court Your own disaster," it threatens, pointing one crooked, too-long finger at him.

[chalicejoker]

"Wouldn't be the first time." Nope, not budging.

[powersthatare]

"SO Be it," the figure says, and in a blinding flash of lightning, Hajime will find himself hurled back into Liminal Space.