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Tullian

A man rolled in, sitting in a chair. It was newer and better designed than any he had seen. He started to wonder what country the man came from, but his thoughts broke off mid-sentence.

pain shot up and down his right leg, overwhelming the other emotions that bombarded him. He categorized them almost unconsciously.

Anger, resentment, longing, some mortification–Ow! the pain bit deeper when the man moved. What has he been doing to that leg?

“Tullian!” the voice boomed.

Great.

“I don’t have any precious possessions, so that leaves the fashion show…whatever that is. Where do I have to go? there? fine. Thanks.”

He limp ed toward the left of the lighted platform before the voice could say anything else.

The pain had lessened as the man in the chair had gone by, but was growing again as he followed him.

Behind the lighted platform was a fresh, airy room with plenty of light. Voltemand was already inside, mulling over the evils of the world in a corner. Upset–annoyed, if not downright angry.

The man in the chair was there, too–also angry. Tullian tried to breathe evenly, even though so much anger weighed down his lungs.

His leg started hurting more, too, as he came alongside the man in the chair. But from the other corner of the room, beaming, bouncing, the perfect picture of happiness.

Tullian wondered how long it would take to get a headache from that man with…pink hair. Then he realized he already had a headache.

This is a regular headache, not a happiness headache. He looked around. It was the man in the chair.

Is he okay?

“How’s your leg?” I know how it is, and it isn’t pretty. “It looks like it hurts pretty bad.” That was…not my best entrance.

The pink haired man exclaimed over their entrance. Something along the lines of being happy that so many people preferred a fashion show, and how fun it would be.

We already know that.

 

@rose-colored-fancy @calidris if either of you want to interact.