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About Pinball

  • Birthday 03/22/2002

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    Solo Player

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  1. Mishiro stirred and took the still opened book from his lap. He opened one of his eyes just wide enough to watch curiously as she flipped through the old pages. He watched her eyes dart from sentence to sentence, page to page. Backwards. Briefly picking out the more interesting snippets from the long-winded passages he'd spent the morning poring over. Seemingly satisfied, she bumped his knee to catch his attention. And so she had it; he rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and his thumb, blinked twice, and sat up straight. His brow furrowed as she recited the line. Then the question. "Oh.
  2. And so it begins, he thought. He had never interacted with Raidou before -- nor had he ever intended to. They were both attendees at the Roundtable, to be sure, though Pinball had remained attached to the refreshments table while Raidou had immediately taken to the stage. They were taking up similar roles now, he felt. A thorough gaze swept the room for hidden threats. For escape routes. Classical music echoed through the house as Raidou capped a fancy pen and set it, along with a tome he'd been writing in, aside. The place was well furnished. Extravagant, even. He couldn't be sure if th
  3. He sat there for a moment, staring into his again empty cup. Bahr had made up his mind, but now Pinball's thoughts wandered, and he found himself stuck on his brief outburst. It was a normal enough thing -- sometimes, people got upset and reacted with a temper. But for someone with his history, who had struggled so desperately to deny himself any such release in fear of what he might do or what he might say... it troubled him deeply. Bahr stopped as he stood, asking if Pinball was coming along. He looked up, then, at his partner, and then back to the bar. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming." He slid the
  4. Pinball caught the drink sliding over to him and snorted. "No," he replied dryly, "sure haven't." His gaze shifted to his mug, where he absentmindedly swirled the liquid within. He contemplated the situation and sighed as Bahr's musings came to a close. The whole situation rubbed him the wrong way. Still, he knew better than to withhold his opinion. "I've got a hunch there isn't an endgame. Not one he knows about, anyway. Seems to me he's trying to do the right thing, in his mind. But that's a bad way to go about it. Left unchecked, well..." He let the idea wander, shook his head, and dr
  5. It wasn't long before the groan of the old castle door echoed throughout the garden again. Mishiro. Icy blue eyes flicked to the girl who took a seat beside him. "Good morning," he murmured. He couldn't help but notice that she seemed tired. He couldn't blame her. The lazy morning had probably gotten the best of the both of them. But he was happy that she was here. It looked like she was going to read with him, so his attention returned to his book, and he flipped to the next page. The book was an account of the rise and fall of some ancient kingdom in long and boring detail. It wasn't h
  6. His eyes flicked to the door as Bahr entered. He turned back to his drink, quiet, and allowed Bahr the time to sit down and get situated. Pinball's guess was that Bahr wouldn't like the drink. But he said nothing until he'd gotten comfortable and taken his first disappointed sip. Thought so. Pinball took one last drink of his own, and he felt Bahr's eyes on him. There was a long pause, and then it was straight to business. "Would it surprise you if I told you I was just feeling lonely?" He turned to look the man dead in the eyes, his expression completely blank. Pinball let that se
  7. Eyes of glinting blue-gold danced across the desolate streets of Aradennia, resting finally upon their quarry: a residence situated in the dead zone of Floor 23, the former Sun Elf Capital. He blinked once, and his gilded gaze was instantly purged of its glow. It wasn't often that the solitary scout found himself on any floor past ten-- but today was different. He gave the lonely home one last cursory glance before spinning on his heel, and he was gone. He'd gotten all the information he needed. . . . . The tavern was empty. Besides the taciturn bartender, quietly polishing a glass
  8. He walked easily through halls that betrayed every step with an echo. The cool morning sun streamed dimly through cracked and shady windowpanes, and the shadows of songbirds danced in its light. Held beneath his arm was a dusty leather tome, its title faded just barely beyond recognition. He chewed absentmindedly on a pastry. It had only been recently he started spending time at his home. His first purchase had been an apartment, but he'd later sold it to help him purchase Green Garden after learning about the useful buffs that a larger estate could provide a player. That didn't mean he
  9. She had a lot more thoughts on the matter than he'd even initially thought. He tried for a momen to wrap his head around it. The bureaucracy was giving him a headache. But it was plain and evident to see, especially after Mishiro spent the time debriefing him, that there was a fair bit of internal tension at that table. And it definitely wasn't helped by the fact that Raidou had sauntered up and taken a seat where he obviously wasn't welcome. Was that intentionally to get a rise out of them, or just arrogance? He thought it more likely to be the latter. Once Mishiro finished talkin
  10. He stifled a chuckle as they both made a beeline for the cocktail weenies. The frontliner would dig his own grave or climb out of it, after all. There was no point in worrying too much, he reasoned -- though truthfully, the back of his mind was still preoccupied with his thoughts of the man's arrival. He absentmindedly popped weenie after weenie into his mouth as Mishiro wrapped her arms around his waist. As he listened, Pinball hummed thoughtfully. He ruffled her hair for a moment and then murmured in her direction, "What're your thoughts on all this? You gonna get back into the discuss
  11. Things were heating up now. Despite the tactless way that Tiberius put things, Pinball could at least appreciate that the man spoke plainly. Although he felt a bit out of his element in such a bureaucratic discussion, he could tell that Tiberius was just looking out for his own. For a brief moment, he thought about intervening. There was no point in being here if the NPCs just got at each other's throats. Watching that happen could hardly be the point of an event so close in relation to the boss fight. But new faces on the scene were quick to interpose themselves between the bickering of
  12. Pinball found his head buried in his hand. A man of standing? He might as well have called the dwarf a man of great stature. It might have had about the same effect. It still might, if he doubled down and hurried up with it. How embarrassing. The longer he spent the more he questioned if he really should have even came. He looked again towards Mishiro, only to find her seat empty. He shot up in surprise, catching the top of her head moving through the crowd down the aisle. For a second he considered following, and then he decided against it. She knew what she was doing. He could ge
  13. Pinball watched with quiet eyes as Mishiro pointed out each individual on the podium, and gave a bit of context as to what he'd walked into. He felt like he knew enough about the floor to follow what was going on. Contribution, though? He wasn't so sure yet. "Thank you," he whispered to Mishiro. His eyes didn't leave the stage. He was still half-expecting a dragon or something to rip off the roof and burn everyone alive. His perpetual discontentment aside, Pinball was lucky, still, that the other players in attendence were keen on listening to their own voices and acting like what
  14. He was a light sleeper. The soft click of the front door locking was more than enough to pull him from unpleasant dreams. He laid there for a moment, blinking the weariness from his eyes. His head lolled to one side, then back to the ceiling. She was gone. Another moment passed as the silence settled and then he rolled out of bed. Pinball didn't concern himself with the affairs of the frontlines anymore. Not really. There had been a time where he'd longed to be there more than anything, then a time after where he'd despised everyone who took part in it. Nowadays he'd rather just forget i
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