[ He settles more slowly next to her, and takes a long drink. The lack of immediate crowds is clearing his head; he, finally, burns part of the reserve of tin that he swallowed earlier. His senses sharpen, the sunlight becoming blinding, the grass vibrant with color, the individual stitches on his clothing palpable. He lets out a sigh, and extinguishes tin again. He couldn't burn it among so many people; the sensory enhancement would have been painful and disorienting. ]
No. A less advanced place. A place that doesn't like advancement.
no subject
No. A less advanced place. A place that doesn't like advancement.
I'm Zane.