funky station

The room you are in...is sterile. It's devoid of things you recognize. A displeasing white only exacerbates the painfully loud humming of the overhead light, swaying back and forth as it shines onto the table in front of you.

In front of you, lays a paper.

A sheet of crisp, uncrumpled white. Words scrawl across its surface, beckoning your pen to get on and write already.

And so you begin.

NAME: "Hive. THOS. Solace. I do not know. I do not care."

AGE: "28. At least...that's what i can glean."

PRONOUNS:

You pause.

Before scratching in a "They/Them."

WHY NANOTRASEN?:

You hesitate.

"Because i do not want to rot away without doing something with this body of mine."

No...no. Not good.

You strike a line through it.

You write. And scratch out, and write.

You scribble down anything that could make you sound good.

You note what little personality you have.

"Quiet. Focuses on tasks with importance over mundane moments. When there is downtime, is usually seen with a book in hand and a water in the other. Does not care for much drama, unless assigned as a reporter. Does their best."

You stop.

APPEARANCE:

Hm.

"Takes the appearance of a rotted oak with the inside hollow. Eyes are a dark grey, fogged over. Carries the smell of vines and mushrooms. Creaks when moving. Snaps when speaking. Hunched over at all times."

You have to be honest. You've seen worse looking people work there...You'll be fine.

You fill out everything you can. Your history is one you enjoy.

"Never usually around other humans, you were left to your own devices for a while...on account of the looks. You lived around 20 years isolated within the sanctuary of the woods. Eventually, you got bored, and decided to attempt to contact people. You met someone, you became friends, they offered you a job here."

...You regret trying.

You fill out the rest, skimming over icebreakers and writing down what little things matter. Your species, Diona. (How you missed it? You don't recall.) Blood Type, Sap. (Do you have blood?) Height, 6' 3''. (Explains why you hunch.) Weight, 40 kg. (Light as a feather.)

You circle back.

WHY NANOTRASEN?

...

"Because I have to."

There.

You're done.

You're Exhausted.

USUAL CLOTHING

Bartender

Chaplain

Janitor

Off-Duty

Reporter