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Event :: Part I :: The RoutineEvent :: Part I :: The Routine
Miami was not in the least bit pleased with what he woke up to find. It was part of his usual morning routine that the young tibumeru would wake up, make sure his local fish were safe from the seagulls, and then find a lovely spot on land to piss. Of course he could not possibly do so in his beloved sea- the water would taste worse than it already did if he were so careless as to release his bladder in the sunlit waters of his home. This was simply not something the tall man could accept. It was bad enough that he had the young human boys making a mess of things. Of course besides their piggish pissing habits, the humans were perfectly fine. They'd agreed not to fish near Miami's home (and therefore avoid harming his favored fish), and were decent enough to talk to.
Well, it was such as his morning routine that Miami pulled himself out of the water, only to notice something that his sleep deprived mind had yet to work out; something was o
Developing Characters Exercise :: MiamiDeveloping Characters
Exercise I :: 5 Random Facts
Name: Miami (Father- Kanis :: Mother- Kajanti)
1. Miami's birth name is Kamaris
>>> He changed his name after finding an old license plate that happen to say "Miami" on it. For some reason the odd word stuck in his head for some time and, after a very bitter relationship with his parents, young Kamaris changed his name to Miami as a way to sever the connection between his family and himself.
2. Miami is the youngest child
>>> He actually had three older siblings, though he never got along with any of them and Miami simply dislikes violence, and his family was always quite violence. This of course is why he used to be shier around other tibumeru and humans. Isolated, he rarely met anyone outside of his immediate family, so when he did finally move away he was able to open up and realize that not every one around him were complete assholes.
3. Miami had a frie
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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