#cabrillaculler

D --> Hello

so ive mayyyybe been putting this greeter off for a bit but! the welcome parade always comes into town as they say (idk who they r but im sure they WOULD say it)

You’re not checked into reality at the fullest extent you could, and probably should, be when you receive a message notif on your messenger. Likely for this reason, you spend a few moments simply staring at the information on your palmhusk for a few minutes, before really reading it.

 - package has been delivered: @toseektoknoww​ [send bound-book.obj] -

- constellationsArchitect [CA] began pestering tabescentAbasement [TA] -

[CA]: i wwas asked ta send that ta ya *Read at  ---

No; still not registering. Star was asked to send you something? You doubt you have many - if any - mutual friends. Certainly none who would need your coordinates from any other source that’s not you.

You allow yourself a few minutes, before responding, to haul your ass up from your desk and towards the nearest delivery room. It’s easiest to recall, mostly on account of the large astro-table still taking up the greater majority of its floor space. You’re sure you were going to move that somewhere more convenient at one point... 

Picking your way around the room (you’re slow, a fact that manages to bother you every time you stand), you reach the little delivery station, and take a gander at its newest arrival. Looking as though it had always been there was a bound book. It wasn’t particularly large - no comprehensive dictionary of mid-eastern alt. imperial language, certainly - but it was thicker than most your typical alternian reading material. 

Picking it up, you turned it over slowly to better examine it. It was bound in the hide of some large beast - no doubt a very long time ago. It felt exceedingly delicate - soft and thin as tissue paper in some patches of it - frayed and ancient stitching doing its best to hold it together. Dried blood and...whatever else caked the front, the image it’d once been fashioned in long since faded beyond recognition. Undoing its tattered binding (you were afraid you’d break it), the book opened to reveal pages of every quality, and a language you hadn’t seen since your earliest life. It looked as though the author of the ancient thing had decided to sew all their drafts into one volume, rather than keep multitudes or re-write their work into a single fresh binding. Nostalgic.

You pause to stare at a damp spot on the first page you’d opened too, wondering how it came to be, before another appears. A few more stain the page in a quick succession before you hold the book out farther away from you - where the words become to blurred and small for you to read. 

Ah. you’re crying.

To save the precious book (you know it) from further ruin, you set it aside in favor of your palmhusk. You have a few messages to send.

hello+

my name is anniel

i’m lo+st