Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-3991308-20170215063845/@comment-3991308-20170629023720

There he was, the American himself.

"The company, I suppose," Icarus pondered over the question. Personally, he liked this time. It was regimented, things were quieting down. "Besides, destiny is a choice now, and most of us here have chosen to go along with it. It's nice to know there's other people who made that same, final choice."

Final choice his ass. He was an outlier, one of the few going to get revived in his own destiny. Icarus knew he had the blessing of a second chance – a blessing denied to a good majority of this group.

At the mention of Ticktania's death, he had not much to say, other than a simple, "so I've heard."

A certain gasmask clad theatre-group leader would have muttered something about 'Authors' and 'interference', but Icarus Juniper wasn't the type to be sucked into those sort of conspiracies. He liked to envision the world as simple and straightforward.

"Well, perhaps the universe – authors – whatever you like to believe – isn't so sympathetic to all of us like they were with Tick. Perhaps whatever gods that pull at our own puppetstrings are more malevolent than the one pulling at hers."

"A truly poetic speech, Juniper!" cheered Orleans le Nouveau, from his own seat.

Icarus frowned.

He disliked the vibes he got from the young prince. Orleans seemed to take his destiny in too romantic a stride. The way he spoke about dying valiantly in the arms of his princess almost made a mockery of others' similar suffering. His friend – the Ram King at his side – was no better.

It was tragic in itself to see the youth romanticising tragedy so.

"Anyway," he said, shaking his head slightly, as if in attempt to shake off his own thoughts. "I'm quite fond of Makonnen's suggestion. "The weather's too good to be stuck in a windowless room."