Not-Chryssa
She/Her
27
May 1
Eterna City, Sinnoh
Panromantic
radio host
agent
as flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport
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chryssa glasgow
PERISH 111.1
POSTED ON Nov 1, 2021 14:33:13 GMT
ON AN ORDINARY HALLOWEEN NIGHT, Chryssa would have been clad in costume like the rest of the children who huddled beneath hoods and capes, ushered door-to-door by watchful Sootopolis Rocket personnel. She was seventeen years old, but an earnest childhood that should have been spent collecting candy had been locked behind wheelchair ramps and rituals.
If it had been an ordinary night, things would have been different. Self-justified and righteous, she would have swept through the streets strewing eggs and toilet paper in her wake, riding her Probopass with barely-disguised triumph—as if merely living life was a victory in itself.
Instead, Chryssa threw down her coat, settling down in her swivel chair at the Perish 111.1 soundboard. Her two Zorua scattered, dropping their Illusions as their mistress returned to her place at the monitor. Her breath ragged from the climb, vapor curling from her lips, Chryssa flipped on the instruments that would lead her to God.
As expected, the reading was still there.
The Radio Tower was cold, and the flickering light of the high-frequency sound wave danced like a candle flame in winter. It drew her in, irresistible, incomprehensible. Irresponsible.
"It's analog. If I convert it for FM, I can probably play it live.... Should I be contacting my superiors?" Chryssa wondered aloud, eyes fixed on the jumping lights on the sound mixer as the room filled with audial distortion. One of the Zoruas looked up, giving a short bark in response. "No, you're right. They would trust my judgment, wouldn't they?" She knew Chu-e Choi would. Cillian Quinn might be another story, but Chryssa chose to ignore that.
Her fingers worked on their own.
"Live," Chryssa murmured, making sure the proper limiters were in place in case the volume of the broadcast turned out louder than anticipated. "I wonder if I should..."
She sent out her Loudred and Chatot. Chatot perched in the CD racks, cocking his head back and forth curiously. "Alistair, take a sound clip once the playback starts. Paisley—" she directed towards the Loudred, "You have Soundproof, so if anything unusual happens to us, drown it out and take us off the air."
In an unusual display of mercy, Chryssa returned both her Zorua before she rolled her chair back over to the monitor, hearing the last bars of the previous song fading out. She steeled herself, counting down.
3... 2... 1...
"And that was Mariah Combee's All I Want for Christmas is Mew," she said brightly, using her standard Ryssa C voice. Still live, she took a deep breath. "Next up is a sponsored guilt trip by the RSPCP! Close your ears, everyone." Unseen, Chryssa's eyes gleamed. "This is your one and only chance to turn off Perish 111.1."
The cue light blinked on.
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