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
Spring
POSTED ON Feb 27, 2022 3:58:26 GMT
A young woman who was not quite Chryssa Glasgow stood at the base of the Oldale Plum Tree, the largest living remnant of the Vital Spirit Festival which had been held in this very place one year before. Neither she nor her namesake had been there at the time, though Chryssa had enjoyed watching a livestream of the frenzied Tapu Bulu from the safety of her hospital bed in Ever Grande. Still, the sight of the great tree, grown from splintered wood and scattered seeds, inspired awe even in a stranger. High above, its branches were just beginning to bud with beads of carmine. "You're up there, aren't you?" The stranger's voice carried up from the ground. "They say you've been inside there, hibernating. Can you hear me? I have to talk to you." She waited for a time, and when there was no response, the young woman squared her shoulders. She drew the Honedge at her side, though the blade was dull. Then she began to climb. The old, weathered face felt like a cliff wall, but her feet found footholds in knobs and grooves within the bark. She used Honedge like a knife, digging it into the tree above and hauling herself up arm-by-arm. "How did you even get up here?" she panted, balancing on a low bough and fumbling with her free hand for the rim of the hollow where Zac slept. She managed to pull her chin up and over the edge, standing on the bending blade of her sword. She could see the two of them now, huddled together like sleeping owls in the same nest. "Now will you listen? Wake up, please. This is important. I need your help, Zac Ramsay ."
The fact that the name wasn't prefaced by an insult said more than anything else. Zac Ramsay
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