Ruin winced, the icon burning lurid orange between her and Grey. “[b]Yes, I mean Max. Guess there’s not much point in roleplaying [i]now[/i], of all times.[/b]” A faint sigh, swallowed by the empty room in the real world. “[b]I’m sorry to hear about his wife. I didn’t know him – outside the game, that is – but he was a good player. And a good [i]role[/i]player, too. Please, pass on my best to them both. If I ever find him in another game, it’d be my pleasure to play with him again. The same goes for you as well.[/b]”

Her attention was drawn, then, by one of the other players, another high-up in the Empire, a human with the sort of face that people described as ‘craggy’, or possibly ‘weathered’. Bulking large in splendid robes and plate, he was an imposing sight. BigArmedBillster, the tooltip handily told her, although shamefully she’d forgotten, for the moment, his character name. Or perhaps had never known it; she couldn’t recall having played with him before. He clearly knew exactly who [i]she[/i] was, though, and something of the storied history of the Sephirot.

“[b]Ha![/b]” In the real world, Ruin’s lips twitched upwards in an involuntary smile, remembering the incidents, even as her avatar remained serenely passive. “[b]Yes, I remember that.[/b]” At the [i]time[/i], being pipped to the win had been incredibly frustrating – and costly - but now… 

“[b]Personally, I think they were [i]particularly[/i] sore losers.[/b]” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “[b]We [i]did[/i] flood their base of operations with holy water, after all. I’d wanted to use holy syrup, but we had a narrow window of opportunity and I didn’t manage to modify an Infinite Flask in time.[/b]” A shrug and a laugh. “[b]Still worth it to see their sallow undead faces, particularly since the lake is still there. I went back earlier,[/b]” she explained. Doubtless many other players had been doing their own nostalgia tours in the final days and hours of the game. It had been oddly gratifying to see the sparkling waters of a sanctified lake gleaming in the sunlight, where once a sprawling vampiric lair had blighted the land.

She half-turned at the announcement of the Seven Scythes, a group that had been a thorn – more than a thorn, if she was being truthful; some of the clashes had been legendary - in the side of the Sephirot more than once in the past, almost diametrically opposed in their outlook. Quietly, she thanked the fact that her avatar couldn’t mimic facial expressions. Not that she really held much of a grudge, not now, but the death-and-decay fetish of the undead races had always faintly offended her sensibilities. There was just something slightly unsettlingly [i]morbid[/i] about playing a corruption-riddled skeleton.

Still, there were probably people who detested the style of the angels, too, and there was [i]no point[/i] in being antagonistic now.

He didn’t seem particularly [i]social[/i], casting an empty-eyed gaze across the room before making a beeline for one of the peripheral chairs, but before she – or anyone else – could offer more than the most perfunctory of greetings, Hurricane Reidy hit. It was a surprise to be grabbed so cavalierly, but this was a guildhall and the last hour to boot; Ruin let herself go the flow in a whirl of wings. 

It was even a good idea, a screenshot preserving them forever – or as forever as digital media could get, anyway.

“[b]You might regret it later if you don’t,[/b]” she called to Grey. “[b]When you become an ‘old fart’-[/b]” the inverted commas dropped neatly around the phrase “[b]-a picture helps keep the memories bright.[/b]” Turning towards Reidy – known to her group, of course, as he was to most heteromorph groups of any real longevity; information was power and he’d traded heavily in it – she added: “[b]If you could send me a copy, I’d be grateful.[/b]”