[color=silver][center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/190710/6e828fd28ffdc1a3166089ba07ba2b29.png[/img][/center] [right][hr][color=white][b][b]Smith's Rest | HQ Tram Station[/b][/b][/color] January 16th, 2677[hr][/right] [indent][indent][indent] Demi shrugged as his offer was ignored and flicked the gum stick into his mouth, pocketing the rest of the pack. Minty goodness flooded his taste buds, disguising the fact that he hadn't been able to properly brush his teeth in seventy-two hours. He wagged his head from side to side as he walked and listened to Alan Fouren introduce himself, the ball of gum sliding between his cheeks in concert with the movement. [i]"...the city that everyone loves to use an example on why it’s so hard to go indie."[/i] There was an awkward shift in Solon's gait upon hearing that, like he'd gotten lost in thought and almost tripped over his own foot. He was all too aware of why 'going indie' was shorthand for suicide. Any discomfort he might've felt was brushed over after a moment of silence that could've passed for him thinking of what to say next. [color=cdaf95]"Can't say I've heard of the place,"[/color] he confessed at the mention of some little town named Dead Springs. It wasn't much of a surprise; he'd never been as far south as Atlanta. Hell, he and Mara only ever went as far as Seattle before starting the trip up to New Anchorage. They didn't cross the ocean to sightsee. [color=cdaf95]"Sounds like its got a helluva sad story, though. You'll have to tell me that one sometime."[/color] [color=cdaf95]"I'm Demetrius, or Demi, either works, n' I'm from all over. Originally, though? A quaint lil' place called Saxony on the other side of the Atlantic, in Paragon's core. Flew for an outfit called Black Steel." [/color] Solon said, craning his neck to get a look at where they were going over the shoulders of the person in front of him. [color=cdaf95]"What brought you up to the frozen ass end of nowhere?"[/color] [/indent][/indent][/indent] [/color]