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[/b][/h3][/sup][/color][/row][row][cell][sup][h2][color=black]Trystan Salazar[/color][/h2][/sup]
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[sup][color=black][b]█  [sup]   [/sup]act one: way down we go    [/b][/color][/sup][indent][sup][color=a9a9a9][color=black]▸[/color] Ritman High, Football Field
Interacting with [@Salsa Verde] [/color][/sup][/indent][center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/824488408562794527/970459343667494932/unknown.png[/img][/center][sub][color=#2e2c2c]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sub][/cell][cell][center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/824488408562794527/967592442486460476/unknown.png[/img][/center][indent][color=dcdcdc][sub]

Trystan wasn’t that much of a fan of alcoholic drinks, especially when he remembered that one time one of his co-workers had a drunk confession at the bar. He had come along with the rest of them just to make sure no one wondered why he wasn’t around, and then suddenly that other lady editor started babbling about how much she liked their boss. Of course, who wouldn’t like the boss? He wasn’t that stereotypical manager that always felt the need to scream and rage. He was nice…

Trystan shivered. The night felt a bit cold, and he had forgotten to use a thicker jacket. Instead, he had a black sweater, paired with a grey scarf around his neck and halfway up his chin. The thin trench coat reached all the way to his ankles, almost giving Trystan the appearance of a protagonist in the Matrix movies, that is, if only he also had shades.

Either way, Trystan had come here, to join in the reunion and to revisit a piece of memorabilia in a buried time capsule along with the few others that had bothered to attend. For his part, he remembered that he placed a letter in a bottle, filled with lots of appreciative thoughts that would have seemed out of character for someone that seemed so petty and stubborn, especially back at high school. It wasn’t like he was well known for being too friendly.

He pulled out his Android phone, reminding himself that this was a better choice because Apples willfully slows down older iPhones with each successive software update while making them more and more expensive with less and less features. Putting on his reading glassses, he looked at the group chat that Jack made for the event, nodding at the messages that was reading just now. 

“Oh, the old field?” Trystan said to himself, aloud, seeing what Meir had just sent. The fact that he had added his own name at the end of the message was funny to see, but at the same time, none of them really had a right to judge the formerly bully target. He was a professor in MIT, one of the most prestigious universities around. It really wasn’t a surprise that the oppressed one would become their best and brightest. Oh, if only he got as high as that level, then maybe Father would actually be proud. Instead he found success in his own way, much to the displeasure of his dad. He wanted him to become a lawyer, but Trystan didn’t want it. 

In the end, he got the fourth kind of profession someone in his family could get after doctor, lawyer, and engineer: the disgrace. Not that he cares; he has good money anyway.

As he walked closer, Trystan sent a GIF message in reply to Meir’s latest message, which told them that the front door was locked.

And so he took the side entrance, which he somewhat remembered from his last visit here two five years ago, which was when he came to Delton to show his former bullies how petty he was. 

Soon enough, he was there, in the field where they were supposed to meet. Any time now…

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