[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Bcqf1Os.png[/img]
[h2][color=f26522]Aron Carvajal[/color][/h2][/center]
[hr][center][h3]~???? | DECIBITUS | LUCEMA REGINI[/h3][/center][hr]
Ah, persuasion. Public speaking. All things Aron had never excelled in during his alive-life. Quite the opposite, really. His interview skills were never going to get him anywhere he wanted - that’s why he had to hone his skills so much. None of them were applicable here though. Exactly how was he going to get people on Miss Death’s side.

Hands fiddling in his crumb-powdered pockets, Aron re-entered the lobby of Lucema Regini, blatantly avoiding eye-contact with the receptionist. 

[color=f26522][i]‘Flyers, maybe. A company-wide email?’[/i][/color] He’d need to get to his computer for that.

As the elevator doors opened to his floor though, he found that his desk was not in its usual place. Had the receptionist fulfilled his request in some kind of roundabout, monkey’s-paw manner? Tragically not. His desk had been shifted and was occupied by someone upsettingly vertical in relation to his workstation. 

He registered the sneakers on the week-overdue paperwork first. Then the grand speech coming from above them.

Floodgates.

[color=f26522]“Are… ARE YOU INSANE?!”[/color]

His voice cracked from taking on such an extreme volume. Aron practically steamrolled his way to the front of the gathering crowd, his height and bulk making short work of any unintentional obstacles. His disbelief seemed sharp and genuine. Perhaps it had not occurred to him what her scheme was?

An accusing finger was pointed up at Amelia.

[color=f26522]“We already have people trying to walk the Rail. Walk! And you want more of that?! What the [i]hell[/i] is wrong with you?”[/color]

Nope, did not occur to him in the slightest.