Oct 19, 2023 21:22:48 GMT
Post by Homura Makishima on Oct 19, 2023 21:22:48 GMT
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[attr="class","vpostbg"]Divine requests had been made to him, passed from glossy lips to passed ear ten times over. With their gloved hands behind their backs, his mother and father - those holy progenitors, monster makers - had decreed that they needed to get their name out there. Heroics were in the far future, and perhaps would prove unobtainable. In their absence, regardless of if it was permanent or not, other measures had to be taken in order to ensure Makishima's relevancy.
Enter Auden Verchetty or, more aptly, their business.
Rising Phoenix Talent Agency had caught the eyes of his parents. How fortunate, they said, that the owner of that particular business attended the same university! To put the two together was to guarantee some level of success. It certainly helped that, based off of what could be found via a passing glance here and there on campus coupled with a quick online search, Verchetty themself wasn't a horribly unattractive person.
"Think of it like this," His mother had said over the phone. "We're helping a small business. It's very heroic."
Of course, Homura hadn't objected to that notion. Not because he believed it, but because he didn't give enough of a shit to argue. Past experiences told him that it wouldn't do him any good to open his mouth during conversations that dared to dictate his life; he was heaven's doll, and they may as well have been divine hands, positioning and shifting his life based off of a combination of idle whims and claimed needs.
First, an email had been sent. It was semi-formal, nothing more than a pitch about meeting a prospective hero whose family wanted to put their message out further into the world. Second, regardless as to whatever Auden replied to the email with, there'd be a knock at his door - and we're at the present proper, wherein one Homura Makishima stands at the dorm room of one Auden Verchetty with one hand in his pocket and the other absentmindedly fiddling with the plethora of golden rings adorned on each digit.
"Auden Verchetty?" He calls, knocking again. His voice carries with it no particular eagerness, but instead a feigned politeness. "Do you have a second? I'd like to talk."
He can only hope this goes well, especially considering the fact that he's never even spoken to Verchetty before. He does not need another migraine today.
Enter Auden Verchetty or, more aptly, their business.
Rising Phoenix Talent Agency had caught the eyes of his parents. How fortunate, they said, that the owner of that particular business attended the same university! To put the two together was to guarantee some level of success. It certainly helped that, based off of what could be found via a passing glance here and there on campus coupled with a quick online search, Verchetty themself wasn't a horribly unattractive person.
"Think of it like this," His mother had said over the phone. "We're helping a small business. It's very heroic."
Of course, Homura hadn't objected to that notion. Not because he believed it, but because he didn't give enough of a shit to argue. Past experiences told him that it wouldn't do him any good to open his mouth during conversations that dared to dictate his life; he was heaven's doll, and they may as well have been divine hands, positioning and shifting his life based off of a combination of idle whims and claimed needs.
First, an email had been sent. It was semi-formal, nothing more than a pitch about meeting a prospective hero whose family wanted to put their message out further into the world. Second, regardless as to whatever Auden replied to the email with, there'd be a knock at his door - and we're at the present proper, wherein one Homura Makishima stands at the dorm room of one Auden Verchetty with one hand in his pocket and the other absentmindedly fiddling with the plethora of golden rings adorned on each digit.
"Auden Verchetty?" He calls, knocking again. His voice carries with it no particular eagerness, but instead a feigned politeness. "Do you have a second? I'd like to talk."
He can only hope this goes well, especially considering the fact that he's never even spoken to Verchetty before. He does not need another migraine today.
[attr="class","cred"]VEL OF PIXEL PERFECT
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