[The man who appears in the video looks exhausted, completely wrung out, with dark smudges under his eyes and a blank expression. After a moment, he forces a small smile and clears his throat. When he speaks, it's the voice of someone who hasn't spoken in too long, a little raspy with disuse, possibly dehydration.]
Is anyone else out there? It's getting to be a little much, cooped up inside.
[It's been too long, he's been in this place for too long. There are things he should be doing, there are people who might need him. He lifts a hand, wipes it across his forehead, glancing to the side as if he might see it again, that gently smiling face with cold, inhuman eyes, just outside the window. Waiting.
He isn't afraid of Johan, but he's afraid of what he might do.]
It would be nice to hear another human voice. How is everyone faring?
[Part of him is afraid that no one will answer, that everyone else here has been lost to the monster.]
[four-ish]
[He's been around this area long enough to know that this is where they come back, when they've died and revived, that they stumble out of this place, lost and afraid, having sacrificed something in penalty for the death they've managed to come back from. It isn't comfortable, it isn't easy, but something in him drives him to come here every morning, to make sure they don't stumble out into the snow alone and suffering.
Tenma shifts on his feet - he's freezing, his breath ghosting in the air in front of him, and he shifts his head down to huddle the lower half of his face behind a thick scarf that traps the damp of his breath and leaves it warm and smelling of musty wool against his nose. His toes are freezing despite the boots, his shoulders are hunched under the thick parka he wears, the backpack feels heavier than it should. But he has water, and a few rations to share if need be.
He waits there, leaning against the wall, for the door to open, arms crossed against his chest, steeling himself against the cold. Waiting for what? They aren't injured, not anymore, but he is still a doctor despite everything, and he can't turn his back on suffering.
So he waits, and when the door opens, he pushes away from the wall, extending gloved hands, palms upturned to show he isn't armed, despite the gun tucked in the back of his pants, under his parka.]
Hello. Can you see me?
[wildcard]
[Have a character who's injured and needs a doctor? Someone who has to be dragged back to a safe place? A villain who needs an unassuming person to attack? Anything goes, just pop up a starter!]
Dr. Kenzo Tenma | Monster | OTA
[The man who appears in the video looks exhausted, completely wrung out, with dark smudges under his eyes and a blank expression. After a moment, he forces a small smile and clears his throat. When he speaks, it's the voice of someone who hasn't spoken in too long, a little raspy with disuse, possibly dehydration.]
Is anyone else out there? It's getting to be a little much, cooped up inside.
[It's been too long, he's been in this place for too long. There are things he should be doing, there are people who might need him. He lifts a hand, wipes it across his forehead, glancing to the side as if he might see it again, that gently smiling face with cold, inhuman eyes, just outside the window. Waiting.
He isn't afraid of Johan, but he's afraid of what he might do.]
It would be nice to hear another human voice. How is everyone faring?
[Part of him is afraid that no one will answer, that everyone else here has been lost to the monster.]
[four-ish]
[He's been around this area long enough to know that this is where they come back, when they've died and revived, that they stumble out of this place, lost and afraid, having sacrificed something in penalty for the death they've managed to come back from. It isn't comfortable, it isn't easy, but something in him drives him to come here every morning, to make sure they don't stumble out into the snow alone and suffering.
Tenma shifts on his feet - he's freezing, his breath ghosting in the air in front of him, and he shifts his head down to huddle the lower half of his face behind a thick scarf that traps the damp of his breath and leaves it warm and smelling of musty wool against his nose. His toes are freezing despite the boots, his shoulders are hunched under the thick parka he wears, the backpack feels heavier than it should. But he has water, and a few rations to share if need be.
He waits there, leaning against the wall, for the door to open, arms crossed against his chest, steeling himself against the cold. Waiting for what? They aren't injured, not anymore, but he is still a doctor despite everything, and he can't turn his back on suffering.
So he waits, and when the door opens, he pushes away from the wall, extending gloved hands, palms upturned to show he isn't armed, despite the gun tucked in the back of his pants, under his parka.]
Hello. Can you see me?
[wildcard]
[Have a character who's injured and needs a doctor? Someone who has to be dragged back to a safe place? A villain who needs an unassuming person to attack? Anything goes, just pop up a starter!]
Brackets or prose welcome, I will match format!