[size=9pt]"Ascendants," calls Moon, atop the podium of the Astral Seraph, mismatched shadows from the colossal telescope that stands beside him dancing across his face in the dying light of the afternoon. He's beginning to realize he hates it up here, and it shows. Too much bad shit announced from here. He'll make a note to stand somewhere else, next meeting.

"Couple of you told me you were interested in the Cleric position. I'll be keeping an eye out for activity this week. Wanna' show me you got what it takes? Conveniently stumble upon an injured bird, or some shit, and show us how you patch it up. Set up a herb class. Up to you. Just, listen-- I'm not fucking looking for someone who hangs around for a couple days and then decides the life isn't for them and disappears off the face of the Earth. Medics have responsibilities and shit to do, so if you're only in it for some fancy shit to introduce yourself by at the border, get yourself a goddamn Zodiac Title. Taurus, Airez, fuckin' Pissez for all I care, just don't waste my time promoting you and then watching your ass blip out once things get messy. 'Cause we all know shit hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows lately, and I can't keep playing Seraph and Cleric. I need someone who's going to put the fucking work in.

"So if that spiel doesn't turn you off, have at it. Consider this your time to shine."