[WT] SPACE TRUCKIN' :: open, reading about the signs

[Zjarr]

[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]The canine nodded and clicked his tongue at Eternalwar's arrival. Hmm, she seemed to always be there for the crowd, really. And for the drama. Especially when it came to brawling children—maybe she had a thing for sitting on people? Hmm. All he knew about her was that he found her to be a greatly amusing being, one he felt that he could be loose around. Then again, he was relatively loose around just about everyone here. If anything, he had to offer her a sliver of respect—he did not want his death to spawn from a massive Cretaceous beast taking a nap and using his body as a pillow...or a mattress, even.

But the urge to fly right back with nicknames and act as a sarcastic fool took over almost instantly. "Well, Jurassic Park, I dunno when I was born either," Zjarr replied, "but it ain't 'cause I got a shitty memory. It's 'cause I don't really...have a birthday. I don't, at least. Now, as for the guy up here—" He tapped on his temple twice with a metal claw for emphasis. "—he's a Virgo, I believe. September somethin', before the 22nd. I don't share his birthday. I don't care for it, either." It was a somewhat half-assed response, for he wasn't exactly sure when Flamey's birthday was. "September something" seemed just about right, but all he knew was that it was sometime six years ago that the guy came to be birthed. Thus for the sake of conversation he'd keep the detail as such.

Next came the Astral Seraph, who just felt completely off. He didn't feel like Bastille, and the fact that he was making flirtatious remarks towards Etty and seemingly checking out the goods on the demon only proved it. A metaphorical eyebrow was raised at the bizarre behavior. Maybe it would have been tolerable if it was someone else, but it wasn't what he was expecting from Bast. Regardless he was going to quietly brush it off, releasing a soft sigh before flipping through his astrology books to find some Cancer heading that'd bring some fun fact to light. "Mmm, here. Says your color's...silver. Oh, and your lucky numbers are 4 and 6. Quick, run down to the mart and grab a lottery ticket."

At Moon's response, he would merely shrug as a means of expressing his indifference. Nah, he'd take the task anyways—he knew the dude was just saying stuff. There wasn't an issue there, and it was better than laying around.

[glow=#f24b00,2,300]how'd it get so scandalous?[/glow] — ☼