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[ORPHEUS]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Orpheus had figured out that permanency sucked before he turned two years old. His parents, his collar, his dad — love, hell, safety, and pain — nothing ever stayed. This place won't stay and neither will the people here, himself included. But the more days pass, the more comfortable he feels in the observatory, and wandering through the winter-white territory. Everyone is kind to him (not really everyone); they were soft and gentle. There were a few exceptions, but that makes everything feel... real. Safe, or at least safer. So he settles down, bit by bit, and this is hardly the season for it, but he finds a planter with weeds growing in some empty room — he wonders who owned it, who left it, why they forgot about their possessions. It's dusty and dry, with dead leaves and dying stalks. He supposes that's a part of his life too, breathing life into things that needed it. That sounds a lot more profound than it really was.

He'd simply dragged the planter back to his room as gently as possible, soil and dead plants gently poured out onto a tarp. A few stray particles scatter off — not enough to piss him off now, though he makes a note to clean it up later — and one stubborn beetle heads towards the door, but otherwise it seems to accomplish nothing. "I don't think any of you can be saved," Orpheus murmurs to the dry plants and wilted flowers, "but you'll make great fertilizer one day." Everyone would; now that's pretty damn morbid. "Wonder what seeds I can find here."