Sorry about that fumble, mods! Thanks for lettin' me know.
Sample Entry Two: Emil wakes more disoriented than he's been in a very long time. "Sebastian," he says hesitantly, fingers splaying out on gritty ground beneath himself, and then, "Nier?" But nobody answers, and he hears no footsteps. In case of any floating allies nearby, he also asks, "Um, Weiss?" but of course that falls through too. His stomach is making this really strange sinking sensation and he doesn't like it. It's one he knows well: it's fear.
Maybe there's no point in asking anyone for help, in saying, hello, so he decides to pull himself to his feet instead. Then he brushes off his hands and his thighs and his bum, trying to get flecks of dirt in the way so that if he does find anybody, hopefully somebody nice, at least he'll be presentable. Finally, and most importantly, he gingerly touches his blindfold, making sure it's securely in place so that the first person he meets doesn't accidentally come into his line of sight. That would be the worst. Unless there are Shades. He'll keep his hand near his face, he decides, to bring the blindfold down if he needs to. But only if he really needs to. With that resolve in mind, he thinks he can start walking.
It's cold, he notices; his fingertips feel it most, unused to any temperature below the eternal summer he lives in. This makes him even more fearful, because he doesn't understand it. But it also makes him more determined: if Nier and Weiss are still here, which they should be because it doesn't make sense otherwise, maybe they're in trouble, and Emil will definitely need to help them if so. He starts to walk, but kicks something out of the way. It clatters, and Emil jumps a little.
"Oh," he says out loud, and kneels to it. Then he's fumbling with it, running his thumb over what he assumes is its surface; it has grooves, a pad that feels like buttons. "Oh, boy," he murmurs, thumbing over the buttons and chewing on his bottom lip. "What is this—"
REVISION
Sample Entry Two: Emil wakes more disoriented than he's been in a very long time. "Sebastian," he says hesitantly, fingers splaying out on gritty ground beneath himself, and then, "Nier?" But nobody answers, and he hears no footsteps. In case of any floating allies nearby, he also asks, "Um, Weiss?" but of course that falls through too. His stomach is making this really strange sinking sensation and he doesn't like it. It's one he knows well: it's fear.
Maybe there's no point in asking anyone for help, in saying, hello, so he decides to pull himself to his feet instead. Then he brushes off his hands and his thighs and his bum, trying to get flecks of dirt in the way so that if he does find anybody, hopefully somebody nice, at least he'll be presentable. Finally, and most importantly, he gingerly touches his blindfold, making sure it's securely in place so that the first person he meets doesn't accidentally come into his line of sight. That would be the worst. Unless there are Shades. He'll keep his hand near his face, he decides, to bring the blindfold down if he needs to. But only if he really needs to. With that resolve in mind, he thinks he can start walking.
It's cold, he notices; his fingertips feel it most, unused to any temperature below the eternal summer he lives in. This makes him even more fearful, because he doesn't understand it. But it also makes him more determined: if Nier and Weiss are still here, which they should be because it doesn't make sense otherwise, maybe they're in trouble, and Emil will definitely need to help them if so. He starts to walk, but kicks something out of the way. It clatters, and Emil jumps a little.
"Oh," he says out loud, and kneels to it. Then he's fumbling with it, running his thumb over what he assumes is its surface; it has grooves, a pad that feels like buttons. "Oh, boy," he murmurs, thumbing over the buttons and chewing on his bottom lip. "What is this—"
He will, perhaps, manage to get it working.