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Daimyon took a slight detour from the source of the increasing noise to get a better feel around the area. Yesterday he did not even have the chance to explore the, otherwise not too spacious, floor they were on. The rooms—there were more than seventeen as he had seen a few empty rooms on his way, but he has not counted them yet—took up about one third of the entirety and the second largest area was a laundry room. Not a very exciting development. Further prospects were not quite hopeful either: a storehouse, a place for trash and some lockers no one has taken up to using yet. He took some notes on his e-handbook about them nonetheless; it came in handy to know a good deal about the place one was temporarily staying at, even if it was mundane.

In the end Daimyon was only confirmed in his belief that the [i]people[/i] were what would make this experience worthwhile...or at least bearable. He entered the break room and felt reinvigorated, if a bit overwhelmed right away. Almost everyone was present; some chatted, others drank, a few were still trying to find their place in the bustle. He gave a wave and a quick hello to the robotic monk Mondatta who walked past him and out of the room. He could feel the resolve radiating off the old man—at least he hoped it was resolve, not actual radiation—and hoped he would succeed in whatever he has just set out to do.


Once he was firmly inside and immersed in the atmosphere, something that was very important for artists, he surveyed the gathered people more throughoutly. He saw Cyrus, technically his oldest acquaintance among the Infinites, just stepping off some makeshift podium and making his way to...Calvin, yes. Calvin the metal-smith. Daimyon suddenly regret taking so much time exploring the dull floor; he missed what was probably an inspiring speech about the values of unity and how people were meant to come together the strongest in the face of the bleakest crisis. He made a mental note to ask the politician about the details later.

Talking about details, he would have also loved to be made aware of what had happened with Isaiah—a particularly wonderful name with rich history, the poet loved when names were meaningful—who was lying motionless on the ground, attended to by Felix and Rika, who both somehow made it here before Daimyon, and...Krista! Well, she mostly just stood there giggling about something. Another thing to find out. He really did not want to miss out any fun.

He saw a woman whose name he should have also recalled instantly: she was the Infinite Knight in shining armour. She was first quite often: she had the first room in the hallway and Daimyon wrote her name on the top of the list he hastily scribbled down in the elevator shortly after waking up. And somehow, he has not managed to slip a word in with her yet and seemed to even forget her name in the heat of the moment. Embarrassing, to say at least. He pulled to the side and opened his notebook to solve the mystery because none of these people deserved to be disrespected like that: Shona Moffett. Shona. Moffett. He would not forget her name again.


In the poet's defence, he had to memorise no less than sixteen names all of a sudden, no small feat when there were hundreds of other variables—his dangerously uncertain future, for example—at play. Still, he had been through worse. One of his poems gave a humorous account of that one time a good couple years ago when he was part of a (very much alive) poets' society where people addressed each other by their pen names. Now that was madness. Instead of sticking to their names or at least parts or variations of it like Daimyon did, many of these aspiring artists chose names longer than the title of a king. That or they went for abstract terms—like ‘Revelation’ or ‘The Seeker’—which fit a spaceship more than a person. And the lengths they would go to explain the sheer brilliance and depth of their decision to go in the writing world as ‘Poppyseed’...

He lasted for a month.

So yes, he could consider himself lucky now. With that positive thought in mind, he chose one of the many goals he put up for himself for today—most of which were attempts to get back in the loop on everything—and approached the people around the downed Isaiah.

[color=SeaGreen]“Well that doesn't look healthy.”[/color]
He crouched down to the man for a quick examination. His chest was moving up and down slowly, which meant his breathing was stable. Daimyon took a bandaged arm and put his finger on the inside of the wrist to check for a pulse, which was also there. Thus concluded his first-aid knowledge. Nevertheless, he liked to feel useful for reasons other than entertainment, so he once again took every small victory he could take.
[color=SeaGreen]“What happened?”[/color] He turned to the others with the inquiry he has been wanting to make from the moment he spotted the scene.

[color=SeaGreen]“Oh and, Krista. I...couldn't finish my introduction the last time, so I'm here to make up for my little crime. I'm Daimyon and it's a pleasure to meet you!”[/color] He smiled at her. Perhaps the current situation was not the best occasion for this, but he did not want to leave matters unfinished, even if they were as small as introductions. [color=SeaGreen]“Before I forget...do you still have your violin with you?”[/color]

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