#trash fibonacci

[ecunderbase]

Sometimes a family is a dad, a kid, and two... *double checks transcript* tw-... *triple checks transcript*... two species of aye-aye.

(i.e. @thehowlingowl and I made the most normal family in gw2)

[phoenixortheflame]

Bound: Recursion (2nd edition) by @tessacrowley

Typeset and bound by: me, @phoenixortheflame.

Featuring art by: @itsphantasmagoria

A process is recursive when it defines or contains itself; e.g., the Fibonacci sequence, which determines the next number as the sum of the previous two. But not all recursive processes are mathematical. Recursion can happen in a temporal context when, for instance, the powerful magical force that is true love drags you back in time so it can create itself, endangering the fate of the Wizarding World—not to mention the very fabric of space and time—along the way.

Having an opportunity to rebind something I bound early on in my journey is one of my favourite things. Which is why I was so thrilled when luciddream_bindings agreed to swap a copy of her signature Sleeves Will Go Ragged bind for a copy of Recursion.

It's so cool to see how far I've come in my craft - and to have the opportunity to make different design updates and upgrades to further elevate the bind.

A few notable updates and/or upgrades:

Moved the typeset over to Affinity Publisher from Word. Bye bye, Word, you worthless piece of trash!

Added drop caps, dingbat scene breaks, and multiple handwriting fonts to the typeset.

Full-bleed images! Yay for printers that print full-bleed!

Cheeky barcode on the dust jacket.

Guillotined edges (surprise! they're not straight at all!)

Hand-sewn endbands.

Hand-marbled end papers from The Paper Place.

Now, the bind is far from perfect (see number 5 above). I'm really struggling with my text blocks lately. They don't want to lay flat - and I can never seem to case them nicely anymore. Still, I'm pretty proud of this one, because it really does showcase how I've improved - and more importantly how much I've continued to challenge myself.

I hope you like the bind, lucid!

[conceptofjoy]

either jane goes back to using fibonacci heap after trashing the crocker modus or roxy makes her a carabiner modus some how

[math-itwau]

What's up! Kind of a short blog this week, no pictures :(

Happy (late) Pi day!!!!!!! I made pretty good apple pie and wore a pi shirt to school with my math shoes 😎 And, In honor of the day, I gave myself a Pi tattoo! Finally got real tattoo ink and thought that would be the best thing to do.

Today, I volunteered with a local trash clean up group and I went around the river in town and got 5 bags of trash! 5 is a pretty nice number. Mersenne prime, part of the Fibonacci sequence, and is the first congruent number for the hypotenuse of a right triangle! I've recently been looking into the conjecture that says 5 is the only odd, untouchable number. Pretty cool!

On Thursday(?), I ate some honey on toast! My papaw keeps bees, so it was from him. He gave us a piece of the bee's comb, and it got me thinking about hexagons. I've seen CGP Grey's video "Hexagons are the Bestagons," and he explains it in a much more eloquent way than I could. So, I definetly reccomend watching it, along with the rest of his videos.

Finally, some stuff about school. I've finally got back into the swing of doing Khan Academy at home, and I figured out why sin^2(x) + cos^2(x)=1!!! A few years ago, my papaw (the same one that keeps bees) showed me a graph of it and had me go through and add up values and it was always 1, but I never knew why, so that was awesome! Along with that, I learned how to write electron configuration in chemistry on Friday. Super duper sick! We learned how to count the blocks on the periodic table to find them too.

Okay, bye!

3/15/25

[double--hh]

Suzanna’s nightmare form looks perfect 🖤😍

Are you gonna give them names?

I gotta lol, i'm trash at naming things :(

Rosemary: Annabelle

(Its usual to give dolls only a first name so she has no last name; From the horror movie 'Anabelle')

Schiavoni: Xaxaar Fibonacci

(Xaxaar: Name of the eye from 10,000 Days by Tool; Fibonacci: the Fibonacci Sequence, what the entirety of Lateralus is based off of)

Suzanna: Tiffany Asmodeus

(Tiffany: Yoinked from The Bride of Chucky; Asmodeus: Demon :3 and the sin of lust too)

[bitemedotmp3]

41. — insanity

This is for her own peace of mind. Mika doesn't need to know about it, and frankly, it'll probably be better for both of them if she never does.

Uzi steps under a frayed bit of chain-link fence into Fibonacci's scrapyard. Rusted automobiles, broken appliances, and jagged pieces of scrap metal line her path, all things once used and loved now reduced to decaying trash. That toaster with the wires sticking out of it could be her one day, if humans still just thought of her as an object. That was a fun bit of baggage about being a worker drone, because at some point in history, they were literally just property. Now there just wasn't anyone left to assert ownership.

Good riddance, she thinks.

The piles of junk are a little askew from how they'd been last time she was here, as if an extremely-localized storm had blown through the junkyard. Uzi raises an eyebrow, but continues her trek towards her goal at the back of the yard. Wrecked robots were always brought to the very rear, for whatever reason. When she finally reaches it, she does a cursory glance over the pile; what she's looking for should be new, so if it's not near the top, then-

No, there it is. There she is. Uzi's seen so many worker drone corpses that seeing one more doesn't bother her. She never expected to find one in Spirale, but given what Mika told her, she needs to make sure they're not suddenly gonna be overrun with zombie drones. With a grunt, Uzi pulls the girl's body from the pile and sits her up against a wall. Long, black hair, conservatively dressed with a dark dress under a black, hooded poncho. Makes Uzi's fashion look preppy by comparison. She gives the body a quick once-over; there's a few bullet holes, some tears on the back of the torso where the wings would've come from, some surface wear-and-tear, oil stains, and- are those cat ears? Oh, they're fake. Regardless of fashion accessories, the girl is totally offline, with not even enough residual power to display a FATAL ERROR readout on her visor. She's gone.

It's hard for Uzi to feel bad about it. Maybe she's just numb to it all, and she doesn't even know her name. She gets a twinge of guilt from not feeling guilty about it, but if she doesn't take care of this it'll bother her for weeks.

She brought a small toolbox with her; just the basics and a few debugging tools. Placing a remote interfacing device on the girl's head, Uzi scrolls through the contents of the girl's systems to find exactly what happened. Most of the entries near the end line up with what Mika told her. There are temperature warnings, oil level warnings, structural integrity warnings, just warning after warning after warning. And right at the very last line, a core disconnect warning. That's what she was looking for.

It's not too hard to guess what happened. The Solver preys on people with trauma, with fragile emotional states. That's why Doll, the girl from back home, never seemed to be too bothered, and that's why Uzi had her consciousness overridden once or twice. If this girl was as sensitive as Mika made her sound, then seeing the Solver's glyph in what she thought was safe place might've been enough to send her into a panic spiral. And that causes overheat, which increases oil consumption, which makes you panic more when warnings start to flare in your HUD, and suddenly new strings from ABSLTSLVR are overriding your processes and you feel like you're going insane but the truth is it isn't even you anymore it's something else hijacking your brain and you'll be lucky to even be a passenger and-

Uzi sighs and goes back to her toolbox. A screwdriver, a crowbar, and just in case, a hammer. "Sorry, Mika," she mutters, laying the girl flat on the ground. Even if she's just broken hardware at this point, she deserves more respect than Uzi can give right now. The clothes have to come off, the front of her chassis needs to be dismantled, and the casing around the core needs to be opened. It's dirty, nasty work, but she might as well see this through.

As she wrenches the chassis open, the sickly-sweet scent of iron decay fills the air, standing out to even Uzi's olfactory sensors. This is what she was afraid of: this girl was definitely host to the Absolute Solver. Her internals are made of that same bio-mechanical organ substitute that she's seen from other infected drones, sticky red synthetic flesh and stark white bone. A laughable imitation of a human's insides, but Uzi isn't sure if Cyn was the author, or if it was something else.

There, nestled in the girl's false ribcage, is an open slot where a core would be found. It's not there. Uzi sits back, her hands stained with blood and oil, and frowns. An infected drone's core would maintain its own consciousness in the case of structural failure, so even if her body wasn't able to function, she would've still been alive, technically. Of course Mika wouldn't have known about that, just another thing to not mention to her.

But it begs the question of why is the body still here? If the girl was back to normal now, she would've gone from drone to whatever she normally was, but the scrap hasn't demanifested. But since the core isn't here, maybe...

Uzi's only guess is that whatever process the Island Stars use to revive dead people only picked up the core, since it was the only thing 'alive.' Since it wasn't connected to the seat of consciousness, the discarded shell was just left behind. At least, that's what she hopes happened. If she's wrong, then there's a solver-infected core running around and eating things, growing bigger and bigger, and eventually she'll have to squash it before it gets out of hand.

With a start, Uzi pulls her finger out of her mouth. She hadn't even realized she was sucking the oil from her digits, and while it's one thing to make sure Spirale doesn't get eaten by the Solver, it's a totally different thing to start desecrating corpses because you're hungry. She's got oil at home, and while it's not as good as drone oil, it's fine because no one had to die for it, even if it doesn't taste as good or smell as good or feel as good sliding down her gullet, that sweet, sticky nectar.

Uzi stares at the girl's open chest cavity. This was Mika's friend. She'd been so torn up about what had happened. She can't. She shouldn't.

Well. She wasn't going to tell Mika anyways. She leans in, pulling aside a piece of flesh to expose some of the metallic inner structures, and-

She goes in face-first, and a cracking sound fills the air as her hands tear the rib cage open. The body offers no resistance as pieces of it are torn out and swallowed, just twitching as the insides are pilfered. Uzi's teeth tear out a chunk of glistening synth-meat, and the feel of blood running down her face snaps her back to reality. Recoiling, she pulls herself from the girl's body and spits it out; if she's going to be scavenging, she at least needs to control herself. Acting like this is just embarrassing. She's better than this, she doesn't need to go crazy just because she's hungry.

It makes her feel more guilty, too.

Just the oil. She doesn't need the rest of it. Finding the tank is easy enough, even buried beneath rotting organic material. For a regular worker, even this relatively small amount would last for a lifetime, but for a Solver-infected machine it might only be a week's worth. It's something to save for a special occasion.

Better not tell V about it.

Uzi wraps the oil tank in a rag to hide the stains, hoping that Mika's still holed up in her room by the time she gets back. The trip down to the scrapyard has gone better than she feared it might, and now the only thing left to do is go back home and hide the oil tank somewhere only Uzi knows where to find it.

She steps away from the body, gathering her toolbox and the oil tank as she prepares to leave, and then stops. The girl's body is still splayed open, arms and legs askew from when Uzi had pounced into the hole in her torso.

That was Mika's friend.

Uzi sighs, and puts her things back down. She leaves the android burial pile and returns a few minutes later with a dirty tarp.

"I'm not good at... things like this," she says, lifting the body over to the tarp. "I can't even count how many dead worker drones I've seen. I didn't feel anything when I saw you. Is that bad? Is it bad that I just don't care?"

Worst eulogy ever. She folds the ribs back into place, and slots the chassis back together. "I should care, shouldn't I? If I were human they'd call me a psychopath. But it feels like... Well, we were built to be expendable, right? A drone gets crushed, you just buy a new one and send it off to work. You see someone get gunned down by a murder drone, but we've already built his son. Dad's had his coworkers torn apart in front of him, but-"

But mom's death made him into a spineless coward. Why was that different? And if Uzi ever lost N, then...

Uzi sighs. "I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't be the one doing this, I didn't even know you. Just bits and pieces from what Mika told me. But it seems like she's really fond of you."

She doesn't really have a good excuse for what she's done here, just paranoia and gnawing hunger. She wraps the tarp around the body and carries her back to the pile, laying her among the other machines. Just another piece of scrap.

"If there really is a robo-god, I hope it's kinder to you wherever you end up next," says Uzi. She stands for a moment, then reaches out and plucks the cat-ear headband from the girl's head. Maybe it has some significance. Maybe it doesn't. Tucking it into her toolbox, Uzi turns and leaves.

It's very late at night or very early in the morning, depending on one's schedule, and Uzi barely sees anyone else on the streets as she walks home. Mika isn't awake to greet her, and so she returns to her room without issue. Unwrapping the oil tank, Uzi sticks her finger into an open port and pops it into her mouth, just one more taste before she puts it away. It's just as good the second time. But for now, it goes into storage, wrapped up and shoved beneath her bed where hopefully no one else will find it. The headband goes into a drawer, the toolbox and debugging kit return to their spots next to her workstation, and Uzi goes into her bathroom to clean up. Oil doesn't come out easily, but she doesn't want Mika asking questions.

As she scrubs, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Those same eyes that always stare back; a sickly yellow that morphs into purple, and both ringed with exhaustion. Just a normal drone. Everything's normal.

For a moment, the image shifts. The shape of Uzi is replaced by a staring mass of bio-mechanical limbs and eyes, a looming shape with no limit. A solution to the equation of reality. An exponential ending.

And then Uzi is back. She sighs, and splashes some water on her face. When she stares back up at the mirror, she's still a regular worker drone. "Overdue for a sleep cycle, I guess," she says, hopping off the stool in front of the sink. Shedding her dirty clothes, she lays in her bed and stares up at the ceiling.

There's some photos on the ceiling, connected with strands of red thread. Images she's pretty sure are of the Island Stars, along with that strange girl, Ofiuco. But her eyes settle on a sheet of paper on the border, something she printed out from her memory. A drawing N did, of her, of him, and of V. He was getting a lot better at art, right before Uzi ended up here.

Sighing, she turns over and pulls the sheets over her head. It's just something else to feel guilty about, she decides. With that, she closes her eyes, and forces sleep mode. There are no dreams to greet her, just an empty blackness.

[celestellestial]

It's so... busy. Yes. So busy, and so easy to get lost in the skyscraping maze of this strange new 'Fibonacci' ward. Walking through the crowds, watching each passerby going on about their lives with only a few registering Stelle's existence, there is a sense of unease which tugs at her chest. This is ... not ideal. No matter how informative strangers were, the simple fact is that she is stranded and alone. The company of said strangers would not be enough to calm her cowering heart... but, she must be courageous, regardless. How else will she reunite with the others? If they're even here...

Ignoring negativity, she carries on through the crowd and late into the night, searching high and low. A few spare her glances, even less ask if she needs help. Naturally, none of them were able to -- but she thanked them for their kindness with a subtle smile and a farewell. Towards the end of the day, hunger and exhaustion take her by surprise. After a groan, amber eyes linger on a nearby trashcan with a relatively fresh looking box of food atop it. What I wouldn't do for a quick bite... that trash is looking pretty good right about now... And then, her eyes rise to the stars above which only faintly shine through the intense light pollution. Like her companions, the stars feel so far away. Thoughtfully she brings her eyes back down in thought, and with a slight frown, she wonders...

What am I going to do...?

[needtoseethisthrough]

Ghost Nets by A.E. Stallings

Pale syllables drift

through the ear, reticulate

and mercurial

as moonlight's ladder

glitching across the water:

skeletal rigging

of a doomed schooner

crewed by the damned, the phantom

lace of mermaids who

have evanesced to

bone-white spindrift, foam

scudding leeward; un-

canny descant of

whales braiding down the spiral

Fibonacci stair-

case of the hollowed

nautilus; sea dingle of

the eldritch sea witch.

her garden of stings

and fleshy polyps crisscrossed

with neon wiggles,

the trireme's open

rib cage spilling amphorae

checkered with coin light;

or do they involve,

instead, the waterlogged souls

of drowned migrants locked

in the rust bucket's

vomitous hold-mothers and

minors, cohort of

seventeen-year-olds

held for ransom by smugglers

till families paid

four thousand a head

for their sons' passage to no-

where, the deepest trench

off sandy Pylos,

to be chum, sea-worm mumbled

queasy shades thridding

wakes of superyachts

and ferryboats sardined with

red blistered tourists?

Yet they're real: frayed webs

of nylon filaments cut

loose to sleepwalk like

zombies through the seas

snaring loggerhead turtles,

dolphins, birds, squid, £ish,

claws, scales, cartilage

ghastly trash. What's ghosted is

the future: oceans

of unlife, grimed and

slimy, starved, hypoxic, bath-

water warm. Drastic

measures are needed,

they've been saying, as long as

I can remember,

making their plastic

promises. It went sour in

my lifetime, children:

something untangles

and comes undone, but not the

concatenated

undecomposing

mesh of permanent slaughter.

We watched it happen.

Stallings, A.E. “Ghost Nets.”

The New York Book

Review, Aug. 2023, p. 12.

[mageknight14]

There’s actually a funny story about that!

2.23 is an approximation of the square root of 5 and in the original TWEWY, the number 5 was the designated route for Udagawa, which Sho is heavily associated with!

Udagawa has a reputation for being seen as a run-down, dirty part of Shibuya while also simultaneously being home to a lot of music culture. It’s seen as one of the trashier parts of Shibuya and considering Sho’s aesthetic for/association with trash, it fits him to a tee. It can be seen as Sho’s roots and a symbol for his genuine love of Shibuya and its culture right down to its seedier parts.

On top of that, there’s also what my good friend @motherfactorin-pi-face said about the number 23 in detail as well, which I’ll transcript here:

"b) there's a goroawase pun that basically *also* has the mnemonic for the square root of 5 ('Parrots caw at the base of Mt. Fuji", roughly akin as an idiom to "Is the Pope Catholic?"--aka something that's exactly what it says on the tin)"

"c) there's almost certainly a bit of a reference to the "23 Enigma", which....ohgod that's just really a whole subject in and of itself, but suffice it to say there is a *lot* of esoterica re the number 23, a *fair* amount of which involves references to chaos/discord https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/23_enigma"

"(And yes, the Discordians--aka probably one of *the* two original groups that did a "Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster" sort of thing in basically saying Eris Did Nothing Wrong--REALLY have run with it, in part because a *lot* of Discordians taking the piss of organized religion have also tended to be in maths programs in schools. The KLF/The Justified Ancients of Mu Mu also *explicitly* took their imagery from Discordianism and Robert Anton Wilson's "Illuminatus" (itself an explicit pisstake of conspiracy theories that actually inspired Discordianism) and have *extensively* played with the 23 imagery in its chaotic aspects.)"

"d) there is at least one known case of a mathematician (the subject of the movie "A Beautiful Mind" who went rather mad, but who also had a fascination with 23"

"e) 23, as a number, is generally zetta cool https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/23_(number) and *does* tend to come up in rather interesting places"

"f) sqrt(5) ALSO shows up in a lot of interesting places, including calculation of the golden ratio and Fibonacci sequence"

The taking the piss out of religion note in particular just fits to a tee when you consider how Sho’s whole deal is gunning after deities.

apparently minamimoto’s birthday is in february

meaning the dev team missed a major opportunity. therefore, i’m actually gonna celebrate it today

happy pi day or as i like to call it minamimoto’s real birthday

[art-of-mathematics]

[ksavke]

Perfection.

[balefulaleka]

I'm sooooo done with art school, I'm tired I just want to eat burritos and paint portraits of vampires with long hair and such proportions that all my drawings give the impression of having the anatomical precision of Da Vinci, am I asking too much?

[thebunette]

Have you seen my older trash polka tattoos?❤️

Available here or here you can ask for a commission

[passthrough]

Lurking for a Fight

     She’d only visited Fibonacci’s lowest levels a handful of times, never one to stay for long. Dank, dirty and dilapidated— it wasn’t exactly the most pleasant place to wander... yet today, she wandered the canyon’s base with intent.

Recently, there’s been some rumblings about the Fibonacci Ward. Not the usual sort— but a rumor that happened to catch her ears. Though many had written it off as something more mundane, it was hard for talk to not spread about a monster lurking the chasm. It was enough to peak Mao’s interest, even if it was just hearsay.

She had no noble reason for it.

For the prospect of fighting a beast so close to home was a challenge the pugilist could not ignore— a sentiment which inevitably, would bring her face to face with... not the beast in question, but something arguably even worse. Bodies.

Mangled cadavers spread about like toys strewn from a children’s tantrum— some half-submerged partially by the flowing grime-water pouring endlessly from a pipe, others spread against the trash and refuse opposite. With how they were spread out, it was clear enough that something had made a path for itself, here in the depths. Yet for as gruesome as the sight was, as she looked at their torn bodies with a tinge of disgust to her otherwise placid face... 

In a way, it was a good sign.

Whatever it was, it was close.

Clasping her hands together— a small prayer for the recently departed internalized— Mao abandoned the bodies, slowing her pace as she sifted into the encroaching dark.

And like a disfigured tree, it stood. A gruesome, viridescent entity standing with massive upright talons, it’s grossly veined arms pulsing slightly by yet another desecrated body, it’s claws still red with the freshly fallen’s blood. Though it didn’t seem to notice Mao right yet, as the fighter shifted her stance, it’s head lurched towards her. As would it’s body soon after.

Mao would react accordingly, studying the approaching beast. Contrary to it’s lumbering body, the creature’s arm would whip forward with surprising speed, the woman noted— deftly backing away from the attack. Long reach, too. Yet as it threw a second swing at her dodging form, she couldn’t help but notice a delay between it’s movements.

Her normally calm exterior would twitch into a wicked disposition.

Letting a third swing strike forward, the woman’s kicked off the ground as it passed, rushing to deliver a punch to the monster’s chest. Yet before the impact of her attack, her form would accelerate; three punches shooting forward with the impact speed of a vehicle. 

Having had a hunch that her blows would do little normally against her attack, she activated her ability in just that moment— to great effect, given the monster’s sudden cry.

It would thrash about despite her being out of range, it’s long claw slashing indiscriminately forward, heavily slamming into a nearby dumpster and scattering both it and it’s contents about, a rain of trash momentarily filling the space. Taking a few steps back (and idly punching some refuse out of her way as it flew at her), Mao paused, waiting for the creature to continue it’s attack... but it never would. In that moment, it had shambled away with what must have been more speed than she’d thought it had. Her disposition would sour.

“...” Gaze sharp, yet unable to pierce through the darkness beyond where it had lurched off to, Mao stood her ground. It wouldn’t have been wise to venture any further, she thought. And yet, that wasn’t what was bothering her. “... That cry...”

     The pained shriek it made upon her swift counterattack.

“It almost sounded... like a person. ... Tch.”

     Closing her eyes, Mao let out a soft sigh... and turned her back. Whatever what thing was, she’d find it again. But first... 

Having someone take care of these bodies would probably be the best.

[helpingthelongrain]

     This was a slightly awkward situation to be put in.

It’s not as if he hadn’t looked forward to the day that Raine would bring Genis along with her, but... for whatever reason, the man couldn’t help but find himself feeling anxious. But the day had come, and after some brief introductions and small talk...

... Raine seemed all too happy to go about with this new project of hers that she had in mind. That is to say, converting a phone booth he had managed to find in a dump down within the Fibonacci Ward into something called a ‘community library’— an ordeal that Rinnosuke wasn’t entirely sure of at first, but given that the glass paned monolith had no functionable use outside of good shelter for the rain otherwise, he relented.

Perhaps it would bring him more business, too. Though he was half-expecting the Mistborn (or one of his other various neighbors) to take the books for themselves.

Regardless of his doubts toward’s the professor’s idea, now it was just the young half-elf, the small robotic dog who was ‘sniffing’ at his shoes, and Rinnosuke himself, standing (in his case, sitting) in the hallowed halls of Kourindou, a curiosity-filled store cluttered with assorted treasures and trash, all lit up by both the flames from the wood-burning furnace near the wall, and the natural light flowing in from the large windows in the back, which easily showed off the man’s still yet to bloom cherry blossom trees behind the store.

... Perhaps it was the lack of Raine’s presence that made things feel off. But it wouldn’t do to let things stay like this— and as the adult in the room, he ought to be the one to speak up first. As such... “Er... right. So then. A kendama, was it?”

     Seated at his desk, strewn with all sorts of objects here and there, Rinnosuke picked up a small notebook and lifted up a pen in hand.

“And, just to be sure, this is not solely for entertainment— but for self-defense as well?” With his free hand, he’d push up his glasses, offering Genis a small smile. “I’ve made multi-purpose tools before, but all of that in a kendama will be new for me. Still, go ahead and list me the details. How you want it to look like, the shape and size, colors... the more specific you can be, the more you’ll like the end result.”

     He pauses. And then, with a confident smirk, he adds—

“That said, I can guarantee you’ll be happy with it regardless.”

@mightatlas​ 

[grandorder]

There were a hundred-thousand ways to find something in the city. Regardless of what it was, you simply needed to know where to look. For the impossibly old and antiqued, one would find themselves perusing the surface levels of Fibonacci. Which is where Kirsch finds himself today of all days; casting an appraising eye over old jewellery and long-sealed wines. 

A portion may be considered trash by some, but the rest of variable treasure. The wines especially - though he has the barest knowing in how to properly gauge them. So he half-turns to the figure beside him and asks, “Would you know the exact date of this--”

Ah. This is the face he vaguely recalls, and one he definitely doesn’t want to re-introduce himself to now. “No, nevermind. It seems I’ve made a mistake.”

@darksails​