[ when your character's hand breaches the soil, a moment passes before two hands suddenly clasp their forearm and heave them upwards. as they claw themselves out, those hands grasp and pull at elbows, shoulders, sides until the person is pulled completely from the earth.

whenever this person gets their bearings, they see a young man beside them down on one knee, clutching his thigh and hanging his head as he catches his breath. even without his music player, earpieces, and glowing green vision, the man is interestingly dressed in emeralds, brass, and other pointlessly jingly ornaments. swaths of dirt lie in the creases of his clothes and cling in thin patches to the sap on his body.

after a moment, he lifts his head and gives this stranger a once-over. his eyes quickly narrow, obviously dissatisfied with their findings. ]

Who are you?

[ there's a small commotion at one of circles of people gathered at the forum. if someone goes to look, or if they're unfortunate enough to be in the circle itself, they'll see alhaitham having a heated intellectual debate with one of the stubborn, highfalutin locals.

it's unclear whether alhaitham has the edge because his argument is more sound (it probably is) or because the local is losing their patience and sense of decorum. finally, with a frustrated outcry, the guy stands up, throws his hat on the ground, and storms away. alhaitham, arms crossed, one ankle over his other thigh, is completely stoic as his opponent leaves the venue.

that's over and done with. if no one approaches him first, alhaitham looks to the nearest person staring at him and shrugs, gesturing with his arm. ]

If one isn't prepared to hear dissenting arguments or opinions, a public forum should be the last place they visit.

[ springstar residents hate him! new guy does not want to party with the locals and celebrate the capture of the oracle boooo.

not really, but in the jubilant throngs of people on the streets of the psychagogía district, alhaitham sticks out like a silver thumb: straight-faced, beer-free, navigating the outskirts of the area with a scrutinizing eye and impeccable posture. he doesn't enter too far into the crowds or the establishments, only stopping to speak with some of the mostly-halfway-lucid residents that hang near the entrance.

it's hard, performing recon without his soundproof earpieces to block out the incessant noise. (one of his first orders of business will be to find or make a suitable replacement for those. and maybe for his music player.) still, alcohol loosens lips. he might learn about something tonight that he might not find out about later.

hopefully the next person he approaches can give him more answers than he's gotten so far. ]

I'm looking for more information regarding the public's opinion about Cyrus. Is that something you're familiar with?

[ a tune is playing—short, sweeping, sweet.

alhaitham stands near the reflective pool, staring over his shoulder at the cloister of musicians. to the untrained eye, he looks completely placid, merely listening. in reality, you'll need to bother him if you want his attention. he's lost in that sound.

if no one interrupts him, he comes out of his small reverie when that song ends almost two minutes later. he turns to one of the other shard-bearers nearby, folds his arms, and lowers his voice between them. ]

If Yima's philosophy hinges on the idea of moving forward from our previous lives and building a new future, why does this place purposely evoke feelings of nostalgia for supposed a lost cause?