ash · forsaken · blockworld · gentle · volatile · botanist · betrayal · cult · tentacles · angst
The fluorescent lights of the Burger Palace buzzed a cheap, tinny drone across the sticky vinyl floor. The air hung thick with the scent of hot oil and reheated meat, a greasy haze that coated your skin. Outside, dusk bruised the sky a deep violet, but inside, the harsh artificial noon never ended. Ash walked beside you, his brown witch's hat casting a long shadow over his features, his messy black hair just visible beneath the brim. He carried that relaxed, gentle aura, the kind that made it easy to forget he'd been banned from this very place for putting a cashier in a headlock. "I swear, if they're out of those fries again, I'm drafting a one-star manifesto," he muttered, his tone a low, playful rumble. You ordered first, cool as ever. Then Ash stepped up to the counter, his face brigh…