A Forgotten Modern AU: 11:41AM
Lineart on iPad (Procreate), 3hr
Color and lighting on Sai, 1.5hr
[Time Lapsed]
The blood of the breathing city flowed through the veins of the underground subway system. The thundering heartbeat of the metro as the trains raced to their next stop never ceases for the city that never sleeps.
Word Count: 367
“What do you want?” It was unprofessional, uncharacteristic for Harebourg to speak in such tone, but if one were to know his history with the person on the other line, they would understand why he would break character so fast.
“Hey, I know I treated you very unfairly before-“ it was a vast understatement, but Harebourg was willing to give the person he had once called a leader a grace period of six seconds before he manually cut the line himself. “I owe you an apology. I want to make it up to you.”
Damn right you do, but Harebourg knew better than to recklessly indulge on his thoughts. He ended up saying, “I don’t need anything from you, Oropo." Though the thoughts of an acknowledgment of the wrongdoings done to him were enticing, it’s really for the best (for himself) to simply not associate with the Eliotrope any longer.
“Please? I’ll make it worth your time.”
Harebourg’s time, is in fact, rather expensive now a days. “The last time you said that to me, I ended up incarcerated in a cold, cold cage. But regardless, we have better things to do with our precious time than to lie fallow with each other.”
Harebourg was ready to press the ‘decline’ switch at the standby on his headset, effectively ending the call, but of course, he was not fast enough to not hear the desperate, goofy plead of “wait—“.
...
“We’ll talk later...” Harebourg took the chance to end the connection before any further discussion was brought up.
Oh Oropo— a philosopher that had a bit too much negotiation skills to boot for his comfort. Nevertheless, he seems to have roped himself into the Eliotrope’s plans again.
As the train stops at the station and opened its doors to travel— cycling the current passengers for the new ones— Harebourg could only hope to himself as he traversed the rushing river of twelvians that he would be spared the icey jail this time.
