[Really, she should have known. But she didn't want to assume Nanami would be on the eighth floor, not with absolute certainty, so she climbs the floors meticulously. It's a weird kind of fun, actually.
Trish would never admit it, but she did miss some parts of being a werebear. Her strength and intimidating night form most of all, if only for the inherent benefit of being a strong monster type with a sight to match. But the unique abilities to smell and hear things from a distance was also sorely missed.
She doubts she would have ever stepped on her father's tail at the pool party if she'd had them, since even breathing is very audible if there aren't any barriers to obfuscate it.
Anyways, she arrives at the familiar space of the eighth floor, her nose and ears awash in similarly familiar scents and voices. She could name them, but her attention is less on what she knows is there, and rather on what she doesn't know for certain. Still, it's hard to miss the sound of chiptunes and the like, especially when Ryslig isn't known for the technology to abet it, especially not the portable sort. Unless there's a Gamed Boy she doesn't know about in the wings.
Still, Trish listens further, but the bips and bleeps continue unabated, and so she raps on the door of 804 with fuzzy white knuckles.]
no subject
Trish would never admit it, but she did miss some parts of being a werebear. Her strength and intimidating night form most of all, if only for the inherent benefit of being a strong monster type with a sight to match. But the unique abilities to smell and hear things from a distance was also sorely missed.
She doubts she would have ever stepped on her father's tail at the pool party if she'd had them, since even breathing is very audible if there aren't any barriers to obfuscate it.
Anyways, she arrives at the familiar space of the eighth floor, her nose and ears awash in similarly familiar scents and voices. She could name them, but her attention is less on what she knows is there, and rather on what she doesn't know for certain. Still, it's hard to miss the sound of chiptunes and the like, especially when Ryslig isn't known for the technology to abet it, especially not the portable sort. Unless there's a Gamed Boy she doesn't know about in the wings.
Still, Trish listens further, but the bips and bleeps continue unabated, and so she raps on the door of 804 with fuzzy white knuckles.]
Nanami...?