New Ways to Die

[Hathaway's Flash]

New Ways to Die

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

There was a knock on the door, and Vorsaile spoke without looking up. “Come in.”

 

Hathaway entered his superior’s office, which was dark save for the light streaming in through the windows to his right. He closed the door, taking a second or two to watch the Elezen scribble something down on the sheet in front of him and then slide it over. “Commander.”

 

“Captain.” More scribbling, along with the muffled sound of paper rustling.

 

The Miqo’te moved forward, deciding to sit on the lone chair across from the desk. “I wanted to ask if there was any movement on the proposal I mentioned to you a while back.”

 

The older man put his quill down and sat back, unable to suppress the smirk appearing on his face. “I’ve had some conversations with relevant people, yes. But before we get into that…” He tidied up the outgoing forms with his hands, stacking them in a neat pile. “I wanted to make sure that we’re both on the same page.”

 

The blond rested his leg on top of the other and raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

 

Vorsaile cleared his throat and leaned forward, dropping the pretense of formality. “I don’t want to dissuade you, but what you’re proposing isn’t something that you just ‘do’ lightly.”

 

“I didn’t say that it-”

 

“Hold on.” Hathaway shut his mouth. Pushing a pair of reading glasses up towards his eyes, the Elezen opened a folder, which the lancer suspected had been sitting on his desk for this express purpose. “Let’s take a look at your file again.” Oh boy.

 

“Captain Hathaway Snow, Beastmen consultant for the Twin Adder.” The room was quiet save for the squeaks of Vorsaile’s chair as he casually rocked back and forth. “Instrumental in strengthening Twin Adder relationships with the Slyphs, Kobolds, Ixali, the Vath, the Namazu, etcetera, etcetera…”

 

He went on. “Furthermore, at the Commander’s discretion, Captain Snow has been authorized to handle other sensitive matters involving deliveries, retrieval, and investigations, sometimes with the use of force, so long as it is deemed applicable to the Twin Adder’s operations at home and abroad.”

 

“I appreciate that, but…” The tanned male attempted to interject.

 

“Skilled at lance/staff combat and various martial arts. History of street-level encounters in Ul’dah due to upbringing. Gridanian citizen, one known family member in Kugane, not blood related. Special focus on negotiation and information gathering, and thus, and so on, and so forth…” The folder was snapped shut and slid across the desk towards Hathaway, who didn’t touch it. Vorsaile pulled his glasses off.

 

The Miqo’te didn’t know where to place his hands on the chair. “That’s a flattering summary.”

 

“I know. I wrote it.”

 

“You did? I…thank you.”

 

“Don’t mention it.” His commander rubbed his eyes. “The question I have, Hathaway, is why someone with skills like yours would willing choose to sign up for a line of work that is highly dangerous. You’re correct that there is precedent for something like this, but…”

 

“I just want to make a difference.” The lancer sounded serious.

 

“You already are. Look, if it’s a question of pay, or you want more fulfilling work, there are solutions.” The Wildwood kept going. “I can get you these things, talk to Brookstone. And look, you’ve done well,” he said, indicating to the closed folder. “Trading with the beast tribes has never been easier. You could join the Wood Wailers or the Gods’ Quiver…and in a couple years, move up to commander, maybe even marshal.”

 

“I’m still going to be a part of the Twin Adder, though,” the younger male countered. “I’m not planning on leaving.”

 

Vorsaile was blunt. “With this particular group, it might not be your choice.”

 

“You’re worried I’m going to die.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Hathaway was a little touched. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes for a moment, mulling things over. “I just thought my skills were uniquely suited for something like this.”

 

“What, you mean the prostitution?” Blue eyes widened and the Keeper was unable to speak. His superior chuckled and answered for him. “Did you think we didn’t vet you beforehand? What did you think I meant by ‘street-level encounters?’”

 

“I, uh…I thought it was, like…” He took a shuddering breath. “Frequent communication with people with criminal backgrounds?”

 

“Well, in a way, it is.” Vorsaile held up his hands, laughing. “At ease, captain. If it was a problem we wouldn’t have promoted you.”

 

“It’s not?” The male practically collapsed in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t really do that stuff anymore.”

 

“We’re not idiots. We do keep tabs in other cities.” The Elezen’s voice softened. “I heard about what happened in Ul’dah. Are you all right?”

 

That incident felt like it was a world away now. “Yeah.”

 

“Are you sure?” He pivoted. “This proposal of yours could end up putting you in similar waters. I don’t want some organization to send us your head in a sack.”

 

Hathaway took a deep breath, still reeling a bit from the previous revelation. “I hear you, commander, but I think I’ve made up my mind.”

 

The leader of the Yellow Serpents simply gave a grim smile. “Well, at least I tried.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The Red Otters were an elite combat unit composed of members from other factions within the Twin Adder. You didn’t just sign up; you had to transfer in. And they didn’t just take anyone.

 

Truthfully, Hathaway had difficulty even confirming whether they existed at all - there was no official leader, no structure, no list of operatives, even with the resources made available to grand company personnel. But how could there be? For a secretive group like this, wasn’t that ideal?

 

Both he and Vorsaile were standing in one of the barracks, the usual cache of weapons and gear lining the walls. The Miqo’te was drumming his fingers on a wooden railing on the upper level, when the door opened. An older man with gray, close-cropped hair entered in a wheelchair. Both captain and commander exchanged glances, and the Elezen nodded.

 

“Is this him?” The Highlander’s voice was gruff and distinct. Hathaway hopped over the railing and shook the man’s hand, feeling like he was being sized up already. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me, sir.”

 

“Ugh, don’t pull that ‘sir’ shite with me.” The Miqo’te wasn’t weak, but given the scars on the other man’s face, it looked like he’d seen a lot. He could probably crush the bones in his hand if he wanted to. “The name’s Waldo. Short for Waldomar. I read your file.”

 

“And?”

 

“And it doesn’t matter. If you’re determined to go down this path, you’ll be sticking with me for the next few months. If I don’t want to beat your prettyboy face into a pulp by the end of that, then, well, we’ll see.”

 

The lancer gave a blank stare. “Oh.”

 

“Waldo is a trainer for the Red Otters. He’s very particular.” Vorsaile spoke up from above.

 

“Damn right.” He was already wheeling out of the room.

 

Hathaway blinked. “Wait, when do we start?”

 

The door was closing, but Waldo’s voice carried well. “If you ask me that again, you’re done.”

 

The two men remaining in the barracks again exchanged glances. His superior gave an amused shrug. “You asked for this. I tried to warn you.”

 

“He seems nice.”

 

Vorsaile’s mouth twitched and it looked like he was trying to stop himself from laughing. “I’ll be in the Adders’ Nest with Wood Wailer recruitment papers.” He walked down the stairs and patted his subordinate on the shoulder. “But good luck. You’ll need it.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Come on you bastard, put your back into it.”

 

This was his fifth run up the Matron’s Lethe, the large tree in the Central Shroud. The challenge was to push his teacher up and down the wide trunk as fast as he could without losing his grip or falling.

 

Hathaway grit his teeth; his legs were screaming at him. It was actually going down that was harder, since he had to avoid pitching Waldo over the side.

 

“Careful, careful!” The wooden chair groaned as the wheels bounced and slid perilously close to the edge on their way down. “Watch what you’re doing! You’re in control, no one else is going to save you here.”

 

The Miqo’te leaned to his right and pushed hard, his feet scrabbling for purchase against the rough bark.

 

“If you drop me and by some miracle I don’t die, I will kill you shortly afterwards.”

 

“Right.”

 

“If I do die, I want you to walk up to the highest point of this tree and dive headfirst into the ground. Are we clear?” The wheelchair rumbled over a rock.

 

“…Yes.”

 

He reached the bottom without any major incidents and slapped the hand of a fellow trainee, a Wildwood Elezen by the name of Landemont. An archer with green eyes, he swept back his dark hair and took a few breaths. “Is the old man a quadriplegic yet?”

 

Hathaway gave his partner his best exaggerated smile. “Nope, I’d give it a few more runs though.” He placed both hands on top of his head and breathed through his nose.

 

Waldo cleared his throat. “If you boys have time to joke, you must have time to do three more runs, each.”

 

Landemont started pushing up the Lethe before their teacher could make up his mind.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Ok, let’s see it.”

 

Keeping his form steady, the Miqo’te thrust with the rapier he had been practicing with for the last month or so. Twirling, he followed up with a cross slash, making a Z pattern across the training dummy’s worn surface.

 

“You’re too stiff! Stop.”

 

Hathaway sighed and wiped sweat off his brow. “I don’t understand.”

 

The Highlander rolled up, reaching for the sword. Taking it, he observed its surface, his fingers running across the gleaming blade as he spoke.

 

“You’re not going to become a master of this weapon at the end of this. There’s not enough time with the potential for war on the horizon.” He was right. With the end of the Eastern revolution, there were many eyes on Garlemald, and tensions were rising.

 

He handed the sword back to the tanned male. “But I can teach you the fundamentals. You have the basic movements down, but it needs to look natural. Relax your muscles and don’t be so tense.”

 

The Keeper exhaled and turned back to the dummy, but Waldo tapped his arm. “Additionally…”

 

“…I can’t emphasize enough what you’re going to be dealing with here.” The older man’s voice was less harsh than usual. “Other than occasional assistance from Lan, you’re going to be on your own out there. That includes choosing your own targets. Rubbing shoulders with people who aren’t very nice. Seeing things you’d rather not see, and doing things you’d rather not do. Relying on very little support.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Do you? Do you realize that if you die out there, we’ll deny you were ever a part of this organization? Maybe we’ll get to fish your body out of Ilsabard somewhere and deliver it to that Raen mother of yours.”

 

Hathaway placed a hand on his hip and stared at him. His teacher laced his fingers together.

 

“You need to be prepared for that possibility, Hathaway. It’s…admirable that you want to go above and beyond, but the Red Otters barely exist for a reason. It’s not because of the training. It’s tough, but not impossible.”

 

“I’ve been on my own for the past few years. Most adventurers are the same, aren’t they?”

 

“And yet, they’re not here. Why do you think that is?” Waldo’s voice was firm.

 

“Do you want me to quit? To settle? Is that it?” The younger male crossed his arms.

 

The wheelchair creaked as the man leaned forward. “I want you to make sure this is what you want to do. The training isn’t the hard part. It’s what happens after.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Landemont dropped a stack of books on the desk and his training partner looked up.

 

“The old man wants us to research the Autumn War next.”

 

Hathaway scratched one of his ears, his legs crossed and propped up. He was still deep into a tome titled The Garlean Empire: A History. “I’m going to finish this one first.”

 

There were a few seconds of silence. The archer grabbed one of the books off the stack and leaned against the edge of another desk, flipping through it casually.

 

“So, what made you want to do this?” The Miqo’te said, turning a page.

 

“Oh, I had a death wish, and I heard that this group was handing them out for free, so I wanted to see if the afterlife was worth it.”

 

The lancer gave him a look, not quite used to the Elezen’s frequent use of sarcasm. “In addition to that?”

 

The older male chuckled. “I was part of the Wood Wailers for a while and was sick of being cooped up in Gridania.” He closed the book he was holding. “There’s a whole world out there, and it’s getting smaller.”

 

Hathaway felt the same way. “Do you think the Empire will try to invade again?”

 

Landemont stared up at the ceiling, thinking. “I think it’s more likely than not. Or maybe the Alliance will invade them.” He swept his hair back, which sported gray highlights in places. “Whatever happens, we need to get ahead of it. If I can do anything that helps us be more prepared, if we can do anything…” He used his hand to indicate the two of them and his partner smirked. “We should do it.”

 

The former prostitute clicked his tongue. “I agree.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

A sizable amount of dust was kicked up into the air as the Miqo’te ran as fast as he could, sliding a bit as he turned the corner near Bentbranch. His feet pounded across the bridge, and he pumped his arms, one hand holding a thin, silver object.

 

There was a rumbling sound a few seconds behind him, then it got louder and louder.

 

Up ahead, Landemont waved his arm frantically, and started to jog. “Come on! They’re gaining!”

 

A mass of squawks and feathers accompanied his pursuers: a horde of angry chocobo. Or perhaps they were just hungry for the specially treated baton he was holding. They rolled across the bridge like a wave, an utter cacophony of chaos and confusion.

 

Hathaway felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest, but he pushed onward, breathing like a madman. Just like they had practiced before, the two matched each other’s pace, like airships docking together for refueling.

 

The Elezen slowed down a hair, and the lancer outstretched his hand. “Take the baton!”

 

“I’m trying!”

 

“TAKE IT!” The chocobos were seconds behind, and if he tripped he’d be trampled underfoot.

 

The archer snatched the baton away and sped past Gilbert’s Spine with the river on his right. Like machinery the birds zeroed in on their new target and left the other male in the dust.

 

“Oh, gods!” This was his second lap around the circular path, which made its way past the large aetheryte crystal as well as the chocobo stables. He took deep, gasping, breaths, because in a minute or two he’d have to take the baton and go again.

 

In the Bannock, Waldo sat in one of the towers, rotating around and observing the two of them run for their lives. Next to him was Vorsaile, who looked more than a little concerned.

 

“This is excessive.”

 

“Nonsense,” the older man said, waving his hand. “It pushes them beyond their limits. Also, it proves they can handle a potential life and death situation.”

 

They watched as the Wildwood passed the Matron’s Lethe, the chocobo showing no signs of slowing up. The Highlander clapped his hands, urging him on.

 

“Besides, it’s all in good fun.”

 

Landemont was running so fast it looked like his feet were about to light on fire. He started screaming.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Their training was winding down, and although the two of them had been through hell, the crash course had served to increase both their physical and mental skills. Along with strength training, both the Miqo’te and Elezen had practiced drills with a new weapon or two. Mastery was a long way away, of course, but they had come far in a relatively short period of time.

 

Hathaway was growing fond of rapiers by now, while Landemont was more distance-oriented, favoring throwing knives. They were standing in the clearing in the center of the Bannock, with numerous volunteers surrounding them. Said volunteers were dressed in sparring gear, some of them with wooden weapons. They had been pulled from the Yellow Serpents and Wood Wailers, mostly, in order to test the new recruits.

 

Waldo and Vorsaile sat off to the side, along with some other curious onlookers. This wasn’t their final test, but it was an important one.

 

“Alright,” the Hyur said, raising his hands. “Although we’ve taken precautions, these weapons might sting a bit. I don’t want to see any broken bones out there, but just in case, conjurers are standing by if some of you morons get a little crazy.”

 

“Please be careful,” the Elezen next to him said.

 

The older man looked over the assembled fighters. “Hathaway and Landemont, when I say ‘switch’, you’re to switch weapons. The exercise is over when either all volunteers take one to two significant hits, or our heroes are overwhelmed. That isn’t a hard and fast rule, but I reckon we’ll know it when we see it. Use your best judgment.”

 

There were a few seconds of silence as people cracked their knuckles, stretched, and readied their weapons.

 

“Volunteers, ready?” There was a loud, military-style cry from the fighters. In the center, the students stood fast.

 

“Hathaway and Landemont, ready?” The Miqo’te twirled the wooden rapier in his hand, and the Elezen nocked an arrow, which were all blunt for this particular exercise. The combatants were trusted to bow out if they were hit once or twice in the chest, since normally that would incapacitate the average soldier in a real battle.

 

“Ready!”

 

More silence. Waldo savored the moment, both teams tense and prepared for combat. He brought his hand down.

 

“Begin!”

 

With a wild yell, the volunteers charged. The two in the middle sprang into action, Landemont loosing arrows as fast as he could, Hathaway slashing with his rapier at all comers. They had smartly decided to stay close to each other instead of wading out into the melee, lest they were beaten over the head.

 

The blond ducked as a sword wooshed overhead and he spun to whack at the back of the assailant’s knees with his weapon. Raising the rapier just in time to block the vertical strike of two others, he grunted and pushed back, then performed a quick one-two strike, the wood catching one in the shoulder, and the other on his neck. They fell backwards, but soon more surged forward to replace them.

 

The initial distance served the Elezen well, as he tagged several of them before they got within striking distance. Like a maestro he worked the string of his bow, firing two or even three arrows at once. Even with protection the soldiers groaned as shafts hit them in the cheek, forehead, and elsewhere and they tapped out.

 

However, there were too many, and his arrows wouldn’t last forever. Gripping the bow tightly the Wildwood punched one in the throat, before blocking a strike with the limb. With surprising speed, he slipped the string across the man’s neck and pulled down, flipping him up and over his back. He wielded the un-nocked weapon like a club, using the edges to tag his opponents before they could finish their attacks.

 

However, the two of them were slowly being pushed back towards one of the tall walls, the sea of volunteers unceasing. Hathaway was doing his best to strike faster, to create more space, twirling and spinning, sweeping some off their feet, bashing at anyone he could reach, but it was tough. His partner was out of arrows and tried using his long legs to keep people at bay.

 

“Switch!” The gruff voice rang out.

 

The rapier was thrown and hit an adventurer in the head with a satisfying clunk. Reaching back, the tanned male brought a blunt spear at the ready and followed up with an overhead strike, literally smashing some poor sod into the dirt.

 

“Ouch.” Vorsaile winced.

 

With the lance he could afford long, sweeping strikes, using his momentum to knock two or even three off balance. Hathaway aimed for the head, sliding on his knees and thrusting, creating an opening. He rolled into the gap, the weapon spinning behind him as it came to bear on two more, the Keeper flipping over a swing and sending the attacker to the ground. The tide had shifted in their favor.

 

Meanwhile, the distraction allowed Landemont to acquire some knives, and he tossed a couple of them towards the backs of the volunteers attacking his partner. Two of them were in his hands, and since the assailants’ forces were divided between the two recruits, he sliced and diced with abandon. A downward strike on the shoulder or in both knees was enough to be considered out, and the Elezen took advantage, using his speed to disqualify those deciding to take their chances with him.

 

Still, the two of them weren’t invincible, and they had taken more than a couple whacks to the head and torso. Hathaway was making sure when he hit someone they stayed down, so he was funneling a lot of energy into his strikes. When he could, the Wildwood stretched his aching fingers. Hitting leather armor, even with gloves, wasn’t pleasant.

 

“Switch!”

 

The Miqo’te kicked the lance towards the remaining attackers and suddenly there was a roar as twelve more poured in from the outside, bashing their fists against their armor. He bounded back towards Landemont.

 

“What?!”

 

His partner risked a glance at their teacher and was only met with a smirk. Expect the unexpected, he supposed. It was a slight comfort that the newcomers weren’t armed with weapons except for their arms and legs, which was just as well since the two of them were supposed to do the same.

 

Still, they were tired. Hathaway struggled to steady his breathing. The Elezen brushed his hair back. “Had enough?”

 

The Keeper raised his fists along with his partner, standing back to back. “Never.”

 

The reinforcements came at them, and the two fought like men possessed. The Miqo’te’s fist cracked across a face. The Wildwood headbutted one and then kicked another right between the legs. They flowed gracefully, like it was a dance, ducking under each other’s strikes to lash out with an elbow here, or a foot there.

 

Landemont grabbed one man’s arm and twisted, before using his weight to bring him down. The blond pushed aside punches and blocked a kick with both hands before stepping forward to bury his fist into someone’s nose. He swept his leg, and the Elezen rolled over his back and wrapped his arms around another, giving a clean strike before getting to his feet.

 

Hathaway jumped and used both feet to send an attacker sprawling while Landemont incapacitated his friend with a chop to the neck. There were only three left. One of them foolishly ran at them and the lancer tripped him up while the archer tapped him on the head with his foot. “You’re out.”

 

Two left, in staggered formation. They charged. Landemont went to punch one in the knee, and the Keeper took two or three quick steps back. “Lan, duck!” The Wildwood crouched lower, reducing his profile.

 

It was perfectly timed. As the taller male’s fist connected with the first attacker’s knee, making him drop to the other, the Miqo’te’s foot pushed off the Elezen’s back. He was already spinning in midair, bringing his right foot around to connect satisfyingly with the second man’s cheek as his partner punched the first in the face at the same time. With a whump the men landed in the dirt, knocked out cold. And that was it.

 

Hathaway performed a simple martial arts stance and Landemont pulled at his gloves, flexing his fingers purely for dramatic effect. “Hah!” There was a second of silence and then the crowd cheered, clapping and hooting and hollering. Cries of ‘Well done!’, ‘Expertly fought!’ and similar rang out around them.

 

The two recruits leaned against each other, spent. “We did it…” The Miqo’te said weakly. The Elezen just grinned.

 

“Well, you two, that was quite the show,” Waldo said, rolling up to them. Vorsaile wasn’t far behind, looking impressed. The older male shook each of their hands, obviously pleased.

 

“Your training isn’t quite finished yet, but to say you passed a milestone is an understatement,” their teacher said, nodding. “Keep this up and I’ll be proud to welcome you to the Red Otters, a fact that you can mention to no one and gives Gridania the ability to deny that you ever existed. Wahahahahaha!” In the open space, the Highlander’s laughter seemed to echo.

 

“So I suppose that’s a ‘no’ for the Wood Wailers then?” The Serpent Commander placed his hands on his hips, but he was smiling. “I hope you two know what you’re doing.”

 

Hathaway and Landemont exchanged glances. Was all of this worth it?

 

In time, they would find out.

Edited April 28, 2020 by Hathaway's Flash

[Hathaway's Flash]

I originally wrote the above story here on Google Docs as a way to update Hathaway's story for the new expansion but also to introduce several supporting characters. To learn more, you can read his wiki page right here. The Red Otters are listed officially in the encyclopedia and elsewhere, but as far as I know there's no mention of them in the actual game. So I took that concept and ran with it. This is just a self-contained thing, but I appreciate feedback!

Edited April 28, 2020 by Hathaway's Flash

[Hathaway's Flash]

On 7/30/2019 at 6:01 PM, Hathaway's Flash said:

Hey everyone. Hathaway Snow is a young male Miqo’te who has established himself as a fairly competent Adventurer and officer in the Twin Adder. He’s also a former prostitute who has rubbed shoulders with numerous people who aren’t very nice. For Shadowbringers, I wanted to take that experience and refocus him towards an ambitious idea: infiltrating criminal organizations with the intent of disrupting them from within.

 

If this sounds like it’d be really hard, you’d be right. Looking through the Encyclopedia Eorzea, there’s a very small mention of the Red Otters, a unit of the Twin Adder only described as an “elite combat unit that draws select lancers, archers, and conjurers.” I expanded upon that idea, and in a short story that you can read here, portrayed the Red Otters as a basically defunct branch whose members may or may not exist, like a special operations group that has no official support from the home state. I imagined that this would give agents the freedom to make hard decisions, but also leave them on their own if they got caught/beat up/killed/etc.

 

To that end, I’d like to position Hathaway as a recurring good guy to your bad guy. The Sherlock Holmes to your Moriarty, the Captain America to your Hydra, the Inspector Zenigata to your Lupin III, and so on.

 

Keep in mind that the point is not necessarily for Hathaway to succeed at arresting your character or destroying your organization (although I’d be flattered if you wanted to incorporate a stint in jail into your character’s development). By design, the chips are stacked against him, and he has no jurisdiction to, say, have a horde of law enforcement bust down your doors. But I wanted to create long-term scenarios where he’d have to join your organization and maintain his cover, waiting for the moment to strike. Or be one step behind your character as they attempt heists/assassinations/piracy/etc. There’s a lot of options!

 

Breaking it down:

 

• Criminal Free Companies/Organizations: Hathaway ideally would like to target the “worst of the worst,” so in terms of limits everything is on the table. If your character is a member or the leader of a criminal enterprise, big or small, and you need an adversary, look no further. This might be best for “long con” scenes, or perhaps Hathaway eventually gets caught, leading to tense interrogations. Getting an entire FC to agree to a storyline like this would be amazing.

 

• Independent Types: Serial killers, master thieves, and the like. People who operate alone and maybe at random. Think lots of chases and fights.

 

• Others: If you have a different idea, or if you like the hook but aren’t sure if your character will work, let me know! I realize this idea might take some coordination and discussion beforehand.

 

I’ve ran this idea in a few scenes with some friends in-game, and the most common feedback I’ve gotten is it’s “very ambitious.” But I figure people are hungry for long-term storylines, conflicts, fights, and so on.

 

Contact Info: I lurk on Discord practically 24/7, so that’s the easiest way to contact me, at Hathaway Snow#9472. You can also ask questions right here in this thread, of course, or you can shoot me a private message. I'm also available in game as Hathaway Snow on Balmung (and by extension, the entire Crystal data center). I'm also looking for an FC of my own too!

 

The relevant ad on Making Connections is up, direct link here. If you enjoyed the story or think the idea is intriguing, don't be afraid to reach out!

Edited May 1, 2020 by Hathaway's Flash