09-04-2019, 10:32 AM
The knife-type is lost in thought, contemplating what their name should be, when they notice a strange fog inching closer. It makes them feel, weird, and sick. Discomfort overcoming their uncertainty about moving, they stand up onto slightly unsteady legs and walk away from the fog, towards the other tcps. They still don't say anything yet, preferring to see what the others do first.
Oh right we have signatures