S A M P L E S;
FIRST PERSON:

[ Interacting with mortals is an interesting affair, always, but especially here. In his world, contact with the lower-beings was restricted, limited to battle assignments and the not-so-authorized morale boosters. In L’Arc en Rêve, it was simply a matter of opening the leather bound lume and willing himself to manifest.

No one would tell him not to, no politics would chain him.

Still, he was a little hesitant. It wasn't the way of his kind to advertise themselves, nor was he the most social sentience in existence. In fact, Tenpou has spent days preparing for this simple transmission, walking around the city with aimless observation, taking in as many details as he could. He'd made sense of many of them, but not all, and it was becoming clear he would not illuminate their mysteries without outside help.

Chiefly, how to get out of Glinn. ]

Hello!

[ The feed opens at an extreme right angle before flipping around, adjusting itself many times until Tenpou is beaming in the center, a half-smoked cigarillo dangling perilously from his mouth. He gives a small wave with his free hand, canting his head to the side and clearing his throat. ]

I was hoping I could bother one of you fine denizens to be my guide...

[ He turns his mirror towards a nondescript patch of grass and trees, ten seconds passing by before he's seen again, looking surprised. He was just noticing how the bark formed Fibonacci spirals, a really very nice touch, and it's a wonder if he'll manage to finish his request at all. ]

Ah, right. Yes, a guide. I am greatly in need of --

I'm lost. Please take care of me.

[ Because it's really too much bother to pretend otherwise. ]

THIRD PERSON:

Groaning, he turned over to his side, stretching at length, the first intrusions of consciousness flitting in. Warm light swayed across his brow and filtered past his eyelids, staining the darkness of his slumber with the deep oranges and fleeting yellows of the afternoon sun. Reluctantly, his eyes opened, cringing against the brightness before a pale hand intercepted and provided shadow for the adjusting pupils, Tenpou languidly taking in his surroundings. Unsurprisingly, the god found himself sprawled out on the floor with tiers of his latest interests piled like a haphazard castle around him, old calligraphy and new prints forming towers and moats to one side while the other was a graveyard for consumed books.

For a moment, the scene was familiar enough to feel normal, complacent – then he remembered where he was, and a ferocious grin pulled over his features. That’s right. He wasn’t in his heaven, but that of others, enigmatic creatures known as the Weavers who had all amount of regaling and contradictory tale to entice his curiosity. This library wasn’t his, either; it belonged to the university, a place as equally spellbinding and mind-numbing as its creators.

(Not that he had managed to see much of the campus once establishing his roost, nor the city itself. All in due time, whenever that was, and oh, is that a new book on early Neolithic art?)

Tenpou hoisted into a stand, long digits seizing his latest shiny and flipping it open over his arm. “Oh,” he murmured, a touch disappointed to realize he’d read the material before, albeit with a different cover and name.

That’s the trouble with a fact, isn’t it? There’s only one of them, he mused, fishing a cigarette out of his labcoat and looking around for any annoying aides to condemn him for it. Mean as it was, he’d been having fun disappearing on them at random, leaving a literal smoke trail for them to huff and puff while he went on reading, usually no more than a few feet away. Finding no such victims (attendants) now, Tenpou wedged his cigarette at the corner of his lips with a lazy smile and set about his day.

First, he supposed, he should restock the shelves and look for something else to read. But it probably wouldn’t happen in that order.