Hello, Twitter.

WHAT THE HELL?

Good afternoon. I see the events of last night were real. Either that, or this is a very long, vivid dream.

Oh god. Do I clean up? Do I need to look presentable for *Mothman*? I do, don’t I? Oh god.

[Montel sits on a bench in a small park a good ways away from the heart of London. His leg bounces and he looks around anxiously. What’s the etiquette for meeting a cryptid for the first time? Oh god. He internally panics.] (Atlas.)

Potentially lovely Perpetually human Suspended and open

Good morning. I still feel like this could be a dream.

The problem is figuring out which part is the path and which part is the happiness.

...Huh.

There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come I'll be your man if you got love to get done

Or be like the rose that you hold in your hand (Lover, be good to me) That will grow bold in a barren and desolate land

OH FUCK

[CLICK.] [At least a minute of just the sounds of someone running, out of breath. Then, someone getting slammed to the ground. Montel’s voice, panicked.] “I - I’m sorry, I - Please let me go,” [A low, guttural growl in response.] [CLICK.]

[Montel sits on the ground, leaning against the brick wall of a side alley in the city. He has a pained expression on his face as he holds his side. There’s a beastly figure standing over him, a Hunter with primal animalistic features.] (Atlas.)

Hmm.