Zeke isn’t in a great mood.
Popular media told him, once, that things could always get worse - that no matter what happened, there would always be somewhere lower he could go, some lower pit in a prison, some deeper melancholy, some stronger woe - but he’s getting kind of skeptical, honestly.
He’s surrounded by something grey and plain - the courtyard of the old French sugar factory, of sorts, not that he can really tell.
In one part of it: Zeke. Close by: a woman who doesn’t remember her name. On the other end: something very, very green.
‘Buy a laundromat and the lot for it’, they said. ‘It’ll be valuable management experience and you can hand it off to someone else after a few months’, they said. ‘You’ll end up being transported into a weird limbo, with only an amnesiac and an elder god for company, by your sole part time employee’, they definitely did not say.
The greying sugar factory around him is, and has been, fairly still; Zeke hasn’t been. He hasn’t left the main courtyard, but within that main courtyard he’s been running in circles and doing calisthenics and weightlifting with improvised materials and so on. He’s spent hours rambling at the woman with amnesia about personal anecdotes, and occasionally letting her get a word in edgewise. He’s grumpily refrained from flirting out of ethical concerns. He’s avoided looking at the green elder god thing, he has no idea what’ll happen if he does that again.
Even so, he’s still incredibly bored.
... and then two unconscious chicks fall out of the sky.
This isn’t actually the most bizarre thing that’s happened to him this week. Unfortunately. At least it’s interesting.