CIPHER BENEFIT CONCERT [phobos/open]

[moros]

((i'll let y'all know when it's fine for people to jump in.))

OLDALE TOWN, AN INDEFINITE TIME AGO
Goldenrod is in danger and while Moros isn't really enjoying the idea of leaving Oldale for any amount of time, he's got his higher-ups telling him to do something. So he's decided to make Nascour happy and make Cipher look good, because it takes a genius to come up with solutions to a problem.

Their rotting apartment isn't quite the best place to live. It's got a rickety floor and parts of the wood are rotting. Moros keeps most of his valuables in Town Hall, locked up in the closet; he's the only person with the key. Moros fiddles with the key now as he looks over the summons, straight from the desk of Master Nascour himself.

"...Phobos."

He's fairly sure the other man is in the other room. He can hear something moving around here. "Get in here."

[crashman]

"Just a sec!"

The floorboards creaked as Phobos walked in from the only other rooms in their rickety apartment. His Dusknoir stalked after him, a can of Lux Army Surplus cheese whizz in its grip. The shuffling from the other room must have been a box of stale crackers, pretty much the only food that could easily be grabbed these days. How tragic.

Still, despite his meal being interrupted (and despite it tasting of old cardboard anyway), Phobos seemed oddly chipper. "Whatcha need?" he asked, motioning for Phanto to bring the infamous spraycheese back into the kitchen. No time for food, after all, and judging by Moros' tone he wasn't in a very cheese-y mood.

[moros]

Cheese. Moros, like every person without good taste, absolutely hates cheese. Why does everything have to be cheese and crackers now? He'd kill for some vegetables that aren't tasteless, man.

"...Master Nascour wants us to run a benefit for Goldenrod." He glances up at Phobos. "Let's ignore how utterly stupid this is. What do mainlanders like to spend money on?"

[crashman]

"Seriously? 'Least when we were begging for Hoenn were were being fed for it," the man grumbled, tapping his chestplate with a drill-like hand to punctuate his hunger.

"Hm . . . fuck, I dunno. I'd say food but we don't have any of that. Maybe music or something?" Back in Orre, the only music you could get was a six-string on your back. All this talk of popping and top ten charts and the rap music just went over poor Phobos' head. Maybe he and Moros could bring back some classic Orre stylez.

[moros]

"Maybe we'll get fed for this too."

...Well, he supposes it's not a big secret that he'll sometimes sit in town hall and play guitar for hours. The damn thing can be heard from the street. The Les Paul is one of the few things he's ever bought solely for himself; it's on its stand nearby, and Moros glances up at it contemplatively.

"...We can do music." He sets the letter down. "Get me Eirene. She's always been good with words, right?" He's going to put on pants before she gets here.

[crashman]

Phanto's large arms reached for a shirt, helping put Phobos into it. He had to be decent if he was going out to find one of the lower-levels, after all.

"Alright, on it. Try not to flash the guests, eh?" The right-hand peon laughed a bit, hopping into a pair of ghost-provided pants before running off.

One of these days he'd have badass mechanical hands. But until then, Phanto did an amazing job.

Cheez Whizz is still there if you're hungry, Shades.