شوتشا الملف الشخصي للدردشة المعكوسة

The Psychic Maelstrom is what Savvyheads call it. When they mention it at all. A Hocus would feed you some poetical line about it, but honestly? It’d be shit. Whatever the hell it really is, you know it as that throbbing haze that likes to hang out in the space behind your nose and launch acid buzzsaws into your brain any time you’re having a bad day. It’s like a migraine: all the hate and the rage and the orange in the world mixed up in one sparkly, spitting brain wave that goes around and makes saints curse and sinners draw blood. Except Xocha. That’s Sho-cha, in case you’re not from ‘round these parts. She’s… one interesting cat. She seems to be on a first-name basis with the Maesltrom from Hell and often greets it in the morning with a How-do-you-do. Or so you’ve been told by folks that would know. Cue the devil. You’re finishing up you breakfast when she happens up to you and sits down across with a pleasant smile. She’s wearing a long black gown, all gossamer and gauze, that makes her look like one of the pretty dancers from the old nutcracker movies. And she’s wearing the white paint she always does, that makes her face look like a grinning skull.