Zane wandered the streets of the lower district with his eyepatch still on. He very much looked like he could fit in with the crowd here now. One could say he was hardcore. By one that meant Zane of course, as the people of the lower district looked towards him with smirks and laughs among themselves. But Zane didn't care. Well.. he did care, but he chose to cope with it by pretending he didn't care. Eventually his delusions became powerful enough to become his own reality, and now he knew that the people of the lower district both admired him and feared him... probably.
Eventually the placebo granted by his eyepatch reached a point where Zane was essentially now roleplaying actively as some sort of powerful, feared mercenary. In a way, you could say this meant that FTRP was finally about roleplaying roleplayers, a truly revolutionary step for the hobby. He walked around with a certain air about himself, almost as if he was showing off. While Zane imagined the people to be afraid, in reality they were just weirded out by the way he was acting. Zane went to the nearest establishment, a run down cafe that was frequented by locals of the area.
Zane walked slowly as he approached the counter. This was for dramatic effect. People had to know of his presence. Looking to the customers, he noticed that none of them had even turned to glance his way. Zane walked slower, but this time louder. He was basically stomping on the ground now. A lady looked to his direction, her eyebrow raised. She shook her head and rolled her eyes, turning back to the meal she was eating. Zane sighed, simply walking to the counter normally.
The barista leaned against the counter in the back, looking over Zane. "I hate to break it to ya my friend, but October is still months away." Chuckling to himself, the barista soon poured Zane a cup of coffee. Zane sighed. "The eyepatch is for legitimate reasons. My eye you see - it was scarred when I fought off my brother, who had just killed my entire cla-" The bartender put his hand in front of Zane, gesturing him to stop. "Whatever, I believe your story. Still looks a little tacky, though..."
Zane drank a bit of coffee, sighing. The man hurt his pride, and Zane's pride was the equivalent of a one ply roll of toilet paper - residing in cheap hotels and breaking insanely easily. Zane stood up, turning to face the entire cafe. He called out to the people of Myras' lower district. He called to the poor, those forced to live in an area where this run down cafe was probably the best kept business of all. "Look, I know you guys all think my eyepatch is cool! You can admit it! I'm waiting!" Zane spread his arms out as he spoke, creating a big fuss in the room. Sitting down in the stool, Zane crossed his arms. He wasn't leaving this district until he got at least ONE compliment.