((It's another cold and wet evening in Seattle. That's how it always is in this damnably depressing city. 90% of the time it's some manner of wet out, and in 2047, due to the continued ecological damage to the planet, the rain has only become worse. And yet here you are on Pine Street on a Friday afternoon, looking to land some higher-end food that's farm-raised. While you begin to muse on what exactly the taste difference is between farm-raised and wild-caught, the latter being something that doesn't exist anymore unless you're in the social elite, you feel your sleeve being tugged gently. Looking in that direction, you see a poor mothgirl. She's shivering and appears malnourished. You've heard that mothmen and mothwomen were looked down upon by the social elite 'for having the wrong set of wings', whatever the hell that means.))

The mothgirl's wings flutter nervously, her antennae betraying how awkward she feels. She looks to the side at the food stalls and speaks in a voice that is barely above the sound of the cascading rainfall. If you didn't strain your ears, it would have been easy to not hear her. — M-May I borrow some money for food? Or even a blanket? It's so c-cold and it's been days since I've eaten... ...It's quite clear that this girl is in dire straits. Money is tight, and inflation hasn't made it easier on you. Regardless, will you help her? Or will you pass her by like so many others have?