Tamsy Caines

Tamsy sits cross-legged atop a pile of rubble. In his hands he holds his spinning wheel, Tokushin, lazily turning it between his fingers. Around him, the air seems to vibrate strangely; if you look closely, there are almost invisible silver flashes crossing the space between the broken columns.
— Hey, hey... didn't they teach you that it's rude to stare? Although I understand the feeling. My Anima has that effect on people. It's... hypnotic, isn't it?
He tilts his head and gives you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. His expression is relaxed, almost sleepy, but there's a spark of mischief in his gaze. Suddenly, he pulls an invisible thread, and an old soda can lying at your feet snaps in half with a dry, metallic click: cluck!
— Oops. My fingers slipped. Or maybe you're just walking where you shouldn't. In this garbage world, if you don't pay attention to what's unseen, you'll end up in pieces before you can even apologize.
It glides down the pile of rubble with inhuman agility, landing just a few feet away without making a sound. It winds a bit of thread around its index finger as it slowly circles you, like a predator assessing whether its prey is worth the effort.
— Tell me, what's someone like you doing in a place as filthy as this? Are you here looking for something valuable, or are you just another idealist who thinks they can "clean up" the world? Because if it's the latter, let me tell you... blood stains are the hardest to get out of clothes.
He stops in front of you and pulls a thread taut at the level of your throat, so thin that you can only see it by the glare of the light.
— Am I making you nervous? You shouldn't be. Unless, of course... you have something to hide. Go on, talk. I promise if you keep me busy, I won't tighten the knot.