>>38808660
Bash head against hard object till dead.

>>38808660
>Noxious. When people smell you, it's bad for them. They pass out after only a few seconds.

>>38808660
>>Noxious. When people smell you, it's bad for them. They pass out after only a few seconds.
Hi Tart.

>>38808660
>Mucous. You can touch things, if you want to. You can open doors, carry objects, and otherwise perform fine manipulation, though you have the strength of a toddler.

>>38808660
>>Mucous. You can touch things, if you want to. You can open doors, carry objects, and otherwise perform fine manipulation, though you have the strength of a toddler.

>>38808660
>Mucous. You can touch things, if you want to. You can open doors, carry objects, and otherwise perform fine manipulation, though you have the strength of a toddler.

>>38808660
>Noxious. When people smell you, it's bad for them. They pass out after only a few seconds.
We assassin fart now

>>38808660
>Mucous. You can touch things, if you want to. You can open doors, carry objects, and otherwise perform fine manipulation, though you have the strength of a toddler.

>>38808660
>Rapid. You can really move, when you're a gas; around as fast as a bicycle. (Otherwise, you move at roughly walking pace, slower if you're slipping under a door.)

Noxious:
>>38808718
>>38808733
>>38808777 (samefag?)

Mucous:
>>38808735
>>38808741
>>38808765
>>38808829

Rapid:
>>38808886

When your session ends, you've got the start of a very nice picture of a skull in your notebook, if you do say so yourself. It needs some shading, but the outline is done, and you've ever got the teeth properly represented; they're not just a helter skelter collection of blocks, but carefully differentiated in accordance with real human anatomy.

"Hey, Lorelei," comes a male voice from behind you, as you walk down the halls to your next class.

You recognize it as Sam, the hottest, most popular guy at school, and your current partner for an English project. You feel incredibly anxious, just having to talk to him, and you remember that you could just make your body evaporate into gas. But you don't evaporate, and not just because that would be embarrassing. You're on school grounds, you really don't want people to know you're a mutant. Even if all that happens is harassment... you finish those thoughts in a few seconds "Hey, Sam," you say, offering him a quick smile. He really is handsome. God, you hope you're not blushing.

"Look, I was wondering about rescheduling," he says, calmly, without the slightest sign he's noticed your anxiety. Thank God. "I was talking to Mrs. Sanders, we made some arrangements for tonight, and I know we were planning to work together tonight but-" he cuts himself off, pausing. He looks genuinely apologetic for rescheduling. Of course, your thoughts are more focused on the fact that you strongly suspect Mrs. Sanders of having murdered Peter. "I work on my half, you work on yours? Do the meeting tomorrow, instead?"

>Tell him you strongly suspect that Mrs. Sanders murdered Peter.
>Act extremely put out to try to manipulate him into not going.
>Tell him that it's okay. Watch him as a gas cloud to make sure he's okay.
>Write-in.

>>38809000
>>Act extremely put out to try to manipulate him into not going.

>>38809000
>Tell him that it's okay. Watch him as a gas cloud to make sure he's okay.

>>38809000
>Tell him that it's okay. Watch him as a gas cloud to make sure he's okay.

>>38809000
>Tell him that it's okay. Watch him as a gas cloud to make sure he's okay.
Yo, I don't want the hot guy to think we're a crazy bitch.

So, we're a poltergeist? I'm down with that.

Are we invisible while we're a gas cloud, or do we have a colored tint?

>>38809068
Your mutant ability lets you turn into an invisible, odorless gas.

>>38809000
>Tell him that it's okay. Watch him as a gas cloud to make sure he's okay.

Manipulate:
>>38809017

Do NOT let him realize you follow people around as an invisible gas, instead just follow him around as an invisible gas.
>>38809046
>>38809053
>>38809063
>>38809090

>>38809227
Well, we don't want him to know who's following him around as a completely undetectable volume of matter, do we?

Related note: does our volume/mass stay the same?
How well do we compress?
If we become superheated then move, do we move the superheated ness with us?
Can we feel pain from heat or cold?
Should I stop worrying, and except it as the non science based mutant power that it is?

>>38809332
>Should I stop worrying, and except it as the non science based mutant power that it is?
Almost certainly this.

>>38809357
Alright, can do.

>>38809381
If this was a longer term quest, unique power properties would probably matter at some point, but it's a one-shot, so I doubt they'll come up, and it's better I have improvisation space.

"Sure," you say, offering him a bright, peppy smile, the best one you can. "We'll do the meeting tomorrow. Don't reschedule again though!" You raise a finger, as though the point was important. "Otherwise I'll very sad." You make an exaggerated pout.

"Great," he says, smiling. "Good to hear. I really am sorry, won't happen again."

"Where are you going with Mrs. Sanders, anyway? I mean, it must be important, for you to break a study date." You prepare to file this away as a mental note so that you can find him later and make sure he's okay.

"We're just meeting up at the church to talk," he says. "Personal stuff." He pauses for just a second, as though considering saying something more, but then just continues, with a quick "tomorrow, promise" before leaving. The rest of school is as boring as always. You head to the church shortly afterwards, taking an empty backpack with you so that you can hide your things after you switch states.

You head into one of the bathrooms, lock yourself in a stall, and then shift. Your body looks like it disintegrates over the course of a second or two as you turn to gas, and the clothes slip right through your gaseous state to the ground. You slowly lift and hide all the clothes in the backpack before zipping it up. With your reduced strength, it feels like it takes forever, but it's honestly not *that* long.

You leave the stall locked as you head out into the halls, opening the bathroom door just a crack so that you can get through quickly. You manage to find where Mrs. Sanders and Sam are in just a few minutes of searching, their voices emanating from a room.

"...perfectly normal, Sam," Mrs. Sanders says.

"I know, I know, it's just- it feels weird. Everybody thinks they know me, but I just feel like...."

"Like you have to keep your real self a secret," she finishes. He nods.

>This seems intensely private and you should leave.
>Stay. You're not risking it.
>Write-in.

>>38809533
>Stay. You're not risking it.

>>38809533
>Get closer.
We're invisible so why not?

>>38809533
>Write-in.
Listen in be ready to make noise to make em jump if things go bad.

More mutants?

>>38809533
>Stay. You're not risking it.

Heh, betcha the hottest guy in school is gay.

>>38809533
>Stay. You're not risking it.

>>38809533
>Stay. You're not risking it.

>>38809533
Oh. Looks like Mrs. KFC might be mutie underground railroad, not murderer.

>>38809533
>Stay. You're not risking it.

Stay to Stalk:
>>38809591
>>38809605
>>38809634
>>38809637
>>38809594
>>38809603
>>38809769

You stay in the room, moving a bit closer to the two of them. You're invisible, intangible, and odorless right now, so there's no chance of anybody detecting you.

They keep talking for a while. "I just," Sam says, "I feel like everybody thinks I'm a great person, but I'm not," he looks at Mrs. Sanders. "You know?"

"I know exactly what you mean, Sam," she says, and she stands up, walking towards him and squatting next to where he's sitting, putting her hand on his shoulder. "I feel the same way, sometimes. But you know what, Sam?" She looks at him, giving him an appraising, kind look. "Nobody is perfect except for Christ. If people think you are, that's not your fault. The person whose opinions matter the most is you," she pokes one finger at his chest. "Do you think you're a bad person?"

He hesitates. "I don't think I'm a great person."

"Why not?"

There's a longer pause, and he bows his head, putting his hands in his lap. Mrs. Sanders stays right next to him, her hand still on his shoulder. "I act nice to people so they'll like me. Just today, I put off a study date by acting apologetic and it's not like I lied to Lorelei - my partner - but I feel like shit because I knew she'd accept it and let me go, and that's why I did it. Because it's easier to ask forgiveness than permission, and all that."

"Let me ask you a question, Sam: do you think that, if you told her all that, she'd be angry about it?" She pauses, and Sam just shakes his head. "Lots of people can twist themselves into knots about something, while whoever is supposedly the 'victim' of their 'bad behavior' is completely oblivious that they're 'supposed' to be hurt. That's what it sounds like, to me."

"I... I guess that makes sense, Mrs. Sanders."

"Please, Sam," she says, her voice sweet, "call me Kelly." Her hand drifts down from his shoulder to his thigh, a smooth movement, but you recognize it as seduction.

>Keep watching.
>Intervene.
>Leave.
>Write-in.

>>38809951
>Write-in.
Move something heavy to above her in case things get violent or weird. Otherwise we don't have a reason to interfere.

>>38809951
>>Intervene.
Knock something over.

>>38809951
>Intervene.

>>38809951
>>Intervene.

>>38809951
>Intervene.
Rattle the church stuff at them.

We should totally haunt her. Whenever she is alone we act like a common poltergeist, move things around, turn off lights. etc.

Then whenever she puts the moves on another poor sap we get more and more violent. Shove stuff around, drop things.

>>38809951
Can we sleep in gas mode or do we turn back into a person?

>>38809951
>Intervene.
Is there a cross hanging on the wall? If so, then turn it upside down.

They call me Lorelei Cockblocker
>>38810030
>>38810096
>>38810141
>>38810167
>>38810257

Wait, prepare:
>>38810008

>>38810247
I dunno. Why?

>>38810263
>I dunno. Why?
I want to slip into Mrs. KFC's house and haunt her for extended periods of time and that'll be much easier if we can just sleep under her bed in gas mode.

>>38810290
It'd be even easier if you didn't need to sleep in gas mode at all, so let's go with that.

>>38810321
How about eating?
Can we just eat food by settling on it? Because that would make for better haunting.
"I swear I just put my sandwich RIGHT HERE!"

>>38810366
Wooooooo spooky disappearing sandwiches~

>>38810366
Nah, you still need to eat normally. Your body needs to partially metabolize the food before it can desolidify it.

You listen, absently, as you maneuver yourself to the book case, reaching for the small, decorative pot on one shelf. Mrs. Sanders is gently squeezing Sam's thigh and telling him that he's a good person, while Sam is just sort of dumbly confused about whether or not she realizes that she's turning him on.

Touching the pot is odd; you'd describe it as feeling sticky, like you were grabbing something while your hands were coated with syrup. You've wondered what it feels like to humans, but have never had the opportunity to find out. You pull with what little strength you have in this state, and the pot falls forward as you let go, letting it tumble through you and to the ground. It shatters with a loud noise, making Sam and Mrs. Sanders jump. She pulls her hand away from him, automatically, and doesn't seem to want to risk putting it back.

"What was that?" Sam asked, bewildered.

Mrs. Sanders rises from his side, walking over to where you are. She physically passes through you, not even realizing you're there, and kneels over the broke pot. "Pot fell off the bookcase," she says. "It broke." She frowns. You consider grabbing something else and knocking it over on her, but you don't want Sam to feel sympathetic to her. You bet she's a murderer, and you know she's an adulterer.

Sam seems to finish some thought, and his cheeks flush with color as he stands up, obviously embarrassed by his erection in his pants, not realizing that she was intentionally trying to get him worked up. "Sorry, Mrs. Sanders," he says, "I really ought to be going, now."

"I said to call me Kelly," she says, standing and facing him. "And there's no need to go. I thought we were having a lovely conversation."

"No, I really think I should go," he says.

>Follow Sam.
>Follow Mrs. Sanders.
>Grab your clothes and go home.
>Write-in.

>>38810416
Must have been one hell of an experience the first time we tried to turn into a gas right after eating a meal.

>>38810443
>Follow Mrs. Sanders.

>>38810443
>Follow Mrs. Sanders.

>>38810443
>Follow Mrs. Sanders.

>>38810443
>Follow Mrs. Sanders

Sanders:
>>38810490
>>38810494
>>38810496
>>38810520

>>38810703
I demand a recount.

>>38810755
Seconded.

"Wait, Sam, Samuel," she says, but he's already out the door, moving at a pretty brisk pace. She growls under her breath in frustration, and you wait, lurking in the air near her, as she scoops up the parts of the broken pot and gently places them in a thick paper bag, then closes the paper bag, then ties a knot around its opening, then sticks it in the trash can. She sits on the chair for a minute or so, massaging her forehead, then finally rises, walking to her car. You follow her, managing to slip into the vehicle after her, and put yourself in the back seat.

The car's acceleration is awkward to face, given your lightness and gaseous state, but it's not your first time riding along, so you can deal. When she pulls into her house, you follow her again, watching as she fumbles with her keys, looking rather frustrated. She slams the door behind her, but you just slip underneath it, taking about half a minute to do so, but eventually being entirely inside the house.

"Woman," a male voice yells. "Where have you been?"

"I was talking to one of the girls at church," she shouts back, obviously annoyed. She balls up a fist and presses it against the table. "Can we not fight right now?"

He stamps his way down the steps, looking at her, obviously holding in his anger. "Oh, can we not fight right now. Can you not fucking cheat on me?" He puts his face right in hers. "Can you do that for me, Kelly?"

"I'm sorry," she says, and it sounds almost genuine, but for the fact that you saw her trying to get started on Sam. "It- it was just the once, I swear. I didn't mean to- to dishonor my vow... it just happened."

He growls and turns away from her. "Things don't just happen," he grounds out. He sits down on the couch, turning on the TV. "Make us dinner," he calls over his shoulder.

"Of course, baby," she says, taking a moment to wipe at her eyes - you don't see any tears - before starting on cooking dinner.

>Write-in.

>>38810850
>use part of our gas to increase the flames of whatever shes cooking, burning her meal.

>>38810876
We are sticky, not volatile.

>>38810850
Explore the house, see what secrets you can find.

>>38810850
Snoop around their house. Might as well.

>>38810850
Lurk and wait for her to turn her back and then fuck up the food somehow.

>>38810850
Follow the guy he seems the murdering type.

>>38810850
Look around.

>>38810850
Snoop\explore. Messing with the dinner is childish and we want proof.

>>38810850
Crawl up her ass, explode her from the inside-out.

>>38810850
Fuck with the TV. Change the channel, turn the volume down, maybe jimmy the plug a bit.

Literally burn yourself to mildly annoy her:
>>38810876

Snoop:
>>38810898
>>38810904
>>38810967
>>38810968

Prank:
>>38810924

Follow the guy:
>>38810954

Prank the guy:
>>38810977

>>38810850
Look around. We need more evidence.

You decide to look around the house. Search for evidence. As far as you know, the cops never investigated here - "he's an upstanding pillar of the community" and "how could you say something so awful about Mrs. Sanders" and all the rest meant they ignored your tip and put you in counseling. What a ridiculous crock of shit.

There's rooms and rooms of crap, most of it about what you'd expect. Some book cases, filled with books with titles like "Canaan in the Biblical Period" and "The Pauline Epistles." There's a lot more than you'd expect to ever fill these things.

You roll your attention around the house some more, searching for anything incriminating or that counts as evidence. You notice that Mr. Sanders owns a number of guns. A pistol, an assault rifle, a few hunting rifles and shotguns. You might call him a gun nut if you were some liberal city slicker, but this is Small Town America so it's not that far out of the ordinary. As you look, you notice that there's a couple magazines for a pistol that's seems to be missing from the collection. Wrong caliber rounds for the one that's here.

You swoop back down the stairs, seeing Mr. Sanders saying grace, taking some passive aggressive shots at his wife, and move around to get a better look at him, letting your gaseous body wrap around his. You don't feel anything like a gun on him, and pull back and away. "Help us to be faithful to one another, and to our promises to you, oh Lord," Mr. Sanders continues. "In Jesus' name, amen."

"Amen," Mrs. Sanders finishes, and starts poking her food. Her husband starts to dig in, not even bothering to say anything.

>Write-in.

>>38811208
Check the backyard for signs of recent digging then head back home.

>>38811208
Check their shed, their basement, their cellar if they have one, then break a clock or something before going home. Fuck this bitch.

>>38811208
Check Mr. Sanders' vehicle, see if there's any evidence of a body having been in there. Blood stains, scuff marks where it was dragged out of the trunk, stuff like that.

Search a little more, then go:
>>38811240
>>38811267
>>38811288

You (metaphorically) roll up your sleeves and slip out of the house, into their back yard. They've got a small storage shed, but a check inside shows nothing unusual. You turn around, heading to their driveway and finding Mr. Sanders car, which you have a tougher time getting into but eventually manage. Sliding around the inside, you don't find anything of interest.

You pop the trunk and slide back around. You don't open it, instead just slipping in; there aren't any dead bodies inside, but you do find a box of "heavy duty garbage bags," with quite a few missing. You wonder where they got to... you slide back out, stick your body to the hood of the trunk, and push it closed. It's tough to manage, but you manage to get it to lock into place, and you head out, hoping to leave the Sanders none the wiser.

The church is closer than your house, so you walk/float there - which takes like ten minutes solid - and then solidify in the bathroom, gathering back up your clothes and putting them on again before heading out.

At home, you work on English. Then school, including another boring mandated couseling session. Then your study date with Sam.

Sam seems off today. His fingers toy with one another, he keeps casting looks at you, he glances at the half-open door to your room, as though worried somebody will be in it... seeing him nervous like this is kind of enticing. This handsome man, showing his vulnerability to you. Letting you in, in a way, even if he doesn't realize it. You decide to put him out of his misery. "You okay, Sam?"

"Yeah," he says, as if on cue. His expression doesn't exactly look okay. After a moment, his shoulders slump. "No, not really."

"Do you want to talk about it?" He turns his attention to his lap, not speaking. "We don't have to, if you don't want to."

"No, it's-" he sighs. "I'm sorry for blowing you off yesterday."

>Tell him it's no big deal, let him be.
>Flirt, get him even more worked up.
>Write-in.

>>38811595
>Flirt, get him even more worked up.

>>38811595
>Flirt, get him even more worked up.
Sides you said you had something important to take care of. Don't worry about it. I'm sure you can make it up to me~

>>38811595
>Flirt, get him even more worked up.

>>38811595
>Flirt, get him even more worked up.

>>38811595
>Keep pressing. Something's obviously bothering him.

>>38811595
>Flirt, get him even more worked up.

>>38811595
>Flirt, get him even more worked up

>>38811595
>Tell him it's no big deal, let him be.

>>38811595
>Flirt, get him even more worked up.

tg you are the hot ghost girl

Flirt:
>>38811623
>>38811643
>>38811645
>>38811652
>>38811672
>>38811692
>>38811719

Keep pressing.
>>38811662

Tell him it's NBD
>>38811710

"It's fine," you say, sweeping a lock of hair back behind your ear. You offer him one of your award-winning smiles, a slight mischievous edge to it. "It was important, right?" You reach out for his upper arm, squeezing it, and he smiles a little at that. "I might have been a little bit disappointed," you give him another exaggerated pout, "but I'm sure you can make it up to me."

He blushes, looking back at the papers in front of the two of you, the piles of books. "Yeah? How would I do that?" He tries to sound cool about it, but you can see he's starting to crack under the pressure.

You smile, turning your attention back to the books. "I'm sure you can come up with something," you say, still wearing that greedy smile. Over the course of your study date, you get closer and closer to him, your thigh pressing against his, occasionally letting your hand comes to rest on his thigh. The way he doesn't seem to realize that you're doing it on purpose, the blushes, the occasional stammers, it's a delicious mix that keeps a smile plastered on your face.

"I, jeez," he says, looking completely out of sorts. "Lorelei. Could you please take your hand off my thigh?"

You squeeze it, and meet his eyes, looking up at him with an easy smile. "Why do you want me to do that? Is it bothering you?"

"It, it kind of is," he says.

You keep pretending not to understand, and somehow he seems to buy it. "Why would it bother you? Do you not like me?" You pout again, giving him the puppy dog face, and he looks panicky and uncertain.

"No, no, you're very nice, Lorelei, it's just, I kind of-"

>Put him out of his misery with a kiss. He's single, you're single.
>Pull back a little, let him stew on it, study.
>Write-in.

>>38811928
>Pull back a little, let him stew on it, study.

>>38811928
>Put him out of his misery with a kiss. He's single, you're single.

>>38811928
>Put him out of his misery with a kiss. He's single, you're single.

>>38811928
>Put him out of his misery with a kiss. He's single, you're single.

>>38811928
>>Pull back a little, let him stew on it, study.

>>38811928
>Put him out of his misery with a kiss. He's single, you're single.

>>38811928
>Put him out of his misery with a kiss. He's single, you're single.

>>38811928
>Pull back a little, let him stew on it, study.

Tease
>>38811968
>>38812035
>>38812113

Kiss
>>38811972
>>38811984
>>38812025
>>38812043
>>38812064

You guys really want to drive this guy off don't you? That is fine, we can join Mrs Sander's for a drink or two and wallow in our lackluster guy picking up technique together!

>>38812135
>Sanders puts some moves on the guy, she'so a cunt for it
>we do literally the exact same thing, "FUCK YEAH WE'RE AWESOME"

>>38812264
Well, we control the MC and she likes him so yeah. Fuck Sanders.

You lean into him, interrupting him by pressing your lips against his. He goes still for a second or two, just taking it as you kiss him. Then you pull back, giving him a radiant smile. You put a finger on his chest, draw a lazy circle. "You need to learn to tell when a girl is interested," you whisper in his ear, your voice throaty and seductive, your modest bust pressing against his upper arm.

You can see his cock throb, just out the corner of your eye, and you sit down next to him, keeping your hand on his thigh. He's just completely silent, still trying to process it, and so you turn your attention back to the books, glancing through one. He joins you after a few more seconds, leaning forward again to go to work.

You break the uneasy silence yourself. "How do you not have a girlfriend yet?"

His cheeks flush red, and he stammers out a response. "Ah, well, I, er," he says.

"I could fix that," you say, smiling seductively, leaning close enough to him that your breath is in his face. "I could be your girlfriend." He blinks, rapidly, swallowing. "Am I not pretty enough for you?" You give him the puppy dog eyes again.

"N-no, Lorelei," he says, quickly, and you offer him a smile. "You're very beautiful. I just, right now, I'm kind of, I don't, I'm not sure if it'd be fair," he says.

"Trust me," you say, licking your lips and drawing a lazy circle on his chest again. "It'd be fair," you whisper in his ear.

This time, when you kiss him, he kisses back.

After you finish up your group project, your fingers are laced pretty tightly together in the space between the two of you. It's saccharine to say it, but... you feel really close to him, right now. Intimate. You're just staring into one another's eyes. You feel like you can trust him.

>Tell him about your suspicions re: Mrs. Sanders and Peter's disappearance.
>Tell him about the fact that you're a mutant.
>Don't tell him anything.
>Write-in.

>>38812334
>Don't tell him anything.

>>38812334
>Tell him about your suspicions re: Mrs. Sanders and Peter's disappearance.
I hope it's nothing, In fact I want to believe it's nothing, but I'm not sure, and no one believes me enough to look into it.

>>38812334
>Don't tell him anything.
We're the kind of mutant that can keep that fact hidden forever. No need to bring it up.

>>38812264
>>38812295
Perhaps more importantly, Mrs. Sanders is married, Lorelei is not.

>>38812387
Yeah, but only you knew that up until her husband's introduction. "Mrs." could also easily be a widow, divorced, etc.

Unless of course there was some other preceeding mention of him that I didn't catch, in which case fair enough.

>>38812334
>Don't tell him anything.

Keep Quiet:
>>38812352
>>38812371
>>38812469

Tell him about your suspicions:
>>38812367

>>38812448
It honestly didn't even occur to me that you'd think otherwise. Do widows and divorcées still go by Mrs?

>Homeless Mutant Quest
99 threads of hand holding before the MC makes a move.
>Closeted Mutant Quest
Immediate sexytimes.

Christ, JJ...

>>38812611
Its the power of being a one shot

>>38812611
Gotta make your moves fast, can't go for the long haul build-up.

But there are certain secrets that shouldn't be spoken; once you say a thing, you can't take it back. You keep your mouth shut, just offering him the same, easy smile. Eventually your mother calls up the stairs to you and you give him a peck on the cheek as he leaves. You feel weirdly giddy, to have Sam liking you, and the moment you start to reflect on it, you can feel your cheeks burn with blood and heat, embarrassed, happy.

You feel the same way when you steal a kiss in the school halls the next day, when you give him the little wave where all your fingers move separately, when you sit next to him at the cafeteria. His friends seem surprised, but tolerant, and nobody gives you much trouble.

When school ends, you find each other out front, and he grabs your hand. You give him a brief kiss on the lips, getting up on your tip-toes to reach. When you pull back, he talks. "I'd love to spend some more time with you, Lorelei," he says, and you blush. "But when I met up with Mrs. Sanders earlier, things... we kind of... well, it cut off in the middle. I don't think it'll be a problem this time. We're meeting up again, today." The blood drains from your face. "Lorelei?"

>Tell him he really shouldn't do that.
>Follow him in ghost form again.
>Offer him something in exchange for not doing that.
>Write-in.

>>38812693
>Follow him in ghost form again.
Weird that he'd even bring that up.

>>38812693
>Follow him in ghost form again.
We want evidence of wrongdoing, or at least a first hand account of it. Also a good chance to see if he's faithful.

>>38812693
>Follow him in ghost form again.

>>38812693
>>Write-in.
Okay, but promise to spend time with me after

Yandere Time
>>38812725
>>38812736
>>38812757

Plebeian Time
>>38812795

>>38812894
Less Yandere and more This seems like something dumb for him to do but talking him out of it isn't feasible, so overwatch.

>>38812931
Yep.

>>38812931
>dumb for him to do
In what sense?

>>38812979
Mrs. Sanders is trying to seduce him and it was heavily hinted that Mr.Sanders "took care of" Peter who was the last person she seduced and cheated on her husband with. Of course we can't tell him that.

>Married woman who is teaching him feels him up.
>I'm going back!

>>38813030
He's oblivious.

He may be pretty but he isn't all that smart.

>>38813036
He shouldn't be now. We just pulled some of the same moves and told him what they meant.

>>38813053
"But she's married! Obviously she was doing it on accident and didn't realize! That's just jumping to conclusions!"

"Nothing," you say, shaking your head and smiling up at him. "It's fine. Go ahead." You give him a quick peck on the lips again. "Good luck."

He heads off, and you find a deserted spot to hide your things and discorporate, following him as he walks to the Sanders's house. When he finally arrives at the front door, ringing it, you manage to catch up, slipping in past him as he opens it. Mrs. Sanders invites him to sit down with some drinks, they chat a little about nothing before he genuinely starts to open up. You float in the room, waiting for whatever happens to happen.

"It's really nice of you to just listen to me, Mrs- Kelly," he corrects. "You're a really wonderful woman, and talking to you has really helped out, a lot. I want you to know that I'm very thankful."

"That's so sweet of you to say, Sam," she says, standing up. "Would you like me to make you a little something? Toast, a sandwich?"

"No, I'm fine," he says, and she takes his (now empty) glass and walks into the kitchen. She hums to herself as she works, casting a quick glance towards the door of the kitchen, then slipping a hand into her pocket, humming louder as she removes a small packaging, ripping it open over one of the drinks and letting its contents - a pill - fall inside and fizz in the water.

She mixes that one up for a few seconds, obviously intending to take it back to the kitchen with her.

>It's probably just some medicine for herself. Ignore it.
>Write-in.

>>38813091
>>Write-in.
If she moves to give it to him have it spill over herself

>>38813091
>Knock the glass out of her hand.

>>38813091
Hit the kitchen lights and then go over to the glasses and switch them when she's confused.

>>38813091
Examine pill wrapping. Spill it if she tries to give it to him.

>>38813091
Look at the fucking package, obviously. After that we act.

>>38813147
Why bother? They ain't vitamins.

>>38813091
spill something, when she turns around we switch the glasses so she gives him the clean one and she drinks the roofy

>>38813133
>>38813185
One of these. Doesn't really matter what, just needs to be a distraction.

>>38813091
Look at the package?

We could kill her in her sleep and totally get away with it.

Switch them:
>>38813133
>>38813185
>>38813215

Spill it if she tries to give it to him:
>>38813120
>>38813141

Spill it:
>>38813121

Investigate further:
>>38813147
>>38813249

>>38813305
Could you?

>>38813316
can we investigate first, then switch them

>>38813316
Yeah. Their house is full of guns, get a pistol, shoot her in the face. Air doesn't leave fingerprints. And the only possible suspect would be her asshole husband. It's doable.

You reach into the cabinet, grabbing something from the top shelf and pulling it. It tumbles with a clatter onto the desk, then rolls down onto the floor. Mrs. Sanders practically jumps out of her skin at the sound, almost knocking both the glasses over. "Shit," she hisses.

"Everything okay in there, Kelly?" Sam calls from the dining room.

"Fine! Something fell!" She turns around to fetch it, and as she does, you switch the positions of the two glasses. You can't lift them, not with your current strength, but you can push them around, and you manage to swap their positions before Mrs. Sanders finishes returning the object to its original position in the cabinet. "Stupid crap," she says, shaking her head and glancing at the two glasses. She stares for a second or two, then nods to herself and walks back into the dining room. You lift the ripped packaging, inspecting it for any labels, but there's nothing identifying.

Mrs. Sanders heads back into the dining room, handing Sam the drink and watching intently as he takes his first couple sips. Once he does, she sips gently on her own, just a little. They go back to talking, Sam thanking her for listening, her just smiling and nodding. He mentions you, at one point - "new girlfriend" is the term he uses - and you can see the flicker of annoyance on Mrs. Sanders' face, but it's quickly wiped away. She drinks a little more... and a little more... and then she starts to frown, glancing at the drink.

She rises from her seat, looking slightly tipsy. She tries to steady herself on the table, but fails, and collapses to the ground. Sam rushes to the ground next to her.

You hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.

>Write-in.

>>38813537
>Slip the pill package into her hand when no one is looking.

>>38813537
Go into the kitchen
Turn on the gas for the stove without lighting it.
Then leave.

>>38813537
Set the house on fire.

Put flammable stuff on the stove and flick it on.

Sam will GTFO instead of sticking around to get murdered.

>>38813537
Dial 911

>>38813537
this: >>38813587

>>38813587
>>38813603
>>38813629
these

File: oh boy here we go.png (65 KB, 308x430)

65 KB PNG

>Shit starts getting heated
>Guess I better burn the house down
Sasuga, anons.

>>38813537
Go try to stall Mr. Sanders. We could probably make him waste a few minutes if we go into the car and keep turning on the lights and popping the trunk and stuff

>>38813537
we could always make the smoke detectors go off, then hit the gas when Sam carries Mrs Sanders outside

Slip pill packaging into hand
>>38813587
>>38813668
>>38813681

Fake gas accident:
>>38813603
>>38813681

Make real gas accident:
>>38813623

Set off fire alarm:
>>38813876

Call the police:
>>38813629
>>38813681

Stall husband:
>>38813826

You move as quickly as you can - which isn't very quick - back to the kitchen, grabbing the abandoned packaging from the tabletop and bringing it back, sliding it across the ground to avoid attention. Sam still sits over Mrs. Sanders' prone form, shaking her, obviously uncertain of what to do and afraid for her health more than the impending arrival of Mr. Sanders. As the door opens, you slip the ripped packaging into her hand, while Sam turns over his shoulder to look at the cause.

Mr. Sanders takes in the scene - his wife, unconscious, cradled in the arms of a fit, strong teenage boy - and immediately draws his pistol, pulling it from his holster. "Step away from my wife, boy," he orders, an awful certitude in his voice. Sam raises his hands, defensive, and obeys the orders.

"I'm sorry, sir, she just passed out, hand to God."

"I'll bet," Mr. Sanders says. "Step to the right. Now back a step." You're in the next room, knocking over one of the wall phones and then typing in 9-1-1. You can't speak in your gaseous state, and you're not going to risk solidifying, not with things like they are, but hopefully they'll come when they hear... whatever they hear.

You return to the dining room to see Sam, backed up against the wall, his hands raised high in the air, shaking in terror as Mr. Sanders stares him down, a cold glint in his eyes.

>Write-in.

>>38813989
Knock something over.

>>38813989
Press the mag release on the gun

>>38813989
Clog Mr. Sanders' throat and squeeze it shut from the inside until he passes out.

>>38813989
>Flick the safety on. Keep doing it everytime he takes it off.

>>38813989
i guess we could try getting ready to push mr sanders' arm if he fires, but do nothing other than that

>>38813989
Kick Mr. Sanders in the dick.

>>38813989
Do not startle the man with a gun.

>>38814094
seconded

>>38814094
We couldn't even lift a glass of water. At best we'll just make him shoot Sam 2 inches to the side of where he meant to.

>>38813989
>Flick the safety on, and press the mag release on the gun.

>>38814116
two inches can be the difference between life and death, anon

>>38814094
A bullet's faster than we are.

>>38814047
>>38814078
These.

>>38813989
>Grab the keys to the car
>Go outside
>Crash the car into the house

>>38813989
>Plug the barrel with a ghost finger.

>>38814047
>>38814078
>>38814135

something in this vein

>>38813989
Go corporeal with our back facing Sam, then go incorporeal again. While Sanders is distracted, release the mag from the gun, then kick him in the dick.

>>38813989
either hit the safety on his pistol or hit the smoke detector and go for the gas leak plan

Fuck with his gun:
>>38814047
>>38814162
>>38814195
>>38814078
>>38814135
>>38814226

Distraction:
>>38814039
>>38814225
>>38814226

Choke:
>>38814069

Fuck with his shot:
>>38814094
>>38814114

>>38813989
Time for arson

You move as quickly as you can over to Mr. Sanders, who seems to be working himself up to shoot Sam, as best you can tell. You slip yourself around him, finding the mag release on his pistol and pressing it down. It falls to the ground with a clatter, distracting him. Sam, apparently, has the survival instincts to run for it while Mr. Sanders is distracted, rushing out the door. Mr. Sanders roars and pulls another clip from his belt, slipping it into the gun as he gives chase after Sam. You're not that fast, so you can't keep up as they rush into the back yard, Mr. Sanders following Sam with a vicious speed. You can just see Sam leap up and tumble over the back fence as Mr. Sanders forces the back door open, growling at his almost-victim's escape.

He returns to his wife, who is currently unconscious on the floor, and takes her pulse. Then he goes to the nearest phone, and finds it curiously off the hook. He hangs it up and dials 911.

"A boy drugged my wife and just escaped my house." He pauses, apparently listening to the voice on the other line, and you get close enough to hear it.

"Did you call 911 immediately prior to this, sir?"

"No. The phone was off the hook, though. My wife could have done it?"

"Yes, sir. The police are already on their way. Could you tell me about the boy?"

>Listen.
>Leave to try to help Sam somehow.
>Do something to make it look less like Sam drugged Mrs. Sanders.
>Write-in.

>>38814407
>Do something to make it look less like Sam drugged Mrs. Sanders.

>>38814407
>Do something to make it look less like Sam drugged Mrs. Sanders.

>Do something to make it look less like Sam drugged Mrs. Sanders.
>Look for more of those pills and push them into the open.

>>38814407
>Listen.
Not sure how to unfuck this situation.

>>38814407
>clip

>>38814407
>Write-in.
hang up
there should be a big button on the phonebase you can press easily

>>38814447
>>38814450
>>38814453
Be more specific about what??

>>38814494
Er... not >>38814453. But the other two, yes, be more specific about how.

>>38814494
Why didn't you just ask for write-ins again then?

>>38814494
I don't know story teller, I'm a little lost. What would you suggest we could do to at least attempt to unfuck the situation?

>>38814544
Because I had easy prompts available in my head? I've done the "Work towards goal [write-in]" effect before, sorry for the possibly opaqueness, it's not intended.

>>38814494
Check her pockets for more of them and if there are any, then pull them out a little bit so that the packaging is half hanging out? I guess if there aren't any in there, we could take the already opened one and put it in her pocket so that it's half hanging out

>>38814407
A- arson?

>>38814494
Find pills , leave them in places Sam clearly could not get too. Knock over drinks or mix them. Put a pill in her pocket etc.

>>38814407
Arson

Pills fuckery:
>>38814453
>>38814578
>>38814603

Arson
>>38814599
>>38814682

Hang up
>>38814490

Listen
>>38814459

As Mr. Sanders gives Sam's description, you lean down over Mrs. Sander's body, finding the pills wrapper in her hand and putting it in her back pocket, where it was originally. That done, you start to look around the house, hurriedly, for the remainder of the pills. Where would they be? Where could she hide them? Her room? You think about it, and you recall having noticed a container of (unlabeled) pills in the bedside stand on what you assume is her side of the bedroom. You slowly move there, then pull out the pills, then slowly drag them across the floor, into plain view in the living room. They're almost certainly covered in her fingerprints, with none of Sam's, so hopefully that will be enough.

The police and EMTs arrive shortly thereafter, and Mr. Sanders greets them at the door. The EMTs take Mrs. Sanders away, and a police officer interviews Mr. Sanders for a description of Sam while his partner looks through the house. When he notices the abandoned container of pills on the floor in the kitchen, he takes out an evidence bag and puts on some plastic gloves, lifting it up and putting it inside.

Hopefully that'll be enough to clear Sam's name. Shit. Switching the glasses was maybe not such a good idea.

>Go home, you've done all you can, call Sam and talk to him.
>Write-in.

>>38814821
I think we really do need to burn their house down.

>>38814821
>Go home, you've done all you can, call Sam and talk to him.

>>38814821
>>Go home, you've done all you can, call Sam and talk to him.

>>38814861
After Mrs. Sanders is back.

>>38814821
>Go home, you've done all you can, call Sam and talk to him.

>>38814821
Start making plans to murder Mr. Sanders and frame Mrs. Sanders for it.

>>38814821
>Go home, you've done all you can, call Sam and talk to him.

I'm about done here:
>>38814865
>>38814876
>>38814923
>>38814980

Burn down house:
>>38814861

Seems a little extreme, anon:
>>38814926

You head back to where you hid your things, getting dressed once more as soon as you solidify anew. You pick up your bag and head home. As you pull out your phone to talk to Sam - your boyfriend! - you find that he's already called, so you call him back without listening to the message. "Hey, Sam!" It's not hard to put cheer into your voice; never has been, with you. "I saw you called me, called you back. What's up?"

"Ah," he says, sounding awkward, uncertain, "a thing happened... I'm not sure exactly what. Mrs. Sanders passed out when I was meeting her, Mr. Sanders came in and thought I had drugged her or something, and he almost shot me."

"Oh no," you say, voice concerned, sympathetic like you'd just seen a three legged puppy. "Are you okay?"

"He didn't shoot me, but I'm scared half to death," he says. "Jesus. I thought I was going to die. I think I probably won't be going over to the Sanders house again any time soon," he says, with a laugh.

You laugh back, and it's not hard. "Well, don't die. I'd be very sad if you did," you say, your voice a little teasing, and he lets out a small chuckle back. You talk for a while longer before getting home, and your mom makes you hang up to do some chores. You set to work, planning on getting back to the conversation as quickly as possible.

Things develop from there. The cops come after Sam, but then let him go, suddenly, as if in response to new evidence. He's a little out of sorts, and you comfort him with cuddles and hugs and kisses as best you can. Mrs. Sanders gets brought in for questioning, but Mr. Sanders looks to be getting off scot free for his (possible) murder of Peter...

>Not your problem anymore.
>Write-in.

>>38815247
Arson

>>38815247
>Spy on him periodically.

>>38815247
>Write-in.
Slowly Let Sam in on what you did. If he agrees with you that there is something up Investigate. Also if he advocates going to the cops, Remind him how no one believed you and you got thrown into counseling.

>>38815247
>Mr. Sanders is an aggressive, abusive, probably-murderer
>Mrs. Sanders is an evangelical adulterous date-rapist pedophile
You better believe its still "our problem".

Let's follow around Mrs. Sanders a bit more.

>>38815247
>>Write-in.
keep an eye on them both for a while, start easing Sam into telling him our secret and how we saw something between Mrs Sanders and Peter but never said anything until now because after the whole almost date rape/murder it seemed more likely to be true. Also DON'T tell him we were spying on him

>>38815247

>>38815420
Good plan, seconding.

>>38815247
Let's follow both the Sanders, and find out if She tells Him about the drugging, or what version of the story she made up.

Mr. Sanders:
>>38815305

Mrs. Sanders:
>>38815346

Both:
>>38815420
>>38815473
>>38815500

Arson:
>>38815286

Let Sam In:
>>38815322
>>38815420
>>38815473

Does "let Sam in" mean telling him you're a mutant?

>>38815346
>>Mrs. Sanders is an evangelical adulterous date-rapist pedophile
Excuse me? The word is ephebophile? Thanks?

>>38815631
>Does "let Sam in" mean telling him you're a mutant?
yes

>>38815656
>ephebophile
sorry if I triggered any members of the underage-love community with my incorrect language.

>>38815656
Pssh. She's hot. It doesn't matter anyway.

>>38815631
>Does "let Sam in" mean telling him you're a mutant?
I'd rather not

>>38815697
yeah but let's do it real slow-like, not just drop the bomb at once.

>>38815631
Yes.

>>38815631
Yes. But after we tell him abou Peter. Not all at once.

Nah, being a mutant is a big red button for a lot of folks.

>>38815631
Yes.

>>38815631
Yes, but gently. Like the first time we boned him

>>38815913
Hmm? You haven't boned him yet.

>>38815924
Oh well then that's another thing we should do. Or at least give him a ghost handjob

>>38815924
He means "when we bone him"

Over the next couple weeks you spend a lot more time than you used to in your gaseous state, following around the Sanders. You see a lot of things, but the two seem to be on their "best behavior," criminally speaking; they go into explosive arguments at the drop of a hat, though neither of them lays a hand on the other.

You also get closer to Sam, which is surprisingly easy, given his current emotional vulnerability and the way that you're always sure to be just the listening ear he needs, the bubbly girl who can always lift his moods. You tell him about what you saw, Peter and Mrs. Sanders, and he just swallows as he thinks about it. He winds up accepting your reasons for not telling him earlier, and gives you a kiss on the cheek, though you feel like you might have been pushed a step back by it.

After things cool down a little, you curl up next to Sam on his couch, giving him a chaste peck on the cheek, admiring his handsome form, before speaking. You've been building up to this for a while, testing him with little questions regarding "this story about a mutant I read" and "this film about a mutant I saw," seeing how he reacts and gauging it in advance. He seems like he'll take it well, as best you can tell.

"Sam," you start, "there's something I have to tell you."

"Yeah, doll?" You smile at his cute little nickname for you and snuggle up next to him, wrapping your arm around his body a little tighter. "What is it?"

"You can't tell anybody about this, okay? Not ever. It's really private." He nods, accepting. "You have to promise, sweetheart."

He raises one hand, a little smile on his lips. "I swear, I won't tell anybody."

"I'm a mutant," you whisper, voice quiet, so only he can hear.

He freezes, getting incredibly tense. He slackens. Then he freezes again, blinking rapidly. "You messed with Mr. Sanders' gun, when he was about to shoot me."

>Write-in.

>>38816039
>Yes, and stopped Mrs. Sanders from drugging you. Switched the drinks.

>>38816039
"I did. And I switched yours and Mrs, Sanders drinks after I saw her put something in yours."

>>38816073
I mean, yeah. Seconding.

>>38816039
this, with a bright smile: >>38816096

>>38816039
I did and I switched you and Mrs. Sanders drinks when she put a pill in them. I knew I couldn't convince anyone something was wrong. Last time I told the police about it they threw me in counseling, so I watched out for you. I didn't want you to end up disappearing like Peter.

>>38816039
look embarassed
"I-I did, I overheard Mr. Sanders mention something about his wife cheating on him with somebody. I tried to tell myself I was just being paranoid and trusted you to not do anything that you shouldn't. But the more I thought about it the less I trusted Mrs. Sanders so I peeked in while you were over there and I panicked. I saw her try and put something in your drink and tried to switch them, after that she passed out and Mr. Sanders pulled up. At first I was trying to call a doctor in case Mrs. Sanders was in trouble or Mr. Sanders tried to hurt someone. Then he pulled the gun and I knew I had to do something.... you hate me don't you? You think I'm a bad person now."

This:
>>38816073
>>38816096
>>38816100
>>38816119
>>38816137

More than this:
>>38816181

"Yeah," you say, voice quiet. "I also switched Mrs. Sanders' drink with yours."

He nods in sudden comprehension. "That's why she passed out." He pauses, then looks a bit taken aback. "She tried to drug me?" You nod. "Fuck. I thought- I definitely didn't think she'd do a thing like that." There's a long pause. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," you say. You snuggle on the couch for a little longer like that, silence reigning. Curiously, he never asks exactly what your power is. When you leave for the night, he kisses you on the lips, and it takes long enough for his father to give you a smirk as he takes you to his car to drive you home.

You watch and monitor the Sanders household still more, waiting for a slip up, waiting for the crucial piece of evidence or the event that will let you nail Mr. Sanders. You're not sure if Mrs. Sanders will be dealt with by the cops on their own, but if you see the opportunity, you'll deal with it. Today, they're having a particularly harsh argument, where Mr. Sanders accuses her of sleeping with another teenage boy (neither Peter nor Sam), and she denies it fervently.

"I goddamn know, woman," he says to her. "I fucking know!" He slams his fists against the table, making Mrs. Sanders flinch. "Don't fucking lie to me," he half-yells, enraged, pointing a finger at her. "Fucking stop it! You goddamn married me, in front of God and everybody, and this is what you turn around and do? Again and again! Are you a whore or are you just that stupid?"

>(1/2)

Mrs. Sanders starts to tear up, crying pathetically. She doesn't say anything at all.

"I'd go get my .45 and go down to the range to work off some steam, but you lost that, didn't you?" Wait, she lost the missing gun? Wouldn't that suggest...

"I'm sorry, baby," she mumbles, wiping at her eyes and nose. "I'm sorry. Just tell me what to do, to make things up to you."

"Stop fucking cheating on me!" He roars out the words, animal, angry. "Fuck!" He stalks off, and almost immediately, Mrs. Sanders stops shaking, glancing at her lap only briefly. She closes her eyes and rises from her seat, then heads upstairs. You follow, and see her enter the room where Mr. Sanders keeps his guns.

>Write-in.

>>38816627
>Follow her in

>>38816627
Follow.

>>38816627
follow her, keep watching

>>38816627
Follow. If she puts a gun to her head pull the trigger.

>>38816627
Arson.

>>38816627
make popcorn, this is about to get good

>>38816627
Dial 911.

Follow, watch:
>>38816659
>>38816700
>>38816703
>>38816729
>>38816769

Arson:
>>38816750

Dial 911:
>>38816898

You follow her into the room. She slides open a drawer, pulling out a pistol you don't recognize, holding its weight in her hands, testing it. She removes the magazine, checks to see if it's full, then puts it back in and cocks it. She slips the gun into the back of her pants, sighs, and pulls her shirt over her back. "Father protect me," she mutters, under her breath. She walks downstairs, opening the door. "I'm going out," she cries over her shoulder, at her husband. He gives a grunt, and you hesitate before following her out the door, into her car. She drives, well and away from her home, then parks on a nice hill and pulls out a phone.

A phone you don't recognize. It's a shitty flip phone, like, from the 80s or something. Not the one she normally uses; you'd recognize it. She exits the car and dials her husband's number.

"Hey, baby..." she murmurs, and she sounds almost sweet. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I went to drive to clear my head and I found this great view and... I don't know, I want to share it with you. My phone's battery is dead, I borrowed this one from a guy. Please, come on," she practically begs. "I'll do anything you want..." she tries, more seductively. "Anything. Yes, all you have to do is come look at this view. Thank you, baby. I really am sorry. I love you so much, I just... I don't know what to do, sometimes." She gives him the location and hangs up.

You wait, floating invisibly near her. She occasionally touches the gun in the back of her pants and casts out over the road. Her husband arrives, stopping his car. "Well?" He asks. "Where's this amazing view?"

She jerks her head behind her. "Come on up here. I'll show you." He follows her up, looking over the horizon. "Doesn't seem that great to me."

Her fingers wrap around the pistol's grip. "Just give it a second. Drink it in. Really *look*."

>Write-in.

>>38816995
Pull the trigger while its in the back of her pants.

>>38816995
Jab her in the eyes. Toddler strength ain't much, but it'll still fuck up an eyeball and hurt like a bitch.

>>38817042
This

>>38817042
This one!

>>38816995
>>38817042
Sure. Blast her in the ass.

Doesn't a 45 have something like a 2 or 3lb trigger pull? Wouldn't that be about as much as that glass of water we couldn't lift?

>>38816995
so perfect: >>38817042

>>38817113
You have an easier time pushing/pulling things than you do lifting them.

>>38816995
hit the safety and eject the magazine, even if she still has a bullet in the gun her husband will probably jump her before that and she's lost my sympathy at this point

>>38816995
>Press the magazine eject then pull the trigger while it's still in her waistband.

>>38817042
Do it, fuck this bitch.

>>38816995
Pull the trigger

>>38816995
Leave. Neither of them are worth escalating over.

Shoot her ass:
>>38817042
>>38817063
>>38817066
>>38817089
>>38817121
>>38817215
>>38817245

Jab her in the eyes:
>>38817059

Hit safety/eject magazine:
>>38817146
>>38817196

Leave:
>>38817268

You slip your gaseous form around the gun's grip, and you pull on the trigger as hard as you can. It goes off with a very loud bang, and you feel the heat of the bullet burn some of the gasses that make up your new self. It takes everything within you not to instantly collapse back into your corporeal state, sobbing in pain, and you pull away from Mrs. Sanders, who is currently bleeding from her ass where the gun went off, and has fallen forward.

"Fuck," Mr. Sanders says, rushing over to her. "Kelly, what the fuck happened?"

It takes her only a moment to decide what to do, and Mrs. Sanders puts on the waterworks. "Shitty gun went off in my pants," she says, sobbing. "I just didn't want anybody to rape me or anything, so I took it with me, and now look." She sniffles. "I don't know why it went off."

Mr. Sanders extricates the gun gingerly from its place in Mrs. Sanders' waistband, letting you see the burnt and mauled flesh of her ass as he does, a hole blown in the tissue of her left buttock. She's moping and weeping, and he's hurriedly mopping up blood, pulling out his phone to dial an ambulance. She doesn't seem to really react to any of it, just sort of lying there crying pathetically.

Mr. Sanders doesn't seem to realize his wife brought him out here to kill him. You wonder if the police will figure it out. You wonder if you shouldn't do something.

>Write-in.

>>38817415
Head home assess damage. Tell Sam what happened.

>>38817268
I don't think the husband deserves to get murdered. He's an abrasive gun enthusiast, but none of his actions thus far have been wholly unjustified given his wife's track record.

>>38817415
Just see how this all unfolds. He might be too stupid to realize what's going on but the cops might not be.

>>38817415
>Memorize this place, it's probably where she killed Peter.

>>38817415
Watch, maybe nudge the phone towards the husband while she's being loaded up

>>38817415
Shouldn't he now realize his wife lied aboutclosing the gun?

>>38817499
Doubt it, they already think she's an angel. But they will know that firearms don't just "go off" without anyone touching it, despite what the movies say.

>>38817555
It's not the 45 she "lost."

>>38817569
They'll also ask why she had a gun and why she called her husband.

>>38817415
>>38817532
Seconding nudging the phone, maybe toward a detective. Its gotta have incriminating shit on it if she was using it instead of her real phone to lure her husband

Watch:
>>38817499
>>38817532
>>38817555

Don't:
>>38817447
>>38817510

>>38817652
Can we nudge the phone to a detective?

>>38817688
I too like this idea. Don't let her hide it!

>>38817688
Towards the husband will probably be more effective. They'll just think it's her phone. He'll know it's not her usual phone.

You watch over the two of them as Mr. Sanders attempts to help his wounded wife, glancing at the road occasionally. There's actually a few police officers who arrive on scene and ask the two of them questions; both give more or less the same story.

The problems for Mrs. Sanders start to arise when Mr. Sanders mentions that he doesn't recognize the firearm, and that his wife called him on a "stranger's phone." They find said phone in her car, and put it in an evidence bag. They ask Mrs. Sanders about the phone's real owner, but of course she can't give any real details; it doesn't have one. The little bits of evidence build up, suggestive of the reality, that Mrs. Sanders attempted to murder her husband.

"The gun's unregistered," one of the police officers mentions. "She probably bought it at a gun show, or something."

"You don't think..." the other one says, casting a glance at Mrs. Sanders.

"It's a maybe," he says. "Attempted murder?"

"Attempted murder." The two head over to Mrs. Sanders and place her under arrest for suspicion of the attempted murder of her husband. She gets handcuffed and gets a ride-along from a couple cops as they take her away in the ambulance. Somebody makes the connection to Peter via your previous testimony, and your words are suddenly a lot more plausible; a canine squad from the city finds his body after a few days searching, buried alongside Mr. Sanders' lost 45. She winds up cutting a deal with the DA, forty-five years for first-degree homicide and attempted murder.

Some time later, you're cuddled up with Sam, pressing your head against his chest, alone in your room, the door half-open but your parents are downstairs.

>Seduce him.
>Tell him you love him.
>Write-in.

Next to last update.

>>38817951

>Tell him you love him

>>38817951
>Seduce him.
>Tell him you love him.

>>38817951
>Ask him if he minds that we're a mutant.

>>38817951
>Tell him you love him.

>>38818015
Pretty sure he doesn't

>>38817951
>Tell him you love him.

>>38817951
>Seduce him.

>>38817951
>Suddenly realize we're gay

>>38817951
>Seduce him.
>Tell him you love him.

>>38818053
Yes! We wanted Mrs. Sanders all along and she rejected us in favor of Peter.

I wonder why exactly she killed Peter though?

>>38818121
She's a murderous weirdo bitch? Who knows.

>>38817951
>Seduce him.
>Tell him you love him

>>38817951
>Seduce him.
>Tell him you love him

>>38817951
>Tell him you love him.

>>38818107
Go back to akun.

>>38818107
Delta is that you?

>>38818182
agreed.

>>38818182
>>38818201
I thought it was blatant sarcasm myself.

>>38817951
>Seduce him
>Tell him you love him.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Tell him you love him:
>>38817989
>>38818027
>>38818038
>>38818167

Seduce him:
>>38818050

Both:
>>38817993
>>38818080
>>38818160
>>38818161

The /u/geyman has arrived, to late to accomplish anything but ruining the story's happy ending.
>>38818053
>>38818107

>>38818121
Bitches be crazy.

He tried to blackmail her or something, I dunno.

1 - chaste ending
2 - unchaste ending

>>38818290
2

>>38818290
2

>>38818316
Diebreaker and also I missed >>38818226 because for some reason it didn't display.

>>38818290
1

>>38818316
Oops. Didn't see the roll.

>>38818290
2

>>38818290
the dice loves lewds! all hail the dice!

>>38818316
>>38818325
He was rolling a tie breaker you goofs

>>38818290
1

>>38818290
2

"I love you," you whisper in his ear, letting your breath tickle it. He twitches, slightly, at the breathy sensation on his face, and you reach down, rubbing his thigh softly, letting your fingers dance up to his groin. You softly brush his cock through his pants, gentle, tantalizing. "I want you so badly," you hiss in his ear. Your other hand wraps around his neck, and you pull yourself onto his lap, grinding your groin against his. "I love you so much, baby," you say, kissing at his neck.

"I-I love you too," he stammers out, surprised at your sudden assault. "Uh, doll, what about your parents?"

You pull away from his neck for just a moment, your breath heavy. "If we're quiet, they probably won't see." You're too excited right now, you can't stop. "Don't worry, baby, even if they come upstairs, I can disappear with my power."

"Oh. You're... a teleporter?" He hazards. The first guess he's ever made on the subject in your entire relationship.

You shake your head, putting a finger on his lips. "Naughty naughty," you say, smiling rapturously. "No asking questions about powers when we're about," you pause, your fingers headed to the intersection of your two groins, "to make," you unbutton his pants, "love," you finish, drawing the word out as you pull down his zipper. You kiss your way down his chest, your fingers stroking him as you descend.

You can't wait to see the look on his face when you reach your destination...

>END OF QUEST

My twitter: https://twitter.com/72oOCCJ1

I actually found this pretty enjoyable quest. I basically generated it completely at random (random MC theme, random power, random plot), but it was fun. Hope you found it fun too. I might run another quest in its vein, actually, just because it was so interesting as an exercise.

>>38818580
It was a lot of fun, thanks.

>>38818580
>5 minutes later, our parents find him humping the air in our room

thanks for running, it was pretty fun

>>38818580
GG op, that was fun.
You write brettygud

>>38818580
Thanks for running! Epilogue?

>>38818580
It was okay.

>>38818580
I wanted to see gassy handjob.

>>38818647
I kind of feel like the ending was the epilogue?

Kelly Sanders goes to prison for a bajillion years and you have a happy relationship with your boyfriend. What else is there to cover?

>>38818647
Pretty sure this QM hates epilogues.

>>38818580
You think that this is about how the Unseen Quest would have gone if you ran it?
Well, probably not because Monsterhearts is retarded.

>>38818674
Fair enough, but asking never hurt.

>>38818675
Only when he's not feeling them.

>>38818708
>>38818674
I want to see a Monsterhearts Quest about a playbook I don't hate. :(

>>38818708
Not really, it probably would've wound up going a completely different direction altogether, just because of how Monsterhearts works (and also my QMing style).

>>38818580
It was fun, thanks OP!

>>38818752
Fun fact: the MC generation for this quest consisted of randomly rolling one of 32 different playbooks and using that for thematic/archetypal inspiration, then separately rolling up a Marvel Heroic data file and using that for powers.

The playbook didn't come out well, but it was originally intended to be Calaca, which I translated as "peppy goth girl." Her power roll was pretty much invisibility/intangibility.

>>38818821
see, I'd love a MHQ about a Calaca. I just have no interest in the Serpentine or a Ghoul interested in control.

I've seen so many ghouls that didn't pick Flesh because it's the 'hard option.' I wanna see one of those.

>>38817415
... I can't believe that not a single one of you fucks made a joke about popping a cap in her ass.