File: bouncy balls.jpg (34 KB, 474x474)

34 KB JPG

"Anywho, I have very bad, very sad news for all of us. We're going to have to cancel the tour." He shakes his head mournfully. "The safety violations, ladies. The safety violations. The noncompliance. We have to maintain certain standards, a certain level of professionalism... I'm very sorry, ladies, but the rules are the rules."

What did you do? Fall down a hole? Break a probably rickety wall? It must be Gil's fault, and you shoot him the evil eye to make sure he knows it. (Though admittedly he looked fairly penitant already.) "The rules?! We weren't told any— we didn't— it was your stupid ground that broke for no reason, and—"

"I know! I know! I'm very sorry. But it's non-negotiable, ladies. We've already prepared your swag bags..."

"Our what?" you say.

«Bags of free promotional merchandise.»

"Souvenirs! Something to remember us by. We want this to end on a good note, after all! Now, ladies, we can have our team escort you out, or we can take a little shortcut. What say you?"

"Shortcut," Gil mumbles, before you can say a word.

"Shortcut! Phenomenal! Then don't go anywhere." Casey plunges his hand into his back pocket and retrieves his rubber ball, which he tosses into the air before catching it and holding it in front of you. "Focus your attention on this, please."

Casey's other hand is still on Gil's shoulder. He shifts. "Your ball."

"You're a sharp one, Madrigal! It's a little party trick of mine. Are you focused?" Casey glances at both of you, then finally releases Gil. He holds the ball between his outstretched fingers. "Watch it. And I'd recommend holding your breath, ladies."

It's not an actual trick, is it? Would Casey trick you? Can Richard tell if it's a—

«If your life is endangered, I will intervene. Per usual.»
«Follow the instructions.»

God, fine. You watch Casey pinch the sides of the rubber ball together. You watch Casey pinch the sides of the rubber ball... through each other, and feel a lurch in your gut, and see blackness billowing into your peripheral vision, and hold your breath as—

—the ball pops into place, inside out, and the sun is gone, and the dirt is gone, though the Headspace visor is still on your brow and Gil is looking dazed right near you— you are in the entrance hallway, and that gurgle in your throat means you're breathing water again.

Casey bats away a waft of black smoke and pockets the ball. "And there we have it! If you'll come right this way—"

He leads you down the hallway back to the reception and calls out for Cora ("It's Ida, sir") to get your 'swag bags.' You are handed two large, shiny bags and practically shoved out the door, to your distaste and Gil's apparent relief. He collapses onto the outside steps and cups his head in his hands.

"Gil," you say, and nudge him with your foot. He groans. "Gil? They didn't do anything to you, right? If they did something to you, we can go back in— I have a sword, and, um, Richard, and we can go set the place on fire—"

(2/3)

File: gil is having a rough day.jpg (144 KB, 1300x733)

144 KB JPG

"What?" is what you think he says, though it's sort of muffled.

"On fire. So you'll feel better... will that not make you feel better? They deserve to be set on fire, some of them, so it's not evil if I— you don't have to worry about the moral part. Yeah? So should I go back—"

"No! What?" He widens his fingers, exposing his bloodshot eyes. "I-I-I'm not— I'm fine! Sorry. I-I'm fine, I just..."

"You don't look fine," you observe.

"Sorry! I-I-I-I know, I just— I just need to get myself under control, and then I-I-I'll stop being—" He stops cold. "Oh, fuck. Oh, god, I-I-I-I abandoned you! I goddamn left you, and I went and I— and I insulted the goddamn bow tie! Why did I-I-I-I insult the— I didn't mean— I'm sorry! I-I didn't— I need to—"

Well, you are glad he's sorry, but you're serious: he really, really doesn't look fine. He's shaking and blueish pale and you don't think people are supposed to breathe so fast when not sprinting. Is he okay? Will he be okay? Will you doing something make him okay?

You wish somebody had taught you this sort of thing.

>[A1] Whatever this is, the steps directly in front of the door is not the right location for it. Drag him around the side of the building and sit down there, at least.
>[A2] You might not know what the exact problem is, but you suspect the Madrigal body can't be helping. Help him back to her tent, let him evacuate, and maybe he'll be more coherent in your manse.
>[A3] Sitting here wallowing is never useful. Get him focused on productive things, like finding a newspaper in the archives for Possibly Madrigal.

>[B] Do something helpful!! Like, um...
>>[1] ...Patting him on the shoulder? That's good? That's comforting?
>>[2] ...Delivering a pep talk? Is this a pep talk situation?
>>[3] ...Giving him the bow tie back? Does he want it back? (He better want it back.)
>>[4] ...Communing with him! Utilizing your mystic connection to get to the root of the matter! This is definitely a thing you can do! [Roll.]
>>[5] ...Something better? (Write-in.)

>[C] Write-in.

File: charlotte + richard - @kwillow.png (1.62 MB, 1117x918)

1.62 MB PNG

>Announcements
Welcome back to Drowned Quest Redux! I will be going on vacation starting this Monday, so this may be a slowish thread. Apologies in advance.
In addition, it's art trade season soon, so keep an eye out for new and shiny art of the characters.

>Schedule
One a day, occasionally more if the first one was short. There may be sporadic half-updates (no options) if I start writing too late in the evening, sorry in advance. I am in the PST timezone.

>Dice
We use a 3d100 roll over degrees of success system with crits. The base DC is 50. Modifiers may be applied to the roll or to the DC as relevant. The # of rolls that match or exceed the DC determine the result. Probabilities may be found in the Dice and Mechanics pastebin.

The degrees are:
0 Passes = Failure
1 Pass = Mitigated Success
2 Passes = Success
3 Passes = Enhanced Success
0/100 = Critical Failure / Critical Success [regardless of other rolls]

>Mechanics
The MC has a pool of 13 Identity ("ID"), which may be considered both HP and the measure of her current sense of self. It may be lost through physical, metaphysical, or emotional damage. It may be regained through write-ins, designated options, and at reasonable narrative points, including sleep. It may be spent on a flat +10 bonus to rolls, as well as on more elaborate metaphysical effects. Dropping to 0 ID is bad.

>Archive
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=drowned%20quest%20redux

>Twitter
https://twitter.com/BathicQM

>Pastebins
https://pastebin.com/u/BathicQM

>"Redux"?
This quest is a loose sequel to the original Drowned Quest, which ran for eight short threads in 2019. Reading the original is nice but not required.

>I have a question/comment/concern?
Tell me!

File: monty - @nellos.png (595 KB, 1866x1866)

595 KB PNG

>LAST TIME ON DROWNED QUEST REDUX

Having just barged into Monty's tent and interrupted a conversation between him and Eloise, you congratulate Monty on his cool new shadow demon goop arm and semi-successfully gaslight both of them into believing they invited you in to help with their problems. Monty tells you that somebody who looks like Madrigal has been taken into custody at the Wind Court HQ, and invites you to come and negotiate with Lucky so he can talk to Madrigal. You decline, annoying both Monty and Eloise, who drags you out of there and tells you to stop messing with Monty.

You agree, begrudgingly, then show her the patent you've been carrying around. She looks it over and tells you it seems to be written deliberately difficult to understand, but it's for some kind of device to draw blood, and it connects with a different device which processes the blood and spit something else back out. She doesn't think Ellery actually wrote it.

To test this, you go find Ellery, who's a little pissed you haven't been investigating the kidnapping: to mollify him, you tell him about Possibly-Madrigal, and he demands to go speak with her. You agree, but want to bring Monty along, too, so you go get him-- but he entraps you in a weird conversation, instead, which only ends when you convince him to be your official wise and aged advisor. You don't convince him to come see Possibly Madrigal, though, and wind up heading to Court HQ alone, where you find Ellery arguing with Lucky. (Apparently they have some preexisting bad blood.) You convince Lucky to let you talk to Possibly Madrigal, then ask her a bunch of questions... though you come away from it as unsure as when you started. You do promise to bring PM a newspaper so she has something to read in captivity.

On the way back to camp, you attempt to ask a woozy Ellery about the patent (he's cagey) and about locitis (he seems to have some sort of memory block). You drop him off to take a nap and grab Gil, who still isn't sure about the whole thing: he doesn't think he'll be able to fake being Madrigal. You helpfully gaslight him into impersonating her, then set off back to Headspace, where spokesman(?) Casey Kemper takes you on an enthusiastic tour... or at least the very beginnings of one, before you fall down a sinkhole into a cave system. You are separated by rubble from Gil, so you split up, bust down a cave wall, and find a few workers in the middle of an intercompany version of Capture the Flag. You manage to convince them that you and Richard are new to the company, and they tell you a lot about it: most of the employees seem contractually trapped inside, and they're constantly monitored by "Management." Further questioning is cut off by an untimely announcement from Casey, and the employees escort you back to the surface, where you wait for Gil to turn back up. He does, eventually, but it seems like he's gotten into some trouble.

File: ellery - @entuzjastaszczurow.png (1.55 MB, 1864x2200)

1.55 MB PNG

>TO-DO (Completed goals and solved mysteries: https://pastebin.com/3Q3nPDis)

Short-term goals:
- Meet back up with Annie the worm
- Deliver Possibly-Madrigal a newspaper

Long-term goals:
- Rescue Madrigal
- Procure permanent, non-melting body for Gil
- Regain your missing memories (...some of them)
- Finish your model
- Find the Gold-Masked Person and their snake, reclaim the Crown
- In the meantime, continue collecting and storing Law (4/16)
- "Convince" Richard to be nice to you
- Make friends???

Mysteries:
- Who or what drove Ellery into self-imposed exile?
- Who or what is Namway Co. and Headspace Corp.'s “Management”? What did they want with the clone of a snake?
- What kind of company(?) does Richard work for? What is its endgame? What does it want with you?
- What is Richard actually like, behind the whole... dad thing?
- What is the meaning of Jesse's spiral tattoo?
- Who is Horse Face investigating, and why?
- Who is the Gold-Masked Person? Why did they want your Crown? Where are they now?
- Why is Ellery going around assassinating people?
- Who is Possibly-Madrigal?

Ongoing assignments:
- Inform Eloise (and the Wind Court?) about anything you discover about Namway Co
- Meet up with Horse Face's mystery contact
- Escort Eloise to Hell

--

Don't forget to scroll up and vote!

>>5306392
>[A1] Whatever this is, the steps directly in front of the door is not the right location for it. Drag him around the side of the building and sit down there, at least.

>[B5] He's clearly distraught that he didn't behave like a good retainer would. But that only shows how much effort he put into impersonating Madrigal for us. He did go a bit overboard though.

>>5306392
>A2
Monty did ultimatum us about getting him out of there.

>B1

>[A1]

>[B2]

Like all good problems, a good verbal something can always instigate something :)

>>5306392
>>[A1]
>>[B2]

>>5306392
>[A1] Whatever this is, the steps directly in front of the door is not the right location for it. Drag him around the side of the building and sit down there, at least.

>[B] Do something helpful!! Like, um...

Slap him, because he's hysterical; lightly, while shouting that he's hysterical so that he knows he has it coming. All over exaggerated like Charlotte has heard about people doing this but never actually seen it done.

Then give him a pep talk about how he tried his best and we appreciate that and that's all we need because we are AWESOME and got a bunch of relevant to our interests information.

While putting the bow-tie back on him.

File: chalk charlotte.png (162 KB, 333x301)

162 KB PNG

>>5306559
>>5307092
>>5307098
>>5307422
>[A1]

>>5306737
>[A2]

>>5307092
>>5307098
>[B2]

>>5306559
>[B5] (peptalk-ish)

>>5306737
>[B1]

>>5307422
>All of the above

Called for [A1], [B2], >>5306559, and maybe some INTENSE SHOULDER PATTING as a compromise between [B1] and >>5307422. And a PSA: I hate to do this to you guys Day 1 of the thread, but I've been informed extremely last-minute that I'm going to have to be up at 7 AM or so tomorrow morning, so odds are decent this update may be cut short by my need for a livable amount of sleep. Sorry in advance.

>>5307422
Congratulations for getting your Hail Mary vote in while I was poking around in my files for the image attachment.

File: mass hysteria.jpg (73 KB, 1080x722)

73 KB JPG

Then give him a pep talk about how he tried his best and we appreciate that and that's all we need because we are AWESOME and got a bunch of relevant to our interests information.
He's clearly distraught that he didn't behave like a good retainer would. But that only shows how much effort he put into impersonating Madrigal for us. He did go a bit overboard though.

>Pep talks are the solution to everything except when the solution is to set the thing on fire

...Well, um, first things first, you doing something will make him okay, because positive thinking and all that. Oh! And because of your deep and special bond, of course, with you being able to sense his moods and thoughts and needs and such through the subtlest of indications, like the shake of the head or twitch of an ear or stamp of a hoof. Or maybe that's just the special bond between horse and tamer? It's basically the same thing. You can sense his moods, etcetera, and the mood you are sensing right now is... hysteria.

Yeah! You feel much better already, putting a name to it. It's definitely, positively hysteria, on account of him looking somewhat how you look whenever Richard calls you hysterical, except he isn't sobbing. Which makes sense, him being a man (sort of) and all. It must present differently. You therefore diagnose Gil with Man Hysteria, the cure being...

Well, judging from Richard, the cure appears to be yelling at him. But that doesn't seem quite right, for whatever reason— maybe because there's bound to be people staring at you if you do? Something like that. So yelling's out, and so is calling him a pathetic little bitch who can't do anything without you, because that's factually untrue. He did do things without you. That was the main problem.

What do the books recommend in cases of hysteria? That's an easy one: you ought to be marching up to Gil, slapping him roundly in the face, and (if more force is needed) shaking him by his shoulders. This is effective at stirring the blood and rousing the spirit in one-on-one situations: mass hysteria tends to require more sword-waving. You could accomplish any of these steps with grace and ease. But his nose is already hurt, is the problem, and what if the slap made it bleed again? And then he did start crying? You couldn't—

(1/3)

File: long dark night of the soul.jpg (15 KB, 350x193)

15 KB JPG

What do you want when you're afflicted with Woman Hysteria? (Regular Hysteria? Is it just hysteria?) You think back murkily to your various darkest hours and long nights of the soul and so on, to choking on your own mucous and curling up in balls and throwing boots at Richard... have you done that more than once? You guess you couldn't begin to remember. Ha ha. But what do you want? You want to stop feeling so bad, duh. Working on that. And you'd like Richard to acknowledge you're usually feeling bad for good reason, and you want him to— you want anyone to tell you that it's okay, you did your best, it'll get better, and you want a hug. Except when you're throwing boots at Richard, you want a hug.

God, is that it? That's all? That's pathetic. Only pathetic people need hugs, which is why Richard does hug you sometimes, as a sort of coded insult. You, as official God-confirmed heroine, do not "want" hugs— you may deserve hugs, as you deserve praise and free drinks and so on, but they come as reward for grand deeds and distraught, beautiful women deliver them. Not Richard or Gil or anyone. You do not "want" hugs, or "need" hugs, you are supposed to suffer through darkest hours etc. alone and come out way stronger and awesomer from it. And Gil, being your official God-confirmed(?) retainer, is assuredly the same way. To hug him would be a slight!

Also, he is sort of a man, he's switched back to the man voice and everything, so it would be strange and somewhat forward.

So! You have made your decision! You shalt practise the sacred art of 'compromise': stepping forward and patting Gil forthrightly on the shoulder, with possibly some shaking in between, so he is appropriately invigorated and perhaps comforted. You do so.

After about 10 seconds of invigoration, you will admit that Gil appears to the naked eye no less hysteric than previously. Perhaps moreso. He's attempting to strain away from you, and he is panting through the mouth like a dog. You stop. "Are you not—"

"I-I-I'm sorry!" His voice is harried. "I-I-I'm— I-I-I-I'm— I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I-I-I—"

Why is he looking at you like that? He's definitely not invigorated, and possibly negatively comforted. Definitely negatively comforted. Damnit. You force a smile. "No! No, don't— you don't have to— I mean, you do, but you already did, so— um— no. No, I was just... notifying you, that, um, we should probably not stay here? Since we're sort of out in the open, and everybody can see us, and—"

—

Half-dragging a stumbling Gil around the side of the Headspace building doesn't seem to have soothed his nerves, but it has helped yours, at least: it's much easier to cure hysteria without the worry of an audience. Maybe that was the issue with your first attempt. You scratch your chin. "Um, I think you should... calm down."

Gil, slumped against the wall, stares at you. "You— you think—"

(2/3?)

File: losing self.jpg (79 KB, 700x465)

79 KB JPG

"Yeah? Since... well, I know you didn't act like a proper retainer, and I know you're sorry about it. I'm sorry about it too. But it's not worth all..." You wave a hand in his direction. "...this, okay? It's okay we got kicked out. The tour was probably going to be boring, anyhow, and they might've found out you weren't really Madrigal, and— oh! I didn't tell you! I took care of all the detective stuff already. Yes, that fast. It was awesome. Richard can— Richard should tell you—"

«What.»
«No. If your ego is artificially inflated any further, it will burst.»

"—Richard saw it," you finish. "So. Don't feel bad. I know you tried really hard doing, um, whatever you did... oh! You did a really good job impersonating Madrigal! You were totally a bitch, and she's— I know you've never properly met her, but she's a bitch. Trust me. Though once we were away from Casey, maybe you could've toned it down a few..."

Gil has leaned his head all the way back against the wall. He looks very, very not-fine. "...Gil?"

He digs his fingers into his closed eyes. "I-I-I couldn't... goddammit! I-I couldn't tone it down. I-I-I-I wasn't in control— I-I-I was, but I wasn't— I wasn't— I— I-I'm sorry, I'm crazy, I-I'm not— I wasn't disciplined. I wasn't disciplined, and I just— I-I wasn't— Lottie, I— goddammit! It wasn't me. I wasn't... me."

"Um," you say. "What do you—"

"You magiced me. You did your— goddamn magic on me, Lottie, and—"

You cross your arms. "Um, I didn't— I mean, I did, but I didn't do it in a bad way! I made it so you could turn it off and on! So don't go—"

"I-I-I didn't want to turn it off! The other person, who was me, didn't want to go back to being— she thought I'd screw it all up! So I-I just— I— I don't— don't fucking magic me again. Please. Please. Clearly I-I-I can't handle..."

«No.»
«He handled it too well. He took to it too naturally.»
«It is a compliment to achieve full assimilation on the first attempt.»

What? Okay, first off, Richard complimenting anybody is usually a bad thing, so you don't think— "You can handle it," you say firmly. "You just, um... didn't. This time. But you're back, right? So you can go right ahead and calm down, now, and..."

Gil continues to look not especially calm.

>[1] Attempt to reason with him. Isn't he beetles right now? And he wasn't always? And he didn't go insane from turning into beetles or anything, so clearly he's not too bad at handling this stuff.
>[2] Point out that he can clearly handle magic, since he has LITERAL GOD MAGIC, from the LITERAL GOD OF CHANGE AND SOME OTHER STUFF. Also did he maybe sense any magic stuff going on not from you? Maybe blue colored?
>[3] Begrudgingly relay Richard's compliment(?).
>[4] Inquire if for some bizarre and unprecedented reason he may desire a CHASTE and RETAINERLY hug right now.
>[5] Ask what he actually did while you were separated.
>[6] Just sit down next to him and give him some time.
>[7] Write-in.

>left in my notes about what write-ins to make sure I hit
>too late to delete and repost
;____; sorry lads please ignore

>>5307504
>[5] Ask what he actually did while you were separated.
Welcome back, by the way!

>>5307501
>Charlotte just casually accepting Richard is right about her
Only good things can come out of it I'm sure.

>>5307504
>[3] Begrudgingly relay Richard's compliment(?).
>[4] Inquire if for some bizarre and unprecedented reason he may desire a CHASTE and RETAINERLY hug right now.

>>5307504
>3
he's complemented us before, right
right?

>5

>[3]

>[4]

Inquire, but do not necessarily provide. You're here for him after all, but the compliment? and consideration should be enough.

>>5307504
>>[3] Begrudgingly relay Richard's compliment(?).
>>[4] Inquire if for some bizarre and unprecedented reason he may desire a CHASTE and RETAINERLY hug right now.

I'm sorry, folks, but I've been on the go literally nonstop since 7 AM and I need to get up early again tomorrow. Update tomorrow, usual time.

>>5307780
>he's complemented us before, right
>right?
kek
Well, he *has*... uh... backhandedly? Mostly backhandedly. Maybe once genuinely when he praised your ability to, uhhh, let Ellery get murdered?

>>5307537
>>Charlotte just casually accepting Richard is right about her
Yeah! This isn't a new development, believe it or not: she's had an implicit/unexamined acceptance of his general BS for... the whole quest, basically. (You know that thing where you hear something enough times and it starts to sound true?) It only usually bleeds out when she's already feeling shitty about herself, but in this case I think Charlotte processes "hysterical" more as a Victorian-era-style affliction than an insult, so the normal defense mechanisms don't kick in. I have more thoughts on this matter, so let me know if you want me to elaborate on anything.

>>5308315
He's complimented us before, he said we were excellent when confronted by his counterpart.

>>5307504
>[4] Inquire if for some bizarre and unprecedented reason he may desire a CHASTE and RETAINERLY hug right now.
>[5] Ask what he actually did while you were separated.

I'm BACK and only mildly exhausted. Vote calling time.

>>5307511
>>5307780
>>5308659
>[5]

>>5307537
>>5307780
>>5307909
>>5307963
>[3]

>>5307537
>>5307909
>>5307963
>>5308659
>[4]

Since these are dialogue options, we're going with all three. Writing.

>>5308625
Oh, damn, you're absolutely right. Nice catch. Though I do think the fact that Richard's only normalish compliment stemmed from pissy self-defense is something something exception proving the rule?

File: surrender-art.jpg (99 KB, 564x752)

99 KB JPG

>Press forward

Well, you tried. Nobody could say you didn't try. You tried from multiple different angles, in fact, and none of them appear to have been successful, so... maybe Gil should be putting in some effort? On his end? You think that's fair. You fold your arms, patiently, and—

«Why are you not relaying my comment.»

His... what, his stupid fake compliment? Why would you relay it? You barely even know what it means, but you're guessing it's something nasty.

«It is a factual statement.»

Uh huh. You bet. And since when were you his messenger gull, by the way? If he wants to insult Gil, he should do it himself, not wait around for you to—

«Acknowledged.»

There's a prickly buildup in your throat, like the air before a storm: thinking fast, you clap your hand over your mouth a fraction before it starts moving on its own. "Mmmm mmph mm mmm," you inform Gil.

He stares back, eyes wide.

«Good job, Charlie. You are so intelligent and competent.»
«Now say your bit.»

No! You're not saying his stupid— you bite the palm of your hand. Really bite it. You're not even sure Richard is applying much force: your teeth are just dainty, and sharp, and they stick in your flesh like a slipped needle. (You hate sewing.) Your wobbly tooth cracks at the sudden motion, and you yelp more out of surprise than pain, then you taste your blood in your mouth, and then you feel the pain.

>[-1 ID: 8/13]

"Damnit!" you hiss, as your jaw unclenches. Gil, half-risen out of his slump, looks even more alarmed. "I'm— I'm fine! Don't—"

"You're bleeding," he says weakly.

"I know! I just— I'm fine. Richard will fix it." Richard?

«As soon as you relay—»

God-damnit. "He just really really wants to tell you some stupid GS about— I don't even know what. You did a really good job pretending to be Madrigal, says him."

«Not 'pretending.'»

"Or being her. Or whatever. And actually you did too good of a job and that's why you're all, um— that's why you're like this right now. Apparently."

Gil's gaze flicks to your neck, where Richard dangles louchely. "...Richard i-is saying this?"

"Yes," your mouth intones, and you twitch your wrists but think better of it. ("Sorry," you sign instead.) "I am, though with considerably more elegance and nuance. Per usual. I am truly stating that the surrender-art poses a difficulty to the timid and brittle and shallow-minded, of whom consists most attempted practitioners. They fear the death and the sleep. They tiptoe to the edge of the void, stare down, and scuttle back to the security-shell of their ego. They can not assimilate. They will not allow it of themselves."

Gil's breathing has slowed, which you assume is out of confusion. His eyes roam your face. "Uh..."

(1/4)

File: pistol whip.jpg (52 KB, 564x554)

52 KB JPG

"I have not concluded. You, Beetles, did not suffer this pathetic status. I observed it as you flung yourself hungrily into that void. Too hungrily, yes. But unlike Charlie, for instance—" (You roll your eyes.) "—there is potential. And with proper tutelage..."

"No!" Gil's tensed up suddenly. "No. No. I-I-I told you, I don't want any goddamn part—"

Richard's tail flicks. "There is a urge for self-surrender in you," your mouth says snidely.

"I-I-I-I don't care! I-I-I don't even know what that means! Please just— please just get out of her! It's creepy! I-It's not at all helping your—"

«Ungrateful.»

Richard slides off your neck and begins winding around your torso— "sulkily," you might ascribe to it, if you were in the habit of ascribing emotions to a toneless snake. (You are. You absolutely are.) You massage your jaw. "Um, I'm— he did."

"Oh."

"It didn't hurt or anything," you feel compelled to explain. You rub your palm. "Um, I didn't think he'd go into a whole speech... he didn't say all that to me. Just so you know. He just said the part I said. Um. So what did you actually do down there?"

"What?" Gil's shrunken back against the wall again. (Damn. You thought he'd appreciate the change of subject.) "I-I-I... I don't remember very well."

"It was less than an hour ago," you say irritably.

"I-I know! I-I-It's just— it's like I'm trying to remember somebody else's, um, memories. They're there, but they're, um, out of focus... i-if that makes any sense...?"

«It is a real effect.»
«A real effect mitigated by <proper tutelage>.»

God. "Okay, can you tell me the gist?"

Gil tilts his head back. "...I-I-I left you to go find the footsteps, and I-I... did. Um, fast. We ran right i-into each other, and they started... shooting at me."

"Paint," you say. "At you."

"I-I didn't fucking know it was paint! So I got my gun out, and that kind of shut them up, so I started asking questions... I-I don't remember what, probably how they could live with themselves knowing they churned out such cheap shit every day. Who was in charge of security measures because whoever he was deserved to be shanked. I-I'm just making stuff up, I don't actually know... oh." He frowns. "I-I-I think I asked about, um, Ellery. I-If they knew Ellery. I-I-I-I have no goddamn idea why I'd—"

Huh. "So you took some hostages, and then..."

Gil reddens. "I-I didn't take, um... one of them escaped, I-I think. Or sounded the alarm, or something, and then I-I-I, uh, ran... wait. I-I might've—" He pauses.

"You might've...?"

"...Um, I-I think I hit somebody with my gun, and took their... ID?" He looks pained. "Maybe other... they confiscated the ID. After they caught me. But, um, I... oh."

"Gil?" you prod, after a much longer pause. He's staring into space. "Gil, you—"

(2/4)

File: stimmies.jpg (27 KB, 615x409)

27 KB JPG

He sighs, squeezes his eyes shut, and, grimacing, slides his hand down the collar of his shirt. He retrieves a small bag of something and flicks it hastily onto the ground. He covers his eyes with his hands.

"Oh," you say delicately. "Josey Hatchcock often did that, erm, in the later books. Though usually she hid larger, um... switchblades and things. Shall I retrieve the..."

Gil doesn't react. You unroll the cuff of your sleeve and slide the fabric over your hand— the one Richard didn't bite. (Though it is hurting less, now.) Thus protected, you pick up the baggie. It contains half a dozen oblong pills.

"Oh!" you say. "Stimmies!"

"I-I guess? I don't..." Gil lowers his hands. "I-I-I don't know. I ran, and hid, and they got me eventually, and then... I-I guess you know the rest of it."

Yeah, you guess you— "No, wait. What did Casey tell you? At the very end?"

"He... he said he knew who I was, and what I was trying to do, and he, um, sympathized, but i-it wasn't going to succeed. That I-I-I was in way over my... 'pretty little head.' There were higher things at work. And, um, he'd let me go this time, but next time could be ugly... I-I don't know if he knew about me, or if he was talking to her, or... we're not going back in, right?"

You tilt your head. "Uh..."

"Lottie, we just— I-I-I just pissed off— they probably have our faces on record, now, they could just— I-I don't even know, but the guards are no fucking joke, and—"

"Okay, then we'll get you a different face." You wave your hand. "Maybe we can get me a different face. Who knows? I don't think it'll be soon, anyhow, I just feel like it needs to be set on fire someday, so—"

"...You're joking? You're..."

Why would you be joking? "...No?"

He looks at the ground.

He's still shaking, you realize. Maybe a little less. But he's shaking, and his breathing is still kind of funny, and— has nothing changed? All that, and he's still hysterical? Still? Has yours ever lasted this long? How obnoxious, to drag it out past all point of reason— how selfish— how needy! You don't hate Gil. Of course not. But you are perhaps, in this moment of time, acutely disappointed in him, which is why you— "Um, Gil?" you say. "Do you, uh, need a... hug? At this present moment?"

"What?" he says.

What? you think. You decided against this. Firmly. "Well, um, I— I don't— uh— a hug."

You've seen Gil startled many times before, of course. (It's easy to do.) You can't say you've seen this particular shade of startle, though: he looks like he's been launched clean out of his body. "A hug," he says very very slowly.

Why are you elaborating? Why are you not shutting this down immediately? It was a slip of the tongue, not a real— "A, um, normal hug! A non-weird hug. A retainer— a retainerly— nothing untoward, I wouldn't ever— um— it's okay, because you're technically a woman in— in my age range, so—"

"Why?"

(3/4)

"Because you're in Madrigal's— there's no rules about possessing people. Or about beetles, actually. So I'm sort of extrapolating, here, but—" You freeze. "You mean in general?"

He nods, by which you mean he kind of spasms his head up and down. He's all rigid.

"Uh..." It is an excellent question. An excellent question. A phenomenally excellent question, Charlotte. "...You look bad."

He swallows.

"So, um..." You're starting to feel a bit light-headed yourself. "Yes? No?"

A simple question, one would think. You would've thought, at least, before you had to sit through maybe 45 seconds of a silent but apparently heated internal debate (judging by the variety of expressions flitting across Gil's face). You are regretting asking in the first place more than you've regretted anything in your entire life, including jumping off the side of the Pillar because a stupid snake told you so. This is worse. Definitely worse.

And it becomes absolutely positively worse when Gil opens his mouth and a thin "No" tumbles out. Followed by a thinner "Sorry."

"Oh," you say. And then "Well— well, ha! Yes! I knew you'd make the— the right decision. I mean give the right answer. Because it was a trick question, see. It was a test." (It makes perfect sense. It explains why you said it in the first place.) "I was testing to see if you could be strong and independent, see, because if you'd said yes, then that'd mean you'd—"

Gil isn't listening at all. "I-I-I just don't know you. I-I don't... and you lied to me earlier about the fake emergency. I-It wasn't even a good lie. I was kind of insulted you thought I-I'd—"

"Huh?" you say. "What the hell are you talking about? What emergency?"

"...Earlier? Before the clothes? The one you said—" He gestures fruitlessly. "No, i-it— forget about it. It doesn't matter. The point is I-I-I-I don't know you! Sorry. I-I don't... know you."

Is a symptom of the Madrigal thing amnesia? Did you magyck him into amnesia? "Yes you do? I'm Charlotte, I rescued you from beetle prison, you're my retainer now, we go on—"

"You don't..." He draws his knees to his chest. "I-I recognize you. And I-I-I know facts... I-I know some facts about you. A couple facts. But you know— you know me. After the thing. And I-I-I-I still don't know you at all. We've only just met. I-I don't know you."

You say nothing.

"Sorry."

(Choices next.)

Is this something you care about?
>[A1] Not substantially. You're a little sorry about it, maybe. But he *is* your retainer. You're not equals or anything. And there's nothing interesting to know about you, anyhow.
>[A2] Well, kind of. And he is your sworn retainer, and he's been nothing but trustworthy so far (excluding this little hiccup), but... you just don't tell people about the non-exciting bits of yourself. You don't. To anybody. And you intend to stick to that.
>[A3] Yeah. It is. Of course you care.
>[A4] Shades of variation? (Write-in.)

ONLY IF [A3] / COMPARABLE [A4]: What do you intend to do about it?
>[B1] You shouldn't just tell him everything about yourself all at once right here. That would be a weird weird weird-person thing to do. But maybe you can tell him... one thing? To gain some trust? (What one thing do you tell him about? Write-in.)
>[B2] Well, of course you can't tell him everything about yourself. You're not extremely drunk yet. But maybe, after tonight's party, you can have a little tête-à-tête?
>[B3] Okay, okay, okay. You've got it figured out. YOU have a pretty good handle on Gil because you got to see HIS dumb embarrassing mind pieces. So, so that everything is fair and square, you need to let HIM see YOUR awesome and cool mind pieces. (Or another similar type of shenanigan??)
>[B4] Write-in.

>>5309338
>>[A4] Shades of variation? (Write-in.)
It's not like we hide stuff from him. In fact, if anything, he actively hides from the truth we tell him about our magyckal powers and the magyckal powers he also has. In fact, it's kind of hurtful but we understand he's been through a lot so we're generous about it. Also it's a journey of discovery together because we're missing a whole bunch of ourselves too, not that we're overly worried about it but it's concerning. Also it makes us angry in a burning mood kind of way.

>[B3] Okay, okay, okay. You've got it figured out. YOU have a pretty good handle on Gil because you got to see HIS dumb embarrassing mind pieces. So, so that everything is fair and square, you need to let HIM see YOUR awesome and cool mind pieces. (Or another similar type of shenanigan??)

We can take him on a guided tour of what we were up to prior to saving him from being beetles. It's kind of wild he needs to know us better than being his saviour and liege but if that helps him out in his role, well, noblesse oblige. We have nothing to hide, anyways, we haven't done anything wrong.

File: tegaki.png (19 KB, 400x400)

19 KB PNG

In light of the slow votes and the fact that I have to get up around 5 AM, I am once again postponing the update... maybe until tomorrow, but as I announced earlier I am going on vacation, so I can no longer guarantee a steady schedule. I will do my best to update regularly but it might be more like every 2-3 days instead of every 1, at least until I return.

Vote remains open, of course.

>>5309866
>>5309339

Supporting this vote.

>>5309953
Happy trails!

Split between [A2] and [A3]

You do care, but catharsis is a bit of a bitch. [B2] fits best for this reason, but its the whole I'll tell you later situation. Half of half the info if you will, and even that would be patchworked like Frankenstein's creature.

>>5309339
>A3
>B2
how long is he gonna say we don't know each other? we've known each other for like a week now. what's his acceptable timeframe for knowing each other before we can say we know each other?

>>5309339
>[A3] Yeah. It is. Of course you care.
>[B2] Well, of course you can't tell him everything about yourself. You're not extremely drunk yet. But maybe, after tonight's party, you can have a little tête-à-tête?

Back, still alive, still on vacation. Probably will have to skip another update tomorrow, heads up, but I can crank this out tonight. Let's see here:

>>5309866
>>5309957
>>5309988
>>5310098
>>5312473
>[A3] but you're pissy about it

>>5309988
>>5310098
>>5312473
>[B2]

>>5309866
>>5309957
>[B3]

Called for irritated [A3] (+ write-ins), [B2], and writing.

>Listen here you little shit

"That's stupid," you mutter viciously.

It's Gil's turn to say nothing, now, though he doesn't look surprised.

"That's *stupid.* That's the stupidest thing I've ever— what does that even /mean?/ You know lots and lots of things about me. You know *secret* things about me— Richard? Hello? Most people don't know about him? So what's the matter— it a time thing? Because it's practically already been a week, and a week is a /long—/ you know most bosom companions are that way within a *day,* right? A day? Their eyes meet for the first time, and it's all *bam,* *woosh*—" You are miming out the sound effects for maximum impact. "—and then they'd die for each other? And so on? So a week is generous, frankly. But fine, what's your stupid timeframe? What's the fancy important *Gilbert-approved* criteria for knowing vs. not knowing, and how about you go write it down, because someone all dumb like me couldn't—"

"I-I-It's not like that!" He cups his face on either side. "You've got i-it all— i-i-it's not a *quota.* I-I-I just feel like we haven't spent very long actually together."

"What?!" you spit. "Okay, now that's the stupidest thing I've ever— 'not actually together'? When I've spent ages and ages— I spent ages and ages just *yesterday* with you, and—"

"I-I-I was in a backpack for most of it, and then I-I-I was shot, and I don't remember being—"

"—before that, I spent a day making your dumb body you don't even like—"

"I-I-I-I do like it! I-I just..." He flexes his fingers. "I-I need a break, sometimes, and— and you were weird during most of that. I-I-I couldn't talk to you or anything. I-I was just hanging out with Richard, and, aw..."

You fold your arms. "And?"

"...I-I-I'd, um, prefer it were... you."

It's a good answer, and you allow yourself a rush of satisfaction, but you're not about to let him off the hook: not after he *scorned* you. "Oh, really? Which is why you /abandoned/ me this very afternoon. Verily, this bespeaks the—"

He sags. "I-I didn't mean it... and I-I-I'm not trying to *blame* you for— for any of this. I-It's not like you're trying to snub me, um, I think... and I-I know it's been inconvenient with the whole body situation, and you've been busy, and— i-i-it's not your fault. I-I know that. But i-i-i-it's just been... every time I-I do see you, it feels like we're on the go? Usually really... really on the go. Running. And there's never any time to just do normal—"

"The running's important," you snap. "It's part of the whole hero thing? So it's what you signed up for? I don't see—"

(1/3)

File: gil - @trajicomic.jpg (927 KB, 1021x1137)

927 KB JPG

"I-I-I'm okay with some running! Just not all— there's never any time to just talk, or-or shoot the shit, or— which I-I-I'm not saying is your fault either. You're wrapped up iin a lot of... a lot of shit, which I-I don't really understand. I'm just saying you can't get to *know* someone just by running, and I—" He swallows. "I-I don't. We're basically strangers, Lottie."

>[-1 ID: 7/13]

Your tone is baleful. "What?"

"Or acquaintances... I-I guess acquaintances. And I-I-I don't think that's bad, or wrong, or— I think it's normal! For less than a week. Except you're acting like we're— like we've *known* each other for years, or something, and maybe now to you we have? Maybe to you you've known me my entire goddamn life, which i-is..."

"Sensical?" you say. "Given that I graciously saved your entire God-damned—"

He runs his hand through his hair. "Yeah, I-I-I— I-I— yeah. And I-I'm not saying that I'm not— I don't— I-I-I-I think you're very nice, and very very weirdly charitable, and I-I guess I... I trust you. But that still makes you a nice, and charitable, and— and trustworthy acquaintance, because I-I-I-I *don't*— and you do. That's the fucked-up part, Lottie, that we're not on the same..."

«So this is what amounts of your loyal and lauded 'retainer.'»

Richard is winding back around your neck. And he's not wrong, is he? He's not wrong at all. You trusted Gil, and now he's— he's betraying you, quite frankly. He's betraying you. "So what. So you want to look in my stupid mind? Huh? You want *me* to get shot, so *you* can— you want to shoot me, Gil?"

"No! No! I-I-I-I don't want— I-I don't know. I-I'm sorry I brought it up." He has shrunken back. "I-It's really not a big..."

"Okay, you don't want to shoot me. Then what? Because I haven't been *hiding* things from you. I haven't been *lying.* I've taken you into my sacred confidence, in fact, and therein you've been *disdainful* of the various important things I've had to— like the thing about the magyck? Gil? I could've kept that secret, but I thought you deserved to know, and then you *laughed* at me. Which really makes me want to tell you other important—"

"You were lying earlier," he says, and his eyes sweep your face. "But I-I— we haven't proven anything about the magic, okay? So you can't use that as an example..."

"Go to hell," you snap, and really, truly mean it until he starts looking all wobbly. "Okay, don't— don't go to hell, but we will prove the magic, okay, and then you owe me. But until that point, I will— I will exercise my charitability. Yes. I will ignore your horrible wrongness, on account of your difficult circumstances. I am doing so right now. So what's the plan?"

"What?"

(2/3)

"How to you hope to *equalize* this great—" You gesture. "Because it kind of makes sense, in my book? Me knowing more? Since I am your savior, and liege, and everything. But if you have a plan, then I'll— do you want me to just sit down and tell you every single stupid secret thing about me? Is that the plan, Gil? Because—"

"I-I-I don't need your secrets! Or anything— you don't have to sit down and tell me your life story i-i-if you don't— I-I-I wouldn't have, either, if I had a choice. I-I just wanted to, you know, naturally... over time... learn... I-I-I-I don't know. Sorry."

"Over time," you say. Over time? A long time? A long time of Gil being weird, skittish, distant, thoroughly unretainerly— "That's stupid. Why would I not want to get it over with?"

"I—" He blinks. "Um... I-I-I don't know, I guess."

"Right. So why /don't/ we sit down and talk about it? A one-on-one, you know. You can sit there, I can give the stupid rundown, bam, you know me or whatever. Done. I'm warning you, though, I'm missing..." You calculate. "...a fifth of my life? A sixth? So don't blame me if there's gaps. Cool? Gotcha?"

"Um," says Gil. "...Yes? I-Is this right now, or—?"

"Right now?" You scoff. "Don't be stupid. I need to get drunk."

"...Ah," says Gil.

"Fantastic, then. Good plan. Good talk!" You shake your stiff legs out. "Always open to... feedback... from my favorite retainer, and so on. Ahem. So I'm thinking, next, we—"

>Wat do? It is roughly 2 PM. You're probably not meeting for drinks any earlier than 5.

>[1] Head back to camp and... (Pick one for now. With all choices: do you release Gil from his fleshly prison or keep him around to hang out with?)
>>[A] Work on your model. It's been a while, and you're one good concentrated session away from wrapping it up.
>>[B] Psychologically harass Richard into good behavior. He's been getting awfully uppity since this morning. [Roll] for efficacy.
>>[C] Take a nap. You need a nap. Simple as.
>>[D] Find Ellery again. You've just visited his former workplace, and it's, by your books, kind of messed up! Does he have thoughts on this matter?
>[E] Write-in.

>[2] Head to the archives, find a suitable newspaper, and see if you can pry in more about Possibly Madrigal. (Gil can, um, wait in the archives. It shouldn't take too long.)

>[3] Write-in.

>>5312688
>[2] Head to the archives, find a suitable newspaper, and see if you can pry in more about Possibly Madrigal. (Gil can, um, wait in the archives. It shouldn't take too long.)

>>5312688
>2
We can look committed to the wind court

>>5312688
> 2

Just ignore Richard. We have to learn how to operate without him, since we won't be with him forever.

>>5312687
>>[2] Head to the archives, find a suitable newspaper, and see if you can pry in more about Possibly Madrigal. (Gil can, um, wait in the archives. It shouldn't take too long.)

>>5312688
>[1] Head back to camp and... (Pick one for now. With all choices: do you release Gil from his fleshly prison or keep him around to hang out with?)
>[B] Psychologically harass Richard into good behavior. He's been getting awfully uppity since this morning. [Roll] for efficacy.

>>5312882
>>5313205
>>5313633
>>5313636
>[2]
You got it. Called and writing. Expect next update in 2 days again. I'll be back on a regular schedule on the 27th or 28th.

File: legerdemain.png (217 KB, 470x403)

217 KB PNG

>On the road again

"—go drop off that newspaper. So I look on top of things, right? Committed, and *dedicated*— and maybe, you know, I can go in for another interview? Without Lucky this time. I really feel like he was killing my— what? Bad plan?"

Gil had been making a face, but he starts at your direct address. "Aw, no— no. Uh. I-I-I just don't know what you're... what newspaper?"

What /newspaper/? Have you not told him about the Possibly Madrigal situation? Perhaps you do need to keep him better-informed. "Oh, dear. Um... there's somebody who might or might not be Madrigal who's being held by the Wind Court. She looks like her, but she can't have the real Madrigal's body, because, um, you have that. So it's a gooplicate— except she claims that Namway, that's the people who shot you, experimented on her? And put her in a goo body? Since she was a snake..."

He nods weakly.

"Right. So I went and talked to her, and I, uh— I still wasn't— I required further consultations to ascertain the validity of her or possibly its claims. Ahem. So I shall be going, and ascertaining, and..."

«Leaving him behind once again.»
«Truly you are a paragon of camaraderie.»

Did you ask Richard? No? And also, Gil just said he wasn't mad at you for leaving him behind places. And also also, you will be conducting a thorough summary of your storied history this very evening, which should obviate any negative feelings, as Gil will be too inspired and awed to worry about that stuff. Duh. "...and dropping off a newspaper to read, since she said she was bored. Maybe a pack of cards, too. Do you have a pack of cards?"

He frowns and pats around in his pockets, then his waistband— you know he's found something by his look of bemusement, even before he extracts a battered little pack. "...Uh..."

"Fantastic! So that just leaves the newspaper. The archives— have you seen them yet? No." He was with Horse Face. "Well, the archives have some. So, forsooth, we shall sally forth— they're not that far. They're over there. Let's just head in, and head out, and—"

-

As you were hoping, the archives stand empty of Eloise or any other pesky stranger. The sand has shifted around since you were here this morning, but a big scuffed spot remains where you'd— where you had *understandably* fallen down a little bit, and then gotten back up, because Richard couldn't tell you what to do. And still can't. You go and kick some more sand over the scuffed spot, just in case.

If Gil has noticed the scuffed spot, he isn't saying anything. He stands, hands in pockets, surveying the dinky shack. He seems to be shaking less: it could be the course of time, but you're sure you had something to do with it. You do have a calming presence.

(1/3)

File: the woman.jpg (62 KB, 564x732)

62 KB JPG

Finding a newspaper takes a moment's work, because an entire decrepit table— so aged and sagging you think somebody tried making it out of actual wood— is stacked up to your shoulder with them. It must be the work of years, and it would be an invaluable resource were the older papers not glued soddenly into one mass newspaper-brick. You're fairly sure things have burrowed into it.

The newer papers sit pertly on top, however, having not yet been convinced they ought to be damp. You stand on your tiptoes to sweep a random one off, check the date (very recent— a couple days ago), glaze over the headlines, and deem it suitable. "Okay!" you say. "All done."

"What? I-I mean... if you're sure, then, uh..." Gil twists his hands. "...I-I assume you know what you're doing. Are we delivering it next?"

Are 'we'? You are, certainly. But you're delivering it to Possibly Madrigal, who looks like Madrigal but might not be, and to deliver it with Gil, who looks like Madrigal but definitely isn't, to Lucky and his happy trigger finger— Gil reads your guilty expression. "Oh."

"It's not—!" you attempt. "It's just— it's not /you,/ Gil, it's just that—"

"I-I-I know." He rubs his shoulder. "Um, I-I wish I could help, but I know I— I know. Sorry. I-I-I can, um— I-I can try to— I'll stay here."

"You will?" Phew. "Okay. Probably nobody's going to come in here, but don't talk if they do. Just look busy. I shouldn't take /too/ long, so—"

"Yeah."

It's a weary little 'yeah.' You half-frown. "I'll— we'll get a real body soon, alright? And then you can come with me wherever. It's just— it's bad circumstances.'

"I know," he says.

"Okay. Good. Cool. Can I have the—?" You stick your palm out and waggle. Slowly, Gil deposits the deck of cards onto it. "Wonderful. I'll be right back."

-

It's funny to think that yonks inside Headspace has translated to— 10 minutes, tops? You'll be sliding into the Wind Court HQ less than an hour after you left, which you think is a good amount of time: not so short that it's outlandish, not so long that it doesn't give you a certain advantage. If you're lucky, or good, you might be able to wear Lucky down through sheer irritation and/or attrition.

You might be good, but you're not lucky, because when you waltz into the HQ Lucky's nowhere to be seen. Instead, a slight, black-haired woman is manning the entrance room— she looks up from her nails when you jangle the door open and assumes a look of faint derision. "Hello."

"Hello!" you say grandly. "I'm—"

(2/3)

File: c.m.s. garvin - @rattypants.png (587 KB, 1728x1656)

587 KB PNG

"You're Charlotte Fawkins. You killed the dupe. And Jesse. And you're not to be confused with—" She twirls a finger at the board on the wall. Your gooplicate's WANTED! poster hasn't budged. (Though it wasn't— it wasn't your gooplicate's poster, was it? Because your gooplicate wasn't a gooplicate. And it didn't know about the Wind Court. The person the poster's about is—) "—her, says the boss. You're a different one."

"Um," you say, distractedly. Now that the woman's drawn attention to the poster, you're struggling to keep your eyes off it. "Yes. Yes, I'm— I'm not— hey, I didn't kill Jesse. She— it— it did! I was the one who single-handedly—"

"Sorry." The woman doesn't sound sorry. "There's a lot of talk about you. Hard to keep it straight. What do you want?"

"I, uh..." Stop looking at the poster! You dig your fingernails into your wrist. "...Lucky. I wanted to talk to— I have this newspaper to, um—"

"He's in the back. Talking to somebody else." More important than you, she indicates. "You can wait here for him, if you have to. Or give me that. I can hand it over."

Well, the point isn't really the newspaper— it's the prospective second interview, which you're dead certain this woman can't or won't help with. But waiting would just be humiliating. "Uh—"

Oh, here comes your luck: it was merely delayed! Two faint voices have begun to echo down the back hallway. (Perhaps they just exited a room.) You look meaningfully at the woman, who spreads her hands in a 'what do you want me to do about it?' sort of way.

Which is fine, because you don't want her to do anything at all. You smooth down your vest, fluff up your neck bow, and march through the entrance area, all the way up to the neck of the hallway. "You can't go in there," the woman says with little urgency.

You don't need to go in— at least not yet. You're just craning your neck to see Lucky turn the corner, accompanied by...

...

...by Horse Face. You needed a full moment to process that. Horse Face is here, in the horrible gangly flesh, chatting it up with Lucky like they're buddies— the angle isn't quite right to read lips, but they're smiling and shaking hands and Lucky does that chummy sort of shoulder pat as Horse Face turns and saunters down the hallway and Lucky vanishes again into the back area.

Horse Face sees you, obviously, but he doesn't react or acknowledge you until he's emerged into the entrance room. "Lottie!" he says.

You glower at him.

"Fancy meeting you here! Committed any crimes recently?" He smiles toothily.

"No, /unlike/— what the hell are you doing here?!" It's nearly obscene, seeing Horse Face in the wild. It feels invasive. "And could you leave?"

"Oh, I'm presently employed here! As you may know. Moreover, I had heard my old friend Madrigal was being kept hostage..."

(3/4)

"GS!" you say. "GS. She is *not* your—"

"I'm afraid so. We go far, far back, me and her." You despise the way he says this. "Sadly for the both of us, I don't believe that /was/ the Madrigal I knew. Though it's admittedly been some decades. Have you had the chance to speak with her, Lottie?"

You shift your weight. "Yes."

"What did you make of the situation?"

What did you make of it? You can't just say you don't *know,* that'd be— to Horse Face? Impossible. You absolutely must change the subject. Or leave. You could just walk away, to stick it to him.

>[1] Change the subject.
>>[A] Ask Horse Face more questions? (Write-in.)
>>[B] Horse Face's loyalties seem... changeable. Maybe you could convince him to smuggle you into the detention chamber? (Any particular argument? Write-in.) [Roll.]
>>[C] Write-in.

>[2] Leave.
>>[A] ...And dart down the hallway to find Lucky. You do have the newspaper, and with that 'in' maybe you can wriggle your way into another interview.
>>[B] ...And dart down the hallway to the detention chamber. If you're lucky, and good, you may be able to slip in before anybody can stop you. [Roll.]
>>[C] ...And go get Gil. Maybe to help negotiate with Horse Face? Maybe to perform some exotic switcharoo scheme? Maybe you just feel bad? You have options. (What's the intent? Write-in.)
>>[D] Write-in.

> 1A

Did he know what to do to make Lucky like him with his future memories? How many repeats did it take before he managed that.

Anyways, he probably doesn't even know about the Authority, let alone much about Namway and Headspace so it's pretty funny that he's employed here. He could probably be running this place if he used his "future knowledge".

Regardless, we'll be sure to ask the maybe Madrigal *allllllll* about him. Maybe they have other acquaintances who would like to know about him and him helping out around here.

Congrats, Horseface, you're getting the Charlotte Special - flipping the board.

>>5316038
Nothing wrong with these questions, just want to clarify the intent: are you attempting to pressure/lightly blackmail Horse Face into helping you out?

Also:
>the Authority
The Wind Court? "Management"? Something else?

File: 960.gif (437 KB, 500x363)

437 KB GIF

>>5316038
>>5316081

I'll support this vote >>5316038
with the full and complete intention to blackmail.

>>5316081
Management that we heard about from the Headspace cucks.

But yeah, if he wants to help us out willingly then that's fine, if not then he can help us out by being bait/distraction.

>>5315139
>2
>A

>>5316038
>>5316129
>[1A] / blackmail

>>5317004
>[2A]

Called for >>5316038 and writing.

>>5316743
Thank you!

Goddammit. I sincerely hate to blueball you guys, especially with a schedule this jank already, but I started feeling gross and headachey shortly after I called the vote and it hasn't gone away 2 hours later. I'll keep the winning option in place, but I think I'm going to have to delay this update.

I'm going to attempt to write during the day tomorrow so you guys aren't waiting absolutely forever for your next set of options, but I'm still on a busy vacation schedule so it's possible I just won't have time. If it doesn't work out, I can at least guarantee an update by the evening* of 6/27, barring personal emergencies. Thanks for your patience.

*"evening" by my standards, ie. it might be out at 2 AM PST on 6/28

>You're either with me or you're against me

You evaluate the options. Walking away without another word would /work,/ certainly: it'd show Horse Face what for, and all that. But it's painfully limited. There's only so bad walking away can make one feel, and with it being *Horse Face*— you're not certain he'd feel very bad at all.

Talking to him, meanwhile, introduces some risk— if you slipped up, he could make you seem a total fool. But (positive thinking) that certainly won't happen, and moreover the potential rewards are far greater. You should be able to dance circles around his pathetic, petty little—

«When has this ever succeeded.»

Frequently, you'll have him know. Frequently. You're practically known for this sort of thing. You thrust your shoulders back, raise your chin, and ignore Horse Face's question entirely: "Why are you all *buddy-buddy* with Lucky? You know he tortures people, right?"

"It's important to maintain healthy working relationships," Horse Face says mildly.

"With *torturers.*"

"I'm aware the Wind Court has its detractors, but they've dealt with me fairly enough." He raises his eyebrows. "Do you have a particular quibble with them?"

"Do I have a *particular*—" Lucky tried to steal the Crown and killed your worm and waved a torch in your face. "Um, it's none of your business? We're not talking about me? We're talking about you, and your bizarre— let me guess, let me guess, you used your stupid spooky future memories to *trick* Lucky into liking you? Or blackmail him? You learned all his dark secrets 5 years ago, and now you can just waltz up and—"

You pause. Horse Face has turned his neck to look at the black-haired woman, who watches the two of you disinterestedly. "What?" you say, and he snorts and crouches down to meet you eye-to-eye. "No, as a matter of fact. I met that man two weeks ago."

"Uh-huh." You nod. "But how many two weeks ago?"

"One."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh. You haven't ever met Lucky before, which is why he's your best friend, suddenly—"

"That's an exaggeration." Horse Face has lowered his voice. "We're cordial. I'm failing to see what about that constitutes—"

"It's just /weird./ And you know what else is weird? You working for the Wind Court at all, when you're—" You gesture furiously up and down the length of him. "When you, lest us forget, *summoned a dumb dead god and wrecked the whole*—"

"Did that happen?" His eyes are narrow. "I don't seem to recall that happening."

"Ha ha. Ha ha ha. *I* was the only reason it didn't happen, so you OUGHT to—" It's your turn to pay a glance at the black-haired woman. "You— you ought to show a little more humility, *Horse Face.* You ought to reflect on how you're even *employed,* because I sure don't— why you! How are you even a detective! I bet you don't even know about any of the suspicious and mysterious happenings—"

"Any of them?"

(1/2)

File: psychic detective.jpg (19 KB, 400x574)

19 KB JPG

"Uh," you say. "Yes! Any of them! Any of the important ones— the, um, companies? Namway and Headspace and— and they've got some sort of 'Management' they're all scared of, and—"

"I do appreciate the lead, but I'm plenty occupied with one case, Lottie. I'll investigate out once I wrap this up, how about that."

You frown. "No, that wasn't a— that was me telling you you're a bad detective."

"Ah! Thank you for the clarification." He smiles. "I never claimed to be a particularly good private investigator. I do take my time. I'm an excellent psychic detective, though."

You blink. "You're—"

"Ah, yes. I often solve cases before the crime even occurs." His voice is deadpan. "Though I'm afraid my abilities appear to be on the fritz."

"...Oh."

«What are you doing. What is being accomplished.»

Whatever is or isn't being accomplished, it's clearly Horse Face's fault. You hate Horse Face.

«Poor answer.»
«If you are not here for any purpose, you should leave.»

Easy for him to say! He gets to sit all pretty, tucked into your vest collar, while you do all the hard work of dealing with this loathsome individual. Not that it's hard work for you, of course. You clear your throat. "A-*hem.* Disregarding... that, I believe we should refocus to the fact that you, inexplicably, work for the Wind Court, which— you'd think you'd pick somewhere that'd improve your reputation? Not make people hate you more? I don't get it."

"People generally don't hate me," says Horse Face, straightening up.

"No? Well, even if we were in a universe where that's true... I think the Wind Court alone is enough to make people hate you, right? Especially scary, important people, like the ones I'm detectivating right now... and Madrigal. What if I went in and told maybe-Madrigal you came in and interviewed her under *false pretenses*?"

"Well, I'd imagine she might be somewhat peeved."

"Yes! She'd be peeved! She'd be—" That really wasn't the adjective you were looking for, but okay. "—*very* peeved. At you. Specifically. And you don't want that, right? So—"

"I can't say it'd make me much difference." He taps his chin. "It doesn't seem to *be* Madrigal, as far as I can tell, and if it were... well, I'll be more careful next time."

What? "No! She'll be really really mad at you, and maybe she'll try to kill you with her spear, and—"

"I believe any spear would've been confiscated, don't you? I could be wrong."

You look upon Horse Face's horse face and see the truth: he is utterly *undisturbed,* the human equivalent of those impossibly steep, dark trenches where all the snails and trench-lobsters went blind and turned white. Or something like that. You want to throw a blind lobster at Horse Face and see if that would bother him. You want to bother Horse Face, is the issue, and you did there for a moment— about the god-summoning— and then he went straight on back to tranquility. You *hate* Horse Face.

...You guess you're going to have to ramp things up.

(Choices next.)

>[1] Enhance the pressure. So he doesn't care about Possibly Madrigal? Go into more detail about the scary friends she probably definitely has, and the other scary people you definitely know (about), and how much all of them specifically hate private investigators hired by the Wind Court. Make things up if necessary. [Roll.]
>[2] So he doesn't like hearing about the night-that-didn't-happen, huh? You bet Lucky wouldn't like hearing about it either! Or about the fact that Horse Face is totally unnatural and anomalous! And you'd be willing to not tell him if Horse Face would put in a good word for you, huh? [Roll.]
>[3] Appeal to Horse Face's... better nature?? Inform him that Possibly Madrigal, if she isn't Madrigal, is still probably an important lead to the real Madrigal's whereabouts. So if he has any LOVE and CARING left in his shriveled little heart, he'll want to help you get her unkidnapped, right? [Roll.]
>[4] Richard's right, for once: this is worse than pointless. Leave. (Go to Lucky or make a break for it?)
>[5] Write-in.

>>5319125
>[3] Appeal to Horse Face's... better nature?? Inform him that Possibly Madrigal, if she isn't Madrigal, is still probably an important lead to the real Madrigal's whereabouts. So if he has any LOVE and CARING left in his shriveled little heart, he'll want to help you get her unkidnapped, right? [Roll.]

>>5319125
>3
and tell him if he doesn't we'll throw a blind lobster into his horse face

which I note we're opening calling him now

also tell him using future knowledge to solve cases is cheating and he's a disgrace to all the real detectives who worked hard and put in the effort

>>5319125
>>[1] Enhance the pressure. So he doesn't care about Possibly Madrigal? Go into more detail about the scary friends she probably definitely has, and the other scary people you definitely know (about), and how much all of them specifically hate private investigators hired by the Wind Court. Make things up if necessary. [Roll.]

>>5319216
>>5319493
>[3]

>>5319562
>[1]

Back from vacation and calling the vote for [3]. We will return to the regular 1-a-day schedule beginning with this next update.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s vs. DC 52 (+15 No Love Lost, -10 Better Nature, -3 Not Asking Much) to get Horse Face to put in a good word for you!

Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 7/13 ID.
>[1] Y
>[2] N

>>5319493
>which I note we're opening calling him now
You've been openly calling Horse Face that for a good long while. As with most things, he doesn't seem to care.

Rolled 3 (1d100)

>>5320270

Y

Rolled 44 (1d100)

>>5320270
>You've been openly calling Horse Face that for a good long while.
yeah but I only noted it now

no spendy

Rolled 100 (1d100)

>>5320270
Watch THIS

File: 1616348937660.jpg (510 KB, 828x724)

510 KB JPG

>>5321085

OH SHIT KNIGGER

>>5320359
>>5320492
>>5321085
>3, 44, 100 vs. DC 52 -- CRITICAL SUCCESS
>No spendy

Well, I guess you're, uh, miraculously restoring some LOVE and CARING to Horse Face's shriveled little heart. The only question is how?

>[1] Well, you use your PURE and KNOWING HEART to (eugh) COMMUNE with Horse Face's VERY BEING. Gain [Communion] as a permanent, formalized ability, along the lines of [Advanced Gaslighting].
>[2] What do you mean, how? You were always going to succeed. "How" doesn't factor into it. Gain [Positive Thinking]: you have a +5 to every roll when you are at half ID or greater, rounding up. (Currently 7 ID or greater.)
>[3] Write-in. (Come up with your own reasonably thematic and balanced buff, ability, or fortuitous narrative event. Subject to QM tweaking or veto.)

>>5321243
>[2] What do you mean, how? You were always going to succeed. "How" doesn't factor into it. Gain [Positive Thinking]: you have a +5 to every roll when you are at half ID or greater, rounding up. (Currently 7 ID or greater.)

>>5321243

This is hard to choose. On one hand, we gain a bonus for the thing that's the very essence of our being (AKA gaslighting). On the other, we have the chance to give the Drowned Dice™ a permanent middle finger...

>[1]
I'll go with 1.

>>5321243
>[2] What do you mean, how? You were always going to succeed. "How" doesn't factor into it. Gain [Positive Thinking]: you have a +5 to every roll when you are at half ID or greater, rounding up. (Currently 7 ID or greater.)

Seems like it might have more utility in the long run, but who the heck knows?

>>5321085
WITNESSED

>>5321243
>1
ability collector

>>5321243
Definitely
>[1] Well, you use your PURE and KNOWING HEART to (eugh) COMMUNE with Horse Face's VERY BEING. Gain [Communion] as a permanent, formalized ability, along the lines of [Advanced Gaslighting].

>>5321267
>>5321427
>>5321434
>PURE AND KNOWING HEART

>>5321248
>>5321417
>GASLIGHT THE UNIVERSE INTO MAKING YOU A TAD BIT LUCKIER (GOD KNOWS YOU NEED IT)

Called for [1] and writing. Here's the specs for [Communion]:

>[Communion]: You read other people like books. While physically touching a living creature, conscious or unconscious, you may spend 1 ID to access an abstracted, jumbled representation of their thoughts, feelings, experiences, or overall interiority. You may also opt to attempt communication or other actions, though depending on complexity these may require rolls or additional cost. If conscious, your target is aware of being intruded upon, and may react if capable of it.

>>5321267
>On one hand, we gain a bonus for the thing that's the very essence of our being (AKA gaslighting)
Eh... sort of. [Communion] is a specific activatable ability in the way that [Advanced Gaslighting] is a specific activatable ability: they're not otherwise *directly* related. Though if you activated [Communion], then [Advanced Gaslighting], I do think that'd grant you a substantial bonus on the gaslighting. Call it Enhanced Advanced Gaslighting?

>Horse Face redemption arc????
>3, 44, 100 vs. DC 52 — CRITICAL SUCCESS

"You're a fake detective," you mutter, as you attempt to think of something more convincing. "A— a fraud. A stain on the title. Real detectives can't just use their stupid future knowledge to—"

"I acquire my knowledge the hard way," says Horse Face, unblinking at the swerve in topic. "I simply apply it in an efficient manner after the fact. But I do respect your opinion, Lottie."

He respects your opinion. Sure he does. You hate him. You could throw a barrel of lobsters at him and see how he likes it. You could cut him down with The Sword where he stood and see if he respected that opinion— though he would. He would respect that opinion, he would topple to the floor smiling cattishly and sizzling like furnace grease, and then— and then what? Everything would spin to a few years back, and everybody but him would forget? That can't be right. That would imply that he was the chosen special one, and that's absurd. That's unthinkable. No, he must spiral back alone to some alternate few-years-back, wherein he'd scratch a little thing about you in his stupid notepad and stroll forward, unimpeded.

You hate Horse Face, and not just because he stole your model and lied about it, and maybe set you up back at the museum, and definitely made you slog through mud and bite Jesse and watch Annie the worm die. Though all those things are unforgivable. No, you hate him because he won't or can't feel like he should about these things, which is to say bad and sorry. But you will also accept "smug and evil," so you could feel good about hating him. But no! He won't give you that much, even: he's just there, gliding slickly along, horribly, dizzily neutral. Equanimous. Good-natured. And yes, you annoyed him once. After all his blood drained out of him and he died and a stupid god came out of his corpse and then none of that ever happened. And look at him now! Like it actually never happened!

«Perhaps you should take a leaf from this man's book.»

Thanks, Richard, you—

«Given your tendencies for histrionics.»

Thanks, Richard, you really didn't get it the first time. But no. No, it's— it's eerie, is what it is. It's unnatural. (How did Lucky not notice? Isn't this his job?) Can Horse Face get sad? Can Horse Face go beyond 'peevish'? He hasn't shown any signs of it so far— you think Richard has a broader range of emotion, and you do mean regular everyday snake-Richard. Who gets condescending, and supercilious, and tetchy, and pissy, and explosive, and maybe-possibly-occasionally anxious about your safety.

«I express ordinary amounts of concern about your reckless disregard for life and limb.»

(1/5?)

File: worm mode.png (322 KB, 474x356)

322 KB PNG

Yeah, that's what you said. You're just staring warily at Horse Face now, who is showing no signs of concern, ordinary or otherwise, about your protracted silence. Can he feel? Like a person? He claimed to be glad to see Gil, you suppose, but how do you know he wasn't lying? Or maybe it was a mercenary kind of 'glad,' a 'finally, I can dust off this stupid dossier' kind of glad. God.

...This kind of got away from you. (The black-haired woman is looking at the two of you with bemusion.) But it's not your fault: it's Horse Face's, for being so awful and weird! If he wasn't so awful and weird, you wouldn't have to think about how awful and weird he is. The trouble is, all the thinking hasn't helped you at all in determining how to convince Horse Face to help you: it's just told you that you can't convince him. You can't persuade him or insult him. He doesn't care.

Which is impossible, surely, because you can't just— you can't just not accomplish something. Especially not something that sounds so straightforward. What are you supposed to do, turn around and walk out? Lose? Never. Positive thinking, Charlotte! There is of course a route forward, a blindingly obvious one, really: you must gaze into Horse Face's VERY BEING and ascertain if he has feelings. Well, useful feelings.

«...»
«...»
«I am incapable of articulating a full and complete reaction to this. Kindly proceed to imagine it.»

You nearly pop a blood vessel attempting to imagine Richard expressing admiration.

«That is not the reaction.»

Possibly for the best. (Horse Face has racheted his placid amusement up a notch, watching you struggle. Which is not at all the emotion you're looking for.) However, you refuse to imagine any other reaction to this concept, which is after all awesome and cool and set to succeed in leaps and bounds. You're admiring yourself for coming up with it.

«It is nonsensical.»

According to who? Because you've totally gazed into Gil's VERY BEING—

«Those were extraordinary circumstances.»

—and Annie-the-worm's VERY BEING—

«Do you recall how that ended for you.»

With you biting Jesse, blah blah blah, whatever. The point is that you DID, did you not?

«I acknowledge that you managed to lull yourself into a highly suggestible state—»

You communed with that worm, Richard. You communed with it. Using your PURE AND KNOWING HEART. And with that very same heart, you shall sally forth and COMMUNE with Horse Face. Right now. As soon as you finish telling Richard off.

«There is a significant difference between a worm and a human being.»

That sounds like coward and quitter talk to you, which makes sense, as Richard is a coward and quitter and a known negative thinker. Fortunately, you are well-proofed against such things, and therefore you are choosing to ignore him. Also, you will say that you told him so when it works.

«If it works, we are having a discussion.»

(2/5?)

File: frogfish.jpg (618 KB, 1600x1288)

618 KB JPG

Great! It's settled. You're communing right now— well, actually, you're sticking out a hand. "I respect your opinion too," you say, in as jolly and nonthreatening a tone as you can manage. "So we should... shake hands."

It has been maybe a solid minute since either you or Horse Face last said a word aloud. Horse Face hasn't broken eye contact in that time, and he doesn't hesitate to take your hand, either. "Well, of course. I see no reason not to—"

He really ought've seen a reason. You latch your stubby pink fingers around his long slender ones and grip down with snake-fortified tendons. The skin around Horse Face's eyes creases. You close one eye of your own, the bad one, so that the world shivers and sharpens. You feel Horse Face's steady heartbeat through his palm, see his pale blue wrist-veins bulge, see the spats of dirt under his fingernails and the great rusty crests of it under yours. (You guess you got something from Headspace besides merchandise.) You dig your red-dirt nails into Horse Face's palm meat, see his eye skin crease just a titch more, and look right into his barrel-brown eyes. And through.

>[-1 ID: 6/13]

You see through and into Horse Face, into (you think distastefully) Cameron Garvin, and maybe it's because you're inexperienced but you seem to have gotten turned around somewhere. You are looking at yourself. You are specifically looking at yourself from a high and rather unflattering vantage point, from which one can tell that your hair's gone all frizzy from the stupid heat, and that despite your best efforts your bow is askew. (It is surely Richard's fault, but from this vantage there is no snake.) Your knuckles are stark white. Your mole is ugly. The point of a fang pokes out from your drawn-back lip.

This is assuredly Horse Face's fault, owing to his disgusting and supernatural height. He has contrived to make you look like this from this horrid angle. (Though admittedly you haven't ever liked looking at yourself much, as undeserved vanity is unattractive, said Aunt Ruby.) Now, as you were supposed to be communing, you shall— you shall dislodge— you are dislodging yourself, through powerful force of will, from this perspective (though it is curiously magnetic), and you are re-orienting toward Horse Face's VERY BEING. And it occurs to you that possibly you can't quite reach Horse Face's VERY BEING while you are thinking so much and so loudly. And that you ought to slow your roll, so to speak.

It does not take much effort to slow your roll, so to speak. To the contrary, it was the maintenance of your boisterous little spark that took exertion: you need only to loosen to feel the VERY BEING sifting at your ankles. Your expectations loosen with you, but previously you had assumed Horse Face'd be like a gutted frogfish, slimy and warty and oozing. He is not. He is dry.

(3/5?)

File: long skulls.jpg (56 KB, 900x593)

56 KB JPG

This is the impression you get. He is dry like the feel of cornstarch, dry like the taste of chalk, dry like those DO-NOT-EAT packets they put in the meal bags. Not a hot sort of dry, necessarily, or a cold sort of dry. Dry. Maybe "barren."

That's it. That's all you have. The totality of Cameron M.S. Garvin, as ascertained by your PURE AND KNOWING HEART, is "dry and maybe barren." You observe this impassively, having muted the typical shrill, but there's still a certain something left that wonders if this can possibly be all. And it's this same something that sends you bobbing back up, briefly, long enough to recognize that for all this talk of "you," you don't seem to have a particular location. If you're in your body, you can't feel it, or see out of it. You see nothing and feel dry. Now that you're thinking again, this is unnerving enough to make you attempt to recall (of all things) a Richard lecture. What the hell did he say? Blah blah blah, something something, chain of— oh, yes. If you hope to comprehend anything in a mind— and surely this is the outer fringes of one?— you must interpret it. You must impose sense.

Easy enough, surely. Having a location comes naturally, as does having a body in it, though you keep looking down to find four fingers or seven, and you move frictionlessly. You surroundings are smudged and gauzy, nothing like the lifelike clarity of a manse, but are at least evocative. The horizon is steeped in listless twilight. A stiff dry breeze toys at your clothing. The land is invisible under the skulls.

The skulls are dingy and porous, but perfectly clean of flesh, as best you can tell. They are human. They are probably human: you turn your head and they shift and lengthen. They crunch where you don't-step. There is nothing but skulls and sky and dry wind wherever you look.

So you dig. (Which is to say you think of digging, and it is dug.) Under the skulls there is older skulls. Chipped skulls. Skull-fragments. Horse-teeth. Then bone powder, which clings mercilessly to your six or eleven fingers. A deep, thick, dry layer of bone powder, then the gradual stain of barrel-brown silt, coarse but not even damp— and clean, too, not a single worm or root or boring clam. No disturbances.

It is exactly like that for some time: hours or minutes. You continue powered on nothing but vague spite. You may be in a tunnel: if you are, the sky is a keyhole. If you are not, the dirt is mounding so high around you you may as well be. To hell with this, you say finally, in far less words. Stupid Horse Face. I hate Horse Face. I'm giving this one more—

(4/5)

You give it one more and hit black earth. Soil. Loam. Things would leap at the chance to grow in it. This is important, you feel more-vaguely, this is meaningful, this is good. There is wet. You dig your hands into the pay dirt and you—

*

—you pop. Is what it feels like. Your imagined self pops and you ricochet and slam back into solidity, though you probably never left, and it can't have been long at all— seconds, surely. You look down at your fingers and your fingernails are black with soil. You look up at Horse Face, who is surprised. You think. You haven't seen him surprised before. But his eyebrows are up, and his mouth is a little open.

You finish shaking his hand— it is rather limp— and wipe yours on your slacks.

>[1] Write-in? (Optional.)
TBC. Sorry, lads, but it is an ungodly hour of the morning! I'll attempt to get out the remainder during the day tomorrow but can't strictly promise that.

>>5321751
>Ask if our handshake of forgiveness and comradery has lead him to reconsider

>If not tell him his hands are filthy

File: surprised horse face.png (70 KB, 330x337)

70 KB PNG

>Continued from >>5321751

When you look up again, Horse Face is still surprised— more surprised, even. You hadn't expected this. Had hoped, perhaps, but even thinking positively you'd envisioned a moment's shock, not a— a— he's surprised! You've surprised him! Has he never been communed with by a dashing young lady before?

...And, hey, wait! You told Richard so. You told him.

>[+2 ID: 8/13]

«Yes.»
«...»
«I am placing you under observation.»

Great! Horse Face hasn't said anything yet, and you sort of want to give him the chance. As to not interrupt anything like 'wow, Lottie, I am extremely impressed at your awesome magyckal abilities!' Or 'wow, Lottie, truly you have unlocked the nice part of me, and I shall henceforth apologize for my heinous crimes!' Yeah. It's coming. You know it's coming. You wait.

Horse Face continues to not say anything as you bounce giddily on your heels. His throat bobs. It's the black-haired woman who cracks her neck and breaks the silence: "Are you two okay, or...?"

"Yes." Horse Face rubs the bottom of his nose. "Thank you, Kichima, we're fine. We were simply having a moment."

"That's a word for it. Sure she wasn't hypnotizing you? I hear that's what they do in cults, they—"

He casts a needly glance at the black-haired woman (Kichima?). "Do I sound particularly hypnotized?"

"Damned if I know." She shrugs. "Just asking. We can still arrest her if—"

"You can't arrest me," you scoff. "I've never done anything wrong in my whole—"

"You can't arrest her, Kichima. I'm not hypnotized. Furthermore—" He's adjusting the straps on his sleevecuffs. "—I am on my way out, and I suspect she was as well."

"Thought she was in to see the goo," says Kichima.

"Ah." Horse Face looks you up and down. You nod in what you hope is a wink-wink nudge-nudge sort of way. "Then I imagine she's changed her mind. Be seeing you."

And he leaves! Horse Face leaves! His stupid longcoat flaps behind him and the double doors swing shut and Kichima turns her (what-passes-for) attention onto you. You're too bewildered to say anything cool. How could he just leave! You saw into his VERY BEING! He's not allowed to— he ought to be groveling, if not— you growl and bolt after him. "Geez," says Kichima, as you ram the doors back open, skid on the first step, and nearly— nearly knock Horse Face over. He sidesteps you. But wouldn't it have been great if you did barrel into him, and he fell and cracked his skull open on a rock? Not fatally, necessarily, but enough to completely alter his personality, and maybe then he'd be—

"Oh, good," says Horse Face, as you come to a panting halt. "Do you have or have you had any personalized contact with a god? Big-G, small-g, false, cryptological. Any sort."

(1/4?)

File: seen through.jpg (125 KB, 563x649)

125 KB JPG

"What?" you say, then notice his stupid little notepad flipped smartly open. "Oh, come on. No. Now is not the time for— I mean, yes, I have, the horrible fish one. The pagan. Happy?"

"No, I don't believe that one would explain matters. But thank you. Any others?"

"No. No." You jab at his chest. "I am not here to answer your stupid questions. I am here to—"

"I have felt the stunt you pulled in there," Horse Face says patiently, "primarily from gods of various sorts. I am wondering which one you got it from."

«Hm.»

"Oh," you say. Then "I'm not a god. Though I do have god blood. But no, that communion was account of my heroism and my high station, probably, which makes me highly sensitive to the ebbings and flowings of lesser peoples, and ani... animals! Yes indeed. I can speak to animals, on account of my pure heart."

«What.»

Do you not speak to Richard every day? And Gil? And (are worms animals? surely they—) Annie the Worm? Horse Face isn't paying attention: you tongue your loose tooth as he finishes scribbling. "God...blood. Thank you. And is this an infusion? Ingestion? Direct descendance?"

"Uhhh," you say. "I think it's... ancestral?"

"Ancestral. Thank you. Very interesting." Scribble scribble. "And what precisely did you glean from me?"

You fold your arms righteously. "Um, how precisely is that any of your business? I glean-ed— maybe I didn't glean anything at all? Maybe we just had a handshake of forgiveness and comradery, Horse Face, like normal people, and now you've— you've reconsidered your foul ways. And you're feeling very gracious and helpful. That seems way more realistic than any sort of gleaning, and— I mean, who would even think— that just sounds stupid, doesn't it? How would that even work?"

"Lottie," he says, "it doesn't matter very much, overall. I'm only curious."

"Curious... about helping me? Why, naturally." You toss your head. "As within your VERY BEING you wish— wish dearly to assist me in any fashion. You are merely hiding it, as you are hiding your POWERFUL DESIRE to assist your dear friend Madrigal, who at this very instant is being held prisoner by the villainous and scheming Patricia. Though your callous nature precludes you from directly offering—"

"Offering what?"

You were hoping to build up to it a little more, but... "Um, to help me talk to maybe-Madrigal. By using your trickery on Lucky, and, um— you know, convincing him to—"

"Well, I don't see why not," Horse Face says.

(2/4?)

File: lucky.png (28 KB, 303x208)

28 KB PNG

"Oh." You hesitate. "What? Really?"

"It'd hardly take very long. I'm uncertain you'd see anything I didn't, but who knows?"

Wow. Did you actually unlock the nice part of him? Does it work like that? "Well, um... indeed. Presumably I will see much more, owing to my, um, keen and perceptive vision."

"Well, then I have no doubt." Horse Face exposes his weird horsey teeth. "Did you go to all that trouble just for this?"

"Uh," you say.

"I'm flattered, to be frank. Using all that power on poor old me, for a simple little— what did you glean, by the by? I'm sure it had to be something."

What did you glean? You were never fantastic at dream interpretation, which is very nearly what that was. "...You need to drink more water. You're dehydrated. And your fingers are gross and dirty."

"Fair enough," Horse Face says. "And, I'd imagine, true on all counts. Shall we?"

—

You ignore Kichima's baffled gaze as you and Horse Face reenter through the swinging doors— she doesn't complain while he leads you down the hallway, at least. He pokes his head into various unlocked doors and eventually locates Lucky in some kind of paltry break room, distinguished only from any other room by its table. His jacket is hung over his chair, and he seems to be picking at some form of jerky. "Hello," Horse Face says.

Lucky's startle reflex is impressive, and you feel mildly fortunate his tomahawk is nowhere within reach. "What," he says, "could possibly— what is she—"

You scowl as Horse Face edges past you, strolls into the break room, and plops down across from Lucky. He leans in and says something: Lucky responds in the same lowered voice, and they engage in a minute of hushed conversation that involves many glances and gestures in your direction. You scowl harder. Finally Lucky stands, shrugs his jacket back on, and turns around to face you. "Garvin has informed me you've brought the newspaper."

"Oh!" You swing your rucksack around and open it up. "Indeed. And a pack of cards."

"How generous. Kindly hand them over so I can inspect them." Lucky's eyes flick to Horse Face. "In the meantime, you may speak to the detainee, though I can't fathom what you think you'll learn this time. Garvin will supervise. You have 10 minutes, tops."

You won't have too many questions, you think. "Well, if you say so. You better give her the newspaper, okay? You can't just steal my newspaper, that's—"

"If they're cleared, I'll have someone deliver the items. We're not cruel and unusual here." Lucky clasps his hands. "I recommend you get going before I come to my senses, Ms. Fawkins."

You don't need told twice. After shoving the newspaper and cards at Lucky, you speedwalk over to the detention cell, which Horse Face does the courtesy of unlocking.

(3/4)

File: yellow jumpsuit.jpg (123 KB, 1245x1400)

123 KB JPG

"GODSDAMN. MORE of— oh, what the shit? YOU again? The freaky one?"

Does she mean you or Horse Face? Certainly Horse Face, who's all smiles. "Hello, Madrigal. I've brought Charlotte Fawkins back to see you again."

"Oh, shit, the NEWSPAPER!" Possibly Madrigal sits up— she looks the same, like a droopier, jumpsuited Madrigal, and is in essentially the same spot she was before. "That was pretty fast! Can I—"

"Um, it's still being vetted." You shuffle past Horse Face so she can see you. "Blame Lucky. It's Lucky's fault. In the meantime, I had some more..."

>[1] Ask some more questions.
>>[A] *Is* she Madrigal? Really? Honestly? She can tell the truth now.
>>[B] Does she know anything about Headspace?
>>[C] Does she know anything about "Management"?
>>[D] Does she know where Pat lives?
>>[E] Has the Wind Court been mistreating her? Since Lucky isn't standing right here anymore, and all.
>>[E] Something else, to suss out info or confirm her identity? (Write-in.)

>[2] With Horse Face standing right here??? No way. Ask him very nicely to go away and let you solo this. [Roll.]

>[3] Write-in.

>>5322980
>[E] Has the Wind Court been mistreating her? Since Lucky isn't standing right here anymore, and all.
>[B] Does she know anything about Headspace?
>[C] Does she know anything about "Management"?

>>5322980
>>5323028
+1 supporting but
>>[E] Something else, to suss out info or confirm her identity? (Can we use our new Enhanced Advanced Gaslighting in any way?)
in lieu of the other [E]

Apologies for the bungled option lettering: this is what happens when I write them, think about it, add new ones, and forget to change the old letters. Please treat the second [1E] as [1F].

>spoilers
Yes! That'd mean you're voting to [commune] with Possibly Madrigal, then I'll throw up a second set of options and you can vote for Advanced Gaslighting from there. (Or not, if it doesn't make sense anymore).

This is something I really should've put in the official set of prompts. Thanks for the reminder.

>>5323388

Yeah l'll go with that then-- enhanced advanced gaslighting ahoy!

>>5322980
>1EBC

do we really want to commune again right in front of Garvin? Might cause another Monty situation.

>>5323028
>>5323438
>[1E], [1B], [1C]

>>5323371
>[1B], [1C], commune

Called for 1B, C, E and writing. I'll most likely be putting "commune" up to a formal revote in the next set of options, as excluding it here was an oversight and >>5323028 may or may not have been supportive.

>>5324092
I certainly would be supportive of communing. I'm disappointed I didn't think about it myself.

>INTENSIVE QUESTIONING: round 2

"...questions," you finish, and eye Horse Face for a reaction. He offers none. Can you trust him? Stupid question. More specific: can you trust him to stand here and listen to your interrogation without meddling?

«Do you have an option.»

No. Not really. He is why you're here in the first place. You fold your arms officiously as Possibly Madrigal sits up from her slouch. "MORE questions?"

"Think of it as an entertaining diversion," Horse Face says.

"An entertaining diversion's SOLITAIRE, not— I mean, sure, fire away. Is there anything left that hasn't been—"

"What do you know about Headspace?"

She makes a face. "Okay, that's a NEW one. I don't know, they're some big company... they do manses? Play a billion radio ads? Don't ask me how they have broadcast—"

"What was your appointment with them about?" you press on.

"My appointment?" She pauses. "The hell is that your business?"

"Well, it's—"

"I don't WANT to talk about my appointment."

You sigh. "Okay, we won't, for now, discuss your— what do you know about 'Management'?"

"Management? Like Lester? Or like UPPER Management."

By your recollection (admittedly you were somewhat inebriated), Pat seemed like the brains of the two of them. You have a hard time envisioning Lester as an agent of some mysterious supervising force. And he didn't have any sunglasses, either. "...Upper Management."

"Okay, then real little. They give the orders. Supposedly. I'VE never seen one of them, and I halfway think Lester made them up."

You tilt your head. "The orders to..."

"Make a snake, I GUESS. Don't know why the hell you'd want that, and it's none of my business TO know."

"Uh-huh. Have you heard about any of this, Horse Face?"

Horse Face scratches his chin. "Not that I recall, though admittedly my recollection—"

You don't know why you expected Horse Face to be helpful in any capacity, him not only being a shifty liar but also practically a Courtier. Though, does Possibly Madrigal know he's working for them? Probably not, right? Or Horse Face would've mentioned it. Which means... "Yeah, whatever. Um, Madrigal. Since we're among friends, and all that, has the Wind Court been, er, mistreating you? Since after you were detained and... checked for gooiness."

"Besides LOCKING me in a shitty HOLE?"

"Yeah."

"A lot of people have been asking me stupid questions," Possibly Madrigal says tetchily.

"That's it? You haven't been tortured, or..."

"No, but I could— I COULD still be tortured. If I'm not let out— you haven't come here to let me out, have you?"

You sigh.

(Choices next.)

>[1] That's enough. You've come to a decision. You may also write-in final questions, if desired.
>>[A] This isn't Madrigal, and therefore is no longer your concern. Say your goodbyes.
>>[B] This isn't Madrigal, but you really think you know who it is. (Who? Give one person. Write-in.) If this is true, it is possible to give a "correct answer" here.
>>[C] This is Madrigal, and you need to get her out as soon as possible.
>>[D] Write-in.

>[2] No. You need something even more intensive.
>>[A] Will Horse Face stop you from just walking into the detention room? Inspect Possibly Madrigal up close, visually.
>>[B] Inspect Possibly Madrigal up close via your PURE HEART, etc. Horse Face didn't seem mad when you did it to him, so would he be mad if you did it to her? [Communion. Spend 1 ID.]
>>[C] Trick Horse Face into leaving you be, THEN dash in and commune. You only need a minute. [Roll] for Horse Face to leave, -1 ID for [Communion].
>>[D] Just ask even more questions. (What? Write-in.)
>>[E] Write-in.

>>5324232
Hey, bud, you and me both.

>>5324248
>>[2B] Inspect Possibly Madrigal up close via your PURE HEART, etc. Horse Face didn't seem mad when you did it to him, so would he be mad if you did it to her? [Communion. Spend 1 ID.]

>>5324248
>1B
I stand by my previous assertion that it's a Namway employee, likely Lester.

>>5324248
>[B] This isn't Madrigal, but you really think you know who it is. (Who? Give one person. Write-in.)
Lester. Maybe.

>>5324248

1b Lester probs

File: whodunnit.png (488 KB, 1300x525)

488 KB PNG

>>5324530
>>5325111
>>5325116
>All in

>>5324292
>Further inspection

Called for >LESTER and writing. We'll see if you're correct or not...

File: Spoiler Image (24 KB, 256x192)

24 KB GIF

>GOTCHA!

If nothing else, it's becoming increasingly clear that Horse Face may have the right idea: whoever (or whatever) this is, it isn't Madrigal. Mainly, you think the real Madrigal would be cursing more— possibly at you, specifically, for getting her kidnapped. But this one barely seems to know you, much less blame you. While it's possible she's lost her memory, you suppose, from the trauma— what are the odds of that, compared with the odds it isn't her? What did Eloise pin it at generally, 90/10?

«What is this.»
«Is Charlotte Fawkins applying logical reasoning.»

What? You often— what a stupid criticism. You're highly logical.

«I seem to recall you decrying the benefits of—»

You don't recall that in the slightest— though, in truth, your reasoning is also motivated by the fact that you don't want Possibly Madrigal to be Madrigal. That'd mean the Wind Court rescued her before you even got started, and that'd be ludicrous. No. Possibly Madrigal is not— is almost certainly not Madrigal. Not at all. "Look, let's just cut to the chase."

Almost Certainly Not Madrigal scoots back a little, maybe sensing a change in tone. "What are you talking about?"

Now that you've come to a decision, the truth seems obvious. Possibly your exquisitely attuned detectivey senses have been working without your knowledge. "You're not Madrigal. You can stop pretending."

"I— I am Madrigal..." She sounds uncertain. "That's the name I— that's my name."

"A-ha. A-hahaha. It is not your name." You glance toward Horse Face to make sure he's paying attention (he is), then strike an intimidating pose. "Your name is LES—"

You realize halfway through the sentence that you don't know Lester's last name. "—ter. Lester. That's you."

"What?" Almost Certainly Not Madrigal says, and furrows her eyebrows.

"...You're Lester. You're the Namway— the Namway manager guy."

"Are you ON something?" She draws her knees to her chest. "LESTER? Who do I look like— geez! That's insulting! Do I sound like Lester, or something?"

>[-1 ID: 7/13]

You were inebriated. Maybe too inebriated. "Does it matter? You're using your DECEPTIVE TRICKERY to—"

"I'm not! What the hell! I barely KNOW the guy!" Almost Certainly Not Madrigal attempts to stand, but her bindings prevent her. "What are you even HERE for? You don't have the damn newspaper, and you haven't let me out, and that GUY's just staring at me—" You glare at Horse Face. "Maybe you should just LEAVE?"

"Not before telling me who you are!" You point at her with a flourish.

"I'm Madrigal!"

...Great.

(Choices next.)

File: lester.jpg (59 KB, 500x735)

59 KB JPG

>[1] You don't believe that she isn't Lester, frankly. She could totally be lying. Go tell Lucky you've identified the detainee.
>[2] Accuse her again, even harder and better this time!!! Though you only really have one more shot before looking irreparably stupid. [Write-in one person. You do have to be specific. This is "solvable."] Remember that there are resources you can use.
>[3] Okay, well, you don't actually care who she is: you just care that she isn't Madrigal. Leave and go pick up Gil. Maybe you can pass the news along to Eloise in a bit?
>[4] You tried the normal way. Now try the ADVANCED way. Even if Horse Face is watching, and it might scare or aggrieve A.C.N.Madrigal— you need answers. [Communion. -1 ID.]
>[5] Write-in.

>>5325234
>>[4] You tried the normal way. Now try the ADVANCED way. Even if Horse Face is watching, and it might scare or aggrieve A.C.N.Madrigal— you need answers. [Communion. -1 ID.]

>>5325234
>[4] You tried the normal way. Now try the ADVANCED way. Even if Horse Face is watching, and it might scare or aggrieve A.C.N.Madrigal— you need answers. [Communion. -1 ID.]

If Magyck doesn't solve your problem, it's because you aren't using enough of it.

>>5325234
>[4] You tried the normal way. Now try the ADVANCED way. Even if Horse Face is watching, and it might scare or aggrieve A.C.N.Madrigal— you need answers. [Communion. -1 ID.]

>>5324248
>>[2B] Inspect Possibly Madrigal up close via your PURE HEART, etc. Horse Face didn't seem mad when you did it to him, so would he be mad if you did it to her? [Communion. Spend 1 ID.]

>>5325642
You're an update behind, kek, but I'll take this as a vote for [4].

>>5325652

Yeah that was my intention. Pure mistake of voting without caffeine.

>>5325267
>>5325388
>>5325554
>>5325652
>[4]

Called and writing.

>ADVANCED INTENSIVE QUESTIONING

You tried. Nobody can say you didn't try. So it does not constitute "giving up" to resort to an alternate (and frankly much better and cooler) option. You applied logic, and the logic was terrible and boring and stupid, and now you are applying magyck as you should have all along.

«Charlotte Fawkins.»
«Kindly do not <continue> to utilize unpredictable uncontrollable...»
«...effects...»
«...before I am able to study the origin and nature of—»

Effects? Meaning your fantastical magyckal abilities?

«We are not calling this that.»

Because the origin of your fantastical magyckal abilities seems patently obvious. They stem from your heroic spirit, like you told Horse Face.

«You did not have any glimmer of any 'heroic spirit' until one week ago. Or less.»

Maybe you DID and then you went and FORGOT ABOUT IT. Richard. Of course, the other option is as Horse Face went and kindly laid out: they are manifestations of your GOD BLOOD. And isn't that a good thing? Since Richard was all 'this stupid crown can make you god,' which is still weird, by the way, but now he should be happy since you don't even NEED the Crown.

«Cease shouting. I do not understand why you have begun to shout.»
«And that is not, has not, and will never be what was intended by 'god blood.' You do not and have never had a drop of blood from any deity lesser or greater.»
«The <only> thing it means is that it is <possible> that <some> of your ancestry had for <some> amount of time committed themselves to the Tradition, the dedicated worship of—»

Wait. Wait. Wait a second. So what Richard is saying is...

«No.»

...is that you have INHERITED magyckal powers from your LONG and ILLUSTRIOUS family lineage??? That the FAWKINS were not only famous warriors and kings and queens and so on...

«I am not implying this, much less stating it. Please cease shouting.»

...but powerful magycians?? Persecuted (naturally) by the jealous and unworthy?? That from perhaps BIRTH you have wielded the unknowable forces of the universe—

«If your family has at all been 'persecuted,' it is on account of being reprobates.»

—but you have (as a result of dark magycks) forgotten all of it? And your family does not consist of reprobates, Richard, that's slander spread by scheming viragos like Enid Tosh. Your family (although fallen upon difficult times) is good and noble and apparently chock-full of sacred energies, and— does Richard suppose your father had magyckal powers?

«I do not at all suppose this.»

Really? Because, thinking back on it, you seem to recall some funny business at the snake-party. Something about your father rooting himself a few inches deep in solid rock, and being rather preternaturally strong and sturdy. Almost if he were wielding—

«Cease.»

—almost if he were WIELDING EARTH POWERS, Richard. That's funny, isn't it? That he was wielding earth powers, and you also appear to have earth powers—

(1/3)

File: screaming.jpg (56 KB, 498x705)

56 KB JPG

«This is not significant in the way you believe it is significant.»

—among other various awe-inspiring magyck powers, which (who knows?) could completely also be passed down, from your father, who is now, coincidentally, a horrible talking snake with magyckal powers. Wow. You should've figured this out way earlier.

«I do not have 'magyckal powers.' And you have 'figured out' nothing. You have an almost flawless misunderstanding of the base facts.»
«In addition, you have been standing here gaping like the fool you are. You are attracting undue attention.»

Undue attention?? What is undue attention to you, the sole heiress to the long and illustrious Fawkins line of magyicians? Probably you should add 'sorceress' to your list of titles.

>[+3 ID: 10/13]

That being said, you do shut your mouth and shake the glazed look off. Horse Face writes a little note in his stupid notepad and graciously moves aside as you stride into the chamber, which smells mildewy. Almost Certainly Not Madrigal squeezes herself way against the wall as you approach her. "What— what the HELL are you—"

"Shh," you say, and kneel down. She's even uncannier up close: the facial features are correct individually, but they're barely misaligned, and the way the light bounces off them is all wrong. "Hey, don't—"

She's strained away from your attempted touch. "What are you DOING? I can— I can fucking scream! I'll scream! I don't know WHO you are, but I—"

"If you just told me who you were, I wouldn't have to do this," you mumble, and dart your hand out just as Almost Certainly Not Madrigal twists. You catch her cheek— catch it, you mean, it practically comes away in your hand, your fingers sink in and through it until you touch something hard. Bone? She makes a sound like 'ghrk' and her eyes are wild.

"Don't scream," you say, and tilt your head, and see thr—

>[-1 ID: 9/13]

You don't see anything so much as hear it: cacophonous, desperate screaming. (God-damnit.) Is it coming from her? Her mouth isn't open, but then again her mouth is streaming and smearing down her face along with her nose and her eyes, and the 'skin' of her cheek is frothing up around your clenched grip. And there is screaming. The sound is distorted, gargled, from half a dozen voices, and she can't be making this noise, surely, it must be in your mind, but she is bucking against the restraints— she is clawing at air, clawing at you, grasping and holding your forearm, and she doesn't have a face. She has a skull— you can see the edges of it, and crude stitching— a skull, and an oval of sticky, shiny, gloopy blue-white paste. A substantial amount of it is still sucking at your hand.

And there is still screaming in your head. You waver.

>[-1 ID: 8/13]

(2/3)

...But you think of Horse Face, watching and scribbling, and clench and see through. Deeper. There is gargling with the screaming now— the goo is bubbling like a pot of water— gargling, and loss, and black-blue terror, and a slow and final dissolution, and— A.C.N.Madrigal clings pleadingly to your forearm, and you know this isn't her, it's— there's copper-tasting blood in your mouth, there's sludge in your mouth, there's coins and pearls in your mouth and a name emblazoned in your head— {MADRIGAL} says the name and it {MADRIGAL} is obstructive and unignorable like {MADRIGAL} a floodlight in tar darkness— it carries a sea breeze whipping about it and something of a smell of or an essence of a

«Charlotte.»

You're good! You're fine! You're blinking rapidly, you're shifting your knee so it doesn't fall dead, you're leaning in real close and it'd be weird if the person in front of you did have a face, but she does not and you're absolved— you look into the divots under which are hollow eyes, socket eyes, oddly familiar skull-eyes, and you try and try and try to see—

—and flail and fall again (your knee's really going to go dead now)— not somewhere dry, this time, but somewhere (somewho?) damper, and closer, and mistier, possibly, somewhere small and harried and darting, somewhere scared. And it occurs to you as you are processing these things that you could attempt to resolve them into a dream- or metaphor-place as you did. And it occurs to you that you could not. You could do elsewise.

>[1] Attempt to communicate with A.C.N.Madrigal. (What do you "say"? The response will not be in words. Write-in.)
>[2] Attempt to communicate with A.C.N.Madrigal *in person.* Force her to manifest herself, so you can get a proper look at what she really would look like. (And so she can actually speak.) [Roll.]
>[3] Resolve this into a dream-place. Maybe you'll be able to glean some hints about who she is... though your dream interpretation skills are not fantastic.
>[4] Advanced Gaslight her. (...About what? Write-in.) [Possible roll.]
>[5] Write-in.

>>5326657
>[2] Attempt to communicate with A.C.N.Madrigal *in person.* Force her to manifest herself, so you can get a proper look at what she really would look like. (And so she can actually speak.) [Roll.]

>>5326657
>[4] Advanced Gaslight her. (...About what? Write-in.) [Possible roll.]

Does she even *want* to be "Madrigal"? No, of course she doesn't not even Madrigal wants to be herself except for some sort of spite. She had a thing for *Ellery* for Gods sake. It's not like Madrigal is a super happy person. Heck, Gil was kind of Madrigal lately and that was terrible.

Here this person is, finally getting away from Namway, finally getting a chance to be *free*, but because they insist on being Madrigal it's going to hell exactly as if they were her.

But if they were to give us something, some benefit we could use as leverage against the Wind Court to gain custody of them, we could at least get them out of this place. We hate this place. It's not their fault things have come to this, we *understand*, we even brought them a newspaper and cards even though they're a stanger because nobody should be in this place.

So they should at least come out and talk to us, the only ally they have left, because if we can't show any progress here then the decision is completely out of our hands and it'll be just them and *Lucky*, we're sure they don't want that.

>>5326820
(Not to be pedantic, but I'm not sure this falls under the purview of Advanced Gaslighting: it's a reasonable and well-thought-out argument, but you're not really trying to convince A.C.N.Madrigal that she holds a different/counterintuitive opinion or worldview. You're just kind of... persuading in a normal way. I could tack this on as a major bonus to [2]'s roll, if you like?)

>>5326657
>[2] Attempt to communicate with A.C.N.Madrigal *in person.* Force her to manifest herself, so you can get a proper look at what she really would look like. (And so she can actually speak.) [Roll.]

fugg
I didn't think it was Pat, but it's gotta be someone from Namway and those 2 are the only 2 we know. Aside from the one who impersonated us, Deidre I think? But it's definitely not her.

Is it too late to invest in Patcoin?

>>5327096
It's nobody we know, just a bunch of goo that had a copy of Madrigal's overprinted. At least, I think so.

>>5326657
>>[2] Attempt to communicate with A.C.N.Madrigal *in person.* Force her to manifest herself, so you can get a proper look at what she really would look like. (And so she can actually speak.) [Roll.]

>>5327096
>It's gotta be someone from Namway and those 2 are the only 2 we know.
Not to give the game away at this stage, but are they?

>>5327109
I wouldn't call it "solvable" if there wasn't a specific person you could pin this to.

>>5327120
>are they?
Oh no, is this that poor girl who had a face sewn onto her who told her who she is? Really similar to what A.C.N.M. is telling us.

>>5327120
They're the only two I remember, which means it's archive dive time

>>5326800
>>5327096
>>5327117
>>5326820 (using as a [2] write-in, may use some or all of it depending on result)
>[2]

Called.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 16 (+15 Appeal to Reason, +5 Big Fish Small Pond, +1 Strangled, -5 Untrained) vs. DC 60 (+10 Terrified) to coax/force A.C.N.Madrigal into existence!

Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 9/13 ID.
>[1] Y
>[2] N

>>5327123
>>5327239
I'll give 5XKdC2m7 some time to surface from his archive dive before saying anything further on the matter. Depending on how the roll goes, you may be able to (attempt to) j'accuse next update.

Rolled 61 + 16 (1d100 + 16)

>>5327441

>[Y]

I will never trust these dice ever.

Rolled 73 + 16 (1d100 + 16)

>>5327441
>N

got sidetracked from the dive

Rolled 5 + 16 (1d100 + 16)

>>5327441

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>5327495
>>5327523
>>5327554
>77, 89, 21 vs. DC 60 -- Success
Solid. Flipping between spendy and no spendy for fairness and writing.

>>5327566
My bad I forgot to specify.

>Look man I just wanna talk
>77, 89, 21 vs. DC 60 — Success

You could and you will. Of course you will. Pecking and scrounging through some abstraction for sad scraps of meaning— that's a thing to do when you're weak and desperate, you think. When you have no idea what's going on. But you have a perfect idea of what's going on: you, a powerful sorceress, are hereby mired in the nebulous mind-gunk of Almost Certainly Not Madrigal— well, Certainly Not Madrigal. Not Madrigal. Of Not Madrigal, who is concealing her true identity from your all-seeing eyes like a traitor and a coward. Pah! Little does she know that it's trivial for you to corner her like the rat she is, to lunge out and grab—

Your approximation of lunging and grabbing is met with an approximation of you falling on your face, as any Not-Madrigalness in that general 'direction' up and scatters like a school of minnows before a shark. Jagged incoherent terror spikes through the void. Damnit! you think/say, and it recoils further: if you had a mouth the mist would be thick in it. You lunge again.

It fails. You are bodiless and undeft or maybe just easily telegraphed or maybe this forcible violent summoning is beyond your skill— or your heart is too pure, and was not really in it, anyhow, and you were just testing Not Madrigal. That is it; you were testing, nothing more, and as a matter of fact she can see the calm and knowing expression on your face as you extrude yourself a face. Yes. You look calm, because you are calm, and not a seething knot of frustration. You are calm.

"ASSHOLE!" you say calmly into the void. "SHOW YOUR STUPID FACE OR I'LL— I'll— come on! I went to all this trouble to come and... you can't just— I—"

No response except the background crackle of alarm. (Can she understand you? Can she even hear you?) "Well, come on— come on. I know you're not Madrigal. You know you're not... I assume you know you're not Madrigal. Why would you even want to be Madrigal? She's mean. And has horrific taste in men. And it's clearly not getting you out of any trouble, not that I know why you ever thought it'd— she's not really a low trouble kind of person, you get me? You want... Eloise or someone."

Not Madrigal probably doesn't know who Eloise is, you guess. Not being Madrigal and all. She doesn't know you, or Horse Face, or Monty— but she does know about Pat and Lester. And Management. Meaning... even if she isn't Lester (which is seeming likely), she must be a Namway employee of some description. "Right? So you're just— you're ruining it. Completely. You could be all nice and free and— you know Lucky won't let you go, right? He knows you're lying too. If you just told the truth..."

The void contracts. You are wracked with impressions: feeling boxed-in, sealed-off — clammy darkness — shouting — white fire, a thinning and a sliding-down —

(1/3)

"Yes!" you say vigorously. "Indeed. And if you tell the truth, none of that will—"

You're nearly knocked back into your body by the sheer force of the denial: you feel a vibration and her claw-grip and and for a bright and bleary moment realize you're being rattled by the force of her head-shaking. Then the motion wanes, or at least your senses do, and you're adrift again and spinning. It'd be nauseating if you had any frame of reference, or an inner ear. "Okay," you admit. "If you tell the truth, Lucky will probably still— I mean, we all know he's waiting around to lock you in a torture dungeon. He has to have fun somehow. But doesn't that mean your only chance of getting out is me?"

The void throbs.

"I don't really like Lucky either... I mean, I might, once he buys me drinks. But I don't right now. And if I knew who you were, maybe I'd want to break you out?"

Something is inching nearer to you again. Maybe because you're holding very still.

"I did bring you a newspaper and cards and everything. I'm an extremely charitable— I mean, Gil even called me charitable. You don't know who Gil is. Um, his opinion is very important. He called me charitable and trustworthy, so don't you think I sound like a great person to—?"

You are surrounded on all sides by a shifting presence— fluttery, glinting, skittish, like that school of minnows. Or something. Maybe not minnows. There's no air here, but you pretend to breathe in and out. In and out. In and—

—you lunge, and catch something invisible, and yank. There is a ground, suddenly, and you stumble back onto it: a woman stumbles forward simultaneously and you sidestep to avoid being fallen upon. She is about as tall as Madrigal, and is wearing the exact same yellow jumpsuit she was, but otherwise is nothing alike: she is younger, with a narrow face and dark ragged bangs and dark bewildered eyes. You have never seen her before in your life. "What the FUCK?" Not Madrigal says. "Where the HELL am— who— I don't— who ARE you?"

It's not an aggressive 'who are you': there's a high tremor in her voice. "I told you that," you say. "Charlotte Fawkins. Were you not listening, or—"

"I- I- I- am I DEAD? Did I DIE? I- I- I don't—" She's backing away. "Holy shit, did you KILL me? I didn't—"

"No! Why would I have— we're in your mind, stupid. Or my mind. Or our shared— HEY!" Not Madrigal has taken the opportunity to start sprinting full-tilt away from you. "HEY! YOU CAN'T DO THAT!" You draw The Sword. "THAT'S NOT HOW THIS—"

(2/3)

File: not madrigal.png (108 KB, 453x337)

108 KB PNG

It occurs to you that you too have been in a black infinite space, sprinting away from someone you're convinced has murderous intent. Recently. Did Monty... commune with you? (Does that mean he has a heroic spirit?) And would he get really mad if you asked about it? Most importantly, can you do the spooky nightmare slow-motion thing? You point The Sword at Not Madrigal's retreating back and begin to walk at a steady clip.

Within thirty seconds you've caught up to Not Madrigal, who's just an absolute wreck: you gesture with The Sword at her for drama and she kneels as if through mud and pincers her hands behind her head. "Uh," you say. "I mean, sure, I guess that... so what's your name?"

"My name?" she croaks.

You nod encouragingly. "If you say it's Madrigal I might change my mind about killing you."

"...I..." She opens her mouth and closes it. "...I'm not..."

You eye a lanyard protruding from a hip pocket.

>[A1] Whatever: you don't need her to spit it out. You know who she is now. (Last chance. Write-in.)
>[A2] Grab the lanyard and read her ID card.

>[B1] So what was that about escaping from Namway? Was she lying about that, or—?
>[B2] So how did she end up pretending to be Madrigal, exactly?
>[B3] Does she know where Pat lives? Or anything about the kidnapping?
>[B4] Make her apologize for causing you and a lot of other people grief.
>[B5] Offer to break her out at your earliest convenience. (This will lead to a further vote on your gameplan. If you don't pick this, I'm assuming you want to leave her in custody (or consult others about it).)
>[B6] Write-in.

Archive diver anon, I rely on you. Tell us what you have found.

>>5327752
>>5327830
What I've found so far is either >>5327123 also dived or their memory is amazing, because we did see a note to a Ms. Villalovez with that face issue. There was also a note to a "Guppy" from Lester, but Ms. Villalovez got a nicer note from Dierdre and Fake Maddy also reacted pretty bad when she heard we committed a justified killing of Dierde in self defense so it's probably her.

Also Lester's last name starts with F

Also just read the next update in that old thread, Guppy is her first name. They're the same person.

She got clearance and they took her face so she couldn't jump ship, so she shut herself in a room and was waiting to die. Wonder what got her out and about. We had a nice handsign conversation with her while pretending to be a temp hire and tried to throw her a party before Richard possessed us. Also we were a lot more sensitive about swearing back then.

So yeah
>A1 Guppy Villalovez
>B2
>B3

Also after possessing us Richard tried to kill her before getting talked down by Maddie, and then we walked out and I guess I forgot about it because I assumed her die alone in a room plan worked out without us intervening and we wouldn't see her again.

>>5327752
>A1 Guppy Villalovez
>[B1] So what was that about escaping from Namway? Was she lying about that, or—?
>[B2] So how did she end up pretending to be Madrigal, exactly?
>[B3] Does she know where Pat lives? Or anything about the kidnapping?
>[B5] Offer to break her out at your earliest convenience.

File: charlotte - @eman.png (351 KB, 1063x1161)

351 KB PNG

No update tonight: happy 4th of July to all Americhads out there. Vote remains open, in particular to tiebreak between [B5] and no [B5].

Also, long-time Redux readers may remember previous Julys heralding a bunch of new and shiny character art. I'm pleased to report that this is once again the case, so keep an eye out for it linked along with updates. (Artists are credited in the filenames).

>>5328524
I see Charlie had maybe a few too many hamburgers celebrating the 4th

>>5327752
>>A1 Guppy Villalovez
>>[B1] So what was that about escaping from Namway? Was she lying about that, or—?
>>[B2] So how did she end up pretending to be Madrigal, exactly?
>>[B3] Does she know where Pat lives? Or anything about the kidnapping?

>>5328946
>>5328524
Supporting this.

File: t..png (106 KB, 737x510)

106 KB PNG

>>5328945

File: madrigal - @sillyysunnyy.png (1.58 MB, 639x967)

1.58 MB PNG

>>5327902
>>5327939
>>5328946
>>5329144
>[A1] which is correct, I award you all a reduced 0.5 gumption points* for belatedness + 5XKdC2m7 an additional 2 gumption points for accurately calling it as a Namway employee last thread, congrats all

>>5327902
>>5327939
>>5328946
>>5329144
>Majorities for [B1], [B2], [B3]

Fantastic. Called and writing. Fun Guppy fact: you could have (re)encountered her as early as Thread 14! Dhe was on the random encounter table along with Lucky, Jesse, and Dierdre [your "gooplicate"]

*there is no use at present for gumption points

File: deirdre.jpg (72 KB, 564x751)

72 KB JPG

>GOTCHA but like actually

It's a remarkably familiar lanyard— which is an odd thing to think, because there's nothing all that distinctive about it. The cord dangling down from Not Madrigal's pocket is dark blue, and from the corner sticking out you can tell the card is laminated. Normal lanyard things.

So maybe it's something else that's pinging you off. Not the face, or the voice, and besides that there's not much— the jumpsuit? Have you seen the jumpsuit before? It's very yellow. You think you'd...

...

...

..."Guppy?" you say.

Not Madrigal's eyes go very wide. You take the opportunity to verify by stooping down and grabbing the ID card: the photograph printed on it is scribbled out, as is the first name, but "'GUPPY VILLALOVEZ" is still plainly legible. Hah. "...Weren't you dead?"

"So I AM dead?" She snatches a glance at you, and The Sword, and looks down again.

"What? No. You should be... you should be dead." Your memories of that time are a smidge hazy, but you distinctly recall the skull-face. The skull-face, and then you woke up next to a giant snake... "You killed yourself. You tore your face off and you—"

Guppy shields her eyes . "Damn it! So I- I DID— I died, a-and I hallucinated all the stuff about Deirdre, and I— so who are YOU? How do you know... how... you're not some kind of demon, or shit, are you? I haven't done anything wrong! I- I was just getting paid! I didn't—"

God! You point The Sword at her neck and she shuts up immediately. "You're not DEAD, God-damnit. I'm INTERROGATING you."

Her mouth opens and closes. "How do you know my..." she manages.

The question is how you didn't recognize her earlier, and the answer is of course Richard. (It's always Richard's fault.) But if you admit to being at Namway under false pretenses... "I read your mind, stupid, so it's pointless to try and lie. Who's Deirdre?"

"...The HR rep...?"

Of Namway? "What the hell is HR?"

"Human Resources...? She supervised the, uh, the raw materials... and threw parties. She liked parties."

"What raw materials?"

Guppy acquires a 'why do you care?' sort of expression. "You know, um... BLOOD, and GOO, and..."

You wave your hand. "Good enough. What does Deirdre have to do with you?"

"If I'm NOT dead—" She doesn't sound convinced. "—then she— she rescued me... I guess the whole place was coming down around our ears. I wouldn't KNOW, since I didn't have a face, but I guess she stumbled on me on the way out and took some kind of fucking mercy—"

"Didn't you tell her you were trying to die?"

"Maybe I would've if I COULD'VE, but next thing I knew I already had the stuff stitched back on, and she said she had disguises— she'd salvaged some blood, I guess, the freshest there was, and she—"

The freshest there... meaning Madrigal's. And yours. The cave wall had stabbed you both. "She injected you?"

(1/2)

File: pat - @pyloncats.jpg (255 KB, 1674x1388)

255 KB JPG

Guppy prods her cheek. "I don't know why you're bothering asking when you— you already KNOW everything."

Ha. "So what, you're saying you didn't mean to be Madrigal? Because last I checked, you were claiming to—"

"I-I don't know what you know about goo, ma'am— or miss, or—" She shrinks back. "It's not just a FACE. If it was just a face, I could... it's ALIVE. And it gets into your BRAIN, and it tells you... it tells you all sorts of shit. Who you're supposed to be. And it's— it's hard to—"

"Alright, alright," you say. (You don't know much about goo, admittedly, so you have little choice but to accept this.) "What do you know about Pat?"

"Pat?" She blinks. "I— not that much. She wasn't my supervisor, and she never really... socialized... I guess she was one of those workaholic types. Very, um, focused. All business. She's the one who..."

Guppy gingerly waves a hand about her face. You nod. "So you don't know anything about her personal life?"

"I was just the guard, they didn't— I'd barely got clearance. She wasn't CHATTY."

Surely she must know something. "Has anyone told you she's kidnapped somebody? I'm not messing around. It's crucial— it's imperative that you tell me anything at all that—"

"She— nobody told me that? She KIDNAPPED somebody? That's—" She shakes her head. "I didn't think she'd go in for that, but... sorry. If I knew anything I'd—"

Apparently Guppy didn't think "Deirdre" was the murder type, either, so you guess she isn't the best judge of character. "You have to know. Did she ever mention where she lived? Even the general region? Or—"

"No, but... she didn't come in through the main entrance."

"What?" you say.

"There were multiple entrances— that was my JOB, to watch the cameras on them. So I know who came outta where. And Pat didn't come in the main one." Guppy shifts her knees. "I think she had her own private one... maybe it leads to her home? Damned if I know. Would've thought she slept on her desk if I didn't see the comings and goings..."

You cock your head. "Right. So is this a physical entrance? Or some sort of manse—"

"Physical. In the old-timey sewers, or whatever. Some ancient corpses built a subspace in there, I think Lester and co. just colonized it..." She trails off. "I don't know if that's WORTH anything."

"We'll see." You tap the tip of The Sword against the blank black ground.

>[A] Final questions for Guppy? (Write-in. Optional.)

>[B1] Inform Lucky and Horse Face that you've identified "Madrigal" as a (mostly) human employee of Namway.
>[B2] Tell Lucky and Horse Face that you're convinced that it isn't Madrigal, but don't elaborate.
>[B3] Remain noncommittal about what you've determined.
>[B4] Write-in.

>[C] Write-in.

>>5329965
Shit shit shit, who knows what the Wind Court will do to her depending on what we tell them.

>>5329965
>[C] Do you think if we feed her goo face just a bit of our blood it'll become confused enough about who it's supposed to be that Guppy can assert her own identity over it?

>>5329965
>[A] Final questions for Guppy? (Write-in. Optional.)

So, does she want us to help her? We have Magyckal powers and maybe we can do something about the GOO mind.

Also does she know of any other Namway locations? What does she know about Headspace? Has she ever heard of Locitis? Does she know any easy ways back into the facility she worked at, or about Namway's security response? Does she have anyone she would like us to pass a message on to, like family or anything who could be missing her after she disappeared? What ways are there to detect GOOplicates?

The more she works with us now, the more we can convince the Wind Court that she is a victim and not a collaborator.

>>5329975
>>5330275
(Neither of you selected a [B]. Is the trouble that you need the answers to [A] before you can make a final decision?)

>>5330275
>What does she know about Headspace?
(You asked her this earlier in the thread. Only surface-level things.)

>>5329965
>[B1] Inform Lucky and Horse Face that you've identified "Madrigal" as a (mostly) human employee of Namway.

>>5329975
>>5330275

You take a moment to think of more questions.

>Does she know of any other Namway locations?
Guppy shakes her head. "I don't think they had... if there were others, they sure weren't TALKING about them, you get the gist?"

>What does she know about Headspace?
"I TOLD you. Lots of radio ads." She cocks her head. "Why the hell would I lie about that? What do you care?"

>Has she ever head of locitis?
"That some kind of rash?"

>What ways are there to detect gooplicates?
"I mean, if you see someone with three arms..." She touches her cheek. "I mean, it really depends on how much blood they got in them. If they got too little you'd have to be stupid to not notice. If they got enough, it's practically impossible... I mean, that's what they DO. Mimic. I guess they tend to look paler than usual-- and their memories are patchy? But they usually remember the big stuff."

>Does she have anyone she would like us to pass a message on to, like family or anything who could be missing her after she disappeared?>
She looks at you strangely. "...On the surface? You're SURE I'm not--?"

Down here, you clarify. She looks at you more strangely. "Don't have any family down here. And I haven't disappeared-- unless you mean the Court goons took me? Because sure, if you're passing along that I'm STUCK in a HOLE--"

Huh? You ask if she was trapped in the Namway facility, like by a contract. "Why the hell would I be TRAPPED? It was just a job..."

>Does she know any easy ways back into the facility she worked at, or about Namway's security response?
"That stuff is classified."

You tell her that Namway's disintegrated, so she's probably out of a job.

"And YOU said that Pat's around-- and she KIDNAPPED someone-- and Management--" She grimaces. "I can't just go around giving AWAY that stuff."

You inform her that she was attempting to die a few days ago, so what could she be threatened by now?

"On my OWN terms. Not being taken out by a bunch of..." She shakes her head. "Maybe if you got me OUT of here, then we could talk. But not... not like this."

(Choices next.)

>[A1] You guess that's fair. Promise to help Guppy...
>>[A] ...By staging a prison break. Maybe you can bribe Horse Face to let you in, or convince others that it's necessary in order to find Madrigal.
>>[B] ...By getting word of her detainment to her most unsavory friends. It's not exactly reliable, but it'd be hard to trace back to you.
>>[C} ...By convincing Lucky that she's harmless. Point out that she's just scared and confused, and that she's been helpful to you. [Difficult roll.]
>>[D] Write-in.
>[A2] Look, you're sorry, but you got what you needed. It's out of your hands.

>[B1] Inform Lucky and Horse Face that you've identified "Madrigal" as a (mostly) human employee of Namway.
>[B2] Tell Lucky and Horse Face that you're convinced that it isn't Madrigal, but don't elaborate.
>[B3] Remain noncommittal about what you've determined.
>[B4] Write-in.

>[C1] Attempt to help Guppy get her real face back by convincing her you've already defeated the goo. You did make it all melty. (Advanced Gaslighting.) [Roll.]
>[C2] Attempt to help Guppy get her real face back by giving her a sample of your blood. Maybe it'll cancel out with Madrigal's.
>[C3] You shouldn't mess with this kind of stuff. She can figure it out on her own.
>[C4] Write-in.

>>5330614
>[A1C} ...By convincing Lucky that she's harmless. Point out that she's just scared and confused, and that she's been helpful to you. [Difficult roll.]
It's what a plucky heroic maiden would do

>[B2] Tell Lucky and Horse Face that you're convinced that it isn't Madrigal, but don't elaborate.

>[C4] Attempt to help Guppy get her real face back by convincing the goo that it's Guppy (Advanced Gaslighting).

>>5330614
>[A1] You guess that's fair. Promise to help Guppy...
>[A] ...By staging a prison break. Maybe you can bribe Horse Face to let you in, or convince others that it's necessary in order to find Madrigal.

>[B1] Inform Lucky and Horse Face that you've identified "Madrigal" as a (mostly) human employee of Namway.

>[C1] Attempt to help Guppy get her real face back by convincing her you've already defeated the goo. You did make it all melty. (Advanced Gaslighting.) [Roll.]

I really don't want to give up any of our blood. If we have to pick between A and C then I'll do C.

Rolled 1, 1, 2 = 4 (3d2)

>>5330652
>>5330990
>tied on everything
Alright, let's hear it from RNGesus.

>>5330614
C, B1, C2

Honesty, offer to play good cop bad vop with Lucky, and it's probs a bad idea but hey those tend to be the most interesting way of resolving things.

Alternatively, we could probs go back to her body and get some of her *own* blood from the Namway facility.

>>5331012
If it’s not too late I’ll thrown in for a1c, b2, c1

>>5331012
And by b2 I meant b1

>Started writing up the rolls
>New vote
tfw

That's alright. Input from players takes precedence over the uncaring dice gods. Current standings:
>[A1C]
>[B1]
>Three-way tie for [C]

>Alternatively, we could probs go back to her body and get some of her *own* blood from the Namway facility.
Well... as far as you know, Guppy only got her face replaced. Full-body stuff is for the real higher-ups.

>>5331034
>Wrote all of the above
>New vote
Man, I can't catch a break... we are, however, now tiebroken for [C]. And tied up for [B] again. Re-flipping on that one (and officially call--

>>5331036
Okay, even better. THE VOTE IS AS FOLLOWS:
>[A1C]
>[B1]
>[C2]

Please hold while I continue writing up the dice.

>>5331037
>[A1C]
>[B2]
>[C1]

Alright, folks, I'm going to need dice. Specifically 2d100s.

>Please roll me 3 2d100s vs. DCs 70 and 85

Modifiers on the second roll may change depending on the result of the first set of rolls. You currently have a +30 and +10 respectively.

You may also spend ID for a +10 to one or both rolls. You are currently at 9/13 ID.
>[1] Spend 2 ID for a +10 to both
>[2] Spend 1 ID for a +10 to the lowest results
>[3] No spendy

Modifier breakdown: 3 1d100s + 30 (+20 Communed, +10 Shock And Awe) vs. DC 70 (+30 Advanced Gaslighting, +0 Neutralized Goo, -10 I Want To Believe); 3 1d100s + 10 (+10 ???) vs. DC 85 (+35 Confirmed Unnatural)

Rolled 72, 79 = 151 (2d100)

>>5331045

spendy mc spend spend

Rolled 2, 28 = 30 (2d100)

>>5331045
>[1] Spend 2 ID for a +10 to both
I'll spend for this.

File: 1652021106905.jpg (80 KB, 750x715)

80 KB JPG

>>5331059
Well now...

Rolled 62, 87 = 149 (2d100)

>>5331045
>no spending

>>5331049

I meant spend on both rolls btw

>>5331049
>>5331059
>>5331072
>112, 42, 102 vs. DC 70 -- Success
>99, 48, 107 vs. DC 85 -- Success
>Spendy on both (-2 ID)

Excellent rolls maybe the best possible, given that you haven't procced Sunstroke yet this thread! Writing shortly.

>>5331037
>>5331045
Still writing, but just to make everything crystal clear, since I'm glancing back over and apparently typo'd twice: the winning options are [B1] and [C1].

>>5330652
>B2

>>5330990
>>5331031
>>5331036
>B1

>>5330652 (modified C1)
>>5330990
>>5331034
>C1

>>5331031
>C2

>>5331145
Just saying, if Lucky is a cunt about it then we can always jailbreak her later.

>>5331191
(You got a full Success, so he's just at his natural baseline of dickishness instead of anything additional. This is true, though. Update as soon as I finish writing options.)

File: YEAHHHHHH.jpg (24 KB, 474x474)

24 KB JPG

>Diplomancy
>112, 42, 102 vs. DC 70 - Success
>99, 48, 107 vs. DC 85 - Success
>Double spendy

You hesitate: you've tangled with Lucky thrice before, when once you left him to die via alligator, twice he murdered your worm, and last he tortured you about the whole 'leaving him to die' thing. Breaking Guppy out would bound to lead to a #4, and you're not particularly interested in seeing how he'll escalate.

...But that's quitter talk, isn't it? 'Oh no, I can't do something, consequences might happen'... Nonsense! There is a path clearly visible before you that will allow you to rescue this poor innocent (useful for your goals) woman without causing any damage whatsoever. And it'll be easy.

Huh. Well. You realize after a beat that you were waiting there for Richard to interject- but he hasn't reared his nasty little head the whole time, has he? Can he reach you in here? If he can't, that only hardens your resolve: you will indeed rescue this woman, etc., and it will be very cool and heroic, and nobody can say otherwise. Ahem. "Well then, I swear upon my family's honor that I shalt do mine very best to salvage thee from thine, um, plight. Cruel and deleterious plight. So can you tell me the-"

"Why are you talking like that?" Guppy squints. "And I really need to be OUT first, not just— sworn at."

"Okay, fine, then-" You gesture irritably. "I can't do anything while you're looking like Madrigal, okay? There's already a Madrigal, and it's not you. That's mainly why you're in here. You have to put your normal face back."

"I CAN'T. If I could—"

"Of course you can! I've seen other people do it. Pat's done it. Deirdre— Deirdre's done it."

She stares up at you. "Did you kill Deirdre?"

"Did I kill— how is that relevant? The point is that it's totally possible. And easy. Have you tried?"

"YES."

Her tone and expression are sullen. You contemplate bringing out The Sword again to convince her a little more thoroughly, then think better of it. There's more you can do. "Okay, maybe you have. I believe you. And I'll— I'll help you out, okay? I'll help you through it. As I am a wielder of extremely powerful magyck, and additionally—"

"Magic? What are you going to to do... turn me into a SHARK, or some shit? I— I think I have enough blood in my—"

"Not that— 'magyck'! Not magic."

"You said the same thing twice," she says uncertainly.

"Magyck. With a— a 'k'. It's completely different and much better. It's like— have you ever read anything by, um, A. R. Fontaine? Or Edgar Soares? I mean the later stuff, not the weird period from the '80s..."

"I don't really... read..." She appears to be thinking hard about this. "Do you mean the sort of thing where you shoot fire out of your hands?"

"Yes!" you crow. "Exactly! And—"

"You can shoot FIRE out of your HANDS?"

(1/4?)

File: you imagine you look like(...).jpg (40 KB, 340x512)

40 KB JPG

Oh. "Yes. Indeed. That is merely one of my many powerful—"

"Is you shooting fire out of your hands going to fix my face?"

You visualize what Richard would have you say here, then discard it. "Yes. Very much so. After all, is our obstacle not the nefarious goo? It must be shown its place! We must assert our DOMINANCE, Guppy Villalovez, which I have already begun, as you may recall— I have forced it to lose its shape! Now, sit back and witness as I conjure up a fortifying— a heroic—"

If you were forced to step back and examine what you were doing, you'd thus be forced to admit you're just saying words. You can't shoot fire out of your hands, and you're pretty sure Lucky would arrest you if you did. You don't really know how to affect the goo more than you already have. You don't even know if Guppy can put her face back, or if something went wrong in the whole 'cut off face/replace it with goo/tear it off/replace it with goo again but ad-hoc this time' process.

You are not forced to do any of this, however, with Richard fenced off and Guppy credulous. You are indeed beginning to believe that you can shoot fire out of your hands, and that this will fix all of your problems. Is there any reason why you shouldn't be able to? You already have a genuine heirloom fire sword, and a troubled-and-mysterious past, and likely the strongest, special-ist noble/royal/magyckal/godly bloodline the world's ever seen. It just seems obvious.

You flourish. "Now really. Witness."

>[-1 ID: 8/13]

The blackness wobbles, and something cracks a little in you— you'll guess later that it was whatever was keeping you (however tenuously) tethered to reality, because you laugh then, melodiously, like a flute or small attractive bird, and thrust your leather-gloved hands outward— your gilded cape and curls are batting around tremendously in the breeze— thrust them outward, and you—

—

"You were sort of... FLOATING," Guppy says. "And..."

"Get to the point," you hiss under your breath. (Horse Face continues to watch.) "Did I or did I not shoot fire out of my hands?"

"...Yes..."

[i}See?

«This has no bearing on your legitimate ability to do so, which is none. There is no such thing.»
«The only thing it speaks to is that, despite my best efforts, your mental stability balances on an ever-thinning tightrope.»

It speaks to the fact that you awesomely and heroically beat back the forces of evil, i.e. the goo, and whether you can remember most of it is unimportant. Is Guppy's face not fixed?

«As you said. I find it likely she always had the capacity to 'fix' it.»

But you INSPIRED her, with your— Richard is jealous of your fire-shooting. That's all this is.

«Not at all. I congratulate you on your continuing concerning ability to manifest your worst and deepest-set delusions.»
«Nevertheless, this did not happen in any capacity. At <maximum> you imagined it.»

(2/4)

Okay, Mr. Jealous. You stand. "I knew that, of course. I was only testing you. Horse Face!"

"What's that?" Horse Face says.

"You have noticed, clearly, that this so-called Madrigal's true face has been revealed."

"I have, yes."

"This is because of me. And my hard work, and—" He's working for the Wind Court. Damn. "—powerful non-magyckal spirit. Unlike Lucky, I have convinced this Not-Madrigal to surrender herself and cooperate—"

"You must be very proud of your abilities." Horse Face's tone is benign. "Shall I inform Lucky?"

Shall he— "Yes! Of course!"

Lucky appears a minute later and peers into the chamber. "I don't see the cause for all the hubbub."

"She—" you say.

"We already conclusively proved the detainee was not Madrigal Fitzpatrick. And so she isn't. I hope you've now convinced yourself of this, Ms. Fawkins?"

"Yeah, okay," you say. "But she's not just not Madrigal, she's— I mean, she's a person. A specific person. I've ascertained this with my, um, detective skills."

"A specific person... who has been falsely claiming to be Ms. Fitzpatrick, despite repeated direct inquiries?"

"It's not like that! I mean, it is, but—" You wave an arm. "She's a Namway employee. The people who kidnapped Madrigal. I mean, she didn't kidnap her, but— so you shouldn't kill her! She's important! And—"

"I don't recall anybody interested in killing her. We're keeping her in custody, Ms. Fawkins, and that's all."

"You know what I mean! You should let her go! She's not a monster, okay, she's not going to go around killing people, she's given up the Madrigal thing—"

"If your information is accurate, she's employed by a menace to polite society, to put it indecorously. And the fact that she has given up the 'Madrigal thing' for now is not much of a point in her favor, when the body remains... unnatural."

Lucky is entirely stoic. You look at him, and at Guppy, and back. "You— you can't just— what about everybody else?! You can't go around detaining people because they're a little weird, or you'll have to house half the—"

"One step at a time, as I always say." He smiles tightly. "It's about maintaining safety. Thank you for your time, Ms. Fawkins."

«This is embarrassing.»

What? You have this handled. Completely. After all, you just (allegedly) shot fire out of—

>[-1 ID: 7/13]

«No.»
«Now speak.»

You sigh. Okay. "No, you can't— listen to me, alright? She's a victim. She didn't mean to become, um, unnatural."

Your words are unconvincing, but the subtle tweaks to your intonation and your body language more than make up for it. Lucky raises his eyebrows.

"Ask her yourself. It was forced on her by the Namway— by the kidnapper. Pat. And she hated it so much she was prepared to perish rather than— I mean, tell him, Guppy."

Guppy flinches. "I— uh— yes."

(3/4)

You work yourself up a little more. "She tore her face off rather than suffer the indignities of... unnaturalness, only for it to be stitched crudely back on! And then she was forcibly injected with the ill-gotten blood of Madrigal Fitzpatrick, and the savagery of the goo nearly— nearly consumed her! But I have coaxed her back into the light, if you will, and she is now fully prepared to be a useful, normal member of society, despite her peculiarities—"

"It may be fixable," Lucky says evenly. "If she is prepared to undergo a rigorous process. And of course if she isn't lying, excuse me, out of her ass."

"She's not lying! I would've spotted it with my— my detective skills, if she were lying. She really is a regular albeit goo-faced woman, and you have unfairly captured her, when actually she holds the very values of the Wind Court dear! Further detainment will only grow a seed of malice in her heart, pushing her to embrace the— embrace the monstrosity, rather than the humanity, and—"

He raises a hand. "I've heard enough."

"Oh?"

"In the event that both you and her are truthful, you make a compelling case. Rest assured this will be thoroughly verified. The detainee will additionally be offered a regimen to purge her of the worst of the unnaturalness, and will be strongly encouraged to accept. Strongly encouraged."

"But you're—" You swallow down the snake-voice. "You're letting her go."

"After everything is filed and processed, yes. The blame will be placed squarely on your shoulders should this go sideways." Lucky picks at his teeth. "I would not expect a full release any sooner than tomorrow, and then the detainee—"

"Her name is Guppy," you say. "Villalovez."

"—Ms. Villalovez is welcome to join the misfit island you have over there, and our hands will be washed of it. Excluding the regimen, naturally. I believe that's all— do you agree, Garvin?"

"I have no complaints," Horse Face says, and smiles genially.

"Well then."

(Choices next.)

>Wat do? You will be heading back to camp, and still have a few hours before drinks. Pick one option for now (you may have time for more, depending).
>ALSO, for all: do you keep Gil around or release him from his body?

>>[1] Work on your model. It's been a while, and you're one good concentrated session away from wrapping it up.
>>[2] Psychologically harass Richard into good behavior. He's been getting awfully uppity since this morning. [Roll] for efficacy.
>>[3] Take a nap. You need a nap. Simple as.
>>[4] Find Ellery again. You've recently visited his former workplace, and it's, by your books, kind of messed up! Does he have thoughts on this matter? (Also, you should tell him that it isn't really Madrigal.)
>>[5] Find Eloise again. You've promised to tell her everything you find out about Namway, and you sure have found out some stuff. (Also, you should tell her that it isn't really Madrigal.)
>>[6] Contemplate what you've learned about Headspace and Namway and all that, and what it means for you going forward. Plot, scheme, etc.
>>[7] Let Richard "observe" your communion, even though you've done it before? (You don't know why he's so worked up about it, but maybe it's best to humor him.)
>>[8] Write-in.

>>5331213
Yes! We did a successful thing, suck on it, Richard!
>[4] Find Ellery again. You've recently visited his former workplace, and it's, by your books, kind of messed up! Does he have thoughts on this matter? (Also, you should tell him that it isn't really Madrigal.)
We still need to rescue Maddy
>Release Gil for now.
I wonder if the Namway angle can let us get him a goo body. It seems very stable in field conditions.

>>5331213
>>[2] Psychologically harass Richard into good behavior. He's been getting awfully uppity since this morning. [Roll] for efficacy.
>> Do so by having him teach Gil about how magyck works. Or how Gil's magyck works. They'll both thank us later. Richard can use it as practice being nice to people, and really he should like it because he loves messing with that sort of thing
>> In fact, we should see if Richard wants to take any tangents on. Not instead of our quest, oh no we would never, but as a good example of how to treat others with generosity and kindness we could help him find something to research - really sink his teeth into - during the times when we're doing our thing and he's already upset about lost productivity then so he might as well spend it doing something he DOES enjoy instead of having him enjoy being mean to us.

>> We can start by letting him observe the communion. Does he want us to try it on him?

>>5331294
(Do you want to do this in your manse, or do you want to summon [probably more pliable] person!Richard into Real Life?)

>>5331213
Backing>>5331226
Still need to rescue maddy and elderly can maybe help us with our sunstroke with his sun expertise

Suck the sun damage out of our face and into his heart

His fake mirror heart

>>5331213
>>5331226

Yeah this seems like a solid option as any, so supporting!

>>5331515
Summon Better Richard!

But we can do that after >>5331226 since we'll be seeing Gil anyways.

Not sure how much Gil will go for a Goo body seeing as he doesn't like the "losing himself" existential horror that keeps repeating in his life, tho.

>>5331697
I think if we make sure the goo hadn't had any blood, Gil will be alright.

>>5331213
>[4] Find Ellery again. You've recently visited his former workplace, and it's, by your books, kind of messed up! Does he have thoughts on this matter? (Also, you should tell him that it isn't really Madrigal.)
For some reason I feel like being nice to Ellery.

Also
>Release Gil, if that's what he (really for sure no second guessing) wants.

>>5331226
>>5331604
>>5331610
>>5331871
>[4]

>>5331294
>[2]/[7]

Called for [4] (+ releasing Gil after asking first) and writing shortly. I also have some news: beginning tomorrow and ending the first week of August, I'll be becoming a full-time wagie! During this timeframe, I'll be doing my best to update like usual, but given the new constraints on my schedule (and much earlier wake-up times) you should expect some or all of the following:

>Shorter updates
>Erratic/unreliable update schedule
>More partial updates

I expect everything to go back to normal partway through Thread 27. Thanks for your understanding.

File: you are visualizing this (...).jpg (100 KB, 382x640)

100 KB JPG

>Ellery more like smel—[is shot]

You flounce out of the Wind Court HQ glowingly confident in your abilities— though not before Horse Face taps his nose and reminds you of the 'meeting' with his 'contacts' late tonight. He says he thinks you'll get along well. You don't know what that means, but you choose to believe it's a sincere and accurate compliment to your people skills. Therefore you flounce into the archives vigorously, startling Gil, who had been flipping through a thin hand-bound booklet entitled— you squint— 'BEST WAYS TO OPEN CLAMS.'

"Do beetles eat clams?" you say. "I thought they ate—"

He nearly tosses the booklet across the room. "I-I-I-I just— it was on the top, I-I didn't want to knock anything over—"

"Geez, I was just asking. I don't care what you read. I mean, I do, there's way better books out there, but to be fair I don't think they stock them here— or I would've found them way earlier. I went through here a lot. But if you're interested in reading better books— cooler ones, you know, they have swords in them? And— and ladies with heaving bosoms—" Which you never cared for, to be clear, you tended to strike such things out with pencil, but potentially Gil would be interested? Does he like that sort of thing? "—Then I can get some? Probably?"

"Um..." Gil says carefully.

«He does not want to read your stupid books.»

No! He does, he just— you haven't explained it properly. "Well, look, they also have people who shoot fire from their hands, and— did I tell you that I did that? Kind of? And also I singlehandedly broke maybe-Madrigal out of her unjust confinement— she wasn't really Madrigal, by the way, but she might help us find Madrigal— I did this via communing, so you know. Oh! I realized that I had magyckal powers via my magyckal bloodline— do you know what that means? It means I inherited it from my father, except he tragically died before he could teach me any of it. So I am spontaneously generating magyckal energies. It's a little different from yours, since yours was a divine blessing, but it does mean that we both have— we're matching! Gil! We're—"

Gil is not evincing the sort of enthusiasm that any reasonable person would have at this news. Gil, slumped against the wall, looks tired.

"Are you okay?" you say uncomfortably. "It's a good thing. To be clear. Maybe I was saying it wrong, but—"

"I-I-I just don't understand why I'm here."

This answer is incomprehensible. "What?"

"I-I-I-I mean... you seem to have it handled. Everything. And all I-I-I do is sit here uselessly, or I spoil everything and I'm worse than useless, and—"

"You didn't spoil everything," you say. "You stole those pills. Maybe they're really important—"

"Or maybe they want them back and they're gonna send goons after us! I-I-I can't— I'm a drag on you. I don't know why you even rescued me. I should be—" He gestures forcefully.

"That's stupid."

(1/3)

File: beetles.jpg (123 KB, 427x640)

123 KB JPG

Gil shakes his head.

"That's stupid. You're not a drag, you're just— you haven't done anything, okay? Madrigal has. Madrigal sucks. We hate Madrigal and her stupid body. If you had your normal body back, you know, we could go anywhere, we could—"

"I-I don't. And I-I-I don't know when that's gonna—"

"I'm working on it," you say a little guiltily. "Soon! Very soon! I will apply the full brunt of my magyckal energies on, um..."

"Soon like now? Or soon like i-in a week, or month, or—"

You suck at your cheek. "The length of time is as yet unknown to—"

"Then I-I want out. I-I-I can't do this any longer. People look at me, and..."

You don't understand. "But you'll be alone. I'll try and visit, but I can't—"

"I-I-I've been alone for a— for a while." Gil looks down. "At least I-I know I can't help while I'm in there."

You want to say something useful, but nothing at all comes to mind. On an objective level, this makes sense, even, with Monty's decree, but you don't care what Monty thinks, and you just... "Um, okay. I guess. We can't do it here, though, I'm not dragging a corpse back to—"

"That's fine," Gil says, and stands.

The walk back is awkward, and it's not any better by the time you steal back into Madrigal's empty tent. You attempt eye contact. "Can you... do it? Do you need help?"

He hesitates. "No." Then he walks stiffly to the rumpled cot, sits atop it, and furrows his brow. You flinch when he spasms all over, once, and his jaw flops open and his eyes cloud and for an instant the air's all wings and legs and then it's empty and Madrigal's body topples back onto the cot.

«What a pity. Choosing solitude over your companionship.»

That's not— that's not what he— YOU ARE LEAVING NOW, Richard, THE DOOR IS FLAPPING BEHIND YOU, YOU ARE GOING TO SEE FAKE ELLERY. Just in case he decided to kill himself over the whole not-Madrigal thing. (It'd be inconvenient.)

(2/3)

-

Fortunately(?), Fake Ellery lives— though he hasn't at all taken your suggestion to sleep, unless sprawling himself out in the middle of his floor counts as sleeping. (Maybe that is how he sleeps?) He'd been staring hollow-eyed at the ceiling, and now, with your grand entrance, he's staring hollow-eyed at you. "What the fuck are you—"

"What are you doing?" you say.

"I just—" He scrabbles to sit up. "Do you feel like something is wrong?"

"What?"

"Like something's just off? And you don't know what, you just have a sense—"

"You should've taken a nap," you say accusingly. "This is your own fault."

He runs his hands through his hair.

>Pick up to 3. (Ellery is not in a prime state for questioning right now.)

>[1] Inform Fake Ellery that "Madrigal" was actually an imposter, so he doesn't need to worry about that anymore. You handled everything (no thanks to him, of course).
>[2] Inform Fake Ellery that (real) Madrigal had an appointment at Headspace. Isn't that interesting?
>[3] Inform Fake Ellery that there's some awfully strange goings-ons at Headspace. Was he under contract? Does he have any opinions on their interesting working conditions?
>[4] Inquire about his opinions on Casey. He's met Casey, right?
>[5] Inquire if he knows anything in particular about the sun. Since there was that sun-beetle thing and all. Does he have sun magyck?
>[6] Tell him that maybe he feels weird because he's a weird melty immortal mirror-copy of himself. Also that Headspace also had some sort of copy thing going on?
>[7] Write-in.

>>5332011
>[1] Inform Fake Ellery that "Madrigal" was actually an imposter, so he doesn't need to worry about that anymore. You handled everything (no thanks to him, of course).
>[3] Inform Fake Ellery that there's some awfully strange goings-ons at Headspace. Was he under contract? Does he have any opinions on their interesting working conditions?
>[4] Inquire about his opinions on Casey. He's met Casey, right?

>>5331954
Congrats on the full time!

>>5332011
Tell him that he feels weird because he is weird but it's best to repress investigating that for now because Madrigal needs him. We shall distract him, a one two punch of focusing on our totally not grating candidness and a damsel in distress.

Then 1,2, and 4

>>5332011
>1, 3, 5
congrats on entering wageslavery

>>5332121
>>5332133
>>5332364
>[1]

>>5332121
>>5332364
>[3]

>>5332121
>>5332133
>[4]

>>5332133
>[2]

>>5332364
>[5]

Called for [1], [3], [4], and writing. (You can also tell Ellery that he's a weirdo, that's free.)

>>5332364
>>5332131
Thank you! I may use some of the big bucks on a nice commission, we'll see.

>>5332011
>>[1] Inform Fake Ellery that "Madrigal" was actually an imposter, so he doesn't need to worry about that anymore. You handled everything (no thanks to him, of course).
>>[3] Inform Fake Ellery that there's some awfully strange goings-ons at Headspace. Was he under contract? Does he have any opinions on their interesting working conditions?
>>[4] Inquire about his opinions on Casey. He's met Casey, right?

Le belated vote.

>>5331954
Welcome to the land of wageslavers.

File: casey icon.png (5 KB, 200x200)

5 KB PNG

>HIIIIII ELLERY

"And anyways," you say, "you probably just feel weird because you are weird. You know, as a person."

"...I always really appreciate your company, Lottie."

"Thank you." You curtsey.

"So why the fuck are you in my—"

"The Madrigal you freaked out about isn't Madrigal. I mean, not even a little bit. She's someone totally different. The real Madrigal's still probably kidnapped."

Fake Ellery's restraining himself: his eyes flick over you, and he bites the inside corner of his lip, but that's all. "I, um, I see."

"Are you going to vomit again?" you say sweetly.

"No— no. Go to hell. I just— thanks for the news. Good to know. I won't waste my time..." He rubs his forehead. "Well, you delivered it. Um, the news, I mean. Isn't it time to—"

"To what?" you say sweeterly. "Because also I investigated Headspace today, and I thought you'd like to—"

"Today? Since before I last— or after? How- how- how—"

"After, of course, or I would've told you about it." Is that not straightforward? "Anyhow, I utilized my unparalleled skills of detectiving to infiltrate their 'inner sanctum,' as it were, that sinister conglomerate of spheres, which house entire—"

"You got onto the campus?!"

"Aha!" you say. "So you've been there! See! I've known all this time that you were embroiled in—"

"I fucking told you I was a freelancer! It's not a secret— stop making that face, Lottie. It wasn't a secret. I have seen it a couple times. Last I checked, it wasn't illegal to have a job, so unless you—"

"A couple times?" You stroke your chin. "So you were not trapped there for, perhaps, a decade?"

"No?"

"You were not on a ration of addictive stimulants..."

Ellery makes a 'why am I tolerating this' sort of face.

"Okay," you say. "But did you at least know about how weird it is in there? I can detect if you're lying."

"No you can't." He shifts his legs. "And... sort of. It hadn't gotten that weird before I left, but, uh— I mean, you could see the signs. I guess. In retrospect. It's not like it was affecting me personally, really, I just—"

"Did you have a contract?" you say. "Because I think all these people—"

"Did you not hear the thing about the lawyers? They're all sons-of-bitches?"

"So yes?"

"I couldn't talk about it if I had one, so." He raises his eyebrows. "That's it."

You nod sagely. "I see. Did Casey Kemper write the contact? Or give you it? Because—"

"Casey Kemper," says Ellery, "is not a lawyer."

"Okay, so who—"

(1/3?)