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3) Also, when he died, he melted into silver goop. He also persistently wrote things "mirrored," but didn't seem to notice. And his blood came back bizarrely "standard," as if manufactured. And one of his taboo topics was the idea that there could be two of somebody. You determined that, as a matter of fact, there had to be two of them— Fake (or Mirror) Ellery, who kept dying and reviving, and Real Ellery, who was holed up in unreality. Fake Ellery was a decoy meant to distract from the fact that the actual Ellery was missing. You got Real Ellery to more-or-less admit to this, but he claimed to "not have a choice in the matter."

4) He used similar rhetoric about the secret mission you caught him on: he, Anthea, and "Nettie" (actually Pat) seem to regularly venture into people's manses for the purpose of descending into the crack at their center and executing the person inside. After you protested him shooting some guy in the head with a crossbow, he told you that it was "the right thing to do" and that he had "no other choice." The guy he killed seemed okay to you, but the woman you met inside the previous crack was barely a person anymore.

5) Unfortunately, you and Ellery didn't leave on good terms after Madrigal got kidnapped. (You did confirm that he was still very much hung up on her, though.) You turned your attention to a different loose end: a patent Richard dug up with Ellery's name on it. Eloise tried to decipher it for you, but only managed to figure out that it was for Headspace Corp., described a product called the "E.Z.-M.A.N.S.E.," and was deliberately written to obfuscate what the product did. She also didn't think that Ellery wrote it.

6) Fake Ellery was cagey about the patent, but confirmed that Ellery did some freelancing for Headspace around a year ago (but was no longer working for them). You promptly investigated Headspace yourself, discovering that its employees were trapped inside the offices, routinely drugged, and monitored by their "Upper Management"— the same Management that's been threatening Pat. Also, at least one employee told you she's seen doppelgangers around this. Fake Ellery claimed to know nothing about any of this... but he's not exactly a reliable source.

(2/3)

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7) Finally, inside Gil's mind, you learned about a mysterious disease called "locitis." Apparently it targeted people with Headspace-branded manses, afflicting them with a variety of symptoms including memory loss, mood swings, seizures, and death. Gil and his fellow jackers blamed locitis on Headspace's shoddy manufacturing, while Headspace blamed it on jackers breaking in and siphoning Law from unattended manses. Bizarrely, though, nobody you ask in the present day— including Gil— can remember anything about "locitis." The only exceptions seem to be Horse Face, who has records of it from his previous time loops, and the trapped employees of Headspace, who told you it was ancient history for them. Them, and... Fake Ellery, who suffers immediate memory loss every time you bring it up to him.

All very strange. All very suspicious. All very the result of your investigating, not Madrigal's. Which is why you settle in your seat, lacing your fingers, and smirk. You're almost there.

>[A1] Cut to the chase. Propose your theory for why Ellery broke up with Madrigal, went into hiding, and left a suicidal doppelganger behind. If you're close enough, he'll have no choice but to confess. (Write-in.) This option will remain throughout the interrogation. You don't have to use it, but you'll look infinitely cooler in front of Madrigal if you do it all in one fell swoop. I am happy to answer OOC clarifying questions about the Ellery plotline— just ask.

>[A2] Ellery's not talking? That's fine. You've got a *plan.*
>>[A] Start off faux-friendly. You hate Ellery, of course, but Madrigal seems to have the hatred covered— somebody needs to play good cop here. He might not believe you, but it'll throw him off no matter what.
>>[B] Start off inquisitive. You have *so* many questions for him. Does he know about the conditions in Headspace? Does he know about locitis? Why did he shoot that guy with a crossbow, anyhow? What's the deal with him and the sun? Etcetera.
>>[C] Start off mean. Hey, did Madrigal know that he *cried* after she was kidnapped? Cried!
>>[D] Write-in.


>[B] Would you like to direct Earl or Madrigal to do anything? (Write-in. Optional.)

>[C] Write-in.

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>Announcements
Welcome back to Drowned Quest Redux! Got my project done, excited to be back in the saddle. If you didn't see my post in the last thread, check out this awesome commission of Charlotte and Gil I got last week!

>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

>Ask the characters (or the QM), get a drawn response eventually
https://curiouscat.live/BathicQM

>"Redux"?
This quest is a loose sequel to the original Drowned Quest, which ran for eight short threads in 2019. Reading the original may help with context in very early Redux threads, but ultimately is not required.

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

File: charlotte - @psycherider.png (2.43 MB, 3317x2900)

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>LAST TIME ON DROWNED QUEST REDUX
After escaping the manse, you come face-to-face with Pat and Madrigal. Meaning that Madrigal escaped unharmed without you, the whole nightmare you just went through was pointless, and you're *still* having murderous intrusive thoughts. You power through your bleak depression enough to ask Pat and Madrigal a couple questions (confirming that the Headspace and Namway Managements are the same, that Pat thinks they aren't human, and that Headspace's Casey Kemper is prone to "snapping"), but lapse back by the time you make it to Hellsbells, a underground hamlet in the region of Hell. You meet up with S.A./heist crew member Earl, who welcomes you in to his home enthusiastically: he, Pat, and Madrigal promptly get drunk, while you go off to tell Gil the bad news.

You're unusually bitter and aggressive with Gil, and he recognizes that something's up. Despite further intrusive thoughts, you control yourself long enough for him to magic-blast the red stuff off you. You break down and admit you're worried about him leaving you once he gets a body, and he tells you he's sticking around, actually. The two of you resolve to hug in a proper, reciprocal way, and do so, until you make it somewhat weird. Before you get a chance to resolve the weirdness, Richard falls out of your chest.

He's incoherent, soaking wet, and barely able to stand, but after he comes to his senses, he explains that he *was* dead-- but he's right back to normal, now! You doubt this, having noticed that he's acting suspiciously *nice,* but you're unsure whether he's playing a trick on you or if his personality has genuinely been altered. You take a nap in Gil's manse.

In a dream, you attempt to stab yourself through the chest, but are stopped by a big white lizard-thing. It takes away the knife and tells you to forgive yourself for... something. Then it installs venom glands into your mouth.

You wake up with venom glands and venture out to find Madrigal and Earl. You show off your fangs, force your way onto the Ellery interrogation squad, and use Madrigal to coerce Pat into making Gil a goo-body. She does, crankily, but refuses to help when Gil comes out of the goo gross and beetley. You commune with him, which the red stuff isn't happy about, but you manage to channel it into doing something useful: making Gil real(er).

Gil has a body now, but it still needs to be "cured," leaving you alone in a room with Pat. She tells you about goo. You attempt to explain your side of the whole snakenapping thing, and in return she doesn't... apologize, exactly, but she admits to feeling guilty.

Back in real life, you drag Madrigal, Gil, and Earl with you to go interrogate Ellery. Gil and Richard break down his manse's defenses, and you enter to discover it in ashes and Ellery glowing. Madrigal ventures up to him, kisses the crazy out of him, and kicks him repeatedly. Ellery begins to explain matters... but shuts down hard after you and Earl show up.

File: charlotte & ellery - @gob(...).jpg (117 KB, 980x1167)

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

Immediate goal:
- Interrogate Ellery

Short-term goals:
- Use, extract, or otherwise deal with the Wyrm stuff you got going on

Long-term goals:
- Cure your [SUNSTROKE]
- Resurrect Annie
- Regain your missing memories (...if possible)
- Find the Gold-Masked Person and their snake; reclaim the Crown
- In the meantime, continue collecting and storing Law (4/16)
- Make friends??? More friends? You don't know if Gil counts now

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(?) did Richard work for? What is its endgame? What does it want with you?
- What was 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?
- Why was Henry going on like you knew the all the cult GS already?
- Okay, seriously, why is everybody talking about the apocalypse now?

Ongoing assignments:
- Inform Eloise (and the Wind Court?) about anything you discover about Namway Co

--

Don't forget to scroll up and vote!

>>5579858
Could you please remind us of the timeline - when did locitis appear and disappear, when did Ellery dump Madrigal, how long ago did the trapped Headspace employees say locitis occurred. I remember something was fishy with those dates.

>>5579884
Sure!

~9 months ago (i.e. a year and a month ago-- the Drowned year has 8 months): Horse Face makes his first records of locitis.
~6 months ago: Horse Face makes his last records of locitis. It's unclear whether it stopped happening at this point, or if people just stopped talking about it.
6 months ago: Ellery broke up with Madrigal.

The Headspace employees claimed that locitis happened a ~decade ago from their perspective. You find this plausible, assuming that they've been stuck in an extremely time-dilated manse for about a year.

Alright. So, here's my hypothesis:

- Headspace clones its workers to expand its labor force and/or for secrecy. The employees we've talked with in the Headspace HQ are mirror clones. There are multiple clones of each person to work in different teams, thus doppelgangers.
- 9 months ago (about a year) Ellery is recruited by Headspace to do a Thing. The Thing causes locitis. Elery either doesn't know it, or can't do anything about it. Ellery is also mirror-cloned
- Ellery finishes his contract and starts investigating locitis. His mirror clone is forced to work for Headspace, his work continues locitis.
- 6 months ago Ellery finishes his investigation, recovers his clone, stops the locitis project.
- Feeling responsible for what happened, Ellery retreats from society, dumps Maddy, replaces himself with the clone and devotes himself to hunting down Persons X
- Persons X are connected to Headspace and/or locitis in some way. Possibly its perpetrators, possibly its victims, maybe both. I suspect the "barely a person" woman was the Headspace secretary that has gone missing.

I'm not gonna commit to this answer just yet, let other anons take a look at it first.

>>5579901
This seems to make sense? Far better than the gibberish that I came up with from reading the context above.

>>5579917
Making sense is not enough as is demonstrated by ChatGPT, it should also match the facts.

>>5579858

>>5579901
Looks good, I had a lot of the same ideas. Couple notes: when he left headspace, he didn't just take the clone but also the production method since his clone kept killing itself and being remade. Also I don't think he has the guts to dedicate himself to hunting anyone down. He either holed up out of guilt to mope or out of fear to hide from Upper Management. Exception would be if persons X were the really bad off victims of locitis and he was mercy killing them with the delving crew. Think we should ask pointed questions aimed at confirming these theories so we can really slam dunk it.

>A2B

>>5580123
>his clone kept killing itself and being remade
That could be just a property of all clones, but you could also be right.

>>5580128
something to ask a pointed question about

>>5580123
>>5580131
Do you guys have specific pointed questions you want to ask? (Or specific topics you want to ask a pointed question about?) I can certainly have you do that before committing.

>>5580276
Can Headspace still make mirror clones?
Did he hide to protect Maddy or himself?
Was that woman the Headspace secretary?

>>5580123
>>5579858

Support!

>>5580276
pretty much just confirming the theories we have in >>5579901, but without just flat out asking for an infodump
so maybe how he set up the mirror clone, what he knows about locitis, details on the patent he filed, etc

>>5580123
>>5580508
>Pointed questions

>>5579901
>Objection!

Seems like you guys want to edge in on the theory before fully revealing it. Here's the deal: Ellery is not a subtle man, and you don't have to get the details 100% right to catch him out. I'm going to write this as Charlotte asking questions, and if the questions start confirming these >>5579901 >>5580123 theories she'll go ahead with the reveal. If they throw up inconsistencies or errors, I'll let you guys interrogate further. (This way I don't waste your time making you write-in the same thing a second time, should it be good enough the first time.) Sound good?


Writing.

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>https://youtu.be/Nb8LwIusNdQ

"Ellery," you say.

Madrigal glares. Ellery's eyes land on you for a long, long moment, then he looks away. You lace your fingers. "Um, I was just curious why you made your fake version kill himself all the time. Isn't that kind of weird? And mean? Are you mad at him for stealing your whole life, so it's a revenge-type— do you feel anything when he kills himself?"

Ellery's bouncing has halted, replaced with a rapid rubbing of one thumb against another. "No."

"To what question?"

He approximates a shrug. The wind blows cold.

"Do you feel anything he feels? The whole mirror thing is— I mean— it's different from gooplicates, isn't it? They're goo, he's mirror... goo. I guess. Wouldn't using regular goo be easier?"

"It would've been fucking obvious," Madrigal sneers. "Jab him in the side, he squishes?"

"Isn't coming back from the dead obvious?" you say.

Earl's been sitting silently and bemusedly the whole time, but he brightens up here. "Ha! For Ellery? Coming back from the dead for him is like—"

"I don't come back from the dead, BK. I don't die." Ellery switches thumbs. "That Guy 2 does. I'd prefer it if he wouldn't, Charlotte, but I don't get a lot of say."

"Oh?" you say. ("Fucking— That Guy 2?" Madrigal mutters.) "Who does get a lot of say?"

The waves slam against the glassed beach. "It's a figure of speech."

"Really? So you're saying you alone made a functional, non-goo doppelganger in the span of— how long did it take between the break-up and him acting weird, Madrigal?"

"He always acts weird," she says. "If you mean extra-weird, fucking instantly."

"In the span of effing instantly? That, or you had one stored somewhere? But you'd still have to make it. Can you explain how it works to us?"

"Glass."

You fold your arms. "And?"

"It's extra-real. Your reflection— in a manse, it—"

More than you were hoping for, but he's still fumbling. "I was just asking, since Headspace has non-goo clones too."

"Headspace?" Madrigal says. "What the fuck has that got—"

Ellery's looking at you. Steadily. "So you are one of them?"

You scoff, but Earl beats you to it. "You're saying she's an employee? Come on! You're the one who invited her!"

"Indeed!" you say. "Nay, I am no employee. I just— I talked to some people. Geez. And they talked about the suspicious clones, and— about locitis! Yes. How do you feel about locitis, Ellery?"

How does he feel? He's shot out of his slump, his nails gripping the edge of the lounge chair. He's wearing the traditional panicked grin. The clouds are thick above him. "How the fuck do you—"

"I talked to some people," you say non-committally.

"No you didn't! No you didn't. Gullshit. Locitis? Fucking gullshit. That's— that's—" He's really getting himself worked up. "Fuck you. We're not talking about that."

"Great!" Madrigal says. "So we can talk about how you've been railing another—"

(1/3?)

"No," you say. (Not only is she competition, she's completely useless here. How sad.) "We can skip locitis, the thing only you remember, Ellery. Why'd you shoot that guy in the forehead? Did he work for Headspace?"

"What? Earl says. "Sorry?" Madrigal says. "Excuse me? Did we skip that part? He's been railing a slut and killing people? Wh—"

You ignore both of them. So does Ellery. "No."

"Okay, just checking. Because that secretary— Cora— she worked for them, and she was in one of those cracks. Barely alive. Not like that guy."

"Been there longer."

"Ah," you say. He didn't react to the name, but you guess you don't know if he and the secretary ever met. "Interesting. Interesting. So who did you do this for, you or Maddie?"

The air smells of ozone. Ellery shrinks back across the lounge chair, elbows at sharp angles. "Do what for?"

"You know," you say. "Who were you scared for? Or were you just guilty."

"What the fuck are you on about?" Madrigal hisses. You attempt to wave her off, but she just leans into your face. "Shut up! This is my— my thing! Where's the side piece in your fucking list of options, huh? That's the obvious—"

"Leave Thea out of it!" Ellery's voice is cracking. "We met years after I— years, Maddie! She's got nothing to do with—"

"So was it you," you say, "or was it Madrigal?"

He looks down, then up. "I could kill you," he says desperately.

"Ell," says Madrigal. "Whoa, buddy!" says Earl. Neither seem to impact Ellery. "I really could. I don't think you understand what I... you realize you're not looking at me, right? This is just a— a— a convenient— it's a skin. It's what I— I picked out for myself. But I could rip it off whenever I wanted and be..." He grasps for the word. "...be whatever, really, just by tweaking things in my... my... I'm malleable, I guess. I guess I've always have been, but it's so much more— I'm imaginary. I'm That Guy, Maddie, but I got none of the brains, and..."

He trails off (thank God). Madrigal has an unusual expression. You clear your throat. "Okay, so if you're done bragging—"

"I'm not. I can be whatever, but it's not just— this is my manse, you know? So it's my mind. So it's— I mean—" He scoops up a handful of ash. "—this is me. I'm inside of me. So again, I can—" The ash vanishes inside his curled fist, which he uncurls a moment later to reveal a faultless ashen pyramid. "—do whatever. Anything. I could drop a boulder on you. Open up a chasm. Strike you with lightning."

"Uh-huh," you say. "Which is why you lost hard to me in the tournament."

(2/3?)

"It only works here. And I won't touch the skin stuff anymore." Ellery tightens his fingers. "But for a long time I was— I mean— I was a god. You know. Transformed, created, destroyed, whatever. Everything. And I had everything I could ever want, really—"

Madrigal crosses one leg over the other. "Except pussy?"

Ellery doesn't say anything.

"You're not that clever, Ell. I know you picked up that—"

"Except you!" Lightning strikes the ground, not ten feet away. (Madrigal: "Shit!" Earl: "Yow!" You: "God!") "Except Maddie Fitzpatrick! I've spent every single day thinking about— for years, thinking about— I- I thought I was going to spend eternity never seeing you again, and it was the worst thing I—"

Her legs are still crossed. "Well, holy fucking shit. Maybe you should've thought about that before you fucked off?"

Ellery looks wildly at you. You clear your throat. "I think he was threatened."

Madrigal frowns. "What? Okay, A), why wouldn't he just tell me he was—"

"I think he was threatened with you. With your life."

"Oh," Madrigal says. "Um. B), who the fuck would—"

"Management. Or Headspace, but I think they're pretty closely... intertwined." Ellery isn't interjecting, so you forge onward. "That's the same one as Pat's, to be clear. And before you're on with the 'why,' I'm pretty sure he knew... too much?" No interjections. "I think he knew too much about locitis. Or he made locitis."

"What the fuck is locitis?"

"We can talk about it later." You toss your head. "Ahem! Thus impelled by foul threats, and probably also guilt and stuff, he doth broke up with you and went into hiding forevermore. Until I detectivated all his stupid stuff just now. Also, I bet Management made him cover his tracks, thus the mirror copy thing, which they probably helped with. Or he stole it from them, or whatnot. Something like that. And now he goes about his miserable days murdering— you said that guy wasn't a Headspace employee?"

Ellery sighs. "Yeah."

"Murdering the pathetic victims of locitis, who would otherwise be cursed to suffer, likewise, forevermore! Yes?"

"...Yes."

"Aha!" you say. "Ahaha! Ahahaha. I pronounce this case... closed! Basically. More-or-less. You're welcome."

>[TO-DO COMPLETE: Interrogate Ellery
>MYSTERIES SOLVED:
>Who or what drove Ellery into self-imposed exile?
>Why is Ellery going around assassinating people?]

"Wow!" says Earl. "Who knew?"

"Yeah," echoes Madrigal. "Wow. That— I mean— fuck. What the fuck? Is she right? Some shitheads were threatening my life—"

Ellery nods wanly.

"—and you thought the best solution was to ROLL OVER, you fucking asshole?" She stands. "Didn't bother telling anybody, sure didn't bother telling me— why would you tell me? I was just your girlfriend. It was just MY life on the line. And, by the way, how fucking infantilizing to think that I couldn't handle some—"

(3/4)

"Maddie," he says, "you've never met these guys—"

"No! And when I do meet them, I'm going to clock their fucking LIGHTS out, you fucking rat bastard— you thought I couldn't handle them. I just un-kidnapped myself, singlehandedly, and some stupid threats— you went into exile for five years? Without talking to anybody! Holy shit! And I bet you thought it was a good thing. A real grand, a noble— this is EXACTLY like you. And then you have the audacity to fucking— what— pine over me? For five years? WHILE you're busy cuddling up to some poor, unsuspecting— I mean, get a goddamn grip!"

Ellery doesn't seem to know what to say.

>[A1] Okay, you might hate Ellery, but this feels like insult to deep, deep injury. Attempt to intervene somewhat.
>[A2] Enjoy the metaphorical popcorn.
>[A3] Write-in.

>[B] Follow-up questions to Ellery? (Write-in. Optional. I might provide my own list of options later, TBD. Too late of an hour to do it right now.)

>[C] Write-in.

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Also, I know Charlotte didn't go into full detail in the update, but I gave you the W here because these two >>5579901 >>5580123 are largely spot-on. I'd say probably 85%-90% accurate. Great work, folks.

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>>5581327
>I just un-kidnapped myself, singlehandedly
Pic related

>[A2] Enjoy the metaphorical popcorn.
I mean, it's Ellery

>[B] Does he know of any dudes in golden masks?

>>5581330
It's much easier when you don't have to trawl 80 threads of archives, but I'll still bask in smug self-satisfaction.

I am back and well-... uh... better-rested. Here's a slate of [B]s.

>[B1] So what is locitis, then, exactly? Does he know why everybody forgot about it?
>[B2] Since the jig is up, can he go ahead and make Fake Ellery into a normal fake person? So he stops killing himself?
>[B3] He didn't really answer this before. *Does* he resent Fake Ellery?
>[B4] How did he and Anthea meet, if it was years after he put himself in exile?
>[B5] If Anthea and Pat are on the execution squad, do they know everything? (And why would he tell *Pat* everything? Gross.)
>[B6] So seriously, what is it with him and the sun?
>[B7] Would he like to apologize for being so rude to you all the time?
>[B8] Write-in.

I will accept >>5581350's golden mask question as a write-in.

Also, side-note: I am doing something in the evening tonight. I think I'll be back in time to crank something out, but if I stay late or get delayed I might have to pass on the update.

>>5581655
I'll additionally vote for
>[B1] So what is locitis, then, exactly? Does he know why everybody forgot about it?
>[B5] If Anthea and Pat are on the execution squad, do they know everything? (And why would he tell *Pat* everything? Gross.)
>[B6] So seriously, what is it with him and the sun?

>>5581330
thanks bro - didn't know they threatened maddie for sure, assumed Ellery wouldn't share details of his love life with the creepy inhuman corporate overlords. way to mess up Ell.

also he really likes to jump to "i could kill you" as a threat. we've heard it like a dozen times now bro, it's lost all effectiveness


>A2

>B1, 5, 6, 7, 8
8 is gold mask question
long shot but might as well
plus everyone's here, so it's like we're asking everyone even though it's directed at Ellery

>>5581721
>didn't know they threatened maddie for sure
Yup. I gave that to you because >>5580309 explicitly mentioned the possibility that they threatened Madrigal. If it hadn't, there might've been another vote prompt to figure the last bit out.

>also he really likes to jump to "i could kill you" as a threat. we've heard it like a dozen times now bro, it's lost all effectiveness
To be completely fair to Ellery, this wasn't so much a threat as it was an attempt at explanation/cry for help. But also,
>Ellery
>Being legitimately threatening
He just doesn't have it in him.

>assumed Ellery wouldn't share details of his love life with the creepy inhuman corporate overlords
Would they really be creepy inhuman corporate overlords if they didn't have you surveilled?

>>5581660
Support, especially B1.

>>5581655
>[A2] Enjoy the metaphorical popcorn.

>[B1] So what is locitis, then, exactly? Does he know why everybody forgot about it?
>[B3] He didn't really answer this before. *Does* he resent Fake Ellery?
>[B5] If Anthea and Pat are on the execution squad, do they know everything? (And why would he tell *Pat* everything? Gross.)
>[B6] So seriously, what is it with him and the sun?

>>5581655
>>[A2] Enjoy the metaphorical popcorn.
>>[B1] So what is locitis, then, exactly? Does he know why everybody forgot about it?
>>[B3] He didn't really answer this before. *Does* he resent Fake Ellery?
>>[B5] If Anthea and Pat are on the execution squad, do they know everything? (And why would he tell *Pat* everything? Gross.)
>>[B6] So seriously, what is it with him and the sun?
>[B8] Ask about the gold-masked person

>>5581350
>>5581721
>>5581762
>>5581931
>>5581970
>Be a hater

>>5581660
>>5581931
>>5581762
>>5581931
>>5581970
>[B1]

>>5581931
>>5581970
>[B3]

>>5581660
>>5581721
>>5581931
>>5581970
>>5581762
>[B5]

>>5581660
>>5581762
>>5581931
>>5581970
>[B6]

>>5581721
>[B7]

>>5581350
>>5581721
>>5581970
>[B8]

Called for [A1] and [B1], [B3], [B5], [B8]. Writing.

>>5582268
Oops, meant [B6] instead of [B3]. Still writing.

>Enjoy the fireworks

Well, you did your job. If Madrigal wants to mop up the rest of it, why not let her? You settle back onto the settee.

"I mean," Madrigal continues, "what the fuck's so special about me? Huh? Have I got tits of solid gold? Last I checked, we fucking hated each other half the time we—"

Ellery clasps his hands. "I love you."

"Aw!" Earl says. "Ew," you say. Madrigal tenses up. "Loved, you asshole. 5 years—"

"I never stopped, Maddie, I've never... I've been with a lot of girls, I mean, and you're the only one I ever felt like this about. Thea included. I thought I felt something, but I was— I was confused."

"And you're not confused now."

"Really confused, Maddie, I was barely— I wasn't with it. I was having delusions. This girl shows up, and I thought, I convinced myself, that she was you. She was you, and you'd come to save me, and I couldn't understand why you kept rejecting me..." Ellery grimaces. "So I loved her until I... I got better, and then I... couldn't. It was you, Maddie. It was always—"

Madrigal's leaned way back. "What the fuck? You're admitting to mixing up some random-ass girl with— does she even look like me?"

"A little," Ellery says.

"A little! A little bit. Wow. You love me so much I'm interchangeable with some— some— how old is she, Ellery?"

He pauses. "Twenty-eight. Right now."

"Twenty-eight right now. Meaning, what— 23 at the start? 24? 25? You have a decade on her?"

Ellery glances at you. "I wasn't really in a state to check ages, Maddie, and I— you haven't aged a day since 26, either, so you're exactly the same as—"

"I wasn't talking about looks," Madrigal says, "but on that topic, why don't you look your age? You're fucking 38."

"I'd rather not be." He rubs his forehead. "It's that simple."

"Gee! Should've thought about before you fucked off to— to— to dreamland! But you don't think, you never think, you—"

"Do you want me to look 38?" Ellery says.

Earl extends a palm. "Listen, you don't hafta do anything you don't want to—"

"Yeah," Madrigal says.

"Okay, then." He stands from the lounge chair, rolls his shoulders, produces a serrated knife. Without ceremony, he jabs the blade's tip into the side of his neck, supporting the handle with two fingers. "Look away if you care."

You don't look away, but as Ellery saws his head off you do say "Ew." It may just be paper (and Ellery in no pain), but it feels rather uncouth to do in public. Or maybe that's just Ellery. Oh well. He's headless now, and is reaching down his neck-hole to do something horrible. You can't see what.

(1/3?)

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Then he reaches back out, and with a nod of the head has a head again. It's still Ellery, unmistakably— you guess 8 years isn't that long overall. But his hair is thinner and cropped a little shorter, there's fine lines around his dark circles, and there's grey— a few strands near his temples, a lot in his perpetual stubble.

He looks tired. Madrigal looks tired, too, and sinks back heavily. An opportunity! "So what is locitis?"

"Ah," Ellery says, and shuts his eyes. "You had your fun. Can we leave it at that?"

"No," you say.

"...And you're not going to stop asking."

"Yes," you say.

"Fuck." He vibrates his knee. "It's— I don't know what you've heard about it. It's not a disease. It's a collection of symptoms."

"Of?"

"It's... it's complicated to... you have to know about Headspace first. Headspace's whole thing, see, was to upend the idea of manses. Before them, anybody could make one, but for the average guy it took a shit-load of time and patience and sometimes help. They came in, and they said they could stick a manse in anybody, foolproof, and they could do it overnight."

"I kind of figured it was that," you say.

"Okay. Well, they could. Kind of. As it turns out, you can't just inject a manse into somebody's skull. It doesn't work like that. What you can do is manufacture a precise copy of the original person, identical except that the copy comes with a manse pre-installed. And you swap the two, and you destroy the original painlessly, and it's exactly as if you'd injected the manse. If it's done in a person's sleep, nobody would ever know the difference."

You did not figure this. "Uh... that's..."

"That's the most fucked-up thing I've ever heard," Madrigal says. "What the fuck?"

"No, it isn't, Maddie. And it's not..." Ellery shifts. "It's not like people's bodies are being vaporized. It's all metaphysical. But you don't need to know how it works, okay? That was the good scenario, and that's not what happened. Somebody made it so that the originals weren't destroyed."

You think. "The cracks?"

"Yeah." He grasps the lounge chair. "So it wasn't a swap. Every time somebody used— or uses, we're pretty sure— a Headspace product like an E.Z.-M.A.N.S.E., what it does from their perspective is suck them into a white void. It's infinite and unescapable. They'll stay there for as long as it takes them to wither into nothing. Meanwhile, the person outside, the copy, doesn't react well to this. Because they're not the original, or because of the void, or because there's two of them out there— something. They have mood swings, memory loss, apoplexy. They die, sometimes." Ellery flourishes unenthusiastically. "Locitis. It has nothing to do with jackers."

(2/3?)

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You frown. "But why? What's the point of torturing some random—"

"I don't know. My best guess is that they're... that Headspace is harvesting something off them. Or extracting it from them. On a huge scale— I mean, there's hundreds of people out there in these things. If not thousands. I've shot a couple dozen."

«They're siphoning Law.» You startle. «Sorry, Charlie. I've been trying to keep out of your way. But this is fairly apparent.»

"A couple dozen people?" Madrigal says.

Okay, cool. Great. Thanks, helpful Richard. "On your secret missions? Why do Anthea andPat get to come along?"

"Sometimes they're not people, Maddie, and... yeah." Ellery slouches. "Thea's seen everything. And I didn't have anybody before her, just— I told her all of it as soon as I remembered it. And Pat— Nettie? I found out she worked for some kind of rival company, or something. Hated Headspace more than anybody. And it was useful to have somebody with a little more fight in her— no offense to Thea— I can get myself out of most things, but sometimes I don't really want to, you know? Sometimes I just want backup. I never thought she'd go so far as—"

"We're square, by the way," Madrigal says. "I hired her."

"You hired Nettie? For your...? I mean, okay, I guess that—" He tosses his hands out. "You're safe now. That's what matters."

"Ew," you say. "Hey, have you heard of anybody with a gold mask running around? And a black cloak? And shadowy powers, sort of..."

"Like, nightmare shadowy powers?"

"I don't know," you say. "I didn't spend that much time with them. They're kind of smug? Anything?"

Blank stares. Ellery shakes his head. "Sounds like somebody in disguise? A mask, a cloak— do you think you met somebody from Headspace? Because Management's more of a suit-and-tie—"

"What? No." You wave your hands around. "This has nothing to do with your dumb stuff. Totally unrelated."

"Then why'd you bring it up?" Ellery says.

You wave your hands some more. "You know— whatever! Whatever. Thanks for being useless. What's with you and the sun?"

(3/4)

File: THE SUN! THE SUN!.jpg (330 KB, 1024x1024)

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"Me?" Ellery says. "What are you talking about?"

"What do you mean, what am I— the sun! Don't deny it! There was you and the sun beetle, and now you were lit up all super bright—"

"I mean... I guess? I don't— it's not like I picked the sun out, or something, it just... shows up? I don't have an explanation for everything, Charlotte. I don't think there's even that much overlap between me and the sun, as a- a thing, so—"

"Really?" Madrigal's as reclined as she can manage. "You don't think you burn bright and flame out easy, Ell?"

"You're both full of hot gas?" Earl offers.

You have to think about yours for a second. "You're both hard to look at?"

"Okay, fuck you. Very funny, very funny. I don't know what to tell you, Charlotte— what the hell do you care?"

"Oh," you say. "Well, you see, I have— I have had a run-in, so to speak, with the very sun itself, so I thought you might have input on that. But I see you're as useless as ever, so—"

"I didn't say I didn't have input, I just..." He makes a face. "Could you explain?"

>[1] Enlist Ellery in helping with your [SUNSTROKE].
>>[A] Okay, whatever thing he has with the sun isn't on a conscious level. That's fine: you can go deeper. [Commune] with him. [-1 ID]
>>[B] He can't complain about being able to turn into big monsters and then not help you out with it, right? Convince him to turn into a big *sun* monster, which you can then symbolically slay, putting your weirdness to rest. (Only problem: he said he didn't want to turn into any more big monsters.) [Roll.]
>>[C] Okay, so no big monsters— but he was shedding a whole lot of light just earlier, and he was still person-sized. And he's obviously on the brink of insanity at any given moment, so just convince him to embrace his wacked-out side and Sun God you into curedness. [Roll.]
>>[D] Write-in?

>[2] Ellery? Helping you? Pah! Save it for Richard and Richard alone later.

>[3] Write-in.

>>5582451
>[1A] Okay, whatever thing he has with the sun isn't on a conscious level. That's fine: you can go deeper. [Commune] with him. [-1 ID]
I wonder if we can get in on Ellery's mercykilling operation. We have a use for all that Law.
Also I suppose we should stop Headspace somehow.

>[3] Ask Ellery why his clone is mirrored.

>>5582461
On the other hand, the cases of locitis have stopped, so either Headspace stopped their Law harvesting, or (more likely) learned to reduce the side effects.

Also, the fact that one of the Management's subsidiaries is harvesting Law, while the other tries to produce an artificial snake, is really suspicious.
Maybe we should raid Headspace, steal all their Law and stop their plans in one fell swoop.

>>5582451
>>[A] Okay, whatever thing he has with the sun isn't on a conscious level. That's fine: you can go deeper. [Commune] with him. [-1 ID]
>>[C] Okay, so no big monsters— but he was shedding a whole lot of light just earlier, and he was still person-sized. And he's obviously on the brink of insanity at any given moment, so just convince him to embrace his wacked-out side and Sun God you into curedness. [Roll.]

Can we do both?

It's a slow day, we're sort-of tied, and this is a meaningful vote (if only because it determines what you're going to be doing for the next couple updates). I'm going to give this one an extra day and catch up on some homework in the meantime.

>>5583226
>Can we do both?
As in, you commune with deranged-Ellery? I suppose so, but I'm not sure why you'd want to specifically unless you just think it'd be cool, which is valid.

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>>5583251
>Power Ellery up
>Commune with schizo-mode Ellery
>Cure?

The rest we figure out along the way.
RIDE OR DIE TIME

>>5583226
Doubling down on the estranged skitzo option. It's fun and potentially violent

>>5582461
>[1A]

>>5583226
>>5584036
>C-c-c-combo

Called for [1A]+[1C]. I need dice.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s vs. DC 70 (+20 Sick Of Your Shit) to annoy Ellery into going schizo!

Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? Your current ID is 13/14.
>[1] Y
>[2] N

>>5582461
>[3] Ask Ellery why his clone is mirrored.
You can do this too.

>>5582461
>>5582461
>I wonder if we can get in on Ellery's mercykilling operation. We have a use for all that Law.
>Maybe we should raid Headspace, steal all their Law and stop their plans in one fell swoop.
You can discuss this in a little while!

Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>5584130
>Y

Rolled 33 (1d100)

>>5584130
>Y

Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>5584130
>annoy ellery into going schizo
Oh boy I miss one day
>Y

>>5584135
>>5584140
>>5584196
>15, 43, 19 vs. DC 70 -- Failure
The dice gods did not like this plan. Writing.

>>5584196
Almost two days! I kept it open extra long and everything! And you were going to annoy him into going schizo and then commune with schizo Ellery, if that helps :^)

>>5584199
And this should be
>Spendy
Of course.

>RIDE OR DIE TIME
>Abject failure
A /qst classic.

>Schizo mode?
>15, 43, 19 vs. DC 70 — Failure
>Spendy

Do you have to explain it? The circumstances were kind of... weird. Saying you got cursed by the sun is so much cooler than saying you were fake tortured for a while and punched a lightbulb.

«Charlie, I think he'd be more likely to help you if you explained what your problem was.»

Well, then... who needs his help? You? Please! You can get along just fine without Ellery, who'd assuredly bungle whatever he attempted to do. And besides, it's not so bad. Just some headaches.

«You have enough head problems. I'm concerned about piling on more, even if they're minor.»

Who needs Richard's dumb concern? You? Please! He should watch as you skillfully move the topic on to important detective matters. "Um, no. Whatever. Forget it. So locitis— you know nobody remembers it, right?"

"Oh!" Earl says. "Is that what it is! Here I was worried I had my head under a—"

"Not completely. But I... suspected." Ellery leans his head back. "Given how nobody knew what I was talking about— freaky, but not that surprising."

"Uh-huh. Do you think Headspace would be capable of wiping everyone's memories? Or Management?"

Ellery rubs his stubble. Above him, the clouds have thinned, revealing patches of dark sky. "I'm going to be honest, I wasn't in the inner circle. I've had run-ins with Management, but I don't know who the fuck they are, really, or what they can do. I know what they've threatened to do..." His eyes land on Madrigal. "So maybe. I also wouldn't be too surprised, put it like that."

"Uh-huh," you say, and wish you had a little notepad to scribble on. Like Horse Face, but way better than him. "Are all the duplicate people mirrored?"

"Mirrored?"

You shift. "Fake Ellery reads and writes, um, mirrored."

"He does?" Ellery blinks hard. "I mean, that's— it was a last minute, kind of, um— I was pretty drunk. I didn't have time to work out all the... kinks. I don't think they— I'd assume they aren't all mirrored, but I don't get a lot of current news, so— uh—"

So no. It didn't really matter, but you thought you'd cover all your bases. There is ash blowing into your face, and as you scrub it away you see Madrigal start to move. Damnit! Is she plotting to steal the spotlight back? Or to kiss him on the face again? (It's the same thing.) You need to act quick. "Ellery?"

"Huh?"

You hadn't thought this far ahead. Double-damnit. And you're blanking on further pertinent questions. Richard?

«If he can help you with your problem, I don't see why you wouldn't—»

Fine! Whatever. You'll get his worthless help. But you're not going to explain the lame details, and even if you did, what'd he do about them? Talk at you? You don't need lucid Ellery— you need weird Ellery. Full-of-beetles, ranting-about-Maddie Ellery. That guy would have some ideas.

(1/3)

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Too bad Madrigal got rid of him— great job! Round of applause! You doubt he's cured, though, if years with sickly-sweet Anthea didn't do the trick. All you have to do is convince him, with your masterful oratory skill, that he needs to go crazy for your benefit.

«Charlie. I mean no offense, but—»

All you have to do is goad him into going crazy for your benefit. Much better. "Um, I was just thinking about what you said— about how you could do anything, or whatever stupid—"

It's clouded straight back over. Ellery's mouth is a line. "What?"

"I mean, we just haven't see any of that from you, have we? I've just noticed that every time I meet you, you kind of get plastered, and—"

Earl's holding a hand out. "Hey! Maybe we lay off on the guy for a while?"

"Maybe she lays off on the guy for a while," Madrigal says. "I've been waiting for this for six fucking—"

"Thanks, Maddie," Ellery says, but he just looks flatly at you.

Double— triple-damnit! You've been foiled! This just isn't working out.

Ahem?

Okay, this is where Richard usually slides in and offers his "services," but you guess he's too lazy to...

«There's no need to be passive-aggressive, primrose. I'm happy to help when you ask me to.»
«You're just looking to suitably convince him? Easy enough. Hold still.»

>[-1 ID: 12/14]

A bloom of warmth in your throat. Your jaw feels elastic. "Um," you say, and somehow that comes out sweet. "Um, I'm not saying anything mean about him, I'm just stating facts, which is that I don't really believe him that he's secretly cool and awesome, and that he really needs to demonstrate it as— as distinctively as possible, even if it might cause mental strain, and—"

Flatly? Ellery's gaze holds a honed edge, now. "Who the fuck is this?"

"Huh?" you say. "What? It's me. Charlotte? Have you already gone—?"

"Who is this? Who's the guy?" He flings his hand toward you. "And what fucking bill of goods am I being sold? Get his words out of your mouth."

"They're not his words," you say defensively. "Um, I mean— hey! What's your problem? I'm just talking normally, like a normal person, so—"

(2/3)

"You're not," Ellery says.

"She sounds pretty Charlotte to me," Ell. Madrigal tilts her head. She squints. "A guy?"

"Maddie, you've got to— you need to trust me on this, okay? She's got something— something in her, or—"

"Richard. You're siccing— are you siccing fucking Richard on us?" Madrigal stands. "Excuse me? Why?"

"Folks?" Earl looks between the two of them. "What's the matter? Are we talking Charlotte's Beast, or—"

«...»
«The man is extremely sensitive. We should note this for the future, Charlie.»

Great. Noted. Now what?

>[1] Suck up every ounce of pride you have and explain that you didn't want to explain the whole [SUNSTROKE] situation. Then explain it. Hope pity is taken upon you. [-2 ID]
>[2] Make Richard reveal himself and let *him* defuse the situation. This would normally be dicey, but Earl's already seen him, Madrigal already knows him, and he is suspiciously nice. But the cat is out of the bag, then.
>[3] Uh... uh... fight fire with fire! Gaslight your way out of this! (What do you say?) [Advanced Gaslighting. Roll.]
>[4] Grab Ellery's arm and [Commune] with him real quick. He might be mad, but at least he'll be mad 1-on-1 with you. And falling insensate should distract the others. [Spend 1 ID]
>[5] Write-in.

>>5584423
>>[1] Suck up every ounce of pride you have and explain that you didn't want to explain the whole [SUNSTROKE] situation. Then explain it. Hope pity is taken upon you. [-2 ID]

>>5584423
>[4] Grab Ellery's arm and [Commune] with him real quick. He might be mad, but at least he'll be mad 1-on-1 with you. And falling insensate should distract the others. [Spend 1 ID]
really dont want to admit we got fake tortured and punched a lightbulb
I now understand the reasoning behind the drive ellery back into schizo mode vote

>>5584745
>>5584423
Changing to this.

>>5584423
>[2] Make Richard reveal himself and let *him* defuse the situation. This would normally be dicey, but Earl's already seen him, Madrigal already knows him, and he is suspiciously nice. But the cat is out of the bag, then.

>>5584745
>>5584866
>[4]

>>5585126
>[2]

Communing, try two. Writing.

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>Tête-à-tête

«Well, you're in a bit of a corner.»
«It's a good thing they all already think you're socially inept. I would recommend a simple explanation of—»

No! A), you're not "socially inept," that's— that's so on-its-face stupid you're not even going to bother, and B), you're not explaining. You're not. How hard is that to understand? Did he come back to life with half his brain?

«Charlie, please.»

He did. He definitely did. And you're just going to have to figure out your own plan, which is easy, because you're great at plans. So great, as a matter of fact, that you've pre-planned your plan— you're just going to do what you were going to do before, without relying on moron Ellery to cooperate.

He's looking moronically at you right now, as a matter of fact, as if he expects you to fall upon your knees and grovel and weep— about what? Just because you enlisted Richard's help for one little thing? Idiot. You'll see how he likes it when you've got him in a corner, all without Madrigal and Earl egging him on.

"Excuse me," you say, then lunge for Ellery's skinny wrist. Latching on's no trouble, given your grip strength, and you hold on dearly through his protests and yanking. His skin crinkles under you as you lean in, find his eyes, see—

>[-1 ID: 12/14]

Normally you ease into the whole 'communing' thing: get some vague impressions, some flashes of feeling, all that. Ellery offers no such thing. As your fingers go numb, all you get is the keen sensation of being hooked, pierced, and reeled.

-

It is black everywhere, except for the shiny golden cage you're in, and the tattered lounge chair Ellery is on. He is wearing his dumb sunglasses, and he's slurping some kind of drink through a curled straw.

You need a moment to comprehend this, and then you start to beat yourself against the cage bars. "HEY! ELLERY! WHAT THE HELL! WHERE EVEN— I DEMAND THAT YOU LET ME OUT THIS VERY— ELLERY? ELLERY?"

Ellery slurps vigorously.

"ELLERY, YOU USELESS WHORESON, LET ME OUT OF— I BET YOU THINK YOU THINK YOU'RE SO SMART! HOW IS THIS EVEN ALLOWED? THIS ISN'T— THIS SHOULDN'T BE—"

"It's my head," he calls out to you, but doesn't move.

"SO WHAT? THAT'S A— a stupid—" You ram your shoulder against the bars, to no effect. "That's a stupid rule! So what! I'm the one communing with you, so I— I— Ellery! Come on. Just let me commune with you proper, and I can get my thing fixed, and you can have a— a personal revelation, or something— don't you want a revelation? Ellery? Won't Madrigal be mad if you trap me in here forever? She'll be mad, and she won't hug you, or even kiss you, and, um—"

(1/2)

"Will she be mad?"

Uhh. "Yes! Of course! As we are detective... partners... you're just mad at me because I figured out all your stupid non-secrets! When you're the one who's horrible at hiding anything, or lying, or being scary, or— you're not scary right now, by the way. Nobody can be scary in those sunglasses."

"Who said anything about scary?" Ellery says. "I'm just enjoying a nice drink and a lay-down. And who said anything about trapping you forever?"

"I'm in a cage," you say.

"Yeah." He slurps. "Beats an acid pit?"

"Ellery!"

"Charlotte," he says, and all of a sudden he's way up close to the cage, fingers curled around the bars. "What did you want me to do? Sit there and let you fuck me?"

You recoil. "I would never engage in intimate relations with you, you horrible—"

"Let me rephrase. Was I supposed to throw the door open and welcome you into my private mind?"

"Yes?" you say. "I wasn't even looking for secrets? And I don't care about your life, or whatever, so. I just wanted to..."

"Wanted to?"

"...uh..." To show him up, mainly, but also to find whatever symbolic sun thing he inevitably has going on. But then he'll ask for more explanation. "...Can you let me out of here?"

"No?" Ellery adjusts his glasses. "What the fuck for? Get out of my head."

"I'm in a cage," you say.

"So? Wake up. Or don't, I don't give a shit. I'm happy to enjoy my drink."

>[1] Great. You'll be pestering him in the meantime!
>>[A] Tell him that his drink needs an umbrella.
>>[B] Tell him that a cage is dumb and unoriginal.
>>[C] Ask him how he intercepted you. Not that it was cool. You just need to know for the future.
>>[D] Ask him about how long the sun stuff has been going on.
>>[E] Taunt him about Madrigal being mad at him.
>>[F] Write-in.

>[2] Great. You'll be breaking out of here, straight into his subconscious. You will always escape the cage. There may be other effects, including rolls, based on the specific choice made.
>>[A] This is still a mind— it's just the interim. You can probably just concentrate really hard and *think* yourself out of the cage.
>>[B] Why bother with the hard parts? The red stuff is still kicking around in you, ready to go whenever you want it. There's no caging you then. [-1 SV]
>>[C] Ellery can't get rid of The Sword, can he? Melt the bars with its fire. Easy.
>>[D] Bait Ellery really close, then bite his hand to paralyze him! That'll probably dissolve the cage, and probably nothing else will happen. Probably.
>>[E] Write-in.

>[3] Write-in.

(Also, if you'd like to pester him a little before escaping, that's fine. Just keep it within reason.)

>>5585493
>[1]
>>>[C] Ask him how he intercepted you. Not that it was cool. You just need to know for the future.
>>>[D] Ask him about how long the sun stuff has been going on.

>[2]
>>[B] Why bother with the hard parts? The red stuff is still kicking around in you, ready to go whenever you want it. There's no caging you then. [-1 SV]

>>5585493
>[1]
>>>[C] Ask him how he intercepted you. Not that it was cool. You just need to know for the future.
>>>[D] Ask him about how long the sun stuff has been going on.

>[2]
>>[C]
Don't wanna use red stuff in this situation, and also if we use fire Ellery might pull up the sun to counter it and then it'll be right there to work with.

>>5585493
>[1] Great. You'll be pestering him in the meantime!
>>[C] Ask him how he intercepted you. Not that it was cool. You just need to know for the future.
>>[D] Ask him about how long the sun stuff has been going on.

>[2] Great. You'll be breaking out of here, straight into his subconscious.
>>[C] Ellery can't get rid of The Sword, can he? Melt the bars with its fire. Easy.

>>5585493
1
>[F] Write-in.
Start to pick apart his etiquette gaffes, channeling another internal voice. This one of your aunt.

2
>[D] Bait Ellery really close, then bite his hand to paralyze him! That'll probably dissolve the cage, and probably nothing else will happen. Probably.

Worst case scenario we still get to bite him.

File: write.png (1.14 MB, 902x905)

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I WANT to write, I feel good, but I had class until 9 PM today and I've been working on tomorrow morning's homework since. Update tomorrow, pinky promise.

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>>5586346

>>5585637
>>5585750
>>5585991
>1C, 1D

>>5586138
>1F

>>5585637
>2B

>>5585750
>>5585991
>2C

>>5586138
>2D

Called for [1C], [1D], and [2C], then writing. I will work in [1F] if I have the opportunity, but no guarantees.

>>5587070
I should make a folder of these, huh?

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>Hey Ellery! Hey Ellery! Hey Ellery! Hey—

You press your face against the cage bars. "That's rude. A good host ought to offer his guest a drink, too, if he—"

"You're not my guest," Ellery says, and slurps extra-loud.

"Yes I am. You let me in here, obviously, so—"

"You—" He has to take a moment to formulate a sentence. "You busted in here, you mean? You did some— some— some gullshit, you busted in, and I intercepted. I don't see where the fuck you get 'guest' from that?"

You were just hoping for a free drink, though knowing him it'd probably be disgusting. "You don't understand etiquette at all, but okay. What are you talking about, 'intercepted'? I didn't bust in, I— I sacredly communed with you, so I don't see how 'intercepting' factors in, Ellery. How does that even work?"

"What do you mean, how? I could feel you busting in, and I—" He sloshes his drink around. "I— you know— I stopped it."

You nod sagely. "How?"

"Does it matter? I— clearly it worked, so—"

It doesn't matter that much: you just want to make him sweat. "Yeah, but how did it work? Specifically?"

"I— I— I don't really— that's not really my style, alright? The 'hows,' and the— that's for other people. That's for Nettie, and Eloise, and whoever. I'm street-smart, you know, I go with my— go with my gut, and I— it all works out for me. And clearly it has worked out for me, since you're intercepted, so— yeah." He adjusts his sunglasses. "Piss off."

If only you had a little notepad, so you could scribble down Ellery — Mad he doesn't know how his stuff works all smug-like. Woe! You will settle for needling him a little further. "Is the weird sun stuff all gut too?"

"There is no sun stuff," Ellery says. "What do you— do you think I'm hiding something about it?"

"No," you say convincingly.

"Okay, well—" He tilts his head back. "I'm not. I don't know anything about it. It has nothing to do with anything. It's been happening for years before any of this horseshit, Charlotte, way before Maddie and I were— I mean, what do you want me to tell you? I know what it means? I don't know what it means. Now piss off."

You rattle the bars of the cage in response. He tilts his chin back, sets his drink down, and— and— oh. He's putting earplugs in. "Ellery! Ellery? Ellery, that's not fair, that's—" No reaction. "Come on!"

Despairing, you fall back, cross your arms, and sit upon the spongy floor. Waking up? Nonsense. Ridiculous. You do not get defeated by the likes of Ellery, especially when he openly admits(!!!) to being dumb and ignorant. Nay! You shall free yourself lickety-split, and wave The Sword in his face, and—

(1/2)

File: scrap heap.jpg (50 KB, 564x364)

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The Sword! It's on your hip! You can't tell where Ellery's looking, thanks to his stupid sunglasses, so you make sure to turn your back on him before sneaking The Sword out. It's as handsome as ever, if a little blurrier than usual, and you take some time to turn it over in your hands. Aw, yeah. Its keen edge should slice straight through the cage bars, and the flames can finish the job. Easy as that.

Shockingly, it is easy as that. The cage bars snap like pencil lead, and their edges blister and smoke. Ellery, on his lounge chair, doesn't react. Is he napping? You step through the cage with caution, but there's still nothing. The drink is unattended on the floor.

How lame. (You guess he is tired.) Well, whatever: you don't need to defeat Ellery in single combat, or anything, it's just a nice-to-have. Where even are you? Some sort of interstitial space? The interim or something like it. His proper mind ought to be just beyond it.

You think about it, then cut out a wide circle underneath your feet. It smells of burnt rubber. Ellery shifts, then reaches for an earplug, but you've already fallen through.

-

This is what you expected all along— no you, no cage, no Ellery. Well, all Ellery, everywhere everything Ellery: spent and bitter and obsolete, rust and stains and yellowing. Junk. You wrench yourself into being and are crushed under reams of newspaper and twisted metal.

This is less of a body than usual, though, and you don't have to dig yourself out— you're already dug. The air is thin and still. The sky is sepia. You stand on a jumble of discarded things: lost shoes, torn photographs, crumpled notes, ruined furniture.

Yellow light pours from the gaps between the garbage.

>[1] Wait. Ellery is assuredly coming after you, and you don't want to be surprised.
>[2] Dig. The sun's down there somewhere. You don't know what you're doing with it yet, but you have some ideas.
>>[A] Touch it.
>>[B] Talk to it. (And say what? Write-in.)
>>[C] Swallow it.
>>[D] Write-in.
>[3] Search. There's a lot of stuff just laying around. (What are you looking for? Write-in.)
>[4] Write-in.

>>5587438
>2b
Ask it to leave us alone

>>5587438
>>[2] Dig. The sun's down there somewhere. You don't know what you're doing with it yet, but you have some ideas

>[B] Talk to it.
Ask it to get out of us and Ellery, to no avail, to which we decide to:
>>[C] Swallow it.

>>5587438
> 1

Rooting around it weird. But while we wait

> 3

Just see whatever is lying out and about regarding Madrigal so that we can prepare to badger Ellery into letting us fix him so that he can come out of his shell and let Maddie kick his ass IRL.

>>5588245
>>5587438
Like, let's not get too invasive but I mean if we look around and stuff just happens to be let out . . .

Like when a parent walks into their teens room. They ain't opening drawers or flipping mattresses, just assessing.

>>5587666
>>5588138
>[2B]

>>5588138
>[2C]

>>5588245
>[1]/[3]

Called for [2B] and writing.

>>5588138
Points for genre savviness, but I'm not gonna make Charlotte swallow any weird doohickeys without majority vote :^)

File: redness 3.jpg (69 KB, 564x846)

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>Diggy diggy hole

What are you supposed to do, not dig the sun out? If Ellery didn't want you to do that, he shouldn't have let you in here. Duh. You can't wait to wave it in his stupid face.

On top of this, you're already a certified expert in digging, specifically in abstract mind places— just look at Horse Face's stupid skull desert! Plus you dug yourself up from being buried alive, sort of, and you do generally spend an unusual amount of time underground, so this will be easy. All you have to do is edge toward the idea of it, let the intention of it grasp and take hold of you—

You dig. The junk proves unruly, constantly shifting under you your feet, and several times you hit unexpected rubble or rebar and are forced to turn back. After the final failed attempt, you grab the landscape by its corners and sift it thoroughly, letting the detritus sink and the airy things rise— chief among them a waist-high scum of paper, white and yellow, crinkled and dirty, drawn and written and scribbled upon. Some of it is love letters. Much of it, actually, is love letters. The less-misspelled ones are soppy and trite, and the more-misspelled ones are smashed and desperate: I need you. I can't be without you. You are my life, my light, my sun; I revolve around you.

For what it's worth, the sun has also filtered to the top. Nestled in an empty envelope, it's the size of a large pebble. You conceal it in your fist to protect your eyes and whisper things to it.

You tell it to leave you alone. It does not respond. You tell it to leave Ellery alone. It does not respond. You ask it what's its problem, anyway, and get nothing. No emanations, no vibrations, no voice. It's a yellow-glowing marble. You could swallow it whole, if you wanted to.

Yeah, you like that idea. Swallow it whole. Show it what's for. What is it to you, even? An idol, a false-god, the stuff of decadence and ego— there's nothing at all of reality to it. The real sun, larger than ten men, perches untouched in the real sky. It has nothing to do with this man. This man and his bezoar have nothing to do with you. Swallowing it whole, digesting it into yourself and your future: this is the way. You will shine brightly. You will greet the new dawn. You will unhinge your jaw again, with caution, and you—

"YOU LITTLE BITCH!" "-itch!" Ellery doesn't look so good: he's pulling apart at the seams. His voice is doubled up over itself. "THIS IS BEYOND THE FUCKING PALE!" "-ale!" "IF YOU DON'T DROP THAT RIGHT FUCKING NOW, I—" "-ow, I—"

The sight of Ellery blowing a gasket is novel enough to freeze your jaw midair, and shortly after to close it. (Damnit! You thought you had a handle on that stuff, but...) You do nothing with the sun.

"I SAID DROP IT!" He has one-and-a-half crossbows out, a solid one and its afterimage. The air around him is smeary. "DON'T MAKE ME FUCKING COUNT DOWN!" "-own!"

(1/2)

"Um," you say. "I—"

"TEN!" "-en!"

>[1] Geez! You just wanted to fix your stupid headaches! Drop the sun and try to negotiate.
>>[A] Attempt to calm Ellery down. (How?) [Roll.]
>>[B] Tell him that this is kind of his fault, since he wouldn't help you fix your dumb sun stuff.
>>[C] Ask him if he's seeing all the same things you're seeing. He looks kind of funny.
>>[D] Ask him if he's ever written any love letters to Madrigal. (Ew.)
>>[E] Ask him what would happen if you swallowed the sun.
>>[F] Tell the truth about your [SUNSTROKE].
>>[G] Write-in.

>[2] He wants it? Fine! He's still not *scary.* Chuck the sun as hard as you can away from him.

>[3] Okay, it might have been the red stuff talking, but it was making some pretty convincing arguments? And you can handle some dumb sun stuff, easy. Swallow it. [...Roll.]

>[4] Write-in.

>>5588519
>[1] Geez! You just wanted to fix your stupid headaches! Drop the sun and try to negotiate.
>>[B] Tell him that this is kind of his fault, since he wouldn't help you fix your dumb sun stuff.
>>[E] Ask him what would happen if you swallowed the sun.

>>5588519
[1]
[B]
[E]

>>5588519
>1BE
make sure to let out an exaggerated sigh as we drop it too

>>5588519
>1

B
C
F

>>5588524
>>5588680
>>5589180
>1B, 1E

>>5589236
>1B, 1C, 1F

Called for 1B + 1E and writing.

File: something complicated wit(...).jpg (69 KB, 564x465)

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>Geez man chillax

You roll your eyes and set the sun down. "What's the big deal? You sound dumb when you yell, just so you know, I get why you don't usually— hey!"

He has thrust out a hand, grabbed hold of thin air, and yanked it toward him, slamming the space between you shut. You are, abruptly, face-to-face. He jams the crossbow into your stomach.

"You're not going to shoot me," you say primly. "You obviously—"

Ellery's lips thin. The triggers click, the bow-parts (or whatever they're called) zing, and you look down to see your torso swirling like mist. Behind you, the bolts thunk into something heavy.

"...Well," you say, "you just did that 'cause you knew it wouldn't hurt, so that doesn't count. Also, ha! That didn't hurt at all! I am a master of—"

"Could you please just shut the fuck up?" he says. The doubling has mostly contained itself. "Please just shut the fuck up."

You fold your arms. "Maybe if you were nicer, and more helpful, and didn't keep the dumbest secrets ever, then I'd be happy to! But no-o. I have one teeny problem, which you could fix instantly, and all you do is— is doubt me! And ask for explanations, and all sorts of horrible— so no, I won't shut the eff up, which is kind of a hypocritical thing to ask seeing as how you never shut up, eith—"

Where did the crossbow go? That's the first thing on your mind as Ellery plunges his spindly hand into your midsection, grasping... something. Not your organs, surely, but it might as well be: you feel abruptly raw. You stop talking.

>[-1 ID: 11/14]

"Sorry," Ellery says. "Sorry. I— I don't— please just get the fuck out of here."

He's rooted you to the spot, actually, but you don't feel like pointing out this out. "Why are you so mean to me?"

"I— what?" The corners of his mouth twitch up. "You— you're— you're barging into my head, stealing my shit, ruining my entire life, and you think I'm—"

He's rubbing his thumb across the whatever-it-is he's holding, vibrating you like a guitar string. You claw your hands. "You ruined your own stupid life! Like... objectively! All I did was tell people about it. And I wasn't stealing anything— I wasn't gonna swallow it— and the only reason why I entered into sacred communion is because you were mean and wouldn't help! So it's your own fault, really."

"Help with what?"

"With— it was really easy! I— I just needed you to activate your sun powers, and then I could either slay you, temporarily, or have my curse cleansed, and— but no! You had to make it weird, so I had to take matters into my own— ngh—" He's gripping tighter onto the whatever. "—hands. I was only going to talk with it a little bit, but it was dumb and useless, just like you. So there."

"Talk with the sun?" Ellery says.

You pause. "Yes?"

(1/2)

He laughs at you. "That's a normal thing to do!" you protest. "It's a magyckal object! And it's better than swallowing it, so— I wasn't going to swallow it. But I could've, and I wisely decided against—"

"Against swallowing it?" Ellery puts his boot over the sun. "Your first reaction to seeing—"

"I said I wasn't going to," you pout. "But what's the big deal? I thought it was going to be burning hot, or really big, or something, but it's just a... a gumball. You're so scared of that? What's it gonna do, glow at me?"

"I don't know what it'd do to you."

You sigh loudly. "Okay, but what did it do to you? Duh."

"Nothing. I— I don't know. A gumball?"

Is he confused or offended? Not that you care if he's offended. "Yeah? You know, it's a sort of— it's gum, but it's packed into the shape of a sphere, and it has a hard candy coating— not that this has a hard candy coating. But it's the same idea?"

"Is it?"

"Now you're just dodging the question," you say, and wince as he twists you around his finger. "Come on! It's not subtle, Ellery, not that you're ever—"

"I don't know what it'd do to you." He withdraws his hand and jabs it into his pockets. The sun still lies beneath his boot. "I don't know if it does anything, Charlotte. I'm not convinced it does. It's not magic. It's not a— a what— an artifact? A talisman? A gumball? Gullshit. Do you want to know what it is?"

Obviously you do, but you're too busy lacing your arms over your chest so he can't get back inside.

"It's a fucking skua. It turns up when I am at my worst and my weakest, and it— it— that's it. That's the pattern, Charlotte. I hallucinate suns when I feel like dogshit. Why? I don't know. Does it make things worse? Probably, because I fucking latch onto it, and I impart it with meaning, and it's my head, so that's the same thing as— so it's self-fulfilling, then, it's a downward spiral—"

He's doing the stupid rambling thing again. You've lost the plot. "So you're saying it's fine to swallow?"

"No! Are you stupid? It doesn't matter if it's— if it's actually magic, it'd—" Ellery rakes his hair back. "This isn't even a manse. We're just thoughts right now, Charlotte, you can't mess around with—"

That doesn't help. "So if I swallowed it I would have sun powers? They'd just be fake sun powers. Or alternately, you could do it, since you've got all the—"

"The fucking experience? No." Ellery's thrusting his skinny neck out at you. "I am not putting myself back in that place for some nosy little kid. End of story. Now, you can get the fuck out of here, or I can—"

(2/3)

Back to that. Well, whatever. If the sun thing isn't intrinsically magyckal (boo, hiss), why are you cursed? Showed up at Ellery's worst and weakest... to be totally fair, you were sort of at your weakest, too, being fake-tortured. You were starving in a cage in the sun, and all that. So now it... it... have you invested it with vile meaning? Damnit. You hope not, but all these mind things are so confusing. You wish Richard could've followed you in.

But you don't need Richard! Detective monocle: on. If there's nothing *powering* the sun stuff besides whatever you and Ellery have accidentally associated with it, surely you can... break those associations? You can have a fun, not-depressing sun time, um, whatever that would entail. Yes. You just have to... convince Ellery? Easy. Easy-peasy. The logistics are harder.

These options will have various effects.
>[1] Well, geez, it's Ellery's head, isn't it? And if he's such a god, blah blah blah, can he not just go in and happyfy his memories of the whole thing? And you can get Richard to do that for your torture memories. Done.
>[2] You're not hearing anything that would rule out the "cathartically slay sun monster" idea. If Ellery refuses to to be the sun monster, then can't you go slay... you don't know... memory Ellery? He wouldn't be mad about that, would he?
>[3] You're not saying that you need Richard to pump you full of happy juice to have a good time. You're just saying that, under the circumstances, it seems like a foolproof method. And surely he can provide enough for Ellery, too? You can have a, um, a party.
>[4] Just throw a regular sun-themed party in Ellery's manse. Get regular drunk. No need to mess around, here.
>[5] You really just think either you or him should swallow the sun. You just need to get in a positive mindset first, and keep in control, and then it's finished. Nothing extra needed.
>[6] Write-in???

>>5589884
>5
us for sure, he's clearly too COWARDLY
lacks our drive and heroic spirit
he should be thanking us
he's plagued by this gumball sun when he suffers and here we are offering to take it off his hands and into our stomach
all this is just his classic self sabotage

>>5589884
>>[5] You really just think either you or him should swallow the sun. You just need to get in a positive mindset first, and keep in control, and then it's finished. Nothing extra needed.

If this doesn’t work, we skip to the drunkenness.

>>5589884
>[4] Just throw a regular sun-themed party in Ellery's manse. Get regular drunk. No need to mess around, here.

>>5589884
>[1] Well, geez, it's Ellery's head, isn't it? And if he's such a god, blah blah blah, can he not just go in and happyfy his memories of the whole thing? And you can get Richard to do that for your torture memories. Done.

Could not call the vote or roll for outcome last night due to 4chan being borked; could not write because I needed to roll for outcome. Will call in some time.

Jesus christ, we're already on Page 5. I'm sorry for how slow the thread's been... hopefully we can resolve all the Ellery stuff and move forward by the time this falls off.

>>5590221
>>5590228
>[5]

>>5590472
>[4]

>>5590815
>[1]

Called for [5]. I was planning to roll for outcome here, but upon further rumination I have something in mind, so we'll be skipping that. Writing.

>1EF

afjskhfke thought the page had refreshed, ignore me

>>5592227
Ah, a time traveler from 3 days ago!

>>5592228
Just kidding. You're all good-- tune back in in ?3-60? minutes for a new slate of options.

>>5592230
That should be 30-60, though it'd be really great if I could have this done in 3 minutes.

>Deep throat it

Er, well... okay, maybe it is the other way around. Maybe the logistics are extremely easy, and convincing Ellery is the tricky part. Just because, while it's true that you previously decided against swallowing the sun, and you told Ellery you weren't going to— well, you didn't have all the facts, did you? You thought maybe you shouldn't swallow it because it'd magyck up your insides. Now that you know it's silly and fake (or know for sure that it's silly and fake, since the red stuff did kind of tell you), there's no issue. You'd practically be doing Ellery a favor.

Scratch that, you would be doing him a favor. No way he gets haunted by dumb imaginary suns after you've eaten it for him, right? If it fixes your thing, that's just a bonus. Yeah. And of course it will fix your thing— you don't see how it couldn't. Swallowing it just makes sense.

The problem with Ellery, though, is that he doesn't care about sense. Never has. It's practically built into him to be stubborn and irrational, and doubly so when dashing young women are doing him huge favors. (Shouldn't he be grateful you reunited him with Madrigal? God.) That settles it, then: you'll just swoop in and swallow the thing before he knows what's what, so he can't do his annoying mind stuff on you.

See? Extremely easy. "Uh-huh," you say. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Let me just, um— let me— here!"

You kick Ellery in the shin, forcing him to roll his foot back. As you shoot forward, hand outstretched, you can feel a change in the air; as you pluck up the sun and clench it in your fist, you hear churning behind you. You permit yourself a glance behind you— the junk wasn't piled up that high before, was it? And it wasn't looming in such an ominous fashion. Ellery has his hands in his pockets. "Why do I ever expect anything different?"

You contemplate this. "Um, I don't know?"

"I think I just delude myself. I go 'surely she can't be that deranged.' And every single time, I— is your guy putting you up to this? Tell me that much."

"My guy?"

"The one in you." He levels a finger at your chest. "Talks to you? Or through you? Don't fucking try to dodge the question. You owe me this much."

"I—" Damn. You were going to dodge the question. "If I did have a guy, hypothetically, then he wouldn't even be here right now. He's not able to commune. So. I mean, he wouldn't be able to, if he—"

Ellery laughs dryly. The junk rattles around. "Okay. What are you going to do with that?"

The sun is smooth in your palm. "Swallow it? Unless... do you think it would be better if I chewed?"

He laughs some more. "I doubt it."

(1/3?)

"Oh, okay. I guess I'll—" You pause. "You're not going to stop me? You could crash all that stuff on me, and— I mean, I'd be fine, but you could probably get it out of my hands, and we could have a proper fight, and— isn't this sort of boring? Wouldn't you rather, I don't know, turn into a giant beetle, or..."

"I wouldn't, actually."

"You should," you say helpfully. "I don't think you have a very good sense for big, climactic—"

"Look, I don't think anything I can do will stop you." Ellery has folded his arms tightly. "I think you've got the universe wrapped around your fucking pinky finger, or— or something, and I don't know how, if it's your guy, if it's your— your Scary Beast, if you're not really human, whatever the fuck. You've got something. Am I right?"

You fold your arms back. "Um, what? Perchance you mean my— my sprightly pluck? Because I'll admit, that does distinguish me from the lesser—"

"Nobody normal talks like that," Ellery says. "But I don't give a shit if you want to play coy. It doesn't matter. I can delay you— I can delay you for a long fucking time— I can probably make you miserable in the process. But give it to me straight. You're going to get what you want, right?"

You shift. "Well, I am endowed with... determination..."

"You are. You're going to pry that fucking thing from my chopped-off hands, and you're going to fucking swallow it. So let's skip the foreplay." He gestures. "Do it."

It's less fun when he tells you to do it: you have half a mind to spite him. But then what would you do? Keep being cursed? No way. You roll your eyes at Ellery (to put him in his place), open your—

[OPEN] your mouth and your cavernous throat, hollow your cheeks, air out your guts and things, lengthen and set yourself diagonal to become in all ways an freely given vessel for this false-god, this not-thing. Unfurl the red carpet of your tongue and usher it in. Think of the taste. (It tastes bright.) Think of the texture. (It feels lozenge-glossy. Also bright.) Think of one of your fangs puncturing into it like a fork into an eggshell and tuck it safely near the back of your throat. No chewing.

Swallowing is a more complicated process. You want to swallow it, and the rest of you wants to swallow it, but your body has mistaken it for a pebble and is issuing a gag order. An inglorious start. You reject it, sealing your lips shut, and tilt your neck to such an extent that gravity is forced to intervene. The sun falls into your—

(2/3? 4?)

File: Spoiler Image (51 KB, 736x1104)

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There is you and you and your body on this level of things, though given the circumstances "level" might be strong. You have paper-mâchéd together a little pocket of order, how about that, and put a sort-of self into it. You have contained the sun into a tiny, throat-size package. All of this is safe and convenient for you. You don't or won't or can't realize that you're inside the trembling void, too, that you and you and the sun are mirrored down through— what— Ellery's subconscious? Is it even his, that deep? You are distorted and thinned and expanded down there, rendered to metaphor, so that even as you

feel the sun roll as a marble does down the greased track of your throat, leaving a trail of gently scalded flesh,

you are somewhere getting your jaws around a bright thing, planet-sized, spitting and wrestling it inside of yourself,

and even as it plops into your stomach, releasing a corona of light out through your ears and nose and eyeballs, you are

incandescent, bulging with it, squeezing it bodily into the depths of you, you gleam and you are

briefly, regretting everything— not just because you're gasping for air (your lungs are full of light), but because there's more of you than you and your body put together, right now. You are ecstatic for the sunlight, starving for it, twining up to suck it in, branching and leafing and flowering again— white flowers, this time, clean and beautiful. This red stuff never really fit you, did it? You're not out to bloody the world— it's foul enough as is! Oh, but sunlight— you know— sunlight's a natural disinfectant.

>[LOST: SUNSTROKE]
>[GAINED: SUNSTRUCK - ???]

You swallow. Eons below you, you swallow, too, and plunge the world into total darkness.

-

"Charlie? Primrose?"

Your father? Your father is here— is dead— is here, above you, brow knitted. He smells mainly of cigarettes. He's wearing a... a dumb sweater...

God-damnit. It's just Richard. You sit upright and cough, startling Madrigal, who's hovering some ways behind him. Earl, too. And Ellery, er— well— he's on the settee, but it looks like he's been propped there, and he's steaming out the ears a little bit. Oh dear.

"Primrose? Are you lucid?"

You smack your lips. Your mouth is ash. "Huh?"

"Well, I suppose I can..." He presses a thumb to your forehead. You bat him away. "Yeah! I'm— I'm fine. Geez. A lot of help you were— what are you doing here?"

"Was I to leave you to perish?"

"Yeah? I mean—" You make eye contact with Madrigal and Earl. "—there's company..."

"Charlie, some things in life are more important than discretion." He helps you up. "Moreover, I've already met these charming individuals, so there's not much discretion to be lost. Are you feeling well?"

(3/4)

You think you were hallucinating more than usual, or something, because the red stuff is quiet. No signs of murder impulses. No signs of being burned or glowy or anything, either— but then again there's Ellery. "Mostly... Um, is he...?"

"Guy's been through worse," Earl says confidently. "Usually it just takes him a few to get situated, then it's back on like nothing—"

"I concur," says Richard. Madrigal says nothing, just jabs her thumbs into her pockets. You flex your fingers. "Um... okay. Cool. So now what?"

>[1] A little drunkenness will do a lot to smooth things over, maybe, probably. Set about prepping a "SORRY I MESSED YOU UP A LITTLE BIT" party for Ellery to wake up to.
>[2] Drag Richard out of earshot of the others. You have a lot to discuss.
>[3] Ellery won't be waking up for a little while, will he? Pop back out to reality for a hot second and check on Gil. You did, er, leave him and Pat alone together.
>[4] Chat with Madrigal and/or Earl? (What do you say? Write-in.)
>[5] Write-in.

>>5592276
>Chat with Madrigal and/or Earl? (What do you say? Write-in.)
Compare experiences of eating the sunlight.

>>5592276
>1
but also mention you took the sun off his hands and it won't haunt him anymore so really you deserve a thank you. in fact he should be throwing you a party.

also dang maddy and earl saw nice richard

>1
(2 if we can get Richard drunk at the party first~)

cant wait to see what sunstruck does!

>>5592276
>[1] A little drunkenness will do a lot to smooth things over, maybe, probably. Set about prepping a "SORRY I MESSED YOU UP A LITTLE BIT" party for Ellery to wake up to.
Feels like we're having a party every thread now, epic.

>>5592276
>>[1] A little drunkenness will do a lot to smooth things over, maybe, probably. Set about prepping a "SORRY I MESSED YOU UP A LITTLE BIT" party for Ellery to wake up to.

>>5592743
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think the last time you actually got drunk (or "drunk") was in Thread 27, when the Courtiers invited you out, then kind-of sort-of when fixing Gil in 22 (iirc it was one drink while playing darts). You've had opportunities to relax or party since then, which you might be thinking of, but you've generally opted against them.

>>5592519
>>5592743
>>5592746
>>5592612
>[1]

>>5592301
>[4]

Called for [1], but I don't see why you can't ask Madrigal about her sun experience in the process. You can sidle up to Richard if or when he gets tipsy. Writing.

>>5592519
>in fact he should be throwing you a party
kek

>PARTY TIME

"Well," says Earl, "if it's all the same to you ladies, it seems to me like the party's over. Feels a bit shit to leave Nettie and your pal sitting on their thumbs, eh? ...Even if one of them is a jacker."

You heard about 10% of that. "A party?"

"Well, the situation, you know? The gig. I'm glad I could be here to support you ladies— I mean, I knew the guy had problems, but yeesh! What a shitshow! Hope he doesn't bite my head off next time we—"

"You're right! We should throw a party." You clap your hands together. "In honor of my successful detectiving, of course— we can call this a prelude to Game Night, Madrigal?"

Madrigal has sat down next to a still-unresponsive Ellery. She crosses her legs. "Fuck you."

What? Huh? What did you even do? You look between Earl, who frowns sympathetically at you, and Richard, who pats you on the shoulder. "Charlie," he says into your ear, "I believe she's concerned about her ex-boyfriend's condition, and this is being expressed as peevishness. For best results, I would recommend laying off the self-aggrandizement and acknowledging her emotion as valid."

What? That's— that's— you're not self-whatevering, firstly, you're just correctly recognizing your great contribution here, and secondly: how is this your fault? Him and Earl just said that Ellery was going to be fine, and probably all of them had a whole conversation about it earlier. So Madrigal's just being dumb and stubborn here, and she's taking it as an excuse to be mean to you, like she always does. You glare at her.

"I didn't say you had to accept it as rational, primrose. It seems to me that human emotional is very rarely rational. All you need to do is acknowledge it, and perhaps it'll mollify her enough to allow a party. Then you'll have gotten what you want, won't you?"

This is— geez! Can't he just hijack your mouth to say whatever dumb stuff he wants to say? Or call you stupid for not getting it? This is terrible. And it's worse because his logic is sound.

You elbow Richard away from you. "Ahem... I am aware of the fact that you are being a total bitch because Ellery looks kind of dead, and you want to kiss him on the mouth some more, and you're sad you can't do this. Never fear! He will soon be not dead, and you can do whatever disgusting things you want to him then. But perhaps we should prepare a— um— a party to celebrate him not being dead? And also me, of course, but I can— a party can be about two things. Surely?"

(1/2)

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Madrigal's eyes crinkle. "Is this what Richard told you to tell me?"

"Um," you say, "I don't know what you're talking about. I— I extracted my verbiage of my own free will, if you would like to know, and— hey!" She's snickering at you! "What did I say! I made an exceedingly generous offer, and you—"

"We can throw a fucking party. Whatever. Earl?"

Earl scratches his chin. "Ah... well... not to turn down a party, especially not one with you fine ladies, but I am still feeling the last one. And I've gotta keep in prime condition for my job, so—"

"Don't be modest." Madrigal splays her arms over the back of the settee. "You drank a quart of that godforsaken shit and still were walking, talking— what's a little glass, Earl? Ever heard of hair of the dog? Besides, I assume we're not getting plastered— Charlotte?"

Oh. Damn. You were hoping everything would work itself out on its own, but no dice. "Um, no! No plastering. Just little glasses." You can always drink multiple little glasses, if the need arises. "And, er, banners, and... streamers, potentially, and..."

"Cake?" Madrigal says. "Pointy hats?"

Ah! She's coming up with all the ideas for you! "Yes! Precisely, yes."

"Har-har-har!" It takes a moment for you to interpret the noise as Earl guffawing. "I like this plan! Pick up the mood around here! Where do you propose we get the cake?"

You look at Richard. Richard sighs. "The present creator of the manse could procure any of those things easily. I love you, Charlie, but I'm not an universal miracle-worker."

He what? Oh, God. Oh, God, you need to— you need to intervene, as soon as possible. He's sick in his head.

"But..." And he's taken your stunned non-response as a cue. "...I could most likely, with some difficulty, provide these things— if that'd be beneficial to you, Charlie. I would like to help out. I'd just encourage you to temper your expectations."

"Uhhh," you say. "Uhhhhh, yes. Indeed. Whatever you've got to— got to—"

"Any other objections?"

Madrigal caught it too: her eyes have narrowed incredulously. Earl has caught nothing. "Hey, it's worth a hell of a shot, isn't it? Worse case we get half a cake, and that's not so bad! Har-har. Anything we can do to—?"

"Close your eyes," Richard says. "Don't open them until I tell you. That's all."

Earl receives this instruction affably, and you and Madrigal, after exchanging glances, comply. You hear very little, but at one point feel Richard's fingers brush against your forehead, and feel, as a well, drawn out of.

>[-1 ID: 10/14]

Then you snap open your eyes at Richard's command and discover: a round, uncertain end table, an unadorned cake, a few crowded cups, wispy streamers, and a cream-colored banner. The banner evidently used to say something else, but it's illegible now: painted on top is "CONGRATULATIONS ON THE EXPOSURE OF YOUR LIES!"

(2/3)

Madrigal chuckles darkly and goes in for a cup. After a moment drinking everything in (the scene makes you feel a little funny), you follow. Inside most of them is champagne, from the looks of it, but you heat-seek the one topped with an umbrella and are pleased to find your suspicions confirmed.

Richard, clad in a pointy hat, picks up his own cup. "I'd propose a toast, but I feel as though we ought to wait for the guest of honor."

Nobody disagrees. When Earl strikes up a conversation with Richard about the cake, you turn to Madrigal. "Hey..." you say, and sip from your pink cocktail. "So, er... you sucked the sun juice out of Ellery, didn't you? Like a bat?"

"What?" You hate it when she raises her eyebrows like that. "I mean— I don't know where the fuck bats get involved, but— I guess so?"

"A-ha." Good. "Just asking, but did you— did anything weird happen to you? While you were doing that? Random example, did you get any thoughts about blood? Or... or being a giant snake? Again."

And the eyebrows go down. "No? The fucker evaporated my cool shit, but that didn't involve any blood. Or bats."

"Uh-huh," you say, and take a longer sip of the cocktail.

>[A1] One drink is tipsy. Enough to loosen you up a little bit, but not enough to cry or vomit. Easy.
>[A2] Two drinks is inebriated. Enough to get you really talking, and also possibly cry. But not vomit. You missed out on the fun last night, so you deserve it, really.
>[A3] Three drinks (and beyond) is drunk. Because what the hell? You might be in an okay mood right now, but that doesn't change the fact that you've been through a nightmare and a half recently. You *need* it.

>[B1] Let Richard finish his drink, then drag him aside. Enough is enough.
>[B2] One cup isn't nearly enough for the matter at hand. "Strongly encourage" that Richard get properly drunk, then drag him aside. (Any particular strategies?) [Roll.]
>[B3] Just mingle until Ellery comes to. (Anything particular to say or do?)
>[B4] Write-in.

>>5593382
>[A1] One drink is tipsy. Enough to loosen you up a little bit, but not enough to cry or vomit. Easy.
>[B3] Just mingle until Ellery comes to.

>>5593382
>>[A2] Two drinks is inebriated. Enough to get you really talking, and also possibly cry. But not vomit. You missed out on the fun last night, so you deserve it, really.
>[B3] Just mingle until Ellery comes to.

>>5593382
>[A2] Two drinks is inebriated. Enough to get you really talking, and also possibly cry. But not vomit. You missed out on the fun last night, so you deserve it, really.
>[B1] Let Richard finish his drink, then drag him aside. Enough is enough.

>>5593382
>[A1] One drink is tipsy. Enough to loosen you up a little bit, but not enough to cry or vomit. Easy.
>[B1] Let Richard finish his drink, then drag him aside. Enough is enough.

>>5593379
>You elbow Richard away from you. "Ahem... I am aware of the fact that you are being a total bitch because Ellery looks kind of dead, and you want to kiss him on the mouth some more, and you're sad you can't do this. Never fear! He will soon be not dead, and you can do whatever disgusting things you want to him then. But perhaps we should prepare a— um— a party to celebrate him not being dead? And also me, of course, but I can— a party can be about two things. Surely?"
11/10 nailed it

>A2
>B3
Double tiebreaker!
If we're gonna deal with Richard I really don't want to do it inside Ellery's head

>>5593746
>>5593873
>>5594175
>[A2]

>>5593388
>>5593882
>[A1]

>>5593388
>>5593746
>>5594175
>[B3]

>>5593873
>>5593882
>[B1]

Called for [A2] and [B1] and writing.

>>5594175
>11/10 nailed it
Charlotte Fawkins is a master of social interaction.

Rolled 6, 8 = 14 (2d8)

Actually, hang on. Gonna roll quickly for actions you take while inebriated.


1 = Richard procures a gramophone, and you bust a move to the best of your limited ability.
2 = You accidentally hook a fang through your cup and require a delicate operation to remove it without paralyzing anybody.
3 = You drunkenly fumble your way through the topic of Gil and your relationship with him.
4 = You engage Madrigal in a plot to dress Ellery in silly clothes before he wakes up.
5 = You reminisce about the dearly departed Annie and begin to weep.
6-8 = You are a model of decorum and don't do anything particularly alcohol-induced.

Rolled 8 (1d8)

>>5594484
>Nothing, nothing
Well, that's not very fun. (Only a 14.1% chance, too.) In the interest of the update not being super short, I'll give it one more roll.

>>5594488
...You hold your liquor really well! Writing.

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>Ready to mingle

Thank God that Madrigal moves on from the topic swiftly, and thank God for the drink, which begins to round out the sharp corners almost as soon as you've got it down. Which is not to say you find it necessary to survive a party, even a party you yourself proposed. That would be preposterous. You are merely getting in the appropriate spirit, emphasis on 'spirit,' and you— you— well, you do force your empty cup into Richard's face and request a refill, but it's for insurance. One drink might not work on you, on account of your unusual vigor (as well as several straight months of evening bargoing)!

The second goes down much the same as the first, and you have half a mind to go in for a third before Richard, hatefully, shakes his head. "Everything in moderation, Charlie."

You can't even declare him a hypocrite, because he's still nursing his first. Damn it. You dive into the cake instead and discover it to be oily and flavor-light, if sweet. Earl cuts a huge square for himself and dips a corner into his cup. "What?" he says, at your look. "It's like a sponge!"

Madrigal initially abstains from cake, but after a little while ventures over and cuts herself a sliver. She gnaws it. "Geez, this cake is shit."

"It was a rush job," Richard says warmly. "I find wine tends to help with such situations."

Background music: https://youtu.be/P1EG__jgefA

For you it's liquor, but it's the same idea: your shoulders loosen, your back slackens, and your thoughts unravel themselves into a pink heap. Richard drifts out of focus. Most things drift out of focus. The time passes sweetly, but flavor-light, with a kind of unspoken compact to avoid the Ellery in the room: eventually Madrigal is able to go 30 seconds without glancing back at him. Earl, at home among criminals, spins tales of his "night job," and you chime in reluctantly after he prompts you about the heist. (Madrigal is unsurprised— maybe Branwen caught her up to speed?)

After wrapping that up, you posit questions about his— what is it— blood magyck? Earl laughs it off: call it drugs, he says. What can he say?, he says. It's a living! No, he's never turned into a giant worm, why do you ask?

Madrigal seems to think that you're proposing ridiculous hypotheticals, and proposes some ridiculous hypotheticals of her own. What if you were... would you rather... if you had to fuck one of them, what would you... You pay each the deepest concentration you can muster, which is not very much, and none at all for anything bawdy. Richard answers everything with real seriousness and about a paragraph of logical justifications, which seems to amuse both Earl and Madrigal. And on and on it goes, and you recline inside the moment and are able to enjoy it.

>[+2 ID: 12/14]

(1/2)

It helps that Richard is there, next to you, to rub your shoulder gently every time you begin to say something on impulse. Warm with wine and cake, nobody notices. Nobody even notices when Ellery first stirs: he has to fully sit upright to draw your attention.

He pats with crimped fingers his hat. (On Earl's insistence, you're all wearing them.) "What the fuck...?"

"It's her fault," Madrigal says falsely. "Welcome back, Ell. Had a nice time being dead? Escaping your gullshit?"

He plucks the string around his chin in thought. "I wasn't dead, Maddie. I just... I needed to re-condense. And I can never escape my gullshit, as you people have squarely demonstrated, so I don't know what you want me to say. Were you worried?"

"No. Why the fuck would I be worried?" Madrigal pretends to down her cup, though you saw her finish it fifteen minutes ago.

"I don't know," Ellery says.

"Whatever," you say. "Shut up with your... your gross flirting. We need to talk business."

Ellery pauses. "Are you drunk?"

"I'm..." You focus. "...innebrated. To business!"

>[A] So he thinks that Headspace is mass-siphoning Law en masse from people who tried to install one of their manses. That's not good! Does he have, um, suggestions for what to do about it?
>[2] Get away from Madrigal and Earl, then inform him that you ate the sun for him, and you even put yourself through some weird hallucinations for it. He's welcome?
>[3] Get away from Madrigal, then tell Ellery that she actually was worried about him, and probably wants to kiss him on the face some more as soon as she can get plausible deniability.
>[4] Ask Ellery what he plans to do with himself now that he's been exposed for good.
>[5] Ask Ellery if Management will be after you (or Earl or Madrigal) now.
>[6] Offer Ellery a drink.
>[7] Write-in.

>>5594535
>>[6] Offer Ellery a drink.
Boo hoo, no fun

>>5594535
>[A] So he thinks that Headspace is mass-siphoning Law en masse from people who tried to install one of their manses. That's not good! Does he have, um, suggestions for what to do about it?
>[6] Offer Ellery a drink.
>[5] Ask Ellery if Management will be after you (or Earl or Madrigal) now.

>>5594535
in this order
>5
>6
>2
except don't bother dragging him away
the whole party must know of our good deeds

I'd vote for A too except we already know what he suggests to do about it, join his dream delving club and participate in the occasional mercy kill. Except he knows we took his protagonist role and hates us for it so maybe he doesn't want us to join.

>>5594683
>except we already know what he suggests to do about it
Not necessarily. Just because he's stuck doing limited hit-and-run attacks doesn't mean you are.

>maybe he doesn't want us to join.
Unfortunately for Ellery, you are already joined.

>>5594958
We can throw in an A at the end then.

also we're still a member? I may be delusional but I thought we pissed off Anthea something fierce and maybe got excommunicated or something

>>5594535
>>[A] So he thinks that Headspace is mass-siphoning Law en masse from people who tried to install one of their manses. That's not good! Does he have, um, suggestions for what to do about it?
>>[6] Offer Ellery a drink.
>>[5] Ask Ellery if Management will be after you (or Earl or Madrigal) now.

Sorry about the [A] instead of a [1], folks. I was considering making two sets of options, switched it around, and was too sleep-deprived to notice that I left the [A] in.

>>5594550
>>5595398
>>5595404
>[1]

>>5594537
>>5594550
>>5594683
>>5595404
>[6]

>>5594550
>>5594683
>>5595404
>[5]

>>5594683
>[2]

Called for [1], [5], and [6], then writing shortly.


>>5595398
>I may be delusional but I thought we pissed off Anthea something fierce and maybe got excommunicated or something
You did piss her off, but she didn't do much except yell at you a little bit and then faint. If you are excommunicated, you haven't been made aware of it. (Really, you haven't seen or spoken to Anthea at all since it happened.)

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>>5595581
So I wrote this, posted it, and then spent the next 2.5 hours feeling like absolute crap (physically) for no good reason at all. I'm a little better now, but I'm gonna take this as a sign from the gods and delay the update until tomorrow. You have my apologies.

Back at it. Writing.

File: ellerys - @cjthekid2003.jpg (2.24 MB, 3371x2846)

2.24 MB JPG

>To business!

You clap your hands together, then clap them a little harder, since the first one wasn't decisive enough. Ellery has a look like he wishes he were dead. "Ahem!" you say. "Okay! Business, business, business, business... are we all going to be murdered?"

Ellery looks at Madrigal. "Fair question," she drawls. "Considering who your stupid ass contracted with. Fuckin'... Evil McEvilCorp..."

"I—" He sighs out his nose. "I didn't— it was fucking Casey, alright? It was Casey. I didn't know there was a whole pack of shady assholes, it was above-board, I— you're drunk, Maddie."

"I've had a drink, genius. Answer her question."

Earl leans forward. "I can't say I'm too much worried for my physical safety, but I think these ladies deserve a little fucking peace of—"

"Okay! I didn't really need a whole— I don't know. If you're caught, maybe. Probably. But they're not all-knowing, so if you kept your mouths shut, didn't do anything stupid, I doubt much would come of it. If you didn't..." He nods pointedly at you. "Well, I tried not to make this anybody else's problem."

"And you sucked at it," you say cheerily. "Sucked so bad you just— you sucked— like a lamprey!"

Nobody acknowledges your clever turn of phrase. "Yeah," Madrigal says. "You sure fucking bungled that one— not to mention it should've been my problem from the start, shithead. Instead, you invented some poor idiot to take the heat—"

"Would you rather I'd vanished, Maddie?"

"Yes! Yes! Hell yes, I would've— you invented a guy to suffer for you! To fucking die! I don't think you grasp how..." She grips for the words. "All because you're a coward. You're not dumb, Ellery, you're a fucking coward. Are you happy with yourself?"

Ellery slides his sunglasses over his eyes. It's a while before he speaks. "Have I sounded happy with myself, Maddie?"

"I—"

"Do you want a drink?" you interject. "We have lotsa drinks— wine— things that aren't wine, if you ask—"

"I don't get drunk," Ellery says. His voice is controlled. "They're not real drinks, I know they aren't, it doesn't work. I can make myself drunk, but I'm not going to do that."

"Wonder why," says Madrigal, and rolls her shoulders. "You planning on doing anything about the patsy, Ellery? He's useless now. Are you gonna kill him for good? Take him back around and shoot 'em through the eye? It'd be more humane than—"

"I can barely contact him. I get notes, that's it. I don't control him, I can't kill him, Maddie, he'd come back if I did. And I can't make him me. I'm not—" He takes a deep breath. "I'm not a god. He'll probably keep going like he has been. I don't know if the mechanism will wear out eventually, or..."

"Cool. Cool. And you?"

"Huh?"

"Are you going to wear out eventually? Or is the world just stuck with you, Ellery fuckin' Routh, a tumor on its—"

(1/3)

File: real ellery - @wolfnoir.jpg (5.92 MB, 3365x3670)

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"I don't know," Ellery says. "Was That Guy gonna wear out eventually? I don't know. I don't think so. He wasn't a real guy, Maddie. So you're stuck with me, and I'm stuck with me, and Anthea's stuck with me, and the victims are— are stuck with me. There's new ones faster than I can kill them, did you know that? It's pointless. And I still have nothing— literally nothing— better to do."

"Have you tried modeling?" you say. "With clay? It's fun! It's better than murdering random— ow!" Richard is squeezing your shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want a— a— a drink? You seem pretty cranky, Ellery, and he can— Richard can— I mean, any kind of—"

"Richard?" Ellery looks past you for the first time and jolts back. "Son-of-a-bitch! Who the hell— who the fuck—"

"Hello! I'm Charlie's father," Richard says, before you can convince him to say literally anything else. He must've told Madrigal already, because all she does is make a face. Earl chuckles (nervously, you think). Ellery's eyebrows go way, way up. "I'm just here to pitch in. I do mix a mean drink— from what I've been told— but no pressure! Charlie can be a little pushy when she wants to get her way, doesn't she?"

He nudges you like he made a joke, or something. Nobody laughs. Ellery's crossbow is out. "You're not her dad. You're not fucking human."

"And?" Richard says, and stops there. He and Ellery stare at each other, hard, for long enough that you begin to feel restless.

"Hey Ellery!" you say. "So you're just going to murder people forever?"

Richard smiles and pats your shoulder. Ellery is dour. "Do you see a better solution for me, O Great And Powerful Charlotte?"

"For you? No! Psshaw." You wave that off. "I was thinking that somebody actually capable could go in and... you know... hit them at the source. There has to be a source, right? And you go explode that, or set that on fire, and everybody dies! In a— in a good way! No more scary dying people, no more Law stealing—"

"Law?" Madrigal says. Ellery's expression hasn't changed. "That's stupid."

"It is— it is not. I have been very successful at blowing things up, I'll have you know, and—"

"You'd have to be insane. Hitting the source? You know they have people, right? Employees, guards, fucking Management lurking around— you'd be caught and shot, or experimented on. No way you—"

He cuts himself off and looks angry.

"What?" you say.

(2/3)

File: real ellery - @perpetualpeep.gif (2.41 MB, 1200x798)

2.41 MB GIF

"No way a normal person would ever pull it off. No way a normal, human person—" Eyes on Richard. "It couldn't be done."

"But would it work?" you say.

"If somebody gullshitted her way into blowing up the fucking heart of Headspace, then—" He purses her lips. "I don't see why it wouldn't work?"

"And that's a good thing? That'd shut down all the trapped people, and..."

Ellery doesn't even bother responding.

"Okay! Just checking," you say.

>[A1] Attempt to drunkenly clarify with Ellery that Richard is a snake and also your dad, so it all makes sense, actually.
>[A2] Attempt to drunkenly argue that he isn't really your dad: he only counts on a technicality!
>[A3] Other drunken Richard explanation (or "explanation"?) (Write-in.)

>[B] Final questions/comments/etc. for Ellery? (Optional write-in.) You'll be able to speak with him again, but probably not until you get back to camp at the soonest.

>>5596847
>[A2] Attempt to drunkenly argue that he isn't really your dad: he only counts on a technicality!
>[B] Attempt to kiss, drunkenly!

>>5597075
>[B] Attempt to kiss, drunkenly!
Kiss Ellery? You would rather die.

>>5596847
>>[A1] Attempt to drunkenly clarify with Ellery that Richard is a snake and also your dad, so it all makes sense, actually.

>>5596847
>[A2] Attempt to drunkenly argue that he isn't really your dad: he only counts on a technicality!

>>5596847
>A1
>B
Ask why he hasn't thanked you yet for taking the sun off his hands.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>5597239
>>5597625
>[A1]

>>5597075
>>5597256
>[A2]

Flipping and writing.

>>5597625
>B
This veers pretty darn close to [2] from the previous update, which didn't get a majority. While I normally take write-ins without them needing much support, I feel uncomfortable including something that the voterbase seems largely against.

>Seeya

Ellery slumps back. "So that's it? You're done. You don't need me anymore. You and your fucking fake dad— I don't know who you're trying to fool with that, by the way, but it's not even close."

You square your shoulders. "Excuse me?! I'll have you know that—"

"Charlie, it's quite alright," Richard says.

"I'll have you know that he is NOT my fake dad, and that's a— a rude and extremely hurtful term, and if he comes across as not human, which nobody has ever said about him, by the way, since he does a— a— a really good job of acting, then it's because he... he's a snake. But also my dad. He got bit by a snake and died, then a baby snake came out of— of him, like yours, Madrigal, except it still had his consh— conck— consi— um, his—"

"Consciousness."

"Yes!" you say, and slap Richard on his forearm. "That! And he lost all his memories and feelings and stuff, but he was still— I mean, still is my father, who is a snake. So there."

You tug at your collar through the silence that follows. "That's fucking horrifying," Madrigal says eventually.

"That's—" Ellery gestures. "Okay. Cool. Sorry. You and your fucking snake dad are going to barge in, ruin my life, kill me, and vanish? Is that how it's going to be? You've gotten all you need from me, so—"

As much as you'd like to agree wholeheartedly, and as much as you'd like to think you can barge in with precisely zero preparation and burn the thing to the ground, you're not drunk enough for either. (Besides, the more interaction with Ellery, the more chance you have to rub your excellence in his face.) "Maybe for now."

"For now," he says. "Is there anything left?"

"Haven't decided yet." You toss your head. "But you want me to explode it, right? You wouldn't let all those millions and billions of people suffer horribly just because of a dumb, petty—"

He crosses his arms.

"So you should help me! If I need it! I probably won't, but just in case— can I just get a ticket, um, back here? Or a spare key? I can just swing back around, say hello—"

"Not a fucking chance. Are you kidding me?"

Earl leans in. "Hey, be reasonable, wontcha? Kid's claiming she can do the world and you a big fuckin' solid, so it's the least you can do to—"

"The least I can do is nothing."

"Then give me a key," Madrigal says abruptly. "Don't be a dick."

Her and Ellery exchange glances. You bounce on your heels. "...We'll talk about it," Ellery says. "Can you stay long...?"

"Not that long." She snatches a look at Earl. "But maybe. Sure. Are you done fucking with him, Charlotte?"

"I was not engaging in any intercourse!" You scowl. "But fine. Investigation... complete!"

-

Earl wakes up at the same time as you, red-faced and drowsy-eyed. Madrigal slumps catatonic over half the bed. She doesn't twitch when you poke her, or when you jostle her ankle.

(1/3)

"No use. Nobody's home." Earl claps you on the back. "Well— depends on the home! Take a breather, but I should check on the guests."

You have a stiff back and a mild headache, but feel uncomfortably sober. God, why did you go on about Richard like that? Why did you—

Well, you can deal with Richard later. All of him. For the moment, you have one guest in particular to check on.

-

You knew perfectly well that you yourself granted Gil the gift of life, AKA a real(ish) body, but you were still a smidge startled to see him at the table. Luckily, Gil was distracted, having nearly banged his knees springing up to see you. "Lottie!"

"Hi!" you say. "Are you still feeling okay? Pat didn't poison you, or—"

"Come on," Pat says, from the adjoining room.

Gil shakes his head. "I-I'm— um— it hasn't been that long. No complications so far—"

"Why would there be?" Pat says from the adjoining room.

Gil drums on the back of the chair. "I-I-It's weird to not have any contact with the, um, beetles, but I went a quarter-century like this, so I-I'm sure I can... adapt. I-I'm just glad to be out in the world again. Um, thank you."

You're not really sure how to respond. "Of— of course! It's just my noble— do you want to hear about all the Ellery stuff?"

"I-I-I don't know if I'll understand any of it..." He drums some more. "But sure."

You drag him out to the hallway and lower your voice, even though Earl's struck something up with Pat. Then you give him the gist of everything: your genius conclusions, your skillful negotiations, your gracious gift, Ellery's pathetic sniveling, Madrigal's disgusting two-facedness. Also, Earl was there. You conclude with the plan. "So I'll explode it!"

"What?" Gil says.

"Oh, sorry. We'll explode it!" You lean over the table toward him. "It's worked so far, hasn't it? And it's totally deserved, isn't it?"

"Um, I-I'm not against it... morally... I-I-I knew Headspace were pieces of shit, but this is..." Gil shakes his head slightly. "Um, I-I'm just concerned that this falls under the 'unnecessary risks' thing we talked about? Since you're one person—"

"We're two people," you correct.

(2/3)

"...We're two people, and they've got— I-I-I mean, they have to have hundreds of people stuck in there, and that's not counting the executive people? Or Management? Who knows how many goddamn Management people there are? I-It just doesn't seem... realistic."

You shake your head slowly and sadly.

"Sorry! Sorry! I-I think you should... if you want to risk your whole life bombing the goddamn Headspace offices, you should feel free to, but, um..." He grimaces. "Why?"

>[1] Because Madrigal STOLE your chance at glory, and now you're going to show her up by rescuing(/killing) way more people at once!
>[2] Because you want to irritate Ellery by doing his job for him.
>[3] Because Headspace (well, a Headspace manse) put you through that stupid Trial of Keys, and it sucked, and you have sworn your revenge!
>[4] Because there IS a conspiracy, clearly, even when Richard said there wasn't, and you're going to do whatever it takes to figure out the rest of it.
>[5] Because you just got him a body, and solved Ellery, and Richard's too freakishly nice to bother you about the Crown, and now you have nothing left to do with your life. This will— this has to fill the void.
>[6] Because you went in and talked to the Headspace employees, and they were nice to you (mostly), and their lives sucked, didn't they? They really sucked. If you can do something about that, you probably should.
>[7] Because you... you like setting things on fire, alright? Is that so wrong?
>[8] Write-in.

>>5598388
>[5] Because you just got him a body, and solved Ellery, and Richard's too freakishly nice to bother you about the Crown, and now you have nothing left to do with your life. This will— this has to fill the void.
It also seems like a step in getting the Crown back.

>>5598388
>And a question for Gil: how much Law can his apparatus store?
Would be really annoying to steal all of Headspace's Law and discover we can't store enough of it to fill up the Crown.

>>5598388
>[4] Because there IS a conspiracy, clearly, even when Richard said there wasn't, and you're going to do whatever it takes to figure out the rest of it.
The only way to win in the schizoverse is to be the biggest schizophrenic of all.

>>5598388
>6
>8
>Because we're a heroine and it's the right thing to do
5 with a layer of delusion

>>5598388
>>[5] Because you just got him a body, and solved Ellery, and Richard's too freakishly nice to bother you about the Crown, and now you have nothing left to do with your life. This will— this has to fill the void.
>[4] Because there IS a conspiracy, clearly, even when Richard said there wasn't, and you're going to do whatever it takes to figure out the rest of it.
>8
>Because we're a heroine and it's the right thing to do

Also a light sprinkling of:
>[7] Because you... you like setting things on fire, alright? Is that so wrong?

>>5598388
>>5598903
oh yeah can't forget
>7
I thought I had it in there, think I deleted it by accident

>>5598404
>>5598609
>>5598903
>>5599089
>>5599196
All of these can be combined just fine. Writing shortly.

>>5598405
You can ask Gil this as well.

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>Well there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this

Why? Is it not obvious? You thought you'd managed to train him properly. "Um, because I'm a— a heroine? And it's my sacred duty to rescue innocent people from the grip from a wicked menace? And it actually is a— a wicked menace, honestly, I'm not making that up, they're actually imprisoning people, Gil— lots of people! Not just the people in jail, but the employees, too! And they're drugging them, I mean actually— you were there! You saw it, didn't you?"

"Um," Gil says. "Yeah, I-I-I... I mean, I wasn't really thinking straight, but I heard about the drugs. Yeah."

"So you know!" You splay your hands. "You know about the drugging! And I just told you about the wicked imprisonment and torture and such, so what's the problem? Exploding them is the obvious—"

"No it isn't?" Gil twists his hands. "Um, sorry, but it— I-I-I believe you about all this stuff, and it's really fucked-up, but I can't see how you leap from there to... explosions. What about taking the time to— to gather evidence? And expose them to the public? Or if you don't wanna do that, you could help the Ellery guy put the poor saps down? You're still helping, but you're not risking... I-I-I don't know... everything? On a shitty gamble?"

"I can't expose them," you say impatiently. "Or they'll wipe everybody's minds again! Like with locitis! And also they'll kill me!"

"Oh."

"Yeah! And I'm not going to do what Ellery does, that's just— that's boring, Gil. That's slow, and boring, and it means I have to talk to Ellery, and it does almost nothing. He said they had thousands of people like this, you realize? That's basically millions! That's— it'd take a million years to kill all of them! And we wouldn't even figure out what it was all for! No." You cross your arms. "Also, it's way cooler to explode the whole thing. And it'd be fun. Wouldn't it be fun?"

Gil sucks his cheek in.

"It— it would be fun! Us together, sneaking around, eavesdropping, unraveling conspiracies— you could make fun of some more Headspace people— I could venomize some guards— and then bam!" You make an explosion with your arms. "In flames! And we'd be blasted out of there, basically, straight into the adoration of the town— not the town! Everybody! Everybody in the world! Or at least everybody in the world underwater. Huh?"

(1/2)

"Um..." Gil says. "Well, that does seem like the... best-case scenario..."

"Yes! Precisely. Positive thinking." You pound the wall with your fist for emphasis, hurting your hand. "Ow. We are practicing positive thinking here, Gil, because— because that is my life philosophy, and terrible things happen when I do not follow my life philosophy! So don't start negativing up the place. Besides, it's— wouldn't you rather explode Headspace than do nothing? Because that's the other option. We sit around and do nothing, forever, and I— you know, that's when I drink quite a lot, and— it's not an environment conducive to positive thinking! So we're doing this. End of story."

What happened to Gil? He looks abruptly contrite. (As of course he should, but—) "...I got it. Sorry."

"Oh," you say. "Well, of course. Why?"

He twists his hands.

"...This isn't about last night, is it?"

"Um..." Gil says.

>Earl and Pat are busy elsewhere: you can assume you won't be overheard.

>[A1] Make it very clear to Gil that whatever he saw or heard last night was not a representation of any true feelings whatsoever, and you were out of your mind, and he should disregard it all immediately.
>[A2] Admit to Gil that you were in a bad, horrible place last night, and maybe you said some things that you wouldn't normally let yourself ever say, or think. But you're feeling much better now! So he shouldn't worry one bit about you!
>[A3] Write-in.

You will ask him about the Law doohickey's holding capacity along with all these.
>[B1] You don't think he fully understood your explanation for the (completely justifiable) "licking incident." Attempt to clarify/save face/apologize.
>[B2] Ask about the beetles. He can't sense them at all? Is that... bad? Good? Is he sure he can't just let them out of him if he wants to?
>[B3] So now that you're definitely committed to the Headspace plan, does he have any good ideas for how to go about it?
>[B4] Hey, randomly, um... his blessing doesn't sense anything weird about the red stuff, right? It wouldn't be changed at all, e.g. by absorbing anything? Ha ha. That'd be crazy.
>[B5] Let him know the scary news that Richard appears to be legitimately, disturbingly nice.
>[B6] Write-in.

>A2
damn, wanna do all the Bs but especially
>B1
>B4

>>5599608
>>A2
>>B1
>>B4

>>5599608
>A2
>B4, 5

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I hate morning classes, folks. No update for the sake of my (already shaky) sleep schedule, vote remains open. Big apologies for how sporadic I've been this thread-- I have to wrap it up a week early for unrelated RL reasons, so hopefully I'll be able to recharge and come at it in 33 with improved mojo.

take care!! dont mess up your sleep on our account!

>>5599611 (checked)
>>5600111 (checked!)
>>5600520
>A2

>>5599611
>>5600111
>B1

>>5599611
>>5600111
>>5600520
>B4

>>5600520
>B5

>>5599611 tacitly supports everything, so I'll go with all three. Writing.

>What happens at 1 ID stays at 1 ID

Your guts twist. "That didn't mean anything! It wasn't— it was irrelevant, quite frankly, to the totality of my— of your— I order you to stop looking at me like that!"

Gil averts his eyes, and you feel, immediately, far worse. Damnit! You need to get a grip! Need to... need to assert your dominance, lest he start getting incorrect ideas about a personage of your... um...

...

Where has Richard gone? Is he on vacation? Is he dead again? He may as well be dead, for how useless he's been acting— the real Richard, the correct Richard, would be busy assuaging your annoying, unbecoming doubts. He would be giving helpful advice for the kinds of things to say to get Gil to forget about all that stuff. Or he'd just make Gil forget about all that stuff. If only! Is this what Gil felt like after you daringly fixed his whole brain? Surely not, because that was a heroic and unswerving thing to do, and it could not have possibly engendered such a degree of—

(But he rescued you last night. Not that it's remotely comparable, as you were made to risk your life and sanity and play terrible games of darts, and he just touched you one time. Using— lest you forget— pagan magyck, which is essentially cheating. Not to mention all the other times you've rescued him, which all tally up to make him firmly your inferior. As if that was in question.) (But he still rescued you, still was there for you, still cared about— you can't say that. He gave off the general appearance of caring about your well-being, which was good retainership regardless of how he actually felt. (It's not like Richard even bothered with the—

And you did share a... a proper embrace, which is a classical feature of the relationship between the heroine and her retainer, and bespeaks (to the well-raised) of nothing at all untoward. Only of a— a shared trust, and respect, and a, a, a friendly, um...

Gil continues to studiously avoid your gaze. You feel hot. "Um, you can, uh— you can look— I order you to look at me, Gilbert!"

"We're in public!" he hisses, but looks.

"No? We're inside a private residence? Shh-h." You wave a graceful hand in his face. "Ahem. I acknowledge that, by some interpretations, I was acting 'unusually' this previous evening, to which I respond..."

If Gil proves judgmental, you can let him in on some of the bits about his mind you failed to disclose the first time. Breathe. "...that I, um— well, yes. As you were likely able to tell, I was not maintaining a customary level of positive thinking, and in fact I had fallen into a— a teensy funk—"

(1/4)

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How does Gil manage to say so many things without opening his mouth? It was a mistake to bestow him with a body, that's for sure. "—by which I mean a— a state of vile, um— of foul— of negative thinking, which temporarily possessed me, and forced me to say many foul and vile things. Which was very distressing for you, I'm sure, as I am well-known for my heroic, erm, vigor. Therefore I would like to convey my apologies—"

"What are you talking about?" Gil says.

You freeze. "My apologies? Ahem. I shall henceforth pledge to ne'er slip up in such a horrible way again, and to improve on my levels of positivity, which should be easy, as I am at present feeling excellent—"

"Who gives a shit about me? You were—" His brows furrow. "Slip up?"

"Huh?"

"Are you saying it wasn't the evil gunk? You weren't just possessed? I thought you..." He trails off. "I mean, that wasn't really you."

On account of your pure and honest heart, you are not a good liar. You shift your weight.

"Aw, geez, Lottie, I-I-I..." Is it too late to ship him back to Pat? "...You don't have to put something on for me, okay? I-It's not like I don't have my own shit going on, I dom't care if you— if you're not always positive, or whatever the hell that— I-I think it might be better for you if you weren't? Shoving it all down just, um... I mean, that's when you start drinking death water."

"I don't see how those two things are connected," you say officiously, "even if I were shoving anything down, which I— I admit I said some things I would not be saying under ordinary circumstances, but I hardly see how that's the same thing. It just means I practice discretion, that's all. I filter out... negative input, as any regular person would do. Ahem. Now, I was attempting, Gilbert, to issue my retainer an apology, which I was planning to extend to the outcome of our— er— embraceage."

"Our what?" Gil says.

"Our..." You scowl. "The hug. Which you broke off prematurely, and quite rudely, I'll have you—"

It's astonishing how rapidly Gil turns pink. Is it the goo? "Um, ah, about that, I-I-I-I— I-I-I-I-I've been giving it some thought, and it's okay if you want to lick me. I-It's okay. I-I-I just really want to be told about the licking, um, beforehand, so I can— so I can mentally prepare myself for—"

"What? Why would I lick you again?" You wrinkle your nose. "Gross."

Whatever response Gil had been envisioning, this plainly wasn't it. "Ah. Ah... hah. So why—"

"Because you were sweating all over me? But your skin wasn't real, so that was weird, and then I thought you smelled like lamp oil, so I was wondering if the sweat was oil! And it was! And then you—"

"Why didn't you use your finger?" he breathes out.

"Because my hands were occupied? Duh? What was I supposed to do, touch all over your neck? It's not my fault you noticed."

(2/4)

"No." He purses his lips. "I-I guess it... isn't."

"What this means," you continue, "is that you owe me another embraceage, done properly.Nay!" Gil had jolted forward. "Not at this time! At an appropriate occasion! We're not being vulgar. Understood?"

From the look of it, not really. But maybe he's turning it over in his mind. "...Yes. Yeah. I-i-it— I mean, it's only fair."

"Precisely!" You clap him on the shoulder in Earl-ish fashion, which you're proud of right up until that entire region of Gil— his shoulder, his forearm, part of his chest, the side of his face— begins to glow. "Oh, um..."

You remove your hand delicately, and the glow leaks away. Gil appears resigned. "You didn't get more of that shit."

"No! Nothing of that sort! I have not consorted with any strange powers, unless you count Richard? Who is, um, strange. He's nice."

"No he isn't," Gil says.

"He is! He— it's scary! I don't think he came back from the dead right, Gil, I think he—" You swivel your hands around your head. "Just earlier, he showed himself to people. For no reason! And he keeps calling me this dumb nickname, and he said he loved me—"

"So he's manipulating you."

"No! You haven't talked to him." You fold your arms. "You'll see when you talk to him, okay? And then we need to figure out something to do about it, so you should start brainstorming now. Back on topic, I haven't drank any water, or killed people, so I don't see what would—"

Gil takes a deep breath and reaches a hand out toward you. His fingertips begin to glow a foot away from your face. "Talk to any snakes?"

Any snakes? The lizard-thing from your dream wasn't a snake, and anyways was nice to you (if useless). You know Gil doesn't mean Richard. Other then that, what? Oh.

"Haven't talked to any," you say cagily. "But there was an instance of... I told you about my heroic suckage-out of Ellery's dumb sun thing?"

Gil sighs. "Yes?"

"It is within the realm of possibility that I may have... entaken it into the depths of mine— mine own personage... metaphorically?"

"You have a sun now," Gil says.

"Metaphorically! And it doesn't have any special powers, or— it's not actually magyck, just a dumb mind thing. So it's no big deal."

(3/4)

"Uh-huh." He waves his hand to and from your face. "And you're sure the evil shit didn't eat it?"

"Um," you say. "Probably?"

"I'm not." He presses his lips together. "I-I should've goddamn purged you when I had the chance."

"Hey! I'm— I'm sure it was our twin destiny to, um, not do that. Maybe the sun will make it nice? Like Richard."

"I-I-I'm sure we'll find out," says Gil.

You're keen on not ending the conversation right there, so you press ahead. "Sure will! By the way, what's the most Law your thingy can hold? The siphon? Because I'm thinking, if we explode Headspace, they'll probably have a ton of it just floating around! And then, as soon as I get the Crown— bam! Instant—"

You were going to say 'queen,' but it doesn't sound right. "—winner! I win! And I won't even have to bother with all the dumb spelunking."

"I-I guess that makes sense. Um, it's not huge. I-It was built to be portable more than storing a lot." Gil clasps his hands behind his back. "As long as you don't need it i-i-imm— right away, it wouldn't be super difficult to put together a new version... i-i-i-it might be bigger, though. We'd have to see."

"Okay!" you say. "Great!"

Gil nods.

>[1] While on the topic of Headspace, wasn't there a Headspace employee who lived in this very town? Rudy Somethingorother? Might be smart to go pay him a visit.
>[2] Now that your explosion idea is set in stone, you should probably (ugh) go get Pat's take on the matter. She knows the most about Headspace of everybody here.
>[3] Drag Gil with you to go see Richard. You want to prove him wrong, firstly, and it might be good for Richard to give his new body a check-up.
>[4] You've got a lot of day ahead of you— no need to be in a hurry. Spend an hour or three hanging out with somebody. (Who? It can be multiple people. Optionally, give an idea of something specific you'd like to be doing.)
>[5] Write-in.

>>5601967
>[3] Drag Gil with you to go see Richard. You want to prove him wrong, firstly, and it might be good for Richard to give his new body a check-up.

>>5601967
>>[3] Drag Gil with you to go see Richard. You want to prove him wrong, firstly, and it might be good for Richard to give his new body a check-up.

>>5601967
>3
I'm gonna miss nice richard

>>5601970
>>5602131
>>5602271
>3
Writing.

>>5602271
>I'm gonna miss nice richard
I mean, to be clear, Charlotte doesn't actually know if it's possible to "fix" it. She's just coping and/or seething as per usual.

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>Daddy-daughter time <3

You rub your chin. "Will you need Richard's help? Since you and him were working together on the siphon, I thought. I'm sure he'd be willing to—"

"No!" Gil hunches forward, jamming his hands into his pockets. "No, I-I-I should be just— don't tell him we're talking about an upgrade, okay? Or he'll try to share all his goddamn opinions."

"No he won't," you say. "He's nice, Gil."

"To you."

"To everybody! Weren't you listening? You haven't even talked to him properly, so you can't act all dumb and... pissy. You should talk to him." You fold your arms. "Then you'll stop being wrong. And dumb, and so on. Look, I'll get him here right now."

Richard? Richard. "You really don't have to—" Gil is saying, but you're too busy envisioning snakes. Riiichard. You need his help right about—

"I'm here, Charlie." Somebody behind you is smoothing down your hair. "What's the concern?"

"Um," you say. Gil's eyeballs are jittering, which doesn't seem healthy, and his mouth is partway open. Is he having an episode?

"I-Is that—" Before you can inquire, he points over your shoulder. "Is that him?"

You look. It's Richard, as Richard as ever, wearing the horrendous sweater and a genial half-smile. "Yeah? Do you see something else?"

"I-I-I-I don't see anything." Gil is maneuvering his head back and forth. "There's just a... a hole, or something. A big hole. Didn't you say he was a snake out here?"

"He used to be. Um, you can't hear him, either? Richard, say something."

"Sure," Richard says. "Is this sufficient?"

"He said something," you inform Gil, when no visible response comes. "You didn't—?"

Gil shakes his head. You sigh. "Okay, well, he did. I guess we'll have to go to the manse, if you really can't talk to him. I'm not going to sit around and relay things—"

"You don't have to do that," Gil says hastily. "Um, but I-I-I don't think we need to do the manse thing, either? Weren't you just... doing that? I-It's not healthy to spend too long in there..."

"Says you. Onwards!"

You dart past him, Richard strolling along behind you: "He's right that it's not healthy, Charlie," he's saying, "but you don't need to fret about that. I keep you in good—"

Gil catches up after you've stopped in front of a back room: you peer in, see teetering stacks of salvage, and turn towards the bedroom. Madrigal is still unconscious, though something of life must be left in her, because she's managed to rotate partially off the bed. "Ew," you say.

Gil's expression carries a tinge of sullenness, though he has the good sense to keep quiet. Richard crouches down as you plop against the wall, right next to the battered nightstand. "Can you bring Gil in with me?" you say.

(1/3?)

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"If he doesn't kick and scream too much." Richard glances back. "Why don't you warn him first? And do tell your host that you've stepped away, so they don't go searching and find corpses."

Easy enough: you shout and say you're busy, and Earl shouts back an "Sounds good, kid!". Gil, reticent by the doorway, is trickier. "Um..." you say. "So, you're not in my head anymore."

"Yeah?" he says. He doesn't move.

"So you're probably going to have to get to my manse... manually?" You eye Richard. "It'll be easy, really, all you have to do is—"

"I-I-I can figure it out."

"Oh," you say. His fingers are laced together. "...Okay. I guess I'll see you soon?"

You wait in vain for a heartfelt goodbye, or really any goodbye at all, but Gil jitters his foot while Richard cradles your forehead. "Okay, Charlie, that's three— two—"

-

Was there ever a 'one'? When you rock yourself to your feet inside the manse, Richard's already there, and Gil is too. The light slanting through the windows is still red-tinted (hurrah), but it's warmer, or something. Or brighter. The marble floor's all aglow with it, bouncing it off the walls and columns.

It's enough to set your teeth on edge, but no more than that. More concerning are your guests: are they arguing? Well, Gil's arguing. "Keep your goddamn hands off me!"

Richard, meanwhile, is at a murmur, white gloves making placating air-gestures. You'd read it as patronizing if he didn't have brain damage. "I haven't laid any hands on you, Mr. Wallace, and I have no intention of doing so without express consent. I don't feel as though you're approaching this rationally, however. Again, your somatosensory functions are not aligned with—"

"Hello?" you say. "Thank god," Gil mumbles. "Charlie!" Richard says. "Welcome! We are engaged in a discussion."

(2/3)

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"Um," you say. "Yeah, it does seem like that. About?"

Gil starts, but Richard waves a gloved hand in front of his mouth. "Mr. Wallace expressed concern about the status of his Chrysomelidae, which are at present, I believe, encapsulated entirely within a semi-solid mass of goo. I proposed some help with extracting a sample, which I believe would go some way toward assuaging—"

"He wants to cut me open," Gil hisses. "Which i-i-isn't really surprising, but he's normally not so goddamn blatant about it. There's no way I—"

"Charlie," Richard says. "It'd be an incision. A brief and painless one."

>[A1] Back Richard up. Is Gil really that scared of a little cut? Did he hear all the stuff Pat was saying about goo not feeling pain? Geez, doesn't he want to see the beetles? He's just being a stupid negative thinker, which you can't and won't support.
>[A2] Back Gil up. Who cares what kind of cut it is? If he doesn't want it, he doesn't want it, and it's not nice to badger people forever about things they don't want to do. You'd know. (Also, he's your retainer, so you're automatically sworn to defend him and whatnot.)

>[B1] How are they both already here? Weren't you the first one out? (And isn't this *your* manse? It doesn't seem quite fair.)
>[B2] Okay, Richard, what *is* with the lack of snake? Is it dead, or has he just decided to bum around as a person all the time?
>[B3] Could Richard take a look at Gil's new body without cutting him open, please? You want a second opinion on anything Pat touches.
>[B4] Is Richard... feeling okay? He's vanishing for no reason a lot more than he used to.
>[B5] Tell Richard he's not allowed to say that he loves you. He's not.
>[B6] Write-in. (You'll most likely have another round of conversation after this, so no rush.)

>>5602965
>[A2] Back Gil up. Who cares what kind of cut it is? If he doesn't want it, he doesn't want it, and it's not nice to badger people forever about things they don't want to do. You'd know. (Also, he's your retainer, so you're automatically sworn to defend him and whatnot.)

>[B1] How are they both already here? Weren't you the first one out? (And isn't this *your* manse? It doesn't seem quite fair.)
>[B2] Okay, Richard, what *is* with the lack of snake? Is it dead, or has he just decided to bum around as a person all the time?
>[B3] Could Richard take a look at Gil's new body without cutting him open, please? You want a second opinion on anything Pat touches.

>>5602965
>A2
but also b3

>B1, 2, 3, 4

>>5602965
>[A1] Back Richard up. Is Gil really that scared of a little cut? Did he hear all the stuff Pat was saying about goo not feeling pain? Geez, doesn't he want to see the beetles? He's just being a stupid negative thinker, which you can't and won't support.
I want to side with Gil but I also want what's best for Gil.
>[B2] Okay, Richard, what *is* with the lack of snake? Is it dead, or has he just decided to bum around as a person all the time?
>[B3] Could Richard take a look at Gil's new body without cutting him open, please? You want a second opinion on anything Pat touches.
>[B4] Is Richard... feeling okay? He's vanishing for no reason a lot more than he used to.
He can still cut him open, depending on what, if anything, he sees.

>>5603515
>A1

>>5602980
>>5603133
>A2

>>5602980
>>5603133
>B1

>>5602980
>>5603133
>>5603515
>B2

>>5602980
>>5603133
>>5603515
>B3

>>5603133
>>5603515
>B4

Called for [A2], and... sure, all the [B]s. I reserve the right to backpedal on this (and put them in the next update instead) if I end up taking too long writing.

Writing.

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>Excuse me, he asked for NO PICKLES!!!!!!!

"That's what you say every time," you inform him. "It isn't."

Gil straightens up. Richard, red light glinting off his coif, clasps his hands together. "I don't think that's a fully accurate assessment of the situation, primrose, but I apologize if I've misled you at some point. You know I never intend to cause you pain. Regardless, Mr. Wallace lacks the ability to feel pain, so I wouldn't call the two comparable?"

Do you know that? You scoff uncomfortably. "Is it supposed to matter if you— if he can't feel pain? He doesn't want to! And it's not like not knowing about the beetles is going to kill him, or something dumb like that, so there's no excuse for shoving it in his— it's not going to kill him, right?"

"I very much doubt it."

"Okay! See! Now cease harassing my sworn-ed retainer, you fiend!" You flourish The Sword. "If you come one step closer, I shall defend him with my very life, as is my sworn-ed— um, my sacred— my duty! Don't you know that? You were there when I..."

Gil has stepped back, or you have stepped forward, but either way you find yourself between him and Richard. For his part, Richard is neither cowed nor angered. Unamused, maybe. "Charlotte, kindly stow your blade."

"Why?" You wave it around in his face. "You want to go and stab Gil? Want my mighty guard down, don't you? Anyhow, I thought you couldn't feel pain, so I don't see why you'd be scared of a little—"

"Do you intend to kill me?" he says matter-of-factly.

>[-1 ID: 11/14]

That was not something he was supposed to say at all. Your stomach flips. "No— no! I just— um, I'm just defending—"

"Then keep this—" He lowers the tip of The Sword with his finger. "—away from me. You do not point a deadly weapon at somebody you don't intend to kill. I thought I taught you safe handling."

"You didn't teach me anyth..." you start, but kill me is still ringing in your ears. Maybe he did teach you, and you forgot. Maybe the only reason he's lecturing you and not dashing The Sword from your hand or shanking Gil to make a point is because you did kill him, really, and now he's not himself anymore. And it's your fault. "Sorry."

"I forgive you, primrose. You're right, you wouldn't have hurt me regardless. Just be mindful."

He begins to strip his gloves off, and you sheathe The Sword shame-facedly. Gil nudges your ankle with his shoe. "Thanks," he mumbles into your ear.

>[+1 ID: 12/14]

You nod and, wanting to change the subject, clear your throat. "So what the hell were both of you doing here before me? Isn't this my manse?"

Richard bobs his head. "Yes. But you are real, so you lack any natural jurisdiction. Which isn't to say that one can't be learned, with effort, but you may contrast this with Mr. Wallace and I's— how best to put it? We are of the mind. While you were traveling, we were on some level already here."

(1/3)

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"Don't fucking use 'we,'" Gil says. "What?" you say. "Okay, for you, whatever. But Gil isn't of my mind, I hope, so... how is that supposed to matter?"

"Easy enough, Charlie. Mr. Wallace declined my offer to escort him here, and chose instead to enter his own manse and transverse via door." (At your look, Gil nods.) "As he was on some level already there, arriving here did not take long. Understood?"

You cross your arms. "I suppose..."

"Excellent. It's nothing to be concerned about, Charlie, it's only metaphysics. I have arrived well before you since the beginning."

Gil also nods at that. "I suppose," you say. "And I suppose you'll tell me the snake being gone is normal, too? What happened to—" You adopt a voice. "Uuuuuuh, I'm a stupid mean snake, the human guy is only a fakey-fake you made up, don't listen to him one bit'— and now you don't even have a snake? Did you murder it?" ...Did you murder it?

"Charlie, have you been storing up your grievances again? That's not good for your health." Richard reaches behind his back. "Regardless, do you mean this snake?"

In Richard's bony hands is cradled a snake— The Snake, you should call it, black and yellow and blank-eyed, with a metallic sheen and flattened tail and little pink tongue. It's the spitting image of Richard, of the only Richard you'd ever known for an unknowable part of your life. This snake has looped around your neck and arms and waist, it has sat on your chest and in your desk drawer, it has told you so many horrible things—

And now it is here, and Richard is holding himself. You are blanched.

"Oh, shit," Gil contributes.

"It won't hurt you," Richard says, and strokes The Snake under its chin. "It doesn't have the free will for it. Besides, you ought to be immune to the venom, Charlie."

"It?" you say.

"Yes, Charlie. Snakes are sexless." He arches an eyebrow. "Unless one is intelligent enough to choose otherwise."

That raises more questions. "You— that's you. Richard. That's you."

"Yes, oftentimes. Other times no. I haven't lately felt the need to..." He hesitates. "...assume it? Usurp? You don't have the term for it, I'm afraid. But that's really all it is— the snake is safe, I assure you."

You don't know why he's presuming you prefer the snake safe, but you have bigger fish to fry. "You're not the snake."

"No, no. When I am the snake, I am the snake. No pussyfooting. They're like bear traps, Charlie."

A trap for bears? What does that look like? Maybe they rig it with smoke to calm them down? Um, this isn't the bigger fish, either. "Okay, but... what are you the rest of the time?"

Before Richard says a word, you know you've walked right into a bear trap. His eyes crinkle up. "Well, I'd like to think I'm your father."

>[-1 ID: 11/14]

"Ah-huh," you say. It does in fact feel like there's smoke in your eyes. "Cool. Are you feeling okay?"

(2/3)

"Hmm? I appreciate your concern, primrose—" Gil coughs. "—but is there a reason I wouldn't be?"

God. It's impossible to say if he's being obtuse or if he is obtuse, if he can't remember things or chooses not not. It's just like the old days. "You were dead yesterday?"

"Ah! So I was."

"And you've been... vanishing?"

Richard's bonhomie dims somewhat. "Ah. I apologize if I've been causing you any worry, as it's really nothing to worry yourself about— I've been conserving my energy, is all."

You hadn't considered the idea that Richard could have energy, frankly. He seemed to be rip-ready to go all the time, especially when it came to bothering you. "That doesn't sound okay."

"No! No." He waves a hand. "It's nothing. It's taxing for me to appear like this for sustained stretches, but I have no desire to resort to poor alternatives, so I opt for time off instead. I will come if you need me, so there's truly no need to drive yourself sick on my account."

That doesn't sound like he's okay, but... 'poor alternatives'? Meaning the snake? Better no Richard than snake Richard, by leaps and bounds. You shut your mouth.

Cough-cough, goes Gil, cough-cough-cough. "I believe you're wanted, Charlie," Richard prompts. "I'll be just over here."

Gee, thanks. You follow the least subtle man on the seafloor to a non-suspicious column, which you lean against. Gil's face, already ruddy, is bathed in red light. "What the hell is that?" he hisses.

You toss your head. "Told you so."

"I'm not— I-I-I didn't say I found it convincing, Lottie— but geez! 'I-I apologize'... 'I-I appreciate the concern'... goddamn 'Mr. Wallace'?"

"Would you prefer 'Beetles'?"

"Yeah! Kinda! At least I-I-I knew what was—" Gil exhales. "Thanks for stopping the stabbing, by the way."

"It's just my sacred duty," you say modestly. "But... I think you really should let him take a look at you. Do you really trust Pat?"

"Do you really trust him?"

"...Um. About stuff like this, yeah. I can watch?" Gil is looking sideways. "Gil! I'll make sure he doesn't stab you! Gil?"

(Choices next.)

(He will agree to get looked at regardless, as per the [A3] vote, so please treat these as add-ons.

>[A1] Offer to have Richard at swordpoint the whole time. Damn safe handling: not scaring your retainer is more important!
>[A2] If he won't have Richard cut him open, will he let you do it? You can wield a blade well, and he knows *you* won't hurt him.
>[A3] If he needs reassurance, perhaps you could offer, er, physical contact? With your hand, say. You'd have to do some strategizing about appropriate placement, and potentially wear gloves, but such is your sacred duty.
>[A4] Bring up his blessing. Can't he just zap Richard if he tries anything? Wait... Richard doesn't know about the blessing yet, does he? (Do you warn Richard?)
>[A5] Okay, forget the coddling! You protected him from being stabbed, which is normal, but is he actually scared of just being *looked* at? Possibly prodded a little? Tell him to stop being such a wimp.
>[A6] Write-in.

>[B] Continued questions for Richard or Gil? (Write-in. Optional.)

>[C] Write-in.

>>5604119
>[A3] If he needs reassurance, perhaps you could offer, er, physical contact? With your hand, say. You'd have to do some strategizing about appropriate placement, and potentially wear gloves, but such is your sacred duty.
You went 31 threads with nothing suggestive Bathic, now we're going straight to smut.

>>5604761
>>5604761
Correct. We might get some lewd shoulder patting... or perhaps some steamy extremely tentative wrist holding... I think I'm going to have to Pastebin most of it.

>>5604119
>[A3] If he needs reassurance, perhaps you could offer, er, physical contact? With your hand, say. You'd have to do some strategizing about appropriate placement, and potentially wear gloves, but such is your sacred duty.
It's time to take the plunge into degenerate perversion.

>>5604119
>>[A2] If he won't have Richard cut him open, will he let you do it? You can wield a blade well, and he knows *you* won't hurt him.

If he's still hesitant after we propose [A2]:
>[A3] If he needs reassurance, perhaps you could offer, er, physical contact? With your hand, say. You'd have to do some strategizing about appropriate placement, and potentially wear gloves, but such is your sacred duty.

>>5604119
>A2
yes
time to learn surgery
our dream of being a doctor here at last

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>>5604761
>>5604788
>>5604846
>[A3]

>>5604846
>>5605033
>[A2]

Pic related. Writing.

>Sword play

Nothing. "Fine. What if I did it?"

"Um," says Gil. "Did what?"

"Did—" Hmm. As much as you'd like to think your irrepressible spirit can carry you through all trials, you don't actually know what you'd be looking for in a goo examination. You do have a sword, however. "Did the stabbing thing! I mean, the... the tiny little cut thing. You wouldn't feel it, and you know I'm sworn to never hurt you, and don't you want to know about the beetles? You want to make sure they're not suffocating, right? Or drowning..."

Gil swallows. "Not that they are," you add hastily. "But just in case. Doesn't it make sense? Then we can have Richard do the normal check-up, and we'll be all set, and you don't have to worry about the dumb body for the rest of time. Would you rather me have to go back in there and fix stuff again, all because there was something obvious we could've caught here? Because I will go fix stuff, and then I'll see even more creepy other Gils, and—"

In the red lighting, Gil's coloration doesn't change, but his posture shift speaks volumes. "You— you don't have to do that! I-I-I-I— I-I-I— um, I—"

"If you require further assistance with the stabbing, then I'm sure we can arrange a— um—" Your first instinct was making Richard sedate him, but somehow you don't think the news of that will calm him down. "Um, well, since you are under duress, I'm sure it's okay if I... if I applied...?"

"Huh?"

Admittedly, your Aunt Ruby did not include a 'distress' clause when it came to unmarried men, but it feels to you like a sensible addition. Is Gil's distress reasonable, though? Is he actually in danger? It's not your place to intervene, perhaps, but on the other hand you shouldn't coddle him. Minimal contact ought to be fine. You just need to settle on loca...

"Charlie!" Richard, grin slightly strained, has drawn up right next to you. "What's going on with you two?"

Gil is still processing your earlier comments, so you interject on his behalf. "Well, he's agreed to let you look at him!"

"Ah, wonderful. It's the mature thing to do, to overcome one's irrational—"

"You won't be stabbing him, though. I will!"

"Ah." Richard looks you over. "It is a simple incision, granted. I presume this was Mr. Wallace's condition to agreeing? I could supervise, but I think the complete survey would be better off going first— any wound, however temporary, could disrupt the findings."

That was a lot of words, but the gist you got was that you can stab Gil and won't be stopped. "Okay, whatever. Then I want to supervise your survey, deal?"

(1/TBC)

The grin has softened. "I have no issue with that, primrose. Protectiveness is an admirable trait, even if ultimately misdirected. Would Mr. Wallace like to step here—" He indicates with his foot. "—and stand upright and relaxed?"

"I-I-I-I-I'm not taking my goddamn clothes off," Gil warns.

"Mr. Wallace, you are not wearing anything that can be taken off. Not in the traditional sense. What I said is all that's necessary from you."

Gil casts a long look at you, but steps to the designated area. You sidle up next to him, having considered your options, and rest your fingertips somewhere around his shoulderblade. He flinches.

"You're a good friend, Charlie," Richard says offhandedly. You flinch. "And thank you, Mr. Wallace... is Gil acceptable for you, by the by?"

You can see Gil mouth 'is Gil acceptable...'. "...Yeah...?"

"Then thank you, Gil. I'll do my best to make this efficient."

>[1] Write-in (Optional.)
>[2] Continue.