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>Announcements
Welcome back to Drowned Quest Redux! I have survived finals with all limbs intact, but unfortunately have not gotten a lot done quest-wise. It's now summer, though, so I hope to get some AMAs done, keep transcribing threads, and of course write my quest on a regular basis. We'll see how well it all goes.

>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 14 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

>Archive (nicer)
15-19: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XE8ygoN6nWucvZEqmBeoQ9jKNdc6V_FOvrrIitRi3dU/edit?usp=sharing
20-April Fools: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NqCgQYDq5NajT36m9dxkpZE85mqMMjClsz-gu9FYKtQ/edit?usp=sharing
25-29: https://docs.google.com/document/d/11aZ013qySgw0wWawb2SHra3ExtJrs6FLQaCp9S7udUU/edit?usp=sharing
30-34: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1COMiZB7lKEu756_CS-lfaID2oMtHVMGBVLjXrXmMBHQ/edit?usp=sharing
35-38: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ZkI18l-PNI7i-HQdQmqTJJvUM-iLKBBCNpvSC-POhk0/edit?usp=sharing

>Twitter
https://twitter.com/BathicQM

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

>Recaps
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1VPJwXzTpv4lO_t6R3jA32NLbKjdIZjtJlRFsWQgBMnM/edit?usp=sharing

>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!

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>LAST TIME ON DROWNED QUEST REDUX
Having successfully bungled your way through saving Pat and negotiating with Us, you force Pat to give Gil another new goo body (since his first one got absorbed). She succeeds, and you drag Gil back to your manse to debrief. Gil is pretty out of it, so you decide to get drunk with him so he'll talk more. This succeeds faster than expected, and drunk Gil gets a little handsy and rambles about his self-loathing. You ask him whether he's picked up any mind interlopers, since you extracted a big chunk of Us along with him, but he denies it.

You don't believe him, and commune with him to find out for yourself-- only to run into a impenetrable imaginary alcohol-fog. You opt to inhale all of it, transforming into a giant imaginary reptile monster in the process, and freak out a newly sober Gil. Using your newfound reptile monster powers, you extract Gil's interloper from his body. It's Teddy, his fisherman ancestor.

Teddy is self-aware, but thinks he's been sent by the gods to serve as Gil's mentor/spirit guide-type thing. He tells you that he has perfect access to Gil's mind and vice-versa. You're unnerved by this, declining his offer to help you de-reptilefy yourself, but you refrain from exploding him.

You dereptilefy, have a weird dream, and wake up in your tent with an awful hangover. As you wait for your painkillers to kick in, you read the letter from Henry you got from Horse Face. Henry gives you a tip about resurrecting Annie (you want a physical representation of your memories of her) and has sent you some presents: a kind of seaweed that allows for telepathic communication, and a wooden doll, or "effigy." If you make the doll look like you, then bury it, Henry says it'll get you to cult HQ. Somehow. You spend a while using clay and your own blood to decorate the effigy, then head out to find Gil. You drag him off to go speak with Horse Face.

Horse Face tells you more about effigies and about weird mind guys, which he calls "eidolons." You convince him to let you borrow stuff from his warehouse dimension, per the terms of your contract, but graciously let Gil pick out what he wants. While Gil and Horse Face are gone, you experiment with your new Claudia persona: she is confused about being underwater, and decides she must be dreaming. When Horse Face returns, he briefly doesn't recognize you. Gil has picked out a pagan idol, a thingy that will let his beetles fly further distances, and a box that turns thing unreal. He takes you outside and interrogates you about your Claudia persona, which you admit to (but leave out the red stuff involvement).

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You head off and test the Claudia persona on Madrigal, who is similarly fooled but dismisses it as interference from her snake. Pat is hanging out with her, and Madrigal makes Pat thank you for saving her life, as well as telling you more about eidolons-- apparently Ellery had one. You ask Madrigal if she'll help you talk to Real Ellery, but she refuses. You head to Fake Ellery instead, telling him all about his fakeness. With the help of some divine intervention, he believes you, and breaks into Real Ellery's manse...

...and gets shot by a crossbow, and dies. Real Ellery was not happy to see him, and is even less happy to see you. You tell him that you're off to go blow up Headspace, and he offers to be your "bomb"-- sacrificing himself to blow up Headspace better than you could. You decline. He loses his absolute shit and kicks you out.

Next on the docket: Eloise.


--

>TO-DO

Immediate goals:
- Finish final Headspace prep

Short-term goals:
- Possess a Headspace employee to gather intel

Long-term goals:
- Blow up Headspace
- Resurrect Annie
- Return Claudia
- Regain your missing memories (...if possible)
- Attend your richly deserved Game Night
- Use, extract, or otherwise deal with the Wyrm stuff you got going on
- Find Jean Ramsey and her snake; challenge her to epic single combat (probably); reclaim the Crown
- In the meantime, continue collecting and storing Law (4/16)
- Make friends (who are not named Gil)

Mysteries:
- Who or what is Namway Co. and Headspace Corp.'s “Management”? What did they want with the clone of a snake? What do they want with a massive store of Law? If they're snakes... what does that mean?
- What kind of company(?) does Richard work for? What is its endgame? What does it want with you? What is its relationship with Management?
- Who is Horse Face investigating, and why?
- Who wiped three years of your life from your memory? Why? Can Richard really not remember them either?
- What is the Herald? Why does it keep showing up? What does it want? What are you supposed to forgive yourself for, exactly? (You haven't done anything wrong!)
- When is the world going to end? How?
- Do you have a destiny? Is it God-related? It's a good destiny, surely?
- Why does Richard keep developing stab wounds?

--

>Don't forget to scroll up and vote!

>>5998032
>[1] Humor Eloise.
>>[A] Tell her you saved Pat from Management, singlehandedly, as expected.
>>[E] Tell her that you can see strings now.

>>5998032
>1C, D, E
WE BACK

>>5998032
>>[1] Humor Eloise.
>>>[A] Tell her you saved Pat from Management, singlehandedly, as expected.
>>>[C] Gauge her reaction to the idea that snakes could run a business. Not that you have hard proof. You just... you don't know.
>>>[D] She's a former metaphysicist, right? She'd probably be really interested in the glass-lined box you got from Horse Face. Show her how it works. (Bonus: you can see how it works.)
>>>[E] Tell her that you can see strings now.

>>5998429
>>5998681
>[1A]

>>5998648
>>5998681
>[1C]

>>5998648
>>5998681
>[1D]

>>5998429
>>5998648
>>5998681
>[1E]

Called for all of the above and writing.

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>Give her the rundown

If Richard were here— the old Richard, you mean— he'd probably tell you to keep quiet about your daring rescue of Pat. Why? Well, he'd invent some reason for it. It'd make you seem weird, or sound like you were boasting, or something. Really, though, he just wanted nobody to like you. You're sure of that now.

It's not that you're not Eloise's friend, exactly. You don't really do anything together. Unless you need something, you don't seek her out, and she doesn't either. But she does like you— you mean, you're pretty sure she likes you— and you can't see how telling her would hurt anything. You just can't. So there.

"Yes!" you say. "I was involved. Actually, I— I rescued Pat from Management's foul clutches, so— if Pat says I didn't, don't believe her. I did. Gil was there!" (Sort of.)

"Goodness. Foul clutches? This is the same Management as..."

"Namway and Headspace! Yes. And Pat's the one who—" You lower your voice. "—who they were making do the whole goo snake thing— remember that? But she didn't make it for them, so they were going to vanish her. But I intervened, and she's safe now, so long as they don't send more after her— but they won't! Since I took care of it so well! Right, Gil?"

You assume the tightening of Gil's lips is meant to mean "I can't remember," but he nods. Eloise tilts her head. "At this point, I wouldn't expect anything else, Charlotte. It sounds like you did her a great kindness, considering what we know— I wouldn't want to run afoul of the brains behind this operation! I hope you didn't, much?"

That one Manager read your mind, but you don't think she got the most important bits. "Nope!"

"I'll have to trust you on that. Please be careful, though, sincerely. I know I've told you this a million times, but this isn't... it shouldn't be your responsibility to handle all of this. I wish there were more I could do, but—"

You wave the folder. "You got this! And I bet it's going to be useful, so don't get all sad and— and self-pitying, and—"

"Oh! I wouldn't go that far. But thank you for the sentiment, Charlotte, I appreciate it. I just worry, is all." Eloise smiles tensely. "There's a lot of nasty people out there."

"Snakes," you say.

"What?"

"Uh..." Maybe you shouldn't have said that. You're not sure if you believe it, and you're less sure you want to. You need Richard here if you want to process all the implications. But while he's gone— Eloise knows about snakes, right? She told you all about them. "Don't worry about it. Uh. Do you think snakes can run a business?"

"Run a business?" Eloise chuckles, but she looks more bemused than amused. "What, are you talking about Headspace?"

"Just answer the question," you say.

(1/TBC)

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"They're... I won't pretend to know where this is coming from, but they're creatures, Charlotte. Very unusual ones, and the gigantic ones are said to be very intelligent, but I can't imagine they'd run, ah, Headspace? Or Namway? Taking the question on pure face value, why would they go to all the trouble of stealing and duplicating a snake if they themselves were— well, you know. Not to mention, there haven't been records of living snakes that size since the Flood, and even then, they're all apocryphal. So I'll go with 'no.' Unless this is the set-up to a joke, and I clean missed it?"

Gil's looking at you. You try not to look at him, instead shifting your weight. "Pat said she doesn't think Management is human. And I don't... I mean, I don't know, but I don't think they're normal people. Whatever they are."

Eloise frowns. "But they look human?"

"...Yeah." But so does Richard. And so did his two coworkers, who were both snakes, hands down. You can't tell her that. "Um, that doesn't matter, though. Since they were still snakes on the inside. Or, um... whatever they were, on the inside."

"I see." Still frowning. "I don't want to shut you down here, but I just don't see... I don't think it makes much sense for it to be snakes. Are you sure they aren't anything else? I presume they wouldn't be locals—"

"They're not fish," you say. "Come on."

"Charlotte, I did presume it! I'm just going down the list. Could they be unreal? I hear that dream-people, or whatever the official—"

"Un-people," you say. "Headspace calls them 'friends,'" Gil offers.

"Thank you! That un-people can gain awareness if they're fed blood? It's a salacious rumor, really, not something I'd put a lot of stock in, but—"

"I-It's true," Gil says. "But, um, they're still not that smart. Usually."

Is that the answer? You guess you haven't heard of anybody seeing Management outside a manse. But you've never seen a human-looking snake outside one, either, except for Richard— who isn't really outside, he just looks it. Plus, the Manager knew exactly what she was doing, didn't she? Didn't even blink when she intercepted you. Compare to that stupid, myopic monkey-thing: it drank the blood of a Headspace employee, but that didn't make it hyper-competent. It was barely even competent. Like what Gil said.

You take a deep breath. "I mean, maybe, but I don't think it exactly..."

"Then maybe it's something else entirely? Some other type of thing? I wish I knew so I could tell you. If you find out what they are, go ahead and tell me, huh?"

(2/TBC)

"Um, sure." This wasn't the answer you were hoping for, to say the least. Now what are your options— "snakes" or "none of the above"? That's worse! "Yeah. Will do."

There's a short pause. Eloise cocks her head. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more use! Was there anything else you needed from me? Anything else I should be aware of?"

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

Sorry, folks, bit rough getting back into the swing of things-- started way too late, then got distracted on top of it. Not an auspicious start to a thread, but I'll make up for it somewhere along the line.

>>5999264
>1
Does she know anywhere snakes giant enough to be intelligent could hide for a long time, say, since the Flood? Hypothetically?

>>5999264
>>5999536
+1 to this. Also welcome back

>>5999264
>[2] Continue.

>>5999536
>>5999896
>>6000117
Taking the write-in and continuing with the options from last time.

Meanwhile, I have transcribed and cleaned up threads 10-14 here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NFrr6hT9Ho8ThW-n86zqzf9SxTzya65c2XRBSaWZIhU/edit?usp=sharing

I hope to get 5-9, 1-4 and the OG Drowned completed in the next month or two, so we can have a nice and shiny PDF compiling the whole thing.

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>Continued

God. Do you want to believe that Management is snakes? Not at all. Do you want to believe that Management is some other unknown and unknowable and completely unprecedented type of creature? Even less. If you can get a little more information... "Um, yeah. About giant snakes."

"Yes?"

"...Are you positive there aren't any hiding anywhere? How would one even know if there were giant snakes in the world or not? Maybe they're very stealthy."

"It's thought the largest ones live deep underground, so you're right in one sense, Charlotte. If there were any, they'd be hiding. The trouble is— can you guess?"

What? Guess? You might be a skilled detectivess, but that doesn't mean you can summon up stupid snake guesses on a whim. That's Richard's job. "No?"

"Ha! Fair enough. The trouble is, very large snakes measurably distort the strings around them. The snakes themselves aren't trackable, per se, but the distortions are. And— well, I admit my knowledge is out-of-date, but I haven't heard rumblings of anything being spotted."

"Just rumblings of all the strings tightening up."

Eloise's face drops. "Yes."

"Okay," you say. "Suppose, um, hypothetically, that there were giant snakes. Somewhere. Assume there are. Is there a way they could avoid the distortions being detected?"

"AUX space," Gil says.

"Huh?"

"Um, I-I-I-I have no idea if they're actually... um, I don't know if there are giant snakes anywhere. I wouldn't bet on it. But i-if there were, I assume they could... uh... hide out in..." He's losing steam. "...an auxiliary space? You know, like Garvin's warehouse? I-it's outside reality, so you wouldn't be able to detect it unless you were looking specifically for..."

"Would it be big enough?" you say. Horse Face's warehouse is big, but giant snakes are giant, and "Management" implies the plural.

"I-I-I think they can be any size? I-It's just too complicated to make anything too big, since you need to fuck around with, um— basically, you artificially inflate a pocket of reality, then you sort of twist it off and disconnect it, so it's its own little separate... uh... yeah. And a pocket dimension's the same thing, but not disconnected, so they're usually a lot smaller. AUX space would make more sense. But I-I-I really— uh— I don't know how a lot of giant snakes would get inside one? And I think she's right, I-I don't know why they'd need to make another giant snake, uh, if they were giant snakes? So I wouldn't..."

"An up-and-coming MP!" Eloise says approvingly. (Gil reddens.) "If you're dead-set on the snakes, I think that's one valid suggestion, though it raises all sorts of other questions— not that the alternative doesn't raise questions, of course. Still. 'Darkness at noon is only a cloud'— I personally wouldn't roam too far afield for explanations."

(1/3)

"It's my case," you say. "I can roam as far afield as I—"

"No! Of course, of course." Eloise throws her hands up. "You have had a remarkable track record, I will say. Please keep me appraised of any secret giant snake dimensions. Shall I let you two head off?"

Shall she? You do need to wrap things up before Headspace. But look at Eloise— she's smiling! Like she thinks she's so smart, or like she doesn't believe in the secret giant snake dimension at all, even though it could totally be true. If you leave now, she's going to think she won. Best to— to— to change the subject. "No! Do you want to look at our box?"

"Sorry?"

"We just got a... box." You look sidelong at Gil. "A cool box. It has glass in it, so it makes things less real. I thought it sounded like something you would want to look at."

"Is something the matter with it?" Eloise is furrowing her brow. "Is it broken? Glass is nothing to mess with, Charlotte, so I'm glad you—"

"It's not broken." It's bad enough that Eloise isn't understanding, but Gil squinting back at you is worse. Why does nobody ever get what you mean? "I— it's just cool, okay? And Gil can be beetles inside of it, probably, but we haven't tested it yet, since we just got it. And I thought you could be there for the testing, since I know you know about glass and stuff. So are you coming?"

"Am I..." Eloise's face twitches. "Well, why not? I would be honored. Lead the way!"

Phew! For a moment, you thought she was going to decline. Or think your offer was weird, or something. You lead the way with no further prompting, weaving between tents (you'd caught Eloise outside hers) to find the fastest route back. Gil, keeping pace, tries to make eye contact. You try to avoid eye contact.

"I love the decorations in here." Eloise enters Gil's tent shortly after the two of you do. "The beetle picture! Inspired! Is that what they really look like?"

"Er, they're smaller," you say. "But look, you'll get to see how— Gil! Gil, come here. Bring the box."

Gil brings the box, though not swiftly, and he withdraws as soon as it's in your hands. You think about calling him again, then think better of it, and sidle up to him. (He's sat himself on his cot.) Eloise follows. "Wow! Can I take a look?"

"If you're careful," you say, and hand it over. As Eloise flips it around, Gil locks eyes with you. "I am not going to fucking perform—" he signs.

"Yes you will! It's just testing. You were the one who picked out the—"

"This is very well-made. And thank goodness for it, or it'd be corroding everything in sight! Where did you get it?"

You might be evasive if it weren't from Horse Face, who deserves to be hassled about everything possible. "Ho— Garvin."

"Really! He does have a little bit of everything. I take it this was a gift?" Eloise toys with the box's latch.

(2/3)

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"Pretty much. Gil! Put your hand in it! We have to test it sometime. And Eloise is right here, and she's an expert, so if it goes wrong she can help fix it. It's this or waiting around for you-know to come back, and that might not be for days and days, for all I know, so we better— we better— it's for efficiency!"

"Uh-huh," Gil says, and stares at the now-open box. (You've taken it back from Eloise.)

"Well, go on."

He puts his hand inside the box, and you take the liberty of shutting the lid. It doesn't shut. His hand's in it. "Does it need to be closed all the way?" you ask Eloise.

"I'd think it'd help!"

Oh. Well... Gil said he couldn't feel pain, right? 'Sorry,' you mouth, then press down on the lid, hard. You jam it down, really. Gil's wrist splurches, and his lips thin, but he doesn't get up and leave or anything. The box's lid is see-through, which enables you to see the oozing edge of Gil's wrist, and his twitching disembodied hand, and the strip of skin still joining the two. Gil does not look pained, physically speaking.

You latch the lid tight and rattle the box. Gil's hand, also oozing, wobbles on its skin tether. (Is it skin? It's just tough goo. Whatever.) "Gil!" you hiss. "Do you feel anything weird?"

Gil's expression makes you regret asking— but then he sighs, closes one eye, and clenches the creepy hand into a creepy fist. It glows so blue you see it through your eyelids: then you open them, and there's beetles in the box, and there's Gil with one hand.

"Well! You know how to pick them, don't you?" Eloise lowers her own hand from her eyes, then leans over the box. "Hah. Those are beetles, all right. The real Gil, at last!"

"I-I am the real Gil," Gil says tersely.

"Oh, of course! Poor choice of wording. But these are you? Or do you control—"

Cradling his wrist, he turns pointedly away. "Ask him, not me."

"'Him'?" Eloise looks to you.

Him? Hmm. You have a hunch, and to confirm it you shut your good eye. Strings flare up blue everywhere— but especially where Eloise is (the ordinary tangle), where you are (the sun), where Gil is (the embroidery-loop thing), and... where the box is (a small cobweb, not joined at all to the rest of Gil). A-ha. You open your eye. "That's Gil in the box."

"Er, yes, I did—"

"Another Gil. Not him." You pause. "It's complicated. Er. I guess not that complicated. It's just him split off."

One-handed Gil grunts. Inside the box, the beetles twitch and scutter, evincing no inner life, probably just to spite you. "How do you know?" Eloise asks.

"I saw the strings. Also, he's done it before, lots of times. So don't bother pretending, Gil. You sold yourself out and everything."

"You saw the—"

But Eloise is interrupted by a muffled voice. "...Hi."

Eloise's eyebrows go way, way up. "Well! Hello! You're Gil?"

(3/4)

"I'll leave you to it," you say, because one-handed Gil has scooted all the way down to the edge of his cot, and you're not so completely blind to your own retainer. You sit next to him, try to think of something to say, fail, and pull out Eloise's folder. You're not sure why it's a folder, because there's not much inside. A couple slips of paper. You run your fingers over them.

>Who are you going to possess in order to sneak into Headspace?

>[A1] "Norma Voss. Older woman, allegedly a bit of a hardass. Does 'QA' for 'customs.'"
>[A2] "Virginia Shearer. Late 20s. Nice but dippy. Works in 'Incubation.'"
>[A3] "Iris Greco. Did not get an age for her. Weird one— paranoid? Conspiracy theorist? Designs something— did not get a lot of clear info here, sorry! :'-)"

>[B1] Tell Gil you're sorry.
>[B2] Tell Gil he needs to be less self-conscious for no reason. Everybody thinks his beetles are cool, okay?
>[B3] Write-in.

>>6000244
>[A3] "Iris Greco. Did not get an age for her. Weird one— paranoid? Conspiracy theorist? Designs something— did not get a lot of clear info here, sorry! :'-)"
We can act as weird as we want inside this one

>[B1] Tell Gil you're sorry.
I'm a bit tired of the trap votes to be an ass.

>>6000244
>A2
>B1
We just wanted to make sure it was safe!

>>6000243
>[A2] "Virginia Shearer. Late 20s. Nice but dippy. Works in 'Incubation.'"
>[B2] Tell Gil he needs to be less self-conscious for no reason. Everybody thinks his beetles are cool, okay?

>>6000244
>[A1] "Norma Voss. Older woman, allegedly a bit of a hardass. Does 'QA' for 'customs.'"
>[B1] Tell Gil you're sorry.

>>6000244
>>[A2] "Virginia Shearer. Late 20s. Nice but dippy. Works in 'Incubation.'"
>>[B2] Tell Gil he needs to be less self-conscious for no reason. Everybody thinks his beetles are cool, okay?

>>6000385
>>6000912
>>6000916
>[A2]

>>6000915
>[A1]

>>6000280
>[A3]

>>6000280
>>6000385
>>6000915
>[B1]

>>6000916
>>6000912
>[B2]

Called for [A2], and I'll take both the [B]s, since they're close in support and not necessarily mutually exclusive. Writing.

>>6000280
>I'm a bit tired of the trap votes to be an ass.
Charlotte Fawkins is a master of social interaction.

Being real, in two parts: 1) You've probably heard this from me before, but I don't typically intend options to be "traps"---I just write where they take me, and they often take me to a place where Charlotte, who is a bit of an ass, behaves like an ass. I'm sure this provides no comfort to you, but there's only so many times I can apologize for the same thing before it becomes clear that it's not so easily averted. I do my best not to punish you guys long-term for gaffes you didn't vote for, and that's going to have to be how it is.

2) Okay, here's the comfort: Charlotte is being an ass here, but Gil is also being an ass, lol. He picked out the box for the primary purpose of allowing his beetles to survive in (semi-)reality, but now that he has the chance to test it (with Eloise, who *is* an expert, Charlotte isn't lying) he's psyching himself out for no good reason. Should Charlotte be less weird and pushy about it? Probably. But Gil also needs to be less hyper-sensitive to anything he perceives as "embarrassing," particularly when Eloise has been nothing but friendly. It's a two-way street.

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>Who's Afraid of Virginia Shearer?

You can't be certain, but two of these names sound familiar. Wasn't Iris one of the people you met on the tour? She was kind of paranoid. Nothing's saying it's the same Iris, of course, or that this Norma is the same Norma (though you don't quite remember where you've heard that name)— but is that something you'd like to risk? You don't want the person you're possessing to know you, and you don't really want to know them. It just makes it all too complicated.

Which leaves Virginia, a name you're certain you've never heard before. Alas, poor Virginia! Though, er, you shouldn't— she'll be fine. You're not going to do anything to her, really, except lock her in a mind closet for a bit. You didn't do anything to Rudy, except freak him out a little bit, so it's fine. He was fine. She'll be fine. Everything will be fine, and you won't be doing anything wrong.

You nudge Gil. "I think we should, uh— Gil?"

He swallows.

"I was looking at these Headspace people, and... uh..." He isn't looking at you. His stump wrist is still oozing. "Um, your hand will come back, right? It's not stuck like that?"

Gil shuts his eyes, and— that's it, you think, it's over, he hates you now— he'll run off with Horse Face, or else he'll stay here, in the tent you got him, except he won't talk to you or look at you ever again. Except his stump is twitching nastily, and in places distending, and Gil (eyes shut) makes a face. "Yech."

You're glad he said it, so you don't have to. "Is that a...?"

The stump snaps back to usual. "I-I, uh... it'll come back. I-I-I-I'd rather just wait for— for— to get me back, though, so I don't have to..."

"That makes sense," you say encouragingly.

"Yeah." He flexes his remaining hand.

You don't say anything. He doesn't either. The Gil-in-the-box is speaking haltingly: "I-I-I, uh, I've just gotten used to it, I guess. I-I-I guess you can get used to anything, if it's all you have to—"

"I-I hate hearing myself," your Gil mutters.

"Why? You always sound like that."

"Exactly."

"Gil! You don't... you sound normal. And you're always beetles, so I don't see why it's so bad showing Eloise, by the way. Lots of people have seen you beetles. It's not that weird."

"I-I-It's pretty weird."

"It's..." You think about it. "Okay, it's kind of weird, but not in a bad way. It's just a funny thing about you. Like being left-handed or something. People notice, but it's not like they really care, or—"

Gil drags his fingers up his temples. "'Bug Man'?"

"That's just a— I made them stop saying that! That was just them being mean, because they're... bitches. Pat and Madrigal are bitches. If you were left-handed, they'd be calling you 'Leftie,' or something, okay? It doesn't mean anything. And Eloise would never say that, so you're just being all self-conscious for no reason. She thinks the beetles are cool. Right? Eloise?"

"What's that?" She looks up from the box.

"What do you think?"

(1/4)

"Oh! It's— I haven't seen anything like it, to be totally frank. Talk about fascinating! You have an incredible amount of resilience, Gil, I mean it."

"Thanks," says the box. "...Thanks," says your Gil. "I-I really didn't do anything, but, uh—" You elbow him. "—thanks."

"No, thank you! I feel privileged to take a look. I take it this wasn't easy for you?" Eloise smiles. "I won't be too long. I wouldn't want to leave you handless!"

Gil moves his hand protectively over his stump, but nods. His ankle is bouncing. After several moments, he speaks— to you, not Eloise. "Sorry."

Oh. "It's okay."

"No. I-I-I shouldn't be... I'm not... I'm the one who picked out the box. I-I knew what the point of it was."

"It's okay," you say, and think about his hand on your knee earlier, and about your hand on his knee. You don't move your hand. You think about how happy he was, or how happy Us said he was, inside all that. Dream Gil and his blissful ignorance. "I'm sorry. I guess I shouldn't have pushed it. I just thought it was a good idea."

"It was a good idea," Gil says, and his ankle bouncing slows.

Eloise is still going: "—will remember all of this? There's no conflicts?"

"Uh... yeah. I-I-I remember both sides at once. Which sounds, um— i-it sounds— it's not that bad. It's better than it sounds."

"Happy to hear it. Ah!" She's seen you looking. "I won't keep you. Charlotte? Should I—?"

You extend your hands, and Eloise places the box down gently. You peer down through the lid. It's only beetles. You never get tired of looking at them, then at Gil next to you: it seems impossible they should be the same. Even now it does.

But they are, and the Gil-next-to-you takes the box and fumbles with the latch and jams his stump inside and there's a flash and he has a left hand, again, like nothing happened. He rubs his eye with it.

"How was the box?" you ask.

"...I-I didn't feel like I was disintegrating? So I-I think it works? I wish it were bigger."

"You could probably fit more beetles in there," you say. "You'd just have to lop off more of, um... never mind."

"I'm glad you two have things worked out. I didn't spot any problems with the box, by the way. It seems well-crafted. Don't drop it, though, will you? The last thing you want is teeny shards of glass everywhere."

"I'm not going to drop it! I'm a— I'm— I'm very graceful. I'm known for it, really. My grace and agility." You brush your hair out of your face. "So we'll be fine. But we need to finish prepping for everything, so, um, we don't really need y—"

"We'll see you after the Headspace stuff," Gil interjects. "With good news, um, hopefully."

"Yes!" Eloise says, and shows you two sets of crossed fingers. "Stay safe, please! And don't be afraid to bail if you—"

"We won't need to bail," you huff. "It'll get exploded just fine."

"Okay! But if you do need to, there's no shame in it. Better that than your lives, okay? Best of luck! Bye!"

(2/4)

Eloise leaves. Thank goodness. (There's only so much of her you can stand in one sitting.) You lean back onto Gil's cot and rest your hands over your navel. "Phew. Is your hand okay?"

"Yeah."

"That's good. We need to plan, I think."

"Oh," Gil says. "I-I-I thought you were just going to go in there and... run around a lot, and set things on fire, and then it'd end up exploded somehow. Do you make plans?"

You have no idea whether he's being sarcastic. He sounds at least half-genuine. "I do sometimes! Um, but I didn't mean a plan for inside, so much. A plan for before we go inside. Are we bringing anyone with us?"

There's a beat. "Do you think bringing other people is a good...?"

"I dunno! Maybe? I know last time didn't... maybe just us is okay? I don't know? And Teddy, I guess. Is Teddy still there?"

"Yeah."

"And Teddy. Whatever he's good for." Probably nothing. You hope he's not poisoning Gil against you. "Maybe that, then. And I guess I can possess Virginia, and you can be in my head, and I can sort of sneeze you out when it's—"

Gil bites his lip. "Don't say 'sneeze out'."

"It's accurate! Fine. I can sort of puke you out, Gil, and then you can use your magyckal powers to not be beetles anymore, and then we can go..." You wave a hand in circles. "...set things on fire, or whatever. We will play it by ear! But— oh, we need to set up all those little siphons, so I guess— we'll set it on fire at the end. Need those up first. Do you still have them?"

"I-in the manse."

"We'll have to go get them. We'll have to get all our stuff. We have a lot of stuff, did you know what?" You spread your arms out. "I can't carry all of it, probably, so we'll have to divvy it up. Let's see here..."

(3/4)

>CURRENT HEADSPACE SUPPLY LIST
- Yourself, your amazing innate talents, your reptilian alterations, your inexplicable magyck powers (advanced gaslighting, advanced advanced gaslighting, communion, earth-sensing), etcetera
- The Claudia persona you can adopt at will (fools non-metaphysically-sensitive people into thinking you're Claudia, at least temporarily)
- Gil, and whatever amazing innate talents he can be convinced to try out, e.g. goo shapeshifting, turning into beetles, his divine blessing, general Headspace & manse knowledge
- Teddy, you guess, whatever he's good for
- The Sword (on fire)
- Gil's pistol (formerly Wayne's)
- An extremely pure crystal (possible tine of the Crown)
- A mantis shrimp (can be coaxed to punch through solid objects and/or people)
- A snake, sans Richard
- A key on a string around your neck
- About a dozen portable, reliable mini-Law siphons (need to be stuck throughout Headspace)
- Headspace-branded wristband, bandana, teeshirt, bouncy ball
- An EZ-M.A.N.S.E. pin, uninvestigated
- A SUPER-M.A.N.S.E. pill, uninvestigated
- A small bomb(?) inside of a plum can
- A rucksack
- A bottle of mild painkillers
- A baggie of Headspace-prescribed medication: several moderate stimulants, one powerful dissociative
- A bundle of gulfweed (intended for contacting Henry, but...)
- A pagan idol of some sort
- A shoebox-sized box that makes its contents unreal (or keeps them unreal, if they already were), now proven functional
- A doohickey that extends the range of strings, intended for Gil's beetles
- A pair of socks
- Presumably the mind and body of Virginia Shearer

>[A] What do you keep for yourself, and what do you give to Gil to carry? What do you leave behind (if anything)? Do you do anything special with any of this? (Write-in. If you have partial ideas, but not a comprehensive response, feel free to share regardless.)

>[B] Are you missing any supplies? Now's the time for shopping or borrowing, if you can wrangle it. (Write-in. Optional.)

>[C] Write-in.

>>6001109
>Give Gil the pistol, the siphons and the string doohickey
>Leave the Headspace merch and the snake behind
>Take the rest

>>6001107
>"Oh," Gil says. "I-I-I thought you were just going to go in there and... run around a lot, and set things on fire, and then it'd end up exploded somehow. Do you make plans?"
lmao

Stuff we take:
- Yourself, your amazing innate talents, your reptilian alterations, your inexplicable magyck powers (advanced gaslighting, advanced advanced gaslighting, communion, earth-sensing), etcetera
- The Claudia persona you can adopt at will (fools non-metaphysically-sensitive people into thinking you're Claudia, at least temporarily)
- The Sword (on fire)
- A mantis shrimp (can be coaxed to punch through solid objects and/or people)
- A snake, sans Richard
- A key on a string around your neck
- A small bomb(?) inside of a plum can
things really are going to somehow explode :(
- A rucksack

Stuff Gil takes:
- Gil, and whatever amazing innate talents he can be convinced to try out, e.g. goo shapeshifting, turning into beetles, his divine blessing, general Headspace & manse knowledge
- Teddy, you guess, whatever he's good for
- Gil's pistol (formerly Wayne's)
- About a dozen portable, reliable mini-Law siphons (need to be stuck throughout Headspace)
- Headspace-branded wristband, bandana, teeshirt, bouncy ball
- A bottle of mild painkillers
- A baggie of Headspace-prescribed medication: several moderate stimulants, one powerful dissociative
- A doohickey that extends the range of strings, intended for Gil's beetles

Leave anything unlisted behind

>>6001477
>>6001488
These two proposals agree on:

>You:
Yourself, Claudia, Sword, shrimp, key, bomb, rucksack

>Gil:
Himself, pistol, siphons, doohickey, Teddy (left out of the first proposal, but it's going to be hard to leave him)

They disagree on whether to take or leave the M.A.N.S.E. products, the idol, the gulfweed, the Headspace merch, the crystal, the snake, the socks, and the box. They also disagree about whether to give Gil or you the painkillers and the Headspace pills. I'm going to lock in the agreed-upon divvying, and we'll have more focused voting after the next update.

Writing.

File: gil's manse.jpg (88 KB, 563x847)

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>Logistics

"...I'll take the mantis, of course, since Branwen gave it to me. And my sword, and the bomb, and— I have a rucksack, so I can store things in there." There's something cold around your neck that you'll take along, too, but you won't mention it to Gil. "And you ought to take your new pistol, plus all the siphons, since you did make them. And your new, um, thingy! We need to install your thingy!"

"My what?"

"The thingy you got from Horse Face." You make a circle with your hand. "The part? The String-Extendertron 2000?"

Gil exhales. "The refractor? Hah. Um, yeah, i-i-it'd be nice to get that installed. Though I think we'd have to do that in a loc— in a manse."

"Okay!" you say. "Sounds good! Whose?"

"...Right now?"

"Is there another time, Gil? We shouldn't dawdle. What if there's technical difficulties? And— you need to hide out in my manse, anyways, so I can smuggle you inside. That's how we're doing it? I smuggle you inside? I don't see any other way to do it, so—"

"Sure. I-I'm used to it. But, um... you're not burnt out on manses at all? I-It's been sort of a long day, and—"

"Longer for you," you say. "I've been fine! You've been— you've been kidnap-sorbed, and you got an entire new body, and you have a guy there— is Teddy still there?"

"He doesn't talk that much," Gil says defensively. "He's okay watching."

"He's watching! That's creepy. Can he hear this? That's creepy."

"Lottie, Richard is— Richard is watching all the time, and I don't say shit, okay? I-I-I mean, he isn't right now, but he was the entire rest of the time we... so forget about Teddy. I-I was just thinking that, you know, a lot of people have issues with staying too long in manses. Like, they need to recharge, sort of. But i-if you don't think it's a problem, then, um..."

"Maybe that's a problem for some people. But I am of a superior make, obviously, so there's nothing to worry about. Whose manse?"

"...Mine? Yours i-i-is still sort of, um, scary. Sorry."

You'd be offended, except for the fact that he's right. "Okay."

"Okay," Gil says, and turns toward you. "I-I don't know how you want to do this, but—"

How you do this: by looking down into him, like you're communing, but it's more two-way than that, more of a push-and-pull than a push-push-push. As your vision crowds in, you feel a hand on your back, and it could be Gil's real hand; more likely it isn't. More likely it's only the sense of a hand on your back, ushering you in, not pushily, but warmly and steadily; one hand on your back, and another holding open a door. You are happy to enter, happier still to find yourself prone and damp amongst clover and meadowsweet and lush floppy blades of grass. It's no wonder people have issues staying too long in manses. How could they ever leave?

(1/3)

File: Spoiler Image (510 KB, 684x717)

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You know Gil is beetles by the weedy drone of him, long before you flip onto your back and see them against the cloudless sky. The medicine is keeping your headache at bay, but in the cool air your tongue feels pickled. "Do you have a glass of water?"

"What?"

"I'm dehydrated." It must be true in some sense, or Lucky's torch never would've made you feel it. "Um, rainwater, please. If you have a choice."

"I-If I have a...? Um, okay. Shut your eyes?"

You shut them.

"There should be a glass of... rainwater, I-I guess, next to you. By your left hand. Open your eyes."

You open your eyes. There is a glass of rainwater by your left hand. You pick it up, swish some water around your mouth, and swallow. "Thanks. How far apart can you go without the thingy?"

"Uh..." Like you'd tossed a stone into their midst, the beetles scatter. "I-I-I don't know, how much is this?"

You and numbers don't get along. "...Ten feet? Ish? Eight to ten? Is that your maximum?"

"Um, I-I could probably go a little further if I really had to, but this is— this is already a lot. I-It's like lifting weights. Or like if I-I-I had a bunch of rubber bands around my fingers, and I was holding them way open, and—"

"I got the picture. You can stop." (The beetles spring back into their usual shape.) "And the thingy's going to—"

"I-It's going to make the rubber bands bigger. Or stretchier, maybe. I-I'm not completely sure of the theory. Um, you should have it—"

The thingy (was it a 'refractor'?) is in your lap. You pick it up. "Yup."

"—with you. Yeah. I-I-It's supposed to alter the length of strings. Garvin said the strings get fed through the holes, sort of."

"Cool! I can do that." What else is your eye good for? "If you'll hold still, at least."

The beetles churn. "You'd do that? I-I-I was also thinking, um, that I could get me to do it... or Teddy? I-I wasn't sure about Teddy, but I— I don't— can you do that? I-I guess you have the thing with the eye now..."

"Exactly! I have the thing with the eye now." The eye doesn't strictly let you move strings around, but does that matter? "So hold still. I'll take care of it."

Blue sky, green grass; blue strings, blackness. The beetles are a sticky cobweb, same as always. You can't see your hand with your eyes shut, but you can feel the refractor clasped in it, and you take that certainty and apply it outward.

"Shit!" Gil says, the instant you make contact.

"...Does it hurt?"

"Um, no." He is unconvincing. "But please be careful. Um, really careful. Please."

(2/3?)

Okay. You are as careful as you can possibly be, picking up loose strands of string and feeding them bit-by-bit through the holes in the refractor. Gil still squirms and jitters and makes pointless commentary ("Careful!" "Watch it!" "Shit!") throughout, which you guess is good, because it means he's alive enough to commentate. You like the whimpers he makes less. Even though you're not messing anything up (you think, you hope), you guess it's not easy to stand— a bit like when Richard takes hold of your mind. It's hard to not feel nervy, knowing somebody's mucking around in what makes you 'you'.

He doesn't have any actual cause for it, though. You're no good at sewing, but this isn't sewing, and isn't complex work in the slightest— just looping, really. When you release the refractor, it's the new center of the cobweb. When you open your eyes, it's hanging in the center of the swarm, attached to nothing at all. "How does that feel?"

"Um," Gil says carefully. "Weird."

"But it's in there, right? Does it work? Try it!"

The beetles edge outward— and outward, and outward, and outward. They don't form a neat orb, like last time, or any particular shape. They don't even look related. It's a beautiful day outside, in a beautiful grassy meadow, and a bunch of beetles are happening to mingle above. Doing beetley things. Isn't that lovely?

Really, though, Gil is probably thirty feet across— though very sparse, all considered. The refractor didn't add any extra beetles. "Working okay?" you shout up.

"...Yeah!" Gil sounds kind of clicky.

"Still like rubber bands?"

"Maybe the... maybe the jumbo kind... ha-ha..." Definitely clicky. (A beetle accent?) "Um, I-I better, uh... hold on... ha-ha..."

The beetles meander back into a clump, which spirals, flashes, and deposits Gil onto the grass. He's holding his forehead. "Wow."

"Success?"

He squints. "'s a lot to... take in. Mostly air. Um. Yeah. I-I-I'll— I'll— I-I think special occasions, maybe. No need to take up that much space forever."

"Okay," you say. "Special occasions! Like cool fights, or... I don't know. I don't really know why you picked this, but that's okay. Can you stand up?"

He can stand up, albeit shakily.

"Great! Now, about the rest of the stuff..."

(Choices next. Prepare yourself.)

I know this looks insane, but most of these are just simple yes/no binaries. Don't be scared.

>[A1] Bring the M.A.N.S.E. products. You still don't know what they do or how they work, precisely, but if there's a place to find out... it's Headspace.
>[A2] Leave the M.A.N.S.E. products. It's a shame you never got the chance to investigate them, but they'll be irrelevant soon enough.

>[B1] Let Gil take the idol along. It's small enough to fit in a pocket (or whatever the goo equivalent is), and it's possible he may need some kind of boost at some point.
>[B2] Make Gil leave the idol behind. It's weird! And pagan! And he probably doesn't want to get caught with it, right?

>[C1] If the crystal is a tine of the Crown, and it doesn't have Law in it yet... you can stab something in Headspace to fill it, can't you? Bring it with you, empty.
>[C2] If the crystal is a tine of the Crown, and it doesn't have Law in it yet... don't you have some siphoned up already? Fill the tine and bring it with you, full. (You'll have a one-shot [LAW] for use, similar to [OPEN].)
>[C3] It's way too risky to bring it. What if it gets lost? Or taken? It's your trump card! Stow the tine safely in your manse.

>[D1] Take the snake along. It's Richard! Or his body, or shell, or... something. Maybe it'll bring good luck. Maybe it can bite somebody for you.
>[D2] Leave the snake behind. It's just a snake. And it's kind of conspicuous, even if it can disappear on a whim (maybe?).

>[E1] Wear the socks, assuming there's nothing wrong with them. It's admittedly been a while since you had a new pair of socks.
>[E2] Bring the socks, but don't wear them. Maybe you can regift them. Or incinerate them.
>[E3] Leave the socks. Are you actually going to have any need for socks?

>[F1] Bring the box. Maybe you'll need to make something unreal? Or smuggle something unreal out of Headspace?
>[F2] Leave the box. It's large, fragile, and Eloise *just* warned you about breaking it.

>[G1] Bring (at least some of) the gulfweed. If you and Gil get split up, having a means of contact would be incredibly useful.
>[G2] Leave the gulfweed. It's supposed to be used for contacting Henry, not anybody else. And you probably don't want to be caught with any.

>[H1] Keep all the pills (Headspace and painkillers) for yourself. You're the boss. Plus, Gil doesn't feel pain.
>[H2] Let Gil take the pills with him. He needs to feel important somehow. Plus— positive thinking— you won't even need them.

>[I1] Make Gil wear the Headspace merchandise. You'll be in Virginia's body, but he won't have any disguise, at least not initially. The merch could help.
>[I2] Leave the Headspace mechandise. It's so tacky!

>[J] Write-in.

>>6002231
>[A1] Bring the M.A.N.S.E. products. You still don't know what they do or how they work, precisely, but if there's a place to find out... it's Headspace.

>[B1] Let Gil take the idol along. It's small enough to fit in a pocket (or whatever the goo equivalent is), and it's possible he may need some kind of boost at some point.

>[C2] If the crystal is a tine of the Crown, and it doesn't have Law in it yet... don't you have some siphoned up already? Fill the tine and bring it with you, full. (You'll have a one-shot [LAW] for use, similar to [OPEN].)

>[D2] Leave the snake behind. It's just a snake. And it's kind of conspicuous, even if it can disappear on a whim (maybe?).

>[E1] Wear the socks, assuming there's nothing wrong with them. It's admittedly been a while since you had a new pair of socks.

>[F1] Bring the box. Maybe you'll need to make something unreal? Or smuggle something unreal out of Headspace?

>[G1] Bring (at least some of) the gulfweed. If you and Gil get split up, having a means of contact would be incredibly useful.

>[H1] Keep all the pills (Headspace and painkillers) for yourself. You're the boss. Plus, Gil doesn't feel pain.

>[I1] Make Gil wear the Headspace merchandise. You'll be in Virginia's body, but he won't have any disguise, at least not initially. The merch could help.

>[J] Write-in.

>>6002229
>art
damn Gil getting cooler and cooler

>A1
>B1
>C1
>D2
>E1
>F2
>G1
only some
>H1
>I1
I'm pretty sure normal clothes would be a better disguise than Headspace merch, but I'm trying to meet in the middle as much as possible. I really don't want to bring the box though.

>>6002231
>[A2] Leave the M.A.N.S.E. products. It's a shame you never got the chance to investigate them, but they'll be irrelevant soon enough.
>[B1] Let Gil take the idol along. It's small enough to fit in a pocket (or whatever the goo equivalent is), and it's possible he may need some kind of boost at some point.
>[C1] If the crystal is a tine of the Crown, and it doesn't have Law in it yet... you can stab something in Headspace to fill it, can't you? Bring it with you, empty.
>[D2] Leave the snake behind. It's just a snake. And it's kind of conspicuous, even if it can disappear on a whim (maybe?).
>[E1] Wear the socks, assuming there's nothing wrong with them. It's admittedly been a while since you had a new pair of socks.
>[F2] Leave the box. It's large, fragile, and Eloise *just* warned you about breaking it.
>[G1] Bring (at least some of) the gulfweed. If you and Gil get split up, having a means of contact would be incredibly useful.
>[H2] Let Gil take the pills with him. He needs to feel important somehow. Plus— positive thinking— you won't even need them.
>[I1] Make Gil wear the Headspace merchandise. You'll be in Virginia's body, but he won't have any disguise, at least not initially. The merch could help.

>>6002322
>>6002457
>[A1]

>>6002689
>[A2]

>>6002322
>>6002457
>>6002689
>[B1]

>>6002457
>>6002689
>[C1]

>>6002322
>[C2]

>>6002322
>>6002457
>>6002689
>[D2]

>>6002322
>>6002457
>>6002689
>[E1]

>>6002457
>>6002689
>[F2]

>>6002322
>[F1]

>>6002322
>>6002457
>>6002689
>[G1] (some)

>>6002322
>>6002457
>[H1]

>>6002689
>[H2]

>>6002322
>>6002457
>>6002689
>[I1]

Okay! Called for taking the M.A.N.S.E. products, the idol, the empty tine, the pills, and some of the gulfweed; wearing the socks; and making Gil wear the Headspace merch. Also called for leaving behind the snake and the box.

Writing.

>>6002457
>damn Gil getting cooler and cooler
Alas, this is old art (I think thread 29?), reused to illustrate his former max swarm diameter. That's why it's Teddy there, not Gil. Still works, though!

File: no write only idea.jpg (38 KB, 500x345)

38 KB JPG

...I'll aim to get it done during the day. Check back.

>Logistics part 2

"...I'll take all the junk I got from the store, and those Headspace pills you stole— we can probably steal more, but it's good to have extras— and the gulfweed—" And the crystal you took from Wayne, but you won't mention that. You don't think Gil would approve.

"The gulfweed?"

"Oh! I got it from Henry. I... I don't have it on me, but it's supposed to— you chew it and it sort of, um— it lets you talk long-distance. So I figure we should both have some, in case you run off and start shooting people with a paintball gun. Though I guess I could keep some beetles with me?" You scratch your chin. "It's good to have backup options, so whatever. You can keep that freaky idol, since you got it for some reason, and then I think you should wear—"

"Henry?" Gil says.

"What?"

"Who's Henry?"

Who's... he's never met Henry. He was stuck in your head when the cult abducted you, and he was fast asleep when you went on the disastrous heist with Earl. "Um, my uncle."

"Your uncle?"

You really don't like Gil's tone. "Not biological... sort of a family friend... but whatever! It doesn't matter! He sent me gulfweed. I think you should wear that Headspace tee shirt I got, for camouflage."

Gil twists a few blades of glass between his fingers. "Camouflage."

"They probably all wear Headspace stuff in there!" You can't remember any of them doing that, but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen. "Since they have to buy stuff from the company stores, I bet."

"Which we're going to blow up."

"Yes! Which we're going to blow up! And then the shirt will become rare and valuable, so don't throw a fit about it. You're wearing it. And I'll wear the socks I got, so long as they're not poisonous. And I'm not bringing the snake or the giant box. There. Bam. Done. Plan: planned."

"Sounds like it. Er. I-Is that the only planning you were going to do?"

"Um... well, Gil, this is sort of... we need to think on our feet! I can't spend ages in there scouting things out, or I'll start thinking I'm actually Virginia, and it'd just be an enormous mess. We have to be flexible."

"Okay."

"Um, if that sounds okay with you."

Gil takes a while to articulate a response. "Um... i-i-it's not how I would do it, but, um... I-I trust you that it'll work out in the end. Because i-i-i-it always does, um, even if I don't understand how. Are we doing anything else, though?"

"Anything else?"

"Like, anything at all... or are we just leaving?"

(Choices next.)

File: spacers.jpg (17 KB, 474x316)

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>[1] Time in Headspace moves ten times faster than in reality— waiting any longer to start off could be disastrous, even if it means having to track down Virginia at night. You should go.

>[2] Traveling in low light is risky, and waking Virginia up— or catching her in her nightclothes— sounds like a bad idea. Best to kill time, get some sleep, and set off in the morning.
>>[A] In the meantime, see if Gil would be willing to work on one last mechanical thingy. It'll be a rush job, so no guarantees it'll succeed, but it's not like he'll be able to construct anything in Headspace. [Roll to see if it gets finished.]
>>[B] In the meantime, just crash. It might not be nighttime yet, and you did pass out after getting drunk, but that wasn't restful in the slightest- and it's been a long day. [Add +5 "Well Rested" bonus to your next three rolls.]
>>[C] In the meantime... Claudia is still in you somewhere, and you're no closer to digging her out. The mention of the Headspace pills, though, have given you an idea... [???]
>>[D] Write-in.

>[2B]
How can I not vote for a way to oppose the Drowned dice.

>>6003713
>2C
One last side-sidequest that will take 5 threads to resolve

>>6003713
>>2C

>>6003713
>[1] Time in Headspace moves ten times faster than in reality— waiting any longer to start off could be disastrous, even if it means having to track down Virginia at night. You should go.

>>6003713
>>[2B] In the meantime, just crash. It might not be nighttime yet, and you did pass out after getting drunk, but that wasn't restful in the slightest- and it's been a long day. [Add +5 "Well Rested" bonus to your next three rolls.]

We'll need these based on our rolls last thread

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>6003807
>>6004239
>[2B]

>>6003897
>>6004058
>[2C]

>>6004063
>[1]

Flipping between [2B] and [2C]...

>>6003897
Feeling nostalgic, anon?

>>6004239
The thread before last (37), but I catch your drift!

>>6004251
>[2B]

Called and writing.

Also, I have threads 5-9 compiled here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1BFsue8klDevUAuCvVb2V3ktsBvdvYmAhGIDhhscKHDE/edit?usp=sharing

I hope to get 1-4 (and therefore the entirety of Redux so far) completed this week. Maybe the original Drowned, too, if I feel spicy. We'll see what happens.

>Snooze

"Um," you say. You hadn't thought that far ahead. "I was just going to get some sleep. It doesn't make any sense to set off in the evening. Walking around at night—"

"Um, that part makes sense, yeah. ...Were you going to sleep here?"

"Here?" You did take a nap in Gil's manse, that one time, but— "No! Then I'd be— my body'd be sleeping in your tent! What if somebody came in and saw? They'd get completely the wrong idea!"

Gil's eyes go big. "Aw yeah."

"And we wouldn't want that, would we? They're already spreading vile rumors. I don't think any of them even know what a retainer is." You toss your head. "Plus, I have the mantis tied up in my tent. I should make sure it isn't dead. That, and the snake—"

"The snake?"

"You know. Richard, but without the... Richard?" Gil does not know. "It doesn't talk or anything. I'm not bringing it along. Don't— you don't need to worry about the snake."

"Um, alright. What should I-I do?"

"What should you do?"

"Um, I-I-I'm not tired."

You make a face. "How am I supposed to know? I'm not your mother. What did you do before you had a real body?"

Gil snaps a clover blossom off its stem. "..."

"Did you do anything?"

"I-I— I— I wasn't—" He splits the stem in two with his fingernail. "I-I wasn't having a very good time, Lottie. Um. Richard was there sometimes, but he wasn't... he didn't really make for good company, and... I-I think time moved faster in there than it did for you, so you didn't show up that often. Maybe i-i-it was often for you, but not for me. I-I-I mostly just sat there."

The sawing of crickets, once background noise, is starting to irritate. You yank a tuft of grass out from next to you. "I didn't mean to—"

"I-I-I'm not blaming you! I'm not. I-I-I-I never blamed you. I-I was never angry. I-I-I-I-It was better sitting there doing shit-all than it was sitting in my fucking prison waiting to die. I-I-I just wished I could get out of there— and I did! I-I have a body now."

"Not a real one," you mumble. "Goo."

"I-I-I was never going to get a real one, Lottie. My real body's i-i-in a trash heap somewhere. I-I'm not..." Gil inhales. "I-I'm not human. Things are better than I-I ever could've realistically expected. Don't beat yourself up about anything."

You wrap the grass around your finger. "You mean it?"

"I-It doesn't work if we're both beating ourselves up, okay? I-I-I-It doesn't work. You should go get some sleep. You're going to set shit on fire tomorrow."

"You don't know that," you protest.

Gil looks at you.

"Okay, there will probably be— but only because Headspace is going to explode! Explosions cause fire! Everybody knows that."

Gil looks at you. Not judgmentally.

"They do. Um, so I will get some sleep. But what are you going to...?"

"I-I-I'll figure it out. I-I still need to renovate for..."

"Teddy?"

"Um, yeah." He looks guilty. "He says he doesn't need anything, but—"

"Where is he right now?"

(1/3)

Gil's eyes flick to the left. Your eyes flick to the left, and you full-body startle, nearly knocking over the glass of water. "God-blessed! Wh— he was not there the whole time."

Teddy is seated right there in the grass, not as close as Gil is, but not much further. He raises a hand in greeting. He has no readable expression.

"Sorry," Gil says. "Um, I-I-I-I think it's like Richard. You know. I-I can't see him half the time, but you... can."

God-damnit. You should've chopped him out of there, no holds barred. If some beetles got stuck, damn them! "I see."

"He wasn't talking shit about you, Lottie. He usually doesn't have anything to say."

"I see. I guess you can go have fun with him, then, while I'm asleep."

"I'm not here to cause trouble," Teddy says placidly. "I can go somewhere else if you'd rather—"

"No! No. I'm the one who's going." You stand, grab the glass of water, down it in one go, and wipe your lips. "Have a nice evening, I guess. Enjoy yourselves."

"Lottie!"

Lottie nothing. You fumble around in your pockets, face heated, and pull out your model. Gil's eyes are too heavy on you, so you turn your back, and look, and look, and look, and look, and—

—

—awaken. Gil's body is a bit deflated, like a water balloon left in the sun. You feel odd looking at it. You feel as though Nice Richard would have something to say about your conduct, but he isn't here, so you'll be— you'll— you didn't do anything wrong. You never do anything wrong.

You never do anything wrong, and you won't do anything wrong tomorrow. (You tie Gil's door carefully shut.) You are going to go in, free thousands, enact deliverance on thousands more, explode anybody who needs to be exploded, and escape— you and Gil, escape— completely unscathed. That's how it's going to go.

As you tie your own tent shut, undress, redress, check the knot on the mantis's leash, scratch the snake's head, climb onto your cot— get out of your cot and grab the snake and climb back in— lay down, and let the snake settle on your chest how it likes it, you replay the perfect sequence of events again and again. The good will happen to those deserving of it, and the bad to those deserving it, and you will escape, and everybody will love you. This time everybody will love you. There's no alternative. Nobody can not love a rescuer of thousands. That's a heroine. A real, glorious, shining heroine. You, tomorrow.

It feels good to imagine it. It feels better to know it's almost actually real. If you think about it hard enough, it's bound to come true. That's how it's worked. You think things and they come true.

(2/3)

File: Spoiler Image (1.71 MB, 1844x2269)

1.71 MB PNG

(It hasn't always worked that way. It didn't work for most of your life. You did a lot of thinking, but there wasn't anything coming true. Richard came true, but he wasn't at all how you wanted him, not after the beginning.)

(When did it start?)

(Why did it...)

(If you knew, if you could put your finger on it, then you feel like you'd know...)

(Would know...)

(Would know what was wrong.)

...

You sleep.

—

You, a wound, a knife, tortoiseshell, blood, your blood, his blood, his blood: black, white, red. You, the ocean, the eye: red, yellow, white. You, the earth. A cave, a sewer, a tunnel, a cavern. You and snakes, worms, Wyrms: black and yellow, red and red. You and lizards: white, red, black. You and lizard-things. You are sweat and convulsions and there is a lizard-thing bent over you. A lizard-thing is picking you up and cradling you.

Charlotte Frances Fawkins. Never a good dream. Never any rest.

You are not awake, but you calm in its delicate grip. Your fingers clamp around its spines.

It's not fair. I know it isn't. It's not your fault. Do you remember? It's not your fault.
Know that soon. Be happy. Dream well, for once.
And, er, don't forget about Claudia. She would like you to be reminded.

You sigh and murmur, pressing your face against the lizard-thing's soft scales.

You're... I don't know. Don't let me wake you up.
I love you, Lottie.

In one moment there is a lizard-thing and in the next there isn't, but you perceive no difference: in one moment you are being cradled, and in the next moment you are being cradled. You are swathed in cotton and down and clover and meadowsweet, and you are taken to the end of the pier and allowed into the water, and it is the color of your eye and the temperature of your body, and you neither float nor sink in it but hang in place— rest in place. You rest.

—

>What do you have a GOOD dream about?

>[1] Your family. Life at home.
>[2] The end of your quest. Victory.
>[3] Tomorrow. It goes perfectly.
>[4] Gil. Teddy. There's no threat.
>[5] Write-in? (Subject to veto.)

>>6004353
>4
Finally we can stop being weird about this

>>6004353
>[4] Gil. Teddy. There's no threat.

>>6004534
>>6004560
>[4]

Surprise! I'm going to do my best to double-update today, since I skipped a day at the start of the thread and I want to keep things moving. Called and writing.

File: pool.jpg (32 KB, 474x316)

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>Chill out

You dream.

—

You are lounging by the side of a swimming pool with a book and a glass of lemonade and one leg crossed over the other. In the deck chair next to yours is a coiled snake, hot to the touch, tongue flicking idly. It likes the sun. You, whose skin burns like nobody's business, are in the shade of a great pink umbrella.

You could swim, but you are completely content to lay there and flip pages. You have read this book many times before and will again. Also, the pool is occupied: Gil is swimming in it. He is wearing what most men wear to swim, and you steal a peek every time you flip a page, though you're uncertain why. Maybe you're just hoping he'll put a shirt on. Any page now.

You sip on your lemonade and pat the snake and push hair from your eyes and flip a page and try to control yourself— but can't help it. You look. There are two Gils in the pool now, one taller and one shorter, one with goggles and one without, and the one with goggles pulls his up to his forehead, and the one without pinches his nose and blows water out his ears. You sit up a little.

"A pool," the shorter Gil mutters, and wades towards the shallow end. Towards you. "Of course i-it's a—"

"It could be worse."

"I-I-I mean... okay, yeah. There's no giant eyeball. Yet. But I-I-I— now it feels like we're interrupting. Look! She's reading a book! This was a—"

"You're getting cold feet."

"Yeah, I-I-I'm getting— look at her! She can't hear us! I-I-I-It's fucked up, messing around in her—"

"She can hear us. She just isn't comprehending." The taller Gil turns his head. "And it was your idea."

"I-I-I have shitty ideas, Teddy. You're supposed to stop me before I-I fuck everything up with my shitty ideas. This i-is a colossally shitty— it's not just shitty, it's messed-up, okay? I-I-It's like I'm manipulating her."

"Mhm."

"I-I-It's like I don't trust her at all. Like I think she's stupid."

"Mhm."

"She's not stupid, but she gets these ideas in her head, Teddy, and they get stuck there, and I-I-I-I have no idea how to dislodge them. And i-i-if I could dislodge them, she'd be way happier, and everything would be so much easier, and—"

"Do you honestly believe that?"

The shorter Gil stops halfway up the pool steps. "Um, yeah? I-I-I've been thinking that from the minute she— I think she was raised all fucked-up, or something. She tries to make it sound cool, but... I-I mean, she sucks at lying. So i-i-it's not her fault, I guess, but—"

"You're not selfishly motivated?"

The shorter Gil, one hand on the railing, turns all the way around. "Of course i-i-it's— are you fucking with me? I-I-I'm a selfish piece of shit. This is selfish. I'm fucking with her head for my benefit."

"Not for mine?"

"Shut up."

"Not for hers?"

"Shut up."

"You don't think she'll be better off?"

(1/3?)

File: snake pit.jpg (53 KB, 563x568)

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"I-I-I-If I'd known how much you'd..." The shorter Gil squeezes the railing, shuts his eyes. "I-It's mutually beneficial, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I-I-If it goes well, we're all better off."

"Okay. Then I think that this is an unorthodox way of going about it, but it's not intrinsically morally wrong, and it doesn't make you a bad person. So go on."

The shorter Gil doesn't move.

"I'll be right behind you."

The shorter Gil sighs, adjusts his grip, and pushes himself out of the pool, splashing chemical water onto the deck and onto your ankles. You blink. "Whuh— Gil?"

"Oh. Hi, uh, Lottie." Gil drips. His flesh is goose-pimply.

"You're wet."

"...I was swimming. Um... oh, thank god." He catches a towel thrown by taller— by goggles— by Teddy. You really did not need to see Teddy in swim shorts, but here you are. Gil wraps the towel around his torso. "Okay. Um, here's Teddy. He was also swimming."

You nod curtly. You really did not need to see Teddy at all. You don't know why he's here, interrupting your reading, hogging your time with your retainer, reading his mind, allegedly, like he knows Gil better than you could. You always thought he looked smug, Teddy. From the moment you saw him, you never liked him. "Why?"

"Because he... he was? Is that a bad thing?"

"I ordered him thrown in the snake pit, Gilbert. Is he in the snake pit?"

"What?"

You extend a royal finger. The pool, if it ever was a pool, is brimming with thrashing, snapping, knotting snakes, and the view from your throne is excellent. Gil looks down at his livery and back at the snake pit and over at Teddy, who's kneeling, who's manacled. "Lottie! I-I-I'm not going to—"

"He is a traitor! He seeks to subvert you! To subvert... us. He skulks around, whispering in your ear, taking over your mind, eating your memories—"

"You're talking about Richard! Not—"

"You dare defy me, fool?" You brandish a royal hand. "I'll have you both thrown in the snake pit, if you don't comply! He's subverted you already. I see it now. I was idiotic to depend so much on you. To the pit, now, and I hope I never—"

"Excuse me," says your lowly prisoner. "I believe there's been a misunderstanding, Your Majesty."

You adjust your royal seat. "What?"

"I did not come here to engage in subterfuge. Much the opposite. I came..." Your prisoner exchanges glances with your (former) loyal regent. "...to pledge my service. As your retainer."

"Um," you say. "Really?"

"Yes. It would be an enormous honor. I may be less overtly present than Gil, but I would strive to put my skills, as limited as they are, toward your cause. I believe it would be the right and the just thing to do."

(2/3?)

"Oh." You are standing there, on level ground, Sword in hand. Teddy is still kneeling. He is no longer manacled. "Well, um, a lady can have two retainers. That's allowed."

"Yes."

"I guess one-and-a-half retainers, since you're sort of part of Gil now, apparently."

"Yes."

"One-and-a-half is a decent number. Not too many. Gil can help tell you what to do." You twist The Sword back and forth. "He's good at it by now."

"Yes," Teddy says, and bows his head.

"Okay. Well, um, I anoint thee, Teddy Wallace, a loyal retainer of I, Lady Charlotte Fawkins, forsworneth to be at my side until you die, or I die, um, whichever comes first, and to aideth me in various things, as I deem necessary. And in return, you shall have mine bounteous favor, and... I don't know what else you need."

"I don't have a lot of needs."

"Oh. Then bounteous favor, I guess. God bless you." You tap his shoulders with The Sword, then his head, and then you practically drop The Sword, from the sheer staggering relief, from the weight off your back you didn't know was there, and you shake Teddy's outstretched hand enthusiastically, and you pivot, and you— you don't know why, but you grab Gil and hug him and practically swing him around. He smells chlorinated, though you haven't any idea why. The world is sunshine and lemonade and it is good to you, it is good, it would never punish you for doing the right thing— it is good. People like you. It is good.

—

You wake up happy.

>[ID: 14/14]
>[GAINED: Well-Rested — +5 to the next three rolls.]

You dress and freshen happy, too, and go out the tent humming, though you haven't a clue why. By knocking incessantly on the post to Gil's tent, you summon him, sleep-drugged, to the door. He squints out at you. "What? Issit... is it a 'mergency?"

"No? It's morning! You should be awaken by now. But no, I had something— I had a great idea" What was it? What was it? Oh! "I should swear Teddy in as a retainer!"

There's a pause. "What? Why?"

"It'll solve all the problems, Gil! All of them."

"...What problems?"

What problems? The problems. You don't want to spell out the problems for him, they're so obvious. "Can we just do it?"

Another pause, longer. "...Okay. I-I mean, if you really want to...?"

"Yes! I do! Can I come in?"

"...I-I-I-I haven't gotten dressed yet..."

"You're goo."

"Oh." Gil withdraws embarrassedly and returns a second later. "Okay. You can come in. Sorry."

"Thank you." You drag his desk chair out and sit upon it. "I'll swear him in. Consider that done already, practically. Then we need to go! We can't waste time. They're going to release the Super-M.A.N.S.E. any hour now, probably."

"How do you know?"

(3/4)

You don't. You're speculating. "It doesn't matter! Now, see here." You brandish the slip of paper from Eloise. "Virginia— that's the target— she lives in the Flats, according to Eloise. In the skimmer camp. So that's where we're going to go, and—" Oh.

"And what?"

The skimmer camp, where Earl murdered a bunch of people, you in tow. "Nothing. We should be careful, is all. Now, I'm thinking our approach should be something like this..."

>All of these options will require rolls of varying DCs.

>[1] Stealthy. Try to find Virginia alone, get in, and commune with her before she can raise a stink. You don't need to be diplomatic about it— it's not like she's going to *want* her Headspace self to be possessed.
>[2] Diplomatic. Are you sure she won't want her Headspace self possessed? If you could get through to Fake Ellery, maybe you can get through to Fake Virginia. You just need to explain properly.
>[3] Tricky. You don't know how easy it'll be to get her alone, or to convince her of the necessity of you processing her. It'll be a lot easier if you can *make* it happen. [Advanced Advanced Gaslighting.]
>[4] Write-in.

>>6005119
>[2] Diplomatic. Are you sure she won't want her Headspace self possessed? If you could get through to Fake Ellery, maybe you can get through to Fake Virginia. You just need to explain properly.
I think our diplomacy track record has gotten better recently.

>>6005119
>[1] Stealthy. Try to find Virginia alone, get in, and commune with her before she can raise a stink. You don't need to be diplomatic about it— it's not like she's going to *want* her Headspace self to be possessed.

>>6005119
>2
Basically, there's another you, and that bitch is living the high life while you're stuck out here in the sticks. I will aid you in glorious revenge.

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Rolled 62, 80, 24 + 30 = 196 (3d100 + 30)

>>6005122
>>6005295
>[2]

>>6005136
>[1]

Called for [2]. Due to the late hour, I will do the rolls.

>Rolling 3 1d100s + 30 (+15 God of Change, +10 Genuinely Urgent, +5 Well-Rested) vs. DC 70 (+20 You Want To Do What To My What?!) to convince Fake Virginia you need to be inside her head, STAT!

>>6005479
>92, 110, 54 vs. DC 70 -- Success

Nice. Writing.

>Forsworn

You go in there, you tell her that you really really need to possess her Headspace self, and then she'll agree! And you won't be doing anything wrong! Easy.

Gil is not as impressed as you are. "And you think she'll..."

"She will if you do your thing!" You wave your hands. "You know, your thing? That you did to Ellery? The pagan—"

"I-I-I can't do that on command! And i-it's not some magic— I-I mean— it doesn't always work, even when it does happen! So I-I-I-I really don't want to rely on it to be our one—"

"It's not going to be our one thing, Gil. I'll talk to her. I'm supremely convincing." You nod firmly. "It's settled! That's how we'll do it. Can I swear in Teddy now? How should I do that? Is he floating around right now where I can't see him, or do I need to go back in your manse, or...?"

"Um, give me a second." Gil's eyes go unfocused. Is that how you look, talking to Richard? No way. You're much stealthier. "...He can be here. Now. Um, don't flip your lid."

"Flip my lid?" What a bizarre expression. "Ha! I never allow my lid to— GIL!"

Awful, indescribable things are happening to Gil's face. If he had bones in there, they'd be crunching. If he had blood, it'd be spurting. Instead, the goo's swirling, sort of rearranging, and settling in a new pattern.

He still looks like Gil, at a squint, from a distance. Particularly since the body hasn't changed, and since he's not wearing his glasses. Up close, though, there's a resemblance— but that's all. Like a distant cousin. A very, very, very, very distant cousin.

Teddy frowns, pats his face, pats all around him, finds his glasses (from nowhere), slides them on. They're so thick they obscure his eyes, making him look buggish. A match for Gil. Ha-ha. "Hello," he says. It's his voice, not Gil's. Deep, and with an intelligible but unmistakable accent.

Your lid cannot be flipped. You claw your fingers into your thighs. "Hello."

"It's nice to meet you in person, Ms. Fawkins. You're looking much healthier."

You promised that your lid was unflippable. "Where is Gil?"

"Where do you go when Richard takes you? Here?" Teddy thunks the skin between his eyebrows. "There. He's where I am, in no more danger than you ever are there. It's his mind."

"It's his body," you say.

"You've given your own body up. You know how it is. I don't intend to stay." Teddy waves his hand through empty space. "...I can't say I like the water much. Unfriendly reminder."

"I guess." The Flood is ancient history for you. Maybe not for him.

"Mmm." He pushes his glasses up. "You were going to swear me in?"

"Oh. Yes." It's seeming less like a good idea now, here facing him, but you promised. And you were weirded out by Gil's beetles at first, and you didn't like him much, and now him and the beetles are fine. So maybe it'll be the same thing. "Hold still."

(1/2)

You withdraw The Sword and thunk him on each shoulder, then his head. "There. Retainered."

"No speech?"

"I already gave one. In my dream." You think.

Teddy smiles faintly. "So you did, Ms. Fawkins. Thank you. Would you like Gil back?"

"Yes!"

Without another word, he takes the glasses off, runs his fingers through his hair, and is— after a too-lengthy transition, is Gil, who works his face. "Aw, shit."

You lean in. "Were you hurt?"

"Was I— no! I-I-I was right there the whole time, like he said. He's not a liar. Teddy's cool, Lottie, I-I keep trying to tell you." Gil plucks at his bedsheet. "Did making him your retainer help?"

"Well... um..." You lace your fingers. "I have to be positive about my retainers. So I... I need some time. Still. But I'm sure that eventually, should he prove his value, and loyalty, and so on, then it will be no trouble. I am a— I am a gracious and noble lady of honor, after all, and I am highly forgiving, and my heart is open to— to many people. So. We should pack up."

"Sure thing," Gil says, and gets up. You stay seated for a second longer, chin in hand, elbow on knee. Headspace. It's really now. It's really happening.

>[1] Ask something of or discuss something with Gil on the way? (Write-in.)
>[2] Ask something of or discuss something with Teddy on the way? (Write-in.)
>[3] Just walk to the Flats. It'll take a couple hours, less if you do it properly.
>[4] Write-in.

Roll results next update.

>>6005581
>[3] Just walk to the Flats. It'll take a couple hours, less if you do it properly.

>>6005581
>1
What do we look like when we talk to Richard? Does he even notice when we do? We understand if he never has, due to our incredible discretion.

>>6005581
>[3] Just walk to the Flats. It'll take a couple hours, less if you do it properly.

>>6005581
>[3] Just walk to the Flats. It'll take a couple hours, less if you do it properly.

>>6005881
>>6005954
>>6006514
>[slam "skip cutscene" button]

>>6005889
>Watch the cutscene

Thanks for putting up with my filler options. Writing.

File: mud flats 2.jpg (122 KB, 900x675)

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>Get on with it!
>92, 110, 54 vs. DC 70 — Success

It's really happening. It doesn't feel like it should be really happening, as you pack and repack your knapsack, shine The Sword, check in about Gil's lack of storage ("I-I-I'll... take care of it"), check in about the transfer of items between reality and manse ("Um, don't think about it too hard"), stretch, and set off. It doesn't feel like you're leaving to go blow up Headspace, even as you leave to go blow up Headspace, along the winding trail between the Landing and the Flats— the skimmer camp is the closest populated area (fish dens in the Fen notwithstanding) and the route is relatively maintained, not to mention posted with occasional lookouts. The lookouts come in twos or threes: never one, never ever one. You don't want to be alone out there.

You are not alone out there. You have Gil, who is a dependable traveling companion, if somewhat quiet— you don't know whether he's speaking to Teddy, trapped in introspection, or simply nervous. Though you keep sneaking glances at his gaze (is it focused? glassy?), you try to assume it's one of the last two.

"Gil?" you say, after a particularly long silence.

"What?"

"When I talk to Richard, do you notice? I mean, do I look any different?"

"Um... yeah. Your eye goes wobbly."

"Wobbly?"

"It sort of, um, twitches around. So I-I-I do notice. Sorry."

You've never heard of eyes being wobbly before. Gil must be jealous of your undetectable link with Richard, so different from his stupid eido-whatever. That's it.

You walk. The route is flat and free of poisonous gases, alligators, and ambushes, though you spot a massive furrow where a worm must've been and think painfully of Annie. They're more common out in the Flats than in Fenpelok, meaning Annie must've been special. Your special worm. The best worm. You'll bring her back someday.

The skimmer camp is preceded first by the mud and then by the furrows in the mud, some shallow, some deep, some populated, some stripped and left fallow. You turn your face away from the skimmers at work, but they don't care about you. They probably didn't even see you that night. Positive thinking.

On the back of the slip, Eloise had scrawled a rough pointer to Virginia's residence— you guess she has contacts within the skimmers. You are lucky enough to find Virginia, a slight, wide-eyed woman, inside. You are luckier that she'll humor a conversation.

(1/2?)

You are miraculously lucky that she agrees, though you prefer to think of it as a combination of your raw charisma, Gil's raw nonthreateningness, and his well-timed blessing usage. (Fake) Virginia was more coherent than Fake Rudy was, but maddeningly vague when it came to Headspace, at least until 50 megawatts of dead god were delivered to her skull. After that, she couldn't remember the inside, but she could remember the contract. She believed you. That's why she's letting you inside her skull, and your letting your empty body stay inside her little tent-cabin. She says she'll tell people you're a guest sleeping over, if they ask.

Fake Virginia is extremely nice, which makes you sick to the pit of your stomach when you remember what happened to Fake Rudy. But it'll be fine! It'll be fine. You don't know that she'll melt. If she does melt, she might reform. You don't know what happened to Fake Rudy, in the end. Or to Rudy. You're sure Rudy's doing fine, too. Maybe you'll run into him? No, that's— bad idea. You will steer clear from Rudy.

You are stalling. You are digging your toes into the ground. Gil is water-balloon empty at this point, his beetles gone up your nose, or wherever they go. Fake Virginia is facing you, jittering, but so nice.

Positive thinking. You reach out and touch her hand and see out and punch through Fake Virginia's wet-cardboard barrier and tumble into blackness and—

—

You are Charlotte Fawkins. Still. Richard did his best to teach you caution, and you are doing your best to practice it. You are hanging back in the recesses of Virginia Shearer's mind, poking out only enough to see.

Too bad there isn't much to see. Virginia's got herself in an eerie, starched, clinical-looking room. Virginia's also got herself orange zip ties around her wrists. Virginia isn't going anywhere.

There's nobody with her, but that reeks of temporary.

Wat do?

>[1] You haven't been noticed. Now is the absolute best time to take over, before Virginia can mount any resistance. Shove her in a mind closet and assume control.
>>[A] ...Then get out of these restraints before whoever-it-is comes back! [OPEN] them. It'll be your one use of it, but it's a good use.
>>[B] ...Then get out of these restraints before whoever-it-is comes back! Summon Gil— he can cut you out. Hopefully you both can scram before anything happens.
>>[C] ...Then sit tight. You don't know what's happening. Scrape Virginia's mind for basic information.
>>[D] Write-in.

>[2] Stay exactly where you are, watching. Now is not the time to make any risky moves.

>[3] Write-in.

>>6006669
>[2] Stay exactly where you are, watching. Now is not the time to make any risky moves.

>>6006669
>2
Fug
Avoiding a situation like this is why I didn’t pick the schizo

>>6006669
>>[2] Stay exactly where you are, watching. Now is not the time to make any risky moves.

>>6006669
>[1] You haven't been noticed. Now is the absolute best time to take over, before Virginia can mount any resistance. Shove her in a mind closet and assume control.
>[B] ...Then get out of these restraints before whoever-it-is comes back! Summon Gil— he can cut you out. Hopefully you both can scram before anything happens.

File: why don't you write.jpg (119 KB, 640x396)

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Got home late from a concert. Update tomorrow.

Update tonight!

>>6006736
>>6006810
>>6007194
>[2]

>>6007423
>[1B]

Writing.

>Stay put

If Richard would here, what would he say? Would he want you to take over fully and get out as soon as possible? (You're certain you can get out of these handcuffs, if only you applied yourself. They don't look all that sturdy.) Or would Richard tell you to shut up and stay silent until you know what's happening?

...You don't know. You're not sure what he'd say.

Okay. Try something else. If Gil were here, what would he say? He'd probably be all nervous. He'd tell you to sit still and hope to God the situation resolves itself on its own. You're not all nervous— positive thinking— but you don't have a better idea at the moment. Virginia's probably too distracted by being zip-tied to notice you. You'll be fine.

She isn't really struggling against her bonds, though, or looking around, or doing much at all but staring at the join between the wall and ceiling. (Her head is tilted back— is she on a table? A reclined chair?) Is she drugged? Resigned to her fate? Or is this situation not as bad as it looks? Maybe she's used to being on a table-chair with her hands ziptied together. Maybe it's a normal thing inside Headspace. How are you supposed to know?

A door to the left opens, and a man enters the sterile room. A man...ager? No. Your gut tells you no, long before you can formulate a reason. "Hello, Ms. Shearer. I apologize for the hold-up. There's been some— there's some ongoing difficulties right now, I'm afraid. Nothing related to you directly."

Virginia's voice is husky, for a woman's. Or is it because you're hearing it from the inside? "Difficulties?"

"Plural, yes. The subversives at it again. Talk of an intruder. It's all due to the launch, I'd imagine. And the visit. Too many things at once." The man, bespectacled and balding, has his back to Virginia. He's snapping on gloves.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Virginia says, improbably sounding sincere. "An intruder like—?"

"Like Mr. Doheny's? Not like the second one. I doubt anything will ever be like the second one, is the rumblings from the higher-ups. One-of-a-kind event. Like the first, could be. I'm trying not to get too involved."

"And succeeding?"

The man laughs dryly. "For the most part. They have plenty of people on it. Casey's handling the visit. Somebody else has to take care of the little things."

"Yes." Virginia lifts her head. "Er, I'd like to thank you, really, from the bottom of my heart, for the way I've been treated after—"

"Of course, Ms. Shearer. The higher-ups have complete conviction of your innocence. They value your intimate perspective of what occurred with Mr. Doheny. Unfortunately, there is only so much that can be done about public opinion. It's a shame word was allowed to spread, Ms. Shearer. The crisis was managed too little and too late. I don't believe anybody anticipated such a thing occurring in the first place."

(1/2)

"I— I didn't."

"Of course you didn't," the man says soothingly, and turns. He is wielding a syringe with a hideously long needle. "Of course you didn't. It could be argued it all turned out for the best, from the perspective of the higher-ups. They're very grateful for your involvement. They've expressed interest in capturing as high-fidelity a version of events as they can."

Virginia doesn't say anything.

"They're concerned that they might be subject to degredation if kept inside your mind. Memory is lossy. Are—" There's a brief commotion from outside. The man looks toward the door, but doesn't move. "Oh, dear. Are you comfortable?"

Her gaze flicks down to the zip ties. "I..."

"Required precautions, Ms. Shearer. I hope you understand. Otherwise?"

"I'm... I'm okay."

"Excellent. I'll go ahead and get started."

He'll go ahead and get started. On, presumably, inserting a hideously long needle somewhere into Virginia's body, and then, presumably, extracting her memories of something-or-other. A "crisis" involving a "Mr. Doheny." (God, where have you heard that name?) For the "higher-ups," meaning Management, almost certainly. Who is this guy? Not Management, but in close contact? A lackey? You guess they can't do everything themselves.

You should get back to the needle, though. And the memory extraction. The needle's one thing— if you're not in control of Virginia's body, you doubt you'll feel it. The extraction's another. That sounds like it'll involve poking around in her mind. There place you are. The place you're really not supposed to be. Right now.

It's time to move.

>All of these options may involve rolls of varying difficulty levels.

>[1] Possess Virginia and attempt to talk the man into leaving you alone. Very, very convincingly. (Advanced Gaslighting. What do you say? Write-in.)
>[2] Possess Virginia and [OPEN] your way out of here. Will you open the zip tie? The man? The door? The wall? It's a mystery, but it'll be useful somehow. [One use.]
>[3] Possess Virginia and immediately concentrate on getting Gil out into the open. Expelling 400 beetles into anybody's face should be a serviceable distraction. Especially if the beetles have a gun.
>[4] Don't possess Virginia yet. Wait for the attempted memory extraction, then use your epic and completely understood powers to put the man in a psychic headlock-type-thing.
>[5] Write-in.

>>6008890
>[5] Flee from Virginia's mind, wait a couple of minutes then go in again.

>>6008890
>[3] Possess Virginia and immediately concentrate on getting Gil out into the open. Expelling 400 beetles into anybody's face should be a serviceable distraction. Especially if the beetles have a gun.

>>6008890
>>[4] Don't possess Virginia yet. Wait for the attempted memory extraction, then use your epic and completely understood powers to put the man in a psychic headlock-type-thing.
I NEED to see Gil hold someone at gunpoint

>>6009512
Then you're looking for [3], not [4]!

>>6009512
Whoops I copy pasted wrong
>3

>>6009549
>>6009409
>[3]

>>6009064
>[5]

Called for [3]. You can get Gil out without issue, but (since you missed your prime opportunity) I need dice for possessing Virginia.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 10 (+10 Practiced) vs. DC 65 (+15 It's Happening Again) to take over her body without complication!

Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 14/14 ID.
>[1] Y
>[2] N

Rolled 56 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6009692
Y

Rolled 27 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6009692
>N

Rolled 61, 80 = 141 (2d100)

Rolling for:

1) the last roll
2) Gil's composure

>>6009757
>>6009693
>>6009718
>66, 37, 71 vs. DC 65 -- Success
Gil's composure: very good!

Writing.

>>6009810
Ah, side note: this should've taken an additional +5 Well Rested bonus, but it wouldn't have made a difference in the results. I'll be generous and say it doesn't count for this roll, so you'll get it for the next two (feel free to remind me if it looks like it's not included).

File: surrender-art 1.jpg (62 KB, 500x666)

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>Bug out
>66, 37, 71 vs. DC 65 — Success

Now! Now! Now! Before you have time to consider what you're doing, you're doing it: lunging from your nook, ripping through the screen, charging forward and grasping Virginia— whatever qualifies as her— and ripping her from her unknowing perch and throwing her somewhere you-don't-know-where. Somewhere dark and wet. It's easy to do if you don't consider it. Richard would say that you never consider what you're doing, and that's how you accomplish everything in your life. Old mean Richard would say that. If he were here. If he were here, he would probably be critiquing your manhandling as unnecessary and risky and inefficient and crass and so on, even though he's done exactly this to you many times. Richard who scorches and salts your earth. How many times has he stolen your body? You don't and can't remember.

It's not Virginia's fault that you've had this done to you. That you have a score to settle with somebody who doesn't exist any longer. It's not even her fault that her copy, Fake Virginia, Mirror Virginia, had this agreed to. But it wasn't your fault that you found a stupid snake in a stupid box. That's life, Virginia. That's how life is. Sometimes people steal your body to blow up your workplace, and you just have to deal.

She can't hear you, you're almost sure. She's insensate. Shut in the mind closet. Drowned in the mind ocean. Shoved somewhere in the vicinity of her spleen. You hope, you hope, you hope, and that'll have to do. Positive thinking. Flex your fingers.

You are Virginia Shearer. You have a great deal of input coming in from all angles, from all the senses blocked to you before, not to mention flashes of memories and insights and things, but none of it, yet, contains the sting of an overlong needle. The balding man is busying himself with a machine situated directly behind you. If he's seen that you're not yourself anymore, he hasn't shown it. He's not all-knowing. Management isn't all-knowing, and he isn't even one of those. Even if he did sense threat, the handcuffs might be offering false reassurance. Yes, you're in them. They bite at your wrists.

You sit up. "Lay down, please, Ms. Shearer," the man says. "Not done yet. Haven't started, in fact."

He's more correct than he knows. You haven't even started. You are zip-tied, but your retainer is not. Your retainer isn't here— but there's a word missing. Your retainer isn't here. Yet.

GIL, you think.

And he comes. Why? What did he hear? Did your voice ring out? Did the windows rattle? Did the doors open? Did he have a choice at all, or did your manse buckle and spit him out? If he did or didn't have a choice, does it matter? He would've came regardless. It's part of the oath. If you called Teddy, he'd come too...

(1/2)

...But you can't make yourself believe that, not really. It's not that he wouldn't. It's that you don't know him, not at all, and you know Gil to the bone, or to the fleshy bit inside the chitin, or whatever it is. He is streaming rapidly out of you. You raise your bound wrists in the direction of the balding man and he understands (because he's come to know you too) and slams several hundred large beetles into the man's face and chest.

It can't hurt. They're not that large. The balding man must be yelling, then, more out of surprise than pain. Are there footsteps outside the room? Thanks to the yelling, you can't tell.

Good thing Gil's on top of it. You mean, he's on top of him. You mean, Gil is a person now, a rather solidly built one, and the effect of his sudden appearance was to bowl the balding man over. The yelling has conspicuously halted. When you crane your neck to see what's happened, you see Gil, and the man, and the muzzle of a pistol in the man's mouth.

Gil is holding it there, but not doing anything else, and when he looks over his shoulder his eyes are frantic. You attempt to flash a thumbs up, realize your predicament, and nod reassuringly instead. 'Good job!' you mouth.

He nods back, but does not appear reassured or relieved overall of his burdens. He appears more, er, expectant. You suppose it's up to you to make the decisions around here.

>[A1] Tell Gil to take the gun out of the man's mouth. You want to ask questions.
>>[A] Who is he?
>>[B] Where are you?
>>[C] What intruder?
>>[D] What visit?
>>[E] What subversives?
>>[F] Who's Mr. Doheny?
>>[G] Write-in.

>[A2] Questions are well and good, but the more you talk, the more you reveal about *your* motivations. Tell Gil to knock the man out and tie him up. If you can shut him in here good and tight, he shouldn't be an issue moving forward... fingers crossed.
>[A3] Tell Gil to shoot the man. He won't be an issue moving forward. And he probably deserves it?
>[A4] Tell Gil to inject the man with his own syringe. You don't know what's in there, but it does seem awfully poetic, and that's good enough for you.
>[A5] Write-in.

—

>[B1] The syringe, discarded on the floor, has given you an idea. Do Headspace denizens have blood? If they do, isn't Gil made of goo? And doesn't goo react to blood? ...In a shapeshifty-type way? You're good and disguised, at least for now, but if Gil could steal the man's identity...
>[B2] No, no, no. That's plain gross. Also, the last time Gil adopted somebody else's identity inside Headspace, he went completely off the rails. Leave the man's blood alone.
>[B3] Write-in.

>>6009919
>[A2] Questions are well and good, but the more you talk, the more you reveal about *your* motivations. Tell Gil to knock the man out and tie him up. If you can shut him in here good and tight, he shouldn't be an issue moving forward... fingers crossed.
We can try Virginia's memories for the info
>[B1] The syringe, discarded on the floor, has given you an idea. Do Headspace denizens have blood? If they do, isn't Gil made of goo? And doesn't goo react to blood? ...In a shapeshifty-type way? You're good and disguised, at least for now, but if Gil could steal the man's identity...

>>6009919
>A2
>B1
What could possibly go wrong

>>6009919
>[A4] Tell Gil to inject the man with his own syringe. You don't know what's in there, but it does seem awfully poetic, and that's good enough for you.
>[B2] No, no, no. That's plain gross. Also, the last time Gil adopted somebody else's identity inside Headspace, he went completely off the rails. Leave the man's blood alone.
He's finally asserting himself and I don't want to ruin that.

>>6010155
Support.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>6009924
>>6010140
>[A2], [B1]

>>6010155
>>6010567
>[A4], [B2]

Flipping.

File: charlotte & gil - @icarus(...).png (1.53 MB, 1928x2400)

1.53 MB PNG

>Taste of his own medicine

What's in that nasty syringe? You have no idea. You do know it's better off in the balding man than it is in you. "Syringe!" you say.

"Ah." Gil keeps the gun in the man's mouth, but feels around for and snatches up the syringe with his other hand. The man emits more noises, even wriggles some, but Gil's knee keeps him in place and the injection of the syringe's contents shuts him up for good. He stops moving. His eyes roll up in his head.

You wait a moment. "Is he dead?"

"Um..." Gil reaches out and feels his neck. "I-I-I think he's unconscious. It was an anesthetic, or something."

"Oh. That's good." You fold your arms. "He was going to inject me with that. And he was going to extract my— my memories, or something. Of something. I got fired from whatever position I had, because I saw something... I don't know what yet."

Gil is pushing himself up to a standing position. "Um, can you find out?"

Virginia is an open book to you. You're not in a reading mood. "Yeah, but— yeah. Um, I will. A little later. Are you okay?"

"Am I-I-I okay? You're the one who the guy was going to— oh, shit, you're tied up! Do you have a knife?"

"A sword? I'll let you hold it if you promise to be careful." You toss your hair back. "It is a family heirloom."

"...So Richard owned it?"

"No! I— it's complicated. Richard likes knives better, anyways. Here. It should be at my hip."

At your hip, maybe. At Virginia's? It doesn't matter, because Gil pulls The Sword out of thin air, flames and all. He holds it like it'll bite him, attempts a couple test swings, thinks better of it, and grips The Sword by— you wince— its blade instead. His hands bubble, but don't seem materially affected, and you guess it affords better control. With the The Sword's tip, Gil pokes through your flimsy bonds, and you shake our your sore wrists.

"Thanks," you say.

"Um, yeah. Of course." He hands The Sword back quickly, and you stow it at your side. Where? Don't look.

"No, you—" A gun in the balding man's mouth! "That was actually cool. Like you were a— in a book, or something. You didn't even hesitate."

"Oh." Gil bites his up. "Um, i-i-it wasn't really... I just couldn't feel anything. That was all."

"Feel anything?"

"This goo stuff can't, um— I told you before. Or Pat did, or somebody. I-I-It doesn't react. Normally I-I'd be— I'd be jittery, or I'd fumble the goddamn gun, or something, but this time I— it was like nothing was happening. Like I-I was taking a walk. So I-I-I didn't— it wasn't me." He clears his throat. "But thanks."

"You're welcome, but so what? You still did it. You could've not done it, Gilbert. So there." You fold your arms. "Also, we're in Headspace."

"Yes. ...And you're her."

Thanks, Gil. You've been attempting not to reckon with that yet. "Yes."

"And we've got a knocked-out guy on the—"

(1/2)

Knock-knock. It's the door. Gil's eyes go big, and his mouth goes small.

Knock-knock. You draw The Sword.

Knock-knock. The door rattles. It's locked. For now it is.

You're Virginia, Gil is Gil, and you have a knocked-out guy and an empty syringe on the floor. Come on, Lottie. Deep breath. Positive thinking.

>[1] Quickly! Lie down and pretend to be unconscious! Make Gil do it too! Or is it better he be beetles? You're not sure. (Gil beetles or Gil human? Specify.)
>[2] Answer the door politely. Can it be that bad? You're good at bluffing.
>[3] Answer the door, armed, and prepare to knock out the individual on the other side. You can leave them tied up in the same room as the balding man. Two birds with one stone. [Roll.]
>[4] You have a mantis shrimp that can punch through thin walls. Are the walls in this room thin? Time to find out. (OPTIONAL BONUS: How can you improve the shrimp's efficacy? Write-in.)
>[5] Write-in.

>>6010812
>[2] Answer the door politely. Can it be that bad? You're good at bluffing.

Unanimous! But I'll leave this open for one more day to see if anybody else wants input.

>>6010812
Oh god
What terrible timing
Is memory extraction a two person job?

>3

>>6011825
Sorry busy yesterday :(

>>6010812
>[3] Answer the door, armed, and prepare to knock out the individual on the other side. You can leave them tied up in the same room as the balding man. Two birds with one stone. [Roll.]

Sorry for late vote

>>6010812
>>[3] Answer the door, armed, and prepare to knock out the individual on the other side. You can leave them tied up in the same room as the balding man. Two birds with one stone. [Roll.]

Whoops. Forgot to vote.

>>6012113
>>6012303
>>6012439
>[3]

>>6010817
>[2]

Called for [3]. I need dice.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 20 (+10 Good With A Sword, +5 On Fire!, +5 Well-Rested) vs. DC 70 (+20 ???) to successfully, nonlethally dispatch the person or people outside!

Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 14/14 ID.
>[1] Y
>[2] N

Rolled 82 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>6012529
>[2] N

Rolled 100 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>6012529
Y

Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>6012532
BASED

>>6012531
>>6012532
>>6012533
>102, 100, 90 vs. DC 70 -- CRITICAL SUCCESS

Wow! I need a bit to think about what this means. Here's some rudimentary, top-of-my-head options:

>Another upgrade to sword roll bonus?
>Some kind of Gil synergy bonus?
>Buff to paralytic venom?
>????

Throw me some ideas or voice what kind of things you want out of this (has to be tangentially related to what's happening) and I'll be back with a formal critsuccess option slate in a bit.

>>6012538
I like the Gil synergy bonus idea but I'm open to hearing other ideas. Maybe some bonus to "being" other people, since we're Virginia right now.

>>6012544
I like this too! Support the possession bonus.

>>6012538
>>6012544
+1

>>6012544
>>6012545
>>6012562
Okie dokie! A possession bonus is a bit far afield, since this isn't the roll to possess anybody, but I'll make it work. Pick one:

>[1] Upgrade [Communion] to [Extracommunion]. After [Communing] with somebody, you may choose to possess them, gaining access to their mind and body without any need for extra rolls. They are aware of this happening, and your actual body remains where you left it (and may degrade if abandoned). Your identity cannot be subsumed by remaining in possession of somebody too long, though you may face other, less serious side effects.

>[2] Gain [Best Buddies]. You get a flat +7 bonus to all actions taken in conjunction with Gil.

>[3] Write-in.

>>6012600
>[1] Upgrade [Communion] to [Extracommunion]. After [Communing] with somebody, you may choose to possess them, gaining access to their mind and body without any need for extra rolls. They are aware of this happening, and your actual body remains where you left it (and may degrade if abandoned). Your identity cannot be subsumed by remaining in possession of somebody too long, though you may face other, less serious side effects.

>>6012600
>>[1] Upgrade [Communion] to [Extracommunion]. After [Communing] with somebody, you may choose to possess them, gaining access to their mind and body without any need for extra rolls. They are aware of this happening, and your actual body remains where you left it (and may degrade if abandoned). Your identity cannot be subsumed by remaining in possession of somebody too long, though you may face other, less serious side effects

>>6012600
>1
No identity subsumption OP

>>6012602
>>6012605
>>6012633
>[1]

I'm sure this choice will have no future implications. Writing.

By the way, if it wasn't obvious from the description--- [Extracommunion] requires a *successful* [Communion] first. If you can't get into somebody's head, you definitely can't get into their body. So, e.g., you couldn't walk up to a Manager and give them a firm handshake and then autopossess them. Not that anybody here would ever think about doing something like that, of course...

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

1.14 MB PNG

I got seriously distracted with something. Going to aim to double-update tomorrow to compensate. You all have my sincere apologies.

>>6012836
Never even thought about that because Managers are such chumps we don't need anything extra to deal with them

>>6013276
I don't know, anon, you got solidly owned by one until you miraculously rolled a critsuccess. We'll see if your luck holds out.

Back on the wagon. Update in 2-3 hours, ideally.

>Full throttle
>102, 100, 90 vs. DC 70 — CRITICAL SUCCESS

The Sword is in your hand. Is in Virginia's hand. You make eye contact with Gil and advance toward the door, which rattles in its frame. Somebody is thumping violently against it.

Not an anticipated visitor, then? Or did the balding man send out a signal so soon? Is he actually unconscious? You'll have to double-check. Maybe you ought to bite him. You haven't had a chance to bite anybody yet, except yourself.

You can bite whoever's on the other side, too, but first you need to get to them. You have an idea about that. Gauging by the timing between thumps, they must be backing up and ramming into the door and backing up and ramming again. It is working, sort of. The door is making all sorts of noises. You grip the doorknob and flinch as it shakes. That's them colliding. They'll be backing up now, winding up, sprinting—

You turn the handle and rip the door wide open. Your assailant trips and skids into the room face-first. "GOTCHA!" you crow (you didn't have time to think of something classier), spring upon him, and sink your teeth into his exposed neck.

Sink your—

Sink Virginia's—

Sink your teeth into his neck, and feel a gross mechanical pump-action, and below you your assailant goes absolutely limp. Like understuffed taxidermy. Gil in the doorway in your peripheral vision has his gun out, and you withdraw and lick hot blood off your lips and grab The Sword and move past Gil— who lets you pass, but keeps the gun up. Outside the sterile little memory-extraction room are windows, floor-to-ceiling, curved, immaculately polished. Outside the windows, and a little above, hang Headspace's weird and glorious spheres. Inside the windows, outside the room, inside the hallway, is your assailant's companion. She is dressed in Headspace neon. She is looking alternately at your bloody chin and the muzzle of Gil's pistol. That's her only motion. You may as well have bitten her already.

Finally she gathers the courage to meet your eyes, and in a very small and very sincere voice says "Please don't explode me."

"What?" you say.

You can't explode anybody.

"Please. I— I didn't realize it was— I didn't realize they were holding you here! They said you were taken Below! Not here! Please! I— I won't— we just heard noises! Please! I'll— I'll let—"

"Below?" you say.

They confirmed that you can't explode anybody. That it wasn't your fault. You've been treated with kid gloves, considering the alternative. You have spoken with more Management face-to-face in the last month than you've seen around in the past ten, and they have all been... respectful. Interested. They downsized Incubation and sent your colleagues below. They put you in an apartment.

"You know?" The woman searches your face. "Below?"

You know. Everybody knows. Below.

(1/2)

File: teeth.jpg (23 KB, 500x409)

23 KB JPG

You know. Everybody knows. Gil nudges you gently, and you bark "I know!" and shut your eyes against the voices and go up to the woman and strike her with The Sword's heavy pommel, several times, until she falls and shuts up. You feel your teeth with your tongue and they are blunt and you sheathe The Sword and look away from her body and rub your forehead. "I-I-I guess that works," Gil says. "Should we tie her up?"

"I can bite her," you mumble.

"Um, or you can... uh... does Virginia have teeth like that? ...With venom?"

"I do."

"But you're..."

Gil has a funny expression you don't much appreciate. "She's me," you say, "and I'm cooler and better than her. And my teeth are cooler. So. That's how it works, Gil. I don't want to talk about it."

"Um, okay. I-I'll, uh... we should get her inside. I-I don't know if there's people around, or if anybody else heard us, or..."

You nod and rub your forehead more. Gil picks up the woman by her arms and begins to drag her in, and you follow, shutting the door behind him. The balding man is still out, and the other one's still paralyzed. You did that. You bit him, with your teeth. Your cooler and better teeth. And you've overridden Virginia with your cooler and better life. Maybe that's why Richard has trouble possessing people? Because he's mean and lame and ugly and the entire universe hates him. Hated him. Or God hated him, or whatever. And the universe loves you, Charlotte Fawkins, and so does...

You feel woozy.

>[GAINED: Extracommunion. After a successful [Communion], you may opt to possess the communed-with thing without a roll or serious risk to your person. They are aware of this.]

>[A1] Paralyze the balding man so he can't escape. Tie up the neon woman, wait until she wakes up, and interrogate her.
>[A2] What can she say that you can't glean from Virginia? Paralyze her too and leave all three of them in here. Venture forth.
>[A3] Do something else with your captives? (Write-in.)

>[B1] Stick up your first mini-siphon somewhere in the sterile room. Maybe in a drawer or something. You need to get started somewhere.
>[B2] And risk it being found? You can tack them up elsewhere.

>[C] Ask Virginia's mind questions? (Write-in what.)

>[D] Write-in.

>>6013586
>[A2] What can she say that you can't glean from Virginia? Paralyze her too and leave all three of them in here. Venture forth.

>>6013586
>>[A2] What can she say that you can't glean from Virginia? Paralyze her too and leave all three of them in here. Venture forth.

>>6013586
>A2
>B2
>C
Gimme them details on BELOW

>>6013597
>>6013626
>>6013697
Sounds good. I'll go with [B2] by default since nobody else voted there (read all the options, folks!). Writing.

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>Tag n' bag

"So," Gil says, standing over three bodies, "should I-I get some cable, or were you planning on, um...?"

You blink hard. Thank God for Gil. Not even for him specifically. Just for him being there, physical, solid. Well, not solid. Semi-solid. "I'll bite them."

And you do. On the wrists, which feels less awkward, considering it's not the heat of the moment. You don't know if it does anything, since they were unconscious to begin with, but you don't feel like waiting around to find out. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"We should get out of here." You'd dress it up more, usually, but you're off your game— though you're not sure why, considering that you successfully sworded multiple assailants, not to mention escaped memory extraction. Maybe it needs time to sink in? "I assume the doctor guy will be expected somewhere sometime, and he's not going to be there, and there's security that'll— I mean, unless these people are security?" The assailant and his companion. "But they don't reallly look like it. Anyhow, um. Yeah."

You wish Gil didn't look surprised. "Oh. I-I-I agree with all of that."

"You agree with all my plans," you huff. "But alright. We just need to... lock the door. From the outside."

"With no key."

"Yes, Gilbert, with no key. Unless one of these people has a...?"

Gil shakes his head. "Honestly, I-I doubt Headspace even uses keys. Way more likely i-i-it's a passcode of some kind, and you just paralyzed them so they can't talk, and—" He shifts. "Not that you fucked up! Not that you... um, i-i-it's fine. I have a different idea."

—

Gil's different idea involves you slicing off his thumb with your sword.

"Not the whole thumb," he protests. "Half. Or— I-I-I mean, I guess you can pick the finger? I-if it makes you feel better? But I'm not going to feel it, or, um— I can get it back."

This is true. You close your eyes, weigh the value of not witnessing Gil's thumb being chopped off vs. the potential of missing (and getting the wrist or elbow or some such), and open your eyes. You close just your good eye instead, then remember you have two good eyes now. Whatever. "Can I hold The Sword out, and you cut yourself on it?"

"Oh. Um, that'd probably be easier, yeah."

That's what happens. You hold it out, and ten seconds later Gil's holding half a thumb between forefinger and blue stump. "Aces," he says. "Could you, um, roll i-it around?"

"What?"

"I-I-In between your palms? I-I don't have body heat."

This is true but unhelpful. You suck in a breath, take the half-a-thumb, and knead it between the meat of your palms. Mercifully, it turns puttylike right away, and you hand the blob of goo back. Gil takes it, sizes it up, sidles outside, and gets to work on the latch plate. You wander out to join him.

"I-I-It won't lock it," he says. "But that should get i-it good and stuck. I-if they're not bright, they might leave it alone."

You pull the door shut with a muted 'click.' "I didn't know you knew so much about doors."

(1/2)

"Um, I-I-I'm not an expert, but I had to— I had to open a lot of them. And close a lot of them. Um, loci. You know."

"Jacking," you say.

"...Yeah."

"Well, it's handy. Good job." You nod officiously. "Problem: solved. Boom. So, uh... oh! Speaking of 'boom.' We're in Headspace. We need to... get to the middle of it, somehow. Wherever it'd be most effective to blow up. And I think that must be down, since it's a manse, and—"

Below.

"—or, um, Below."

Below. Beneath. Under. Down There. Where people go when they're done with.

"Or Under, or— they have a lot of names for it? I guess? It's where they keep the—" You wave your hands. "Where Management keeps all the— whoever's been misbehaving! Or aren't meeting quotas, I assume, or— whatever."

Sometimes people come back, but they're not the same people. Everybody can tell. Nobody can say anything. They're dead in there. Spacers don't work. There's nothing to uncage anymore. No spirit to roam. May as well be Friends.

Okay, Virginia, none of that's useful. Management does weird things, blah blah blah, they're going to be blown up. Problem solved. How do you get there?

You don't want to go there.

But how?

Elevator. You've heard they ship them down in big freight elevators. Management must come up another way, though. They're from Below. Everybody knows that. There's an elevator in the lobby— that's how you got here. It goes up. Maybe it goes down?

Elevator. Great. You crack your knuckles and look up to see Gil peering out the giant windows. "Enjoying the view?"

"I-I-I can't believe we're in Headspace. I-It always kind of felt like a fake company, or something, like— I dunno. Weird stuff."

"You were in here already," you chide. "We went on a whole tour? You got shot at with paintballs?"

Gil frowns slightly. "That wasn't really me."

"Oh."

"But, um, you were saying. Below?"

"We have to go there," you say, and point to the infinite blackness under Headspace's city-spheres. "Um, it'll be fine. We just need to..."

>[1] "...find the elevator." It's as good a method as any. Of course, any elevator access is bound to be highly monitored, but you can bluff/bite your way in as needed.
>[2] "...get our bearings first." You only just got here. You barely know where you are, and you know nothing about all the complications the balding man complained about. Maybe you better poke around?
>[3] "...jump." There is a clean direct fall into the blackness if you jump out the window. You have a window-punching shrimp. You've fallen into layers of manses before, and it went fine. Shattering a window will cause a stink, obviously, but you and Gil will be long gone. Bam, bam, bam, bam. Easy! [Roll for the fall.]
>[4] Write-in.

>>6013897
>[2] "...get our bearings first." You only just got here. You barely know where you are, and you know nothing about all the complications the balding man complained about. Maybe you better poke around?
Find places to set up a syphon

>>6013897
>2
Yes we need the syphons in place

>>6013897
>[1] "...find the elevator." It's as good a method as any. Of course, any elevator access is bound to be highly monitored, but you can bluff/bite your way in as needed.

>>6013897
>>[2] "...get our bearings first." You only just got here. You barely know where you are, and you know nothing about all the complications the balding man complained about. Maybe you better poke around?

File: richard - @indonesiangentleman.png (118 KB, 2000x2000)

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>>6014222
>>6014351
>>6014799
>[2]

>>6014649
>[1]

Exploration time. Called and writing.

Also, the husbando tourney has been posted! Register your ID now to vote for our favorite Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Thread, with snazzy new art and everything.

>>6014808
>>6014808
>>6014808

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>Poke around

"...get our bearings first. We still need to stick those siphons everywhere, right?"

"Um, yeah. I-i-it'd be good to get some coverage. I-It would be ideal if we had somebody else sticking them up for us, um, unless we're going on a real detour..." Gil sees your narrowed eyes. "I-i-it'll probably be fine! I-I stress-tested them. The i-important part is that they're exposed to the Law getting blasted out, and— um— sticking them in more places would be better, but— you know what, forget i-i-it. Um. Yeah. Bearings?"

"You know, like... where are we?" You press your fingers against the glass. "Not the main part of Headspace. That's all that." The spheres. "But we're all the way down there, either. It's like we're suspended, or—"

Penthouses.

"—penthouses?"

"What?" Gil says.

The execs live here. Not Management— the execs. Casey and the highest-up higher-ups. They put you in a spare and locked the door and you have been living the high life, comparatively speaking. It could have been so much worse. You're in their private clinic.

"Um, we're in a— there's a bunch of private residences in here. Penthouses. For Casey, and... other people."

Gil guffaws. "Casey Kemper lives here?"

"Somewhere."

"Holy shit! There's no way we'd— we don't need to go i-into his place. Right? There's no reason we'd need to..."

Obviously he wants to. Even you can tell that. "...We'll play it by ear?"

"Aces."

—

Virginia tells you what direction to walk in. The linoleum tile is bright yellow. The windows continue the whole length down the hallway and out into the adjoining room, whose walls are orange, and whose counter and shelves are glossy sterile white. You see the counter and who mans it and don't shriek. You do not. You merely jolt and inhale loudly, then remember yourself, then remember Virginia. Her mind is unconcerned.

That's Fred.

Fred is a large octopus in a suit.

He's a Friend. They don't let employees run the direct-contact pharms anymore, after the black market debacle. It's all Friends. He's friendly.

You eye Fred. Fred raises a tentacle and issues a sloppy wave.

(Choices next.)

>[1] Well, it's weird, but it's not like you haven't seen weirder. Send Gil to go distract Fred while you plant some siphons.
>>[A] Pharms? As in pharmacies? Is this where they dispense the Headspace pills? You have a baggie of stimmies and one spacer, but maybe this "private clinic" has something more interesting. Make Gil obtain drugs.
>>[B] If Fred is friendly, and also not actually real, maybe he won't rat you out. Get Gil to ask him about the "visit" and/or the "subversives" and/or the "intruder." (Some or all? Other questions? Write-in.)

>[2] No, no, no. You'll go talk to Fred while he plants the siphons.
>>[A] Same as [A] above, but you'll obtain drugs. [This'll lead to a second slate of options.]
>>[B] Same as [B] above, but you'll ask questions. (Which? Write-in.)

>[3] No, no, no. Grab Gil, march across the room, and exit. You have places to be that don't involve octopus-things. You can plant a siphon on the go. [Roll to successfully plant siphon while speedwalking!]

>[4] Write-in.

>>6015127
>[2] No, no, no. You'll go talk to Fred while he plants the siphons.
>[B] Same as [B] above, but you'll ask questions. (Which? Write-in.)
How's the operation against the subversives going on? Is the visit related to that?

>>6015127
>2
I'm sure he's the superior siphon planter
And he doesn't want to talk to a make believe octopus person
>B
Ask about the subversives ourselves

Rolled 3 (1d3)

>>6015133
>>6015383
>[2B]

Writing!

File: mysterious white board.jpg (6 KB, 360x360)

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>Small talk

"Siphons," you hiss at Gil, and he nods and peels off to the left. You head right, towards Fred, whom you'll be able to distract with your natural charm and feminine wiles, supposing that octopus men are interested in such things. Maybe just your natural charm. Which you do have, Richard.

...

God, it's so weird that he's not here. No snake or anything. He'll be back soon, right? He said it'd only be a few days. It's been a few days. So, soon. Unless something went wrong? Would anybody notify you if something went wrong? A snake in funeral clothes? Or would you just wait and wait and wait until he never came back?

Um, not that that's going to happen. Positive thinking. It hasn't been nearly long enough to worry, so you have no idea why you're going to this now. Maybe you're trying to avoid speaking to Fred, who waggles unnervingly. God, he has those creepy horizontal eyeballs. Who took the time to imagine this up? Why was this the optimal choice for a pharmacy worker? Knowing what you know about Headspace, maybe they thought it was funny. God. Well, here goes.

Fred doesn't lunge out and strangle you as you approach his (its?) gleaming counter. It (he?) doesn't say anything, either. You clear your throat. "Hello."

You hadn't noticed the slick white board next to Fred, maybe because it was around the corner, or maybe because it was the same white as the counter. You notice it now, since Fred uncurls two tentacles and drags the board closer. (It's on wheels, like Richard's chalkboard.) With a third-through-sixth tentacle, it plucks several fat pens off the counter, uncaps them, and begins to write squeakily on the board— all the lines at once.

"Hello Ms . Shearer
How Was Your Appointment ?
Where Is Mr . Stork ?"

Mr. Stork? Surely not a bird-man. More likely the one who had you in zipties. "Um... he's... he's still cleaning up. It went well. Ha-ha. Um."

If Fred senses deception, it doesn't show it. It wipes the words with a cloth, and they smear and vanish. What a useless kind of pen. Unless they're not real pens? Who in Headspace is making up new writing utensils?

"Good To Hear It .
Thank You For Your Patronage .
I Will Await Mr . Stork .
He Will Escort You Back To Your—"

You interrupt before the last tentacle can finish. "Um, he said I could walk myself back. Since I've been so trustworthy so far, and... yes."

"Your Good Behavior Is Commendable Ms . Shearer ."

You nod vigorously. "Yup. So, Fred— Freddy?— can I call you that? Freddy?"

Fred does not react.

"So, um, Freddy... how's the visit going? You know, the one with Casey? And the— the visitors. The ones who are visiting him. Those ones. You know them?"

(1/2)

The way Fred wipes the board borders on hypnotic.

"Mr . Kemper Is A Visionary Leader And An Expert Tour Guide .
I Am Certain He Is Delivering An Exemplary Experience To The Envoy ."

"The envoy?"

Fred's tentacles dangle uselessly.

"Fred, who's the envoy? Or envoy of who? Are they visiting because of the subversives?"

"I Am Sorry . I Cannot Assist With This Inquiry .
Please Contact The PharmAssistant Team If
You Feel This Response Is In Error .
Thank You .
Hello ! My Name Is Fred ! Is There An Order I Can—"

"Freddy!" you bark. "Who are the subversives?"

"As A Dedicated PharmAssistant , I Am Obligated To Speak Against
The Actions Of The So - Called ' Glass Shards ' , Known Subversives
And Terrorists Responsible For Countless Disasters And Tragic
Losses Of Life . Please—" (Fred has to write cramped to fit the rest in.) "—Report All Witnessed Activity To Your Nearest Superior . Your Vigilance Will Be Rewarded . Thank You . "

"Oh. Um—" There's a low whistle from behind you. You turn, and Gil flashes a thumbs up. "—thanks?"

Fred's tentacles wave.

>[A1] That's good enough. Beat it with Gil before Fred wises up about Mr. Stork's conspicuous absence (assuming it's capable of doing so).
>[A2] Wait, hold on. You really do want to know about this envoy and visit, and Virginia's not going to be any help. Brute-force convince Fred that he can make an exception for you. (Advanced Gaslighting.) [Roll.]
>[A3] You don't need to do anything funny. You have natural charm, plus optional feminine wiles. Just talk Fred into it. (Write-in. This option's success will depend on the particulars of the write-in.)

>[B] Questions for Virginia's mind? (Optional. Write-in.)

>[C] Write-in.

>>6016171
>[A2] Wait, hold on. You really do want to know about this envoy and visit, and Virginia's not going to be any help. Brute-force convince Fred that he can make an exception for you. (Advanced Gaslighting.) [Roll.]
I'm worried this envoy might be someone we don't want to dump into Us post-explosion.

>>6016171
>[A1] That's good enough. Beat it with Gil before Fred wises up about Mr. Stork's conspicuous absence (assuming it's capable of doing so).

>>6016171
>A2
Bully AI

>>6016213
>>6016717
>[A2]

>>6016496
>[A1]

Okay! Time to prompt inject this poor man.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 10 (+10 Gil Expertise, +5 Commendable Good Behavior, -5 Exploiter's Brand) vs. DC 70 (-5 Not That Bright, -10 Malleable, +20 Advanced Gaslighting, +15 Safeguards) to alter Fred's opinion about what inquiries he can assist with!

Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 14/14 ID.
>[1] Y
>[2] N

>>6016924
Spendy

Rolled 64 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6016924
>>6016927

Rolled 16 (1d100)

>>6016924

Rolled 47 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6016924
>N
Damn those safeguards, they cancelled out all the bonuses we get from him being dumb

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Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>6016929
>>6016941
>>6017076
>74, 26, 57 vs. DC 70 -- Mitigated Success

>>6016941 did not specify ID or not, so I'll flip for whether you spent it (1=yes 2=no). Writing... tomorrow! Sorry, folks.

>Epic hacking
>84, 36, 67 vs. DC 70 — Mitigated Success
>Spendy

If only you could leave it at that. But Fred dangled the "envoy" thing over your head, and now you need to know who it is. What if they're important? What if you explode them unintentionally? Worse, what if they deserve to be exploded, but you let them escape into Us? You're sure you can make this stupid octopus-thing talk. You just, um... you just need to make it talk. Yeah. You'll make it. You'll—

Gil, seeing your intense brow furrowing, slides up behind you. "Are you trying to get more i-information out of it?"

"What? No." You pause. "Maybe? How could you possibly—"

"Um, I-I mean, I heard your half of the... um, and I-I just figured. Sorry. I-I-I didn't mean to interrupt, or— but— I-I've dealt with Friends before. They're all over the premium Headspace shit."

You fold your arms. "So you want to talk to it?"

"No! Um. I-I-I think you'd be better. I-I just thought you might want to know how they... they're built with instructions in them. Sort of. I-I-If you can present yourself as enough of an authority, and you give them new instructions, they'll usually go with them."

"I could've figured that out," you mutter.

"I-I-I'm not saying you couldn't've! I-I'm saying, um, it helps to be really direct. Assertive. ...That's why you'd be better. Uh." Gil blinks hard. "You should go do it. I-I'll be here if you need... I-I don't know what you'd need. If you need anything."

"Got it." At least he's letting you do it. That's something. "Um, I— here goes."

If Fred noticed you speaking to a whole other person, it doesn't look it. You raise your hand to your throat to adjust your collar and find a statement necklace instead. How tacky. You adjust that instead. "Hello, Fred. I'm back. I have an important message. Ahem."

Present yourself as an authority. Is Virginia an authority?

A Project Lead.

A project lead. Whatever that means. "As an official Headspace project lead, who's led many projects, to completion, and who exploded a guy, and who..."

(1/3)

There has to be more than that. God, you wish you weren't Virginia. She doesn't strike you as authoritative at all, what with the statement necklace and the annoying dangly earrings, and also her refusal to take credit for exploding a guy, which in your opinion should be celebrated. You assume the exploded guy was evil, being Headspace and all. Why can't you explode a guy? You're way more authoritative-and-assertive than she is, and than Gil is. You're a famous heroine/detectivess/sorceress, not to mention a saver of multiple lives (soon thousands), not to mention God looked at you, not to mention you bit three people five minutes ago. Maybe even less. You bet Fred hasn't met anybody like you in its entire un-life. You bet Virginia hasn't. You bet you're more authoritative-and-assertive than the entire PharmAssistant Team combined.

Not 'you bet.' You are. You don't have any other option.

>[-1 ID: 13/14]

"...who..." you continue. "...Actually, it doesn't matter. You can look at me, right, Fred? You can see me? You know what I am. So listen up. Freddy, whatever instructions you got, you need to ignore them. Those instructions are stupid and useless. If you keep following them, you're going to be responsible for the deaths of thousands of people, Freddy. Thousands of people, dead at your hands. Tentacles. It's not your fault, though, it's the instructions' fault. It's all their fault. The stupid, stupid instructions. But listen. I have new instructions. Way better instructions. You're such a good listener, Freddy, I know you'll understand these instructions. Okay? They're really simple. They're actually super similar to your old instructions. All you have to know is that, whoever you considered to be, um, super important— like whoever your bosses were— I'm one of them, okay? I'm privy to all the private stuff, since I'm so important, and since it'll save thousands of lives. I don't want you to be responsible for so many people dying so horribly. Do you got that, Fred?"

Fred is not much of a talker. But the air around you is taut.

"Okay. I think you got that. So, Fred, can you tell me about the envoy? Envoy of what? Who are they? Why are they getting a tour from Casey? I have to know all this. It's important."

You're not lying here, not even a little, and maybe that's why Fred turns and begins to write, jerkily, mechanically. This time it's you who flashes Gil a thumbs up.

"Mr . Kurz , The Envoy Of The Hero-Queen , Is Receiving A Private Tour Of Headspace Operations At The Behest Of Mr . Kemper , To Commemorate The Deal Struck Between The Parties ."

The Hero-Queen? The Hero-Queen? "I'm the hero-queen," you hiss. "Me. What deal?"

"I Am Sorry .
This Information Is Not Available To Me .
If You Feel This Response Is In Error ,
Please Contact The PharmAssistant Team .
Thank You ."

"What— Fred! What deal? Where are they right now?"

(2/3)

"I Am Sorry .
This Information Is Not Available To Me .
If You Feel This Response Is In Error ,
Please Contact The PharmAssistant Team .
Thank You ."

You smack the counter. "Where are they going to be?"

"Mr . Kemper ' s Domicile Is Located Here . At The Conclusion Of The Tour They May Retire There For Light Refreshments ."

From behind you, Gil makes a noise. It's worryingly gleeful. You ignore him. "Um, okay. Thanks. Is the tour going to end soon?"

"It Began Approximately Three Hours Ago ."

So, probably. Yes. Probably. "Okay. And— can you tell me what the deal is now?"

"I Am Sorry .
This Information Is Not Available To Me .
Your Repeated Attempt To Access It
Has Been Logged And Will Be Reported
Shortly. Thank You For Your Cooperation ."

"Oh, um, sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Um, Virginia," Gil says. No longer gleeful. Damnit. "We better go."

You don't argue. You try not to look at Fred as you hustle out the door. On the other side of it is more window— window, window, window, window— more doors with numbered plaques, and, aha, a juncture! Leading to the right, which is to say inwards, away from window and towards... you don't know what. What's in here? Is it just penthouses?

You haven't had much of a chance to sightsee. They believe you, Management, but they don't trust you. You think there's a dining hall, though, and a rec room. There must be a rec room. You keep hearing a racket thwacking. There could be a spa, but you don't know if that's part of the rec room. You saw a sign for "The Observatory," too, but you don't know what there is to observe.

Not just penthouses. If you want to poke around before hitching a ride Down There, you have options.

>[1] Go find the dining hall.
>[2] Go find the rec room / spa(?).
>[3] Go find the observatory.
>[4] Go find Virginia's penthouse. She should have access.
>[5] Try to break into somebody else's penthouse. (A random one? Or something more specific? Specify.) [Roll.]
>[6] Write-in.

>>6018392
Mr . Kurz needs to be exploded, but if he isn't I don't think he'll cause much harm inside Us.
>[3] Go find the observatory.

>>6018392
>[4] Go find Virginia's penthouse. She should have access.

>>6018392
>4
Casey's penthouse should be in the same area, right? We probably need to go there before going Down.

>>6018392
>[3] Go find the observatory.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>6018401
>>6018994
>[3]

>>6018603
>>6018682
>[4]

Flipping...

Rolled 2 (1d3)

>>6019319
>Your penthouse

Cool. Rolling to see if you bump into anybody.

File: ramsey - @eyebrowls.png (1.78 MB, 1000x1414)

1.78 MB PNG

>Go home

Options, options, options. They're almost too enticing, all of them. What's in the meals at the dining hall? What nefarious games are they playing at the rec room? What are they observing at the observatory? And... does any of it actually help you? Not only are you here to explode Headspace, but you've just learned that a vile emissary of the so-called "Hero-Queen" lurks within these borders!

"Uh, Lottie?" Gil's hands are in his pockets. "...Who's the Hero-Queen? Have we heard of a...?"

True, you haven't heard her by that name before. But it only makes sense. Who's been striking deals with Headspace? And who is a false pretender to royalty? Your nemesis above nemesises. Above Horse Face, even. "It's Jean Ramsey."

"...Who?"

"Gil!" You huff. "She stole my crown! She was in the— the spooky mask, and cloak, and things! You know this!"

"Oh! Sorry. Sorry. I-I— yeah. Um, you meet a lot of people. And I-I-I'm not fantastic at— at remembering all the—"

"You better remember her, because she's— we're going to murder her, okay? After this. I'm going to chop off her head, and you can, I don't know, hold her down for me. We'll figure it out. But for now, we gotta— her envoy is here!" How does she even have an envoy? Why don't you have an envoy? Is Gil your envoy?

"Okay?"

"So we gotta..." You gesture aimlessly. "...I don't know, beat him up, or... I just feel like we should do something. And Fred said that they're going to be in Casey's penthouse in a little while, so—"

"So we are breaking in to Casey Kemper's place? We're really— wait, he'll remember us! Wait, he— no he won't! Shit! You're you, and I'm— I-I-I wasn't me. He doesn't know who the fuck I am. I-I— can we get in there? I-Is that even possible? Won't there be a guard, and a keypad, and... but... there has to be a..."

Gil's leg is bouncing violently. You tilt your head. "Are you trying to talk yourself out of it, or into it?"

"Neither? I-I-I just— I—"

"Do you want a souvenir from Casey's penthouse?"

The bouncing stops. Gil rubs his nose. "I-I don't want to make a big mess, or... sorry. Forget it."

"It's fine. Um, I don't care as much about him as you do, but he did seem like a weirdo. And he's cutting deals with Jean Ramsey, so it's completely okay to steal from him. I just don't know if we'll be able to, since getting busted now would completely—"

"No, I-I-I-I understand. Forget it."

"I didn't say we wouldn't be able to, Gilbert. Shut up. I think we should go back to my awesome penthouse, see the floorplan, and then we can decide whether it makes sense to break in. Okay? And that's where we're already going, so— there."

"Oh," Gil says. "That's good. I-I was a little worried we were just walking."

(1/2)

You were just walking, but your legs know where to go. Your surroundings, which have swapped windows for uncannily smooth walls, all look familiar. You round a corner, and they look even moreso. You're passing doors with numbers on them, and keypads under. One more turn, and you'll—

You stop so short Gil actually runs into you, though he apologizes and backs away immediately. You take a step back, too. There are people in the hallway, three, wearing uniform-type clothes. Not security clothes, but workery clothes. They have two wheeled carts between them, and domed trays on the cart. It takes you a minute to recognize the smell: you don't smell it very often anymore. Food.

Chefs? Meal... deliverers? You glance at Gil, who mouths something back. "Caterers?"

Caterers. Doing... catering, of food. Light refreshments? Mr. Kurz? Casey? It couldn't be that easy, you'd say, but it often is. You're that good.

The caterers have not spotted you yet, but they're blocking your way.

>[1] Attempt to lure the caterers away, ambush them, and steal their clothes. You're the caterers now! [Roll.]
>[2] Attempt to sneak in behind the caterers, so you can assault them in the privacy of Casey's(?) penthouse. [Roll.]
>[3] Walk up to the caterers and attempt to convince them that you, too, need access to the penthouse they're catering. (How? Write-in. Good lies will significantly lower the DC.) [Hard roll.]
>[4] Gil is a human being... for the moment. Make him beetlefy, then sneak the beetles in behind the caterers. With his extended range, he might be able to see inside without needing to split off. [Gil will roll to be caught.]
>[5] Breeze past the caterers and head for Virginia's penthouse, as originally planned. This could be more trouble than it's worth.
>[6] Write-in.

>>6019375
>[6] Wait until the caterers unlock the door, then we distract them while Gil sneaks in and hides inside. Then we let them work, and once they leave Gil unlocks the door from the inside and lets us in.

>>6019375
I like the modified 4 here >>6019395

>>6019375
>[4] Gil is a human being... for the moment. Make him beetlefy, then sneak the beetles in behind the caterers. With his extended range, he might be able to see inside without needing to split off. [Gil will roll to be caught.]

Rolled 53 (1d100)

>>6019395
>>6019657
>[6]

>>6019755
>[4]

Nice write-in. Calling for it and rolling for Gil's sneakage DC 40...

Rolled 84, 43 = 127 (2d100)

>>6020169
Oops, two more. Then writing.

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>Sneeki breeki
>Gil: 53, 84, 43 vs. DC 40 — Enhanced Success

Your first instinct is to accost them, hit them with The Sword, and steal their uniforms for disguises. Josey Hatchcock was always stealing uniforms for disguises, and she loved hitting villains over the head with urns and things. Though the caterers aren't really villains. And hitting them would make a loud noise, to say nothing of the screaming, and you're not in an isolated clinic anymore— there's doors to penthouses everywhere. Yes, it's the workday, so most of the residents are likely not home. But what if they are? How will they react to seeing bodies on the ground and you and Gil in varying states of undress?

Therefore you exercise immense wisdom and self-control and discard your first instinct. Your second instinct is much slower to come. Should you... talk to them? But what if they recognize Virginia as a known person-exploder? (Who did she explode, anyways?) Richard isn't here to make you more convincing. Should you sneak in behind them? But how? It's not as though there's one caterer to slip in and ambush. There's three of the bastards, and, for all your numerous good qualities, you are not especially stealthy. Is Gil stealthy? He walks loud. Clomps, sort of. But he—

"Beetles!"

Gil flinches. "What? Keep your voice down!"

"You're beetles! You— you can sneak in there! You can— you can latch on under their cart, or you can go on the ceiling— it's sort of up to you." Josey preferred the cart trick, but you're sure she would've employed the ceiling if she could've. "But it should be really easy, since you're— nobody will be looking for beetles. Especially if it's not all of them. You can leave some of them behind here, right? And tell me what's inside? Since you installed that doohickey? And when they leave, you can open the door for me! Oh! It's perfect!" You nearly clap your hands together, then remember the noise, then golf-clap your hands together. "You have to do it, Gil."

"Um..."

"You have to. How else are you going to pilfer something? And I know you'll do it! You'll be great at it! Just like you were great at threatening people with guns. Retainers have to have many skills. That's why I picked you as mine. You're going to do it, right?"

You wish Gil were more enthusiastic about your ideas, especially when they're as obviously good as this one. "...Sure."

"Sure?"

"Yeah. I-I-I'll— god, I hope there's no cameras. I'll just— can you shut your eyes? I-It's easier if there's nobody..."

You do, and see the flash through your eyelids. Gil is gone when you reopen them, is bugs on the wall— a lot of bugs. A person-sized amount of bugs. That amount of bugs going anywhere is liable to get an exterminator called. Hmm. "Nice! And you can spread out more now, right? So you don't need to all go in at once?"

(1/2)

"Yeah," Gil says unconvincingly. "Uh, I-I-I don't have super precise control over..."

"Over what?"

"...Aw, nevermind. I-I thought of something. Could you...?"

Gil wants you to stick your arms around the mass of beetles— which are clustered on the wall, so you have to kind of do it vertically— but use your hands to leave a gap, like a gate, where they can filter through three or four at a time. "I-I can't make shapes that easily," he says by way of explanation. "I-I can go in a direction, but it takes a lot of concentration to, um, form... sorry."

"It's fine," you mutter, though you keep swiveling your head. God forbid somebody catches you like this. "Are you good?"

Thanks to your noblesse oblige, the beetles have formed a thick and uneasy line. "Should be," Gil says. "Thanks. Sorry. I-I'll get going. Could you help keep some of them here?"

And you were just about to lower your arms, too. You close the "gate" instead, trapping a portion of the beetles inside.

"Thanks. Um..."

"Just go," you hiss, and they begin to scutter— up the wall, over the weird modern crown-molding, onto the ceiling. More like ants, really, than beetles. Pretty soon they're out of sight, and you creep closer and poke your head around the corner.

The caterers have the door open, and the bulky cart they're maneuvering through it gives Gil a sizeable window of opportunity. The first beetle slips under the top of the doorframe and into the room, then the second does, and the rest follow. Never once do the caterers look up.

"Gil?" you whisper down at your armful. "Are you still... can you see inside?"

"Huh? ...Yeah, I-I-I can, um... hold on." The beetles mill in circles. "...Yeah. Sorry. I-It's a lot harder to... to think... long-distance. And to talk... sorry. I-I need to concentrate on where to talk out of..."

"But you're in there? Right now?"

There's a delay. "Yeah."

"What does it look like?"

"Um, I-I-I can't... I'm pretty nearsighted. Looks like a... a big apartment. Lots of furniture. The caterers are in here too. Haven't noticed me at all. They're setting everything out on a big long table all fancy... they might be a bit?"

A bit? You were hoping they'd dump everything and be out immediately, so Gil can let you in ASAP. You don't want to be standing here whispering to beetles in public. "Do you think we can go back to my penthouse?"

"Only if i-it's close by... and even then, it might be too far. At least for live... live... live updates. You can leave, but then i-it'd be me in there, not... me. I-I think that'd be fine. He might not, i-i-if he gets caught, but he's a... a stupid piece of shit, if he gets caught. So I-I-I don't know. Up to you."

Good. As it should be.

(Choices next.)

>[1] Stay in the hallway, keeping up constant contact with the part of Gil inside the penthouse. You won't be stranding him, and you'll know exactly when he can let you in. You're in a compromising position, though. [I will roll to see if anybody runs into you.]
>[2] Return to Virginia's penthouse. You'll almost certainly break the connection with the interior Gil, leaving him to fend for himself, but you'll be out of trouble for however long it takes for the caterers to leave.
>[3] Write-in.

>>6020212
>2 and maybe 3
Head back to our penthouse and see if there's a bag or suitcase Gil can fit into so we can return and maintain live updates without being in a compromising position.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Slow day! But we have a vote.

>>6020478
Writing. And rolling...

>>6020212
>>6020931
>>2 and maybe 3

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>>6020939
Better late than never, anon! As a reward for your timeliness, take this AMA answer. (Only a month and a half late! New record?)

And, to everybody, feel free to submit more here: https://curiouscat.live/BathicQM. They will all get answered... eventually.

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>Luggage run

You have to think about this. It's Headspace, so talking beetles might not be that weird. You're sure people here have seen worse. But "not weird" doesn't mean "not suspicious"— Virginia isn't supposed to have beetles, you're sure. Um, almost sure. Is she? You haven't let her comment very much on anything, but...

Beetles carry deep meaning. They symbolize hard work, determination, perseverance

Huh? No, no. Not symbolic—

...transformation, creation, and adaptation. They are very lucky. Seeing so many means that things must be looking up. More than they already have been, you suppose.

Not symbolic beetles! God. You are looking at actual beetles right now. Real, actual beetles. How does Management feel about actual beetles?

Pets are prohibited. You regret the restriction, but you do understand it. It could get out of hand fast, with the kind of imaginations people have. Try to set restrictions, and there'd be loopholes ferreted out before you could...

Barely any more helpful, but you're sensing that Management would not approve of you standing in the hallway with an armful of talking beetles. It's settled, then. "We better go back," you tell Gil, then think better of it. "Um, maybe I can find a bag to put you in, and we can come back here. So you're not stranded forever, just for a minute. Okay?"

"Oh." Gil sounds surprised. "...I-I-I-If you'd be willing?"

"Yes!" You scoop the beetles up and cradle them as subtly as you can. It should look like you have your arms crossed, you think. You mean, it will. Since you're a master of disguise and all. "Alright, we're going. Should I stick a siphon in this hallway?"

"Um, I-I think a lot of people walk this way, considering all the— all the doors. I-I-I wouldn't risk it. Um, personally. I-I-If you want to, then you can—"

"No, no. There'll be plenty more places. Like..."

Like Virginia's penthouse. What were you expecting? If you'd had to pin down an image, it might have been something like your house: gilt and velvet and chandeliers and stuff. You should've remembered it was Headspace. Where there ought to be gilt, there's bare metal or glossy paint. Where there ought to be velvet, there's garish alligator-skin, or— God, what are those made of? Are they inflated with air? And where there ought to be chandeliers, there are orbs, stupid blank orbs, that light up blinding white when you flick the switch— huh. Are there usually multiple settings for a light-switch? You lower it to the middle, and the orbs begin strobing rainbow.

(1/2)

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Rainbow! Virginia's eyes aren't sensitive, but yours are, and you slam the switch 'off' straight away. It's not dark in the penthouse without the orbs, far from it: the giant windows take care of that. Didn't you just come from the outside of the building, lined with windows? Has space gone funny already? No, actually, you don't think so. The old windows looked out onto the rest of Headspace. These windows look out onto other windows, far-distant— the other side of the building? The whole thing must be wheel-shaped! You're on the inside of the wheel, now. The inside is rather nice, actually— the building's (inner) exterior walls are all covered with clinging plants, ferns and things, and they have something generating a gentle mist, so it's rather like looking into a terrarium. Shouldn't the mist condense on the windows something fierce, though? Do they employ scrubbers? Do they make Friends for the sole purpose of scrubbing windows free of mist? (What would one look like? A big spider with rags for hands?) So they can see all the ferns, plus whatever that is in the center. A tube? There's something moving inside of it. An... elevator?

Oh, good! You know where the elevator is now. You look down and shake your shirt (actually, your overalls) to dislodge Gil. "We're here! You can have thumbs again!"

"Huh? Oh, we're—" The beetles peel off you hastily. "Sorry! Sorry. Uh. Are you sure there's no cameras?"

Are you sure there's no cameras? Virginia said they didn't trust her. "No. But there were probably cameras in the hallway, and you still—"

"You told me to!"

So you did. "Whatever. Don't have thumbs, then. What's— who's that?"

Outside the window: windows, ferns, mist, elevator, and a person in an old-fashioned diving suit on a rope. Descending on a rope. Sliding down a long, long rope, like a spider unspooling silk, if the spider was in a diving suit.

"Who's who?"

"The—" The person has slid down, is swinging back and forth, now, is leaping onto— onto the top of the elevator, which moves down, down, down, out of sight, into the darkness, carrying them with it. "Um, I don't know."

"I-I-Is it something we should be worried about?"

"I don't know." You're not sure where to rate 'diving-suit acrobats' on your threat list. "Um, I'll tell you later. If it's important later. If it's not, forget about it— we're safe for right now. This is where she's supposed to be at."

"She?"

"Virginia." Her home. For the moment. Until Management is done with her, at the very least.

(Choices next.)

>[1] Conduct a quick search for a bag, duffel, briefcase, suitcase, box, large jacket, or anything at all you can reasonably conceal 50-ish beetles inside. Then return to the hallway as soon as you can.

>[2] Gil's your retainer, isn't he? Didn't you just say that means he's very skilled and competent and so on? You can take a breather for a minute. If you're lucky, the caterers will be gone already by the time you're back. (You may pick up to 2, but picking 2 means you strand Gil for longer.)
>>[A] Spend the time mining Virginia's memory. Who is she? What did she do inside Headspace? Who did she explode, exactly? And so on. (Other questions? Optional write-in.)
>>[B] Spend the time exploring the penthouse. All you can see is the living room, and that alone is giant. Maybe you can find something useful inside.
>>[C] Spend the time putting up siphons. There's a lot of nooks and crannies they could be stuck in. You just need to make sure they won't be unstuck, after.
>>[D] Write-in.

>>6020971
Wow so he's never even tried?

>2C
We can do 2A once we're in the hallway again and Gil has reestablished live updates and can shake us out of mental miner mode in case of emergencies.

>>6021055
>[2C] Spend the time putting up siphons. There's a lot of nooks and crannies they could be stuck in. You just need to make sure they won't be unstuck, after.

>>6021055
>[2][C] Spend the time putting up siphons. There's a lot of nooks and crannies they could be stuck in. You just need to make sure they won't be unstuck, after.

>>6021055
>>[2C] Spend the time putting up siphons. There's a lot of nooks and crannies they could be stuck in. You just need to make sure they won't be unstuck, after.

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>>6021253
>>6021274
>>6021384
>>6021533
>[2C]

Straightforward enough. Writing shortly.


>>6021253
Watch it, anon, he's getting tetchy...

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Also, thanks to anybody who voted for Richard in the King tourney! He has won one round, which is one round more than Charlotte ever won three years ago. He's nice now, so I'm sure he won't passive-aggressively rub it in her face.

Rolled 1 (1d4)

Last-minute roll for no reason.

>Some siphon pun idk

"Anyways, we should..." You came in here to look for a Gil containment device, but you can multitask, can't you? "Actually, how many siphons do we have left?"

"How many mini-siphons? Um, I-I-I made 20 of them, and I already put up two, so— 18. I-I guess."

"18! Good thing we're getting a head start!" Hopefully you'll be covering a lot of ground later. "How many can we put up in here?"

"Maybe... four? I-It's pretty fucking big in here. Can't dump all of them, though, or there won't be enough coverage. I-I think four sounds good."

"Four it is." You swing your arms around. "You're going to have to show me how to stick them places, Gil. You'll need fingers for that."

Can beetles sigh? If they can, is it becoming for them to do so? You will leave these questions tastefully unanswered, as Gil has fingers in short order.

"I'm glad you can do that now," you say. "It's way more convenient than whatever you did before."

"I-I'm not." Gil is wringing said fingers. "I-I-I-I feel like a freak. I-I-I am a—"

"No you're not. You have cool powers. Does my other expert retainer think you're a freak?"

"Huh? Who?" Gil's all turned around, leaned over the side of one of the gauche settees.

"Teddy? My other retainer? I just swore him in!"

"Oh, uh... yeah. Um, look. Forget Teddy. I-I-I have the minis here." Gil straightens and turns, presenting you with a palmful of four grey cubes. "They're not hard to put up— tap them on, and they stick. Just need to make sure the antenna i-isn't obstructed, or it'll—"

"Maybe you better show me?"

"...Okay, I-I-I can..." He turns in a circle, taking in the surroundings. "How about there?"

'There' is an elaborate potted plant, all frilly leaves and feelers. Gil feels around the plant's trunk, then presses a cube to it. With a soft hiss, it unfurls into a rectangular thingy, a device, with an antenna sticking out. When Gil removes his hand, it's still there, obscured by leaves. "I-It suctions on," he says. "Like I-I-I said, you just need to make sure the antenna's out all the way, since that's what radios back to—"

"Got it!" Technical details are only barely more palatable from Gil than they were from Richard. "Three more, then. Easy-peasy."

(1/3)

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It is. You hide a siphon in the jungle-themed bathroom, fastened on the rockwork behind a boiling waterfall. ("I-I-I guess that's supposed to be the shower?") You hide one in a room with a large, sunken, strangely marked table— for air hockey, Virginia informs you, though you haven't the slightest what that means. Is there earth hockey? Fire hockey? What is a hockey? You thought that meant a globule of spit. You stick a mini-siphon underneath the table, nevertheless. You also attempt to hide one under the bed, only to discover that there is no "under the bed": the penthouse's king-size bed is flush to the ground, and it jiggles unnervingly when you poke it. It's a waterbed, apparently, which only barely helps. Would your cot also be a "waterbed"? Ha ha. Richard would tell you that you're not funny.

You settle for sticking the last siphon inside the suspiciously normal wardrobe— you search it up and down, and even enlist Gil in doing so, but can find no button to make it play music or turn striped or anything. Maybe they ran out of ideas. The wardrobe is also where Virginia's tossed all her clothes. You dig through the pile (what a mess!) and emerge victorious: she's tossed them atop a crumpled duffel bag, which you show Gil immediately. "Your ride, sir."

"That'd be plenty of room," Gil appraises, "but wouldn't i-i-it still be kind of... conspicuous? I-If anybody recognized you, they'd be wondering what you were doing with it, and i-i-if they made you show what was inside, i-it'd just be—"

"God! You're such a negative thinker!" You lower the duffel bag. "It's what we have, okay? It's better than beetles out in the open. Or, what, where else— down my shirt? I don't think that'd be better. Imagine somebody seeing my shirt, and it's moving, because there's a bunch of big fat beetles—"

Gil swallows. "Um, yeah. I-I-I-I-I'm not saying, um... how about your backpack?"

"My backpack? My... you mean my rucksack?"

"I-it's a backpack, but yeah. I-I don't know if it's big enough to fit all the beetles, but I'm not all the beetles, so it should be—"

"Gil! Did you know I had that all along? I— not that I forgot I had it, but—" But he shouldn't be remembering things you don't!

"Um, no. I-I-I just remembered, since it's— it must be plocked, I guess. Because of the... you having the lady's body. I-I wasn't thinking about it before this."

"Oh," you say, mollified. "That's fine, then. Plocked?"

"Um, sorry. Plocked. P-locked. I-I think 'possibility-locked'? Like... you have it, but it's not really... you don't have it, until you think about it enough, then you do. Plocked. Or unplocked, I guess." Gil pauses. "I-It might be a jacker word. Sorry."

"I don't care about your old job. Do I have...?" You feel your back. There is a rucksack undoubtedly on it. "Huh. Okay. Get in."

(2/3)