City of Immortals

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!City of Immortals !!Prologue [[Continue|p-pg1]]

''Ledala, The Last Remaining City'' Ledala has fallen. You know this. Your soldiers know this, even as they die around you, bathed in their own blood. Your uniform, as crude as it was, is covered in sharp splatters of red, your single working foot walks a trail through the streets while the other drags behind you, numb. Death bares down upon you like a beast's maw but for the moment you've managed to evade her stony gaze. You shift bodies to the side as you make your way through the disquietingly silent streets and clamber over what you can't budge, but still the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end like someone's watching you, waiting for a chance to finish you off. Your vision swims; it blurs and fogs and your mind runs like rancid honey. Shit, you glare down at your bloody hand clutched at your middle, the only stopper between your spilling guts and the cold, stone streets. //Spectres//. A word that had bubbled up amongst your soldiers to explain the sudden and complete destruction of the Wasteland cities one-by-one over the course of a few months. It was the name given to the elusive soldiers that no survivor ever had a proper look at, a myth to explain the impossible. It was an explanation you shrugged off; something that was appropriate for children's stories and nightmares. Not the barracks. Not amongst soldiers. And yet, here you are, running from an enemy you can't even //see//. You shouldn't be running. A myth shouldn't be killing the unkillable. How is this happening? The rogue thought runs through your mind like a unstoppable tidal wave. None of you should be dying. Even now, as you clutch at your stomach just to keep yourself from collapsing, you can feel the liquid science coursing through your veins failing you. You can't call upon the strength you once might have had, you can't even feel a modicum of the beast that once dwelled just under the surface of your skin. No, it is either dormant, or it is gone. Yet even so only one thought pushes into the forefront of your mind, before the fear, before the realisation that you might just be dying. [[I need to find my brother!|p-pg2-1]] [[I need to find my sister!|p-pg2-2]] [[I need to find my sibling!|p-pg2-3]]

/*mc variables*/ <<set $mc1_name to " ">> <<set $mc2_name to " ">> <<set $mc1_play to false>> <<set $mc2_play to false>> <<set $mc1_gender to " ">> <<set $mc1trans to false>> <<set $mc2transition to false>> <<set $mc1_he to "she">> <<set $mc1_him to "her">> <<set $mc1_his to "her">> <<set $mc1_his2 to "hers">> <<set $mc1_himself to "herself">> <<set $mc1_hes to "she's">> <<set $mc1_brother to "sister">> <<set $mc1_height to "">> <<set $mc2_gender to " ">> <<set $mc2trans to false>> <<set $mc2transition to 0>> <<set $mc2_he to "she">> <<set $mc2_him to "her">> <<set $mc2_his to "her">> <<set $mc2_his2 to "hers">> <<set $mc2_himself to "herself">> <<set $mc2_hes to "she's">> <<set $mc2_brother to "sister">> <<set $mc2height to "">> <<set $mc2statelimp to "">> <<set $role to "hunter">> <<set $job to "">> /*mc personality variables*/ <<set $crude to .5>> <<set $right to .5>> <<set $worldly to .5>> <<set $out to .5>> <<set $gruff to .5>> <<set $reck to .5>> <<set $manip to .5>> <<set $sarc to .5>> /*mc 1 RO relationship variables*/ <<set $carol_r to 0>> <<set $carol_f to 0>> <<set $carol_a to 0>> <<set $mordred_r to .1>> <<set $mordred_f to 0>> <<set $mordred_a to 0>> <<set $lowrie_r to 0>> <<set $lowrie_f to 0>> <<set $lowrie_a to 0>> <<set $doc_r to 0>> <<set $doc_f to 0>> <<set $doc_a to 0>> <<set $allard_r to 0>> <<set $allard_f to 0>> <<set $allard_a to 0>> <<set $ridley_r to 0>> <<set $ridley_f to 0>> <<set $ridley_a to 0>> <<set $harley_f to 0>> <<set $harley_r to 0>> <<set $harley_a to 0>> /*mc2 ro relationship variables*/ <<set $art_r to 0>> <<set $art_f to 0>> <<set $art_a to 0>> <<set $perci_r to 0>> <<set $perci_f to 0>> <<set $perci_a to 0>> <<set $adra_r to 0>> <<set $adra_f to 0>> <<set $adra_a to 0>> <<set $saga_r to 0>> <<set $saga_f to 0>> <<set $saga_a to 0>> <<set $dagda_r to 0>> <<set $dagda_f to 0>> <<set $dagda_a to 0>> <<set $deimos_r to 0>> <<set $deimos_f to 0>> <<set $deimos_a to 0>> <<set $strix_r to 0>> <<set $strix_f to 0>> <<set $strix_a to 0>> <<set $erato_r to 0>> <<set $erato_f to 0>> <<set $erato_a to 0>> <<set $kim_r to 0>> <<set $kim_f to 0>> <<set $kim_a to 0>> /*ro gender variables*/ <<set $rogender to " ">> <<set $allard_gender to "male">> <<set $ridley_gender to "non">> <<set $dagda_gender to "female">> <<set $saga_gender to " ">> <<set $erato_gender to "non">> <<set $kim_gender to "female">> <<set $strix_gender to "male">> <<set $allardhe to "he">> <<set $allardhim to "him">> <<set $allardhis to "his">> <<set $allardhis2 to "his">> <<set $allardhimself to "himself">> <<set $allardhes to "he's">> <<set $allardman to "man">> <<set $ridhe to "they">> <<set $ridhim to "them">> <<set $ridhis to "their">> <<set $ridhis2 to "theirs">> <<set $ridhimself to "themself">> <<set $ridhes to "they're">> <<set $ridman to "person">> <<set $daghe to "she">> <<set $daghim to "her">> <<set $daghis to "hers">> <<set $daghis2 to "hers">> <<set $daghimself to "herself">> <<set $daghes to "she's">> <<set $dagman to "woman">> <<set $sagahe to "they">> <<set $sagahim to "them">> <<set $sagahis to "their">> <<set $sagahis2 to "theirs">> <<set $sagahimself to "themself">> <<set $sagahes to "they're">> <<set $sagaman to "person">> <<set $kimhe to "she">> <<set $kimhim to "her">> <<set $kimhis to "hers">> <<set $kimhis2 to "hers">> <<set $kimhimself to "herself">> <<set $kimhes to "she's">> <<set $kimman to "woman">> <<set $erahe to "they">> <<set $erahim to "them">> <<set $erahis to "their">> <<set $erahis2 to "theirs">> <<set $erahimself to "themself">> <<set $erahes to "they're">> <<set $eraman to "person">> <<set $strixhe to "he">> <<set $strixhim to "him">> <<set $strixhis to "his">> <<set $strixhis2 to "his">> <<set $strixhimself to "himself">> <<set $strixhes to "he's">> <<set $strixman to "man">> /*misc ro variables*/ <<set $met_rid to false>> <<set $met_allard to false>> <<set $met_doc to false>> <<set $met_saga to false>> <<set $met_deimos to false>> <<set $met_strix to false>> <<set $met_erato to false>> <<set $met_kim to false>> <<set $carol_name to " ">> /*meters*/ <<newmeter 'AllardR' $allard_r>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(71, 68, 61)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Rivalry' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'AllardF' $allard_f>> <<colors 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(61, 62, 71)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Friendship' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'AllardA' $allard_a>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(66, 54, 62)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Affection' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'CarolR' $carol_r>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(71, 68, 61)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Rivalry' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'CarolF' $carol_f>> <<colors 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(61, 62, 71)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Friendship' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'CarolA' $carol_a>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(66, 54, 62)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Affection' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'MordR' $mordred_r>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(71, 68, 61)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Rivalry' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'MordF' $mordred_f>> <<colors 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(61, 62, 71)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Friendship' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'MordA' $mordred_a>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(66, 54, 62)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Affection' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'LowrieR' $lowrie_r>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(71, 68, 61)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Rivalry' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'LowrieF' $lowrie_f>> <<colors 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(61, 62, 71)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Friendship' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'LowrieA' $lowrie_a>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(66, 54, 62)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Affection' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'RidleyR' $ridley_r>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(71, 68, 61)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Rivalry' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'RidleyF' $ridley_f>> <<colors 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(61, 62, 71)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Friendship' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'RidleyA' $ridley_a>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(66, 54, 62)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Affection' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'ArthurR' $art_r>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(71, 68, 61)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Rivalry' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'ArthurF' $art_f>> <<colors 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(61, 62, 71)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Friendship' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'ArthurA' $art_a>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(66, 54, 62)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Affection' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'AdraR' $adra_r>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(71, 68, 61)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Rivalry' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'AdraF' $adra_f>> <<colors 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(61, 62, 71)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Friendship' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'AdraA' $adra_a>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(66, 54, 62)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Affection' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'PerciR' $perci_r>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(71, 68, 61)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Rivalry' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'PerciF' $perci_f>> <<colors 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(61, 62, 71)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Friendship' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'PerciA' $perci_a>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(66, 54, 62)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Affection' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'SagaR' $saga_r>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(71, 68, 61)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Rivalry' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'SagaF' $saga_f>> <<colors 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(61, 62, 71)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Friendship' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'SagaA' $saga_a>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(66, 54, 62)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Affection' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'DeimosR' $deimos_r>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(71, 68, 61)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Rivalry' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'DeimosF' $deimos_f>> <<colors 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(61, 62, 71)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Friendship' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'DeimosA' $deimos_a>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(66, 54, 62)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Affection' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'DagdaR' $dagda_r>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(71, 68, 61)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Rivalry' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'DagdaF' $dagda_f>> <<colors 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(61, 62, 71)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Friendship' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'DagdaA' $dagda_a>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(66, 54, 62)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Affection' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <div class='chapel-meter' data-val='HarleyF' data-label='$harley_f'> <div class='meter-label'>Friendship</div> <div class='meter-bottom'> <div class='meter-top'></div> </div> </div> <<newmeter 'HarleyF' $harley_f>> <<colors 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(74, 103, 150)' 'rgb(61, 62, 71)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Friendship' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'HarleyR' $harley_r>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(166, 92, 65)' 'rgb(71, 68, 61)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Rivalry' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'HarleyA' $harley_a>> <<colors 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(166, 80, 130)' 'rgb(66, 54, 62)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Affection' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Crude' $crude>> <<colors 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(135, 59, 103)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Polite/Crude' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Right' $right>> <<colors 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(135, 59, 103)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Wicked/Righteous' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'World' $worldly>> <<colors 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(135, 59, 103)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Naive/Worldly' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Out' $out>> <<colors 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(135, 59, 103)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Reserved/Outgoing' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Gruff' $gruff>> <<colors 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(135, 59, 103)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Mellow/Gruff' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Reck' $reck>> <<colors 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(135, 59, 103)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Cautious/Reckless' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Manip' $manip>> <<colors 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(135, 59, 103)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Genuine/Manipulative' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> <<newmeter 'Sarc' $sarc>> <<colors 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(82, 54, 94)' 'rgb(135, 59, 103)'>> <<sizing '100%' '2em'>> <<label 'Considerate/Sarcastic' 'white'>> <</newmeter>> /* chptr 1 variBles*/ <<set $drink to " ">> <<set $ch1_water to false>> <<set $ch1_bullet to false>> <<set $ch1_problem to false>> <<set $ch1_task to " ">> <<set $ch1_return to "none">> <<set $lowrie_hug to false>> <<set $carollie to "dont">> <<set $sleep to "">> <<set $mc1mord to "">> <<set $mc1break to "">> <<set $ridfun to "no">> <<set $allardinit to "">> <<set $religion to "">> <<set $ch1act to false>> <<set $allardknife to "no">> /*fav variable <3*/ /*ch 2 variables*/ <<set $escape to "">> <<set $art_op to "">> <<set $room to "">> <<set $wine to false>> <<set $actor to 0>> <<set $kim_trust to 0>> <<set $ktea to 0>> <<set $mc2Mord to 0>>

<<nobr>> <<set $mc1_gender to "Male">> <<set $mc1_he to "he">> <<set $mc1_him to "him">> <<set $mc1_his to "his">> <<set $mc1_his2 to "his">> <<set $mc1_himself to "himself">> <<set $mc1_hes to "he's">> <<set $mc1_brother to "brother">> Somewhere in the confusion of breached walls and screaming you lost sight of your brother. Maybe you simply forgot to think of him when the first drop of spilled blood finally hit the pavement, maybe you saw him fall and just refused to acknowledge the one thing that might just break you for good. Sucking in a painful breath you let your sword clatter to the ground and take off at a run that would be swift were it not for your painfully twisted leg dragging out behind you. <</nobr>> It burns like the sun when it really shouldn't but you try your best not to think about the angle that definitely isn't natural. You just… keep going. Half the motivation of it must be from stubbornness alone, the other half, who knows, maybe it's fear driving you away from the battle and not a worry for a brother who may well be dead. With laboured breaths you weave through the streets paved with the bodies of your comrades, searching for a familiar face, a familiar scrap of clothing, anything that might tell you for certain that your brother is dead. Maybe you should be happy that you don't find a single trace of him by the time you collapse for good, dragging yourself across the cobbled walkway just to get away from the acrid stench of blood cursed with obsolescence. Maybe you should celebrate and let yourself rest but the truth is maybe you just missed him. Maybe he's back there, dead and buried underneath a mountain of corpses. Or maybe he's suffering just like you are right now, desperately searching for a familiar face as the last remnants of his life leak out of him at a trickle. You're not sure which thought is worse. [[Continue|p-pg3]]

<<nobr>> <<set $mc1_gender to "Female">> Somewhere in the confusion of breached walls and screaming you lost sight of your sister. Maybe you simply forgot to think of her when the first drop of spilled blood finally hit the pavement, maybe you saw her fall and just refused to acknowledge the one thing that might just break you for good. Sucking in a painful breath you let your sword clatter to the ground and take off at a run that would be swift were it not for your painfully twisted leg dragging out behind you. <</nobr>> It burns like the sun when it really shouldn't but you try your best not to think about the angle that definitely isn't natural. You just… keep going. Half the motivation of it must be from stubbornness alone, the other half, who knows, maybe it's fear driving you away from the battle and not a worry for a sister who may well be dead. With laboured breaths you weave through the streets paved with the bodies of your comrades, searching for a familiar face, a familiar scrap of clothing, anything that might tell you for certain that your sister is dead. Maybe you should be happy that you don't find a single trace of her by the time you collapse for good, dragging yourself across the cobbled walkway just to get away from the acrid stench of blood cursed with obsolescence. Maybe you should celebrate and let yourself rest but the truth is maybe you just missed her. Maybe she's back there, dead and buried underneath a mountain of corpses. Or maybe she's suffering just like you are right now, desperately searching for a familiar face as the last remnants of her life leak out of her at a trickle. You're not sure which thought is worse. [[Continue|p-pg3]]

<<nobr>> <<set $mc1_gender to "Nonbinary">> <<set $mc1_he to "they">> <<set $mc1_him to "them">> <<set $mc1_his to "their">> <<set $mc1_his2 to "theirs">> <<set $mc1_himself to "themself">> <<set $mc1_hes to "they're">> <<set $mc1_brother to "sibling">> Somewhere in the confusion of breached walls and screaming you lost sight of your sibling. Maybe you simply forgot to think of them when the first drop of spilled blood finally hit the pavement, maybe you saw them fall and just refused to acknowledge the one thing that might just break you for good. Sucking in a painful breath you let your sword clatter to the ground and take off at a run that would be swift were it not for your painfully twisted leg dragging out behind you. <</nobr>> It burns like the sun when it really shouldn't but you try your best not to think about the angle that definitely isn't natural. You just… keep going. Half the motivation of it must be from stubbornness alone, the other half, who knows, maybe it's fear driving you away from the battle and not a worry for a sibling who may well be dead. With laboured breaths you weave through the streets paved with the bodies of your comrades, searching for a familiar face, a familiar scrap of clothing, anything that might tell you for certain that your sibling is dead. Maybe you should be happy that you don't find a single trace of them by the time you collapse for good, dragging yourself across the cobbled walkway just to get away from the acrid stench of blood cursed with obsolescence. Maybe you should celebrate and let yourself rest but the truth is maybe you just missed them. Maybe they're back there, dead and buried underneath a mountain of corpses. Or maybe they're suffering just like you are right now, desperately searching for a familiar face as the last remnants of their life leak out of them at a trickle. You're not sure which thought is worse. [[Continue|p-pg3]]

You smell of dog and sweat and gore, and your nails scream painfully as they heave you across the expansive ground you could stride across if only you could clamber to your feet. Your body screams and cries out with each aching shift, all those little cuts tearing open, wider, and exposing more of yourself to the dirt. Despite it all, you push forth, dragging yourself into the mouth of an alleyway, hoping for a quiet place to bleed out. At least that would afford you some dignity. It's a thought, however, that doesn't reach its logical end. As you finally manage to pull yourself into the alley proper, the cloying stuffiness in your lungs clears, at least enough to allow for thought through the pain. Your injured flesh //twitches//, knitting itself back together at a rate not-quite-human, but nowhere near as quickly as you're used to. The pain of repair is rough; it's like a fire burning in your chest, of a million needles all stabbing into open sores at once. It's unnatural. It's //wrong//. You collapse into a pool of your own hell-sworn blood, hot against your cheek as you writhe with each horrible stab of pain. Your bones twist and shift back into their rightful place, your organs suck back through the surgical slice with sloppy, wet sounds you can't hear over the beating of blood in your ears. Try as you might you just can't find the power you once had, just can't call upon the wolf that lurks inside of you. Maybe it truly is gone; you don't feel the incessant hunger for flesh, don't feel the ripple of muscle that is not naturally your own. Indeed, you're so helplessly human and you don't know why when just the day prior you could have torn any other beast in twain. For the final time you reach down deep within yourself just to find any trace of what once was your strength, diving down like a deep, deep, ocean that holds the secrets of your power. As you reach a hand out before you it brushes just briefly up against something familiar—something warm and fuzzy like a dog's pelt though you know is anything but. There's a huff of sleeping canine, the acrid stench of a breath born from indulging on nothing but raw meats. Blood pumps through you and the creature in tandem, pulsing and beating in a rhythm not your own. Then, with unexpected teeth scraping at the back of your neck, you're expelled and you're back there in the dirty alleyway as if you never left at all. Shut out. Completely and utterly abandoned by the one creature you could rely on. In the silence of your suffering you realise most of the screams have gone quiet now, hushed by an enemy who may as well have been death incarnate by how meticulously and swiftly they slaughtered your brethren. You have to be next, it only makes sense really, and though maybe you don't want to die you know better than anyone out there that death will take what it is owed. Would you even be able to climb back to your feet regardless? Should you even try? [[Trying is better than nothing, right? I'll drag myself to my feet if it's the last thing I do|p-pg4-1]] [[I'm not this weak, I can't be! I call forth the beast, make it listen.|p-pg4-2]] [[There's little point anyway, either way I'm dead. It's all over.|p-pg5][$mc2statelimp to 3]]

<<nobr>><<set $mc2statelimp to 1>> With a sucked in breath you push yourself up onto your hands and knees on desperation alone, the pinpricks of frustrated tears stinging at the corners of your eyes like a betrayal. Your injured leg protests the entire way and even now it doesn't quite feel //correct// as you put all your weight on your one good leg. As you stand you go stumbling into the nearest wall, almost immediately falling, and on your way down you feel more than hear the //snap// as your body bears down upon the damaged limb. A burning, searing, pain overcomes you and a strangled cry tears from your lips like a blade from your flesh. As you hit the ground you fight the threatening tears but find your eyes weak from the dirt coating your face. A snivelling cretin on the ground before your death, you can't help but hate the creature you've become.<</nobr>> It's. All. Over. [[Continue|p-pg5]]

<<nobr>><<set $mc2statelimp to 2>> Your breath quavers as you try to call upon the beast once more. It won't end like this, you try to tell yourself through gritted teeth, you won't be a bloody stain on the ground of a ruined city. Tapping into that anger awakens you from your blood-loss feulled haze, and as you feel the aching pain of your canines growing and the tearing of claws replacing nails, you can't stop the grin that's already beginning to spread across your face. Yes! If you can just get your damned leg to heal, if you can just get a few paces deeper into the shadows, maybe you'll get through this.<</nobr>> Yet as you feel the power of the beast inside you begin to spread through your veins, as you feel your muscles swell and the hairs on your arms grow into thick fur, something feels wrong. The transformation burns as you change, pain not unlike a searing hot brand against your skin. And then it flares into an inferno, iron-hot teeth clamping down on the back of your neck as you're forced back into your human shell, back into the flimsy, weak sack of meat destined to die like meat. By the time the pain finally dies you're not completely human. Once you've realised you're screaming and you clamp your jaw tight you realise that one limb is not your own. Oh, your wounds have healed quite miraculously, all things considered, but your arm! One of your arms is covered in sweat and blood-matted fur, fingers tipped with black claws that scrape against the pavement almost painfully. As your tongue runs over your teeth you realise that your canines are longer than they should be. Even when you try to call upon the beast one last time you don't receive an answer. The wolf has abandoned you. [[Continue|p-pg5]]

As you wait for the end to come you can already hear the distant footsteps of an enemy soldier, heavy boots dragging across the concrete as you try to mimick all the characteristics of just another corpse--it certainly shouldn't be hard in your state. But no, the pain is too great, the world too cold, and the eyes of the enemy far too sharp. You're too weak to fight back by the time those boots stop right where you lay, the acrid stench of smoke, like sulfur, wafting off the man where he stands. You want to get away, you want to find your $mc1_brother and get $mc1_him out of this place, but you're stuck here instead, facing your death like a lame deer instead of the ferocious wolf you know you are. The man crouches with a soft sigh around the cigarette hanging from his lips, blond hair mostly obscured underneath a hood as he glances around with calculating blue eyes. You close your own, unable--or unwilling--to face your death with any dignity, simply waiting for the final blow, but instead you hear a soft whisper, so quiet you almost don't process it at all. [[''Oh, kid. I'm so sorry.''|p-pg6-1]] [[''Oh, girl. I'm so sorry.''|p-pg6-2]] [[''Oh, boy. I'm so sorry.''|p-pg6-3]]

<<nobr>> <<set $mc2_gender to "Nonbinary">> <<set $saga_gender to "non">> <<set $mc2_he to "they">> <<set $mc2_him to "them">> <<set $mc2_his to "their">> <<set $mc2_his2 to "theirs">> <<set $mc2_himself to "themself">> <<set $mc2_hes to "they're">> <<set $mc2_brother to "sibling">> "I couldn't stop it." The man worries the cigarette filter between his teeth in place of biting his lip and it's only now you notice the wilting cut that drags across his cheek. Red stains the otherwise pale skin, dripping down to his chin like a tear for all the people dead this day. The man sucks in a breath, exhales a stream of smoke with a low groan that could be pain or disappointment... and then the cut begins to heal over.<</nobr>> One of you. Maybe. He watches you for a time, something conflicted in his eyes of baby blue as they examine your face, your body, your fractured state. If you had the will to do so, you'd be //growling// like a feral mutt. <<nobr>><<if $mc2statelimp is "limp">>He hesitates momentarily to eye your leg, whistling lowly as he manoeuvres around the limb with a caution unfamiliar to you. "That's gotta hurt," He murmurs, though his tone is one bathed in uncertainty, "You'll fix yourself up in no time, though. The gas'll wear off in a day or two." You're not sure whether he's trying to be comforting or not. You're not sure whether it's working. <<elseif $mc2statelimp is "wolf">> He hesitates momentarily to eye your arm, his hand reaching out as if to touch it only to drop back down to his side as he manoeuvres around you. "Shit," He grimaces, "You're not s'posed to shift on the gas." He swallows hard and shakes his head as if to clear it of the probing thoughts. "It'll be fine," He says, almost like he means it. <<else>> <</if>><</nobr>> [[Continue|p-pg7]]

<<nobr>> <<set $mc2_gender to "Female">> <<set $saga_gender to "female">> "I couldn't stop it." The man worries the cigarette filter between his teeth in place of biting his lip and it's only now you notice the wilting cut that drags across his cheek. Red stains the otherwise pale skin, dripping down to his chin like a tear for all the people dead this day. The man sucks in a breath, exhales a stream of smoke with a low groan that could be pain or disappointment... and then the cut begins to heal over.<</nobr>> One of you. Maybe. He watches you for a time, something conflicted in his eyes of baby blue as they examine your face, your body, your fractured state. If you had the will to do so, you'd be //growling// like a feral mutt. <<nobr>><<if $mc2statelimp is "limp">>He hesitates momentarily to eye your leg, whistling lowly as he manoeuvres around the limb with a caution unfamiliar to you. "That's gotta hurt," He murmurs, though his tone is one bathed in uncertainty, "You'll fix yourself up in no time, though. The gas'll wear off in a day or two." You're not sure whether he's trying to be comforting or not. You're not sure whether it's working. <<elseif $mc2statelimp is "wolf">> He hesitates momentarily to eye your arm, his hand reaching out as if to touch it only to drop back down to his side as he manoeuvres around you. "Shit," He grimaces, "You're not s'posed to shift on the gas." He swallows hard and shakes his head as if to clear it of the probing thoughts. "It'll be fine," He says, almost like he means it. <<else>> <</if>><</nobr>> [[Continue|p-pg7]]

<<nobr>> <<set $mc2_gender to "Male">> <<set $saga_gender to "male">> <<set $mc2_he to "he">> <<set $mc2_him to "him">> <<set $mc2_his to "his">> <<set $mc2_his2 to "his">> <<set $mc2_himself to "himself">> <<set $mc2_hes to "he's">> <<set $mc2_brother to "brother">> "I couldn't stop it." The man worries the cigarette filter between his teeth in place of biting his lip and it's only now you notice the wilting cut that drags across his cheek. Red stains the otherwise pale skin, dripping down to his chin like a tear for all the people dead this day. The man sucks in a breath, exhales a stream of smoke with a low groan that could be pain or disappointment... and then the cut begins to heal over.<</nobr>> One of you. Maybe. He watches you for a time, something conflicted in his eyes of baby blue as they examine your face, your body, your fractured state. If you had the will to do so, you'd be //growling// like a feral mutt. <<nobr>><<if $mc2statelimp is 1>>He hesitates momentarily to eye your leg, whistling lowly as he manoeuvres around the limb with a caution unfamiliar to you. "That's gotta hurt," He murmurs, though his tone is one bathed in uncertainty, "You'll fix yourself up in no time, though. The gas'll wear off in a day or two." You're not sure whether he's trying to be comforting or not. You're not sure whether it's working. <<elseif $mc2statelimp is 2>> He hesitates momentarily to eye your arm, his hand reaching out as if to touch it only to drop back down to his side as he manoeuvres around you. "Shit," He grimaces, "You're not s'posed to shift on the gas." He swallows hard and shakes his head as if to clear it of the probing thoughts. "It'll be fine," He says, almost like he means it. <<else>> <</if>><</nobr>> [[Continue|p-pg7]]

The stranger is cautious but not hesitant as he drags you into his arms, holding your weak body close as he stands cradling you against his chest. At some point he spits the cigarette out and grinds it under his heel but your awareness of the situation ends when your eyes begin to droop closed. You feel heavy all over, like death has its grip on your heart despite your escape hardly a few moments before. Even now, the screams of your once-comrades echo in your mind and in your ears, the streets remembering them even if the rest of the world does not. "You should rest," The man says, his smoky breath beating against your face as your consciousness fades, "You'll need all the energy you can get." Yeah, you can't help but think, maybe you will. As your eyes fall closed completely you feel his chest heave with a sigh against your shoulder, "Sorry kid. This experiment was a failure all-round." [[Continue|p-pg8]]

Somewhere in the back streets of Ledala a young pair step over bodies left there to rot, blood staining the soles of their shoes as if they'll ever be able to get the taint out. As they breathe in the air their lungs feel stuffed full of cotton and as the faces of those they might once have recognised slowly get burned into their minds like the bright burning sun their mouths runs dry, silence is cut by a futile sob. They are not the culprits behind the massacre but who else are they to blame but themselves? Faces stained by tears and fresh blood, the pair consider the viscera-paved streets behind them and the arid desert in front of them, lit up only by the oversized moon, daring them to take that step; they do not know what awaits them but anything is better than this. Hand-in-hand, the pair make their escape into the endless sands before them. [[End Prologue|chapterone]]

!City of Immortals !!Chapter One // Despite the shabbiness, it’s proof that humanity still exists one way or another, proof that, no matter the trial, you’ll continue to live so long as there’s hope, determination and, if you’re being honest, spite. // [[Continue|ch1-pg1]]

<<nobr>> <<set $mc1_play to true>> ''Eden, Middle of Nowhere''<</nobr>> The sun beats its merciless heat down upon the dusty road, any modicum of respite found in the shade of the buildings lining the road lost to the dry cruelty of desert. Even from the other side of the bar you can feel the heat permeating into the room from the open door and busted up windows like an oppressive knot between your shoulders. Underneath your vest you feel sweat drag its cruel fingers down your back, all slow, dipping through all the rolls and ridges of your sweltering skin just to spite you. A faint growl in your ear alerts you to the eyes that stare at your turned back. If you didn't know any better you might have assumed they were guns turned on you. You certainly wouldn't blame anyone who turned blade or bullet your way; you've pulled some shit through the years. But no, that growl turns to a soft, monstrous huff of a chuckle, hot air brushing over your ear. Something in your mind craves blood this day, whereas your body... it twitches around the old glass nursed between your arms, empty save the last dregs of alcohol. It would be undignified to slurp it up like some kind of rat at a buffet but... well, you've done worse for less. You stare into the amber droplets sliding around on the bottom of your glass and can't help the growl that rumbles up from deep in your chest. It's primal and coming from another place entirely, and so you force it down with a slam of your fist on the counter. Harley turns to you with a frown, almost threatening for all the ferocity... before a bushy, brown brow raises in a silent question. The bottle's already in their hand. You shouldn't, you know you shouldn't--you see Carol leering at you from a table across the way, her blissful silence interrupted by your closed fist. You swallow hard, you are quite thirsty. [[I frown and shake my head. I don't want another drink.|ch1-pg2-1]] [[''Not right now, Harley. Thanks.''|ch1-pg2-2]] [[''Would you kindly pour me another drink?''|ch1-pg2-3]] [[''Just pass me the whole damn bottle.''|ch1-pg2-4]]

<<nobr>><<set $crude to $crude + 0.05>> <<set $out to $out - 0.05>> <<set $carol_f to $carol_f + 0.05>> And remaining on Carol's bad side for long never did you any favours.<</nobr>> Harley considers the half-empty bottle for a brief moment of time, almost like it's offended them personally, before tucking it back behind the bar with a shrug. No skin off their back. As they busy themself with polishing off their precious bar, you can do little but stare into your empty glass and will it full once more. Nothing. Not even a drop. You drag your gaze back up to your silent bartender, their back already turned as they gather up all their wayward washcloths strewn around in various hidey-holes across the bar. Their faded, short-sleeved, red button-up sits partially tucked into a pair of slacks that may once have been black. As they turn, Harley finds your gaze and offers a crooked smile showing only half their teeth. Patchy stubble smatters their chin and upper lip, warm brown eyes narrowed as if they're in on a joke you just don't get. "Something the matter?" They sign, thin fingers creating shapes in the air before them with ease, "Did you want that drink after all?" "I said no," You grumble, sounding more angry at the world than you intended, older. "Don't you have other people to harass?" Harley looks around with that same-old grin, sun-kissed skin lighting up with their mirth. Black curls bob with their silent laugh, "No, I only see you." "Oh, go away," You groan, your body finally accepting that it won't be getting another drink today. A huff of imagined air brushes across your exposed neck, the manifestation of a mind not-quite your own rising to the surface to wield its anger against your being with all the power it can muster. You feel that white hot anger burn the tips of your ears, your teeth ache as your jaw clenches. Inside, a wolf paces; trapped, willing you to let down your guard and //let it out// to feast. Your teeth are too big for your mouth, nails digging grooves into the smooth wood. "Hunter," A stiff voice breaks you from the angry trance as a hand comes down and slaps you on the back, "We need to have a chat, you and I." Caroline distracts you from the demon in your head. As she swipes back the curled wisps of reddish-brown hair from her eyes, she slings that shotgun of hers over her shoulder like an accessory. [[This is not a choice.|ch1-pg3]]

<<nobr>><<set $crude to $crude - 0.05>> <<set $out to $out + 0.05>> <<set $carol_f to $carol_f + 0.05>> Remaining on Carol's bad side for long never did you any favours.<</nobr>> Harley considers the half-empty bottle, one brow raised, before tucking it back behind the bar with a nod. No skin off their back. As they busy themself with polishing off their precious bar, you can do little but stare into your empty glass and will it full once more. Nothing. Not even a drop. Honestly... probably for the best. You drag your gaze back up to your silent bartender, their back already turned as they gather up all their wayward washcloths strewn around in various hidey-holes across the bar. Their faded, short-sleeved, red button-up sits partially tucked into a pair of slacks that may once have been black. As they turn, Harley finds your gaze and offers a crooked smile showing only half their teeth. Patchy stubble smatters their chin and upper lip, warm brown eyes narrowed as if they're in on a joke you just don't get. "Something the matter?" They sign, thin fingers creating shapes in the air before them with ease, "Did you want that drink after all?" "I did say no," You sigh, voice coming out rougher than you intended, older. "As I'm sure you recall." Harley looks around with that same-old grin, sun-kissed skin lighting up with their mirth. Black curls bob with their silent laugh, "Maybe, but I'm always open to changing minds." "Oh, stop that," You groan, your body finally accepting that it won't be getting another drink today. A huff of imagined air brushes across your exposed neck, the manifestation of a mind not-quite your own rising to the surface to wield its anger against your being with all the power it can muster. You feel that white hot anger burn the tips of your ears, your teeth ache as your jaw clenches. Inside, a wolf paces; trapped, willing you to let down your guard and //let it out// to feast. Your teeth are too big for your mouth, nails digging grooves into the smooth wood. "Hunter," A stiff voice breaks you from the angry trance as a hand comes down and slaps you on the back, "We need to have a chat, you and I." Caroline distracts you from the demon in your head. As she swipes back the curled wisps of reddish-brown hair from her eyes, she slings that shotgun of hers over her shoulder like an accessory. [[This is not a choice.|ch1-pg3]]

<<nobr>><<set $crude to $crude - 0.05>> <<set $out to $out - 0.05>> <<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>> You put on your most winning of smiles and shoot Carol a little wave. She only graces you with her glare as Harley glances between the two of you before considering the half-empty bottle and deciding whether they're willing to risk their boss' disapproval. With a little shrug, you find your glass slowly beginning to fill once more.<</nobr>> "Thank you, kindly." You murmur, offering Harley an appreciative smile. They return the smile--a little crooked with half their teeth showing, before turning their back on your to collect up all their wayward washcloths. Their faded, short-sleeved, red button-up sits partially tucked into a pair of slacks that may once have been black. As they turn, Harley finds your gaze and offers a crooked smile showing only half their teeth. Patchy stubble smatters their chin and upper lip, warm brown eyes narrowed as if they're in on a joke you just don't get. "Something the matter with your drink?" They sign, thin fingers creating shapes in the air before them with ease, "I can promise it only //tastes// like piss." "That's gross," You grumble, knowing it's only a joke to push you off-kilter. Your voice comes out sounding more angry at the world than you intended, older. "Don't you have other people to harass?" Harley looks around with that same-old grin, sun-kissed skin lighting up with mirth. Black curls bob with their silent laugh, "No, I only see you." "Oh, go away," You groan, your body finally accepting that it won't be getting another drink today. A huff of imagined air brushes across your exposed neck, the manifestation of a mind not-quite your own rising to the surface to wield its anger against your being with all the power it can muster. You feel that white hot anger burn the tips of your ears, your teeth ache as your jaw clenches. Inside, a wolf paces; trapped, willing you to let down your guard and //let it out// to feast. Hot, rancid breath blows past your ear, like a wolf pacing inside your mind, a little growl like a command telling you to let the beast out. You know it's a bad idea; there's no blood to spill, not here, not today. Yet the wolf //insists//. Gulping down a thick mouthful of saliva, you attempt to drown out the caged beast inside your own body with yet more alcohol, yet before you can take another drink, a naturally tanned hand clamps down upon the top of the glass and slams it back down onto the bar. Harley glowers at the both of you. Your teeth are too big for your mouth, nails digging grooves into the smooth wood. "Hunter," A stiff voice breaks you from the angry trance as a hand comes down and slaps you on the back, "While you're sitting there drinking up all our stock, the least you could do is hear a very tired woman out."Her lips curl and with her unwavering, brown-eyed stare the beast in your head goes silent. Smart. As your own gaze drifts to the gun hoisted over her shoulder like an oversized accessory, you quickly come to realise that [[you have no choice.|ch1-pg3]]

<<nobr>><<set $crude to $crude + 0.05>> <<set $out to $out + 0.05>> <<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>> You put on your most venom-drenched of smiles and shoot Carol a little wave. She only graces you with her glare as Harley glances between the two of you before considering the half-empty bottle and deciding whether they're willing to risk their boss' disapproval. With a little shrug, you find the bottle plopped down in front of you.<</nobr>> "Thanks." You murmur, offering Harley an appreciative smile. They return the smile--a little crooked with half their teeth showing, before turning their back on your to collect up all their wayward washcloths. Their faded, short-sleeved, red button-up sits partially tucked into a pair of slacks that may once have been black. As they turn, Harley finds your gaze and offers a crooked smile showing only half their teeth. Patchy stubble smatters their chin and upper lip, warm brown eyes narrowed as if they're in on a joke you just don't get. "Something the matter with your drink?" They sign, thin fingers creating shapes in the air before them with ease, "I can promise it only //tastes// like piss." "Stop being crude," You sigh, voice coming out rougher than you intended, older. "Is this how you treat your customers?" Harley looks around with that same-old grin, sun-kissed skin lighting up with their mirth. Black curls bob with their silent laugh, "Only the ones that don't pay." "No one pays," You groan, your body finally accepting that it won't be getting another drink today. A huff of imagined air brushes across your exposed neck, the manifestation of a mind not-quite your own rising to the surface to wield its anger against your being with all the power it can muster. You feel that white hot anger burn the tips of your ears, your teeth ache as your jaw clenches. Inside, a wolf paces; trapped, willing you to let down your guard and //let it out// to feast. Hot, rancid breath blows past your ear, like a wolf pacing inside your mind, a little growl like a command telling you to let the beast out. You know it's a bad idea; there's no blood to spill, not here, not today. Yet the wolf //insists//. Gulping down a thick mouthful of saliva, you attempt to drown out the caged beast inside your own body with yet more alcohol, yet before you can take another drink, a naturally tanned hand clamps down upon the top of the glass and slams it back down onto the bar. Harley glowers at the both of you. Your teeth are too big for your mouth, nails digging grooves into the smooth wood. "Hunter," A stiff voice breaks you from the angry trance as a hand comes down and slaps you on the back, "While you're sitting there drinking up all our stock, the least you could do is hear a very tired woman out."Her lips curl and with her unwavering, brown-eyed stare the beast in your head goes silent. Smart. As your own gaze drifts to the gun hoisted over her shoulder like an oversized accessory, you quickly come to realise that [[you have no choice.|ch1-pg3]]

<<if $mc1_play>><<click "Personal Notes">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Personal Notes"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Stats").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>><<else>><<click "Personal Files">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Personal Files"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Stats").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>><</if>> <<click "Contacts">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Contacts"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Relationships").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> <<if settings.helpseen>><<else>><<click "Help!">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Help!"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Help!").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>><</if>> <<if settings.castseen>><<else>><<click "Cast">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Cast"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Cast").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>><</if>>

<<if $mc1_play>> <div class="title">What do you know about yourself?</div> Your name is $mc1_name, and you are a $role from Eden. <<if $role is "striker">>You're a damn good one at that. Though you've neglected your shooting skills, that just means you've specialised with your swordplay. Few hunters can boast such a feat.<<elseif $role is "hunter">>Though you may not be the best or the brightest, the very proof that being a jack of all trades is the best relies solely on the fact that you're still alive. Adaptibility is key in Wasteland.<<else>>You're a damn good shot, one of the best, if you're being honest. No target is too small, no amount of bullets too little to get the job done.<</if>> Ten years ago your $mc2_brother died in Ledala. <<if settings.easystats>><<showmeter 'World' $worldly>> <<showmeter 'Crude' $crude>> <<showmeter 'Out' $out>> <<showmeter 'Right' $right>><<else>><<if $crude > .5>>- Tends towards vulgarity, always starting shit.<<elseif $crude < .5>>- Tends towards Politeness, could be described as a pushover.<<else>>- Versatile. Or maybe just inconsistent.<</if>> <<if $right > .5>>- Too concerned with rules and regulations. Easy to reign in.<<elseif $right < .5>>- Doesn't like rules and hard to keep in line.<<else>>- Unpredictable. May round targets up as directed, may also break their noses in the process.<</if>> <<if $worldly > .5>>- Knows a bit too much about the world around $mc1_him.<<elseif $worldly < .5>>- The kid's an idiot if $mc1_hes truly attempting to make me think anyone's that naive.<<else>>- Can't tell whether $mc1_name is naive or just playing me for a fool.<</if>> <<if $out > .5>>- Outgoing and confident, unlikely to question own decisions.<<elseif $out < .5>>- Plays $mc1_his cards close to $mc1_his chest. Smart.<<else>>- Manipulative?<</if>><</if>> <<elseif $mc2_play>>''Name:'' $mc2_name ''Gender:'' $mc2_gender ''Job:'' Private Investigator ''Side Gig:'' $job !!Personality <<if settings.easystats>><<showmeter 'Reck' $reck>> <<showmeter 'Sarc' $sarc>> <<showmeter 'Manip' $manip>> <<showmeter 'Gruff' $gruff>><<else>><</if>> <<else>> You Are No One. <</if>>

<<if $mc1_play>> !!!Caroline Professional fun police and kind of your boss. <<if settings.easystats>><<showmeter 'CarolF' $carol_f>> <<showmeter 'CarolR' $carol_r>> <<showmeter 'CarolA' $carol_a>><<else>>Friendship: <<print Math.trunc($carol_f*100)>> Rivalry: <<print Math.trunc($carol_r*100)>> Affection: <<print Math.trunc($carol_a*100)>><</if>> !!!Lowrie Another Hunter and Caroline's partner. They don't seem to like you very much. <<if settings.easystats>><<showmeter 'LowrieF' $lowrie_f>> <<showmeter 'LowrieR' $lowrie_r>> <<showmeter 'LowrieA' $lowrie_a>><<else>>Friendship: <<print Math.trunc($lowrie_f*100)>> Rivalry: <<print Math.trunc($lowrie_r*100)>> Affection: <<print Math.trunc($lowrie_a*100)>><</if>> !!!Mordred He knows more of you than you care to admit. <<if settings.easystats>><<showmeter 'MordF' $mordred_f>> <<showmeter 'MordR' $mordred_r>> <<showmeter 'MordA' $mordred_a>><<else>>Friendship: <<print Math.trunc($mordred_f*100)>> Rivalry: <<print Math.trunc($mordred_r*100)>> Affection: <<print Math.trunc($mordred_a*100)>><</if>> !!!Harley The silent Bartender of Eden. <<if settings.easystats>><<showmeter 'HarleyF' $harley_f>> <<showmeter 'HarleyR' $harley_r>> <<showmeter 'HarleyA' $harley_a>><<else>>Friendship: <<print Math.trunc($harley_f*100)>> Rivalry: <<print Math.trunc($harley_r*100)>> Affection: <<print Math.trunc($harley_a*100)>><</if>> !!!Ridley Someone who doesn't quite belong. <<if settings.easystats>><<showmeter 'RidleyF' $ridley_f>> <<showmeter 'RidleyR' $ridley_r>> <<showmeter 'RidleyA' $ridley_a>><<else>>Friendship: <<print Math.trunc($ridley_f*100)>> Rivalry: <<print Math.trunc($ridley_r*100)>> Affection: <<print Math.trunc($ridley_a*100)>><</if>> <<if $met_allard>> !!!J. Allard <<if settings.easystats>><<showmeter 'AllardF' $allard_f>> <<showmeter 'AllardR' $allard_r>> <<showmeter 'AllardA' $allard_a>><<else>>Friendship: <<print Math.trunc($allard_f*100)>> Rivalry: <<print Math.trunc($allard_r*100)>> Affection: <<print Math.trunc($allard_a*100)>><</if>><</if>> <<else>> !!!Arthur Some would call you colleagues, he feels more like an overprotective sibling. <<if settings.easystats>><<showmeter 'ArthurF' $art_f>> <<showmeter 'ArthurR' $art_r>> <<showmeter 'ArthurA' $art_a>><<else>>Friendship: <<print Math.trunc($art_f*100)>> Rivarly: <<print Math.trunc($art_r*100)>> Affection <<print Math.trunc($art_a*100)>> <</if>><</if>>

Carol--//Caroline//--slumps into the stool beside you, throwing the old, beat up shotgun onto Harley's precious bar heedless of their glower from the other side. She doesn't quite look at you for some time, instead taking the moment to massage the bridge of her nose with those amber brown eyes clenched shut. She's thinking, perhaps overly so, but you can't help it as discomfort clenches around your throat. You feel like you're on the end of a noose, on trial for a crime you didn't commit. Eventually, she sighs, rolls her stiff shoulders, and readjusts her skirts, turning those eyes around on you like she's a wolf ready to devour her prey. She opens her mouth to speak, frowns, then snaps it shut again, waving Harley over to pour her a drink that she swiftly downs in a single gulp. Finally ready, Carol levels you with a stare. It lingers overlong and betrays the bags under her eyes, not a good look for the leader of a settlement that's survived the wastes for a decade. "How long have you been here?" "Here as in working for you, or...?" You know what she's asking, a disembodied growl hissing past your ear as if anyone else but you can hear it. Feeling your fists clench you bite back the urge to wave it away as if that would do any good. Carol takes a deep breath in, then lets it out slow, the tips of her caloused fingers tap, tap, tapping incessantly on the bar in time with her angrily beating heart. Your ears focus on the sound, the motion, that discomfort rising to press your tongue flat against the bottom of your mouth. Something dangerously familiar inside of you stirs, sinks sharp fangs into your flesh until it burns. "A week," Carol doesn't quite snap, her fingers ceasing in their strikes to instead squeeze possessively around the barrel of her gun. Not a threat--a comfort gesture. "You've been sitting here, doing absolutely nothing, for a week. I don't pay you to do nothing." [[''It can't have been that long, Carol, you're overreacting.''|ch1-pg4][$carol_name to "Carol"]] [[''It can't have been that long, Caroline, you're overreacting.''|ch1-pg4][$carol_name to "Caroline"]] [[''What's a week off to all the years we've worked together, Carol?''|ch1-pg4-02][$carol_name to "Carol"]] [[''What's a week off to all the years we've worked together, Caroline?''|ch1-pg4-02][$carol_name to "Caroline"]] [[''You barely pay me at all, Carol.''|ch1-pg4-03][$carol_name to "Carol"]] [[''You barely pay me at all, Caroline.''|ch1-pg4-03][$carol_name to "Caroline"]]

<<nobr>><<set $out to $out + 0.05>><<if $carol_name is "Carol">><<set $right to $right - 0.05>><<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>>She hates it, you know she hates it when you call her Carol but when the discomfort intermingles with an unexpected irritation you can't help but want to make her angry right back. At least then you wouldn't need to actually think about anything else.<<else>><<set $right to $right + 0.05>>You know she hates it when you call her Carol so you hold your tongue.<</if>> Still, you see the grip on her gun tighten as she takes in your words with that intense gaze of hers boring into you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end like they're standing to attention, that cold sweat once forgotten cutting a sliver of a path down the center of your chest.<</nobr>> "Tell me," Carol says slowly, massaging her temples, "Did I overreact when I saved you from being mauled by that bear a few years back?" No. You know she didn't--if her trigger finger were just a second slower your arm would be bear chow and while you wouldn't be dead, you'd be in all manner of trouble now. "Did I overreact when the band of fools--what were they called--//The Silver Bullets//--" She grimaces at the name, "--Tried to take over Eden?" Again, no, but you could point out those were battle situations not personal. You doubt she'd listen. "The point is I've known you for a few years now and not once have you ever sat down at this bar and tried to drink yourself to death." "$carol_name--" you start but find your words careening to a sudden and violent stop. You just can't muster the words. [[Not with her around, maybe. But she has a point. At least when I usually drink it's in celebration.|ch1-pg5][$drink to "hard"]] [[She... has a point. A small one. I don't drink often.|ch1-pg5][$drink to "notoften"]] [[If that's what she thinks then she clearly hasn't been paying enough attention.|ch1-pg5][$drink to "often"]] [[She has a point. I don't drink. Period.|ch1-pg5][$drink to "no"]]

<<nobr>><<set $out to $out + 0.05>><<if $carol_name is "Carol">><<set $right to $right - 0.05>><<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>>She hates it, you know she hates it when you call her Carol but the discomfort intermingles with an unexpected irritation you can't help but want to make her angry right back. At least then you wouldn't need to actually think about anything else.<<else>><<set $right to $right + 0.05>>You know she hates it when you call her Carol so you hold your tongue.<</if>> Still, you see the grip on her gun tighten as she takes in your words with that intense gaze of hers boring into you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end like they're standing to attention, that cold sweat once forgotten cutting a sliver of a path down the center of your chest.<</nobr>> "What's a week off indeed," Carol finally sighs, massaging her temples in a vain attempt to rid herself of a migraine. "If you had come to me, told me you needed some time off, I would have given it to you--there's a process to these things and I'd hope you knew it well enough to follow it." You grind your teeth, nose scrunching up with your grimace. Maybe she's right, but you certainly aren't going to admit it. "What's the point $carol_name?" "The point is I've known you for a few years now and not once have you sat down at this bar and tried to drink yourself to death." "$carol_name--" you start but find your words careening to a sudden and violent stop. You just can't muster the words. [[Not with her around, maybe. But she has a point. When I usually drink it's in celebration.|ch1-pg5][$drink to "hard"]] [[She... has a point. A small one. I don't drink often.|ch1-pg5][$drink to "notoften"]] [[If that's what she thinks then she clearly hasn't been paying enough attention.|ch1-pg5][$drink to "often"]] [[She has a point. I don't drink. Period.|ch1-pg5][$drink to "no"]]

<<nobr>><<set $out to $out + .05>><<if $carol_name is "Carol">><<set $right to $right - 0.05>><<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>>She hates it, you know she hates it when you call her Carol but the discomfort intermingles with an unexpected irritation you can't help but want to make her angry right back. At least then you wouldn't need to actually think about anything else.<<else>><<set $right to $right + 0.05>>You know she hates it when you call her Carol so you hold your tongue.<</if>> Still, you see the grip on her gun tighten as she takes in your words with that intense gaze of hers boring into you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end like they're standing to attention, that cold sweat once forgotten cutting a sliver of a path down the center of your chest.<</nobr>> "And if I could pay you more, I would." Carol sighs and massages her temples, attempting in vain to hold back a migraine. "As it is, all I can offer you are more drinks at the bar." Not as if old-world <<click "credits">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("credits"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Credits").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> really have much value out here. No, out here trade is what makes the world run, the credits are just a place to start. With a dark-eyed frown, Carol's face scrunches up, "Why are you here? In the years I've known you not once have you ever sat down at this bar and tried to drink yourself to death." "$carol_name--" you start but find your words careening to a sudden and violent stop. You just can't muster the words. [[Not with her around, maybe. But she has a point. At least when I usually drink it's in celebration.|ch1-pg5][$drink to "hard"]] [[She... has a point. A small one. I don't drink often.|ch1-pg5][$drink to "notoften"]] [[If that's what she thinks then she clearly hasn't been paying enough attention.|ch1-pg5][$drink to "often"]] [[She has a point. I don't drink. Period.|ch1-pg5][$drink to "no"]]

<<nobr>><<if $drink is "hard">>Of course, Carol wouldn't know anything about your excess; Harley is nothing if not discreet.<<elseif $drink is "notoften">>Maybe you don't drink much, but it certainly shouldn't matter what your boss thinks about it when you do.<<elseif $drink is "often">>Of course, were Carol to know of your after-work activities she'd doubtlessly stage some kind of intervention. Ugh, you hope that thought doesn't doom you to a very unpleasant future.<<else>>No, this is new. If Carol wanted to point out the obvious she needn't look any further than here and now. Drinking, even small amounts of it, turns you into someone you don't hole dear, brings out the monsters lurking just beneath the surface of your mind.<</if>><</nobr>> You don't quite listen to her as she speaks, dragging your gaze across the impossibly shiny bar to stare out into the deadly heat of the endless desert. Each year it burns hotter, each year water is harder and harder to come by... Each year, more succumb to the intollerable world only growing worse around you. "Hey, listen," Carol says, calm as ever. Uncertainty makes its home behind her brown eyes, she swallows, looks away momentarily, before squeezing your shoulder. "I don't know what happened with Mordred but you can't just sit here, we just don't have the time or resources. I don't want to just send you back to work in this state but--" "Yeah," You huff, "I get it." Mordred. You just can't think about him right now. [[Continue|ch1-pg6]]

Mordred. You'd say he's your best friend in the way your only friend is your best friend; by a technicality. He's also the man you most often work with on the jobs Caroline gives you, which makes it awfully inconvenient when he disappears over night for no reason. Your jaw clenches around your lying tongue, threatening to bite it off if only it'll stop your slander. It... wasn't //wholly// unexpected. His departure speaks more of your relationship than you're really inclined to admit, but his absence is... chafing. You thought him a better man than that. You though //you// were better than that. Maybe once you were close but years together have not made you fonder, the cruel desert turning your once enthusiastic closeness to something more of the convenient variety. The pair of you had made a promise to one another, and to your dead $mc2_brother, that nothing would separate you. Not in the Wasteland. Now, of course... your chest clenches tight, winding up like a constricting snake until you can't quite breathe. Caroline's eyes bore into you, your attention waning from Mordred with a distant call. It's difficult to tell whether it's the trickery of your mind that tears at your insides or Caroline herself. It takes even longer for you to realise that it's your name that is being called at all. ''What is your name?'' <<textbox "$mc1_name" "Sal">> [[Continue|ch1-pg7]]

"$mc1_name--" Carol's head shoots up as the staircase across the room creaks with footsteps. Her shoulders relax, her lips, previously pursed with stress, flatten into a line before finding a tiny smile. Most notably, perhaps, the tight grip she has on her shotgun loosens to a gentle hold. You follow her brown-eyed gaze to the sentient pair of stilts stumbling their way down the stairs, their pale cheeks burnt red from the sun under that silken mop of black hair held back only by a scarf. Lowrie. Carol stands to greet them, dwarfed by her lanky hunter even as they try their utmost to close the gap with a heavy slouch. Your conversation forgotten, you can only watch as she readjusts their collar and takes their hands in hers. Just slightly, barely noticably at all, Lowrie's hard stare softens. "Where's your hat?" Carol murmurs. It's gentle, intimate, like you shouldn't be prying into the couple's affairs despite the public display. Lowrie is silent, bushy black brows slowly sinking over their eyes in hard thought. Eventually they say, quiet as the smallest of mice in that deep voice of theirs, "Lost it." Carol sighs, wipes some curls from her forehead, and pats them on the chest, "Fine," She says, "Go borrow one of mine, but stick around I have a job for you." Lowrie departs back up the stairs with a kiss pressed to the top of Carol's head. They do make an attractive couple, if not a slightly amusing one; they seem complete opposites in every way. Lowrie is lanky and tall, made of hard edges and bone. Carol is short and somewhat stocky, mostly soft muscle and fat. Yet, they work. When Carol turns back to you after Lowrie has well and truly left her sight, a suspicious frown is set into her brow. "Don't say shit." [[''What, me? Say anything? I've no idea what you're talking about.''|ch1-pg8-01][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[''Well aren't you two just the cutest things this side of Wasteland.''|ch1-pg8-02][$crude to $crude + 0.05]] [[''I mean, I've no idea what you see in them but I'm not here to judge.''|ch1-pg8-03][$out to $out - 0.05]] [[''I'm not going to.''|ch1-pg8-04][$worldy to $worldly + 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>>You're given a very hard stare, amber brown eyes that remind you of a wild cat about to pounce digging deep like a dagger in your back. "Right," Carol bristles, "Not a word at all." Gracing you with one last frown, she slumps back down into her seat and lets loose a heaving sigh. Eyes softening, her gaze drags back up the staircase where her paramour disappeared. Longing.<</nobr>> It's a familiar look these days, though usually what people find they crave is food or water, and not the company of another. Must be nice. Truth be told, the relationship is rather new. Five years new, to be fair, but when you've known Carol for as long as you have... well, everything tends to look a bit new. When Lowrie wandered into town about eight years ago now, they clashed and they clashed //hard//. It was never like a fight between you or Mordred, no, these battles were more of the silent kind, the type shared in ten-second stares and conversations behind closed doors. One day, however, the tension just... stopped. Lowrie's always been quiet, but you think that shell of theirs broke down just a little bit around Carol, and they certainly never left afterwards, like Harley said they would. Your relationship with Lowrie, on the other hand... "They barely glanced at me," You lament, shooting Carol a grin. She snorts and raps you on the shoulder with her knuckles, nudging you just slightly off your stool. "It's like they only notice one woman and one woman alone when she's in the room." "Oh hardy har har," Carol grimaces, rolling her lips together as if attempting to bite back an insult. Catching you with a slowly-spreading smile, she practically kicks you from underneath the bar. A dull pain shoots up your shin. "They take notice of plenty of people--maybe they just don't like you in particular." [[''Shame. For them mostly, I'm delightful.''|ch1-pg9-01][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[''Shame. For me mostly, I'd like to get to know the person an old friend is spending their life with.''|ch1-pg9-02][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[''What have I ever done to them? They like Harley just fine!''|ch1-pg9-04][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Well, uh, I can't say that doesn't hurt a little bit.''|ch1-pg9-05][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''No matter how hard I try to get them to like me I always end up messing up. Any tips?''|ch1-pg9-06][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_f to $carol_f + 0.05>>You're given a very hard stare, amber brown eyes that remind you of a wild cat about to pounce digging deep like a dagger in your back. "What did I just say?" Carol bristles, a hand snapping up to cover her eyes with... embarrassment? Yet somehow there's a smile tugging at her lips. "Ancients, I just can't with you. Fine. Do what you like, you always do anyway." Gracing you with one last suspicious frown, she slumps back down into her seat and lets loose a heaving sigh. Eyes softening, her gaze drags back up the staircase where her paramour disappeared. Longing.<</nobr>> It's a familiar look these days, though usually what people find they crave is food or water, and not the company of another. Must be nice. Truth be told, the relationship is rather new. Five years new, to be fair, but when you've known Carol for as long as you have... well, everything tends to look a bit new. When Lowrie wandered into town about eight years ago now, they clashed and they clashed //hard//. It was never like a fight between you or Mordred, no, these battles were more of the silent kind, the type shared in ten-second stares and conversations behind closed doors. One day, however, the tension just... stopped. Lowrie's always been quiet, but you think that shell of theirs broke down just a little bit around Carol, and they certainly never left afterwards, like Harley said they would. Your relationship with Lowrie, on the other hand... "They barely glanced at me," You lament, shooting Carol a grin. She snorts and raps you on the shoulder with her knuckles, nudging you just slightly off your stool. "It's like they only notice one woman and one woman alone when she's in the room." "Oh hardy har har," Carol grimaces, rolling her lips together as if attempting to bite back an insult. Catching you with a slowly-spreading smile, she practically kicks you from underneath the bar. A dull pain shoots up your shin. "They take notice of plenty of people--maybe they just don't like you in particular." [[''Shame. For them mostly, I'm delightful.''|ch1-pg9-01][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[''Shame. For me mostly, I'd like to get to know the person an old friend is spending their life with.''|ch1-pg9-02][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[''What have I ever done to them? They like Harley just fine!''|ch1-pg9-04][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Well, uh, I can't say that doesn't hurt a little bit.''|ch1-pg9-05][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''No matter how hard I try to get them to like me I always end up messing up. Any tips?''|ch1-pg9-06][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>>You're given a very hard stare, amber brown eyes that remind you of a wild cat about to pounce digging deep like a dagger in your back. "What I see in them," Carol bristles, "Isn't your business." Gracing you with one last suspicious frown, she slumps back down into her seat and lets loose a heaving sigh. Eyes softening, her gaze drags back up the staircase where her paramour disappeared. Longing.<</nobr>> It's a familiar look these days, though usually what people find they crave is food or water, and not the company of another. Must be nice. Truth be told, the relationship is rather new. Five years new, to be fair, but when you've known Carol for as long as you have... well, everything tends to look a bit new. When Lowrie wandered into town about eight years ago now, they clashed and they clashed //hard//. It was never like a fight between you or Mordred, no, these battles were more of the silent kind, the type shared in ten-second stares and conversations behind closed doors. One day, however, the tension just... stopped. Lowrie's always been quiet, but you think that shell of theirs broke down just a little bit around Carol, and they certainly never left afterwards, like Harley said they would. Your relationship with Lowrie, on the other hand... "They barely glanced at me," You lament, shooting Carol a grin. She snorts and raps you on the shoulder with her knuckles, nudging you just slightly off your stool. "It's like they only notice one woman and one woman alone when she's in the room." "Oh hardy har har," Carol grimaces, rolling her lips together as if attempting to bite back an insult. Catching you with a slowly-spreading smile, she practically kicks you from underneath the bar. A dull pain shoots up your shin. "They take notice of plenty of people--maybe they just don't like you in particular." [[''Shame. For them mostly, I'm delightful.''|ch1-pg9-01][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[''Shame. For me mostly, I'd like to get to know the person an old friend is spending their life with.''|ch1-pg9-02][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[''What have I ever done to them? They like Harley just fine!''|ch1-pg9-04][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Well, uh, I can't say that doesn't hurt a little bit.''|ch1-pg9-05][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''No matter how hard I try to get them to like me I always end up messing up. Any tips?''|ch1-pg9-06][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_f to $carol_f + 0.05>>You're given a very hard stare, amber brown eyes that remind you of a wild cat about to pounce digging deep like a dagger in your back. "Good," Carol says, eyeing you as if she doesn't believe a word that spouts from your lips, "You gonna keep to your word?" Gracing you with one last suspicious frown, she slumps back down into her seat and lets loose a heaving sigh. Eyes softening, her gaze drags back up the staircase where her paramour disappeared. Longing.<</nobr>> It's a familiar look these days, though usually what people find they crave is food or water, and not the company of another. Must be nice. Truth be told, the relationship is rather new. Five years new, to be fair, but when you've known Carol for as long as you have... well, everything tends to look a bit new. When Lowrie wandered into town about eight years ago now, they clashed and they clashed //hard//. It was never like a fight between you or Mordred, no, these battles were more of the silent kind, the type shared in ten-second stares and conversations behind closed doors. One day, however, the tension just... stopped. Lowrie's always been quiet, but you think that shell of theirs broke down just a little bit around Carol, and they certainly never left afterwards, like Harley said they would. Your relationship with Lowrie, on the other hand... "They barely glanced at me," You lament, shooting Carol a grin. She snorts and raps you on the shoulder with her knuckles, nudging you just slightly off your stool. "It's like they only notice one woman and one woman alone when she's in the room." "Oh hardy har har," Carol grimaces, rolling her lips together as if attempting to bite back an insult. Catching you with a slowly-spreading smile, she practically kicks you from underneath the bar. A dull pain shoots up your shin. "They take notice of plenty of people--maybe they just don't like you in particular." [[''Shame. For them mostly, I'm delightful.''|ch1-pg9-01][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[''Shame. For me mostly, I'd like to get to know the person an old friend is spending their life with.''|ch1-pg9-02][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[''What have I ever done to them? They like Harley just fine!''|ch1-pg9-04][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Well, uh, I can't say that doesn't hurt a little bit.''|ch1-pg9-05][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''No matter how hard I try to get them to like me I always end up messing up. Any tips?''|ch1-pg9-06][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]]

"Are you sure about that?" Carol teases, letting a smile tug her eyes to narrow slits, "You're many things $mc1_name. 'Delightful' is not a word I'd use to describe you." "Maybe you just don't have taste." You say, slapping your hand across your chest as if personally appalled by her suggestion. Another growl rumbles in your ear, your mind sickened by your own nature. Carol, on the other hand, barks out laughter. something light amidst the seriousness of the conversation prior. She's not quite happy, but she certainly isn't the same kind of vexed as she was before. It's better than nothing, you decide. "Says the one trying to get close to my partner," Carol states with a raised brow, lips curling into something akin to a smirk. When you wave her away with a roll of your eyes, she leans back and slaps the bar in triumph. Harley grunts out a warning that goes ignored. "Seriously though," She sighs, scratching at an ugly, jagged scar that cuts across the knuckles on her right hand, "You don't need to go out of your way to get along with Lowrie, they have their connections and you have yours. I just need you to be civil." [[''Okay but what if I want to be friendly with them?''|ch1-pg10-01]] [[''Listen, getting friendly with my boss' partner? That seems like a very good way to stay alive.''|ch1-pg10-02]] [[''Carol my only connections are you and Mordred and Mordred's gone. I think I could use a few more.''|ch1-pg10-03]] [[''That feels like you're telling me to stay out of your business.''|ch1-pg10-04]] [[''Aren't they lonely?''|ch1-pg10-05]] [[''Tell that to Lowrie. I'm downright polite.''|ch2-pg10-06]]

Carol blinks once, twice, then scowls, her neck craning to stare instead at the stair case with a huff. "Oh shut up," She sighs. There's a waver in her voice, that agitated tapping at the bar starting up once more. Your mood begins to sour, your heart sinking into your stomach, until the realisation hits you that she's //flustered//. It's subtle, only really obvious in the way she worries at the inside of her mouth with her teeth. "Why do you feel the need to torment me?" "For fun, or maybe just because you react to it," You can't help but say, giving her a grin, "You really should learn not to take the bait." "And you should learn that not everyone tolerates shit talk," Carol snaps right on back. With a low wistle, you hold your hands up in surrender. A growl hisses past your ear, an admonishment for being so weak. You should rend Carol limb from limb for her gall, you should--you blink and the thoughts are gone. You wave her away with a roll of your eyes, only to be rewarded by a triumphant slap on the bar. Harley grunts out a warning that goes ignored. "Seriously though," She sighs, scratching at an ugly, jagged scar that cuts across the knuckles on her right hand, "I appreciate it, but you don't need to go out of your way to get along with Lowrie, they have their connections and you have yours. I just need you to be civil." [[''Okay but what if I want to be friendly with them?''|ch1-pg10-01]] [[''Listen, getting friendly with my boss' partner? That seems like a very good way to stay alive.''|ch1-pg10-02]] [[''Carol my only connections are you and Mordred and Mordred's gone. I think I could use a few more.''|ch1-pg10-03]] [[''That feels like you're telling me to stay out of your business.''|ch1-pg10-04]] [[''Aren't they lonely?''|ch1-pg10-05]] [[''Tell that to Lowrie. I'm downright polite.''|ch2-pg10-06]]

"Yes, but they also sleep with Harley," Carol says in a deadpan. Despite her carefully schooled neutrality, her eyes narrow just so, crows feet wrinkling the corners. Very nearly a smile. She's //enjoying// your torment, "So, unless you're planning on getting //much// closer than I think you really want, you may need to try another tactic." "They seem to get on with Mordred just fine," You grumble, despite the bitter taste he leaves in your mouth. "And I would know if he was sleeping with them." Carol offers you a look, both brows raised and the beginnings of a laugh shaking at her shoulders. All you can do is tell--//beg//--her to shut up. "No," She says, chuckles stifled by the presence of her hand pressed against her lips, "I can assure you Lowrie isn't sleeping with him. I think Mordred gets points there because he doesn't //try// to get along with them." He doesn't try much of anything, something bitter in your mind hisses, but you struggle it down with a grimace. "All due respect," You groan, "But thank the Ancients for that." "Seriously though," She sighs, scratching at an ugly, jagged scar that cuts across the knuckles on her right hand, "I appreciate it, but you don't need to go out of your way to get along with Lowrie, they have their connections and you have yours. I just need you to be civil." [[''Okay but what if I want to be friendly with them?''|ch1-pg10-01]] [[''Listen, getting friendly with my boss' partner? That seems like a very good way to stay alive.''|ch1-pg10-02]] [[''Carol my only connections are you and Mordred and Mordred's gone. I think I could use a few more.''|ch1-pg10-03]] [[''That feels like you're telling me to stay out of your business.''|ch1-pg10-04]] [[''Aren't they lonely?''|ch1-pg10-05]] [[''Tell that to Lowrie. I'm downright polite.''|ch2-pg10-06]]

"That's just how it is," Carol shrugs, peering into her empty glass. "Sometimes people just don't get along and sometimes they just need a little push." Glancing your way, her amber eyes almost seem like they're peering entirely //through// you. "And sometimes people aren't ready for more than they're willing to give." "What does that even mean?" You ask, huffing as your arms fold themselves across your chest. Carol, just gives you a twitch of a smile. No real answer. No real solution. Maybe she's right, your mind growls. "Maybe you try, maybe you don't, it isn't really up to you, is what I'm trying to say." Carol cracks her neck with a relieved little sigh and straightens up. "Seriously though," She sighs, scratching at an ugly, jagged scar that cuts across the knuckles on her right hand, "I appreciate it, but you don't need to go out of your way to get along with Lowrie, they have their connections and you have yours. I just need you to be civil." [[''Okay but what if I want to be friendly with them?''|ch1-pg10-01]] [[''Listen, getting friendly with my boss' partner? That seems like a very good way to stay alive.''|ch1-pg10-02]] [[''Carol my only connections are you and Mordred and Mordred's gone. I think I could use a few more.''|ch1-pg10-03]] [[''That feels like you're telling me to stay out of your business.''|ch1-pg10-04]] [[''Aren't they lonely?''|ch1-pg10-05]] [[''Tell that to Lowrie. I'm downright polite.''|ch2-pg10-06]]

"Ah, but that would be cheating you of the absolute pleasure that is getting to know my partner for the very first time," Carol gives you a cheeky, lipsided smile. Your brows crease, she sticks her tongue out at you, then it all drops as if a dream. "Listen. Just don't force it. If you're trying too hard they'll know, and they'll think you're just trying to get in my good books--which I certainly can't deny is my entire theory behind your sudden interest in them." "Now that's rude," You mumble, feeling your chest seize and your stomach drop. Hot breath blows against the back of your neck, a low rumbling laugh shooting past your ear like some forgotten beast inside your mind is //revelling// in Carol's dismissal. "They seem like a decent friend to have around." "Forgive me then if I can't quite believe you." Carol graces you with a twitch of a smile before the mirth fades entirely. You suppose you can't quite blame her for it, but that doesn't mean it can't hurt just a little. "Seriously though," She eventually sighs, scratching at an ugly, jagged scar that cuts across the knuckles on her right hand, "I appreciate it, but you don't need to go out of your way to get along with Lowrie, they have their connections and you have yours. I just need you to be civil." [[''Okay but what if I want to be friendly with them?''|ch1-pg10-01]] [[''Listen, getting friendly with my boss' partner? That seems like a very good way to stay alive.''|ch1-pg10-02]] [[''Carol my only connections are you and Mordred and Mordred's gone. I think I could use a few more.''|ch1-pg10-03]] [[''That feels like you're telling me to stay out of your business.''|ch1-pg10-04]] [[''Aren't they lonely?''|ch1-pg10-05]] [[''Tell that to Lowrie. I'm downright polite.''|ch2-pg10-06]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_f to $carol_f + 0.05>><<set $out to $out + 0.05>> Carol stares at you for a very long time, allowing the heat settled in the room to sink into your bones like a heavy blanket. It feels as if she's examining you for weaknesses not even you could pinpoint--you feel your breath sharpen and your nails digging into the bar. Brows furrowing, she pushes herself up from the stool and takes a hold of her shotgun, giving Harley a nod on the way up. "Follow me." She says, stomping to the door with a heavy sigh.<</nobr>> Sliding off your own stool with your hat in your hand, your feet feel like lead, your head swimming momentarily as you try to keep focus on Carol as she rests herself against the doorframe. Hot, burning, something in your mind screams as you drag yourself closer and closer to the entryway, amber eyes like fire watching you with what could be interest or disdain. Hell, both is just as likely. "Friendship is a two-way street," Carol finally says when you get to her, warily eyeing that gun slung over her shoulder. She could just... shoot you, and you wouldn't get a chance to react. She won't though, she won't. One of her dark brows raise as she follows your gaze, lips pursing. "You might want something but whether they want it back is their own business. If they're ever ready for it I'm sure they'll tell you, but right now..." Carol slaps you on the back and tugs your hat back onto your head. "Right now you just need to get along." Carol looks past you and over your shoulder as Lowrie bounds down the staircase with one of Caroline's hats on their head, wild black hair sticking to their face with sweat. In but a few long strides, and a little wave to Harley, they reach the two of you in the exact amount of time it takes for you to give Carol a questioning glare. [[Ignored once more for that pretty partner of hers.|ch1-pg11]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>><<set $worldly to $worldly + 0.05>> Carol stares at you for a very long time, allowing the heat settled in the room to sink into your bones like a heavy blanket. It feels as if she's examining you for weaknesses not even you could pinpoint--you feel your breath sharpen and your nails digging into the bar. Brows furrowing, she pushes herself up from the stool and takes a hold of her shotgun, giving Harley a nod on the way up. "Follow me." She says, stomping to the door with a heavy sigh.<</nobr>> Sliding off your own stool with your hat in your hand, your feet feel like lead, your head swimming momentarily as you try to keep focus on Carol as she rests herself against the doorframe. Hot, burning, something in your mind screams as you drag yourself closer and closer to the entryway, amber eyes like fire watching you with what could be interest or disdain. Hell, both is just as likely. "Or get shot," Carol finally says when you get to her, stopping you short as you warily eye the gun slung over her shoulder. One of her dark brows raise as she follows your gaze, lips pursing. "Getting close to your boss' partner is a good way to stay alive, or get shot. Is what I meant to say." Fear seizes you momentarily, earning you a little smile that doesn't quite reach Carol's eyes. "But I'm not particularly interested in losing a Hunter today so you can just keep on guessing which one it is. If Lowrie ever feels ready for some kind of friendship I'm sure they'll tell you, but right now..." Carol slaps you on the back and tugs your hat back onto your head. "Right now you just need to get along." Carol looks past you and over your shoulder as Lowrie bounds down the staircase with one of Caroline's hats on their head, wild black hair sticking to their face with sweat. In but a few long strides, and a little wave to Harley, they reach the two of you in the exact amount of time it takes for you to give Carol a questioning glare. [[Ignored once more for that pretty partner of hers.|ch1-pg11]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>><<set $right to $right - 0.05>> Carol stares at you for a very long time, allowing the heat settled in the room to sink into your bones like a heavy blanket. It feels as if she's examining you for weaknesses not even you could pinpoint--you feel your breath sharpen and your nails digging into the bar. Brows furrowing, she pushes herself up from the stool and takes a hold of her shotgun, giving Harley a nod on the way up. "Follow me." She says, stomping to the door with a heavy sigh.<</nobr>> Sliding off your own stool with your hat in your hand, your feet feel like lead, your head swimming momentarily as you try to keep focus on Carol as she rests herself against the doorframe. Hot, burning, something in your mind screams as you drag yourself closer and closer to the entryway, amber eyes like fire watching you with what could be interest or disdain. Hell, both is just as likely. "Mordred may be gone, and by the Ancients he's getting an earful when he gets back, but that doesn't mean it meant nothing," Carol finally says when you get to her, warily eyeing that gun slung over her shoulder. She could just... shoot you, and you wouldn't get a chance to react. She won't though, she won't. One of her dark brows raise as she follows your gaze, lips pursing. "He trusted you--he probably still does if you didn't fuck up as badly as you seem to think you did--and //I// trust you, most of the time. But right now it sounds suspiciously like you're trying to cover your ass and I want none of that around my partner. That being said..." Carol slaps you on the back and tugs your hat back onto your head. "Please try to get along if nothing else." Carol looks past you and over your shoulder as Lowrie bounds down the staircase with one of Caroline's hats on their head, wild black hair sticking to their face with sweat. In but a few long strides, and a little wave to Harley, they reach the two of you in the exact amount of time it takes for you to give Carol a questioning glare. [[Ignored once more for that pretty partner of hers.|ch1-pg11]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_f to $carol_f + 0.05>><<set $crude to $crude - 0.05>> Carol stares at you for a very long time, allowing the heat settled in the room to sink into your bones like a heavy blanket. It feels as if she's examining you for weaknesses not even you could pinpoint--you feel your breath sharpen and your nails digging into the bar. Brows furrowing, she pushes herself up from the stool and takes a hold of her shotgun, giving Harley a nod on the way up. "Follow me." She says, stomping to the door with a heavy sigh.<</nobr>> Sliding off your own stool with your hat in your hand, your feet feel like lead, your head swimming momentarily as you try to keep focus on Carol as she rests herself against the doorframe. Hot, burning, something in your mind screams as you drag yourself closer and closer to the entryway, amber eyes like fire watching you with what could be interest or disdain. Hell, both is just as likely. "Maybe that's exactly what I'm telling you, or maybe not, either way it's not up to me." Carol finally says when you get to her, warily eyeing that gun slung over her shoulder. She could just... shoot you, and you wouldn't get a chance to react. She won't though, she won't. One of her dark brows raise as she follows your gaze, lips pursing. "I'm not going to control who my partner can associate with, but I think I know them enough by now to tell when they're looking for new friends. If they're ever ready for it I'm sure they'll tell you, but right now..." Carol slaps you on the back and tugs your hat back onto your head. "Right now you just need to get along." Carol looks past you and over your shoulder as Lowrie bounds down the staircase with one of Caroline's hats on their head, wild black hair sticking to their face with sweat. In but a few long strides, and a little wave to Harley, they reach the two of you in the exact amount of time it takes for you to give Carol a questioning glare. [[Ignored once more for that pretty partner of hers.|ch1-pg11]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>><<set $worldly to $worldly - 0.05>> Carol stares at you for a very long time, allowing the heat settled in the room to sink into your bones like a heavy blanket. It feels as if she's examining you for weaknesses not even you could pinpoint--you feel your breath sharpen and your nails digging into the bar. Brows furrowing, she pushes herself up from the stool and takes a hold of her shotgun, giving Harley a nod on the way up. "Follow me." She says, stomping to the door with a heavy sigh.<</nobr>> Sliding off your own stool with your hat in your hand, your feet feel like lead, your head swimming momentarily as you try to keep focus on Carol as she rests herself against the doorframe. Hot, burning, something in your mind screams as you drag yourself closer and closer to the entryway, amber eyes like fire watching you with what could be interest or disdain. Hell, both is just as likely. "No. They're not." Carol finally says when you get to her, warily eyeing that gun slung over her shoulder. She could just... shoot you, and you wouldn't get a chance to react. She won't though, she won't. One of her dark brows raise as she follows your gaze, lips pursing. "Lowrie doesn't require everyone to love them and right now I don't appreciate your assumption that they do. If they're ever ready for a friendship with you I'm sure they'll tell you, but right now..." Carol slaps you on the back a little too hard and tugs your hat back onto your head. "Right now you just need to get along." Carol looks past you and over your shoulder as Lowrie bounds down the staircase with one of Caroline's hats on their head, wild black hair sticking to their face with sweat. In but a few long strides, and a little wave to Harley, they reach the two of you in the exact amount of time it takes for you to give Carol a questioning glare. [[Ignored once more for that pretty partner of hers.|ch1-pg11]]

"Right," Carol says with a nod, "You can walk in a straight line and keep up a decent conversation so for now I'm happy to have you back at work." Betrayal claws at your heart as the woman thumbs at her collar. Lowrie gives her a questioning look. "Lowrie, I need you to supervise this idiot, make sure the horse doesn't buck $mc1_him off." "Isn't that Mordred's job?" Lowrie's offers little more than a frosty sigh, wiping a pale hand over their eyes with momentary irritation that quickly fades to a look half-faded with a straight line for a mouth.. Finally, as if they've only just realised you're there, they glance at you, once, then look away. "//Carol//." "//Lowrie//," Caroline echoes back, giving them a hard stare. "Mordred's gone. I can't have $mc1_name going off on $mc1_his own and you're the only Hunter free. Do this one thing for me." There's a momentary lull as Carol takes Lowrie's hands and gives them a squeeze. "Please?" [[''Don't I get a say in this?''|ch1-pg12-01]] [[''Oh ew, if you two want to get all lovey on me I'm leaving.''|ch1-pg12-02]] [[''Mordred isn't gone. He'll be back, he always comes back.''|ch1-pg12-03]] [[''Come on let's just get this over with.''|ch1-pg12p-04]] [[I turn a frown on Carol. I don't want everyone knowing Mordred's gone.|ch1-pg12-05]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>> <<set $lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05>> "You had your say when you decided to take the week off," Carol sighs, wiping through those dark curls with a grimace slowly spreading across her face. "Listen, it's real sad that Mordred just left but we just don't have the people. It's either Lowrie or you're not working and I can't afford to have you not working." She pauses, sighs like the weight of the world is on her small shoulders, "More than you already have."<</nobr>> "Fine." Lowrie murmurs, arms folding but their gaze softening as it drags over their partner once more. As loathe as you are to say it, Carol's right. And... your eye twitches. It would be childish to complain any further. Back tense, you try to allow the incredulous scowl on your face to fall. You know you said you wanted to be closer to Carol's partner but this certainly wasn't your idea. [[It feels like she's trying to replace Mordred already.|ch1-pg13]] [[I ignore that particular feeling.|ch1-pg13]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>> <<set $lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05>> "Immature," Carol sighs, immediately detaching herself from Lowrie like a shrugged off burr. They both level you with stares dripping with discontent, expressions mimicking one another in a way that makes you question whether or not they notice. Carol takes one step back, two, and folds her arms defensivey. "I can't afford you giving me lip, I also can't afford one less hand on deck so you're either working with Lowrie or you're out." //Ouch//, that certainly puts things into perspective.<</nobr>> "Fine." Lowrie murmurs, arms folding but their gaze softening as it drags over their partner once more. As loathe as you are to say it, Carol's right. And... your eye twitches. It would be childish to complain any further. Back tense, you try to allow the incredulous scowl on your face to fall. You know you said you wanted to be closer to Carol's partner but this certainly wasn't your idea. [[It feels like she's trying to replace Mordred already.|ch1-pg13]] [[I ignore that particular feeling.|ch1-pg13]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_f to $carol_f + 0.05>> <<set $lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05>> Carol stops halfway through a word to give you a pitying look, her hard expression falling as she stares at you to determine whether you genuinely believe yourself. Of course you do, you have to. Your best friend is gone and you've no one left from your past. If he's truly gone for good... that's a thought to consider anywhere else. For now... for now you'll just continue to believe he'll come stumbling back home with a drink in one hand and his tail between his legs. "$mc1_name--" Carol starts to say but you cut her off with a growl.<</nobr>> "//He'll be back.//" She sighs, wipes a hand through her curls, while Lowrie just gives you a dubious stare. Pompous ass. "Whether or not he does." Carol grimaces, hugging herself now. "It doesn't matter. Right now I need your help and I need you to work with Lowrie." "Fine." Lowrie murmurs, arms folding but their gaze softening as it drags over their partner once more. As loathe as you are to say it, Carol's right. And... your eye twitches. It would be childish to complain any further. Back tense, you try to allow the incredulous scowl on your face to fall. You know you said you wanted to be closer to Carol's partner but this certainly wasn't your idea. [[It feels like she's trying to replace Mordred already.|ch1-pg13]] [[I ignore that particular feeling.|ch1-pg13]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_f to $carol_f + 0.05>> <<set $lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05>> Carol has to stop and stare at you for a long moment before she speaks, those amber brown eyes flashing with momentary surpsise before she manages to struggle on a half-hearted smile. "I expected more fight from you, colour me just a little disappointed. Now, Lowrie--" Her partner sighs, strokes an irritated hand through that long mop of hair... before flattening the mussed mess just to busy themself.<</nobr>> "Fine. For you." Lowrie murmurs, arms folding but their gaze softening as it drags over their partner once more. As loathe as you are to say it, Carol's right. And... your eye twitches. It would be childish to complain any further. Back tense, you try to allow the incredulous scowl on your face to fall. You know you said you wanted to be closer to Carol's partner but this certainly wasn't your idea. [[It feels like she's trying to replace Mordred already.|ch1-pg13]] [[I ignore that particular feeling.|ch1-pg13]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>> If Carol notices your stare she doesn't mention it. Betrayal claws up your throat like a knife between the ribs. Barely processing the words as Carol turns to Lowrie, you struggle to hold back the bile that threatens to spew from your lips in the form of curses. You're brought back into yourself by a quiet Lowrie, and you realise it's been a while since you've even heard their voice.<</nobr>> "Fine." Lowrie murmurs, arms folding but their gaze softening as it drags over their partner once more. As loathe as you are to say it, Carol's right. And... your eye twitches. It would be childish to complain any further. Back tense, you try to allow the incredulous scowl on your face to fall. You know you said you wanted to be closer to Carol's partner but this certainly wasn't your idea. [[It feels like she's trying to replace Mordred already.|ch1-pg13]] [[I ignore that particular feeling.|ch1-pg13]]

Carol doesn't mean it. You know she can't possibly. But the wild animal in you thrashes and tears at the rains held tight so you don't run a rampage through her precious bar. Mordred will be back. And then you'll kick his ass. "Elysium needs help," Carol says, "Asked for it earlier in the week but no one was availible and, well..." Her tanned face scrunches up in thought as she stomps over to the bar and collects the oversized canisters set underneath. "They need water or protection and we can't supply both." Slamming them down on the bar, too-warm water sloshes inside and the worn plastic buckles. Both are only half full--all anyone can afford to share these days. You hear Lowrie suck in a deep breath from beside you, massaging their temples as they consider the thought; water or bullets, those are some precious resources being requested. Or at least... you think it's about the resources at first. Their fists curl before they're tucked into their pockets, boots tapping at the old wooden floor. "//Carol//," They hiss, almost quiet enough that you can't hear, but easy enough to pretend you haven't. "//Elysium//? Really?" "I know," She replies, fingers twitching, almost reaching out, but deciding against it when Lowrie doesn't move to accept the affection. "But there's no one else." Despite that naggling curiosity, you hold your tongue, fight the raging wolf snuffling in the firt for answers that aren't your business to pry into. Perhaps one day you'll get your answers. It's never too late to learn some tact. <<if $ch1_water is false>>[[''Water's scarce these days. How urgent are we speaking?''|ch1-pg14-qw]] <</if>><<if $ch1_bullet is false>>[[''What's the problem? Why do they need our bullets?''|ch1-pg14-qb]] <</if>><<if $ch1_problem is false>>[[''And other settlements? What have they done to help?''|ch1-pg14-qs]]<</if>> [[''What should we do?'' (Continue)|ch1-pg15]]

<<set $ch1_water to true>>"It's urgent. The communication I received seems to imply there's none left in storage." You find your eyes dragging back to the canisters situated on the bar once more. If that's the case two half-filled cans aren't going to do much to fix that. Carol sighs, scratches at her forehead. "We really can't afford to spare much but it's something, right?" [[Right.|ch1-pg13]]

<<set $ch1_bullet to true>>"There's been sightings of a pack of dogs near the settlement," Carol sighs and you feel a grimace tugging at your sweaty face. 'Dogs' can only mean Direhounds; mange-ridden pests who carry disease and death in their saliva. "I don't know if anyone's been hurt yet but it's only a matter of time. If you decide to go that way I'd need you to get in there, exterminate them, then check to make sure our very friendly neighbors--" She shoots a pointed stare at Lowrie, "--haven't been killed already. Got it?" [[Got it.|ch1-pg13]]

<<set $ch1_problem to true>>"I don't know." Carol sighs, "I assume Elysium petitioned the others for aid but I can't know what came of that." Of course. Carol has a policy that Eden will help whoever asks, at any cost, for the greater good. Nevermind that it can't afford to spare water or bullets let alone the manpower to transport it yet here she is, stretching herself thin when it would be so much easier to shout 'no'. Lowrie begins to move towards her but she holds her hand up to stop them. "I'm not taking the chance of losing another settlement." Even at the expense of her own. [[Return|ch1-pg13]]

"I don't know." Carol admits after a long pause, her brows meeting in the middle of her forehead as she frowns. She looks around the bar, at the few people who aren't her Hunters just... loitering. It used to be this place was filled with them, it used to be Hunters were outnumbered by the residents of Eden. You've lost a lot of people through the years, you wish you could say by natural causes. "I'd give them water? I--I mean... I don't know..." Finally, Carol turns to Lowrie, as if searching for an answer. "You know we can't afford either," They murmur, cautiously, but it's all the same to Carol, who's face scrunches up just to fight back a curse. They sigh, wipe a hand through their long, charcoal-black hair, then try again. "But I know you won't accept that answer. I'd say we should go hunting. Water is survival." Finally, Lowrie looks at you, arms folded. "Thoughts?" [[''I think we should give them the water. Without it they won't make it even if the hounds are gone.''|ch1-pg16-water][$right to $right + 0.05]] [[''Water, no question. I'd rather run out of water than risk being unprotected.''|ch1-pg16-water][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''Lowrie's right. We need that water. Let's just kill those dogs and be done with it.''|ch1-pg16-gun][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''First things first, we need to kill those Direhounds. They'll pick off the weak faster than dehydration ever will.''|ch1-pg16-gun][$right to $right + 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $ch1_task to "water">><<set $carol_f to $carol_f + 0.05>><<set $lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05>>Carol's eyes flash with gratitude, but her lips twitch downward as she turns to her paramour. Lowrie doesn't quite look away from either of you, but there's something a bit surly in the way they hold their shoulders, something a bit too forced about the nod. "Have it your way," They mutter, but it comes out cool rather than overtly cruel, "I just hope you understand the price."<</nobr>> "And I'll pay it if I have to," Carol breathes, pushing the canisters forward for the both of you to take. "We'll just have to ration a bit more than usual. At least until we find another source." The smile she gives isn't quite as confident as she means. "We'll find one, Carol." Lowrie murmurs as they step up to take one of the canisters. With lingering eye-contact, their shoulders visibly sag as they pick it up, a grimace finally finding its way across their thin face. For a spare moment, they struggle with the effort, only managing to collect their composure when their eyes lock with your own and animal irritation overrides sense. "We have to." Caroline replies. As you slide your own container off the bar it takes all your strength not to tip forward and go tumbling, immediately undermining any pride you may have previously garnered from watching Lowrie's own struggle. Perhaps mercifully, they don't see it with their back turned. Gathering herself, Carol reigns her discomfort in with a heaving inhale. [[''Alright. Decisions made. Get outta here, get it done.''|ch1-pg17]]

<<if $ch1_task is "water">>No more than ten minutes pass and you're on the road--barely a hardened track of sand that lights your way through the desert. With the water strapped to your horse and the guns strapped to Lowrie's, you drag yourselves through the desert in search of Elysium. Silence overwhelms you as you plod along, the only sounds breaking the monotony the snuffles and snorts of the beast between your legs.<<else>>No more than ten minutes pass and you're on the road--barely a hardened track of sand that lights your way through the desert. With tin containers of water strapped to each of your horses, and your loaded guns strapped to your backs, you drag yourselves through the desert in search of Elysium. Silence overwhelms you as you plod along, the only sounds breaking the monotony the snuffles and snorts of the beast between your legs.<</if>> Carol barely bid you goodbye when she dragged you both out and into the oppressive, ever-present glare of the sun. You don't remember a day when it hasn't burned you raw or dried up the slowly dwindling water wells that keep you and yours going day by day. Battling against the colossus reigning above feels like picking a fight with an invisible foe; futile, like everyday you're losing more and more and you don't even realise it. Carol keeps telling you to hold out until the rain comes, but each year that passes, each addition to the bodycount, makes it seem like a myth. It's been... some time since you've even seen water drop upon the thirsty sands of Wasteland, at least in anything more than a few malnourished drips at a time. You glare at the mountains that stand tall and proud on every side of you, the distant edges of Wasteland blocking each and every one of you inside like a bowl. No one ever comes back from the mountains, you've seen many a fool try and fail to make it past the steep walls surrounding you, but no one ever survives; you can't be sure why, many rumours run amok in Wasteland, none of them any good. A while back a few teenagers had it in their heads they'd find paradise on the other side but whether or not that's true they set off in the middle of the night and, well, they aren't here now. Carol blamed herself for months after that incident. From beside you Lowrie lets out a heavy sigh that tears you from your thoughs, eyes clenched shut underneath the shade of their wide-brimmed hat. Their expression is pained... scrunched up like a fist. No complaint leaves their lips, instead spending their time chewing on their chapped bottom lip before eyes flicker open and land on you. Lowrie frowns, looks away with a flick of long, black hair. You... could try to start a conversation. Even if it ends in a battle of words and wits, anything is better than remaining stranded in your own head. Right? [[''You doing okay?''|ch1-pg18-01][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05]] [[''How long do you think until we reach Elysium?''|ch1-pg18-02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05]] [[''It sure is hot, huh?''|ch1-pg18-03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05]] [[Remain silent. If they want to speak they will.|ch1-pg18-04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05]] [[''So... I hear you have history with Elysium?''|ch1-pg18-06][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05]] <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[''Will this water even be enough?''|ch1-pg18-05][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05]] <</if>><<if $ch1_task is "gun">>[[''You think we can deal with those dogs without expending any bullets?''|ch1_pg18_07][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05]]<</if>>

Hello and welcome to the Help! page. Here will be an explanation of stats you'll find throughout the course of the story. !!!Personality Stats Personality stats are exactly what they sound like. As you make choices your character will be seen as crude or polite, outgoing or reserved, or whatever the case may be. This does not lock you out of choices, this is simply to add a little extra flair later on in the game. !!!Relationship Stats Relationship stats are a little different. There are three total that determine your character's relationship with the npc's in the world you find yourself in; Friendship, Rivalry, and Affection. You will never lose points in any given stat but your largest stat will determine the overall relationship you have with each npc. !!!!Friendship Fairly self-explanatory. With a high friendship this means you often agree, generally have the same or similar ideals, and work well together with little issue. Low friendship does not mean you dislike each other, simply that you may face conflict often. !!!!Rivalry Rivalry does not mean you do not get along with the given npc, simply that perhaps you do not often agree. A high rivalry means you push each other through competition with one another, or that you often disagree with each other's methods. Whatever the case may be this is not necessarily a bad thing. Low rivalry means you probably agree with the given npc for the most part. !!!!Affection Affection is slightly different. This determines whether you or the npc in question are interested in each other romantically. The higher the stat the more they are interested. Friendship and Rivalry simply inform the general feel of the relationship.

<<nobr>><<set $right to $right + 0.05>>Lowrie glances at you from the corner of their eye, their face scrunching up with a dirisive grunt. They simply don't reply, clinging onto the reins like they're trying to snap the rope in two. For a long moment you're convinced they aren't going to reply at all before, with a grunt, they finally turn to you.<</nobr>> "I'm fine." They say and seem content to leave it at that, chewing on nothing like they're trying to digest the words best left unspoken. You can only watch as they look out across the endless desert at dead trees and ruins of a time long since forgotten. Another sigh and they glance at you, brows slightly creased under the shade of their hat. "Thank you." They decide to add, then just as quickly look away. Time passes; you're not sure how long. Desert blends into more desert, more desert blends into old shrubbery and thorns that somehow still persist despite it all. Time out here in Wasteland is nebulous, nothing but a construct that may as well mean nothing when it comes to matters of survival. All Wasteland knows is the scorching heat of day and the bitter cold of night, and Ancients help you if you get lost in either. At some point after their begrudging appreciation Lowrie turns to you once more, sweat dripping from the end of their impossibly straight nose. <<if $carol_f > $carol_r>>Though they try to put on that usual blank mask, perhaps for your benefit, the expression just... doesn't fit their face. "I only say this nicely because Carol seems to like you," They start, "But if we can get the job done quickly, we can part ways without conflict."<<else>>There's a scowl written clear as day, something incredulous and childish in their stare. "Let's just get this job done. I don't want to work with you any longer than I have to."<</if>> The statement gives you pause, enough at least that for a few seconds as Lowrie turns away you can only stare agape at them. Indeed, even your usually active mind seems stunned to silence. [[''I'm sorry?''|ch1-pg19-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''What did I ever do to you?''|ch1-pg19-02][$right to $right + 0.05]] [[''Who spat in your drink this morning?''|ch1-pg19-03][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[''Oh piss off you prat! I never did shit to you.''|ch1-pg19-04][$crude to $crude + 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $worldly to $worldly - 0.05>>They would certainly know better than you. For a long time Lowrie doesn't deign to reply, their brows furrowing more and more upon that thin face. You almost feel as if they aren't going to reply at all until, with a heavy sigh, they shake their head. "About... when the sun is halfway across the sky." But that's all the answer you receive, the silence returning in the very next instant.<</nobr>> You look out across the desert before dragging your gaze upward. From where the sun now sits you surmise it'll be a little under an hour before you see civilisation. You huff a sigh, or something like it, and bow your head. Time passes; you're not sure how long. Desert blends into more desert, more desert blends into old shrubbery and thorns that somehow still persist despite it all. Time out here in Wasteland is nebulous, nothing but a construct that may as well mean nothing when it comes to matters of survival. All Wasteland knows is the scorching heat of day and the bitter cold of night, and Ancients help you if you get lost in either. At some point after their begrudging appreciation Lowrie turns to you once more, sweat dripping from the end of their impossibly straight nose. <<if $carol_f > $carol_r>>Though they try to put on that usual blank mask, perhaps for your benefit, the expression just... doesn't fit their face. "I only say this nicely because Carol seems to like you," They start, "But if we can get the job done quickly, we can part ways without conflict."<<else>>There's a scowl written clear as day, something incredulous and childish in their stare. "Let's just get this job done. I don't want to work with you any longer than I have to."<</if>> The statement gives you pause, enough at least that for a few seconds as Lowrie turns away you can only stare agape at them. Indeed, even your usually active mind seems stunned to silence. [[''I'm sorry?''|ch1-pg19-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''What did I ever do to you?''|ch1-pg19-02][$right to $right + 0.05]] [[''Who spat in your drink this morning?''|ch1-pg19-03][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[''Oh piss off you prat! I never did shit to you.''|ch1-pg19-04][$crude to $crude + 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $out to $out + 0.05>>Lowrie turns to you with their mouth halfway open in a surprised gape. Brows furrow, eyes shift down the the dirt kicked up by your horse's hooves, before turning your way once more. "It's always hot?" They mutter, voice not-quite sure. After a momentary stare, they turn away with another grumble and no further answer.<</nobr>> Time passes; you're not sure how long. Desert blends into more desert, more desert blends into old shrubbery and thorns that somehow still persist despite it all. Time out here in Wasteland is nebulous, nothing but a construct that may as well mean nothing when it comes to matters of survival. All Wasteland knows is the scorching heat of day and the bitter cold of night, and Ancients help you if you get lost in either. At some point after their begrudging appreciation Lowrie turns to you once more, sweat dripping from the end of their impossibly straight nose. <<if $carol_f > $carol_r>>Though they try to put on that usual blank mask, perhaps for your benefit, the expression just... doesn't fit their face. "I only say this nicely because Carol seems to like you," They start, "But if we can get the job done quickly, we can part ways without conflict."<<else>>There's a scowl written clear as day, something incredulous and childish in their stare. "Let's just get this job done. I don't want to work with you any longer than I have to."<</if>> The statement gives you pause, enough at least that for a few seconds as Lowrie turns away you can only stare agape at them. Indeed, even your usually active mind seems stunned to silence. [[''I'm sorry?''|ch1-pg19-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''What did I ever do to you?''|ch1-pg19-02][$right to $right + 0.05]] [[''Who spat in your drink this morning?''|ch1-pg19-03][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[''Oh piss off you prat! I never did shit to you.''|ch1-pg19-04][$crude to $crude + 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $worldly to $worldly + 0.05>>You turn only briefly to Lowrie and consider whether or not it's wise, deciding against it all in the next breath. Instead you sigh, stare out across the flat plane, and try to ignore the heat. From the corner of your eye you notice Lowrie relax their shoulders.<</nobr>> Time passes; you're not sure how long. Desert blends into more desert, more desert blends into old shrubbery and thorns that somehow still persist despite it all. Time out here in Wasteland is nebulous, nothing but a construct that may as well mean nothing when it comes to matters of survival. All Wasteland knows is the scorching heat of day and the bitter cold of night, and Ancients help you if you get lost in either. At some point after their begrudging appreciation Lowrie turns to you once more, sweat dripping from the end of their impossibly straight nose. <<if $carol_f > $carol_r>>Though they try to put on that usual blank mask, perhaps for your benefit, the expression just... doesn't fit their face. "I only say this nicely because Carol seems to like you," They start, "But if we can get the job done quickly, we can part ways without conflict."<<else>>There's a scowl written clear as day, something incredulous and childish in their stare. "Let's just get this job done. I don't want to work with you any longer than I have to."<</if>> The statement gives you pause, enough at least that for a few seconds as Lowrie turns away you can only stare agape at them. Indeed, even your usually active mind seems stunned to silence. [[''I'm sorry?''|ch1-pg19-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''What did I ever do to you?''|ch1-pg19-02][$right to $right + 0.05]] [[''Who spat in your drink this morning?''|ch1-pg19-03][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[''Oh piss off you prat! I never did shit to you.''|ch1-pg19-04][$crude to $crude + 0.05]]

Lowrie takes some time to consider the answer, though so quiet is their contemplation you almost some to believe that they're ignoring the question. Eventually, ever-so-slightly, they shake their head. "We both know the answer to that question." They turn away quickly, leaving you to your thoughts. Sure, you //know// the answer, but it would have been a nice lie to consider for more than a few minutes. Time passes; you're not sure how long. Desert blends into more desert, more desert blends into old shrubbery and thorns that somehow still persist despite it all. Time out here in Wasteland is nebulous, nothing but a construct that may as well mean nothing when it comes to matters of survival. All Wasteland knows is the scorching heat of day and the bitter cold of night, and Ancients help you if you get lost in either. At some point after their begrudging appreciation Lowrie turns to you once more, sweat dripping from the end of their impossibly straight nose. <<if $carol_f > $carol_r>>Though they try to put on that usual blank mask, perhaps for your benefit, the expression just... doesn't fit their face. "I only say this nicely because Carol seems to like you," They start, "But if we can get the job done quickly, we can part ways without conflict."<<else>>There's a scowl written clear as day, something incredulous and childish in their stare. "Let's just get this job done. I don't want to work with you any longer than I have to."<</if>> The statement gives you pause, enough at least that for a few seconds as Lowrie turns away you can only stare agape at them. Indeed, even your usually active mind seems stunned to silence. [[''I'm sorry?''|ch1-pg19-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''What did I ever do to you?''|ch1-pg19-02][$right to $right + 0.05]] [[''Who spat in your drink this morning?''|ch1-pg19-03][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[''Oh piss off you prat! I never did shit to you.''|ch1-pg19-04][$crude to $crude + 0.05]]

"I don’t want apologies," Lowrie snaps, fingers digging into the palms of their hands even when holding the reins. Falling silent for three heavy heartbeats, a rhythmic tap against their steed’s side mixed with the palpable anger in the air confuses the beast, a nervous snort interrupting Lowrie’s thought. Their grip loosens, clenched jaw slowly going slack. "You've been in Eden for, what, ten years?" "Since--" You catch your waver before it can eke out in your words, swallow the pain hard before it rears its ugly head, "Since Ledala fell, yeah. What's the point?" You hope Lowrie doesn't take note of how hoarse your voice suddenly is. If they do, they don't bring it into question, "//That's// the point." Lowrie hisses, leaning over in their saddle to calm the horse with a slow pet against its neck. The creature stomps and does a little buck, but nothing enough to send Lowrie flying before they manage to calm it. "Ten years in this place and you are a mystery. No one knows much about you $mc1_name. //I// don't know much of anything about you. Carol--" Lowrie cuts themself off with a huff and a shake of their head, "What matters is that I don't know whether I can trust you." You share a glare, a beast in your mind huffing with cruel laughter. You... should take the high road, should ignore Lowrie's intimations and accusations, but you are not your $mc2_brother, you've never been able to take abuse on the chin. Your jaw tightens, one hand shifting over your other wrist as too-sharp nails--claws--dig deep into your fleshy palm. The pain is a welcome distraction. "You know what I think?" You breathe, voice coming out rough, weathered, //animal//. [[''I think you're so attracted to me it's making you stupid.'' Make it a joke. Don't fall to their bait.|ch1pg2001][$right to $right -=.05]] [[''I think it's sad that you think of me like this.''|ch1pg2002][$worldly to $worldly -=.05]] [[''Carol trusts me. Do you think she'd do that if I had bad intentions?''|ch1pg2003][$worldly to $worldly +=.05]] [[''I don't need to earn your trust. You've already made your opinion of me clear.''|ch1pg2004][$right to $right +=.05]] [[''You're right. I don't talk about myself. But trust goes both ways.''|ch1pg2005][$out to $out -=.05]] [[''You want to know about me so bad? Make an effort!''|ch1pg2006][$out to $out +=.05]] [[''I think you can fuck right off.''|ch1pg2007][$crude to $crude +=.05]]

"Nothing to me but you’ll have to forgive me if I think of what you //might// do." There’s a narrowed stare shot your way, fingers digging into the palms of Lowrie’s hands. Falling silent for three heavy heartbeats, a rhythmic tap against their steed’s side mixed with the palpable anger in the air confuses the beast, a nervous snort interrupting Lowrie’s thought. Their grip loosens, clenched jaw slowly going slack. "You've been in Eden for, what, ten years?" "Since--" You catch your waver before it can eke out in your words, swallow the pain hard before it rears its ugly head, "Since Ledala fell, yeah. What's the point?" You hope Lowrie doesn't take note of how hoarse your voice suddenly is. If they do, they don't bring it into question, "//That's// the point." Lowrie hisses, leaning over in their saddle to calm the horse with a slow pet against its neck. The creature stomps and does a little buck, but nothing enough to send Lowrie flying before they manage to calm it. "Ten years in this place and you are a mystery. No one knows much about you $mc1_name. //I// don't know much of anything about you. Carol--" Lowrie cuts themself off with a huff and a shake of their head, "What matters is that I don't know whether I can trust you." You share a glare, a beast in your mind huffing with cruel laughter. You... should take the high road, should ignore Lowrie's intimations and accusations, but you are not your $mc2_brother, you've never been able to take abuse on the chin. Your jaw tightens, one hand shifting over your other wrist as too-sharp nails--claws--dig deep into your fleshy palm. The pain is a welcome distraction. "You know what I think?" You breathe, voice coming out rough, weathered, //animal//. [[''I think you're so attracted to me it's making you stupid.'' Make it a joke. Don't fall to their bait.|ch1pg2001][$right to $right -=.05]] [[''I think it's sad that you think of me like this.''|ch1pg2002][$worldly to $worldly -=.05]] [[''Carol trusts me. Do you think she'd do that if I had bad intentions?''|ch1pg2003][$worldly to $worldly +=.05]] [[''I don't need to earn your trust. You've already made your opinion of me clear.''|ch1pg2004][$right to $right +=.05]] [[''You're right. I don't talk about myself. But trust goes both ways.''|ch1pg2005][$out to $out -=.05]] [[''You want to know about me so bad? Make an effort!''|ch1pg2006][$out to $out +=.05]] [[''I think you can fuck right off.''|ch1pg2007][$crude to $crude +=.05]]

Lowrie doesn’t answer, a side-eyed glare shot your way instead. Falling silent for three heavy heartbeats, a rhythmic tap against their steed’s side mixed with the palpable anger in the air confuses the beast, a nervous snort interrupting Lowrie’s thought. Their grip loosens, clenched jaw slowly going slack. "You've been in Eden for, what, ten years?" "Since--" You catch your waver before it can eke out in your words, swallow the pain hard before it rears its ugly head, "Since Ledala fell, yeah. What's the point?" You hope Lowrie doesn't take note of how hoarse your voice suddenly is. If they do, they don't bring it into question, "//That's// the point." Lowrie hisses, leaning over in their saddle to calm the horse with a slow pet against its neck. The creature stomps and does a little buck, but nothing enough to send Lowrie flying before they manage to calm it. "Ten years in this place and you are a mystery. No one knows much about you $mc1_name. //I// don't know much of anything about you. Carol--" Lowrie cuts themself off with a huff and a shake of their head, "What matters is that I don't know whether I can trust you." You share a glare, a beast in your mind huffing with cruel laughter. You... should take the high road, should ignore Lowrie's intimations and accusations, but you are not your $mc2_brother, you've never been able to take abuse on the chin. Your jaw tightens, one hand shifting over your other wrist as too-sharp nails--claws--dig deep into your fleshy palm. The pain is a welcome distraction. "You know what I think?" You breathe, voice coming out rough, weathered, //animal//. [[''I think you're so attracted to me it's making you stupid.'' Make it a joke. Don't fall to their bait.|ch1pg2001][$right to $right -=.05]] [[''I think it's sad that you think of me like this.''|ch1pg2002][$worldly to $worldly -=.05]] [[''Carol trusts me. Do you think she'd do that if I had bad intentions?''|ch1pg2003][$worldly to $worldly +=.05]] [[''I don't need to earn your trust. You've already made your opinion of me clear.''|ch1pg2004][$right to $right +=.05]] [[''You're right. I don't talk about myself. But trust goes both ways.''|ch1pg2005][$out to $out -=.05]] [[''You want to know about me so bad? Make an effort!''|ch1pg2006][$out to $out +=.05]] [[''I think you can fuck right off.''|ch1pg2007][$crude to $crude +=.05]]

"Maybe not to me and maybe not now but one day that might just change." Comes the sharp reply, a glare shot at you from the other horse. Falling silent for three heavy heartbeats, a rhythmic tap against their steed’s side mixed with the palpable anger in the air confuses the beast, a nervous snort interrupting Lowrie’s thought. Their grip loosens, clenched jaw slowly going slack. "You've been in Eden for, what, ten years?" "Since--" You catch your waver before it can eke out in your words, swallow the pain hard before it rears its ugly head, "Since Ledala fell, yeah. What's the point?" You hope Lowrie doesn't take note of how hoarse your voice suddenly is. If they do, they don't bring it into question, "//That's// the point." Lowrie hisses, leaning over in their saddle to calm the horse with a slow pet against its neck. The creature stomps and does a little buck, but nothing enough to send Lowrie flying before they manage to calm it. "Ten years in this place and you are a mystery. No one knows much about you $mc1_name. //I// don't know much of anything about you. Carol--" Lowrie cuts themself off with a huff and a shake of their head, "What matters is that I don't know whether I can trust you." You share a glare, a beast in your mind huffing with cruel laughter. You... should take the high road, should ignore Lowrie's intimations and accusations, but you are not your $mc2_brother, you've never been able to take abuse on the chin. Your jaw tightens, one hand shifting over your other wrist as too-sharp nails--claws--dig deep into your fleshy palm. The pain is a welcome distraction. "You know what I think?" You breathe, voice coming out rough, weathered, //animal//. [[''I think you're so attracted to me it's making you stupid.'' Make it a joke. Don't fall to their bait.|ch1pg2001][$right to $right -=.05]] [[''I think it's sad that you think of me like this.''|ch1pg2002][$worldly to $worldly -=.05]] [[''Carol trusts me. Do you think she'd do that if I had bad intentions?''|ch1pg2003][$worldly to $worldly +=.05]] [[''I don't need to earn your trust. You've already made your opinion of me clear.''|ch1pg2004][$right to $right +=.05]] [[''You're right. I don't talk about myself. But trust goes both ways.''|ch1pg2005][$out to $out -=.05]] [[''You want to know about me so bad? Make an effort!''|ch1pg2006][$out to $out +=.05]] [[''I think you can fuck right off.''|ch1pg2007][$crude to $crude +=.05]]

The silence stretches on, eventually settling into a bitter ball of iron in the pit of your stomach. Meanwhile a dark chuckle inside your head sends a shiver up your spine. Mocking. //They know.// Something in your head growls, a hard strike at your very core that threatens to tip you off the horse entirely. You glance at Lowrie, but they’re intent on staring stubbornly ahead. Blood flashes through your mind, heart seizing with a fear thought long forgotten. You swallow hard, clench your jaw, and try to struggle back the monster of your thoughts. You run through a list of the people who actually //do// know; Mordred, Carol, the Doctor making her rounds. They wouldn't tell, //surely//. You glance at Lowrie again. If they did know even a little bit about you than you currently allow, would they even change? The hope in you is tentatively optimistic... but the realist in you knows better. Years of being beaten down in the harsh sun above, you can't help but find the very thought laughable. No amount of explanation will make Lowrie happy. Before the silence teeters too close to unbearable you see the beginnings of civilisation. Water sloshes on either side of your saddle and you’re suddenly reminded of the very pressing issue you face. Elysium is just up ahead; you can see the buildings poking up from the horizon. They could be a mirage, but you’ve been here long enough to know what is real and what is false. Most of the time. Lowrie stops before either of you can draw near the small collection of ramshackle huts. What you think must be failed attempts to start community gardens sit a fair bit away from the vast majority of the building next to a series of tin sheds long forgotten. Despite the shabbiness, it’s proof that humanity still exists one way or another, proof that, no matter the trial, you’ll continue to live so long as there’s hope, determination and, if you’re being honest, spite. It’s an all-too familiar sight, you’ve seen it in Eden and you’ve seen it in other settlements, seeing it here isn’t quite the shock some might think it to be. Perhaps it’s futile, living, but when the alternative is dying... Well, you know your answer. "We should arm up before going in," Lowrie finally speaks for the first time since the little argument, still, they don’t look your way, eyes dark and trained perpetually forward. Lips pursed, they squint through the sweat in their eyes. "We can’t know where the dogs are. Best be ready." They unstrap a pair of the weapons and pass them across the gap—again, without bothering to look. The rifle and sword are the traditional weapons of Hunters. The first line of defense is the rifle; bullets are faster, more likely to bring someone down, but it takes time to reload and there's only so many bullets to go around. So, the blade; getting up close and personal is risky but when push comes to shove you do what you have to. While it’s not uncommon for bandits in Wasteland to have access to guns and bullets both it’s far more likely they’ll be using handmade axes and knives. That is, assuming the task requires violence at all. Weapons are considered a last resort. <<if $right < .5>>Even if you might not like it.<<else>>Which is probably for the best.<</if>> [[I prefer using my gun.|ch1-pg21-01]] [[I prefer using my blade.|ch1-pg21-02]] [[I don’t prefer either weapon.|ch1-pg21-03]]

One brow raises dubiously, eyes turning to you as Lowrie takes in your question. Scrunching up their face, something like laughter cuts through the hot air like a knife but it's a bitter sound that doesn't quite hit you all at once. "Barely." Is all they can bring themself to say, scoffing as they begin to load bullets into their gun. You watch with ill-interest until they're done, and can't help but think they're taking way too long. "Alright. Let's get this over with," Lowrie mutters just as much to themself as to you, and tucks the gun into their belt before nudging their horse forward. "Come on." They say, gesturing with their head to follow but nothing more, turning away and letting that veil of black hair shield them from your gaze. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[Continue.|ch1-pg23-water]]<<else>>[[Continue.|ch1-pg23-gun]]<</if>>

You see Lowrie's jaw clench in response to your words, but they don't respond immediately. They wait for a good long minute, glaring out into the desert until, with a huff, they shake their head. "Sure." Is all they can bring themself to say, scoffing as they begin to load bullets into their gun. You watch with ill-interest, until they're done, and can't help but think they're taking way too long. "Alright. Let's get this over with," Lowrie mutters just as much to themself as to you, and tucks the gun into their belt before nudging their horse forward. "Come on." They say, gesturing with their head to follow but nothing more, turning away and letting that veil of black hair shield them from your gaze. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[Continue.|ch1-pg23-water]]<<else>>[[Continue.|ch1-pg23-gun]]<</if>>

You see Lowrie's jaw clench in response to your words, but they don't respond immediately. They wait for a good long minute, glaring out into the desert until, with a huff, they shake their head. "Who knows?" Is all they can bring themself to say, scoffing as they begin to load bullets into their revolver. You watch with ill-interest, until they're done, and can't help but think they're taking way too long. "Alright. Let's get this over with," Lowrie mutters just as much to themself as to you, and tucks the gun into their belt before nudging their horse forward. "Come on." They say, gesturing with their head to follow but nothing more, turning away and letting that veil of black hair shield them from your gaze. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[Continue.|ch1-pg23-water]]<<else>>[[Continue.|ch1-pg23-gun]]<</if>>

You see Lowrie's eyes widen just slightly, their jaw falling slack before they snap it shut and //clench//. Surprise, you realise. They wait for a good long minute, glaring out into the desert until, with a huff, they shake their head. "Why would I?" Is all they can bring themself to say, scoffing as they begin to load bullets into their revolver. You watch with ill-interest, until they're done, and can't help but think they're taking way too long. "Alright. Let's get this over with," Lowrie mutters just as much to themself as to you, and tucks the gun into their belt before nudging their horse forward. "Come on." They say, gesturing with their head to follow but nothing more, turning away and letting that veil of black hair shield them from your gaze. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[Continue.|ch1-pg23-water]]<<else>>[[Continue.|ch1-pg23-gun]]<</if>>

<<nobr>><<set $role to "gunslinger">>Blades are all well and good, but you never quite took to them quite as much as you did shooting. You're quick on the draw, even quicker to shoot, but the sparsity of bullets always leaves you potentially endangered when you have to fall back on your swordplay. Maybe that's exactly why you like it, who knows, but regardless instead of 'Hunter' some have come to know you as 'Gunslinger.' You check the rifle over with a critical gaze, attempting to shed the awkwardness from the conversation of before. This isn't the best gun you've ever shot; there are scratches along the barrel and it's worn from use and time, but it'll do.<</nobr>> As you let your eyes fall on your weapons, your only form of self-defence in this dustbowl, your traitorous mind turns to Mordred once more. If you were a Gunslinger he was a Striker, an expert in the art of swordplay. Together, you filled the gaps in each other's defences, made sure nothing got between you and the goal. You trusted him and in turn he trusted you implicitly. Turning your gaze to Lowrie, your heart shudders at the thought of putting your life on the line for them. You somehow doubt they'd do the same for you. You try to let the thoughts of Mordred fade. [[''Are we good? Just for this one job?''|ch1-pg22-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''Whatever you think of me shouldn't matter on a job.''|ch1-pg22-02][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''There shouldn't be any trouble, right?''|ch1-pg22-03][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Don't cause trouble, you hear me?''|ch1-pg22-04][$out to $out + 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $role to "striker">>Guns are useful, to be sure, but you never quite took to shooting quite as much as you did swordplay. There's something about getting up close and personal with the person or thing that could be the one that kills you; maybe it's the intimacy of shedding blood on the end of a blade, or maybe you just prefer a reliable blade over the sparsity of bullets, who knows, but regardless your propensity to rush into the thick of it might one day leave you surrounded. And you're okay with that. Due to your unconventional preference many have dubbed you 'Striker' instead of the usual 'Hunter.' You check the blade over with a critical gaze, attempting to shed the awkwardness from the conversation of before. This isn't the best sword you've ever laid your hands on, it's more of a toothpick, really; there are scratches along the blade and it's worn from use and time, but it'll do.<</nobr>> As you let your eyes fall on your weapons, your only form of self-defence in this dustbowl, your traitorous mind turns to Mordred once more. If you were a Striker he was a Gunslinger, an expert in the art of gunplay. Together, you filled the gaps in each other's defences, made sure nothing got between you and the goal. You trusted him and in turn he trusted you implicitly. Turning your gaze to Lowrie, your heart shudders at the thought of putting your life on the line for them. You somehow doubt they'd do the same for you. You try to let the thoughts of Mordred fade. [[''Are we good? Just for this one job?''|ch1-pg22-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''Whatever you think of me shouldn't matter on a job.''|ch1-pg22-02][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''There shouldn't be any trouble, right?''|ch1-pg22-03][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Don't cause trouble, you hear me?''|ch1-pg22-04][$out to $out + 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $role to "hunter">>Perhaps wisely you have no preference. When the time comes for battle, and it always inevitably finds you one way or another, you're prepared to adapt. 'Hunter,' in this case, is appropriate. You check your given weapons over with a glance, attempting to shed the awkwardness from the conversation of before. They're worn from use and time, but they'll do.<</nobr>> As you let your eyes fall on your weapons, your only form of self-defence in this dustbowl, your traitorous mind turns to Mordred once more. You were similar in that neither of you chose a particular path to stuck with. Together, you filled the gaps in each other's defences, made sure nothing got between you and the goal. You trusted him and in turn he trusted you implicitly. Turning your gaze to Lowrie, your heart shudders at the thought of putting your life on the line for them. You somehow doubt they'd do the same for you. You try to let the thoughts of Mordred fade. [[''Are we good? Just for this one job?''|ch1-pg22-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''Whatever you think of me shouldn't matter on a job.''|ch1-pg22-02][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''There shouldn't be any trouble, right?''|ch1-pg22-03][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Don't cause trouble, you hear me?''|ch1-pg22-04][$out to $out + 0.05]]

''Elysium, Middle of Nowhere'' You dismount at the edge of town, just shy of an abandoned shack falling apart bit by bit. Any paint that may once have adorned the building has well and truly peeled off in the sun and the windows have no glass with which to keep any horrible pests and elements out. Instead, wood is nailed over the hole that remains. It's not too different to Eden, if you're being honest with yourself; both settlements are little more than a collection of run-down huts that may once have been towns. No one knows what happened to turn the world to dust, maybe it's better left unknown. All you hear is the creak of old buildings and the rustling stray cloth that might serve as makeshift curtains. The streets are empty, this little pocket of faux-paradise seemingly abandoned. <<if $worldly > .5>>"Awfully quiet," You note, glancing at Lowrie as that ever-present frown deepens. "I half-expected a welcoming committee. You know, since we're bringing them their water?" Their face twitches into a short-lived snarl, schooled back into a pursed line with the muzzle of their composure. Fingers drifting to their rifle as if trying to convince themself they're safe, tapping a rhythm you can't place. "It //is// quiet," Lowrie eventually concedes, sucking in their bottom lip. Their boot taps in the dirt, eyes dull as they sift through their own thoughts. As your eyes scan through the empty town you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, a cold shiver running its fingers down your spine. There's just... no one here. "Okay, tie the horses up. Let's... have a look around."<<else>>Something feels very wrong, but you can't quite pinpoint what. As you glance at Lowrie, you see their ever-present frown deepen, before, with a sharp inhale, "It's quiet." They eventually say, long fingers drifting to the rifle at their hip. As your eyes scan through the empty town, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The silence forces you to shiver despite the heat, a cold running its fingers down your spine. There's just... no one here. "Okay," Lowrie interrupts your thoughts, "Tie the horses up. Let's... have a look around."<</if>> [[''Where is everyone, Lowrie?''|ch1-pg24-water-01][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''Are... the horses safe here? What about the dogs?''|ch1-pg24-water-02][$right to $right + 0.05]] [[''I've never known any town to be this quiet in the middle of the day.''|ch1-pg24-water-03][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[''It's fine. They're probably all just inside, right?''|ch1-pg24-water-04][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]]

"How am I supposed to know?" They snap, momentarily losing their composure as they stare out across the empty settlement. Back straightening, Lowrie takes a deep breath as they guide their horse over to the rotting carcass of an old home and tie it off on the porch railing. You follow without comment; it's in the shade enough that it's cooler, but not by much. Their reigns now tied, the horses snuffle in the dirt, filtering for any inch of grass buried under the sand. Lowrie glances at you, then away, "I'm... sorry. That outburst was unnecessary." <<if $ch1_task is "water">>You don't answer as you collect the water containers and step back into the sun, an unsettled feeling creeping up your spine. The main street--more a track of hardened dirt--stands empty, bracketed by two lines of wooden buildings in various states of disrepair. Not a face peeks out from behind wooden slats, not a voice calles out from the nothingness.<<else>>You answer with a shrug and don't push it. Tucking your gun into a loop at your belt, you step back into the sun with an unsettled feeling sitting at your sternum. The main street--more a track of hardened dirt--stands empty, bracketed by two lines of wooden buildings in various states of disrepair. Not a face peeks out from behind wooden slats, not a voice calles out from the nothingness.<</if>> This isn't right. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>Glancing at Lowrie for guidance you don't receive, hope begins to drain from your body with every step you take. Storage. That's your path. It should be the biggest building in the settlement right... over... there. It's a few homes up, and wedged behind a cottage only a little smaller than itself. Lowrie scoffs and storms ahead of you, their water tucked under one arm, rifle held securely under the other.<<else>>Glancing at Lowrie for guidance you don't receive, hope begins to drain from your body with every step you take. Storage. That's your path. It should be the biggest building in the settlement right... over... there. It's a few homes up, and wedged behind a cottage only a little smaller than itself. Lowrie scoffs and storms ahead of you, their rufle tucked securely under an arm.<</if>> You make the journey slowly, each step cautious as if any wild movement would alert you to an invisible enemy. The thought is enough to make you shiver, ice chilling your heart and freezing you in place. There's no evidence of any battle, but it's as if... you swallow hard, memories of blood and enemies that come from nowhere momentarily stopping you in your tracks. Lowrie moters ahead, only coming to a sudden stop when they realise you're not there by their side. When they turn back there's something vacant in their stare. "Hurry up." they say, words wavering at the end when they should hold steadfast. [[''Right. Yeah. Sorry.'' I cough, clear my head of lingering fears.|ch1-pg25-water-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''You're worried, aren't you?''|ch1-pg25-water-02][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[Nod and force myself forward.|ch1-pg25-water-01][$out to $out - 0.05]] [[''Lowrie... I think I'm scared.'' It's not an emotion I'm particularly used to feeling.|ch1-pg25-water-04][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Careful, there might be dogs about.'' They're being reckless.|ch1-pg25-water-05][$worldly to $worldly +=.05]]

"They should be fine," Lowrie murmurs, glancing out through the desert as if they're expecting to find something more than sand. Evidently, they earn nothing from the cruel wasteland. Back straightening, Lowrie takes a deep breath as they guide their horse over to the rotting carcass of an old home and tie it off on the porch railing. Without anything else to do, you follow; it's in the shade enough that it's cooler, but not by much. Their reigns now tied, the horses snuffle in the dirt, filtering for any inch of grass buried under the sand. "Look, there's just been no evidence of any wild animal going through town." Perhaps wisely, they mention nothing about the evidence to suggest //nothing// is in town at all. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>You don't answer as you collect the water containers and step back into the sun, an unsettled feeling creeping up your spine. The main street--more a track of hardened dirt--stands empty, bracketed by two lines of wooden buildings in various states of disrepair. Not a face peeks out from behind wooden slats, not a voice calles out from the nothingness.<<else>>You answer with a shrug and don't push it. Tucking your gun into a loop at your belt, you step back into the sun with an unsettled feeling sitting at your sternum. The main street--more a track of hardened dirt--stands empty, bracketed by two lines of wooden buildings in various states of disrepair. Not a face peeks out from behind wooden slats, not a voice calles out from the nothingness.<</if>> This isn't right. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>Glancing at Lowrie for guidance you don't receive, hope begins to drain from your body with every step you take. Storage. That's your path. It should be the biggest building in the settlement right... over... there. It's a few homes up, and wedged behind a cottage only a little smaller than itself. Lowrie scoffs and storms ahead of you, their water tucked under one arm, rifle held securely under the other.<<else>>Glancing at Lowrie for guidance you don't receive, hope begins to drain from your body with every step you take. Storage. That's your path. It should be the biggest building in the settlement right... over... there. It's a few homes up, and wedged behind a cottage only a little smaller than itself. Lowrie scoffs and storms ahead of you, their rufle tucked securely under an arm.<</if>> You make the journey slowly, each step cautious as if any wild movement would alert you to an invisible enemy. The thought is enough to make you shiver, ice chilling your heart and freezing you in place. There's no evidence of any battle, but it's as if... you swallow hard, memories of blood and enemies that come from nowhere momentarily stopping you in your tracks. Lowrie moters ahead, only coming to a sudden stop when they realise you're not there by their side. When they turn back there's something vacant in their stare. "Hurry up." they say, words wavering at the end when they should hold steadfast. [[''Right. Yeah. Sorry.'' I cough, clear my head of lingering fears.|ch1-pg25-water-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''You're worried, aren't you?''|ch1-pg25-water-02][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[Nod and force myself forward.|ch1-pg25-water-01][$out to $out - 0.05]] [[''Lowrie... I think I'm scared.'' It's not an emotion I'm particularly used to feeling.|ch1-pg25-water-04][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Careful, there might be dogs about.'' They're being reckless.|ch1-pg25-water-05][$worldly to $worldly +=.05]]

"It's //fine//," Lowrie insists, worrying their bottom lip between their teeth. Back straightening, Lowrie takes a deep breath as they guide their horse over to the rotting carcass of an old home and tie it off on the porch railing. Without anything else to do, you follow; it's in the shade enough that it's cooler, but not by much. Their reigns now tied, the horses snuffle in the dirt, filtering for any inch of grass buried under the sand. Lowrie keeps their gaze trained straight ahead, cheeks ruddy in the midday sun. "It's fine," They repeat, as if trying to convince themselves, "Alright?" <<if $ch1_task is "water">>You don't answer as you collect the water containers and step back into the sun, an unsettled feeling creeping up your spine. The main street--more a track of hardened dirt--stands empty, bracketed by two lines of wooden buildings in various states of disrepair. Not a face peeks out from behind wooden slats, not a voice calles out from the nothingness.<<else>>You answer with a shrug and don't push it. Tucking your gun into a loop at your belt, you step back into the sun with an unsettled feeling sitting at your sternum. The main street--more a track of hardened dirt--stands empty, bracketed by two lines of wooden buildings in various states of disrepair. Not a face peeks out from behind wooden slats, not a voice calles out from the nothingness.<</if>> This isn't right. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>Glancing at Lowrie for guidance you don't receive, hope begins to drain from your body with every step you take. Storage. That's your path. It should be the biggest building in the settlement right... over... there. It's a few homes up, and wedged behind a cottage only a little smaller than itself. Lowrie scoffs and storms ahead of you, their water tucked under one arm, rifle held securely under the other.<<else>>Glancing at Lowrie for guidance you don't receive, hope begins to drain from your body with every step you take. Storage. That's your path. It should be the biggest building in the settlement right... over... there. It's a few homes up, and wedged behind a cottage only a little smaller than itself. Lowrie scoffs and storms ahead of you, their rufle tucked securely under an arm.<</if>> You make the journey slowly, each step cautious as if any wild movement would alert you to an invisible enemy. The thought is enough to make you shiver, ice chilling your heart and freezing you in place. There's no evidence of any battle, but it's as if... you swallow hard, memories of blood and enemies that come from nowhere momentarily stopping you in your tracks. Lowrie moters ahead, only coming to a sudden stop when they realise you're not there by their side. When they turn back there's something vacant in their stare. "Hurry up." they say, words wavering at the end when they should hold steadfast. [[''Right. Yeah. Sorry.'' I cough, clear my head of lingering fears.|ch1-pg25-water-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''You're worried, aren't you?''|ch1-pg25-water-02][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[Nod and force myself forward.|ch1-pg25-water-01][$out to $out - 0.05]] [[''Lowrie... I think I'm scared.'' It's not an emotion I'm particularly used to feeling.|ch1-pg25-water-04][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Careful, there might be dogs about.'' They're being reckless.|ch1-pg25-water-05][$worldly to $worldly +=.05]]

"Yeah," Lowrie says, but neither of you quite believe yourselves and instead fall silent. Back straightening, Lowrie takes a deep, quivering breath as they guide their horse over to the rotting carcass of an old home and tie it off on the porch railing. Without anything else to do, you follow; it's in the shade enough that it's cooler, but not by much. Their reigns now tied, the horses snuffle in the dirt, filtering for any inch of grass buried under the sand. Lowrie turns back to you only briefly enough to get another frail attempt out. Just once, to convince you. "Everyone's fine." <<if $ch1_task is "water">>You don't answer as you collect the water containers and step back into the sun, an unsettled feeling creeping up your spine. The main street--more a track of hardened dirt--stands empty, bracketed by two lines of wooden buildings in various states of disrepair. Not a face peeks out from behind wooden slats, not a voice calles out from the nothingness.<<else>>You answer with a shrug and don't push it. Tucking your gun into a loop at your belt, you step back into the sun with an unsettled feeling sitting at your sternum. The main street--more a track of hardened dirt--stands empty, bracketed by two lines of wooden buildings in various states of disrepair. Not a face peeks out from behind wooden slats, not a voice calles out from the nothingness.<</if>> This isn't right. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>Glancing at Lowrie for guidance you don't receive, hope begins to drain from your body with every step you take. Storage. That's your path. It should be the biggest building in the settlement right... over... there. It's a few homes up, and wedged behind a cottage only a little smaller than itself. Lowrie scoffs and storms ahead of you, their water tucked under one arm, rifle held securely under the other.<<else>>Glancing at Lowrie for guidance you don't receive, hope begins to drain from your body with every step you take. Storage. That's your path. It should be the biggest building in the settlement right... over... there. It's a few homes up, and wedged behind a cottage only a little smaller than itself. Lowrie scoffs and storms ahead of you, their rufle tucked securely under an arm.<</if>> You make the journey slowly, each step cautious as if any wild movement would alert you to an invisible enemy. The thought is enough to make you shiver, ice chilling your heart and freezing you in place. There's no evidence of any battle, but it's as if... you swallow hard, memories of blood and enemies that come from nowhere momentarily stopping you in your tracks. Lowrie moters ahead, only coming to a sudden stop when they realise you're not there by their side. When they turn back there's something vacant in their stare. "Hurry up." they say, words wavering at the end when they should hold steadfast. [[''Right. Yeah. Sorry.'' I cough, clear my head of lingering fears.|ch1-pg25-water-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''You're worried, aren't you?''|ch1-pg25-water-02][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[Nod and force myself forward.|ch1-pg25-water-01][$out to $out - 0.05]] [[''Lowrie... I think I'm scared.'' It's not an emotion I'm particularly used to feeling.|ch1-pg25-water-04][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Careful, there might be dogs about.'' They're being reckless.|ch1-pg25-water-05][$worldly to $worldly +=.05]]

'Nothing' may be an understatement. The first thing that hits you is the scent; a foul smell wafts through the barn, something like rotting meat permeating through the hand that clamps around your nose and mouth. Your throat bobs, stomach lurching, but you swallow down the bile that rises up from your disgust. From beside you, Lowrie just... stares, too petrified to gag or gasp for clean air. The entire barn is just... a mess. Food is scattered on the floor, half-eaten away by whatever lucky creature managed to dig their way in, and the water--shit, the clear water tank is completely empty. Your mind rages but you grit your teeth and force silence upon it. What would your $mc2_brother do? No sooner than you take the first steps inside, your companion abruptly reaches out to clamp long, twig-thin fingers around your shoulder. You take a stumbling step back just in time to feel wind rushing past your nose and the protesting creak of the barn around you as a crossbow bolt embeds itself into a wooden beam in place of your head. Following the path you notice far too late the crossbow nestled amongst bales of hay stacked high and all rigged up to the wire at your ankles. Smart. //Dangerous//, comes a growl in your mind, but smart. As you turn to Lowrie, their breath is held and their grasp on your shoulder is so tight it hurts. Those eyes don't look away, and despite your shifting body it's as if they're looking //through// you. [[''Oh, calm down, you weren't the one in the line of fire.''|ch1-pg27-water-01][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[''What the fuck was that?''|ch1-pg27-water-02][$crude to $crude + 0.05]] [[''Maybe we should recommend something like this for Eden.''|ch1-pg27-water-03][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''Are... you okay?''|ch1-pg27-water-04][$crude to $crude - 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05>>Lowrie blinks, their breath momentarily sucked in through clenched teeth before one by one they peel their fingers from your shoulder like a scolded child. "Right," They murmur, "Forget it, I'm sorry." You see them swallow hard then step over the snapped wire with a grimace. "Graham always did like his traps..." They muse, "Wouldn't be surprised if that ended up killing him." A pause. A grimace, all teeth. "Ends. Ends up killing him." Their shoulders are set in stubborn ignorance, their voice deceptively stern as they begin their journey through the mess of the barn.<</nobr>> "You knew the people here, Lowrie?" You ask, already suspecting the answer, at least in part. Your companion stops mid-stride but doesn't turn to you, silent for a time as they mull over all the possible ways they could answer. Eventually, their head shakes, a sigh ekes out in a puff of air, "Something like that." No further answer comes, and Lowrie wanders off, deeper into the barn until you can no longer see them behind all the stacks of old hay and boxes. Alone, for now. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>Discarding your canister to rid the beam of its sudden attacker, the bolt comes out with a few tugs and a reluctant groan from the aging structure around you.<<else>>You turn to the beam with the long rod of metal sticking out of it. The bolt comes out with a few tugs and a relictant groan from the aging structure around you.<</if>> The projectile is rudimentary at best; clearly made by hand with the least possible amount of time or resources spent making it perfect. Impressive, to be sure, but it must have been made purely out of what could be spared at most. The head is sharpened to a dangerous looking--ow! Blood beads on your thumb from the pinprick of a wound created by your own carelessness. It's a tiny red trickle down the side of the digit the falls to the ground and barely makes a difference in the dust, but it //stings//, perhaps worse than any real wound. [[''Shit!''|ch1-pg28-water-01][$crude to $crude + 0.05]] [[''Ow...''|ch1-pg28-water-02][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[Bite my lip and stifle the sound.|ch1-pg28-water-03][$out to $out - 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05>>Lowrie snatches their hand from your shoulder as if stung, a confused gasp startled from their throat with your exclamation. "Uh. You know." They finally gather themself enough to say, gesturing to the crossbow once more. You see them swallow hard then step over the snapped wire with a grimace. "Graham always did like his traps..." They muse, "Wouldn't be surprised if that ended up killing him." A pause. A grimace, all teeth. "Ends. Ends up killing him." Their shoulders are set in stubborn ignorance, their voice deceptively stern as they begin their journey through the mess of the barn.<</nobr>> "You knew the people here, Lowrie?" You ask, already suspecting the answer, at least in part. Your companion stops mid-stride but doesn't turn to you, silent for a time as they mull over all the possible ways they could answer. Eventually, their head shakes, a sigh ekes out in a puff of air, "Something like that." No further answer comes, and Lowrie wanders off, deeper into the barn until you can no longer see them behind all the stacks of old hay and boxes. Alone, for now. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>Discarding your canister to rid the beam of its sudden attacker, the bolt comes out with a few tugs and a reluctant groan from the aging structure around you.<<else>>You turn to the beam with the long rod of metal sticking out of it. The bolt comes out with a few tugs and a relictant groan from the aging structure around you.<</if>> The projectile is rudimentary at best; clearly made by hand with the least possible amount of time or resources spent making it perfect. Impressive, to be sure, but it must have been made purely out of what could be spared at most. The head is sharpened to a dangerous looking--ow! Blood beads on your thumb from the pinprick of a wound created by your own carelessness. It's a tiny red trickle down the side of the digit the falls to the ground and barely makes a difference in the dust, but it //stings//, perhaps worse than any real wound. [[''Shit!''|ch1-pg28-water-01][$crude to $crude + 0.05]] [[''Ow...''|ch1-pg28-water-02][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[Bite my lip and stifle the sound.|ch1-pg28-water-03][$out to $out - 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05>>Lowrie's face falls into a glare, their fingers tugged back from your shoulder, and you see their lips form around the words before you truly hear them. "Absolutely not!" Firm, //fervent//, there's almost fear in Lowrie's tone. You see them swallow hard then step over the snapped wire with a grimace. "Graham always did like his traps..." They muse, "Wouldn't be surprised if that ended up killing him." A pause. A grimace, all teeth. "Ends. Ends up killing him." Their shoulders are set in stubborn ignorance, their voice deceptively stern as they begin their journey through the mess of the barn.<</nobr>> "You knew the people here, Lowrie?" You ask, already suspecting the answer, at least in part. Your companion stops mid-stride but doesn't turn to you, silent for a time as they mull over all the possible ways they could answer. Eventually, their head shakes, a sigh ekes out in a puff of air, "Something like that." No further answer comes, and Lowrie wanders off, deeper into the barn until you can no longer see them behind all the stacks of old hay and boxes. Alone, for now. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>Discarding your canister to rid the beam of its sudden attacker, the bolt comes out with a few tugs and a reluctant groan from the aging structure around you.<<else>>You turn to the beam with the long rod of metal sticking out of it. The bolt comes out with a few tugs and a relictant groan from the aging structure around you.<</if>> The projectile is rudimentary at best; clearly made by hand with the least possible amount of time or resources spent making it perfect. Impressive, to be sure, but it must have been made purely out of what could be spared at most. The head is sharpened to a dangerous looking--ow! Blood beads on your thumb from the pinprick of a wound created by your own carelessness. It's a tiny red trickle down the side of the digit the falls to the ground and barely makes a difference in the dust, but it //stings//, perhaps worse than any real wound. [[''Shit!''|ch1-pg28-water-01][$crude to $crude + 0.05]] [[''Ow...''|ch1-pg28-water-02][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[Bite my lip and stifle the sound.|ch1-pg28-water-03][$out to $out - 0.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05>>Confusion crossing their face, Lowrie tugs their fingers free of your shoulder and finally furrows their brow. "I'm..." They start, but though their lips form around the word they //need// to say, nothing ever comes. Instead, they take a pointed step back. Distancing, you wince. You see them swallow hard then step over the snapped wire with a grimace. "Graham always did like his traps..." They muse, "Wouldn't be surprised if that ended up killing him." A pause. A grimace, all teeth. "Ends. Ends up killing him." Their shoulders are set in stubborn ignorance, their voice deceptively stern as they begin their journey through the mess of the barn.<</nobr>> "You knew the people here, Lowrie?" You ask, already suspecting the answer, at least in part. Your companion stops mid-stride but doesn't turn to you, silent for a time as they mull over all the possible ways they could answer. Eventually, their head shakes, a sigh ekes out in a puff of air, "Something like that." No further answer comes, and Lowrie wanders off, deeper into the barn until you can no longer see them behind all the stacks of old hay and boxes. Alone, for now. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>Discarding your canister to rid the beam of its sudden attacker, the bolt comes out with a few tugs and a reluctant groan from the aging structure around you.<<else>>You turn to the beam with the long rod of metal sticking out of it. The bolt comes out with a few tugs and a relictant groan from the aging structure around you.<</if>> The projectile is rudimentary at best; clearly made by hand with the least possible amount of time or resources spent making it perfect. Impressive, to be sure, but it must have been made purely out of what could be spared at most. The head is sharpened to a dangerous looking--ow! Blood beads on your thumb from the pinprick of a wound created by your own carelessness. It's a tiny red trickle down the side of the digit the falls to the ground and barely makes a difference in the dust, but it //stings//, perhaps worse than any real wound. [[''Shit!''|ch1-pg28-water-01][$crude to $crude + 0.05]] [[''Ow...''|ch1-pg28-water-02][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[Bite my lip and stifle the sound.|ch1-pg28-water-03][$out to $out - 0.05]]

You freeze as your voice bounces off the barn walls, a chill falling on your shoulders like a heavy hand. You wait, slowly turning your head to where Lowrie disappeared. Nothing, not for quite a few rapid heartbeats, until... <<if $lowrie_f > $lowrie_r>> "You okay there?" Your companion calls out, voice hoarse as if it isn't accustomed to speaking so loudly. <<else>> "You better not be dead." Your companion calls out, voice hoarse as if it isn't accustomed to speaking so loudly.<</if>> "Yeah!" You choke, watching desperately as the scratch scabs over and knits itself together far too quickly. "Just tripped!" By the time you receive a grunt in reply there's little more than a pink scar where once a wound openly bled. Jaw clenched, you wipe what remains of the blood off on your pants, pretend to be normal just a moment longer. You are 'Kin', or so that's the name people like you were given in place of less kind ones. You are a monstrous breed of people, //violent//. Inherently unstable and prone to outbursts so dire for everyone around you that they may as well treat you like a ticking time bomb. Or so, that's the prevailing story. There was a time, back before the six cities fell, where you and yours--people like you, your 'pack', that is--served as the protectors and military of the cities. You kept the peace. Being stronger, faster, //unaging//, meant that you could go places no normal human would ever want. And it was good, for a time. But when your people went mad one day and started killing each other, that all changed. The Kin would go to bed one night sane as anything, then wake up with a deep hunger that bordered on bloodlust. They would become more violent, more crazed, some even slaughtering those they cared about most just to feed that hunger. And this was a bloodlust that //spread//. The packs would soon turn on the six cities they were sworn to protect, culminating in that final night in Ledala where the Bloodbath began. This period of time was called The Fall. Every Kin that still lives after that period is to be outcast or killed, if at all possible, for their tresspass. An uncomfortable churning in your gut quickens your heart, your mind fighting off the near-silent suggestion that it's //true//. That one day, you'll wake up with a hunger that you just can't shake... and that you'll turn on your loved ones to feast. Like your $mc2_brother. Sick, in pain, and lost. If anyone finds out, a distant memory trails icy fingers through your mind, then you may as well be dead. So, no... you don't want Lowrie to turn around and see your wound stitching back together. It's better if they hate you. [[It's wise advice.|ch1-pg29-water-01][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[I don't think it's wise advice at all.|ch1-pg29-water-02][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[How should I know what's wise? Very few people know in the first place.|ch1-pg29-water-03]]

You freeze as your voice bounces off the barn walls, a chill falling on your shoulders like a heavy hand. You wait, slowly turning your head to where Lowrie disappeared. Nothing, not for quite a few rapid heartbeats, until... <<if $lowrie_f > $lowrie_r>> "You okay there?" Your companion calls out, voice hoarse as if it isn't accustomed to speaking so loudly. <<else>> "You better not be dead." Your companion calls out, voice hoarse as if it isn't accustomed to speaking so loudly.<</if>> "Yeah!" You choke, watching desperately as the scratch scabs over and knits itself together far too quickly. "Just hit my head!" By the time you receive a grunt in reply there's little more than a pink scar where once a wound openly bled. Jaw clenched, you wipe what remains of the blood off on your pants, pretend to be normal just a moment longer. You are 'Kin', or so that's the name people like you were given in place of less kind ones. You are a monstrous breed of people, //violent//. Inherently unstable and prone to outbursts so dire for everyone around you that they may as well treat you like a ticking time bomb. Or so, that's the prevailing story. There was a time, back before the six cities fell, where you and yours--people like you, your 'pack', that is--served as the protectors and military of the cities. You kept the peace. Being stronger, faster, //unaging//, meant that you could go places no normal human would ever want. And it was good, for a time. But when your people went mad one day and started killing each other, that all changed. The Kin would go to bed one night sane as anything, then wake up with a deep hunger that bordered on bloodlust. They would become more violent, more crazed, some even slaughtering those they cared about most just to feed that hunger. And this was a bloodlust that //spread//. The packs would soon turn on the six cities they were sworn to protect, culminating in that final night in Ledala where the Bloodbath began. This period of time was called The Fall. Every Kin that still lives after that period is to be outcast or killed, if at all possible, for their tresspass. An uncomfortable churning in your gut quickens your heart, your mind fighting off the near-silent suggestion that it's //true//. That one day, you'll wake up with a hunger that you just can't shake... and that you'll turn on your loved ones to feast. Like your $mc2_brother. Sick, in pain, and lost. If anyone finds out, a distant memory trails icy fingers through your mind, then you may as well be dead. So, no... you don't want Lowrie to turn around and see your wound stitching back together. It's better if they hate you. [[It's wise advice.|ch1-pg29-water-01][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[I don't think it's wise advice at all.|ch1-pg29-water-02][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[How should I know what's wise? Very few people know in the first place.|ch1-pg29-water-03]]

You freeze as you let your teeth slowly sink into tender skin, a chill falling on your shoulders like a heavy hand. You wait, slowly turning your head to where Lowrie disappeared, hoping gravely you were silent enough. Nothing, not for quite a few rapid heartbeats, until... nothing. Your shoulders relax, body going slack as you silently applaud you subtlety. Still... You click your tongue and glance around hoping Lowrie isn't there, watching desperately as the scratch scabs over and knits itself together far too quickly. You can do nothing but observe your body work on autopilot to fix itself, that one little scratch quickly turning into a little, pink, mostly healed scar. Jaw clenched, you wipe what remains of the blood off on your pants, pretend you're normal for just a moment longer. You are 'Kin', or so that's the name people like you were given in place of less kind ones. You are a monstrous breed of people, //violent//. Inherently unstable and prone to outbursts so dire for everyone around you that they may as well treat you like a ticking time bomb. Or so, that's the prevailing story. There was a time, back before the six cities fell, where you and yours--people like you, your 'pack', that is--served as the protectors and military of the cities. You kept the peace. Being stronger, faster, //unaging//, meant that you could go places no normal human would ever want. And it was good, for a time. But when your people went mad one day and started killing each other, that all changed. The Kin would go to bed one night sane as anything, then wake up with a deep hunger that bordered on bloodlust. They would become more violent, more crazed, some even slaughtering those they cared about most just to feed that hunger. And this was a bloodlust that //spread//. The packs would soon turn on the six cities they were sworn to protect, culminating in that final night in Ledala where the Bloodbath began. This period of time was called The Fall. Every Kin that still lives after that period is to be outcast or killed, if at all possible, for their tresspass. An uncomfortable churning in your gut quickens your heart, your mind fighting off the near-silent suggestion that it's //true//. That one day, you'll wake up with a hunger that you just can't shake... and that you'll turn on your loved ones to feast. Like your $mc2_brother. Sick, in pain, and lost. If anyone finds out, a distant memory trails icy fingers through your mind, then you may as well be dead. So, no... you don't want Lowrie to turn around and see your wound stitching back together. It's better if they hate you. [[It's wise advice.|ch1-pg29-water-01][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[I don't think it's wise advice at all.|ch1-pg29-water-02][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[How should I know what's wise? Very few people know in the first place.|ch1-pg29-water-03]]

Wise advice from a stranger, maybe. Or if they weren't they certainly didn't leave much of a mark. Glancing towards where Lowrie disappeared to, you drop the homemade crossbow bolt with a clatter. You can count on one hand the number of people who know; Mordred, Carol and another you don't often see. Mordred is just like you; to out you would to expose himself in a mutually assured destruction--it would be disaster. It would be glorious. The situation with Carol is somewhat more complex. You never meant to expose that part of youtself to her, but despite it all she keeps your secret. How much longer you have on that grace period, however? You can't say. There's very little in the barn that can be saved; all the water is gone and wasted, most of the food is destroyed beyond recognition--and that's even assuming you could find something to carry it in. Really, the only items that aren't completely destroyed are the medical supplies. As you rifle through an open box you find bandages, rubbing alcohol, and other necessities. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>Eden needs this, something distant in your mind reminds you, and, well, no one's here to argue. Lowrie finally emerges empty-handed, plopping their container down and standing over you with distracted interest in their eyes. "What are you doing?"<<else>>Eden needs this, something distant in your mind reminds you, and, well, no one's here to argue. Lowrie finally emerges empty-handed, standing over you with only a distracted interest in their eyes, "$mc1_name, what are you doing?"<</if>> [[''What does it look like? We could really use this stuff Lowrie.''|ch1-pg30-water-01][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05]] [[''Just taking stock of what's left. Find anything back there?''|ch1-pg30-water-02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.03]] [[''Keeping busy, mostly.''|ch1-pg30-water-03]]

And yet, for whatever reason, you still keep your secret. Glancing towards where Lowrie disappeared to, you drop the homemade crossbow bolt with a clatter. You can count on one hand the number of people who know; Mordred, Carol and another you don't often see. Mordred is just like you; to out you would to expose himself in a mutually assured destruction--but Mordred would never. //You// would never. The situation with Carol is somewhat more complex. You never meant to expose that part of youtself to her, but despite it all she keeps your secret. You like to think she'll never tell your secret, but there's always that part of you that just... worries. There's very little in the barn that can be saved; all the water is gone and wasted, most of the food is destroyed beyond recognition--and that's even assuming you could find something to carry it in. Really, the only items that aren't completely destroyed are the medical supplies. As you rifle through an open box you find bandages, rubbing alcohol, and other necessities. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>Eden needs this, something distant in your mind reminds you, and, well, no one's here to argue. Lowrie finally emerges empty-handed, plopping their container down and standing over you with distracted interest in their eyes. "What are you doing?"<<else>>Eden needs this, something distant in your mind reminds you, and, well, no one's here to argue. Lowrie finally emerges empty-handed, standing over you with only a distracted interest in their eyes, "$mc1_name, what are you doing?"<</if>> [[''What does it look like? We could really use this stuff Lowrie.''|ch1-pg30-water-01][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05]] [[''Just taking stock of what's left. Find anything back there?''|ch1-pg30-water-02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.03]] [[''Keeping busy, mostly.''|ch1-pg30-water-03]]

Mordred. And he's gone. Carol, and that whole situation is... complex. Glancing towards where Lowrie disappeared to, you drop the homemade crossbow bolt with a clatter. The matter of trust is a difficult one, and not something you feel particularly inclined towards exploring at this juncture. For now... There's very little in the barn that can be saved; all the water is gone and wasted, most of the food is destroyed beyond recognition--and that's even assuming you could find something to carry it in. Really, the only items that aren't completely destroyed are the medical supplies. As you rifle through an open box you find bandages, rubbing alcohol, and other necessities. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>Eden needs this, something distant in your mind reminds you, and, well, no one's here to argue. Lowrie finally emerges empty-handed, plopping their container down and standing over you with distracted interest in their eyes. "What are you doing?"<<else>>Eden needs this, something distant in your mind reminds you, and, well, no one's here to argue. Lowrie finally emerges empty-handed, standing over you with only a distracted interest in their eyes, "$mc1_name, what are you doing?"<</if>> [[''What does it look like? We could really use this stuff Lowrie.''|ch1-pg30-water-01][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05]] [[''Just taking stock of what's left. Find anything back there?''|ch1-pg30-water-02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.03]] [[''Keeping busy, mostly.''|ch1-pg30-water-03]]

"What? Absolutely not!" They growl, a hand on your shoulder tears you from your spot on the ground in an unexpected feat of strength. You shift back, knees momentarily threatening to buckle as your mind swims with the sudden vertigo. You spin on Lowrie, meeting their glare with one of your own, "We aren't taking anything." "No one's here, I doubt they'll miss it." You snap back, snatching your arm from their grasp with a little snarl of warning. You huff, turn away, your blood boiling hot within you. "We're running low on everything, we need something like this." "No. We don't." Lowrie hisses. Stubborn bastard. "We'll find more but not by stealing. Not from here." [[''Stop being a child. We need this whether you want to admit it or not.''|ch1-pg31-water-01][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05]] [[''Fine then waste our chance of survival, see what that gets us!''|ch1-pg31-water-03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.03]] [[''Maybe you're right. I'm sorry. I'm just...'' Scared. I don't want Eden to fail.|ch1-og31-water-04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05]] [[''Why do you care?''|ch1pg31-water-05]] <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[''Fine. We won't take anything, but we should still keep the water.''|ch1-pg31-water-02][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.03]]<</if>>

"No." Comes the steely remark, suspicion curling a snarl onto Lowrie's face. Eyes narrowed, they inspect you like you're some kind of troublesome child, nothing more than a headache. "There's nothing but this." Their foot collides gently with the box, "Which is, you know, //property of Elysium//." <<if $lowrie_f > $lowrie_r>>"Lowrie..." You begin gently, "You know we need supplies." You jaw clenches as Lowrie's stare focuses in on your prying hands. //Thin ice//. "I don't think anyone's here, and if it's just gonna go to waste otherwise..."<<else>>"Oh come on, Lowrie," You blurt out, irritation constricting your insides as you attempt to breathe through the bile starting to rise up within you. "Everyone's gone and we could use the supplies."<</if>> Lowrie shakes their head then angrily tucks a lock of hair behind their ear when it flies into their face. "I can't believe what I'm hearing," They mutter, "We can't take this." [[''Stop being a child. We need this whether you want to admit it or not.''|ch1-pg31-water-01][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05]] [[''Fine then waste our chance of survival, see what that gets us!''|ch1-pg31-water-03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.03]] [[''Maybe you're right. I'm sorry. I'm just...'' Scared. I don't want Eden to fail.|ch1-og31-water-04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05]] [[''Why do you care?''|ch1pg31-water-05]] <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[''Fine. We won't take anything, but we should still keep the water.''|ch1-pg31-water-02][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.03]]<</if>>

"Uh-huh," Comes a sighed response, suspicious eyes digging into the back of your head as you rifle through the various medical supplies availible, "'Keeping busy' by prying into the business of others?" You glance at the supplies, shrug. "I mean, you know we're running low on everything. No one's here, Lowrie, I'm just having a look." Like an explosion, Lowrie throws their arms up, "No. That's not how this works! Just because we need something doesn't mean we just //take// it from those who also need it." True. Technically. But there isn't anyone here, you think you both know that. [[''Stop being a child. We need this whether you want to admit it or not.''|ch1-pg31-water-01][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05]] [[''Fine then waste our chance of survival, see what that gets us!''|ch1-pg31-water-03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.03]] [[''Maybe you're right. I'm sorry. I'm just...'' Scared. I don't want Eden to fail.|ch1-og31-water-04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05]] [[''Why do you care?''|ch1pg31-water-05]] <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[''Fine. We won't take anything, but we should still keep the water.''|ch1-pg31-water-02][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.03]]<</if>>

<<nobr>><<set $ch1_return to "all">>Lowrie reels back as if they've just been stung, brows pinched and lips pursed as they glare at you with betrayal darkening their gaze. You hold that stare, equally unable to back down for fear of succumbing to the cruel desert that wages its silent war against you. Neither of you are children; you both know what you need to survive and if it's just sitting there waiting to be taken, well... so be it. "You're stealing from my //home//, $mc1_name," Lowrie says through desperate, heavy breaths, an admission that almost knocks you off-kilter. But not yet. "Please."<</nobr>> That'll be a matter to attend to later. <<if $crude > .5>>"They're fucking gone Lowrie," You can't help but snap. Their spine straightens, muscles all tense as the anger turns their glare into an animalistic snarl. "Who the hell knows what happened but they're not here and I'm not willing to go look for them." A dark anger boils inside of Lowrie, their fists clenched by a rage that you don't think you've seen in them before. They hold it in for but a second before it seems to escape from them entirely, and with it goes their wrath. Replaced by gritted teeth and eyes that aren't quite watery.<<else>>"They're gone Lowrie. I don't know where, but they're gone." You murmur, feeling your heart break as you watch the lanky Hunter shiver in equal parts anger and distress. You can't be sure which emotion is winning, not until they bite back a sob and turn away from you entirely.<</if>> "Oh..." They sigh, as if it's only just hit them, and the fight seeps from each muscle one by one. Crumbling in on themself like used tissue paper, Lowrie struggles to fight the quivering of their shoulders. A momentary guilt seizes your heart... before it sheds entirely, replaced by grim resolve. You'll have to be strong for the both of you, at least until you get back to Eden. Taking a deep breath in, then slowly letting it out, Lowrie takes a step, two, away from the situation, washing their hands of the decision, "We, um," They fumble over the words, tongue clumsy in their mouth, "I just think..." The words are frail, never quite find an ending, and trail off inconclusively. Lowrie takes a breath, tries again, hardening their quiet tones. "Not that you're... inclined to give me any favours but," They swallow, hard. "We need to go, just... I'd like a moment alone. Please?" [[''You sure you don't need anything else?'' I reach for their shoulder.|ch1-pg32-water-01][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Sure, whatever you need.''|ch1-pg32-water-02][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''Fine. Just don't take too long, we need to get going.''|ch1-pg32-water-03][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[I start to speak but stop myself. Best not.|ch1-pg32-water-04][$out to $out - 0.05]] [[''I'm sorry.''|ch1-pg32-water-05][$right to $right + 0.05]]

<<set $ch1_return to "water">>Lowrie's bottom lip quivers, that hard gaze momentarily faltering as they examine you, guaging your sincerity. Apparently content, their shoulders go slack. "Fine," They murmur, "I can accept that. Just don't steal from my //home//." Lowrie regrets their words as soon as they say them, the admission more a slip of the tongue than anything with any purpose. Their lips form into a thin, white line, eyes hardening until a very clear message coalesces in your mind. Don't ask. Stepping backwards, that gaze drops away entirely as they let their eyes bounce off the various disasters that scatter themselves around the far too large barn. They're... lost, you realise, lingering too long because they simply have no idea what else to do. <<if $crude > .5>>You heave a sigh, irritation curling your lips into a frown of distaste. Some semblance of empathy reminds you to be //nice// but the word seems so distant now that it may as well be an alien language. "Maybe stop whining until we're back at Eden," You can't help but snap. Their spine straightens, muscles all tense as the anger turns their glare into an animalistic snarl. "Whoever was here before is gone or dead. That happens all the time." A dark anger boils inside of Lowrie, their fists clenched by a rage that you don't think you've seen in them before. They hold it in for but a second before it seems to escape from them entirely, and with it goes their wrath.<<else>>"I think... you should be prepared for the possibility that they're all gone for good." You murmur, feeling your heart break as you watch the lanky Hunter shiver in equal parts anger and distress. You can't be sure which emotion is winning, not until they bite back a sob and turn away from you entirely. You manage a quiet apology, despite it all, but aren't sure they quite hear you.<</if>> "Oh..." They sigh, as if it's only just hit them, and the fight seeps from each muscle one by one. Crumbling in on themself like used tissue paper, Lowrie struggles to fight the quivering of their shoulders. A momentary guilt seizes your heart... before it sheds entirely, replaced by grim resolve. You'll have to be strong for the both of you, at least until you get back to Eden. Taking a deep breath in, then slowly letting it out, Lowrie takes a step, two, away from the situation, washing their hands of the decision, "We, um," They fumble over the words, tongue clumsy in their mouth, "I just think..." The words are frail, never quite find an ending, and trail off inconclusively. Lowrie takes a breath, tries again, hardening their quiet tones. "Not that you're... inclined to give me any favours but," They swallow, hard. "We need to go, just... I'd like a moment alone. Please?" [[''You sure you don't need anything else?'' I reach for their shoulder.|ch1-pg32-water-01][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Sure, whatever you need.''|ch1-pg32-water-02][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''Fine. Just don't take too long, we need to get going.''|ch1-pg32-water-03][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[I start to speak but stop myself. Best not.|ch1-pg32-water-04][$out to $out - 0.05]] [[''I'm sorry.''|ch1-pg32-water-05][$right to $right + 0.05]]

Lowrie's brows twitch together, rage setting their lips into a thin line as their eyes narrow almost imperceptively. It's as if every suspicion they ever had about you has proven correct in but a few simple words, bitterness crowding the anger out. "And I thought I was the heartless one." They murmur, "This place is a lot of things, but even I'd rather not gut my own home if I don't have to" //Oh//. That's not a fire you want to step too close to right now. Stepping backwards, their shoulders momentarily quiver as they let their eyes slide off you with a disappointed sigh. They're... tired. Of what, you could not say, but it sits bone-deep and forces their feet to freeze in place as they cast their gaze over all the little disasters scattered around the structure. <<if $crude > .5>>You heave a sigh, irritation curling your lips into a frown of distaste. Some semblance of empathy reminds you to be //nice// but the word seems so distant now that it may as well be an alien language. "Maybe stop whining until we're back at Eden," You can't help but snap. Their spine straightens, muscles all tense as the anger turns their glare into an animalistic snarl. "Whoever was here before is gone or dead. That happens all the time." A dark anger boils inside of Lowrie, their fists clenched by a rage that you don't think you've seen in them before. They hold it in for but a second before it seems to escape from them entirely, and with it goes their wrath.<<else>>"I think... you should be prepared for the possibility that they're all gone for good." You murmur, feeling your heart break as you watch the lanky Hunter shiver in equal parts anger and distress. You can't be sure which emotion is winning, not until they bite back a sob and turn away from you entirely. You manage a quiet apology, despite it all, but aren't sure they quite hear you.<</if>> "Oh..." They sigh, as if it's only just hit them, and the fight seeps from each muscle one by one. Crumbling in on themself like used tissue paper, Lowrie struggles to fight the quivering of their shoulders. A momentary guilt seizes your heart... before it sheds entirely, replaced by grim resolve. You'll have to be strong for the both of you, at least until you get back to Eden. Taking a deep breath in, then slowly letting it out, Lowrie takes a step, two, away from the situation, washing their hands of the decision, "We, um," They fumble over the words, tongue clumsy in their mouth, "I just think..." The words are frail, never quite find an ending, and trail off inconclusively. Lowrie takes a breath, tries again, hardening their quiet tones. "Not that you're... inclined to give me any favours but," They swallow, hard. "We need to go, just... I'd like a moment alone. Please?" [[''You sure you don't need anything else?'' I reach for their shoulder.|ch1-pg32-water-01][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Sure, whatever you need.''|ch1-pg32-water-02][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''Fine. Just don't take too long, we need to get going.''|ch1-pg32-water-03][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[I start to speak but stop myself. Best not.|ch1-pg32-water-04][$out to $out - 0.05]] [[''I'm sorry.''|ch1-pg32-water-05][$right to $right + 0.05]]

Lowrie's brows momentarily knit together, rage wanting to climb onto their thin face but something else entirely not allowing it to. Eyes trained on you, the anger falls and in its place is just... resignation. "Yeah..." They murmur, "Me too." Stepping backwards, their shoulders momentarily quiver as they let their eyes slide off you with a tiny sigh. They don't bother looking at you, anything they may have once wanted to say entirely disippated as they struggle on a hard mask unwilling to solidify. Lowrie lingers as they stare at the ruined guts of the barn, a weariness settling over their shoulders like a heavy burden. <<if $crude > .5>>You heave a sigh, irritation curling your lips into a frown of distaste. Some semblance of empathy reminds you to be //nice// but the word seems so distant now that it may as well be an alien language. "Maybe stop whining until we're back at Eden," You can't help but snap. Their spine straightens, muscles all tense as the anger turns their glare into an animalistic snarl. "Whoever was here before is gone or dead. That happens all the time." A dark anger boils inside of Lowrie, their fists clenched by a rage that you don't think you've seen in them before. They hold it in for but a second before it seems to escape from them entirely, and with it goes their wrath.<<else>>"I think... you should be prepared for the possibility that they're all gone for good." You murmur, feeling your heart break as you watch the lanky Hunter shiver in equal parts anger and distress. You can't be sure which emotion is winning, not until they bite back a sob and turn away from you entirely. You manage a quiet apology, despite it all, but aren't sure they quite hear you.<</if>> "Oh..." They sigh, as if it's only just hit them, and the fight seeps from each muscle one by one. Crumbling in on themself like used tissue paper, Lowrie struggles to fight the quivering of their shoulders. A momentary guilt seizes your heart... before it sheds entirely, replaced by grim resolve. You'll have to be strong for the both of you, at least until you get back to Eden. Taking a deep breath in, then slowly letting it out, Lowrie takes a step, two, away from the situation, washing their hands of the decision, "We, um," They fumble over the words, tongue clumsy in their mouth, "I just think..." The words are frail, never quite find an ending, and trail off inconclusively. Lowrie takes a breath, tries again, hardening their quiet tones. "Not that you're... inclined to give me any favours but," They swallow, hard. "We need to go, just... I'd like a moment alone. Please?" [[''You sure you don't need anything else?'' I reach for their shoulder.|ch1-pg32-water-01][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Sure, whatever you need.''|ch1-pg32-water-02][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''Fine. Just don't take too long, we need to get going.''|ch1-pg32-water-03][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[I start to speak but stop myself. Best not.|ch1-pg32-water-04][$out to $out - 0.05]] [[''I'm sorry.''|ch1-pg32-water-05][$right to $right + 0.05]]

<<if $ch1_return is "all">>"Don't fucking touch me." Lowrie whispers, slapping you off with a low hiss inside their throat. Snatching your hand back as if burned, you can only stare at the back of their head as they stare at the ruined barn. It's as if they're trying to burn each and every detail into their mind, as if the longing for a family they willingly left behind roots them to their place. You say nothing and step out of the barn with one last lingering glance at [[your grieving companion.|ch1-pg34-water]]<<elseif $ch1_return is "water">>Lowrie listlessly shrugs you off, their eyes trained completely away as a low hiss rumbles in their throat. As you take your spurned hand back, you can only stare at the back of their head. They can't look away from the ruined barn, attempting with each heavy breath to burn the last remaining bastion of Elysium into their retinas. You say nothing and step out of the barn with one last lingering glance at [[your grieving companion.|ch1-pg34-water]]<<else>>As your fingers connect with their thin shoulder something within Lowrie breaks. Jaw falling slack, their eyes don't quite meet your own for a good minute as they struggle to find the words. Well, they never were much of a talker anyway. Their fingers twitch as if trying to reach for you, but you can't be sure whether they want to hug you, push you away, or punch you. [[And I'm not waiting to find out. I step out of their space.|ch1-pg33-water-01]] [[They have to be asking for a hug, right? I gently pull them into one.|ch1-pg33-water-02]] [[I honestly can't be sure, so I wait for them to decide.|ch1-pg33-water-03]]<</if>>

You don't receive a response, nothing more, at least, than a vague nod that doesn't quite reach those eyes. A part of you considers saying more before quickly thinking better of it. Lowrie will come out when they're ready. You say nothing and step out of the barn with one last lingering glance at [[your grieving companion.|ch1-pg34-water]]

There's an almost imperceptable twitch to Lowrie's shoulders in response but nothing more, their head cradled by that long hair of theirs as if to block you out entirely. A part of you feels like you should stay, try what you know will be in vain to help ease that heavy burden, but you stop yourself before you break them even more. It's not your place. You say nothing and step out of the barn with one last lingering glance at [[your grieving companion.|ch1-pg34-water]]

Preferring not to break them more than they already are, you simply observe Lowrie for the briefest of moments before a gesture of their hand essentially shoos you away. It's a stiff-jointed, little wave, one that tells you exactly how unwanted you are. You don't respond and step out of the barn with one last lingering glance at [[your grieving companion.|ch1-pg34-water]]

Nothing in response but a shaky sigh that huffs out from Lowrie's chest like a ghost. They don't turn to look at you, they don't give you a crude gesture, they barely even twitch, and so you think better of lingering. You say nothing and step out of the barn with one last lingering glance at [[your grieving companion.|ch1-pg34-water]]

Lowrie stops halfway through the motion, their body stiffening like frozen water in the dead of these disastrous nights. Eyes flashing with momentary betrayal, they wrestle their expression into something resembling apathy and force themself to take a very uncertain step back. With a jaw locked up, that furrowed brow finally returns after far too long simply staring at you. "I'm fine." They cough, hiding an ever-growing scowl behind their tipped hat. Suddenly, you feel like a fool. "Lowrie--" You try to say but they're already turning away. "I'm. Fine." A confirmation that's barely comforting at all is all the reply you receive, but you don't challenge them, not now. [[Instead you leave them to their grief.|ch1-pg34-water]]

<<nobr>><<set $lowrie_hug to true>><<set $lowrie_a to $lowrie_a +.1>>Lowrie's thin body bends around you like a wiry tree in violent winds, hot breath hitching against your neck as they let you guide them into an embrace. Perhaps the most surprising aspect of it is that they let you touch them at all nevermind the hug, but you don't voice the concern as their heart beats through their ribcage to bat against your chest like an ever-persistant drum.<</nobr>> Neither of you speak; Lowrie just clings to you like you're the only thing that's real, and you simply let your fingers glide up and down their back in what you hope is a comforting gesture. Shit, but you're not good at this, your motions feel clumsy and something about hugging Lowrie at all feels wrong. You wouldn't describe your relationship as friendly at all, you just don't often get on, but this, however awkward, is the least you can do, right? Lowrie's the one who has to pull away first, slowly unwinding their long limbs from you, sniffling like it's cold as they turn away from you completely. You don't mention the wet that now seeps into your shoulder, and they don't mention their quivering hands as they hastily wipe at their eyes. "Thank you." They murmur, almost too quiet for you to hear. "It's..." There aren't really any words to describe moments like these so you simply let the words trail off into nothing, the unfinished sentence hanging over your heads like your heavy hearts and the empty town around you. No, instead you lick your lips and, with one last lingering look at Lowrie's turned back, [[you step out of the barn.|ch1-pg34-water]]

<<nobr>> <<set $lowrie_hug to true>><<set $lowrie_a to $lowrie_a +.1>>You don't quite pull away when Lowrie's long limbs wrap around you like a thin blanket that does little to shield you from any elements real or imagined. Standing still as a board, discomfort swells in your chest as the lanky tower of a person bends themself halfway over you just to bury their head into your shoulder. Swallowing hard, you attempt to return the embrace as best you can when your limbs are pinned to your sides with little chance to escape.<</nobr>> With Lowrie's hot breath against your neck and their heart beating through their ribcage like it's trying to shoot into your own chest, you can do nothing but stand there and let them take what comfort they can glean from your stiff body and tightly held breath. When they pull away their sheepish expression is halfway hidden by the tilt of their hat, and completely obscured when they turn away completely. "Thank you." They murmur, almost too quiet for you to hear. "It's..." There aren't really any words to describe moments like these so you simply let the words trail off into nothing, the unfinished sentence hanging over your heads like your heavy hearts and the empty town around you. No, instead you lick your lips and, with one last lingering look at Lowrie's turned back, [[you step out of the barn.|ch1-pg34-water]]

Just as silent as you left it, the world outside is just as still and deserted. If it weren't so unsettling; if not a week ago there hadn't been the constant murmur of conversation, of the occasional child running amok, or Hunters going about their duties, it might just be peaceful. As it is now, however, the feel of eyes burning holes into your skull from all sides isn't something you can shake. And so you wait. Lowrie emerges from the barn after five minutes or so, their skin splotched red but their expression hardened like steel. "Carol should know about this." They say, tapping you on the shoulder as they lead you back towards the horses still tied up and waiting with impatient stomps of their hooves. <<if $ch1_return is "all">> You each silently secure the supplies in your saddlebags and untie the horses, but before you can climb on, something stops you. It's a wayward thought in your mind, seperate from the violence; it tells you to just say //something// to Lowrie. Anything.<<elseif $ch1_return is "water">> You each silently secure the water on your respective saddles and untie the horses, but before you can climb on, something stops you. It's a wayward thought in your mind, seperate from the violence; it tells you to just say //something// to Lowrie. Anything.<<else>> You each untie your horses and tighten up your saddles, but before you can climb on, something stops you. It's a wayward thought in your mind, seperate from the violence; it tells you to just say //something// to Lowrie. Anything.<</if>> [[''I'm sorry.''|ch1-pg35-water-01]] [[''I don't know how to explain what happened here.''|ch1-pg35-water-02]] [[But I don't speak. I don't think I should.|ch1-pg35-water-03]] [[''Carol's gonna be pissed.''|ch1-pg35-water-04]]

Lowrie doesn't speak for a long time, and as you spare a glance at them they aren't quite looking at you. When they catch your gaze they shake their head, and climb onto the horse with a grunt. "Don't worry about it." Is all the reply you receive, but those four little words are so empty, numb, you almost stop completely just to stare. Instead you climb on the damn horse and kick off back to Eden. [[Continue|ch1-pg36]]

Lowrie doesn't speak for a long time, and as you spare a glance at them they aren't quite looking at you. When they catch your gaze they shake their head, and climb onto the horse with a grunt. "Yeah. me neither." Is all the reply you receive, but those three little words are so empty, numb, you almost stop completely just to stare. Instead you climb on the damn horse and kick off back to Eden. [[Continue|ch1-pg36]]

If you speak you're afraid of what just might come out of your clumsy mouth. You're not someone of soft words and tact; that was always your $mc2_brother's wheelhouse. With your jaw clenched, you pretend you don't notice when Lowrie heaves out a weary sigh and scrambles onto their horse. They probably have the right idea of it, and so you follow. You're not going to enjoy breaking the news to $carol_name. [[Continue|ch1-pg36]]

"//Caroline//." Lowrie corrects you on instinct but quickly falls silent with a hitched gasp that sounds halfway to a sob. You don't mention it and neither do they, both your backs turned to one another as if that's enough just to pretend nothing's wrong. You don't see it but Lowrie climbs onto their horse with a heavy sigh, and in that moment you feel like saying something, anything, other than a jab dripping with sarcasm. Instead you say nothing and climb on the damn horse, kicking off back to Eden. [[Continue|ch1-pg36]]

"Gone?" Carol's gasp is like a punch to the gut to Lowrie as she stares at the two of you from across the bar. Their grey eyes drag down to their feet, boots kicking at the dust as they struggle with a series of complicated emotions you can't quite place. The track back to Eden was a mostly silent save for the few words exchanged only when needed. All else went ignored or unheard to save Lowrie their dignity. You could but give them that much. Carol takes a breath, notices her partner's discomfort, and clicks her jaw shut as she considers the situation. "Alright..." She says slowly, bundling up her apron and all but throwing it at Harley as they shift to take her place. They offer a look steeped in meaning, before turning it on Lowrie, who doesn't so much as shrug in reply. "Come upstairs with me, both of you." Lowrie stalks ahead of you, overlong limbs held close to their body like they're tied together and as they pass, Harley opens their mouth as if to speak for the first time since you've met them. In the end, nothing escapes the tight confines of their lips, and they regretfully turn away. [[Pat Lowrie on the shoulder in silent solidarity.|ch1-pg3701][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05]] [["It'll be aright. We'll find 'em," I say as I gently nudge Lowrie with my shoulder.|ch1-pg3702][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + 0.05]] [[I don't know how to comfort them, so I don't.|ch1-pg3703][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]] [[I don't want to comfort them. They'll find their own way to it.|ch1-pg3704][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]] [[Give Harley a stiff-lipped smile.|ch1-pg3705][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]]

Lowrie is silent, their lips pursing as if they're prepared to spit out an insult. However, in the next moment their shoulders slacken, the silence stretching on in a way that convinces you they're simply neglecting to answer. Eventually, they sigh, but don't turn to you, "Something like that." Their brow creases, but it isn't in anger. It's conflict. You don't press the issue. Time passes; you're not sure how long. Desert blends into more desert, more desert blends into old shrubbery and thorns that somehow still persist despite it all. Time out here in Wasteland is nebulous, nothing but a construct that may as well mean nothing when it comes to matters of survival. All Wasteland knows is the scorching heat of day and the bitter cold of night, and Ancients help you if you get lost in either. At some point after their begrudging appreciation Lowrie turns to you once more, sweat dripping from the end of their impossibly straight nose. <<if $carol_f > $carol_r>>Though they try to put on that usual blank mask, perhaps for your benefit, the expression just... doesn't fit their face. "I only say this nicely because Carol seems to like you," They start, "But if we can get the job done quickly, we can part ways without conflict."<<else>>There's a scowl written clear as day, something incredulous and childish in their stare. "Let's just get this job done. I don't want to work with you any longer than I have to."<</if>> The statement gives you pause, enough at least that for a few seconds as Lowrie turns away you can only stare agape at them. Indeed, even your usually active mind seems stunned to silence. [[''I'm sorry?''|ch1-pg19-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''What did I ever do to you?''|ch1-pg19-02][$right to $right + 0.05]] [[''Who spat in your drink this morning?''|ch1-pg19-03][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[''Oh piss off you prat! I never did shit to you.''|ch1-pg19-04][$crude to $crude + 0.05]]

All you receive in response is a narrow-eyed glare as Lowrie stomps gracelessly through the sand. With no other option you follow, ignoring the nervous twitch that changes their gait. As the two of you pass a shack that's a bit more patched up than the rest, Lowrie reaches over with their spindly arms and pushes the door open. Nothing. There's no protest from any occupant, no evidence of any struggle, no proof that anyone was ever there in the first place. Indeed, if anyone was ever there at all it's almost as if they simply packed up and left. Lowrie flinches, their jaw clenching, but they turn away before you can say anything, thin shoulders pulled up tight by their ears. You move on in silence. 'Storage' is essentially a barn filled with everything a given settlement in Wasteland could conceivably need: food, water, and weapons. Every settlement has one, though $carol_name likes to keep stock of her alcohol under the bar back home. The doors are old, large, and heavy, made mostly of wood and rusted metal that barely keeps it intact; the latch that kept it closed now nothing but broken, sharp pieces of old metal. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>"Help me push this open, will you?" Lowrie finally says after an excruciating moment of deep breaths and their usual glare, dropping the water into the dust like discarded trash. You follow, bracing yourself against the door and with a count to three the two of you shove the huge barn door open to reveal... [[nothing.|ch1-pg26-water]]<<else>>"Help me push this open, will you?" Lowrie finally says after an excruciating moment of deep breaths and their usual glare. You follow, bracing yourself against the door and with a count to three the two of you shove the huge barn door open to reveal... [[nothing.|ch1-pg26-water]]<</if>>

"I'm //not//," Lowrie says stubbornly, a wild spark in their eye that reminds you of a cornered animal. It's a lie neither of you particularly believe, but you keep your lips sealed, don't press. The last thing you want is to set them off like that gun in their hands. "Everything is..." Lowrie sighs, running out of words to say and stomp gracelessly through the sand. With no other option you follow, ignoring the nervous twitch that changes their gait. As the two of you pass a shack that's a bit more patched up than the rest, Lowrie reaches over with their spindly arms and pushes the door open. Nothing. There's no protest from any occupant, no evidence of any struggle, no proof that anyone was ever there in the first place. Indeed, if anyone was ever there at all it's almost as if they simply packed up and left. Lowrie flinches, their jaw clenching, but they turn away before you can say anything, thin shoulders pulled up tight by their ears. You move on in silence. 'Storage' is essentially a barn filled with everything a given settlement in Wasteland could conceivably need: food, water, and weapons. Every settlement has one, though $carol_name likes to keep stock of her alcohol under the bar back home. The doors are old, large, and heavy, made mostly of wood and rusted metal that barely keeps it intact; the latch that kept it closed now nothing but broken, sharp pieces of old metal. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>"Help me push this open, will you?" Lowrie finally says after an excruciating moment of deep breaths and their usual glare, dropping the water into the dust like discarded trash. You follow, bracing yourself against the door and with a count to three the two of you shove the huge barn door open to reveal... [[nothing.|ch1-pg26-water]]<<else>>"Help me push this open, will you?" Lowrie finally says after an excruciating moment of deep breaths and their usual glare. You follow, bracing yourself against the door and with a count to three the two of you shove the huge barn door open to reveal... [[nothing.|ch1-pg26-water]]<</if>>

It's the silence. Something about it has you on edge, teeth aching. You pinch some skin between your fingers and feel the raging animal in your head protest with a huff of acrid breath. It doesn't //hurt// per se, but it does allow for a bit of discomfort as you worry at that spot. Plenty enough to have you on alert. Just in case. "You think you're--" That stops Lowrie in their tracks, your companion actually halting to turn a perplexed stare on you that quickly morphs into an angry narrowing of eyes, "Don't be. Nothing's wrong." Turning away, they stomp gracelessly through the sand. With no other option you follow, ignoring the nervous twitch that changes their gait. As the two of you pass a shack that's a bit more patched up than the rest, Lowrie reaches over with their spindly arms and pushes the door open. Nothing. There's no protest from any occupant, no evidence of any struggle, no proof that anyone was ever there in the first place. Indeed, if anyone was ever there at all it's almost as if they simply packed up and left. Lowrie flinches, their jaw clenching, but they turn away before you can say anything, thin shoulders pulled up tight by their ears. You move on in silence. 'Storage' is essentially a barn filled with everything a given settlement in Wasteland could conceivably need: food, water, and weapons. Every settlement has one, though $carol_name likes to keep stock of her alcohol under the bar back home. The doors are old, large, and heavy, made mostly of wood and rusted metal that barely keeps it intact; the latch that kept it closed now nothing but broken, sharp pieces of old metal. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>"Help me push this open, will you?" Lowrie finally says after an excruciating moment of deep breaths and their usual glare, dropping the water into the dust like discarded trash. You follow, bracing yourself against the door and with a count to three the two of you shove the huge barn door open to reveal... [[nothing.|ch1-pg26-water]]<<else>>"Help me push this open, will you?" Lowrie finally says after an excruciating moment of deep breaths and their usual glare. You follow, bracing yourself against the door and with a count to three the two of you shove the huge barn door open to reveal... [[nothing.|ch1-pg26-water]]<</if>>

Before we start, this game has a variety of love interests for you to choose from, all varying in gender identity. Some, however, can appear as a few different options that you may now choose. [[Keep them as they originally are.|rochoice02][$rogender to "default"]] [[I want them all to be women.|rochoice02][$rogender to "female"]] [[I want them all to be men.|rochoice02][$rogender to "male"]] [[I want them all to be non-binary.|rochoice02][$rogender to "non"]] [[I want to choose as they appear.|rochoice02][$rogender to "choice"]]

<<nobr>><<if $rogender is "default">><<set $allard_gender to "male">><<set $ridley_gender to "non">><<set $dagda_gender to "female">><<elseif $rogender is "female">><<set $allard_gender to "female">><<set $ridley_gender to "female">><<set $dagda_gender to "female">><<set $erato_gender to "female">><<set $strix_gender to "female">><<set $kim_gender to "female">><<elseif $rogender is "male">><<set $allard_gender to "male">><<set $ridley_gender to "male">><<set $dagda_gender to "male">><<set $erato_gender to "male">><<set $kim_gender to "male">><<elseif $rogender is "non">><<set $allard_gender to "non">><<set $ridley_gender to "non">><<set $dagda_gender to "non">><<set $kim_gender to "non">><<set $strix_gender to "non">><<else>><</if>> Okay. Some love interests are now <<if $rogender is "non">>non-binary<<elseif $rogender is "choice">>selectable upon meeting them in-game<<else>>$rogender<</if>>. Others remain as they ever have been.<</nobr>> That should be all, please feel free to [[continue.|prologue]]

Hi there folks! Unfortunately, this is the end of the demo for City of Immortals //for now// but more is to come! I'd appreciate any feedback you can spare, and you can give it via my blog on tumblr, Rotten-games, but if you'd rather just play the game and be gone, more power to you! I'd suggest you save here so you don't lose your progress, but before that I just want to thank you for taking the time to read my little demo. I appreciate it a lot. A lot is going to change during the course of this game's development, so I hope you stick around for it!

<<if $lowrie_f > $lowrie_r>>As soon as your hand makes contact with Lowrie's thin shoulder they shrug you off. Gray eyes glance back at you, staring down with a tight expression morphed by a silent grief. Their head shakes, almost imperceptable, black hair falling across the agony worn on their face like a veil. That says enough for you; don't. Your hand pulls back to your side, resting at your hip as if you're prepared to fight away their woes. Oh, and that would be easier, wouldn't it?<<else>>Your hand falls heavy on Lowrie's shoulder, and they jerk from your grasp like the touch alone was enough to burn them. Glancing back with their stringy body held tight, their guard is a veil of black hair, narrow grey eyes glaring futilely your way in a silent declaration you don't need words to understand. Do not touch. Snatching your hand back to rest it at your hip, Lowrie turns away with barely a sound and stomps further ahead.<</if>> You can do nothing but stare at the back of their bowed head, their thin back bent like a snapped twig. The staircase seemingly shoved last-minute into the corner of the first floor leads to the cramped landing that predominantly houses any non-combatants in Eden; children or the elderly, or otherwise those who cannot or are unwilling to pick up a gun. The rooms that are occupied have slowly dwindled over the past few years, it seems every time something big happens someone ends up leaving, or dying because of it. Nowadays 'community' is often used to refer to Eden in the past tense, like the bodies you found days, weeks after someone chose to leave the safety of home. You grimace, try not to consider the thought. [[That could be Mordred right now, somewhere in Wasteland with nowhere else to go.|ch1pg3801]] [[One day that could be me. This isn't going to be my home forever.|ch1pg3802]] [[If nothing else, I hope those we've lost rest peacefully now.|ch1pg3803]]

Lowrie meets you with a dull-eyed stare, those narrow grey eyes barely registering your closeness as the two of you drag your dusty selves after Caroline. Even when you nudge them, the stringy body walking beside you seems more an empty husk propelled forward by the last remnants of their dying soul. Eyes rimmed in red, they turn away just as quickly and pass you before you can say anything more. You're abandoned to follow on your own. You can do nothing but stare at the back of their bowed head, their thin back bent like a snapped twig. The staircase seemingly shoved last-minute into the corner of the first floor leads to the cramped landing that predominantly houses any non-combatants in Eden; children or the elderly, or otherwise those who cannot or are unwilling to pick up a gun. The rooms that are occupied have slowly dwindled over the past few years, it seems every time something big happens someone ends up leaving, or dying because of it. Nowadays 'community' is often used to refer to Eden in the past tense, like the bodies you found days, weeks after someone chose to leave the safety of home. You grimace, try not to consider the thought. [[That could be Mordred right now, somewhere in Wasteland with nowhere else to go.|ch1pg3801]] [[One day that could be me. This isn't going to be my home forever.|ch1pg3802]] [[If nothing else, I hope those we've lost rest peacefully now.|ch1pg3803]]

The words don't seem to be adequate enough to thoroughly console Lowrie for what they're going through, though a pang of familiar sympathetic yearning coils ugly strings around your heart and pulls until you can no longer breath. The wolf at the back of your mind laughs at such weakness. Though behind it lies a decade of madness born from isolation. You can do nothing but stare in silence at the back of their bowed head, their thin back bent like a snapped twig. The staircase seemingly shoved last-minute into the corner of the first floor leads to the cramped landing that predominantly houses any non-combatants in Eden; children or the elderly, or otherwise those who cannot or are unwilling to pick up a gun. The rooms that are occupied have slowly dwindled over the past few years, it seems every time something big happens someone ends up leaving, or dying because of it. Nowadays 'community' is often used to refer to Eden in the past tense, like the bodies you found days, weeks after someone chose to leave the safety of home. You grimace, try not to consider the thought. [[That could be Mordred right now, somewhere in Wasteland with nowhere else to go.|ch1pg3801]] [[One day that could be me. This isn't going to be my home forever.|ch1pg3802]] [[If nothing else, I hope those we've lost rest peacefully now.|ch1pg3803]]

It's not your place to carve your way into someone else's mourning, understand it though you may. You feel for Lowrie, really you do, but some moments are better left to other, closer, people in their life. Your gaze drifts to Carol. Worry tightens her shoulders. You can do nothing but stare at the back of their bowed head, their thin back bent like a snapped twig. The staircase seemingly shoved last-minute into the corner of the first floor leads to the cramped landing that predominantly houses any non-combatants in Eden; children or the elderly, or otherwise those who cannot or are unwilling to pick up a gun. The rooms that are occupied have slowly dwindled over the past few years, it seems every time something big happens someone ends up leaving, or dying because of it. Nowadays 'community' is often used to refer to Eden in the past tense, like the bodies you found days, weeks after someone chose to leave the safety of home. You grimace, try not to consider the thought. [[That could be Mordred right now, somewhere in Wasteland with nowhere else to go.|ch1pg3801]] [[One day that could be me. This isn't going to be my home forever.|ch1pg3802]] [[If nothing else, I hope those we've lost rest peacefully now.|ch1pg3803]]

Harley matches the grim expression only briefly, their hands scrunching up the rag in absent worry. Dark brown--almost black--eyes fall upon Lowrie as soon as they turn their gaze from you, and remain until they cannot see your companion any longer. You can do nothing but stare at the back of their bowed head, their thin back bent like a snapped twig. The staircase seemingly shoved last-minute into the corner of the first floor leads to the cramped landing that predominantly houses any non-combatants in Eden; children or the elderly, or otherwise those who cannot or are unwilling to pick up a gun. The rooms that are occupied have slowly dwindled over the past few years, it seems every time something big happens someone ends up leaving, or dying because of it. Nowadays 'community' is often used to refer to Eden in the past tense, like the bodies you found days, weeks after someone chose to leave the safety of home. You grimace, try not to consider the thought. [[That could be Mordred right now, somewhere in Wasteland with nowhere else to go.|ch1pg3801]] [[One day that could be me. This isn't going to be my home forever.|ch1pg3802]] [[If nothing else, I hope those we've lost rest peacefully now.|ch1pg3803]]

If he's out there at all, you have a difficult time picturing him dead. But if he's dead... not for the first time, loneliness clenches around your throat. Carol leads the two of you to the very final door situated on the landing, kicking it open to reveal the cramped room she often shares with Lowrie. It's a tight fit amongst the ratty curtains that separate different parts of the room, creating a sort of pathway through that eventually leads to the faded, low-set table sat by the window. Shoved up close to the windowsil is a big, black box of a thing, half-falling apart but somehow murmuring constantly with low crackles of static. A communicator. You don't quite understand how it works; it's old technology from before all the sand came crashing in, just that it seems to be powered by the sun and almost every settlement has one. They have to, to communicate. Carol plops herself down, readjusts the artificial flowers falling apart bit-by-bit, then gestures for the both of you to follow her. Lowrie seats themself like lead. You don't feel much better when you hit the ground beside them. "So tell me what happened. In detail." Dull, grey eyes meet your own, Carol's burnt amber ones inspect the both of you as if she's conducting an interrogation. [[Lowrie's in no state to talk right now, I'll explain.|ch1pg3901][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + .05]] [[Let Lowrie tell Carol about it. It's their home.|ch1pg3902][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + .05]]

Ancients guide them on their way... Carol leads the two of you to the very final door situated on the landing, kicking it open to reveal the cramped room she, and occasionally Lowrie, reside. It's a tight fit amongst the ratty curtains that separate different parts of the room, creating a sort of pathway through that eventually leads to the faded, low-set table sat by the window. Shoved up close to the windowsil is a big, black box of a thing, half-falling apart but somehow murmuring constantly with low crackles of static. A communicator. You don't quite understand how it works; it's old technology from before all the sand came crashing in, just that is seems to be powered by the sun and almost every settlement has one. They have to, to communicate. Carol plops herself down, readjusts the artificial flowers falling apart bit-by-bit, then gestures for the both of you to follow her. Lowrie seats themself like lead. You don't feel much better when you hit the ground beside them. "So tell me what happened. In detail." Dull, grey eyes meet your own, Carol's burnt amber ones inspect the both of you as if she's conducting an interrogation. [[Lowrie's in no state to talk right now, I'll explain.|ch1pg3901][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + .05]] [[Let Lowrie tell Carol about it. It's their home.|ch1pg3902][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + .05]]

Eden won't accept you forever, or it won't survive forever. Whatever comes first, you'll be ready to set off on your own. If you happen to die in the process, well, you've certainly lived a life, if not a good one. Carol leads the two of you to the very final door situated on the landing, kicking it open to reveal the cramped room she, and occasionally Lowrie, reside. It's a tight fit amongst the ratty curtains that separate different parts of the room, creating a sort of pathway through that eventually leads to the faded, low-set table sat by the window. Shoved up close to the windowsil is a big, black box of a thing, half-falling apart but somehow murmuring constantly with low crackles of static. A communicator. You don't quite understand how it works; it's old technology from before all the sand came crashing in, just that is seems to be powered by the sun and almost every settlement has one. They have to, to communicate. Carol plops herself down, readjusts the artificial flowers falling apart bit-by-bit, then gestures for the both of you to follow her. Lowrie seats themself like lead. You don't feel much better when you hit the ground beside them. "So tell me what happened. In detail." Dull, grey eyes meet your own, Carol's burnt amber ones inspect the both of you as if she's conducting an interrogation. [[Lowrie's in no state to talk right now, I'll explain.|ch1pg3901][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + .05]] [[Let Lowrie tell Carol about it. It's their home.|ch1pg3902][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r + .05]]

Before Lowrie can answer you snatch up the option before their eyes. "When we got to Elysium, no one was there," You say, ignoring the glare you get for your troubles--they'll thank you later. As you explain the specifics of the situation, you find yourself increasingly lacking the right words to describe what you experienced. More than once, you find yourself pausing, struggling with words, and more than once a part of you doubts Lowrie would be able to get through the interrogation on their own. You arms fold, back straightening as you give Carol a frown. <<if $ch1_return is "all">>Lowrie flinches as you prepare your next words, "There were still some medical supplies in storage, so we gathered everything up and brought that and our own things back with us, figured no one else was going to use them." You feel that glare renew beside you. Carol remains passive, one thick brow raising as she considers you. Finally, she looks away, avoiding the probing glance her partner gives her. "It's not as if we don't need it... Ancients, since when did we steal from dead settlements?" "They //aren't// dead," Lowrie insists, almost as certain as you are about Mordred coming back. Oh, the lies you both tell yourselves. "And if they were it wouldn't be theft." Dead men need not material goods, you suppose.<<elseif $ch1_return is "water">>Lowrie's head bows, like a weight has been strapped to their neck as they prepare for your next declaration, "We brought the water back, figured we can still use it even if Elysium can't." You don't turn to face the dull stare beside you, but Carol meets you with a grimace. "Yeah," She reluctantly agrees, "It's just gonna sit outside and dry up, otherwise."<<else>>You swallow hard, uncertainty hollowing out in your chest as you prepare yourself for your next declaration. "We left everything as it was. We... didn't know if anyone was gonna come back and..." <<if $ch1_task is "water">>"The water?" Carol asks, brows furrowing as she glances at her partner. "You just left it." You shrug, feeling like a child. "Ancients help us." She mutters.<<else>>Carol sighs, for a moment barelt registering your words, before allowing a slow shake of the head. "You were right," She says, "We don't know. You... made the right call, I think."<</if>><</if>> As she massages her temples, Carol attempts in vain to come up with the solution to a problem you barely know the full scope of, amber eyes dragging across to her red-faced paramour with guarded concern. "Go find Harley, Lowrie. They'll take care of you." They barely nod let alone acknowledge her request, but stand on spindly legs all the same, stumbling back through the maze of curtains. Carol just watches them go until the door creaks shut, then those eyes fall on you, brows pinched purpetually. "I don't know how much they told you..." She begins, cautiously, a slow frown pinching in the middle of her face. Her brown eyes shift sideways towards the window, catching the sun in such a way as they almost resemble a dying flame in the dead of night. "But I;m gonna need you to take on some heavier duties while they--" her lips clamp tight around her teeth for a little while, cutting off whatever it was that was just too much to share. You don't probe, knowing when it's a step too far. Eventually, she settles, "--Recuperate." [[''Of course, whatever you need.''|ch1pg4001][$carol_f to $carol_f + .05]] [[''Are you going to do anything about this?''|ch1pg4002][$carol_r to $carol_r +.03]] [[''I see how it is. Bend the rules for Lowrie but not for me.''|ch1pg4003][$carol_r to $carol_r +.05]] [[''Can Harley handle them like this?''|ch1pg4004][$carol_f to $carol_f +.03]] [[''I know Lowrie's not okay, but what about you? You seem...'' Worn down.|ch1pg4005][$carol_f to $carol_f +=.05]]

Lowrie doesn't wait for you to start speaking anyway, thin arms folding protectively over their chest. "When--" They cough, "When we got to Elysium, it was completely deserted--I checked one of the homes, no one was there, but there was no one in the rest of the place, either," they slowly say. As they explain the specifics of the situation, increasingly they stumble over their words, pausing for too long or struggling to handle the emotions circling inside their mind like sharks. More than once, you consider taking over for them, and more than once you convince yourself not to. You arms fold, back straightening as you give Carol a frown. <<if $ch1_return is "all">>Lowrie finally shoots you with a glare, "This one decided to come back with our supplies //and// the medical supplies $mc1_he found in Elysium's storage." It's like they're ratting you out to your mother, with the way Carol stares. She remains passive, one thick brow raising as she considers you. Finally, she looks away, avoiding the probing glance her partner gives her. "It's not as if we don't need it... Ancients, since when did we steal from dead settlements?" "They //aren't// dead," Lowrie insists, almost as certain as you are about Mordred coming back. Oh, the lies you both tell yourselves. "And if they were it wouldn't be theft." Dead men need not material goods, you suppose.<<elseif $ch1_return is "water">>Lowrie's head bows, like a weight has been strapped to their neck as they prepare for your next declaration, "We brought the water back, figured we can still use it even if Elysium can't." You don't turn to face the dull stare beside you, but Carol meets you with a grimace. "Yeah," She reluctantly agrees, "It's just gonna sit outside and dry up, otherwise."<<else>>You swallow hard, uncertainty hollowing out in your chest as you prepare yourself for your next declaration. "We left everything as it was. We... didn't know if anyone was gonna come back and..." <<if $ch1_task is "water">>"The water?" Carol asks, brows furrowing as she glances at her partner. "You just left it." You shrug, feeling like a child. "Ancients help us." She mutters.<<else>>Carol sighs, for a moment barelt registering your words, before allowing a slow shake of the head. "You were right," She says, "We don't know. You... made the right call, I think."<</if>><</if>> As she massages her temples, Carol attempts in vain to come up with the solution to a problem you barely know the full scope of, amber eyes dragging across to her red-faced paramour with guarded concern. "Go find Harley, Lowrie. They'll take care of you." They barely nod let alone acknowledge her request, but stand on spindly legs all the same, stumbling back through the maze of curtains. Carol just watches them go until the door creaks shut, then those eyes fall on you, brows pinched purpetually. "I don't know how much they told you..." She begins, cautiously, a slow frown pinching in the middle of her face. Her brown eyes shift sideways towards the window, catching the sun in such a way as they almost resemble a dying flame in the dead of night. "But I;m gonna need you to take on some heavier duties while they--" her lips clamp tight around her teeth for a little while, cutting off whatever it was that was just too much to share. You don't probe, knowing when it's a step too far. Eventually, she settles, "--Recuperate." [[''Of course, whatever you need.''|ch1pg4001][$carol_f to $carol_f + .05]] [[''Are you going to do anything about this?''|ch1pg4002][$carol_r to $carol_r +.03]] [[''I see how it is. Bend the rules for Lowrie but not for me.''|ch1pg4003][$carol_r to $carol_r +.05]] [[''Can Harley handle them like this?''|ch1pg4004][$carol_f to $carol_f +.03]] [[''I know Lowrie's not okay, but what about you? You seem...'' Worn down.|ch1pg4005][$carol_f to $carol_f +.05]]

<<set $crude to $crude - .05>>"Thank you," Carol mutters, wiping at the bags under her eyes as if doing so would simply clear them from her face entirely. Like all things, it isn't that simple; the signs of fatigue and age are settling into her bones at year ten post-fall. Though thirty-five years is hardly old, the sun has a way of wearing you down, making the sleepless nights more punishing, the thirst more a punching pain rather than an an eternal niggling discomfort. As leader of the settlement, it must hit her tenfold. "But there's more to it. There has to be more." "What do you mean?" You enquire, and as those amber eyes turn to you, you almost feel like whatever she has to say simply isn't for your ears. Carol licks her chapped lips with a grimace, absently picking at a stray thread in her collar. No words are spoken for a few long heartbeats, the silence stiffling in the heat like someone has wrapped their hands around your neck and are squeezing with all their might. Eyes flit away to the windowsil, dragging across the sleek surface of the communicator before landing once more on the flowers. She reaches out, fingers shaking, before she lets her hand drop with a grimace. "This isn't the first case of settlements just disappearing." Your back straightens in your seat, a chill finally setting in and lingering in your stomach. Something within you still refuses to breathe. "It's the third case in the past few months, entire towns coming up to destruction, either through infighting or outside circumstances just... dropping off the map." "Do we know what happened?" //Surely// she must have an idea, three entire towns, as diminished as they are, disappearing is... well, it's almost beyond comprehension. Almost like-- Carol's eyes narrow, "It's not the same as Ledala or the other cities," She says firmly, quashing any worry that may have sprung up with a mere thought, "Not quite. It could just as easily be bandits showing up to flatten the place, or people just deciding to leave or..." 'End it,' remains unsaid, in its place a hard swallow that goes down like sand, "But usually there'd be bodies." [[''And you never told anybody?''|ch1pg4101]] [[''Shit.''|ch1pg4102]] [[''What the hell's going on?''|ch1pg4103]] [[''Does anyone else know?''|ch1pg4104]]

<<set $right to $right +.05>>"What is there to do?" Carol sighs, "People are missing but they're not our own. We can't just go wandering out into the desert looking for a group of people who could be dead." Her head finds her hands, shoulders sagging in defeat. Fuck, and you know she's right. The missing could be anywhere, and that's enough to clench your throat shut. She looks... older, tireder. Though thirty-five years is hardly old, the sun has a way of wearing you down, making the sleepless nights more punishing, the thirst more a punching pain rather than an an eternal niggling discomfort. As leader of the settlement, it must hit her tenfold. "Do you have //any// answers?" You manage through a chokehold. As those amber eyes turn to you, you almost feel like whatever she has to say simply isn't for your ears. Carol licks her chapped lips with a grimace, absently picking at a stray thread in her collar. No words are spoken for a few long heartbeats, the silence stiffling in the heat like someone has wrapped their hands around your neck and are squeezing with all their might. Eyes flit away to the windowsil, dragging across the sleek surface of the communicator before landing once more on the flowers. She reaches out, fingers shaking, before she lets her hand drop with a grimace. "This isn't the first case of settlements just disappearing." Your back straightens in your seat, a chill finally setting in and lingering in your stomach. Something within you still refuses to breathe. "It's the third case in the past few months, entire towns coming up to destruction, either through infighting or outside circumstances just... dropping off the map." "Do we know what happened?" //Surely// she must have an idea, three entire towns, as diminished as they are, disappearing is... well, it's almost beyond comprehension. Almost like-- Carol's eyes narrow, "It's not the same as Ledala or the other cities," She says firmly, quashing any worry that may have sprung up with a mere thought, "Not quite. It could just as easily be bandits showing up to flatten the place, or people just deciding to leave or..." 'End it,' remains unsaid, in its place a hard swallow that goes down like sand, "But usually there'd be bodies." [[''And you never told anybody?''|ch1pg4101]] [[''Shit.''|ch1pg4102]] [[''What the hell's going on?''|ch1pg4103]] [[''Does anyone else know?''|ch1pg4104]]

<<set $crude to $crude +.05>>You're met with a sharp stare that quickly falters and falls entirely slack. "I made concessions to you," She sighs, looking older, more worn down, more beset by fatigue. "You got a week. Now you need to work it off." Carol grimaces, massaging her aching temples with a heave of a sigh. Though thirty-five years is hardly old, the sun has a way of wearing you down, making the sleepless nights more punishing, the thirst more a punching pain rather than an an eternal niggling discomfort. As leader of the settlement, it must hit her tenfold. "Even still," You manage, pushing past the sarcasm, for now it isn't needed, "Surely this is considered an emergency?" As those amber eyes turn to you, you almost feel like whatever she has to say simply isn't for your ears. Carol licks her chapped lips with a grimace, absently picking at a stray thread in her collar. No words are spoken for a few long heartbeats, the silence stiffling in the heat like someone has wrapped their hands around your neck and are squeezing with all their might. "Not... in the way you think." Eyes flit away to the windowsil, dragging across the sleek surface of the communicator before landing once more on the flowers. She reaches out, fingers shaking, before she lets her hand drop with a grimace. "This isn't the first case of settlements just disappearing." Your back straightens in your seat, a chill finally setting in and lingering in your stomach. Something within you still refuses to breathe. "It's the third case in the past few months, entire towns coming up to destruction, either through infighting or outside circumstances just... dropping off the map." "Do we know what happened?" //Surely// she must have an idea, three entire towns, as diminished as they are, disappearing is... well, it's almost beyond comprehension. Almost like-- Carol's eyes narrow, "It's not the same as Ledala or the other cities," She says firmly, quashing any worry that may have sprung up with a mere thought, "Not quite. It could just as easily be bandits showing up to flatten the place, or people just deciding to leave or..." 'End it,' remains unsaid, in its place a hard swallow that goes down like sand, "But usually there'd be bodies." [[''And you never told anybody?''|ch1pg4101]] [[''Shit.''|ch1pg4102]] [[''What the hell's going on?''|ch1pg4103]] [[''Does anyone else know?''|ch1pg4104]]

<<set $out to $out +.05>>Carol considers the question for a beat before nodding, "Harley will know what to do. As much as I'd like to be there for Lowrie, I have...." With a heave of a sigh, she wipes at her eyes as if to try and rid them of the bags underneath, then settles her amber gaze on you. She struggles to complete the formed thought, lips tightening momentarily, before, "Eden comes first." It's a sobering thought. At thirty-five years old she should be spending the time she has with her chosen partners. For better or for worse, however, the circumstances had made that choice for her. "Speaking of Eden," You say, uncomfortable, "What do we do about the missing settlement?" As those amber eyes turn to you, you almost feel like whatever she has to say simply isn't for your ears. Carol licks her chapped lips with a grimace, absently picking at a stray thread in her collar. No words are spoken for a few long heartbeats, the silence stiffling in the heat like someone has wrapped their hands around your neck and are squeezing with all their might. "I don't know if there's anything we //can// do." Eyes flit away to the windowsil, dragging across the sleek surface of the communicator before landing once more on the flowers. She reaches out, fingers shaking, before she lets her hand drop with a grimace. "This isn't the first case of settlements just disappearing." Your back straightens in your seat, a chill finally setting in and lingering in your stomach. Something within you still refuses to breathe. "It's the third case in the past few months, entire towns coming up to destruction, either through infighting or outside circumstances just... dropping off the map." "Do we know what happened?" //Surely// she must have an idea, three entire towns, as diminished as they are, disappearing is... well, it's almost beyond comprehension. Almost like-- Carol's eyes narrow, "It's not the same as Ledala or the other cities," She says firmly, quashing any worry that may have sprung up with a mere thought, "Not quite. It could just as easily be bandits showing up to flatten the place, or people just deciding to leave or..." 'End it,' remains unsaid, in its place a hard swallow that goes down like sand, "But usually there'd be bodies." [[''And you never told anybody?''|ch1pg4101]] [[''Shit.''|ch1pg4102]] [[''What the hell's going on?''|ch1pg4103]] [[''Does anyone else know?''|ch1pg4104]]

"No." Carol says, hard as stone, "Not Lowrie, not any of the other Hunters--and the leaders of the other settlements are doing the same. It's only you, me, and Ridley for now." "Ridley?" You can't help but ask, the question torn from your mouth before you can put a stop to it. Ridley; a Hunter who'd be more at home in a world that allowed the luxury of aimless wandering. You don't know how someone can find the mange-ridden beasts that traverse the sands of Wasteland and call them 'cute', but this particular Hunter somehow manages it. And they are one hell of a shot. Carol grimaces, "Ridley found the first two settlements in the state Elysium was in. We weren't sure what to make of it but for now it made things easier just to keep it quiet. Until we had more answers." Answers that aren't too forthcoming, you surmise grimly. And somehow, the giant known for their bumbling has remained ever-quiet on the matter. You don't know how Carol managed it, do you even want to know? [[''You have to tell people.''|ch1pg4201][$carol_f to $carol_f +.03]] [[''You have to tell Lowrie, if no one else.''|ch1pg4202][$carol_f to $carol_f +.05]] [[''You're right. It's probably for the best you keep it quiet.''|ch1pg4203][$carol_r to $carol_r +.05]]

"Pretty much," Carol sighs, burying her head in her hands. "No one else knows, no one else but you, me, Ridley, and the other settlement leaders. But even that's too much." "Ridley?" You can't help but ask, the question torn from your mouth before you can put a stop to it. Ridley; a Hunter who'd be more at home in a world that allowed the luxury of aimless wandering. You don't know how someone can find the mange-ridden beasts that traverse the sands of Wasteland and call them 'cute', but this particular Hunter somehow manages it. And they are one hell of a shot. Carol grimaces, "Ridley found the first two settlements in the state Elysium was in. We weren't sure what to make of it but for now it made things easier just to keep it quiet. Until we had more answers." Answers that aren't too forthcoming, you surmise grimly. And somehow, the giant known for their bumbling has remained ever-quiet on the matter. You don't know how Carol managed it, do you even want to know? [[''You have to tell people.''|ch1pg4201][$carol_f to $carol_f +.03]] [[''You have to tell Lowrie, if no one else.''|ch1pg4202][$carol_f to $carol_f +.05]] [[''You're right. It's probably for the best you keep it quiet.''|ch1pg4203][$carol_r to $carol_r +.05]]

"Your guess is as good as mine," Burying her face in her hands, Carol bites down on the rough skin of her palms to stifle the groan. "I and the other settlement leaders have been trying to keep it under wraps--as far as I know it's only you, me, and Ridley who knows about it in Eden." "Ridley?" You can't help but ask, the question torn from your mouth before you can put a stop to it. Ridley; a Hunter who'd be more at home in a world that allowed the luxury of aimless wandering. You don't know how someone can find the mange-ridden beasts that traverse the sands of Wasteland and call them 'cute', but this particular Hunter somehow manages it. And they are one hell of a shot. Carol grimaces, "Ridley found the first two settlements in the state Elysium was in. We weren't sure what to make of it but for now it made things easier just to keep it quiet. Until we had more answers." Answers that aren't too forthcoming, you surmise grimly. And somehow, the giant known for their bumbling has remained ever-quiet on the matter. You don't know how Carol managed it, do you even want to know? [[''You have to tell people.''|ch1pg4201][$carol_f to $carol_f +.03]] [[''You have to tell Lowrie, if no one else.''|ch1pg4202][$carol_f to $carol_f +.05]] [[''You're right. It's probably for the best you keep it quiet.''|ch1pg4203][$carol_r to $carol_r +.05]]

"No. No one I haven't already told anyway," Carol sighs as she buries her head into her hands. "The other settlement leaders and I decided it was best to keep it close to our chests until we know more. So far the only people in Eden who know are you, me, and Ridley." "Ridley?" You can't help but ask, the question torn from your mouth before you can put a stop to it. Ridley; a Hunter who'd be more at home in a world that allowed the luxury of aimless wandering. You don't know how someone can find the mange-ridden beasts that traverse the sands of Wasteland and call them 'cute', but this particular Hunter somehow manages it. And they are one hell of a shot. Carol grimaces, "Ridley found the first two settlements in the state Elysium was in. We weren't sure what to make of it but for now it made things easier just to keep it quiet. Until we had more answers." Answers that aren't too forthcoming, you surmise grimly. And somehow, the giant known for their bumbling has remained ever-quiet on the matter. You don't know how Carol managed it, do you even want to know? [[''You have to tell people.''|ch1pg4201][$carol_f to $carol_f +.03]] [[''You have to tell Lowrie, if no one else.''|ch1pg4202][$carol_f to $carol_f +.05]] [[''You're right. It's probably for the best you keep it quiet.''|ch1pg4203][$carol_r to $carol_r +.05]]

<<set $right to $right +.05>>"I know that," Carol sighs, "Eventually. But right now, I can't afford to undermine the leadership of those who are much older than I am." With much bigger egos, you assume. A grimace momentarily cuts across her face as you stare at her, her shoulders falling slack. "Yes, yes, Eden is my own, but we need to work together. We'll all turn to dust if we splinter off." You level Caroline with an unconfortable stare, feeling discomfort churn in your gut. Your disdain for her decision is clear, but she doesn't meet your gaze with any shame, just... resignation. Your fist tightens and you let out a sigh. "It shouldn't matter." You reply like a whisper, unable to contain your displeasure as your expressions morphs into a glare. "$carol_name, it shouldn't matter. The people right here in Eden are those you should care about." "It shouldn't matter," She agrees, holding your gaze with those amber eyes, "But it does." Defeat bows your head with an irritated sigh, your fingers pressing into your eyesockets as cruel, rumbling laughter drifts from your mind. "No one can know, $mc1_name. Understand?" [[''Got it.''|ch1pg4301]] [[''I can't promise you that.''|ch1pg4302][$carollie to "wont"]] [[''Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?'' If I don't promise, she can't hold me to it.|ch1pg4303][$carollie to "avoid"]] [[''Got it.'' I'm lying. I can't keep her secret in good conscience.|ch1pg4304][$carollie to "lie"]] [[''You know how shitty of a liar I am, right?''|ch1pg4305][$carollie to "cant"]]

<<set $right to $right +.05>>"I know that," Carol hisses, an edge making its way into her tone as if your own words are on repeat in her head. The scowl tearing across her face drops with a heave of a sigh, "I know. But it isn't as simple as that, I and the other settlement leaders agreed that, for now, it's best if we keep it quiet. We //agreed//." But Lowrie is her partner. And they're currently //hurting//. Her responsibilities may come first for the good of Eden, but even she must see that this isn't going to do anything but hurt her personally in the long run. "It shouldn't matter." You reply, unable to contain your displeasure as your expressions morphs into a glare. "$carol_name, it shouldn't matter the people right here in Eden are those you should care about." "It shouldn't matter," She agrees, holding your gaze with those amber eyes, "But it does." Defeat bows your head with an irritated sigh, your fingers pressing into your eyesockets as cruel, rumbling laughter drifts from your mind. "No one can know, $mc1_name. Understand?" [[''Got it.''|ch1pg4301]] [[''I can't promise you that.''|ch1pg4302][$carollie to "wont"]] [[''Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?'' If I don't promise, she can't hold me to it.|ch1pg4303][$carollie to "avoid"]] [[''Got it.'' I'm lying. I can't keep her secret in good conscience.|ch1pg4304][$carollie to "lie"]] [[''You know how shitty of a liar I am, right?''|ch1pg4305][$carollie to "cant"]]

"Glad we agree," Carol murmurs, not at all sounding like she means it. Curling her fingers into the front of her dust-coated button-up, a heave of a sigh pushes out from her lips as she momentarily lets exhaustion overtake her. "Because I and the other settlement leaders decided it was best if we keep things quiet for now." "Did you decide that or did you get strongarmed into the decision?" You passvely probe, leaning back in your seat to watch Carol's slouch deepen still. Whether or not you agree with her reticence, it's not your decision either way. Though that won't stop you from your opinions, later. Whether because the question hit some deep vulnerability inside of her, or she's simply choosing to stay on task, Carol doesn't give you a response. Instead, she pushes past it, command taking over, the leader of Eden finally pushing through to harden her exterior. "This has to remain between us, got it?" A pause as you ponder the request. It's... not difficult keeping secrets, somehow you've managed your own for a decade now, but there is the matter of whether you //should//. "We agree?" [[''Got it.''|ch1pg4301]] [[''I can't promise you that.''|ch1pg4302][$carollie to "wont"]] [[''Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?'' If I don't promise, she can't hold me to it.|ch1pg4303][$carollie to "avoid"]] [[''Got it.'' I'm lying. I can't keep her secret in good conscience.|ch1pg4304][$carollie to "lie"]] [[''You know how shitty of a liar I am, right?''|ch1pg4305][$carollie to "cant"]]

<<set $carol_f to $carol_f +.03>><<set _quastion to "no">>You're met by a crease between Carol's thick brown eyebrows, her lips tipped up in displeasure for just a moment before she shakes her head. "Alright." She mutters, "So long as we're both on the same page. This goes without saying, but if--" Her round jaw clenches, sharpens, "--//when// Mordred gets back, he's included in the list of people who can't know." Not as if you tell each other everything, anyway. "Yeah." You sigh, waving Carol away as if she simply asked you to pick something up from storage. "We understand each other, alright? Now, can I go?" "Not yet $mc1_name, there's still a job." Though your bones ache and your mind is shrouded in a fog, the last job was barely a job at all and when there's still sunlight, there's still work to do. Desperate times, and all that. Arms folded, you give the woman an expectant stare, silently bidding her to continue. Cautiously, she does. "It's just a transportation job; you need to get on the other side of Ledala, find some cave on the side of a hill, then bring 'em back after they're done." "Are we taking the wagon or am I just throwing our dear travelers over the back of the horse?" You say, irritation already coiling its dreadful heat around your middle. Forcing your mind not to dwell is like telling a child not to press a big red button, but Ancients do you manage the monumental task. "Wagon, they paid enough in food to get them that much--" That forces a frown, who has enough food on-hand these days to choose the //slow// option? "It's a big job, so Ridley's going with. I've already told them about it, there should be no issues. Any questions?" [[''Yes, many. But to be clear... you don't want me talking to Ridley about this?''|ch1pg43q01]] [[''Do we even know these people we're helping?''|ch1pg43q02]] [[''Any reports of bandits or other dangers in the area?''|ch1pg43q03]] [[''Can we even afford a hunter to be away from Eden for so long? This might not just take a day.''|ch1pg43q04]] [[''No. No questions.''|ch1pg44]]

<<set $carol_r to $carol_r +.03>>"Well, at least you have the decency to tell me ahead of time," Carol's face is torn by a grimace, "But I'm afraid that's not good enough." However, as your eyes lock and your expressions sink to mirror one another, one of you has to break. <<if $right > .5>>But it won't be you. Carol blinks and diverts her gaze to the flowers between you. "Just do me a favour and at the very least keep it to yourself." Whether or not you can even do that isn't something she appars particularly inclined to consider. "If that's all, can I go now?" You ask, arms folded as if to shut your boss out.<<else>>Unfortunately, that appears to be you. "Fine alright." You sigh, wiping at your brow just for one second without those eyes trained on you, picking you apart at the seams. "I won't lie for you, but I won't go around telling everyone about it either. I'll just keep it to myself." Seemingly content with that, Carol lets loose the breath she was holding. You feel like scum. "If that's all, can I go now?"<</if>> "Not yet $mc1_name, there's still a job." Though your bones ache and your mind is shrouded in a fog, the last job was barely a job at all and when there's still sunlight, there's still work to do. Desperate times, and all that. Arms folded, you give the woman an expectant stare, silently bidding her to continue. Cautiously, she does. "It's just a transportation job; you need to get on the other side of Ledala, find some cave on the side of a hill, then bring 'em back after they're done." "Are we taking the wagon or am I just throwing our dear travelers over the back of the horse?" You say, irritation already coiling its dreadful heat around your middle. Forcing your mind not to dwell is like telling a child not to press a big red button, but Ancients do you manage the monumental task. "Wagon, they paid enough in food to get them that much--" That forces a frown, who has enough food on-hand these days to choose the //slow// option? "It's a big job, so Ridley's going with. I've already told them about it, there should be no issues. Any questions?" [[''Yes, many. But to be clear... you don't want me talking to Ridley about this?''|ch1pg43q01]] [[''Do we even know these people we're helping?''|ch1pg43q02]] [[''Any reports of bandits or other dangers in the area?''|ch1pg43q03]] [[''Can we even afford a hunter to be away from Eden for so long? This might not just take a day.''|ch1pg43q04]] [[''No. No questions.''|ch1pg44]]

<<set $carol_r to $carol_r +.05>>Carol gives you a long, hard stare, considering your answer with an unsatisfied, lipsided frown. "No," She says eventually, neglecting to continue the previous conversation but doubtlessly filing it away for later. Current you is basking in relief, heedless of the well-being of future you. "There's still a job I have to talk to you about." Though your bones ache and your mind is shrouded in a fog, the last job was barely a job at all and when there's still sunlight, there's still work to do. Desperate times, and all that. Arms folded, you give the woman an expectant stare, silently bidding her to continue. Cautiously, she does. "It's just a transportation job; you need to get on the other side of Ledala, find some cave on the side of a hill, then bring 'em back after they're done." "Are we taking the wagon or am I just throwing our dear travelers over the back of the horse?" You say, irritation already coiling its dreadful heat around your middle. Forcing your mind not to dwell is like telling a child not to press a big red button, but Ancients do you manage the monumental task. "Wagon, they paid enough in food to get them that much--" That forces a frown, who has enough food on-hand these days to choose the //slow// option? "It's a big job, so Ridley's going with. I've already told them about it, there should be no issues. Any questions?" [[''Yes, many. But to be clear... you don't want me talking to Ridley about this?''|ch1pg43q01]] [[''Do we even know these people we're helping?''|ch1pg43q02]] [[''Any reports of bandits or other dangers in the area?''|ch1pg43q03]] [[''Can we even afford a hunter to be away from Eden for so long? This might not just take a day.''|ch1pg43q04]] [[''No. No questions.''|ch1pg44]]

<<set $carol_f to $carol_f +.03>><<set _quastion to "no">>You're met by a crease between Carol's thick brown eyebrows, her lips tipped up in displeasure--and you swear, for just a moment, that she //knows//--before she shakes her head. "Alright." She mutters, "So long as we're both on the same page. This goes without saying, but if--" Her sharp jaw clenches, "--//when// Mordred gets back, he's included in the list of people who can't know." Not as if you tell each other everything, anyway. "Yeah." You sigh, waving Carol away as if she simply asked you to pick something up from storage. "We understand each other, alright? Now, can I go?" "Not yet $mc1_name, there's still a job." Though your bones ache and your mind is shrouded in a fog, the last job was barely a job at all and when there's still sunlight, there's still work to do. Desperate times, and all that. Arms folded, you give the woman an expectant stare, silently bidding her to continue. Cautiously, she does. "It's just a transportation job; you need to get on the other side of Ledala, find some cave on the side of a hill, then bring 'em back after they're done." "Are we taking the wagon or am I just throwing our dear travelers over the back of the horse?" You say, irritation already coiling its dreadful heat around your middle. Forcing your mind not to dwell is like telling a child not to press a big red button, but Ancients do you manage the monumental task. "Wagon, they paid enough in food to get them that much--" That forces a frown, who has enough food on-hand these days to choose the //slow// option? "It's a big job, so Ridley's going with. I've already told them about it, there should be no issues. Any questions?" [[''Yes, many. But to be clear... you don't want me talking to Ridley about this?''|ch1pg43q01]] [[''Do we even know these people we're helping?''|ch1pg43q02]] [[''Any reports of bandits or other dangers in the area?''|ch1pg43q03]] [[''Can we even afford a hunter to be away from Eden for so long? This might not just take a day.''|ch1pg43q04]] [[''No. No questions.''|ch1pg44]]

<<set $carol_r to $carol_r +.03>>"Unfortunately," Comes the sighed response. Can't be helped, you regretfully lament, it's a damn miracle more people don't know about your current state of affairs, but to be fair it has been Carol and Mordred who've been doing most of the heavy lifting in that respect. You'd like to pay them both back for it eventually but... "Just... not a word, okay?" You nod, you'll try your best. "Is that all?" "Not yet $mc1_name, there's still a job." Though your bones ache and your mind is shrouded in a fog, the last job was barely a job at all and when there's still sunlight, there's still work to do. Desperate times, and all that. Arms folded, you give the woman an expectant stare, silently bidding her to continue. Cautiously, she does. "It's just a transportation job; you need to get on the other side of Ledala, find some cave on the side of a hill, then bring 'em back after they're done." "Are we taking the wagon or am I just throwing our dear travelers over the back of the horse?" You say, irritation already coiling its dreadful heat around your middle. Forcing your mind not to dwell is like telling a child not to press a big red button, but Ancients do you manage the monumental task. "Wagon, they paid enough in food to get them that much--" That forces a frown, who has enough food on-hand these days to choose the //slow// option? "It's a big job, so Ridley's going with. I've already told them about it, there should be no issues. Any questions?" [[''Yes, many. But to be clear... you don't want me talking to Ridley about this?''|ch1pg43q01]] [[''Do we even know these people we're helping?''|ch1pg43q02]] [[''Any reports of bandits or other dangers in the area?''|ch1pg43q03]] [[''Can we even afford a hunter to be away from Eden for so long? This might not just take a day.''|ch1pg43q04]] [[''No. No questions.''|ch1pg44]]

"Good, then." Is all the answer you receive, flimsy and and weak but battling to ensure she sounds so sure of herself. With a blink, Carol manages to gather herself and trace along the edges of the little table with the tips of her fingers. She isn't looking at you. "You still have about an hour before they said they were ready to leave, take some time to prepare then meet Ridley downstairs, alright?" A part of you wants to say something to the woman as she crumples in on herself, but whether it's because you find the words inadequate, or you simply think better of it, you elect to just give her a quiet goodbye and make your retreat. You pass Lowrie practically bent over Harley at the bar, give each of them a little nod--one that Lowrie ignores--then step out into the early afternoon heat. It feels like the sun is mocking you from up there on its perch in the sky, but as you abscond from the morale-crushing heaviness inside Carol's bar, you can't help but let loose that sigh of relief you didn't realise you were holding back through clenched teeth. Even exposed to the heat outside, where what wind that blows past only buffets your skin with hot sand, you feel more comfortable than being stuck inside with a mourning Hunter and their partner who's been backed into a corner by those who are older, more cunning. Only stopping momentarily, you continue your journey across the dust-slathered road to the cramped hut half-falling apart under the shade of a towering, dead tree. [[For now, you call this home.|ch1pg45]]

"I'm not expecting you //not// to talk about it with Ridley," Carol sighs like you've just presented her with the world's most half-cocked of plans. "Just be //subtle//, don't have this conversation when other people can hear you." You're sure you can manage that much. [[''Do we even know these people we're helping?''|ch1pg43q02]] [[''Any reports of bandits or other dangers in the area?''|ch1pg43q03]] [[''Can we even afford a hunter to be away from Eden for so long? This might not just take a day.''|ch1pg43q04]] [[''No. No more questions.''|ch1pg44]]

"One's a travelling priest--haven't seen 'em before--the other's an old Hunter who seems to have had something of a spiritual awakening." Carol mutters, "They're both weird, and the Hunter might try to convert you, but they're mostly harmless." "If one of them's a Hunter why would you need both Ridley and me for the job?" The irritation that closes around your throat feels more like weariness than anything to fully consider, but even still you bury it like the rest of those pesky emotions. "Because when I said 'mostly harmless' I meant it. You remember Colette?" That's a name you haven't heard in a while, you thought she'd just keeled over in the desert somewhere. "After she returned to Haven, she got injured on a job and it put her out of commission. She's still recovering. The priest is, apparently--" And at this Carol can't contain her sigh. "--A pacifist. Whether or not any problems arise, they're both gonna need you." [[''Yes, many. But to be clear... you don't want me talking to Ridley about this?''|ch1pg43q01]] [[''Any reports of bandits or other dangers in the area?''|ch1pg43q03]] [[''Can we even afford a hunter to be away from Eden for so long? This might not just take a day.''|ch1pg43q04]] [[''No. No more questions.''|ch1pg44]]

"No one's scouted near Ledala in a while, but you can assume the usual." Carol says. So that means if the bandits have cleared out of the crumbling city then desert beasts are wandering in unchecked. You can't help but groan; this is going to be a long job. [[''Yes, many. But to be clear... you don't want me talking to Ridley about this?''|ch1pg43q01]] [[''Do we even know these people we're helping?''|ch1pg43q02]] [[''Can we even afford a hunter to be away from Eden for so long? This might not just take a day.''|ch1pg43q04]] [[''No. No more questions.''|ch1pg44]]

Your boss is silent for too long before she comes up with her best attempt at a confident answer. Stopping halfway through the enigmatic 'yes' however, her face quickly drops into her scarred hands. "No shit we can't afford it, but they're just handing out a lot of food for what I can only assume is some kind of joyride." When her fingers fall away, she's grimacing, "Just be quick about it, alright?" You'll try your hardest. [[''Yes, many. But to be clear... you don't want me talking to Ridley about this?''|ch1pg43q01]] [[''Do we even know these people we're helping?''|ch1pg43q02]] [[''Any reports of bandits or other dangers in the area?''|ch1pg43q03]] [[''No. No more questions.''|ch1pg44]]

You part the thin veil of cloth hanging from the doorway and step inside, the oppressive heat permeating into even your little hovel carved out of paradise. It's a house... in theory--more of a room, really--a basin you'd usually have filled with water for washing sits parched by the door, clothes lie discarded on the floor or tactically placed to block out the sun, and what little decoration you've found in Wasteland--mostly consisting of discarded art projects no one had any more use for--fill out the rest of the space. In a word; cosy. Or cramped. Still, it's home. You throw your hat on the mattress and stretch out your legs, back cracking as you give it a good, albeit weary flex. Even in the middle of the day you find your energy waning, though it isn't as if you're going to get any sleep now on the glorified lump you call a bed. The shack, however, feels... empty, even as you bump your head on some low-hanging beam you haven't quite gotten around to pushing back into place. One day the roof will cave in, you remember Carol saying, and it'll be all your fault. Yeah... probably. When you and Mordred arrived in Eden, all the room they had to spare was this little hut across the way from Carol's bar. Whether you liked it or not, you were stuck together. [[And, at least at first, we didn't mind the arrangements. We were friends of some description at that point.|ch1pg4701][$mc1mord to "friend"]] [[Even then we were... distant. That being said, we didn't protest the arrangements.|ch1pg4702][$mc1mord to "distant"]] [[Our relationship was always one of conflict. The only person who kept us together was... well, we put up with each other, at the very least.|ch1pg4703][$mc1mord to "conflict"]]

An archaic form of physical and digital currency oft used more as favours or an 'IOU' than real currency. While the digital version of the currency is useless in Wasteland, there are still remnants of the physical. When someone gives you credits, it is often because they do not have the water/food/bullets on hand to properly pay, credits are often socially used to signify that, eventually, you will be given your dues.

Humans are not the only ones who inhabit Wasteland. No, the true dwellers within the ever-burning sands are creatures that somehow survive, even flourush in the oppressive heat that would kill anything else. Most of these creatures appear to be afflicted with something akin to mange, their fur falling out in clumps at a time, their bodies covered in a thin, slime-like membrane, eyes ever-cloudy like the eyes of the dead. All are bloodthirsty. It is not uncommon for Hunters to kill off any of these creatures that stray too close to settlements or otherwise pose too much of a danger. Often, the flesh will be taken back to camp for the consumption of its inhabitants, as there appears to be no consequence of consuming the meat of these creatures after a proper skinning. Some current known creatures to be wary of: !!!Direhounds Not completely unlike a canine ridden with mange, Direhounds tend to roam in groups. Though they are born with a full body of fur, as they grow it eventually sheds from their body entirely, leaving behind the thin, scabbed, skin underneath. Were it not for the very real danger these pests pose to the community--what, being the creature that kills most Hunters, non-combatants, and bandits alike--the oversized teeth and claws could almost be humerous. !!!Bears Bears are relatively rare in Wasteland, predominantly keeping to themselves in their caves during the day and hunting at night. Their entire body is covered in a thick layer of fur, with beady black eyes and an incredibly elongated face. While that fur is often padding enough to shield them from most good strikes, their skin is perhaps even thicker, often requiring specialty tools just to cut through. Though they are rare and mostly uninterested in humans, it is reccommended that Hunters do not attempt to approach these creatures unless they must.

mc1 explanation -- might save for mordred meeting There are two certainties you have about your unlikely existance; that you cannot age, and that you cannot die. At thirty, you didn't quite notice it but you were around enough people with the same scientific formular running through their veins that you'd come to expect that, eventually, you wouldn't play victim to the usual signs of aging. You knew you'd have an extended life, perhaps far longer than any human could safely function having, but no one actually knew that you'd stop aging //entirely//. Perhaps saying you //cannot// die is an oversimplification. Given enough damage, your body could feasibly be unable to knit itself back together before your heart gives out--<<click "Ancients">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Religion in Wasteland"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Religion").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> know you can die, you've seen it yourself, but it's an endeavour at the best of times. If you tell anyone, however... well, you don't want to test the extent of your regeneration. MAKE SURE $MC2STATELIMP VARIABLE IS PROPERLY CHANGED

Part Religion, part oral history, The Ancients are a theoretical group of people said to have come before the current inhabitants of Wasteland. No one can truly know how they got here, but many say they came from the stars with strange machines and technology. This can be half-authenticated, as strange devices and technologies have been found by Hunters that no one can truly tell of their origins. One such device is the communicator each settlement in Wasteland use. Though they are old, even all this time they endure. It is said that once upon a time, Wasteland was a beautiful land of forest, with water flowing from every river, and that though there were some parts of the land that gave way to desert, there was beauty to be found there as well. No one can know how Wasteland came to be, but many agree that the Ancients brought it upon themselves for hurting the planet in their expansion. As such, they left in their machines, leaving behind a few settlers who refused to abandon their new home, and these settlers became the people of Wasteland when it eventually turned to dust. None of this, of course, can be confirmed, and even today there are many skeptics amongst Hunters. Indeed, however, for the religious few, this brings comfort and hope that, one day, the settlers from the stars will come back to bring the lost inhabitants of Wasteland home.

This is not yet finishied! Please take heed! <<if $mc1_play>>!!Inhabitants of Wasteland !!Caroline !!!35 Years | 5'2" | She/Her | Leader Something of an authority figure in Eden, Caroline aids in mutial survival through direction and leadership. A caring sort who shows her love through actions rather than words, Carol knows exactly what it takes to survive in Wasteland after The Fall: Community. !!Lowrie !!!33 Years | 6'4" | They/Them | Shooter Not Eden-born but someone who has come to call the tiny settlement their home, Lowrie is perhaps better known by their scrawny, elongated frame than any two words they've ever shared with you. They don't seem to like you very much, though they get on just fine with Carol, Harley, and even Mordred. !!Harley !!!30 Years | 5'5" | He/They | Non-Combatant The unlikely bartender, a permanent fixture to the old walls of the community center in Eden. Mute but perfectly able to express themself with the use of sign and crude hand-gestures, let it not be said that Harley is quiet. Though perhaps a tad abrasive at times, there is no doubt that Harley cares for the Eden community like no other. <<if $met_ridley>> !!Ridley !!!28 Years | 6'2" | $ridhe/$ridhim | Would-be Scientist Young, wide-eyed, but a bit too soft-hearted for $ridhis own good, Ridley is a Hunter who may once have had aspirations towards the more intellectual of occupations. As it is now, however, $ridhis analytical mind is wasted on survival and drudgery. At least <<if $ridhe is "they">>they seem<<else>>$ridhe seems<</if>> to occupy $ridhimself well enough in the spare few hours of free time Hunters do recieve as a stipend for their work. Doing what? You can never tell. <<else>><</if>><<if $met_allard>><<if $allard_gender is "non">> !!J. Allard<<elseif $allard_gender is "male">> !!Jeremiah Allard<<else>> !!Josephine Allard<</if>> !!!Forty-something Years | 5'8" | $allardhe/$allardhim | Eccentric Priest A strange $allardman and a self-proclaimed priest, though of what God or idea you don't quite know. What you do know is that Allard is the sort that pays strangely well for someone who shouldn't have the means to acquire such resources. !!Colette !!!Sixty Years | 5'6" | She/Her | Ex-Hunter A Hunter-gone-missing now returned as the lackey of a wandering priest. Colette supposedly had an accident with a Direhound some time back and lost a few fingers to the ensuing infection. While her days as an official hunter are gone, her trigger finger still works just fine. And... you're not prepared to put that challenge to the test. <<else>><</if>> !!Mordred !!!Unknown Age | 5'7" | He/Him | Old Friend Mordred... A lot can be said about Mordred, much of it varying wildly between 'good' and 'bad'. He's a man you've known all your life, a man who was closest to your $mc1_brother than to you... at least, before the fall. Now, your relationship is bogged down by complication; barely friends, but far too close to be comfortable rivals. It's up to the pair of you to decide what to do with that, and the mutual loss of someone you both once cared about that renains unspoken ten years later. <<if $met_doc>> !!Doctor Park !!!37 Years | 5'4" | She/Her | Nomadic Doctor Not much is known about Doctor Park save that she's a woman with conviction enough to help both hunter and bandit alike even at her own expense. She makes the rounds, traversing Wasteland and travelling between settlements on a schedule so stringent one some consider her the world's first automaton. The reality is somewhat more grounded in reality. She's just one woman, one driven by her care and her love for the world even as it tries each day to drive those within Wasteland to their deaths. <<else>><</if>> <<elseif $mc2_play>>!!People of note in Ledala !!Arthur !!!6'0" | He/Him | Private Investigator Your boss, your saviour, an irritating, evasive, man. Call him what you will, but you can't deny that he's protected you far longer than you care to think too hard about. Even after ten years, you still haven't cracked his cool exterior. Surely there's something more on the inside. !!Adrastea !!!5'11" | She/They | Council Socialite You see her on the vids all the time. Adrastea is a mouthpiece of the Council, appearing on the news and throwing lavish parties for her upscale compatriates and lackies. They're pretty, that much is true, but they have a tough legacy to uphold since taking on the mantle after their mother passed on under mysterious circumstances. !!Dagda !!!5'5" | $daghe/$daghim | Empty-eyed Newscaster One of the many newscasters--celebrities, really--who go by the name 'Dagda'. Like the rest of them, this Dagda is probably a vapid, no-good individual who continues the cycle of Council propaganda to fuel their unhealthy habits and lifestyle. <<if $met_deimos>> !!Deimos !!!6'2" | He/Him | Council Dog He's just hired muscle who goes where his handlers tell him to go, though his loyalties seem... nebulous at best. Whether he's a gun-for-hire, some lackey, or has a reason to be where he is, it doesn't change the fact that he's chosen which side of history he'll end on.<</if>> !!Perci !!!5'8" | She/Her | Would-be Revolutionary A woman who was about the only one who had any insight into Arthur's world. That is, until, they had a falling out not too long ago. You haven't seen her for some time, but you do know her to be a willful, principled woman who would stop at nothing to help that which she loves. <<if $met_saga>> !!Raven? !!!5'5" | $sagahe/$sagahim | Strange Kid Some kid with a chip on $sagahis shoulder and cash to spend. A lot of cash. Honestly, probably too much cash. $sagahis name is clearly fake, $sagahe talks too proper, and everything about $sagahim is just plain suspicious. Whatever the issue, however, you'll see where this leads you... or get pulled into it whether you like it or not.<</if>> <<if $met_kim>> !!Kim !!!5'3" | Any Pronouns | Grey-market Mechanic Your boss, or as close to one as you can get when $kimhe basically dragged you from off the street and said, 'good enough.' Kim maintains an old tech too redundant to get the parts for, and is one of the few like $kimhim to do it for a reasonable price.<<elseif $met_strix>> !!Strix !!!6'3" | $strixhe/$strixhim | A Parent Your coworker. Big, goofy, with a bit of a potty mouth and a smoking habit. Strix is nice enough, if a little much on occasion, but at least you know where you stand when things get difficult.<<else>> !!Erato !!!5'8" | $erahe/$erahim | Theatre Manager Your boss, though sometimes you feel like you're $erahis handler more than anything. A bit on the odd side, a bit anxious, but you know how to handle $erahim when shit hits the fan. For now.<</if>> <</if>>

While you wouldn't necessarily say the floor is comfortable, you've had better sleeping situations, the very fact that you can sleep there at all most likely speaks more for how comfortable the bed isn't. You guess the bed is fully yours now that Mordred's gone. <<if $mc1mord is "friend">>Still, even if your relationship had taken a rapid, spiralling downfall in recent years, the Mordred-shaped crease in the sheets is a none-too-gentle reminder that, at least at some point, he was a friend.<<elseif $mc1mord is "distant">>Still, even if your relationship was based on apathy and distance at the best of times, even if it rapidly turned to negativity in recent years, you never wanted him gone. He was all you had left.<<else>>Your relationship didn't really need much of a push to turn from bad to worse, but still, when all you had from your shared past was each other, you suppose you thought he'd try to hold on for longer than he did. A bitter taste coats your tongue, a ghost of the venom you'd spewed the day he left still lingering in your mouth.<</if>> In retrospect, it seems only natural that eventually you'd find yourselves parting ways. Doesn't make the loneliness dwelling within you ease up any. The monster in your mind howls a dirge to isolation, rattling in your ears and givign you no reprieve. Ugh, you need a distraction. As you plop yourself down upon the untouched mattress and tug your boots off, a waterfall of sand cascades onto the floor, barely making a mark in the sand-tracked timber. Ew, you grimace, using the thick sole of your shoe in a flimsy attempt to sweep it away. As you shove your feet back into their cruel confines, you consider what tasks you have that could help distract you for an hour. [[Maybe I'll finally clean the place up.|ch1pg4802][$ch1break to "clean"]] [[Yeah, no, that beam is a disaster waiting to happen. I'll try to fix it.|ch1pg4803][$ch1break to "fix"]] [[Fuck it. I'm throwing Mordred's shit out.|ch1pg4804][$ch1break to "throw"]] [[I'll go check up on Harley and Lowrie.|ch1pg49]]

You tried the bed for a few nights and ultimately came to the conclusion that turning over only to find another lump digging into your back simply wasn't worth it. Mordred had no such qualms and happily took over your spot like it had his name written all over it from the beginning. Bastard. <<if $mc1mord is "friend">>Still, even then, your relationship hadn't quite taken the rapid, spiralling downfall it has in recent years, and the Mordred-shaped crease in the sheets is a none-too-gentle reminder that, at least at some point, he was a friend.<<elseif $mc1mord is "distant">>Still, even if your relationship was based on apathy and distance at the best of times, even if it rapidly turned to negativity in recent years, you never wanted him gone. He was all you had left.<<else>>Your relationship didn't really need much of a push to turn from bad to worse, but still, when all you had from your shared past was each other, you suppose you thought he'd try to hold on for longer than he did. A bitter taste coats your tongue, a ghost of the venom you'd spewed the day he left still lingering in your mouth.<</if>> In retrospect, it seems only natural that eventually you'd find yourselves parting ways. Doesn't make the loneliness dwelling within you ease up any. The monster in your mind howls a dirge to isolation, rattling in your ears and givign you no reprieve. Ugh, you need a distraction. As you plop yourself down upon the untouched mattress and tug your boots off, a waterfall of sand cascades onto the floor, barely making a mark in the sand-tracked timber. Ew, you grimace, using the thick sole of your shoe in a flimsy attempt to sweep it away. As you shove your feet back into their cruel confines, you consider what tasks you have that could help distract you for an hour. [[Maybe I'll finally clean the place up.|ch1pg4802][$ch1break to "clean"]] [[Yeah, no, that beam is a disaster waiting to happen. I'll try to fix it.|ch1pg4803][$ch1break to "fix"]] [[Fuck it. I'm throwing Mordred's shit out.|ch1pg4804][$ch1break to "throw"]] [[I'll go check up on Harley and Lowrie.|ch1pg49]]

You didn't get much of a choice where you slept. Mordred simply plopped himself on the ground and told you to get out of his space. The next ten years were more or less spent stumbling over his legs every morning. Bastard. <<if $mc1mord is "friend">>Still, even if your relationship had taken a rapid, spiralling downfall in recent years, the Mordred-shaped crease in the sheets is a none-too-gentle reminder that, at least at some point, he was a friend.<<elseif $mc1mord is "distant">>Still, even if your relationship was based on apathy and distance at the best of times, even if it rapidly turned to negativity in recent years, you never wanted him gone. He was all you had left.<<else>>Your relationship didn't really need much of a push to turn from bad to worse, but still, when all you had from your shared past was each other, you suppose you thought he'd try to hold on for longer than he did. A bitter taste coats your tongue, a ghost of the venom you'd spewed the day he left still lingering in your mouth.<</if>> In retrospect, it seems only natural that eventually you'd find yourselves parting ways. Doesn't make the loneliness dwelling within you ease up any. The monster in your mind howls a dirge to isolation, rattling in your ears and givign you no reprieve. Ugh, you need a distraction. As you plop yourself down upon the untouched mattress and tug your boots off, a waterfall of sand cascades onto the floor, barely making a mark in the sand-tracked timber. Ew, you grimace, using the thick sole of your shoe in a flimsy attempt to sweep it away. As you shove your feet back into their cruel confines, you consider what tasks you have that could help distract you for an hour. [[Maybe I'll finally clean the place up.|ch1pg4802][$ch1break to "clean"]] [[Yeah, no, that beam is a disaster waiting to happen. I'll try to fix it.|ch1pg4803][$ch1break to "fix"]] [[Fuck it. I'm throwing Mordred's shit out.|ch1pg4804][$ch1break to "throw"]] [[I'll go check up on Harley and Lowrie.|ch1pg49]]

Nights are cold in Wasteland, the kind of chill that has a way of sinking into your bones and freezing you solid by morning. You both agreed it was better to help each other than mutually ensure your very icy demise. Eventually, you just got accustomed to his body next to yours, taking some comfort in the company when, typically, all you had to look forward to every night was the chilling embrace of the lonely desert. <<if $mc1mord is "friend">>Like most friendships flimsy against the ravages of struggle, the weight of his back against your own gradually felt less and less comforting and more like an anvil as ten years wore on. Somehow, you never quite shed that comfort completely, and you feel your heart grow emptier for his absence.<<elseif $mc1mord is "distant">>It was like a business arrangement, really. The warmth of his back against your own, though a comfort for a time, eventually turned into an anvil on your body as ten years wore on. Now it's gone and for some reason you can't quite pinpoint, you feel all the emptier for it.<<else>>You're not entirely sure how the two of you stopped bickering long enough to come to that decision, but in the ten years that followed, even if you went to bed angry at each other you could at the very least rely on the comfort of his back against your own. Eventually, that comfort became an anvil of unspoken qualms and issues you never quite addressed. Still, Mordred's absence leaves a hole that wasn't there before, and it's a palpable discomfort that you're not quite sure how to feel about.<</if>> In retrospect, it seems only natural that eventually you'd find yourselves parting ways. Doesn't make the loneliness dwelling within you ease up any. The monster in your mind howls a dirge to isolation, rattling in your ears and givign you no reprieve. Ugh, you need a distraction. As you plop yourself down upon the untouched mattress and tug your boots off, a waterfall of sand cascades onto the floor, barely making a mark in the sand-tracked timber. Ew, you grimace, using the thick sole of your shoe in a flimsy attempt to sweep it away. As you shove your feet back into their cruel confines, you consider what tasks you have that could help distract you for an hour. [[Maybe I'll finally clean the place up.|ch1pg4802][$ch1break to "clean"]] [[Yeah, no, that beam is a disaster waiting to happen. I'll try to fix it.|ch1pg4803][$ch1break to "fix"]] [[Fuck it. I'm throwing Mordred's shit out.|ch1pg4804][$ch1break to "throw"]] [[I'll go check up on Harley and Lowrie.|ch1pg49]]

Whether there were any underlying feelings to it or you were just taking comfort in each other's bodies, neither of you were particularly interested in exploring that facet of one another. It wasn't about feelings, it was really more of a distraction. You... both had your reasons. <<if $mc1mord is "friend">>The thing about fucking a friend is that when you wake up the next morning at least they have the decency to give you a knowing smirk before throwing your trousers at your face. It just sort of... kept happening after that; some nights were like any other, some were filled with caresses and //comfort// if you can call it that, others were, well... it's over now, regardless. Ruined.<<elseif $mc1mord is "distant">>It didn't really have to mean anything. The nights were cold and lonely, and if you could do something for each other it was that. Still, whether it was the fun or the comfort, it never really stopped. Some nights you would go to bed as normal, others you would somehow find yourself tangled up with one another again. You can't exactly tell why, or maybe you know but just won't admit it. Either way, Mordred's gone now. It won't happen again.<<else>>Neither of you really fell into bed expecting anything but one night entangled in each other's bodies. When it kept happening time and again, however, you still didn't mention it. Maybe you were ashamed, or maybe neither of you needed to acknowledge all the bickering when what you needed were each other, but either way Mordred's gone. You don't need to put up with him anymore, and though the nights with him were, dare you say, fun... why does his absence feel starkly uncomfortable in your stomach?<</if>> In retrospect, it seems only natural that eventually you'd find yourselves parting ways. Doesn't make the loneliness dwelling within you ease up any. The monster in your mind howls a dirge to isolation, rattling in your ears and givign you no reprieve. Ugh, you need a distraction. As you plop yourself down upon the untouched mattress and tug your boots off, a waterfall of sand cascades onto the floor, barely making a mark in the sand-tracked timber. Ew, you grimace, using the thick sole of your shoe in a flimsy attempt to sweep it away. As you shove your feet back into their cruel confines, you consider what tasks you have that could help distract you for an hour. [[Maybe I'll finally clean the place up.|ch1pg4802][$ch1break to "clean"]] [[Yeah, no, that beam is a disaster waiting to happen. I'll try to fix it.|ch1pg4803][$ch1break to "fix"]] [[Fuck it. I'm throwing Mordred's shit out.|ch1pg4804][$ch1break to "throw"]] [[I'll go check up on Harley and Lowrie.|ch1pg49]]

There are two sides to every story... Take on the role of a pair of undying siblings worlds apart. Both struggling to survive in environments they don't belong with the belief that they are all that remains of their kind. A story that's set simultaniously in a dying desert, and an underground city, will you guide the siblings together once more, or will they get lost unveiling the secrets behind the connection between their two worlds? This game features two customisable protagonists, each with their own stories. While they come from similar, albeit shrouded, origins, they've since been formed by different experiences that will continue to change them throughout the story. Each new chapter will switch between the two protagonists, each chapter allowing your choices to shape them and the world around them. You'll be able to choose their gender, appearance, who they eventually romance, if at all, as well as major and minor choices. ''Content Warning'' CoI is a work in progress that contains/will contain graphic violence that includes scenes of battle, wound descriptions, and allusions to human experimentation, as well as strong language, and references to/discussions of bigotry (Homophobia and transphobia, primarily). There will also be discussion on sex and sexual scenes which are all opt in (and can be faded to black or skipped entirely). At the moment, such scenes default to fade-to-black, but they can be turned on in the settings screen if desired, in which case you can still choose not to view them at all. Note: At the moment, there are no sex scenes present in the demo. This note will be deleted when they are implemented. While some choices may result in avoiding such scenes, violence at all is unavoidable in this story. If you don't feel you are comfortable with such topics, I advise you to come back later if you are feeling up to it. Look after yourself. [[I understand and am comfortable with this.|rochoice]]

<<set $mord_f to $mord_f +.1>><<set $mord_r to $mord_r -.05>>You had to be. It used to be that you enjoy each other's company, and even if you didn't you'd both become accustomed to living in close-quarters regardless. It was a part of the job; the barracks back at Ledala didn't often have room for privacy. Finding some semblance of comfort in the proximity of a friend, you quickly found your sleeping arrangements... [[Dependant on the day. Sometimes he'd sleep on the floor, sometimes I would.|ch1pg4601][$sleep to "depend"]] [[Easy. I slept on the floor, it's more comfortable.|ch1pg4602][$sleep to "floor"]] [[Easy. Mordred slept on the floor. Apparently, it's more comfortable.|ch1pg4603][$sleep to "mordfloor"]] [[We shared--purely platonically. In the cold of night, it made things easier.|ch1pg4604][$sleep to "pshare"]] [[We shared. Wasteland is a lonely place, you know?|ch1pg4605][$sleep to "share"]]

Perhaps it's funny now, however, when first you met you could hardly stand to be in the same room with Mordred. Oh, you could still come up with a million things to complain about, but you suppose, for a while at least, you'd settled on some semblance of peace. Neither of you liked it when you found the room so cramped, but eventually, the sleeping arrangments were... [[Dependant on the day. Sometimes he'd sleep on the floor, sometimes I would.|ch1pg4601][$sleep to "depend"]] [[Easy. I slept on the floor, it's more comfortable.|ch1pg4602][$sleep to "floor"]] [[Easy. Mordred slept on the floor. Apparently, it's more comfortable.|ch1pg4603][$sleep to "mordfloor"]] [[We shared--purely platonically. In the cold of night, it made things easier.|ch1pg4604][$sleep to "pshare"]] [[We shared. Even if we didn't often get on, Wasteland is a lonely place, you know?|ch1pg4605][$sleep to "share"]]

Liking each other and being accustomed to the presense of one another are two different things, and if you didn't have the former at least you had the latter. It wasn't that you didn't like one another, just that you never really came to appreciate each other the way friends might. Mordred was really more your $mc2_brother's companion. Still, being stuck with one another gave you a different kind of appreciation, and your sleeping situation ultimately ended up being... [[Dependant on the day. Sometimes he'd sleep on the floor, sometimes I would.|ch1pg4601][$sleep to "depend"]] [[Easy. I slept on the floor, it's more comfortable.|ch1pg4602][$sleep to "floor"]] [[Easy. Mordred slept on the floor. Apparently, it's more comfortable.|ch1pg4603][$sleep to "mordfloor"]] [[We shared--purely platonically. In the cold of night, it made things easier.|ch1pg4604][$sleep to "pshare"]] [[We shared. Wasteland is a lonely place, you know?|ch1pg4605][$sleep to "share"]]

Looking around at your ramshackle home, you find any thoughts of where to start completely crushed under the heel of the absolute mammoth of the task before you. Sand is scattered everywhere, even amongst the sheets draped carelessly across the mattress, and clothes, both Mordred's and your own, muddy the situation even further. To say you have low standards isn't a particularly egregious insult in Wasteland but in the cluttered space you reside you can barely breathe. <<if $crude > .5>>Shit. You can't help the curse that heaves out with your sigh, brows furrowing between idle kicks at the sand-caked timber that practically taunts you from the ground.<<else>>With a world-weary sigh that feels like a thousand boulders held upon your shoulders, you level a stare at the sand-caked timber and simply will it away. Yeah... wishfull thinking.<</if>> After a moment, you allow one last sigh, a final complaint, and you get to work. Most of the clothing is gathered and thrown into a corner for cleaning rags, or to be discarded entirely; it's all either too ripped up, too dirty, or something you're never going to wear. What's left is shaken out and draped over the basket of ever-dwindling clothes you can keep. Dealing with the sand is a slightly more involved affair; you cross back into the bar and come face-to-face with a frowning Harley returning to work, and Lowrie sat hunched over a drink at a table in the corner. Neither of them seem particularly interested in talking, so you simply grab the broom that sits behind the bar then mutter something about being right back. No one stops you. It's easy enough after that, though it takes an entire ten minutes to gather all the sand at your doorstep, another five just to watch it scatter across the road on a hot wind. Though the final product leaves much to be desired--you're still going to be kicking more of the world in whether you like it or not--at least the place is starting to look more like a living space than a buried tomb, at least your head doesn't feel as muddied as before. You return to the bar with your back just a bit straighter. [[Continue|ch1pg49]]

The last thing you need is your roof caving in while you sleep. You make the quick trip right back across the road and duck behind the bar to grab the hammer everyone passes around when needed. Harley gives you one strange, questioning look but otherwise doesn't stop you as you mutter something about being back later, pause when you can't find any nails, then finally address them fully. "Nails?" You ask, the smile feeling awkward, almost cheesy, on your face. Brown eyes avert in thought then, after a little bit of reshuffling, they quickly produce what you need from their own stash. <<if $out > .5>>"Thanks, I owe you, I promise." You say, giving them a pat on the shoulder before making your return.<<else>>Nodding in thanks, you leave them with a pat on the shoulder and a silent promise to make it up to them.<</if>> Ducking back into the shack and swiping away the overhanging curtains that bisect the room, you can't help but feel somewhat... lost. Dealing with the issue seems a mammoth task, the unevenly cut beam hanging precariously down near the door and the tin roof buckled from lack of support. A hole has formed where the roof doesn't quite reach the scaffolding up top, and you're left with a jagged circle of pure sunlight boring a hole into your floor. A sigh pushes out from your chest, a momentary pause you allow yourself, and you get to work. Pushing it back into place is the easy part, getting it to stay there is another matter entirely. Your first few attempts end in failure and, almost, disaster, the unreliable nature of the way your little shack was built giving you the world's worst headache. After too much time spent fussing over the specifics you //finally// get the wayward beam secured without it slipping back into your way again. It looks horrible, you must admit, but the shack hardly looked like a work of art in the first place. Either way, the hole is patched and for now your home remains intact. You return to the bar with your back just a bit straighter. [[Continue|ch1pg49]]

<<set $mordred_r to $mordred_r +.05>>Call it malicious, selfish, //bratty// if you want, you don't particularly care. Mordred's gone and if he comes back he can tough it. With a huff you start by collecting all his clothes, sifting through piles of your own just to ensure every last scrap of cloth that smells too much like him is gone. They mostly consist of plaid button-ups and tight trousers, but there's the occasional spot of colour--mostly blood, you realise--that adds a bit of spice to the otherwise samey collection of clothes. With one last consideration of the stuff... you dump it into the sand out front. Good, you think, serves him right. You then move onto other Mordred fixtures in the little room, reminders of a man who couldn't care enough to take them, and throw them on top of the pile outside. Once done, the hovel isn't exactly //cleaner// but it's just that much more //you//. You return to the bar with your back just a bit straighter. [[Continue|ch1pg49]]

<<if $ch1break is "fix" or "clean">>Satisfied with your work, at least for the time being, and with no substantial time left, you return to the bar to drop off what remains of the tools you borrowed.<<elseif $ch1break is "throw">>Satisfied with your newly liberated home, you return to the bar with a march in your step. Harley throws you a strange look but otherwise doesn't question you.<<else>>Satisfied with the decision, you return to the bar to a strange glance from Harley for seeing you again so soon.<</if>> Lowrie has tucked themself into a corner, nursing a drink that as of yet remains untouched while Harley quietly keeps an eye on them as they count the remaining bullets behind the bar. Most are kept in Storage but, perhaps wisely, there's always a small pistol, a rusty blade, and a couple of bullets back there. Just in case. Not bothering to put down their task, one thick brow raises dubiously. They can't sign with their hands full, but you know that look; Carol's locked you out of the liquor cabinet. [[''I wasn't looking for anything, Harley.'' I say as I sit myself down beside them.|ch1pg50h01][$out to $out -.05]] [[''I wasn't looking for anything, Harley.'' I say as I cross the room to set myself in front of Lowrie.|ch1pg50l01][$out to $out -.05]] [[''Aw, come on, not even a little?'' I say as I sit myself down beside them, only partially joking.|ch1pg50h02][$out to $out +.05]] [[''Aw, and here I thought you cared.'' I say as I cross the room to set myself in front of Lowrie, only partially joking.|ch1pg50l02][$out to $out +.05]]

"Sure," They sign once they've freed their hands up, "I //totally// believe you." <<if $out > .5>>You gasp, absolutely scandalised by their mistreatment of you, "Harley, I am shocked by your demeanour and frankly I cannot stand for such mistrust." Huffing in mock-offense you only briefly turn away with arms folded, revelling in the way their shoulders quiver in silent laughter. "This isn't a laughing matter!" You squawk, "I will have my retribution!" "Yeah," Harley finally gathers themself with a quavered sigh through their nose, their hands working swiftly to form their signed words, "In your dreams, maybe." Betrayal strikes you through like a blade and you give them a pout in jest.<<else>>Rolling your eyes, you give them a gentle slap to the upper shoulder, barely budging them as their mouth twitches into half a smile. "Oh, what's that look for?" You ask, pouting just a little. "Nothing," They sign, slow as if they're waiting for some kind of punchline. It sharpens the ringing in your ears to a grating sort of torture, your body seizing up with narrowed eyes, "You just amuse me, is all." They then give you the most cheerful of grins you've ever seen. Fake as it is, you find yourself rolling your eyes. The least they could do is pay you for your trouble.<</if>> Brushing some stray dust off their favourite flower-patterned blouse, Harley regards you with vague interest as they return to their work, barely-calloused, golden-brown hands flicking the bullets back into their box to return them to their rightful place. You wouldn't know that just five years prior they were a hunter like you; though they're well-toned where it counts--they exercise as best they can--a bad hip kept them from riding without severe discomfort. Now they spend most of their day meticulously cleaning the bar and doing odd-jobs around town. It helps, you suppose, that if push comes to shove they can still protect Eden, even if they can't be out in the field like you. Even when standing as tall as they can, Harley is just below the average height of a hunter, something you know bothers them more than they care to admit. "It's childish," you think is how they once described it, plump lips pulled tight around their grimace. "But I can't help it." [[As for me, I tower over them. I could even rival Lowrie's height. (very tall)|ch1pg51h01][$mc1_height to "vtall"]] [[As for me, I still have quite the advantage over them in terms of height, just maybe not as freakishly as Lowrie. (tall)|ch1pg51h02][$mc1_height to "tall"]] [[As for me, I'm only just taller than them, only they really notice the difference. (average)|ch1pg51h03][$mc1_height to "average"]] [[As for me, I'm just a bit shorter than them, not that they seem to notice. (short)|ch1pg51h04][$mc1_height to "short"]] [[As for me, I'm much shorter than they are, something that brings them great amusement. (very short)|ch1pg51h05][$mc1_height to "vshort"]]

<<set $harley_r to $harley_r +=.05>>Harley frees their hands up only to give you a crude gesture, a wry grin pulling at one corner of their lips before they move onto their task. <<if $out > .5>>"Can you believe them?" You ask in mock offense, your hand slapping to your chest as you turn to Lowrie with a sigh, "Lowrie control your bartender."<<else>>Rolling your eyes, you shoot a weak smile at Lowrie as if to bring some levity to the situation.<</if>> A dull-eyed stare is all you recieve in return, the long face of Lowrie a statue in the dry heat of the bar. They barely move, the only evidence that they're still breathing at all the slight, twitching grip they have on their cup. Like their bones are brittle, their hold on the cup tightens, hand shaking as they silently lift it to their lips and take a long sip. Even with cheeks usually burned red by the sun and flushed with sweat they appear ghostly pale, like a phantom before you simply staring into your soul. The cup is placed back down, grey eyes fall away from you entirely. It's like you're barely there at all. [[''Are... you okay?'' Stupid question. I don't know what else to say.|ch1pg7601][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +.05]] [[I... Don't have anything to say. Anything I could just seems insufficient.|ch1pg7602][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +.03]] [[''What do you need from me?''|ch1pg7603][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +.05]] [[''I'd, uh, ask why the long face but that seems...'' I trail off with an awkward smile.|ch1pg7604][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +.03]]

Only when you plop yourself down beside them does Harley free up their hands... to give you a crude gesture. <<if $out > .5>>You gasp, absolutely scandalised by their mistreatment of you, "Harley, I am shocked by your demeanour and frankly I cannot stand for such treatment." Huffing in mock-offense you only briefly turn away with arms folded, revelling in the way their shoulders quiver in silent laughter. "This isn't a laughing matter!" You squawk, "I will have my retribution!" "Yeah," Harley finally gathers themself with a quavered sigh through their nose, their hands working swiftly to form their signed words, "In your dreams, maybe." Betrayal strikes you through like a blade and you give them a pout in jest.<<else>>Rolling your eyes, you give them a gentle slap to the upper shoulder, barely budging them as their mouth twitches into half a smile. "Oh, what's that look for?" You ask, pouting just a little. "Nothing," They sign, slow as if they're waiting for some kind of punchline. It sharpens the ringing in your ears to a grating sort of torture, your body seizing up with narrowed eyes, "You just amuse me, is all." They then give you the most cheerful of grins you've ever seen. You snort gracelessly, shoulders relaxing.<</if>> Brushing some stray dust off their favourite flower-patterned blouse, Harley regards you with vague interest as they return to their work, barely-calloused, golden-brown hands flicking the bullets back into their box to return them to their rightful place. You wouldn't know that just five years prior they were a hunter like you; though they're well-toned where it counts--they exercise as best they can--a bad hip kept them from riding without severe discomfort. Now they spend most of their day meticulously cleaning the bar and doing odd-jobs around town. It helps, you suppose, that if push comes to shove they can still protect Eden, even if they can't be out in the field like you. Even when standing as tall as they can, Harley is just below the average height of a hunter, something you know bothers them more than they care to admit. "It's childish," you think is how they once described it, plump lips pulled tight around their grimace. "But I can't help it." [[As for me, I tower over them. I could even rival Lowrie's height. (very tall)|ch1pg51h01][$mc1_height to "vtall"]] [[As for me, I still have quite the advantage over them in terms of height, just maybe not as freakishly as Lowrie. (tall)|ch1pg51h02][$mc1_height to "tall"]] [[As for me, I'm only just taller than them, only they really notice the difference. (average)|ch1pg51h03][$mc1_height to "average"]] [[As for me, I'm just a bit shorter than them, not that they seem to notice. (short)|ch1pg51h04][$mc1_height to "short"]] [[As for me, I'm much shorter than they are, something that brings them great amusement. (very short)|ch1pg51h05][$mc1_height to "vshort"]]

<<set $harley_f to $harley_f +=.05>>Harley frees their hands up only to give you a crude gesture, a wry grin pulling at one corner of their lips before they move onto their task. <<if $out > .5>>"Can you believe them?" You ask in mock offense, your hand slapping to your chest as you turn to Lowrie with a sigh, "Lowrie control your bartender."<<else>>Rolling your eyes, you shoot a weak smile at Lowrie as if to bring some levity to the situation.<</if>> A dull-eyed stare is all you recieve in return, the long face of Lowrie a statue in the dry heat of the bar. They barely move, the only evidence that they're still breathing at all the slight, twitching grip they have on their cup. Like their bones are brittle, their hold on the cup tightens, hand shaking as they silently lift it to their lips and take a long sip. Even with cheeks usually burned red by the sun and flushed with sweat they appear ghostly pale, like a phantom before you simply staring into your soul. The cup is placed back down, grey eyes fall away from you entirely. It's like you're barely there at all. [[''Are... you okay?'' Stupid question. I don't know what else to say.|ch1pg7601][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +.05]] [[I... Don't have anything to say. Anything I could just seems insufficient.|ch1pg7602][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +.03]] [[''What do you need from me?''|ch1pg7603][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +.05]] [[''I'd, uh, ask why the long face but that seems...'' I trail off with an awkward smile.|ch1pg7604][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +.03]]

Harley often regards you with a fair amount of real envy masked by an exaggerated, fake kind. It's petty but mostly in jest when they glance you up and down before nudging you in the ankle as if threatening to topple you over with a well-timed kick. This, however, is not one of those times. "So, you gonna tell me what happened with Lowrie, or am I just assuming the worst of you?" Harley looks at you from the corner of their brown, almost black, eyes, <<if $right > .5>>yet they shake their head as the suspicion fades, "No, I trust you enough to know you wouldn't hurt them. Not on purpose. What happened?"<<else>>and though they certainly don't meet you with hostility, there's a very abject //suspicion// in their half-hesitant gaze. "Sometimes you go too far. So can you tell me what happened?"<</if>> Shit. You glance at Lowrie, hunched over and dead to the world. "They... didn't tell you?" You ask cautiously, tongue coated in lead. <<if $carollie is "dont">>If you have to, you will lie to Harley, to anyone really, but if they don't pursue the question, if they just... let it go, that might just make it easier.<<elseif $carollie is "wont">>You don't want to lie to Harley, least of all about this, but... can you? You told Carol you wouldn't keep her secret, and yet here you are. Hesitating.<<elseif $carollie is "cant">>You can't lie to them. If you do they'll know just like everyone else knows--it's in the way you kick your toe into the floor, no matter how hard you try you just can't seem to shed the nerves that dig cruel fingers around your throat when you lie. Ancients, you don't know how you're getting out of this.<<elseif $carollie is "lie">>You have no trouble lying, you lied to Carol back there too, but somehow this seems different. What if telling Harley really isn't the best way to do this, what if it leads to something worse than just their anger and worry? You gulp, suddenly uncertain.<<else>>You managed to avoid direct answers with Carol, but Harley's just straight up asking, leaving you to your own personal suffering.<</if>> "No," Is their reply, "I know when they aren't ready to talk about something." [[''Just drop it, okay?''|ch1pg5201][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]] [[''If you're really so interested, ask our boss.''|ch1pg5202][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]] [[''It would be better if they told you first.''|ch1pg5203][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''Nothing happened, Harley.''|ch1pg5204][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] <<if $carollie is "cant">>[[''Nothing...'' Shit, I can feel my cheeks heat up, my tongue becoming heavy metal. They'll know I'm lying.|ch1pg5205][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]]<</if>>

You wouldn't exactly say you tower over Harley but their height, or lack thereof does leave you having to crane your neck to look down at them. Oftentimes, you've caught the faux-envy they shoot your way, and sometimes the very real envy sneaks through in their glances. The look they give you now, however, is nothing of the sort. "So, you gonna tell me what happened with Lowrie, or am I just assuming the worst of you?" Harley looks at you from the corner of their brown, almost black, eyes, <<if $right > .5>>yet they shake their head as the suspicion fades, "No, I trust you enough to know you wouldn't hurt them. Not on purpose. What happened?"<<else>>and though they certainly don't meet you with hostility, there's a very abject //suspicion// in their half-hesitant gaze. "Sometimes you go too far, so can you tell me what happened?"<</if>> Shit. You glance at Lowrie, hunched over and dead to the world. "They... didn't tell you?" You ask cautiously, tongue coated in lead. <<if $carollie is "dont">>If you have to, you will lie to Harley, to anyone really, but if they don't pursue the question, if they just... let it go, that might just make it easier.<<elseif $carollie is "wont">>You don't want to lie to Harley, least of all about this, but... can you? You told Carol you wouldn't keep her secret, and yet here you are. Hesitating.<<elseif $carollie is "cant">>You can't lie to them. If you do they'll know just like everyone else knows--it's in the way you kick your toe into the floor, no matter how hard you try you just can't seem to shed the nerves that dig cruel fingers around your throat when you lie. Ancients, you don't know how you're getting out of this.<<elseif $carollie is "lie">>You have no trouble lying, you lied to Carol back there too, but somehow this seems different. What if telling Harley really isn't the best way to do this, what if it leads to something worse than just their anger and worry? You gulp, suddenly uncertain.<<else>>You managed to avoid direct answers with Carol, but Harley's just straight up asking, leaving you to your own personal suffering.<</if>> "No," Is their reply, "I know when they aren't ready to talk about something." [[''Just drop it, okay?''|ch1pg5201][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]] [[''If you're really so interested, ask our boss.''|ch1pg5202][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]] [[''It would be better if they told you first.''|ch1pg5203][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''Nothing happened, Harley.''|ch1pg5204][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] <<if $carollie is "cant">>[[''Nothing...'' Shit, I can feel my cheeks heat up, my tongue becoming heavy metal. They'll know I'm lying.|ch1pg5205][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]]<</if>>

If someone were to line the two of you up side-by-side they'd probably notice the few inches between you, but without such a comparison you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who really cares enough about the difference to specify. Harley is not one of those people. Perhaps it's because of how close you are that makes their envy so obvious, though they hide it as best they can. Right now, however, there is no evidence of any such emotion on their face. "So, you gonna tell me what happened with Lowrie, or am I just assuming the worst of you?" Harley looks at you from the corner of their brown, almost black, eyes, <<if $right > .5>>yet they shake their head as the suspicion fades, "No, I trust you enough to know you wouldn't hurt them. Not on purpose. What happened?"<<else>>and though they certainly don't meet you with hostility, there's a very abject //suspicion// in their half-hesitant gaze. "Sometimes you go too far, so can you tell me what happened?"<</if>> Shit. You glance at Lowrie, hunched over and dead to the world. "They... didn't tell you?" You ask cautiously, tongue coated in lead. <<if $carollie is "dont">>If you have to, you will lie to Harley, to anyone really, but if they don't pursue the question, if they just... let it go, that might just make it easier.<<elseif $carollie is "wont">>You don't want to lie to Harley, least of all about this, but... can you? You told Carol you wouldn't keep her secret, and yet here you are. Hesitating.<<elseif $carollie is "cant">>You can't lie to them. If you do they'll know just like everyone else knows--it's in the way you kick your toe into the floor, no matter how hard you try you just can't seem to shed the nerves that dig cruel fingers around your throat when you lie. Ancients, you don't know how you're getting out of this.<<elseif $carollie is "lie">>You have no trouble lying, you lied to Carol back there too, but somehow this seems different. What if telling Harley really isn't the best way to do this, what if it leads to something worse than just their anger and worry? You gulp, suddenly uncertain.<<else>>You managed to avoid direct answers with Carol, but Harley's just straight up asking, leaving you to your own personal suffering.<</if>> "No," Is their reply, "I know when they aren't ready to talk about something." [[''Just drop it, okay?''|ch1pg5201][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]] [[''If you're really so interested, ask our boss.''|ch1pg5202][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]] [[''It would be better if they told you first.''|ch1pg5203][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''Nothing happened, Harley.''|ch1pg5204][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] <<if $carollie is "cant">>[[''Nothing...'' Shit, I can feel my cheeks heat up, my tongue becoming heavy metal. They'll know I'm lying.|ch1pg5205][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]]<</if>>

Were it not for Harley's hang-ups on their height you probably wouldn't notice the difference at all. The only reason you know they're //just// taller than you is because of the quietly smug grin they sometimes give you when standing next to one another. The look they're giving you now, however, is nothing of the sort. "So, you gonna tell me what happened with Lowrie, or am I just assuming the worst of you?" Harley looks at you from the corner of their brown, almost black, eyes, <<if $right > .5>>yet they shake their head as the suspicion fades, "No, I trust you enough to know you wouldn't hurt them. Not on purpose. What happened?"<<else>>and though they certainly don't meet you with hostility, there's a very abject //suspicion// in their half-hesitant gaze. "Sometimes you go too far, so can you tell me what happened?"<</if>> Shit. You glance at Lowrie, hunched over and dead to the world. "They... didn't tell you?" You ask cautiously, tongue coated in lead. <<if $carollie is "dont">>If you have to, you will lie to Harley, to anyone really, but if they don't pursue the question, if they just... let it go, that might just make it easier.<<elseif $carollie is "wont">>You don't want to lie to Harley, least of all about this, but... can you? You told Carol you wouldn't keep her secret, and yet here you are. Hesitating.<<elseif $carollie is "cant">>You can't lie to them. If you do they'll know just like everyone else knows--it's in the way you kick your toe into the floor, no matter how hard you try you just can't seem to shed the nerves that dig cruel fingers around your throat when you lie. Ancients, you don't know how you're getting out of this.<<elseif $carollie is "lie">>You have no trouble lying, you lied to Carol back there too, but somehow this seems different. What if telling Harley really isn't the best way to do this, what if it leads to something worse than just their anger and worry? You gulp, suddenly uncertain.<<else>>You managed to avoid direct answers with Carol, but Harley's just straight up asking, leaving you to your own personal suffering.<</if>> "No," Is their reply, "I know when they aren't ready to talk about something." [[''Just drop it, okay?''|ch1pg5201][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]] [[''If you're really so interested, ask our boss.''|ch1pg5202][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]] [[''It would be better if they told you first.''|ch1pg5203][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''Nothing happened, Harley.''|ch1pg5204][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] <<if $carollie is "cant">>[[''Nothing...'' Shit, I can feel my cheeks heat up, my tongue becoming heavy metal. They'll know I'm lying.|ch1pg5205][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]]<</if>>

Okay, maybe you're keeping track of who is and isn't taller than you. All those who aren't get a free pass, all those who are, however, well, tall people don't need their knees just as they don't seem to care whether your neck is aching at the end of the day. Usually, Harley would tease you relentlessly for it, but today isn't one of those days. "So, you gonna tell me what happened with Lowrie, or am I just assuming the worst of you?" Harley looks at you from the corner of their brown, almost black, eyes, <<if $right > .5>>yet they shake their head as the suspicion fades, "No, I trust you enough to know you wouldn't hurt them. Not on purpose. What happened?"<<else>>and though they certainly don't meet you with hostility, there's a very abject //suspicion// in their half-hesitant gaze. "Sometimes you go too far, so can you tell me what happened?"<</if>> Shit. You glance at Lowrie, hunched over and dead to the world. "They... didn't tell you?" You ask cautiously, tongue coated in lead. <<if $carollie is "dont">>If you have to, you will lie to Harley, to anyone really, but if they don't pursue the question, if they just... let it go, that might just make it easier.<<elseif $carollie is "wont">>You don't want to lie to Harley, least of all about this, but... can you? You told Carol you wouldn't keep her secret, and yet here you are. Hesitating.<<elseif $carollie is "cant">>You can't lie to them. If you do they'll know just like everyone else knows--it's in the way you kick your toe into the floor, no matter how hard you try you just can't seem to shed the nerves that dig cruel fingers around your throat when you lie. Ancients, you don't know how you're getting out of this.<<elseif $carollie is "lie">>You have no trouble lying, you lied to Carol back there too, but somehow this seems different. What if telling Harley really isn't the best way to do this, what if it leads to something worse than just their anger and worry? You gulp, suddenly uncertain.<<else>>You managed to avoid direct answers with Carol, but Harley's just straight up asking, leaving you to your own personal suffering.<</if>> "No," Is their reply, "I know when they aren't ready to talk about something." [[''Just drop it, okay?''|ch1pg5201][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]] [[''If you're really so interested, ask our boss.''|ch1pg5202][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]] [[''It would be better if they told you first.''|ch1pg5203][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''Nothing happened, Harley.''|ch1pg5204][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] <<if $carollie is "cant">>[[''Nothing...'' Shit, I can feel my cheeks heat up, my tongue becoming heavy metal. They'll know I'm lying.|ch1pg5205][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]]<</if>>

"How do you expect me to?" A part of you knows better than to do so, but Carol hovers in the back of your mind like a haunting. Harley, oblivious to the inner turmoil that threatens to quarter you, huffs. "$mc1_name, just tell me what happened. I need to know how to help." <<if $crude > .5>>"Fuck off," You can't help but grumble, arms folding across your chest on instinct alone. It's a protective measure, like a barrier you know you don't need. Harley isn't violent by nature, just blunt. "I told you I can't."<<else>>"Sorry, I can't." You mutter, arms folding across your chest on instinct alone. It's a protective measure, like a barrier you know you don't need. Harley isn't violent by nature, just blunt.<</if>> Brow twitching, they're turning fully to you now, hands moving like molasses. "You know what, fine," Harley relents, but frustration holds their shoulders in a vice, their entire body rigid and tense. "So you can't tell me, doesn't matter." A few deep breaths and though their brow still pinches in the middle, their strong shoulders slacken in defeat. "It's Caroline, isn't it? She told you to keep your mouth shut?" You swallow hard. Spend enough time around Lowrie and eventually you'll have spent almost the exact amount of time around Carol. Package deal, and all that. Even your lack of answer is answer enough, "She's been doing an awful lot of that lately." Now, you realise, their frustration is less directed at you. [[''How do you know?''|ch1pg5301][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]] [[''She isn't. Trust me.''|ch1pg5302][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] [[''She's trying her best, you know.''|ch1pg5303][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''And you're being nosy.''|ch1pg5304][$harley_r to $harley_r +=.03]]

Harley doesn't answer immediately, brows sinking over dark eyes that don't quite trust the statement. "Ah, I understand," They say, though the twitch of their brow seems to signify that they certainly do not. "But you're right here. Just tell me." <<if $crude > .5>>"Fuck off," You can't help but grumble, arms folding across your chest on instinct alone. It's a protective measure, like a barrier you know you don't need. Harley isn't violent by nature, just blunt. "I said go to her, I'm washing my hands of it."<<else>>"Sorry, I can't." You mutter, arms folding across your chest on instinct alone. It's a protective measure, like a barrier you know you don't need. Harley isn't violent by nature, just blunt.<</if>> Brow twitching, they're turning fully to you now, hands moving like molasses. "You know what, fine," Harley relents, but frustration holds their shoulders in a vice, their entire body rigid and tense. "So you can't tell me, doesn't matter." A few deep breaths and though their brow still pinches in the middle, their strong shoulders slacken in defeat. "It's Caroline, isn't it? She told you to keep your mouth shut?" You swallow hard. Spend enough time around Lowrie and eventually you'll have spent almost the exact amount of time around Carol. Package deal, and all that. Even your lack of answer is answer enough, "She's been doing an awful lot of that lately." Now, you realise, their frustration is less directed at you. [[''How do you know?''|ch1pg5301][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]] [[''She isn't. Trust me.''|ch1pg5302][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] [[''She's trying her best, you know.''|ch1pg5303][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''And you're being nosy.''|ch1pg5304][$harley_r to $harley_r +=.03]]

Harley watches you, not immediately responding before shaking their head, "Fair enough, but they're currently not in a good way and I don't know how to help them." <<if $crude > .5>>"Fuck off," You can't help but grumble, arms folding across your chest on instinct alone. It's a protective measure, like a barrier you know you don't need. Harley isn't violent by nature, just blunt. "You'll find a way without me interfering with it."<<else>>"You'll find a way to do it, I know you will." You mutter, arms folding across your chest on instinct alone. It's a protective measure, like a barrier you know you don't need. Harley isn't violent by nature, just blunt.<</if>> Brow twitching, they're turning fully to you now, hands moving like molasses. "You know what, fine," Harley relents, but frustration holds their shoulders in a vice, their entire body rigid and tense. "So you can't tell me, doesn't matter." A few deep breaths and though their brow still pinches in the middle, their strong shoulders slacken in defeat. "It's Caroline, isn't it? She told you to keep your mouth shut?" You swallow hard. Spend enough time around Lowrie and eventually you'll have spent almost the exact amount of time around Carol. Package deal, and all that. Even your lack of answer is answer enough, "She's been doing an awful lot of that lately." Now, you realise, their frustration is less directed at you. [[''How do you know?''|ch1pg5301][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]] [[''She isn't. Trust me.''|ch1pg5302][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] [[''She's trying her best, you know.''|ch1pg5303][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''And you're being nosy.''|ch1pg5304][$harley_r to $harley_r +=.03]]

Harley downright leers, "Don't give me that, look at them." Their own gaze trails over to the sentient skeleton shoved into a corner, "So what happened?" <<if $crude > .5>>"Fuck off," You can't help but grumble, arms folding across your chest on instinct alone. It's a protective measure, like a barrier you know you don't need. Harley isn't violent by nature, just blunt. "I told nothing happened."<<else>>"Nothing happened..." You mutter, arms folding across your chest on instinct alone. It's a protective measure, like a barrier you know you don't need. Harley isn't violent by nature, just blunt.<</if>> Brow twitching, they're turning fully to you now, hands moving like molasses. "You know what, fine," Harley relents, but frustration holds their shoulders in a vice, their entire body rigid and tense. "So you can't tell me, doesn't matter." A few deep breaths and though their brow still pinches in the middle, their strong shoulders slacken in defeat. "It's Caroline, isn't it? She told you to keep your mouth shut?" You swallow hard. Spend enough time around Lowrie and eventually you'll have spent almost the exact amount of time around Carol. Package deal, and all that. Even your lack of answer is answer enough, "She's been doing an awful lot of that lately." Now, you realise, their frustration is less directed at you. [[''How do you know?''|ch1pg5301][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]] [[''She isn't. Trust me.''|ch1pg5302][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] [[''She's trying her best, you know.''|ch1pg5303][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''And you're being nosy.''|ch1pg5304][$harley_r to $harley_r +=.03]]

Harley gives you the most dubious stare you've ever seen as your cheeks heat with shame. They don't even have it in them to be angry, just... resigned as they swipe a hand over the top of their loose curls, "Why do I even bother? Just tell me, you're not fooling anyone." <<if $crude > .5>>"Fuck off," You can't help but grumble, arms folding across your chest on instinct alone. It's a protective measure, like a barrier you know you don't need. Harley isn't violent by nature, just blunt. "I told nothing happened."<<else>>"Nothing happened..." You mutter, arms folding across your chest on instinct alone. It's a protective measure, like a barrier you know you don't need. Harley isn't violent by nature, just blunt.<</if>> Brow twitching, they're turning fully to you now, hands moving like molasses. "You know what, fine," Harley relents, but frustration holds their shoulders in a vice, their entire body rigid and tense. "So you can't tell me, doesn't matter." A few deep breaths and though their brow still pinches in the middle, their strong shoulders slacken in defeat. "It's Caroline, isn't it? She told you to keep your mouth shut?" You swallow hard. Spend enough time around Lowrie and eventually you'll have spent almost the exact amount of time around Carol. Package deal, and all that. Even your lack of answer is answer enough, "She's been doing an awful lot of that lately." Now, you realise, their frustration is less directed at you. [[''How do you know?''|ch1pg5301][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]] [[''She isn't. Trust me.''|ch1pg5302][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] [[''She's trying her best, you know.''|ch1pg5303][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''And you're being nosy.''|ch1pg5304][$harley_r to $harley_r +=.03]]

<<set $worldly to $worldly -.05>>"I have eyes is how I know," And yet they roll in Harley's head in dismissal. "Listen--" And they're frowning now, thick brows sinking over their eyelids, "I don't care why Carol thinks it's best to hide what she's hiding but it's hurting all of us." "I want to help Lowrie but right now I don't have enough information to go on. Just..." As that gaze drifts to Lowrie, face full of hard edges softening just a little, the tension in their shoulders wanes. "Doesn't matter. If whatever Carol's hiding doesn't come out I'm gonna need to rethink my position here, okay?" <<if $out > .5>>"You mean you'll leave?" The question punches itself from your throat like a boulder pushed uphil, uncharacteristic uncertainty curling cruel tendrils around your limbs.<<else>>"You mean you want--" The words catch in your throat like a life short-lived, a quiet uncertainty curling its way around your throat as your thoughts work their way through your mind. "You mean you want to, to leave?"<</if>> All you're given is a tight, lopsided smile in reply. "Not right now, no, but there's no more water. We all deserve more than this and the world is changing faster than we can. I think maybe we have to start considering our options." [[''You're talking crazy Harley. If we leave we'll die.''|ch1pg5401][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] [[''Where would we even go? Everywhere is exactly the same.''|ch1pg5402][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]] <<if $carol_name is "Carol">>[[''Maybe you have a point. But maybe we can show some faith in Carol?''|ch1pg5403][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]]<<else>>[[''Maybe you have a point. But maybe we can show some faith in Caroline?''|ch1pg5403][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]]<</if>> [[''I agree with you. This isn't working.''|ch1pg5404][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''Should you be saying that within earshot of Lowrie?''|ch1pg5405]] [[''If you do ever leave... maybe just don't forget to say goodbye?''|ch1pg5406][$harley_a to $harley_a +.1]]

<<set $right to $right -.05>>Brown eyes roll, an irritated huff pushing out in a puff of air from Harley's arched nose. "Don't lie to me," They say, "Tell me you'd rather stay out of it but don't try to feign ignorance. I'm not that much of an idiot." The heat on their face dies, their curls flop to and fro with the shake of their head. "Whatever, I want to help Lowrie but right now I don't have enough information to go on. Just..." As that gaze drifts to Lowrie, face full of hard edges softening just a little, the tension in their shoulders wanes. "Doesn't matter. If whatever Carol's hiding doesn't come out I'm gonna need to rethink my position here, okay?" <<if $out > .5>>"You mean you'll leave?" The question punches itself from your throat like a boulder pushed uphil, uncharacteristic uncertainty curling cruel tendrils around your limbs.<<else>>"You mean you want--" The words catch in your throat like a life short-lived, a quiet uncertainty curling its way around your throat as your thoughts work their way through your mind. "You mean you want to, to leave?"<</if>> All you're given is a tight, lopsided smile in reply. "Not right now, no, but there's no more water. We all deserve more than this and the world is changing faster than we can. I think maybe we have to start considering our options." [[''You're talking crazy Harley. If we leave we'll die.''|ch1pg5401][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] [[''Where would we even go? Everywhere is exactly the same.''|ch1pg5402][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]] <<if $carol_name is "Carol">>[[''Maybe you have a point. But maybe we can show some faith in Carol?''|ch1pg5403][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]]<<else>>[[''Maybe you have a point. But maybe we can show some faith in Caroline?''|ch1pg5403][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]]<</if>> [[''I agree with you. This isn't working.''|ch1pg5404][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''Should you be saying that within earshot of Lowrie?''|ch1pg5405]] [[''If you do ever leave... maybe just don't forget to say goodbye?''|ch1pg5406][$harley_a to $harley_a +.1]]

<<set $crude to $crude -.05>>"Yeah," Harley shakes their head, their nose scrunching up just a little with their eyes clenching shut. "What she does is hard work, but that doesn't excuse keeping everyone shut out. Especially when she's so bad at hiding it--always looks sad when she does it." Maybe, you can't help but relent. With a heavy sigh, Harley glances at you, "I want to help Lowrie but right now I don't have enough information to go on. Just..." As that gaze drifts to Lowrie, face full of hard edges softening just a little, the tension in their shoulders wanes. "Doesn't matter. If whatever she's hiding doesn't come out I'm gonna need to rethink my position here, okay?" <<if $out > .5>>"You mean you'll leave?" The question punches itself from your throat like a boulder pushed uphil, uncharacteristic uncertainty curling cruel tendrils around your limbs.<<else>>"You mean you want--" The words catch in your throat like a life short-lived, a quiet uncertainty curling its way around your throat as your thoughts work their way through your mind. "You mean you want to, to leave?"<</if>> All you're given is a tight, lopsided smile in reply. "Not right now, no, but there's no more water. We all deserve more than this and the world is changing faster than we can. I think maybe we have to start considering our options." [[''You're talking crazy Harley. If we leave we'll die.''|ch1pg5401][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] [[''Where would we even go? Everywhere is exactly the same.''|ch1pg5402][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]] <<if $carol_name is "Carol">>[[''Maybe you have a point. But maybe we can show some faith in Carol?''|ch1pg5403][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]]<<else>>[[''Maybe you have a point. But maybe we can show some faith in Caroline?''|ch1pg5403][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]]<</if>> [[''I agree with you. This isn't working.''|ch1pg5404][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''Should you be saying that within earshot of Lowrie?''|ch1pg5405]] [[''If you do ever leave... maybe just don't forget to say goodbye?''|ch1pg5406][$harley_a to $harley_a +.1]]

<<set $worldly to $worldly +.05>>Harley nods slowly, licking their lips just to wet them, "Then I hope you have a plan for the coming weeks. I don't know how much time we have left before we run out of water for good." That's not something you really have in you to consider, not right now. A strong hand falls upon your shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze, a gesture that could be comforting were the conversation not veered dangerously into territory yet unknown. As their head cocks to the side, dark curls swaying with the motion, their eyes fall from you and to somewhere behind you. "If you need," They sign, "We can talk about this later but I think your time is up." You don't quite follow the line of their arm to the mess of red hair poking a head in through the door of the bar, bright green eyes hidden behind oversized glasses and the harsh glare of the sun. You don't quite notice the shy wave you're given before you're turning back to the silent bartender. "But, what if--" <<if $harley_r > $harley_f>>"Nothing's gonna happen anytime soon." Harley insists, a weak slap on your shoulder cutting you off before you can properly voice your concerns. "Just a thought, you know?" <<else>>"Nothing is set in stone just yet," Harley insists, a little tug on your sleeve cutting you off before you can properly voice your concerns. "I just think... no. Nevermind. Conversation for later."<</if>> A stubborn smile pulls at Harley's face as they turn you around and give you a gentle push, your mind only now processing the very real job you have to do and the pile of muscle waiting loyally at the door yet still somehow managing to seem tiny all curled up like they are. You sigh, wave Harley off, [[then move to greet Ridley.|ch1pg55]]

<<set $crude to $crude +.05>>Harley doesn't seem quite so frustrated by that as you might expect. Instead they give you a half-hearted shrug. "Maybe," They relent, "But staying doesn't mean we'll live, either." That's not something you really have in you to consider, not right now. A strong hand falls upon your shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze, a gesture that could be comforting were the conversation not veered dangerously into territory yet unknown. As their head cocks to the side, dark curls swaying with the motion, their eyes fall from you and to somewhere behind you. "If you need," They sign, "We can talk about this later but I think your time is up." You don't quite follow the line of their arm to the mess of red hair poking a head in through the door of the bar, bright green eyes hidden behind oversized glasses and the harsh glare of the sun. You don't quite notice the shy wave you're given before you're turning back to the silent bartender. "But, what if--" <<if $harley_r > $harley_f>>"Nothing's gonna happen anytime soon." Harley insists, a weak slap on your shoulder cutting you off before you can properly voice your concerns. "Just a thought, you know?" <<else>>"Nothing is set in stone just yet," Harley insists, a little tug on your sleeve cutting you off before you can properly voice your concerns. "I just think... no. Nevermind. Conversation for later."<</if>> A stubborn smile pulls at Harley's face as they turn you around and give you a gentle push, your mind only now processing the very real job you have to do and the pile of muscle waiting loyally at the door yet still somehow managing to seem tiny all curled up like they are. You sigh, wave Harley off, [[then move to greet Ridley.|ch1pg55]]

<<set $worldly to $worldly +.05>>Harley shrugs, "You do have a point," They concede, "And maybe I'm just being stupid, but one way or another we need to find water, right?" That's not something you really have in you to consider, not right now. A strong hand falls upon your shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze, a gesture that could be comforting were the conversation not veered dangerously into territory yet unknown. As their head cocks to the side, dark curls swaying with the motion, their eyes fall from you and to somewhere behind you. "If you need," They sign, "We can talk about this later but I think your time is up." You don't quite follow the line of their arm to the mess of red hair poking a head in through the door of the bar, bright green eyes hidden behind oversized glasses and the harsh glare of the sun. You don't quite notice the shy wave you're given before you're turning back to the silent bartender. "But, what if--" <<if $harley_r > $harley_f>>"Nothing's gonna happen anytime soon." Harley insists, a weak slap on your shoulder cutting you off before you can properly voice your concerns. "Just a thought, you know?" <<else>>"Nothing is set in stone just yet," Harley insists, a little tug on your sleeve cutting you off before you can properly voice your concerns. "I just think... no. Nevermind. Conversation for later."<</if>> A stubborn smile pulls at Harley's face as they turn you around and give you a gentle push, your mind only now processing the very real job you have to do and the pile of muscle waiting loyally at the door yet still somehow managing to seem tiny all curled up like they are. You sigh, wave Harley off, [[then move to greet Ridley.|ch1pg55]]

<<set $worldly to $worldly -.05>>Harley considers your proposal for about a second more than you expected them to, however they quickly shake their head, "How much faith can we afford when we're all dying?" And yet, their tone isn't unkind, not by a long shot. That's not something you really have in you to consider, not right now. A strong hand falls upon your shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze, a gesture that could be comforting were the conversation not veered dangerously into territory yet unknown. As their head cocks to the side, dark curls swaying with the motion, their eyes fall from you and to somewhere behind you. "If you need," They sign, "We can talk about this later but I think your time is up." You don't quite follow the line of their arm to the mess of red hair poking a head in through the door of the bar, bright green eyes hidden behind oversized glasses and the harsh glare of the sun. You don't quite notice the shy wave you're given before you're turning back to the silent bartender. "But, what if--" <<if $harley_r > $harley_f>>"Nothing's gonna happen anytime soon." Harley insists, a weak slap on your shoulder cutting you off before you can properly voice your concerns. "Just a thought, you know?" <<else>>"Nothing is set in stone just yet," Harley insists, a little tug on your sleeve cutting you off before you can properly voice your concerns. "I just think... no. Nevermind. Conversation for later."<</if>> A stubborn smile pulls at Harley's face as they turn you around and give you a gentle push, your mind only now processing the very real job you have to do and the pile of muscle waiting loyally at the door yet still somehow managing to seem tiny all curled up like they are. You sigh, wave Harley off, [[then move to greet Ridley.|ch1pg55]]

<<set $worldly to $worldly +.05>>Harley snickers, "They already know my position," They shrug, "Carol and I may not agree with a lot of things but Lowrie is free to have their own opinions. Neither of us are stopping that." A strong hand falls upon your shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze, a gesture that could be comforting were the conversation not veered dangerously into territory yet unknown. As their head cocks to the side, dark curls swaying with the motion, their eyes fall from you and to somewhere behind you. "If you need," They sign, "We can talk about this later but I think your time is up." You don't quite follow the line of their arm to the mess of red hair poking a head in through the door of the bar, bright green eyes hidden behind oversized glasses and the harsh glare of the sun. You don't quite notice the shy wave you're given before you're turning back to the silent bartender. "But, what if--" <<if $harley_r > $harley_f>>"Nothing's gonna happen anytime soon." Harley insists, a weak slap on your shoulder cutting you off before you can properly voice your concerns. "Just a thought, you know?" <<else>>"Nothing is set in stone just yet," Harley insists, a little tug on your sleeve cutting you off before you can properly voice your concerns. "I just think... no. Nevermind. Conversation for later."<</if>> A stubborn smile pulls at Harley's face as they turn you around and give you a gentle push, your mind only now processing the very real job you have to do and the pile of muscle waiting loyally at the door yet still somehow managing to seem tiny all curled up like they are. You sigh, wave Harley off, [[then move to greet Ridley.|ch1pg55]]

<<if $rogender is "default">>Were Ridley to enter a room full of people you probably wouldn’t even notice $ridhim despite $ridhis size. Somehow the great hulking mountain of muscle best compared to a <<click "bear">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Monsters in the Desert"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Monsters").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> holds $ridhimself like a mouse and hides perpetually behind a veil of messy red hair. Oh, $ridhes nice enough, if a little strange; <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they spend<<else>>$ridhe spends<</if>> most of $ridhis free time out in the desert doing who knows what and you’re sure $ridhe would disappear for days at a time if not for good if given the chance. Still… $ridhes pleasant if not a bit eccentric. As you take a finally sidle up to your partner for the job, you’re given a tiny, single-dimpled smile that reminds you of a dog; loyal, and hopeful, and endlessly optimistic, yet behind those oversized glasses green eyes are calculating the likelihood of getting out of this conversation without being made fun of. [[I would never make fun of Ridley!|ch1pg5601][$ridfun to "no"]] [[I might have in the past but not anymore.|ch1pg5602][$ridfun to "used"]] [[Well… they are very easy to make fun of, so absolutely.|ch1pg5603][$ridfun to "yes"]]<<elseif $rogender is "female">><<set $ridley_gender to "female">><<set $ridhe to "she">><<set $ridhim to "her">><<set $ridhis to "hers">><<set $ridhis2 to "hers">><<set $ridhimself to "herself">><<set $ridhes to "she's">><<set $ridman to "woman">>Were Ridley to enter a room full of people you probably wouldn’t even notice $ridhim despite $ridhis size. Somehow the great hulking mountain of muscle best compared to a <<click "bear">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Monsters in the Desert"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Monsters").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> holds $ridhimself like a mouse and hides perpetually behind a veil of messy red hair. Oh, $ridhes nice enough, if a little strange; <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they spend<<else>>$ridhe spends<</if>> most of $ridhis free time out in the desert doing who knows what and you’re sure $ridhe would disappear for days at a time if not for good if given the chance. Still… $ridhes pleasant if not a bit eccentric. As you take a finally sidle up to your partner for the job, you’re given a tiny, single-dimpled smile that reminds you of a dog; loyal, and hopeful, and endlessly optimistic, yet behind those oversized glasses green eyes are calculating the likelihood of getting out of this conversation without being made fun of. [[I would never make fun of Ridley!|ch1pg5601][$ridfun to "no"]] [[I might have in the past but not anymore.|ch1pg5602][$ridfun to "used"]] [[Well… she is very easy to make fun of, so absolutely.|ch1pg5603][$ridfun to "yes"]] <<elseif $rogender is "male">><<set $ridley_gender to "male">><<set $ridhe to "he">><<set $ridhim to "him">><<set $ridhis to "his">><<set $ridhis2 to "his">><<set $ridhimself to "himself">><<set $ridhes to "he's">><<set $ridman to "man">>Were Ridley to enter a room full of people you probably wouldn’t even notice $ridhim despite $ridhis size. Somehow the great hulking mountain of muscle best compared to a <<click "bear">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Monsters in the Desert"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Monsters").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> holds $ridhimself like a mouse and hides perpetually behind a veil of messy red hair. Oh, $ridhes nice enough, if a little strange; <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they spend<<else>>$ridhe spends<</if>> most of $ridhis free time out in the desert doing who knows what and you’re sure $ridhe would disappear for days at a time if not for good if given the chance. Still… $ridhes pleasant if not a bit eccentric. As you take a finally sidle up to your partner for the job, you’re given a tiny, single-dimpled smile that reminds you of a dog; loyal, and hopeful, and endlessly optimistic, yet behind those oversized glasses green eyes are calculating the likelihood of getting out of this conversation without being made fun of. [[I would never make fun of Ridley!|ch1pg5601][$ridfun to "no"]] [[I might have in the past but not anymore.|ch1pg5602][$ridfun to "used"]] [[Well… he is very easy to make fun of, so absolutely.|ch1pg5603][$ridfun to "yes"]]<<elseif $rogender is "non">>Were Ridley to enter a room full of people you probably wouldn’t even notice $ridhim despite $ridhis size. Somehow the great hulking mountain of muscle best compared to a <<click "bear">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Monsters in the Desert"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Monsters").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> holds $ridhimself like a mouse and hides perpetually behind a veil of messy red hair. Oh, $ridhes nice enough, if a little strange; <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they spend<<else>>$ridhe spends<</if>> most of $ridhis free time out in the desert doing who knows what and you’re sure $ridhe would disappear for days at a time if not for good if given the chance. Still… $ridhes pleasant if not a bit eccentric. As you take a finally sidle up to your partner for the job, you’re given a tiny, single-dimpled smile that reminds you of a dog; loyal, and hopeful, and endlessly optimistic, yet behind those oversized glasses green eyes are calculating the likelihood of getting out of this conversation without being made fun of. [[I would never make fun of Ridley!|ch1pg5601][$ridfun to "no"]] [[I might have in the past but not anymore.|ch1pg5602][$ridfun to "used"]] [[Well… they are very easy to make fun of, so absolutely.|ch1pg5603][$ridfun to "yes"]]<<else>>You momentarily take a moment to glance at the figure in the doorway, their giant body curled in on themself like crumpled tissue paper. Despite their large frame their modest body language would sooner beg the protection of them rather than by them, and you suppose it's always been that way; while you wouldn't go so far as to call them shy, Ridley simply doesn't seem aware of their own size. [[And we love them for it.|ridgen][$ridley_gender to "non"]] [[And we love her for it.|ridgen][$ridley_gender to "female"]] [[And we love him for it.|ridgen][$ridley_gender to "male"]]<</if>>

<<set $ridley_f to $ridley_f +.05>>You meet $ridhim with your own content smile and guide $ridhim back outside with a tug on $ridhis faded, blue overalls. After some initial confused hesitation, Ridley takes your cue with a huff of pleased laughter, head shaking. <<if $out > .5>>"Come on, let's get outta here, feels real down, don't you think?" You say, glancing at $ridhim with a growing little grin in the hopes to spread something more genuine across $ridhis chiselled face. Nothing ever quite comes.<<else>>"Come on," You say, leading $ridhim out with little else besides a, "Let's go."<</if>> The wagon is already set up outside, two wriath-thin horses strapped up to the end, one saddled the other simply pawing in disinterest at the dust with a loud huff. The lovingly dubbed 'wagon' is little more than a trailer with a tent-like cloth held up by four spindly pieces of wood to shield those underneath from the harsh sun, but it does the trick in the absense of anything better. A stranger and a woman you haven't seen in some time stand by the wagon, one of them inspecting the small water tank in the back while the other appears to be eyeing the weapons strapped to the saddled horse--though you can't quite tell on account of the darkened glasses that cover their eyes. "That them?" You stop a few paces short of the pair, looking to Ridley for guidance. "That's them," <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>They nod,<<else>>$ridhe nods<</if>>. Ridley shifts a little, thick brows furrowing under $ridhis glasses as $ridhis head turns to the stranger; a person who somehow manages to maintain not a small amount of composure clad only in a tattered, black robe-like outfit under the midday sun. <<if $rogender is "choice">>[[Seeming not to have noticed me, she worries the end of her messy, grey-flecked braid between bony fingers.|ch1pg57gender][$allard_gender to "female"]] [[Seeming not to have noticed me, he pats down some flyaway strands of messy, grey-flecked hair with bony fingers.|ch1pg57gender][$allard_gender to "male"]] [[Seeming not to have noticed me, they comb through the unkempt end of their messy, grey-flecked, little ponytail with bony fingers.|ch1pg57gender][$allard_gender to "non"]]<<else>>[[Continue|ch1pg57]]<</if>>

<<set $ridley_f to $ridley_f +.05>><<set $ridley_r to $ridley_r +.03>>Ridley was, and still is, incredibly easy to make fun of. Whether it's $ridhis strange mannerisms, $ridhis hobbies, or $ridhis relative loneliness in the already isolated world of Wasteland. It... started to leave a bad taste in your mouth, now you like to think you're as kind as you can be to $ridhim.<<if $crude > .5>> Even if it may not seem like it from the outside.<</if>> You meet $ridhim with your own content smile and guide $ridhim back outside with a tug on $ridhis faded, blue overalls. After some initial confused hesitation, Ridley takes your cue with a huff of pleased laughter, head shaking. <<if $out > .5>>"Come on, let's get outta here, feels real down, don't you think?" You say, glancing at $ridhim with a growing little grin in the hopes to spread something more genuine across $ridhis chiselled face. Nothing ever quite comes.<<else>>"Come on," You say, leading $ridhim out with little else besides a, "Let's go."<</if>> The wagon is already set up outside, two wriath-thin horses strapped up to the end, one saddled the other simply pawing in disinterest at the dust with a loud huff. The lovingly dubbed 'wagon' is little more than a trailer with a tent-like cloth held up by four spindly pieces of wood to shield those underneath from the harsh sun, but it does the trick in the absense of anything better. A stranger and a woman you haven't seen in some time stand by the wagon, one of them inspecting the small water tank in the back while the other appears to be eyeing the weapons strapped to the saddled horse--though you can't quite tell on account of the darkened glasses that cover their eyes. "That them?" You stop a few paces short of the pair, looking to Ridley for guidance. "That's them," <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>They nod,<<else>>$ridhe nods<</if>>. Ridley shifts a little, thick brows furrowing under $ridhis glasses as $ridhis head turns to the stranger; a person who somehow manages to maintain not a small amount of composure clad only in a tattered, black robe-like outfit under the midday sun. <<if $rogender is "choice">>[[Seeming not to have noticed me, she worries the end of her messy, grey-flecked braid between bony fingers.|ch1pg57gender][$allard_gender to "female"]] [[Seeming not to have noticed me, he pats down some flyaway strands of messy, grey-flecked hair with bony fingers.|ch1pg57gender][$allard_gender to "male"]] [[Seeming not to have noticed me, they comb through the unkempt end of their messy, grey-flecked, little ponytail with bony fingers.|ch1pg57gender][$allard_gender to "non"]]<<else>>[[Continue|ch1pg57]]<</if>>

<<set $ridley_r to $ridley_r +.05>>You wouldn't say you //bully// Ridley. As far as you can tell <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they remain<<else>>$ridhe remains<</if>> mostly unbothered by your japes and teasing. Besides, it's never with any malicious intent, but <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they do<<else>>$ridhe does<</if>> make it easy. Sometimes too easy. You meet $ridhim with a snicker and folded arms before you tug Ridley forward by the loose shoulder strap of $ridhis faded, blue overalls. "Come on Beanpole, we don't have all day." Though $ridhis large body could doubtlessly stop you in your tracks, $ridhe <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>allow<<else>>allows<</if>> $ridhimself to be pulled along as if <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they weigh<<else>>$ridhe weighs<</if>> little more than a feather. The wagon is already set up outside, two wriath-thin horses strapped up to the end, one saddled the other simply pawing in disinterest at the dust with a loud huff. The lovingly dubbed 'wagon' is little more than a trailer with a tent-like cloth held up by four spindly pieces of wood to shield those underneath from the harsh sun, but it does the trick in the absense of anything better. A stranger and a woman you haven't seen in some time stand by the wagon, one of them inspecting the small water tank in the back while the other appears to be eyeing the weapons strapped to the saddled horse--though you can't quite tell on account of the darkened glasses that cover their eyes. "That them?" You stop a few paces short of the pair, looking to Ridley for guidance. "That's them," <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>They nod,<<else>>$ridhe nods<</if>>. Ridley shifts a little, thick brows furrowing under $ridhis glasses as $ridhis head turns to the stranger; a person who somehow manages to maintain not a small amount of composure clad only in a tattered, black robe-like outfit under the midday sun. <<if $rogender is "choice">>[[Seeming not to have noticed me, she worries the end of her messy, grey-flecked braid between bony fingers.|ch1pg57gender][$allard_gender to "female"]] [[Seeming not to have noticed me, he pats down some flyaway strands of messy, grey-flecked hair with bony fingers.|ch1pg57gender][$allard_gender to "male"]] [[Seeming not to have noticed me, they comb through the unkempt end of their messy, grey-flecked, little ponytail with bony fingers.|ch1pg57gender][$allard_gender to "non"]]<<else>>[[Continue|ch1pg57]]<</if>>

<<if $ridley_gender is "non">>Were Ridley to enter a room full of people you probably wouldn’t even notice $ridhim despite $ridhis size. Somehow the great hulking mountain of muscle best compared to a <<click "sand bear">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Monsters in the Desert"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Monsters").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> holds $ridhimself like a mouse and hides perpetually behind a veil of messy red hair. Oh, $ridhes nice enough, if a little strange; <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they spend<<else>>$ridhe spends<</if>> most of $ridhis free time out in the desert doing who knows what and you’re sure $ridhe would disappear for days at a time if not for good if given the chance. Still… $ridhes nice if not a bit eccentric. As you sidle up to Ridley you’re given a tiny, single-dimpled smile that reminds you of a dog; loyal, and hopeful, and endlessly optimistic, yet behind those oversized glasses green eyes are calculating the likelihood of getting out of this conversation without being made fun of. [[I would never make fun of Ridley!|ch1pg5601][$ridfun to "no"]] [[I might have in the past but not anymore.|ch1pg5602][$ridfun to "used"]] [[Well… they are very easy to make fun of, so absolutely.|ch1pg5603][$ridfun to "yes"]]<<elseif $ridley_gender is "female">><<set $ridley_gender to "female">><<set $ridhe to "she">><<set $ridhim to "her">><<set $ridhis to "hers">><<set $ridhis2 to "hers">><<set $ridhimself to "herself">><<set $ridhes to "she's">><<set $ridman to "woman">>Were Ridley to enter a room full of people you probably wouldn’t even notice $ridhim despite $ridhis size. Somehow the great hulking mountain of muscle best compared to a <<click "sand bear">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Monsters in the Desert"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Monsters").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> holds $ridhimself like a mouse and hides perpetually behind a veil of messy red hair. Oh, $ridhes nice enough, if a little strange; <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they spend<<else>>$ridhe spends<</if>> most of $ridhis free time out in the desert doing who knows what and you’re sure $ridhe would disappear for days at a time if not for good if given the chance. Still… $ridhes nice if not a bit eccentric. As you sidle up to Ridley you’re given a tiny, single-dimpled smile that reminds you of a dog; loyal, and hopeful, and endlessly optimistic, yet behind those oversized glasses green eyes are calculating the likelihood of getting out of this conversation without being made fun of. [[I would never make fun of Ridley!|ch1pg5601][$ridfun to "no"]] [[I might have in the past but not anymore.|ch1pg5602][$ridfun to "used"]] [[Well… she is very easy to make fun of, so absolutely.|ch1pg5603][$ridfun to "yes"]]<<else>><<set $ridley_gender to "male">><<set $ridhe to "he">><<set $ridhim to "him">><<set $ridhis to "his">><<set $ridhis2 to "his">><<set $ridhimself to "himself">><<set $ridhes to "he's">><<set $ridman to "man">>Were Ridley to enter a room full of people you probably wouldn’t even notice $ridhim despite $ridhis size. Somehow the great hulking mountain of muscle best compared to a <<click "sand bear">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Monsters in the Desert"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Monsters").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> holds $ridhimself like a mouse and hides perpetually behind a veil of messy red hair. Oh, $ridhes nice enough, if a little strange; <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they spend<<else>>$ridhe spends<</if>> most of $ridhis free time out in the desert doing who knows what and you’re sure $ridhe would disappear for days at a time if not for good if given the chance. Still… $ridhes nice if not a bit eccentric. As you sidle up to Ridley you’re given a tiny, single-dimpled smile that reminds you of a dog; loyal, and hopeful, and endlessly optimistic, yet behind those oversized glasses green eyes are calculating the likelihood of getting out of this conversation without being made fun of. [[I would never make fun of Ridley!|ch1pg5601][$ridfun to "no"]] [[I might have in the past but not anymore.|ch1pg5602][$ridfun to "used"]] [[Well… he is very easy to make fun of, so absolutely.|ch1pg5603][$ridfun to "yes"]]<</if>>

You're offered a smile and a shake of the head, "I promise," Harleys says, "But I don't even know when, or even if, I am going to leave in the first place." A pause, lips thinning momentarily as Harley actually looks at you. There's something... sober there, like they're watching you properly for the first time. "Either way," They sign, slow, "You'll know when I leave." That's not something you really have in you to consider, not right now. A strong hand falls upon your shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze, a gesture that could be comforting were the conversation not veered dangerously into territory yet unknown. As their head cocks to the side, dark curls swaying with the motion, their eyes fall from you and to somewhere behind you. "If you need," They sign, "We can talk about this later but I think your time is up." You don't quite follow the line of their arm to the mess of red hair poking a head in through the door of the bar, bright green eyes hidden behind oversized glasses and the harsh glare of the sun. You don't quite notice the shy wave you're given before you're turning back to the silent bartender. "But, what if--" <<if $harley_r > $harley_f>>"Nothing's gonna happen anytime soon." Harley insists, a weak slap on your shoulder cutting you off before you can properly voice your concerns. "Just a thought, you know?" <<else>>"Nothing is set in stone just yet," Harley insists, a little tug on your sleeve cutting you off before you can properly voice your concerns. "I just think... no. Nevermind. Conversation for later."<</if>> A stubborn smile pulls at Harley's face as they turn you around and give you a gentle push, your mind only now processing the very real job you have to do and the pile of muscle waiting loyally at the door yet still somehow managing to seem tiny all curled up like they are. You sigh, wave Harley off, [[then move to greet Ridley.|ch1pg55]]

<<if $allard_gender is "female">><<set $allardhe to "she">><<set $allardhim to "her">><<set $allardhis to "hers">><<set $allardhis2 to "hers">><<set $allardhimself to "herself">><<set $allardhes to "she's">><<set $allardman to "woman">><<elseif $allard_gender is "male">><<else>><<set $allardhe to "they">><<set $allardhim to "them">><<set $allardhis to "their">><<set $allardhis2 to "theirs">><<set $allardhimself to "themself">><<set $allardhes to "they're">><<set $allardman to "person">><</if>><<set $met_allard to true>><<set $met_ridley to true>>Ridley pulls a face, halfway between confusion and anger--suspicion? "What do you see?" You ask, but all you receive is a half-formed shrug. "Nothing, nothing, it's just..." Ridley chews on $ridhis bottom lip like $ridhes starving. Their head turns away from you, away from your charges, and groans nervously, "I-I just think something's weird about the priest. You don't see it?" "What do you mean by that?" You ask, the spare few seconds of no reply erasing Ridley like a spirit on the wind. Eventually, <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they shrug<<else>>$ridhe shrugs<</if>> once more. A grimace finds your face<<if $ridfun is "no">> as you tug on $ridhis sleeve, "Come on, do I need to get on my knees and beg for one of those brilliant explanations of yours?" That face of hard edges scrunches up, thin lips pulling up in distaste, "Do you want me to pretend I don't know you?" A huff of halfhearted laughter pushes from $ridhis lungs and $ridhis head shakes, "I don't know what I mean. I just... something doesn't seem right about $allardhim, alright? Like $allardhes... stiff, holding $allardhimself back, maybe. Is that weird? It sounds weird."<<elseif $ridfun is "used">> as you tug on $ridhis sleeve, "Come on, do I need to get on my knees and beg for an explanations?" That face of hard edges scrunches up, thin lips pulling up in distaste, "Please don't." A huff of awkward laughter pushes from $ridhis lungs and $ridhis head shakes, "I don't know what I mean. I just... something doesn't seem right about $allardhim, alright? Like $allardhes... stiff, holding $allardhimself back, maybe. Is that weird? It sounds weird."<<else>> as you give $ridhim a little pat on the shoulder with the backs of your fingers, "Aw, come on Ridley, give me one of your little monologues. Surely you have a reason." That face of hard edges scrunches up, thin lips pulling up in distaste, and through the glare in $ridhis glasses you think you almost see a lion's ferocity. "Just... shush." A huff of forced laughter pushes from $ridhis lungs and $ridhis head shakes, "I don't know what I mean. I just... something doesn't seem right about $allardhim, alright? Like $allardhes... stiff, holding $allardhimself back, maybe. Is that weird? It's... probably weird."<</if>> [[''It is a little weird.''|ch1pg5801][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.03]] [[''Maybe. I'll keep an eye out to be sure.''|ch1pg5802][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.05]] [[''Maybe there's a reason you wear glasses after all.''|ch1pg5803][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.05]] [[''That's a priest, Ridley, why are you cautious of that?''|ch1pg5804][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.03]] [[Watch the priest for a moment, see if I can spot what Ridley sees.|ch1pg5805][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.05]]

<<set $met_allard to true>><<set $met_ridley to true>><<if $allard_gender is "female">><<set $allardhe to "she">><<set $allardhim to "her">><<set $allardhis to "hers">><<set $allardhis2 to "hers">><<set $allardhimself to "herself">><<set $allardhes to "she's">><<set $allardman to "woman">><<elseif $allard_gender is "male">><<else>><<set $allardhe to "they">><<set $allardhim to "them">><<set $allardhis to "their">><<set $allardhis2 to "theirs">><<set $allardhimself to "themself">><<set $allardhes to "they're">><<set $allardman to "person">><</if>><<set $met_allard to true>><<set $met_ridley to true>>Ridley pulls a face, halfway between confusion and anger--suspicion? "What do you see?" You ask, but all you receive is a half-formed shrug. "Nothing, nothing, it's just..." Ridley chews on $ridhis bottom lip like $ridhes starving. Their head turns away from you, away from your charges, and groans nervously, "I-I just think something's weird about the priest. You don't see it?" "What do you mean by that?" You ask, the spare few seconds of no reply erasing Ridley like a spirit on the wind. Eventually, <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they shrug<<else>>$ridhe shrugs<</if>> once more. A grimace finds your face<<if $ridfun is "no">> as you tug on $ridhis sleeve, "Come on, do I need to get on my knees and beg for one of those brilliant explanations of yours?" That face of hard edges scrunches up, thin lips pulling up in distaste, "Do you want me to pretend I don't know you?" A huff of halfhearted laughter pushes from $ridhis lungs and $ridhis head shakes, "I don't know what I mean. I just... something doesn't seem right about $allardhim, alright? Like $allardhes... stiff, holding $allardhimself back, maybe. Is that weird? It sounds weird."<<elseif $ridfun is "used">> as you tug on $ridhis sleeve, "Come on, do I need to get on my knees and beg for an explanations?" That face of hard edges scrunches up, thin lips pulling up in distaste, "Please don't." A huff of awkward laughter pushes from $ridhis lungs and $ridhis head shakes, "I don't know what I mean. I just... something doesn't seem right about $allardhim, alright? Like $allardhes... stiff, holding $allardhimself back, maybe. Is that weird? It sounds weird."<<else>> as you give $ridhim a little pat on the shoulder with the backs of your fingers, "Aw, come on Ridley, give me one of your little monologues. Surely you have a reason." That face of hard edges scrunches up, thin lips pulling up in distaste, and through the glare in $ridhis glasses you think you almost see a lion's ferocity. "Just... shush." A huff of forced laughter pushes from $ridhis lungs and $ridhis head shakes, "I don't know what I mean. I just... something doesn't seem right about $allardhim, alright? Like $allardhes... stiff, holding $allardhimself back, maybe. Is that weird? It's... probably weird."<</if>> [[''It is a little weird.''|ch1pg5801][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.03]] [[''Maybe. I'll keep an eye out to be sure.''|ch1pg5802][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.05]] [[''Maybe there's a reason you wear glasses after all.''|ch1pg5803][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.05]] [[''That's a priest, Ridley, why are you cautious of that?''|ch1pg5804][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.03]] [[Watch the priest for a moment, see if I can spot what Ridley sees.|ch1pg5805][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.05]]

<<set $out to $out +.05>>"Yeah," Ridley readily agrees, "Thought so." You both watch and wait for a moment, watching the strange pair before either the heat or your shared patience wears you down. Something... itches at the back of your mind, reminding you of Carol's order to keep everything quiet. There's no time to talk about it, not now, but it tugs at you in a way that's almost painful. For now, however, you turn your attention to your would-be travellers. Colette is a strong-jawed woman whose silver hair has gone from a full, albeit messy bob to next to none in the span of a few months. Though a hunter at the age of sixty, she went missing a while back and apparently only now has made her return. She's down a few fingers since last you saw. You're greeted with half of a smile and a brief nod. Her travel companion on the other hand, tall and slim, with the beginnings of some wrinkles set into $allardhis face, straightens up with a hiss and shoves $allardhis pale hand out at you as you approach. <<if $out > .5>>A pair of thin shoulders relax as soon as you take a hold and give $allardhim a firm shake, one that practically pulls the poor $allardman off-balance with a startled yelp. "Sorry," you grimace, "Guess I don't know my own strength." "It's no problem at all," Is the slow drawl of an answer you get in return, voice low as your charge hastily readjusts $allardhis dark-tinted glasses. "I suppose I even deserve a bit of a shock, Colette often tells me--"<<else>>When you don't return the gesture, $allardhis fingers twitch into a fist and the offer is turned into a tug on mousy brown hair. "Apologies," The priest's voice is a slow drawl, the word crawling from $allardhis lips along with $allardhis bashful smile like a lazy cat emerging from $allardhis spot in the sun. "Was I too familiar? Colette often tells me--"<</if>> "That you need to pipe down, Priest," The old woman sighs. She's already situated herself in the wagon, cross-legged with one elbow resting on the edge. A rusty blade mostly chipped away at the tip rests in her lap, what fingers remain on her bad hand dragging yearningly across the hilt. "Aren't we late enough already, it's your thing we need to do." "In a minute, I've barely gotten through our introductions!" The $allardman laughs roughly, tugging $allardhis hands into a pair of black gloves. When $allardhis fingers pull away there's a kind, if somewhat teasing smirk trying to ply them apart. "Just between you and me she's more excited than I am. I hear you already know Colette, [[I'm Allard.''|ch1pg59]]

<<set $worldly to $worldly +.05>>Ridley gives a grunt of acknowledgement, not quite looking your way as $ridhis hands stuff themselves into $ridhis pockets. You give $ridhim a glance and find a content smile tugging one corner of $ridhis mouth. Something... itches at the back of your mind, reminding you of Carol's order to keep everything quiet. There's no time to talk about it, not now, but it tugs at you in a way that's almost painful. For now, however, you turn your attention to your would-be travellers. Colette is a strong-jawed woman whose silver hair has gone from a full, albeit messy bob to next to none in the span of a few months. Though a hunter at the age of sixty, she went missing a while back and apparently only now has made her return. She's down a few fingers since last you saw. You're greeted with half of a smile and a brief nod. Her travel companion on the other hand, tall and slim, with the beginnings of some wrinkles set into $allardhis face, straightens up with a hiss and shoves $allardhis pale hand out at you as you approach. <<if $out > .5>>A pair of thin shoulders relax as soon as you take a hold and give $allardhim a firm shake, one that practically pulls the poor $allardman off-balance with a startled yelp. "Sorry," you grimace, "Guess I don't know my own strength." "It's no problem at all," Is the slow drawl of an answer you get in return, voice low as your charge hastily readjusts $allardhis dark-tinted glasses. "I suppose I even deserve a bit of a shock, Colette often tells me--"<<else>>When you don't return the gesture, $allardhis fingers twitch into a fist and the offer is turned into a tug on mousy brown hair. "Apologies," The priest's voice is a slow drawl, the word crawling from $allardhis lips along with $allardhis bashful smile like a lazy cat emerging from $allardhis spot in the sun. "Was I too familiar? Colette often tells me--"<</if>> "That you need to pipe down, Priest," The old woman sighs. She's already situated herself in the wagon, cross-legged with one elbow resting on the edge. A rusty blade mostly chipped away at the tip rests in her lap, what fingers remain on her bad hand dragging yearningly across the hilt. "Aren't we late enough already, it's your thing we need to do." "In a minute, I've barely gotten through our introductions!" The $allardman laughs roughly, tugging $allardhis hands into a pair of black gloves. When $allardhis fingers pull away there's a kind, if somewhat teasing smirk trying to ply them apart. "Just between you and me she's more excited than I am. I hear you already know Colette, [[I'm Allard.''|ch1pg59]]

<<set $crude to $crude +.05>>Ridley glances at you, away, then turns back to you, cheeks red and words stuttering in $ridhis throat. Shrinking in on $ridhimself, $ridhe <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>take<<else>>takes<</if>> $ridhis glasses from $ridhis face and starts rubbing at the lenses with the bottom of $ridhis sleeve with a quiet huff. Ridley really should learn to look out for $ridhimself. You certainly won't. Something... itches at the back of your mind, reminding you of Carol's order to keep everything quiet. There's no time to talk about it, not now, but it tugs at you in a way that's almost painful. For now, however, you turn your attention to your would-be travellers. Colette is a strong-jawed woman whose silver hair has gone from a full, albeit messy bob to next to none in the span of a few months. Though a hunter at the age of sixty, she went missing a while back and apparently only now has made her return. She's down a few fingers since last you saw. You're greeted with half of a smile and a brief nod. Her travel companion on the other hand, tall and slim, with the beginnings of some wrinkles set into $allardhis face, straightens up with a hiss and shoves $allardhis pale hand out at you as you approach. <<if $out > .5>>A pair of thin shoulders relax as soon as you take a hold and give $allardhim a firm shake, one that practically pulls the poor $allardman off-balance with a startled yelp. "Sorry," you grimace, "Guess I don't know my own strength." "It's no problem at all," Is the slow drawl of an answer you get in return, voice low as your charge hastily readjusts $allardhis dark-tinted glasses. "I suppose I even deserve a bit of a shock, Colette often tells me--"<<else>>When you don't return the gesture, $allardhis fingers twitch into a fist and the offer is turned into a tug on mousy brown hair. "Apologies," The priest's voice is a slow drawl, the word crawling from $allardhis lips along with $allardhis bashful smile like a lazy cat emerging from $allardhis spot in the sun. "Was I too familiar? Colette often tells me--"<</if>> "That you need to pipe down, Priest," The old woman sighs. She's already situated herself in the wagon, cross-legged with one elbow resting on the edge. A rusty blade mostly chipped away at the tip rests in her lap, what fingers remain on her bad hand dragging yearningly across the hilt. "Aren't we late enough already, it's your thing we need to do." "In a minute, I've barely gotten through our introductions!" The $allardman laughs roughly, tugging $allardhis hands into a pair of black gloves. When $allardhis fingers pull away there's a kind, if somewhat teasing smirk trying to ply them apart. "Just between you and me she's more excited than I am. I hear you already know Colette, [[I'm Allard.''|ch1pg59]]

<<set $worldly to $worldly -.05>>"I don't know," Ridley gives you a non-committal shrug, not quite looking your way. "Just seems kinda strange is all. Maybe it's just because $allardhes a //stranger//." Ridley winces and hunches down, back bent to such a degree $ridhe almost <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>manage<<else>>manages<</if>> to appear small. Maybe, you quietly agree. Or maybe not, the voice in your head that isn't quite your own echoes back. Something... itches at the back of your mind, reminding you of Carol's order to keep everything quiet. There's no time to talk about it, not now, but it tugs at you in a way that's almost painful. For now, however, you turn your attention to your would-be travellers. Colette is a strong-jawed woman whose silver hair has gone from a full, albeit messy bob to next to none in the span of a few months. Though a hunter at the age of sixty, she went missing a while back and apparently only now has made her return. She's down a few fingers since last you saw. You're greeted with half of a smile and a brief nod. Her travel companion on the other hand, tall and slim, with the beginnings of some wrinkles set into $allardhis face, straightens up with a hiss and shoves $allardhis pale hand out at you as you approach. <<if $out > .5>>A pair of thin shoulders relax as soon as you take a hold and give $allardhim a firm shake, one that practically pulls the poor $allardman off-balance with a startled yelp. "Sorry," you grimace, "Guess I don't know my own strength." "It's no problem at all," Is the slow drawl of an answer you get in return, voice low as your charge hastily readjusts $allardhis dark-tinted glasses. "I suppose I even deserve a bit of a shock, Colette often tells me--"<<else>>When you don't return the gesture, $allardhis fingers twitch into a fist and the offer is turned into a tug on mousy brown hair. "Apologies," The priest's voice is a slow drawl, the word crawling from $allardhis lips along with $allardhis bashful smile like a lazy cat emerging from $allardhis spot in the sun. "Was I too familiar? Colette often tells me--"<</if>> "That you need to pipe down, Priest," The old woman sighs. She's already situated herself in the wagon, cross-legged with one elbow resting on the edge. A rusty blade mostly chipped away at the tip rests in her lap, what fingers remain on her bad hand dragging yearningly across the hilt. "Aren't we late enough already, it's your thing we need to do." "In a minute, I've barely gotten through our introductions!" The $allardman laughs roughly, tugging $allardhis hands into a pair of black gloves. When $allardhis fingers pull away there's a kind, if somewhat teasing smirk trying to ply them apart. "Just between you and me she's more excited than I am. I hear you already know Colette, [[I'm Allard.''|ch1pg59]]

<<set $out to $out -.05>>Ignoring Ridley for now, you narrow your eyes and watch the stranger with interest. Ridley has good instincts, it's more just a case of a lack of confidence that results in the ensuing hesitation. Indeed, there is a certain way your charge holds $allardhimself; like someone //pretending// to be nervous rather than someone who actually is. The stranger's gait is somewhat offset by, perhaps, an injury, and they trace the shape of their knuckles on one hand in a pattern so steady it seems more like an affectation for your benefit. You take in that knowledge, offer Ridley a short glance, and approach your charges. Colette is a strong-jawed woman whose silver hair has gone from a full, albeit messy bob to next to none in the span of a few months. Though a hunter at the age of sixty, she went missing a while back and apparently only now has made her return. She's down a few fingers since last you saw. You're greeted with half of a smile and a brief nod. Her travel companion on the other hand, tall and slim, with the beginnings of some wrinkles set into $allardhis face, straightens up with a hiss and shoves $allardhis pale hand out at you. <<if $out > .5>>A pair of thin shoulders relax as soon as you take a hold and give $allardhim a firm shake, one that practically pulls the poor $allardman off-balance with a startled yelp. "Sorry," you grimace, "Guess I don't know my own strength." "It's no problem at all," Is the slow drawl of an answer you get in return, voice low as your charge hastily readjusts $allardhis dark-tinted glasses. "I suppose I even deserve a bit of a shock, Colette often tells me--"<<else>>When you don't return the gesture, $allardhis fingers twitch into a fist and the offer is turned into a tug on mousy brown hair. "Apologies," The priest's voice is a slow drawl, the word crawling from $allardhis lips along with $allardhis bashful smile like a lazy cat emerging from $allardhis spot in the sun. "Was I too familiar? Colette often tells me--"<</if>> "That you need to pipe down, priest," The old woman sighs. She's already situated herself in the wagon, cross-legged with one elbow resting on the edge. A rusty blade mostly chipped away at the tip rests in her lap, what fingers remain on her bad hand dragging yearningly across the hilt. "Aren't we late enough already, it's your thing we need to do." "In a minute, I've barely gotten through our introductions!" The $allardman laughs roughly, tugging $allardhis hands into a pair of black gloves. When $allardhis fingers pull away there's a kind, if not teasing smirk trying to ply them apart. "Just between you and me she's more excited than I am. I hear you already know Colette, [[I'm Allard.''|ch1pg59]]

<<if $allard_gender is "non">>"Just J. Allard is my full name but everyone calls me 'Allard', or 'Priest', or 'Raving Lunatic'." They snicker like they've just told the world's funniest joke. "Just the letter J?" You can't help it, the question wrenches your maw open regardless of propriety. Allard simply grins; you've fallen into their trap. "Just the letter J, yes. Or would you prefer it if I'd spelled it out J-A-Y?" Not bothering to wait for an answer, they limp into the wagon and beckon you close. "Now, that just seems redundant, doesn't it?"<<elseif $allard_gender is "male">>"Jeremiah Allard if you insist on being formal. Most people just call me Allard. Sometimes 'Priest', like Colette over there, though I'm no stranger to 'Raving Lunatic', either. Take your pick." With a chuckle, Allard spins on his heel with surprising nimbleness and limps into the back of the wagon, beckoning you to follow with a wave of his hand.<<else>>"Josephine Allard if you insist on being formal. Most people just call me Allard. Sometimes 'Priest', like Colette over there, though I'm no stranger to 'Raving Lunatic', either. Take your pick." With a chuckle, Allard spins on her heel with surprising nimbleness and limps into the back of the wagon, beckoning you to follow with a wave of her hand.<</if>> You glance at Ridley, already fixing $ridhimself up on the horse. The poor creature sags under $ridhis weight, letting loose a whinny of protest before resigning itself to its fate. Poor thing, you'll take over on the way back. With that, you jump into the wagon alongside your companions. [[Ridley was right. There is something strange about Allard.|ch1pg6001][$allardinit to "sus"]] [[Allard is perhaps the most charming person I've ever met.|ch1pg6002][$allardinit to "charmed"]] [[I can see why Allard would coax others to religion. It's not my scene but I can understand it.|ch1pg6003][$allardinit to "accept"]] [[I can see why Allard would coax others to religion. A pretty face certainly helps.|ch1pg6004][$allardinit to "attract"]] [[Something about Allard just rubs me the wrong way.|ch1pg6005][$allardinit to "bad"]]

Some could describe $allardhim as charming, but there's something... perhaps a bit //too// charming about $allardhim. As you slide into the wagon and take your spot at the head, where you can talk to Ridley if need be, you give your charges a suspicious frown. Colette's wrinkled mouth twitches but she otherwise doesn't give you a second glance. Allard, however, cocks $allardhis head, examines you for a moment longer before either of you break the silence. "Something the matter, Hunter?" That smile is utterly unassuming, barely revealing anything besides a mild manner and a white top row of teeth. Your eyes narrow, brows furrowing just so as you stare Allard down as if to pry every little secret <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they have<<else>>$allardhe has<</if>> from that conservative smile. Nothing comes, and you shake your head. "No, nothing. Where are you from? Don't think I've ever seen you around Eden before." "Ah, well," <<if $allard_gender is "non">>They tug on their fringe<<else>>$allardhe tugs on $allardhis fringe<</if>> with a titter, one corner of $allardhis mouth pulling tight. "I get around." A part of you is certain $allardhes lying; $allardhis fingers twitch, dark brows sinking not in anger but in... embarrassment? Your lips purse, "Truth is, I've just never had the reason to come down to Eden." Your charges share a glance, but Allard says no more on the subject. With one last check up to ensure you have everything prepared, and with a nod to Ridley <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they give<<else>>$ridhe gives<</if>> $ridhis loyal steed a nudge, and off you trudge through the endless desert. You turn back once you're out of Eden to ensure your partner doesn't require any help. [[''Well, whatever the reason, welcome.''|ch1pg6101][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]] [[''Bit of advice? Get better at lying before someone decides to take it personally.''|ch1pg6102][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''Cut the bullshit, priest. What are you hiding?''|ch1pg6103][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[Give Allard a look but otherwise don't mention it. Whatever the two are hiding is their own business.|ch1pg6104][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]]

But you know better than to trust pretty words, most of all in Wasteland. Just speaking to Allard lowers the hackles raised by any prior suspicion, but you keep an eye on the strange priest, knowing full well humble facade's aren't always as they appear. As you slide into the wagon and take your spot at the head, where you can talk to Ridley if need be, you give your charges a strange look. Colette's wrinkled mouth twitches but she otherwise doesn't give you a second glance. Allard, however, cocks $allardhis head, examines you for a moment longer before either of you break the silence. "Something the matter, Hunter?" That smile is utterly unassuming, barely revealing anything besides a mild manner and a white top row of teeth. Your eyes narrow, brows furrowing just so as you stare Allard down as if to pry every little secret <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they have<<else>>$allardhe has<</if>> from that conservative smile. Nothing comes, and you shake your head. "No, nothing. Where are you from? Don't think I've ever seen you around Eden before." "Ah, well," <<if $allard_gender is "non">>They tug on their fringe<<else>>$allardhe tugs on $allardhis fringe<</if>> with a titter, one corner of $allardhis mouth pulling tight. "I get around." A part of you is certain $allardhes lying; $allardhis fingers twitch, dark brows sinking not in anger but in... embarrassment? Your lips purse, "Truth is, I've just never had the reason to come down to Eden." Your charges share a glance, but Allard says no more on the subject. With one last check up to ensure you have everything prepared, and with a nod to Ridley <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they give<<else>>$ridhe gives<</if>> $ridhis loyal steed a nudge, and off you trudge through the endless desert. You turn back once you're out of Eden to ensure your partner doesn't require any help. [[''Well, whatever the reason, welcome.''|ch1pg6101][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]] [[''Bit of advice? Get better at lying before someone decides to take it personally.''|ch1pg6102][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''Cut the bullshit, priest. What are you hiding?''|ch1pg6103][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[Give Allard a look but otherwise don't mention it. Whatever the two are hiding is their own business.|ch1pg6104][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]]

A charming manner and relatively pretty face can go a long way to convincing someone of anything. You are not one of those people so easily brought on board, but you can certainly see the appeal. As you slide into the wagon and take your spot at the head, where you can talk to Ridley if need be, you give your charges a suspicious frown. Colette's wrinkled mouth twitches but she otherwise doesn't give you a second glance. Allard, however, cocks $allardhis head, examines you for a moment longer before either of you break the silence. "Something the matter, Hunter?" That smile is utterly unassuming, barely revealing anything besides a mild manner and a white top row of teeth. Your eyes narrow, brows furrowing just so as you stare Allard down as if to pry every little secret <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they have<<else>>$allardhe has<</if>> from that conservative smile. Nothing comes, and you shake your head. "No, nothing. Where are you from? Don't think I've ever seen you around Eden before." "Ah, well," <<if $allard_gender is "non">>They tug on their fringe<<else>>$allardhe tugs on $allardhis fringe<</if>> with a titter, one corner of $allardhis mouth pulling tight. "I get around." A part of you is certain $allardhes lying; $allardhis fingers twitch, dark brows sinking not in anger but in... embarrassment? Your lips purse, "Truth is, I've just never had the reason to come down to Eden." Your charges share a glance, but Allard says no more on the subject. With one last check up to ensure you have everything prepared, and with a nod to Ridley <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they give<<else>>$ridhe gives<</if>> $ridhis loyal steed a nudge, and off you trudge through the endless desert. You turn back once you're out of Eden to ensure your partner doesn't require any help. [[''Well, whatever the reason, welcome.''|ch1pg6101][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]] [[''Bit of advice? Get better at lying before someone decides to take it personally.''|ch1pg6102][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''Cut the bullshit, priest. What are you hiding?''|ch1pg6103][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[Give Allard a look but otherwise don't mention it. Whatever the two are hiding is their own business.|ch1pg6104][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]]

It might just be you, but Allard doesn't act much like a priest. Though, you admit you aren't too familiar with how religious folk are 'meant' to act in the first place. There's just... something there, something that has you on edge beyond just the usual cautious suspicion that keeps you safe in these times. As you slide into the wagon and take your spot at the head, where you can talk to Ridley if need be, you give your charges a suspicious frown. Colette's wrinkled mouth twitches but she otherwise doesn't give you a second glance. Allard, however, cocks $allardhis head, examines you for a moment longer before either of you break the silence. "Something the matter, Hunter?" That smile is utterly unassuming, barely revealing anything besides a mild manner and a white top row of teeth. Your eyes narrow, brows furrowing just so as you stare Allard down as if to pry every little secret <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they have<<else>>$allardhe has<</if>> from that conservative smile. Nothing comes, and you shake your head. "No, nothing. Where are you from? Don't think I've ever seen you around Eden before." "Ah, well," <<if $allard_gender is "non">>They tug on their fringe<<else>>$allardhe tugs on $allardhis fringe<</if>> with a titter, one corner of $allardhis mouth pulling tight. "I get around." A part of you is certain $allardhes lying; $allardhis fingers twitch, dark brows sinking not in anger but in... embarrassment? Your lips purse, "Truth is, I've just never had the reason to come down to Eden." Your charges share a glance, but Allard says no more on the subject. With one last check up to ensure you have everything prepared, and with a nod to Ridley <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they give<<else>>$ridhe gives<</if>> $ridhis loyal steed a nudge, and off you trudge through the endless desert. You turn back once you're out of Eden to ensure your partner doesn't require any help. [[''Well, whatever the reason, welcome.''|ch1pg6101][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]] [[''Bit of advice? Get better at lying before someone decides to take it personally.''|ch1pg6102][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''Cut the bullshit, priest. What are you hiding?''|ch1pg6103][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[Give Allard a look but otherwise don't mention it. Whatever the two are hiding is their own business.|ch1pg6104][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]]

You always have a weakness for a pretty face, whether or not that necessarily makes you a //believer//. You're sure Allard has led many towards the path of righteousnous, whether or not it's been for the right reasons is another matter entirely. You could... see yourself coming around. As you slide into the wagon and take your spot at the head, where you can talk to Ridley if need be, you give your charges a strange look. Colette's wrinkled mouth twitches but she otherwise doesn't give you a second glance. Allard, however, cocks $allardhis head, examines you for a moment longer before either of you break the silence. "Something the matter, Hunter?" That smile is utterly unassuming, barely revealing anything besides a mild manner and a white top row of teeth. Your eyes narrow, brows furrowing just so as you stare Allard down as if to pry every little secret <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they have<<else>>$allardhe has<</if>> from that conservative smile. Nothing comes, and you shake your head. "No, nothing. Where are you from? Don't think I've ever seen you around Eden before." "Ah, well," <<if $allard_gender is "non">>They tug on their fringe<<else>>$allardhe tugs on $allardhis fringe<</if>> with a titter, one corner of $allardhis mouth pulling tight. "I get around." A part of you is certain $allardhes lying; $allardhis fingers twitch, dark brows sinking not in anger but in... embarrassment? Your lips purse, "Truth is, I've just never had the reason to come down to Eden." Your charges share a glance, but Allard says no more on the subject. With one last check up to ensure you have everything prepared, and with a nod to Ridley <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they give<<else>>$ridhe gives<</if>> $ridhis loyal steed a nudge, and off you trudge through the endless desert. You turn back once you're out of Eden to ensure your partner doesn't require any help. [[''Well, whatever the reason, welcome.''|ch1pg6101][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]] [[''Bit of advice? Get better at lying before someone decides to take it personally.''|ch1pg6102][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''Cut the bullshit, priest. What are you hiding?''|ch1pg6103][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[Give Allard a look but otherwise don't mention it. Whatever the two are hiding is their own business.|ch1pg6104][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]]

<<set $crude to $crude -.05>>You're met by a strange chuckle, a head bobbing along like Allard's simply politely agreeing with you to shut you up. "Thank you kindy," Is the reply, a stiff collection of words that taper off halfway through. You don't mention it, "Are you aware where we find ourselves heading this fine day?" <<if $worldly > .5>>"Some cave just past Ledala?" You ask. Truth is, you're not paid to know--or at all, really--and sometimes it's better left that way. You just need the direction, but it does help to know the locale you'll be finding youselves in.<<else>>"I'm afraid not. Some cave?" You ask. You don't know, you aren't paid to know, and sometimes it's better that way.<</if>> "Er, more or less, but it's //more// than just a cave--Hunter, are you religious at all?" Allard leans forward on $allardhis knees, interest curling $allardhis mouth into a wry grin. Three pairs of eyes turn on you, somehow the attention puts you on edge, like you're cornered by a pack of hounds with no hope of escaping. You swallow hard, practically begging the monster in your mind to take over. You receive no such reprieve. [[''Er, no. Not really.''|ch1pg6201][$religion to "no"]] [[''I believe people were here before us if that's what you mean.''|ch1pg6202][$religion to "fence"]] [[''I'd describe myself as lapsed, more than anything else.''|ch1pg6203][$religion to "yes"]]

<<set $out to $out +.05>>Allard freezes in place for half a second before $ridhis shoulders relax once more and an easy smile spreads across that gaunt face. "Thank you kindly, I'll, erm," Allard licks $ridhis lips. "I'll keep that in mind." A beat passes, then, "Are you aware where we find ourselves heading this fine day?" <<if $worldly > .5>>"Some cave just past Ledala?" You ask. Truth is, you're not paid to know--or at all, really--and sometimes it's better left that way. You just need the direction, but it does help to know the locale you'll be finding youselves in.<<else>>"I'm afraid not. Some cave?" You ask. You don't know, you aren't paid to know, and sometimes it's better that way.<</if>> "Er, more or less, but it's //more// than just a cave--Hunter, are you religious at all?" Allard leans forward on $allardhis knees, interest curling $allardhis mouth into a wry grin. Three pairs of eyes turn on you, somehow the attention puts you on edge, like you're cornered by a pack of hounds with no hope of escaping. You swallow hard, practically begging the monster in your mind to take over. You receive no such reprieve. [[''Er, no. Not really.''|ch1pg6201][$religion to "no"]] [[''I believe people were here before us if that's what you mean.''|ch1pg6202][$religion to "fence"]] [[''I'd describe myself as lapsed, more than anything else.''|ch1pg6203][$religion to "yes"]]

<<set $crude to $crude +.05>>Allard flinches back by an inch, thin lips forming around a word, a //denial//, but cutting off partway. A cough catches in $allardhis throat, and for only a moment you see a cringe paint itself across the gaunt face of your charge. "We all have our secrets, Hunter. Trust that I do not intend any harm by keeping my embarrassments to myself." You aren't given even a moment to respond before Allard moves on, "Are you aware where we find ourselves heading this fine day?" <<if $worldly > .5>>"Some cave just past Ledala?" You ask. Truth is, you're not paid to know--or at all, really--and sometimes it's better left that way. You just need the direction, but it does help to know the locale you'll be finding youselves in.<<else>>"I'm afraid not. Some cave?" You ask. You don't know, you aren't paid to know, and sometimes it's better that way.<</if>> "Er, more or less, but it's //more// than just a cave--Hunter, are you religious at all?" Allard leans forward on $allardhis knees, interest curling $allardhis mouth into a wry grin. Three pairs of eyes turn on you, somehow the attention puts you on edge, like you're cornered by a pack of hounds with no hope of escaping. You swallow hard, practically begging the monster in your mind to take over. You receive no such reprieve. [[''Er, no. Not really.''|ch1pg6201][$religion to "no"]] [[''I believe people were here before us if that's what you mean.''|ch1pg6202][$religion to "fence"]] [[''I'd describe myself as lapsed, more than anything else.''|ch1pg6203][$religion to "yes"]]

<<set $out to $out -.05>>You give Allard a frown, lips pulling up as you stare... and let it go. Your charge offers you a greasy smile, shoulders rising up to $allardhis ears in a non-committal shrug. "Are you aware where we find ourselves heading this fine day?" <<if $worldly > .5>>"Some cave just past Ledala?" You ask. Truth is, you're not paid to know--or at all, really--and sometimes it's better left that way. You just need the direction, but it does help to know the locale you'll be finding youselves in.<<else>>"I'm afraid not. Some cave?" You ask. You don't know, you aren't paid to know, and sometimes it's better that way.<</if>> "Er, more or less, but it's //more// than just a cave--Hunter, are you religious at all?" Allard leans forward on $allardhis knees, interest curling $allardhis mouth into a wry grin. Three pairs of eyes turn on you, somehow the attention puts you on edge, like you're cornered by a pack of hounds with no hope of escaping. You swallow hard, practically begging the monster in your mind to take over. You receive no such reprieve. [[''Er, no. Not really.''|ch1pg6201][$religion to "no"]] [[''I believe people were here before us if that's what you mean.''|ch1pg6202][$religion to "fence"]] [[''I'd describe myself as lapsed, more than anything else.''|ch1pg6203][$religion to "yes"]]

"A shame, but not wholly unexpected. Where there's no proof we must instead find faith, and where faith is in little supply the belief that one day our ancestors from the stars will grant us salvation seems but a fancy. Something like that?" Allard's little grin widens, no trace of disappointment to be found on $allardhis face. Right now, that grin is only getting wider. "Er, something like that." "What if I told you, Hunter," Leaning forward conspiratorially, Allard's voice drops to a mere whisper. As dark as those glasses are, at this proximity you can almost see $allardhis eyes through the tint, see that they're--"That where we're going, I could change your mind on that?" Allard sits back up with a laugh before you can figure out what's so strange about that look of $allardhis2. Your mind struggling to take hold of the question posed, instead you find yourself degging teeth into the inside of your mouth. Colette is giving her companion a glare from her perch beside $allardhim, but whether because $allardhes willfully ignoring her or just doesn't notice <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$allardhe doesn't<</if>> respond. [[''I'd say you're full of shit.''|ch1pg6301][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[''Oh really? Well, I'll try to keep my mind open.''|ch1pg6302][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Uh huh, I somehow doubt that. Sorry, Priest.''|ch1pg6303][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''It wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen to me.''|ch1pg6304][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]]

Allard cocks $allardhis head, you continue, "But whether or not they returned to the stars, or ever were there in the first place is completely out of my interest." You find a shrug, "Of course people were here before us, we wouldn't be here otherwise." The priest lets loose a mystified 'huh' at your statement, considering the words with bushy, brown brows sinking over $allardhis covered eyes. Just as quickly, however, that easy smile returns, "Well, what if I told you, Hunter," Leaning forward conspiratorially, Allard's voice drops to a mere whisper. As dark as those glasses are, at this proximity you can almost see $allardhis eyes through the tint, see that they're--"That where we're going, I could change your mind on that?" Allard sits back up with a laugh before you can figure out what's so strange about that look of $allardhis2. Your mind struggling to take hold of the question posed, instead you find yourself degging teeth into the inside of your mouth. Colette is giving her companion a glare from her perch beside $allardhim, but whether because $allardhes willfully ignoring her or just doesn't notice <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$allardhe doesn't<</if>> respond. [[''I'd say you're full of shit.''|ch1pg6301][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[''Oh really? Well, I'll try to keep my mind open.''|ch1pg6302][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Uh huh, I somehow doubt that. Sorry, Priest.''|ch1pg6303][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''It wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen to me.''|ch1pg6304][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]]

Allard barks out a short laugh, "I think we're all a bit like that, these days," <<if $allard_gender is "non">>They admit<<else>>$allardhe admits<</if>>, gesturing out towards the desert, "Just look at the place, no one would want to come back to this. Not from the stars." You're inclined to agree; even if the Ancestors did originate from somewhere in the sky, that doesn't mean they have any intention of coming back to the Wasteland they clearly left behind. "But what if I told you, Hunter," Leaning forward conspiratorially, Allard's voice drops to a mere whisper. As dark as those glasses are, at this proximity you can almost see $allardhis eyes through the tint, see that they're--"That where we're going, I could reignite your belief?" Allard sits back up with a laugh before you can figure out what's so strange about that look of $allardhis2. Your mind struggling to take hold of the question posed, instead you find yourself degging teeth into the inside of your mouth. Colette is giving her companion a glare from her perch beside $allardhim, but whether because $allardhes willfully ignoring her or just doesn't notice <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$allardhe doesn't<</if>> respond. [[''I'd say you're full of shit.''|ch1pg6301][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[''Oh really? Well, I'll try to keep my mind open.''|ch1pg6302][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Uh huh, I somehow doubt that. Sorry, Priest.''|ch1pg6303][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''It wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen to me.''|ch1pg6304][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]]

"Ah, but those two things are not mutually exclusive! My dear, Colette felt the same way before her eyes were opened." The woman in question looks downright livid that Allard decided to drag her into the conversation, her thin lips pulling up into a momentary snarl before she gets herself back under control with a heavy, world-weary sigh. "And I regret it every day." She wipes a bead of sweat from her brow and it's only then you see the extent of the damage to her hand. All that remains are her thumb and index fingers, the other three sliced off to the second knuckle. Brown eyes catch your own, she snickers, "Dog got me--the bugger bit one finger clean off, had to get rid of the other two 'cus the infection wouldn't go." Ah. That would certainly do it. You've seen a few die by infection stemming from those bites, even had a few yourself--she's lucky Haven had the resources to go through with the amputation, not many settlements do, certainly not Eden. "The boss took me off active duties while I healed then proceeded not to put me back on again. Allard needed some protection and I realised I needed something to do with my time, religion seemed about as good as anything else. 'Sides, I can still swing a blade and shoot a gun. One of us has to know how to fight." Her lips twitch, her good hand tightening its grip around the hilt of her blade, then her glare returns and she huffs, "Happy now? I told my great big sob story to your new friend." "Ah, and what a sob story it is." Allard smiles but you don't know whether $allardhes mocking Colette or sympathising with her. She rolls her eyes regardless. [[''You mean you don't know any self-defence?''|ch1pg6401][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Not knowing how to protect yourself in Wasteland seems hard to believe.''|ch1pg6402][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''And... no one's offered to teach you some sort of self-defence?''|ch1pg6403][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''Interesting that you don't seem to know a lick of self-defence. Here of all places.'' When Allard dies I won't be mourning at the very least.|ch1pg6404][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]]

<<set $right to $right +.05>>You're offered a little nod, "You're much more open-minded than Colette was," Allard sighs dramatically, much to $allardhis companion's chagrin, "But, and not to brag, I managed to convince even a woman like her to my side." The woman in question looks downright livid that Allard decided to drag her into the conversation, her thin lips pulling up into a momentary snarl before she gets herself back under control with a heavy, world-weary sigh. "And I regret it every day." She wipes a bead of sweat from her brow and it's only then you see the extent of the damage to her hand. All that remains are her thumb and index fingers, the other three sliced off to the second knuckle. Brown eyes catch your own, she snickers, "Dog got me--the bugger bit one finger clean off, had to get rid of the other two 'cus the infection wouldn't go." Ah. That would certainly do it. You've seen a few die by infection stemming from those bites, even had a few yourself--she's lucky Haven had the resources to go through with the amputation, not many settlements do, certainly not Eden. "The boss took me off active duties while I healed then proceeded not to put me back on again. Allard needed some protection and I realised I needed something to do with my time, religion seemed about as good as anything else. 'Sides, I can still swing a blade and shoot a gun. One of us has to know how to fight." Her lips twitch, her good hand tightening its grip around the hilt of her blade, then her glare returns and she huffs, "Happy now? I told my great big sob story to your new friend." "Ah, and what a sob story it is." Allard smiles but you don't know whether $allardhes mocking Colette or sympathising with her. She rolls her eyes regardless. [[''You mean you don't know any self-defence?''|ch1pg6401][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Not knowing how to protect yourself in Wasteland seems hard to believe.''|ch1pg6402][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''And... no one's offered to teach you some sort of self-defence?''|ch1pg6403][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''Interesting that you don't seem to know a lick of self-defence. Here of all places.'' When Allard dies I won't be mourning at the very least.|ch1pg6404][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]]

<<set $out to $out -.05>>"Ah, but what you least expect may just come true! My dear, Colette felt the same way before her eyes were opened." The woman in question looks downright livid that Allard decided to drag her into the conversation, her thin lips pulling up into a momentary snarl before she gets herself back under control with a heavy, world-weary sigh. "And I regret it every day." She wipes a bead of sweat from her brow and it's only then you see the extent of the damage to her hand. All that remains are her thumb and index fingers, the other three sliced off to the second knuckle. Brown eyes catch your own, she snickers, "Dog got me--the bugger bit one finger clean off, had to get rid of the other two 'cus the infection wouldn't go." Ah. That would certainly do it. You've seen a few die by infection stemming from those bites, even had a few yourself--she's lucky Haven had the resources to go through with the amputation, not many settlements do, certainly not Eden. "The boss took me off active duties while I healed then proceeded not to put me back on again. Allard needed some protection and I realised I needed something to do with my time, religion seemed about as good as anything else. 'Sides, I can still swing a blade and shoot a gun. One of us has to know how to fight." Her lips twitch, her good hand tightening its grip around the hilt of her blade, then her glare returns and she huffs, "Happy now? I told my great big sob story to your new friend." "Ah, and what a sob story it is." Allard smiles but you don't know whether $allardhes mocking Colette or sympathising with her. She rolls her eyes regardless. [[''You mean you don't know any self-defence?''|ch1pg6401][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Not knowing how to protect yourself in Wasteland seems hard to believe.''|ch1pg6402][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''And... no one's offered to teach you some sort of self-defence?''|ch1pg6403][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''Interesting that you don't seem to know a lick of self-defence. Here of all places.'' When Allard dies I won't be mourning at the very least.|ch1pg6404][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]]

<<set $worldly to $worldly +.05>>You're offered a little laugh, "True, these are some strange times we live in. I must say, you're much more open-minded than Colette was," Allard sighs dramatically, much to $allardhis companion's chagrin, "But, and not to brag, I managed to convince even a woman like her to my side." The woman in question looks downright livid that Allard decided to drag her into the conversation, her thin lips pulling up into a momentary snarl before she gets herself back under control with a heavy, world-weary sigh. "And I regret it every day." She wipes a bead of sweat from her brow and it's only then you see the extent of the damage to her hand. All that remains are her thumb and index fingers, the other three sliced off to the second knuckle. Brown eyes catch your own, she snickers, "Dog got me--the bugger bit one finger clean off, had to get rid of the other two 'cus the infection wouldn't go." Ah. That would certainly do it. You've seen a few die by infection stemming from those bites, even had a few yourself--she's lucky Haven had the resources to go through with the amputation, not many settlements do, certainly not Eden. "The boss took me off active duties while I healed then proceeded not to put me back on again. Allard needed some protection and I realised I needed something to do with my time, religion seemed about as good as anything else. 'Sides, I can still swing a blade and shoot a gun. One of us has to know how to fight." Her lips twitch, her good hand tightening its grip around the hilt of her blade, then her glare returns and she huffs, "Happy now? I told my great big sob story to your new friend." "Ah, and what a sob story it is." Allard smiles but you don't know whether $allardhes mocking Colette or sympathising with her. She rolls her eyes regardless. [[''You mean you don't know any self-defence?''|ch1pg6401][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Not knowing how to protect yourself in Wasteland seems hard to believe.''|ch1pg6402][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''And... no one's offered to teach you some sort of self-defence?''|ch1pg6403][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''Interesting that you don't seem to know a lick of self-defence. Here of all places.'' When Allard dies I won't be mourning at the very least.|ch1pg6404][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]]

Seems hard to believe, but you don't quite voice your suspicions. Your gaze is probably enough. "Not for lack of trying, for the most part," Allard insists, shoving $allardhis hand into $allardhis robe and rifling around like it's some kind of bag. "I just never quite took to it. First sign of blood and I'm on the ground meeting my breakfast for a second time. No, I don't like hurting other people, it isn't in my nature. But I do have--" Allard produces a rough-looking knife from $allardhis search, "--this!" "And what are you gonna do with it?" Colette asks, amusement and exasperation halfway to warring on her face, "Go on, Priest, tell $mc1_him." "Well..." Comes the flustered reply, a pink flush crawling up $allardhis slim neck as <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they thumb<<else>>$allardhe thumbs<</if>> over the ragged blade. Bony fingers flip it back and forth with a surprising amount of dexterity. As Allard gives you a shy, horribly embarrassed smile, you feel suspicion sink back under the surface of your mind once more. "Well, I just thought--I guess it doesn't matter really. People are afraid of threats, right? I know I am." It's in that moment Colette bursts into raucous, body-shaking laughter. [[''You're an idiot.''|ch1pg65][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Do you have a death wish or something?''|ch1pg65][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''You can't be serious.''|ch1pg65][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]]

You give them both a dubious stare, disbelief apparent in your eyes. "Not for lack of trying, for the most part," Allard insists, shoving $allardhis hand into $allardhis robe and rifling around like it's some kind of bag. "I just never quite took to it. First sign of blood and I'm on the ground meeting my breakfast for a second time. No, I don't like hurting other people, it isn't in my nature. But I do have--" Allard produces a rough-looking knife from $allardhis search, "--this!" "And what are you gonna do with it?" Colette asks, amusement and exasperation halfway to warring on her face, "Go on, Priest, tell $mc1_him." "Well..." Comes the flustered reply, a pink flush crawling up $allardhis slim neck as <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they thumb<<else>>$allardhe thumbs<</if>> over the ragged blade. Bony fingers flip it back and forth with a surprising amount of dexterity. As Allard gives you a shy, horribly embarrassed smile, you feel suspicion sink back under the surface of your mind once more. "Well, I just thought--I guess it doesn't matter really. People are afraid of threats, right? I know I am." It's in that moment Colette bursts into raucous, body-shaking laughter. [[''You're an idiot.''|ch1pg65][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Do you have a death wish or something?''|ch1pg65][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''You can't be serious.''|ch1pg65][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]]

"No, no nothing like that. Everyone has, even Colette," Allard insists, shoving $allardhis hand into $allardhis robe and rifling around like it's some kind of bag. "I just never quite took to it. First sign of blood and I'm on the ground meeting my breakfast for a second time. No, I don't like hurting other people, it isn't in my nature. But I do have--" Allard produces a rough-looking knife from $allardhis search, "--this!" "And what are you gonna do with it?" Colette asks, amusement and exasperation halfway to warring on her face, "Go on, Priest, tell $mc1_him." "Well..." Comes the flustered reply, a pink flush crawling up $allardhis slim neck as <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they thumb<<else>>$allardhe thumbs<</if>> over the ragged blade. Bony fingers flip it back and forth with a surprising amount of dexterity. As Allard gives you a shy, horribly embarrassed smile, you feel suspicion sink back under the surface of your mind once more. "Well, I just thought--I guess it doesn't matter really. People are afraid of threats, right? I know I am." It's in that moment Colette bursts into raucous, body-shaking laughter. [[''You're an idiot.''|ch1pg65][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Do you have a death wish or something?''|ch1pg65][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''You can't be serious.''|ch1pg65][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]]

"Not for lack of trying, for the most part. I'm well aware this leaves me vulnerable," Allard insists, shoving $allardhis hand into $allardhis robe and rifling around like it's some kind of bag. "I just never quite took to it. First sign of blood and I'm on the ground meeting my breakfast for a second time. No, I don't like hurting other people, it isn't in my nature. But I do have--" Allard produces a rough-looking knife from $allardhis search, "--this!" "And what are you gonna do with it?" Colette asks, amusement and exasperation halfway to warring on her face, "Go on, Priest, tell $mc1_him." "Well..." Comes the flustered reply, a pink flush crawling up $allardhis slim neck as <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they thumb<<else>>$allardhe thumbs<</if>> over the ragged blade. Bony fingers flip it back and forth with a surprising amount of dexterity. As Allard gives you a shy, horribly embarrassed smile, you feel suspicion sink back under the surface of your mind once more. "Well, I just thought--I guess it doesn't matter really. People are afraid of threats, right? I know I am." It's in that moment Colette bursts into raucous, body-shaking laughter. [[''You're an idiot.''|ch1pg65][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Do you have a death wish or something?''|ch1pg65][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''You can't be serious.''|ch1pg65][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]]

"Maybe so," Allard laughs, lips quirking upward like <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they know<<else>>$allardhe knows<</if>> something you don't. "But I can't say I'd be particularly useful when every fight has me incapacitated. Why, is our destination particularly dangerous?" Unable to handle the innocense of a $allardman well past $allardhis formative years, you stare out into the desert with a glare. In the flat plane there is very little you can't see; the ruined city of Ledala stands silent many miles before you, the tower--barracks, really--that served as a home to you for many years still somehow intact and blocking out some of the cruel rays that kiss your skin. Your heart sinks, fragments of a memory you've forced yourself to forget time and again tearing through your mind with enough force to tip your body forward. It used to be that there were six such cities that rose from the dust; six such cities that protected the people of Wasteland from its cruel clutches. When the first fell, no one knew what to do, then the next four fell quickly after within a span of about a year. Ledala stood for some years, struggling to remain afloat amongst a wave of refugees from other cities telling tales of invisible soldiers, Kin gone mad, and no escape. You were certain that Ledala would remain--what was it that Mordred often called her? "A jewel amidst a sea of gold?" Ancients, but what happened to that poet? Killed, you suppose, with the hope you both had for a better future. At the end of the day, those who'd instead moved into the surrounding towns and settlements, no matter how sparse, had the right idea of it. Ledala fell like the rest of them. And it was all laid bare as the fault of of the Starved. <<if $crude > .5>>"Are you an idiot?" You snap, a dark kind of headache brewing behind your eyes, "I don't know where you've been for the past ten years but Ledala isn't just an empty husk. If it's not bandits we'll find, then it's a pack of Direhounds." You spot Ridley giving you a glance from the corner of your eye, but you clench your jaw and ignore the warning on $ridhis pursed lips.<<else>>"We'll be travelling around Ledala," You try as best you can to sound polite. "Contrary to popular belief it isn't just empty. Every few months some of the settlements get together and clear the place out. If we don't meet Bandits or any Direhound packs, we'll be lucky."<</if>> [[''Listen Allard. You don't like fighting? I don't care. But don't delude yourself into thinking we'll be safe.''|ch1pg6601][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[I turn to Colette, ''Is he really this naive?''|ch1pg6602][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]] [[''I don't buy this schtick of yours, Priest. People like you tend to die out real fast.''|ch1pg6603][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[''Whatever, it's your funeral.''|ch1pg6604][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]]

Allard opens $allardhis mouth to speak, but it snaps closed with a nervous hum as <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they cup<<else>>$allardhe cups<</if>> the knife to $allardhis chest. A head of grey-flecked hair bows in thought, lips pulled in, "I'm sorry," Allard eventually says, "Perhaps I have been looking at the situation with a bit too much levity. I've never really, er, been in a situation that required much caution." "So what?" Ridley pipes up, turning on the horse to stare wide-eyed at your charge, "Sounds like you've been rather sheltered?" The sheepish smile that paints itself across Allard's angular face is telling enough. "Well... yes. I never needed to leave my old haunt, you see--" "Until our leader decided <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they were<<else>>$allardhe was<</if>> a danger, the scum, no respect." Colette interrupts with a huff, half-dozing aside from a single eye cracked open and a grimace on her face. "Colette, there's no need for that. I made a mistake and the good people of Haven decided it was better if we parted ways," $allardhis face twitches, like a crack in that cool demeanour of $allardhis2. Almost genuine."I'd... rather not say more, we parted in mutual agreement and it was a misunderstanding besides." "Right," You murmur eyeing Allard momentarily before you turn back to Ridley. You drop the conversation there for now, just barely catching the snicker and shared look Colette gives her companion. Stretching out to lean your weight upon the horse's rump, you give Ridley a tap on the shoulder as you lean in close. Best to keep the conversation private. [[''You hearing this?''|ch1pg6701]] [[''This doesn't feel right, does it?''|ch1pg6702]] [[''I don't trust them. Either of them.''|ch1pg6703]] [[''How long 'till we reach Ledala?''|ch1pg6704]]

All you receive for your troubles is a snort, "Yeah," She says, shooting you a lop-sided smirk. "You'd think the good priest has never had any life experience whatsoever." "I, I resent that Colette, dear." Allard bristles, but it's a mild sort of anger, something that doesn't quite erupt into a fiery flame, rather, it simmers at a slow burn. "So what?" Ridley pipes up, turning on the horse to stare wide-eyed at your charge, "Sounds like you've been rather sheltered?" The sheepish smile that paints itself across Allard's angular face is telling enough. "Well... yes. I never needed to leave my old haunt, you see--" "Until our leader decided <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they were<<else>>$allardhe was<</if>> a danger, the scum, no respect." Colette interrupts with a huff, half-dozing aside from a single eye cracked open and a grimace on her face. "Colette, there's no need for that. I made a mistake and the good people of Haven decided it was better if we parted ways," $allardhis face twitches, like a crack in that cool demeanour of $allardhis2. Almost genuine."I'd... rather not say more, we parted in mutual agreement and it was a misunderstanding besides." "Right," You murmur eyeing Allard momentarily before you turn back to Ridley. You drop the conversation there for now, just barely catching the snicker and shared look Colette gives her companion. Stretching out to lean your weight upon the horse's rump, you give Ridley a tap on the shoulder as you lean in close. Best to keep the conversation private. [[''You hearing this?''|ch1pg6701]] [[''This doesn't feel right, does it?''|ch1pg6702]] [[''I don't trust them. Either of them.''|ch1pg6703]] [[''How long 'till we reach Ledala?''|ch1pg6704]]

"And, to be fair," Allard bites back with a little grin, "People like me often aren't smart enough to surround ourselves with people who can protect us." "So what?" Ridley pipes up, turning on the horse to stare wide-eyed at your charge, "Sounds like you've been rather sheltered?" The sheepish smile that paints itself across Allard's angular face is telling enough. "Well... yes. I never needed to leave my old haunt, you see--" "Until our leader decided <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they were<<else>>$allardhe was<</if>> a danger, the scum, no respect." Colette interrupts with a huff, half-dozing aside from a single eye cracked open and a grimace on her face. "Colette, there's no need for that. I made a mistake and the good people of Haven decided it was better if we parted ways," $allardhis face twitches, like a crack in that cool demeanour of $allardhis2. Almost genuine."I'd... rather not say more, we parted in mutual agreement and it was a misunderstanding besides." "Right," You murmur eyeing Allard momentarily before you turn back to Ridley. You drop the conversation there for now, just barely catching the snicker and shared look Colette gives her companion. Stretching out to lean your weight upon the horse's rump, you give Ridley a tap on the shoulder as you lean in close. Best to keep the conversation private. [[''You hearing this?''|ch1pg6701]] [[''This doesn't feel right, does it?''|ch1pg6702]] [[''I don't trust them. Either of them.''|ch1pg6703]] [[''How long 'till we reach Ledala?''|ch1pg6704]]

Allard hums in agreement, a sly smile coiling the corners of $allardhis lips. "Thank you kindly. I'm sure I'll be fine, at any rate, even as inexperienced in Wasteland as I am." "So what?" Ridley pipes up, turning on the horse to stare wide-eyed at your charge, "Sounds like you've been rather sheltered?" The sheepish smile that paints itself across Allard's angular face is telling enough. "Well... yes. I never needed to leave my old haunt, you see--" "Until our leader decided <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they were<<else>>$allardhe was<</if>> a danger, the scum, no respect." Colette interrupts with a huff, half-dozing aside from a single eye cracked open and a grimace on her face. "Colette, there's no need for that. I made a mistake and the good people of Haven decided it was better if we parted ways," $allardhis face twitches, like a crack in that cool demeanour of $allardhis2. Almost genuine."I'd... rather not say more, we parted in mutual agreement and it was a misunderstanding besides." "Right," You murmur eyeing Allard momentarily before you turn back to Ridley. You drop the conversation there for now, just barely catching the snicker and shared look Colette gives her companion. Stretching out to lean your weight upon the horse's rump, you give Ridley a tap on the shoulder as you lean in close. Best to keep the conversation private. [[''You hearing this?''|ch1pg6701]] [[''This doesn't feel right, does it?''|ch1pg6702]] [[''I don't trust them. Either of them.''|ch1pg6703]] [[''How long 'till we reach Ledala?''|ch1pg6704]]

Ridley hums in affirmation, reaching up with one gloved hand to push $ridhis glasses back up $ridhis nose. "Haven //is// strict with its exile laws..." "But?" You prod, giving $ridhis shoulder a squeeze. You feel the tight muscle clenching underneath your hand, the grip <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they have<<else>>$ridhe has<</if>> on the horse's reigns hard and unbudging. <<if $ridfun is "yes">>"Aw, come on Rid, I know you have something in that brain of yours." You tease, giving Ridley an impatient nudge, "Wanna share with the class?"<<else>>"Come on Ridley, I know how smart you are," You encorage $ridhim with a gentle nudge, "What are you thinking?"<</if>> "It's probably nothing," Ridley trails off, worry puffing out $ridhis cheeks, "I think I just don't like the priest." "Alright." You breathe, having trouble schooling your expression into a visage of calm. Anger and distress rises up like bile, a low, cruel, rumble antagonising you like a wolf's claw in your gut. You wish you could be certain but... "You sure?" "Mm..." Another thoughtful hum as Ridley chews on $ridhis bottom lip. As green eyes momentarily glance back at your unlikely escortees, Allard flinches and drops the knife with a clatter to the gently rocking bed of the cart. A flicker of doubt parts $ridhis lips. "I don't think it's anything to worry about, not really. Sorry for the worry." An apologetic grimace forms on Ridley's hard face, drooping green eyes just barely reflecting nervous distress as <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they chance a glance<<else>>$ridhe chances a glance<</if>> at you. [[''Don't worry about it. This isn't your fault.''|ch1pg6801][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.03]] [[''Nah. Just next time try to figure it out before you come to me.''|ch1pg6802][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.05]] [[''Shit, I mean. This entire thing is just weird.''|ch1pg6803][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.03]] [[''It's fine. You're observant, what you see is usually correct.''|ch1pg6804][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.05]]

Ridley glances at you, reaching up with one gloved hand to push $ridhis glasses back up $ridhis nose. "Haven //is// strict with its exile laws..." "But?" You prod, giving $ridhis shoulder a squeeze. You feel the tight muscle clenching underneath your hand, the grip <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they have<<else>>$ridhe has<</if>> on the horse's reigns hard and unbudging. <<if $ridfun is "yes">>"Aw, come on Rid, I know you have something in that brain of yours." You tease, giving Ridley an impatient nudge, "Wanna share with the class?"<<else>>"Come on Ridley, I know how smart you are," You encorage $ridhim with a gentle nudge, "What are you thinking?"<</if>> "It's probably nothing," Ridley trails off, worry puffing out $ridhis cheeks, "I think I just don't like the priest." "Alright." You breathe, having trouble schooling your expression into a visage of calm. Anger and distress rises up like bile, a low, cruel, rumble antagonising you like a wolf's claw in your gut. You wish you could be certain but... "You sure?" "Mm..." Another thoughtful hum as Ridley chews on $ridhis bottom lip. As green eyes momentarily glance back at your unlikely escortees, Allard flinches and drops the knife with a clatter to the gently rocking bed of the cart. A flicker of doubt parts $ridhis lips. "I don't think it's anything to worry about. Sorry for the worry." An apologetic grimace forms on Ridley's hard face, drooping green eyes just barely reflecting nervous distress as <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they chance a glance<<else>>$ridhe chances a glance<</if>> at you. [[''Don't worry about it. This isn't your fault.''|ch1pg6801][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.03]] [[''Nah. Just next time try to figure it out before you come to me.''|ch1pg6802][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.05]] [[''Shit, I mean. This entire thing is just weird.''|ch1pg6803][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.03]] [[''It's fine. You're observant, what you see is usually correct.''|ch1pg6804][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.05]]

Ridley hums in affirmation, reaching up with one gloved hand to push $ridhis glasses back up $ridhis nose. "Haven //is// strict with its exile laws..." "But?" You prod, giving $ridhis shoulder a squeeze. You feel the tight muscle clenching underneath your hand, the grip <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they have<<else>>$ridhe has<</if>> on the horse's reigns hard and unbudging. <<if $ridfun is "yes">>"Aw, come on Rid, I know you have something in that brain of yours." You tease, giving Ridley an impatient nudge, "Wanna share with the class?"<<else>>"Come on Ridley, I know how smart you are," You encorage $ridhim with a gentle nudge, "What are you thinking?"<</if>> "It's probably nothing," Ridley trails off, worry puffing out $ridhis cheeks, "I think I just don't like the priest." "Alright." You breathe, having trouble schooling your expression into a visage of calm. Anger and distress rises up like bile, a low, cruel, rumble antagonising you like a wolf's claw in your gut. You wish you could be certain but... "You sure?" "Mm..." Another thoughtful hum as Ridley chews on $ridhis bottom lip. As green eyes momentarily glance back at your unlikely escortees, Allard flinches and drops the knife with a clatter to the gently rocking bed of the cart. A flicker of doubt parts $ridhis lips. "I don't think it's anything to worry about. Sorry for the worry." An apologetic grimace forms on Ridley's hard face, drooping green eyes just barely reflecting nervous distress as <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they chance a glance<<else>>$ridhe chances a glance<</if>> at you. [[''Don't worry about it. This isn't your fault.''|ch1pg6801][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.03]] [[''Nah. Just next time try to figure it out before you come to me.''|ch1pg6802][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.05]] [[''Shit, I mean. This entire thing is just weird.''|ch1pg6803][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.03]] [[''It's fine. You're observant, what you see is usually correct.''|ch1pg6804][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.05]]

Ridley hums in affirmation, reaching up with one gloved hand to push $ridhis glasses back up $ridhis nose. "Give me maybe a second to figure that out?" Comes the reply after a silent second of contemplation, "Wait, can we, uh..." "What?" You prod, giving $ridhis shoulder a squeeze. You feel the tight muscle clenching underneath your hand, the grip <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they have<<else>>$ridhe has<</if>> on the horse's reigns hard and unbudging. <<if $ridfun is "yes">>"Aw, come on Rid, I know you have something in that brain of yours." You tease, giving Ridley an impatient nudge, "Wanna share with the class?"<<else>>"Come on Ridley, I know how smart you are," You encorage $ridhim with a gentle nudge, "What are you thinking?"<</if>> "It's probably nothing," Ridley trails off, worry puffing out $ridhis cheeks, "I think I just don't like the priest." "Alright." You breathe, having trouble schooling your expression into a visage of calm. Anger and distress rises up like bile, a low, cruel, rumble antagonising you like a wolf's claw in your gut. You wish you could be certain but... "You sure?" "Mm..." Another thoughtful hum as Ridley chews on $ridhis bottom lip. As green eyes momentarily glance back at your unlikely escortees, Allard flinches and drops the knife with a clatter to the gently rocking bed of the cart. A flicker of doubt parts $ridhis lips. "I don't think it's anything to worry about. Sorry for the worry." An apologetic grimace forms on Ridley's hard face, drooping green eyes just barely reflecting nervous distress as <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they chance a glance<<else>>$ridhe chances a glance<</if>> at you. [[''Don't worry about it. This isn't your fault.''|ch1pg6801][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.03]] [[''Nah. Just next time try to figure it out before you come to me.''|ch1pg6802][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.05]] [[''Shit, I mean. This entire thing is just weird.''|ch1pg6803][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.03]] [[''It's fine. You're observant, what you see is usually correct.''|ch1pg6804][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.05]]

Ridley's silence is telling, "Ridley. It //isn't//." You squeeze $ridhis shoulder only to be shrugged off with a sigh. "I know," <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>They sigh,<<else>>$ridhe sighs,<</if>> head bowed as <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they find<<else>>$ridhe finds<</if>> $ridhimself utterly enraptured by the ground under the horse's hooves. "What do //you// think, though? About the priest and Colette, I mean." [[''I think Allard's full of shit but I don't think we're in any danger.''|ch1pg6901][$ch1act to false]] [[''I think Allard's bullshitting us but I don't think Colette's in on it. Hand me my weapon, redardless.''|ch1pg6902][$ch1act to true]] [[''I don't trust either of them, pass me my weapon and stay alert, just in case.''|ch1pg6903][$ch1act to true]] [[''They're both weird but mostly harmless, I say don't worry about it.''|ch1pg6904][$ch1act to false]]

Ridley glances at you then away again, the sun reflecting off $ridhis glasses and obscuring those green eyes. Their bow-shaped lips, however, pinch in uncertainty. "It's fine, Ridley, really." You insist. "I know," <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>They sigh,<<else>>$ridhe sighs,<</if>> head bowed as <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they find<<else>>$ridhe finds<</if>> $ridhimself utterly enraptured by the ground under the horse's hooves. "What do //you// think, though? About the priest and Colette, I mean." [[''I think Allard's full of shit but I don't think we're in any danger.''|ch1pg6901][$ch1act to false]] [[''I think Allard's bullshitting us but I don't think Colette's in on it. Hand me my weapon, redardless.''|ch1pg6902][$ch1act to true]] [[''I don't trust either of them, pass me my weapon and stay alert, just in case.''|ch1pg6903][$ch1act to true]] [[''They're both weird but mostly harmless, I say don't worry about it.''|ch1pg6904][$ch1act to false]]

That startles a gasp from Ridley's throat, head whipping around to shoot you a wide-eyed stare and reddened cheeks. "$mc1_name!" "What, I'm right." You respond with a pat on $ridhis back, only receiving a huff for your troubles. "I know," <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>They eventually concede,<<else>>$ridhe eventually concedes,<</if>> head bowed as <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they find<<else>>$ridhe finds<</if>> $ridhimself utterly enraptured by the ground under the horse's hooves. "What do //you// think, though? About the priest and Colette, I mean." [[''I think Allard's full of shit but I don't think we're in any danger.''|ch1pg6901][$ch1act to false]] [[''I think Allard's bullshitting us but I don't think Colette's in on it. Hand me my weapon, redardless.''|ch1pg6902][$ch1act to true]] [[''I don't trust either of them, pass me my weapon and stay alert, just in case.''|ch1pg6903][$ch1act to true]] [[''They're both weird but mostly harmless, I say don't worry about it.''|ch1pg6904][$ch1act to false]]

Ridley eyes you dubiously, suspician momentarily painting its way across the hard planes of $ridhis face. A pair of bow-shaped lips screw up, then all at once relax with a sigh. "I know," <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>They don't deny,<<else>>$ridhe doesn't deny,<</if>> head bowed as <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they find<<else>>$ridhe finds<</if>> $ridhimself utterly enraptured by the ground under the horse's hooves. "What do //you// think, though? About the priest and Colette, I mean." [[''I think Allard's full of shit but I don't think we're in any danger.''|ch1pg6901][$ch1act to false]] [[''I think Allard's bullshitting us but I don't think Colette's in on it. Hand me my weapon, redardless.''|ch1pg6902][$ch1act to true]] [[''I don't trust either of them, pass me my weapon and stay alert, just in case.''|ch1pg6903][$ch1act to true]] [[''They're both weird but mostly harmless, I say don't worry about it.''|ch1pg6904][$ch1act to false]]

<<set $allard_r to $allard_r +.05>>Ridley nods, shoulders relaxing under your touch, little by little. "Got it," <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>They say<<else>>$ridhe says<</if>> giving $ridhis horse a little nudge as it starts to flag. Green eyes scan the horizon, trained squarely on the towering city amidst the sea of sand, "We should reach Ledala in maybe an hour, we'll take a break and figure out where we're going from there." A pause, Ridley silently floundering until <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they manage<<else>>$ridhe manages<</if>> to find $ridhis words once more. "Um, sound good?" "Absolutely," You say, giving Ridley a pat on the back before turning back to your charges. The wagon creaks and protests your movement, rattling with each bump and rock it rolls over. Colette eyes you with a lazy interest, like a cat too comfortable to bother climbing out of its sunbeam. "Problem?" Her eyes flick from you to Ridley, then slowly turn on Allard. "You were talking all hushed there for a moment." You can't help your frown, mind slowly coming up with solutions to a problem you don't yet know you have. Allard, in turn, looks at you again, that same unassuming smile pulling at $allardhis thin lips. That knife, having returned to his fumbling fingers, trembles in $allardhis grasp. [[''Just getting the lay of the land, is all. We're taking a break in an hour.''|ch1pg7001]] [[''Ridley over there was just a bit suspicious of you. Trust that I don't feel the same way.''|ch1pg7002][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.05]] [[''Nothing important. Break in an hour.''|ch1pg7003]] [[''How willing are you to use those weapons of yours?''|ch1pg7004]]

<<set $allard_f to $allard_f +.05>>Ridley nods, shoulders relaxing under your touch, little by little. "Got it," <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>They say<<else>>$ridhe says<</if>> reaching over to pass you your weapons before giving $ridhis horse a little nudge as it starts to flag. Green eyes scan the horizon, trained squarely on the towering city amidst the sea of sand, "We should reach Ledala in maybe an hour, we'll take a break and figure out where we're going from there." A pause, Ridley silently floundering until <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they manage<<else>>$ridhe manages<</if>> to find $ridhis words once more. "Um, sound good?" "Absolutely," You say, giving Ridley a pat on the back before turning back to your charges. The wagon creaks and protests your movement, rattling with each bump and rock it rolls over. Colette eyes you with a lazy interest, like a cat too comfortable to bother climbing out of its sunbeam. "Problem?" Her eyes flick from you to Ridley, then slowly turn on Allard. "You were talking all hushed there for a moment." You can't help your frown, mind slowly coming up with solutions to a problem you don't yet know you have. Allard, in turn, looks at you again, that same unassuming smile pulling at $allardhis thin lips. That knife, having returned to his fumbling fingers, trembles in $allardhis grasp. [[''Just getting the lay of the land, is all. We're taking a break in an hour.''|ch1pg7001]] [[''Ridley over there was just a bit suspicious of you. Trust that I don't feel the same way.''|ch1pg7002][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.05]] [[''Nothing important. Break in an hour.''|ch1pg7003]] [[''How willing are you to use those weapons of yours?''|ch1pg7004]]

"Huh," Colette says, eyes narrowing in thought as her gaze lingers upon you. "Good." Then she tears it away to stare out at the mountains behind you in the distance. You've considered what it might mean to scale those mountains and see what's on the other side, but a part of you is terrified you'd only find more desert. Or nothing at all. The three of you fall silent, Allard turning to you with an inquisitive cock of the head but seems unwilling to break the quiet. All that you can hear is the lethargic beat of the horse's hooves against the ground, the snorts, the flicks of their tails as flies aggitate their trembling skin. Just for one moment of the day, you let your eyes fall closed. [[And lose yourself to Wasteland.|ch1pg71]]

<<set $worldly to $worldly +.05>>Ridley gasps from behind you but otherwise clenches $ridhis teeth and ignores the statement. Allard gives you a pout with no real hurt behind it, "Now that stings, doesn't it, Colette?" His companion rolls her eyes and barely acknowledges the question, her gaze drifting into the horizon, eyeing the towring red mountains that surround Wasteland on all sides. You've considered what it might mean to scale those mountains and see what's on the other side, but a part of you is terrified you'd only find more desert. Or nothing at all. The three of you fall silent, the slight soon forgotten. Allard turns to you with an inquisitive cock of the head but seems unwilling to break the quiet. All that you can hear is the lethargic beat of the horse's hooves against the ground, the snorts, the flicks of their tails as flies aggitate their trembling skin. Just for one moment of the day, you let your eyes fall closed. [[And lose yourself to Wasteland.|ch1pg71]]

"I don't have any issues, not sure about the priest over there, though," Colette says, eyes narrowing in thought as her gaze hones in on her companion who's suddenly decided to find some lint on $allardhis robes very interesting indeed. "Now, Colette," Allard coughs, wiping bony fingers over the top of $allardhis head, having little success in flattening the flyaway strands back down, "That's not very nice..." A pause, then you're flashed a sheepish grin, "However true it may be." Colette hums a half-hearted laugh then tears her gaze away to stare out at the mountains behind you in the distance. You've considered what it might mean to scale those mountains and see what's on the other side, but a part of you is terrified you'd only find more desert. Or nothing at all. The three of you fall silent, Allard turning to you with an inquisitive cock of the head but seems unwilling to break the quiet. All that you can hear is the lethargic beat of the horse's hooves against the ground, the snorts, the flicks of their tails as flies aggitate their trembling skin. Just for one moment of the day, you let your eyes fall closed. [[And lose yourself to Wasteland.|ch1pg71]]

Ridley pulls the horses up into the shade beside the towering outside wall of Ledala, the aging stone structure cracked and buffeted by years of sand. It's a small reprieve from the oppressive heat beating down upon your backs, but it's a reprieve nonetheless. The three of you jump from the confines of the wagon as you wipe sweat from your brows and fan your clothing for just a semblance of colder air that the shade might bring. Folly, of course, nothing in Wasteland but the night ever brings any cool, but then it's another kind of oppressive entirely. You set yourselves up pressed flush against the stone that still hasn't quite soaked up the sun's rays. When Ridley dismounts to join you, the horse huffs in relief, hooves stomping in the sand as flies settle once more on hot fur. Each of you take your waterskins and spare what water you can, but self-control is difficult to grasp when your throats burn like the sun. "Well," Allard huffs, fanning $allardhimself with $allardhis glove. Sweat congregates under the bridge of $allardhis glasses, yet still the priest doesn't deign to remove them. "That's half the journey down, what's the plan going forward?" "Going through Ledala would be faster, if we can navigate around all the rubble," Ridley suggests, but anything more $ridhe might have to say is cut off by Colette's flustered hiss. "Are you insane? You heard your partner before, it's bandits or hound packs in there!" She grumbles, waving the idea off like a bad dream. A polite, if not strained smile stretches at $ridhis lips, head bowing as $ridhis shoulders rise up to $ridhis ears. "I--I don't think so..." The feeble protest falls on deaf ears as Colette jumps to her feet and stomps back over to the wagon, Allard's laughter following her the whole way. Ridley grabs your sleeve, gives it a tug that would threaten to pull you off your feet if only you were standing. "It'll be fine. Please? It's the fastest way." <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>They say,<<else>>$ridhe says,<</if>> silently begging you to trust $ridhim. [[And I do... just not right now.|ch1pg7201][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.05]] [[And I do... I do.|ch1pg7202][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.05]] [[When Ridley says shit like that, of course I don't have any trust!|ch1pg7203][$ridley_r to $ridley_r +.05]] [[You know what? Fuck it, maybe Ridley has a plan.|ch1pg7204][$ridley_f to $ridley_f +.05]]

"Ridley, you know we can't risk that." The look you give Ridley is hard, and <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they visibly deflate<<else>>$ridhe visibly deflates<</if>> under the intensity. A sigh pushes out from $ridhis chest, a low rumble of a thing, and you receive a passive nod for your troubles. "Yeah, I know," Ridley sighs, patting down $ridhis messy mop of hair as $ridhis gaze falls away from yours entirely. "I just wish you'd--" Green eyes flick to you once more then hastily away again, heavy shoulders sagging, "Nevermind." <<if $ridley_f > $ridley_r>>"Ridley," You say again, fingers curling into the shoulder-strap of $ridhis overalls before $ridhe can turn away. Giving $ridhim a tug, you pretend not to notice the way $ridhis bottom lip quivers. "I don't say this to slight you, alright?"<<else>>"Ridley," You say again, an edge creeping into your tone. Your fingers curl into $ridhis shoulder strap and give it a sharp tug, "This isn't a discussion. In any other situation I'd give you the benefit of the doubt, okay?"<</if>> Ridley is silent, teeth digging into the inside of $ridhis cheek, before $ridhis head drops from $ridhis shoulders. "Okay." Comes the fragile reply as <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they tug<<else>>$ridhe tugs<</if>> you off $ridhim. Ridley takes a step back with a stiff nod, stuffing $ridhis hands into $ridhis front pockets. "I'll, uh, go scout around the road, make sure we're all good?" You nod. [[And let Ridley go.|ch1pg7301]] [[And tug on Ridley's sleeve. ''We're good, yeah?''|ch1pg7302]]

"Ridley..." You pause, consider that determined look in their eyes, and find your resolve melting away, "Fine. We can give it a go." Though uncertainty puts a shake in your tone, Ridley visibly stands up straight under your stare. A sigh pushes out from your chest as your own mind questions you. "Alright," Ridley says as if $ridhe didn't anticipate getting this far, patting down $ridhis messy mop of hair as $ridhis gaze falls away from yours entirely with a tiny smile tugging at $ridhis lips. "Maybe I could--" Green eyes flick to you once more then hastily away again, heavy shoulders tensing, "Thank you. For trusting me." <<if $ridley_f > $ridley_r>>"Ridley," You say, fingers curling into the shoulder-strap of $ridhis overalls before $ridhe can turn away. Giving $ridhim a tug, you pretend not to notice the way $ridhis brows crease, then relax. "I do trust you, alright? But you understand why I'm... nervous about this right?" Ridley pauses, then gives you a stiff nod.<<else>>"Ridley," You say, an edge creeping into your tone. Your fingers curl into $ridhis shoulder strap and give it a sharp tug, "I do trust you and maybe I'm wrong. So don't fuck this up, yeah?" Ridley pauses, then gives you a stiff nod.<</if>> Ridley is silent, teeth digging into the inside of $ridhis cheek, before nodding once more. "Okay." Comes the certain reply as <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they place<<else>>$ridhe places<</if>> $ridhis hand around your wrist, still tucked around the shoulder strap of $ridhis overalls. "I'll, um, go scout around. Find a way through the city?" You nod. [[And let Ridley go.|ch1pg7303]] [[''Hey,'' And stop Ridley with another tug, ''Be careful, alright?''|ch1pg7304]]

"Fuck no. You know we can't afford that risk." The look you give Ridley is hard, and <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they visibly deflate<<else>>$ridhe visibly deflates<</if>> under the intensity. A sigh pushes out from $ridhis chest, a low rumble of a thing, and you receive a passive nod for your troubles. "I'm serious, Ridley." "Yeah, I know," Ridley mutters, patting down $ridhis messy mop of hair as $ridhis gaze falls away from yours entirely. "I just wish you'd--" Green eyes flick to you once more then hastily away again, heavy shoulders sagging, "Nevermind." <<if $ridley_f > $ridley_r>>"Ridley," You say again, fingers curling into the shoulder-strap of $ridhis overalls before $ridhe can turn away. You take a breath, calm yourself before you snap at $ridhim again. Giving $ridhim a tug, you pretend not to notice the way $ridhis bottom lip quivers. "I don't say this to slight you, alright? We just can't do it."<<else>>"Ridley," You say again, an edge creeping into your tone. Your fingers curl into $ridhis shoulder strap and give it a sharp tug. Irritation rises to a burning sensation in the tips of your ears--you take a breath, try to force yourself to calm down, but a wolf paces in the back of your mind, impatience wearing you thin, "This isn't a discussion."<</if>> Ridley is silent, teeth digging into the inside of $ridhis cheek, before $ridhis head drops from $ridhis shoulders. "Okay." Comes the fragile reply as <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they tug<<else>>$ridhe tugs<</if>> you off $ridhim. Ridley takes a step back with a stiff nod, stuffing $ridhis hands into $ridhis front pockets. "I'll, uh, go scout around the road, make sure we're all good?" You nod. [[And let Ridley go.|ch1pg7301]] [[And tug on Ridley's sleeve. ''We're good, yeah?''|ch1pg7302]]

"Ridley..." You pause, consider that determined look in their eyes, and find your resolve melting away, "Fuck it, fine. Do what you want." Though uncertainty puts a shake in your tone, Ridley visibly stands up straight under your stare. A sigh pushes out from your chest as your own mind questions you. "Alright," Ridley says as if $ridhe didn't anticipate getting this far, patting down $ridhis messy mop of hair as $ridhis gaze falls away from yours entirely with a tiny smile tugging at $ridhis lips. "Maybe I could--" Green eyes flick to you once more then hastily away again, heavy shoulders tensing, "Thank you. For trusting me." <<if $ridley_f > $ridley_r>>"Ridley," You say, fingers curling into the shoulder-strap of $ridhis overalls before $ridhe can turn away. Giving $ridhim a tug, you pretend not to notice the way $ridhis brows crease, then relax. "You understand why I'm... nervous about this right?" Ridley pauses, then gives you a stiff nod.<<else>>"I don't," You say, an edge creeping into your tone. Your fingers curl into $ridhis shoulder strap and give it a sharp tug, "Don't fuck this up, yeah?" Ridley pauses, then gives you a stiff nod.<</if>> Ridley is silent, teeth digging into the inside of $ridhis cheek, before nodding once more. "Okay." Comes the certain reply as <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they place<<else>>$ridhe places<</if>> $ridhis hand around your wrist, still tucked around the shoulder strap of $ridhis overalls. "I'll, um, go scout around. Find a way through the city?" You nod. [[And let Ridley go.|ch1pg7303]] [[''Hey,'' And stop Ridley with another tug, ''Be careful, alright?''|ch1pg7304]]

With a stiff nod, Ridley tucks $ridhis gun into $ridhis pocket, braces a hand against the outer wall of Ledala, and begins tracing the journey you'll soon to be taking. You'd say you're worried for $ridhim but... Ridley knows what $ridhes doing, contrary to evidence otherwise. And you should let $ridhim cool off. "That sounded unpleasant," Allard notes from beside you, eyes closed as $allardhe <<if $allard_gender is "non">>wipe<<else>>wipes<</if>> dust off the inside of $allardhis glasses. Only once they're secured on $allardhis head once more does Allard look at you. "Trouble in paradise?" "We're fine, thanks," You mutter, slumping against the wall with a shake of your head, "Just... <<if $out > .5>>artistic differences?" You snort and try to find the humour in the situation. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."<<else>>nothing in particular." You give Allard a look. Your problems are your own, you don't need some priest to be poking $allardhis head where it doesn't belong.<</if>> Allard hums and tugs at $allardhis collar in thought. "Whatever you say, Hunter." [[''Alright. If you're so smart what would you do?''|ch1pg7401][$out to $out +.05]] [[I ignore the statement. ''What's the deal with the glasses, anyway?''|ch1pg7402][$worldly to $worldly +.05]] [[''Indeed.''|ch1pg7403][$out to $out -.05]] [[''Be honest with me. Should I be concerned about you?''|ch1pg7404][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]]

Ridley considers the question with a crease between $ridhis brows, then gives you a stiff nod. "Yeah," Ridley coughs, $ridhis hand sneaking up to wrap around your wrist. "We're okay." $ridhe <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>tug<<else>>tugs<</if>> you off with a gentle hand. Taking a step, two, back, you're offered an uncertain smile before with another measely nod, Ridley tucks $ridhis gun under $ridhis arm, braces a hand against the outer wall of Ledala, and begins tracing the journey you'll soon to be taking. You'd say you're worried for $ridhim but... Ridley knows what $ridhes doing, contrary to evidence otherwise. And you should let $ridhim cool off. "That sounded unpleasant," Allard notes from beside you, eyes closed as $allardhe <<if $allard_gender is "non">>wipe<<else>>wipes<</if>> dust off the inside of $allardhis glasses. Only once they're secured on $allardhis head once more does Allard look at you. "Trouble in paradise?" "We're fine, thanks," You mutter, slumping against the wall with a shake of your head, "Just... <<if $out > .5>>artistic differences?" You snort and try to find the humour in the situation. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."<<else>>nothing in particular." You give Allard a look. Your problems are your own, you don't need some priest to be poking $allardhis head where it doesn't belong.<</if>> Allard hums and tugs at $allardhis collar in thought. "Whatever you say, Hunter." [[''Alright. If you're so smart what would you do?''|ch1pg7401][$out to $out +.05]] [[I ignore the statement. ''What's the deal with the glasses, anyway?''|ch1pg7402][$worldly to $worldly +.05]] [[''Indeed.''|ch1pg7403][$out to $out -.05]] [[''Be honest with me. Should I be concerned about you?''|ch1pg7404][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]]

"Never claimed I was smart at all," Allard shrugs, patting down the front of $allardhis robes, "Just making a note of what I see, is all. Your friend there seemed pretty certain of our safety." "And what would you have done?" You can't help but ask, "Risk running into bandits, dogs, or worse, or go around?" Allard sighs and stretches $allardhis arms up towards the sky, letting out a groan of discomfort from $allardhis place seated cross-legged in the dust. Slowly, <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they grace<<else>>$allardhe graces<</if>> you with a toothy grin behind those dark glasses, like Allard knows something you don't and you'd have to force it out of $allardhim even if you wanted to know. "Personally? I would have trusted 'em. Your partner's smart, observant, even if <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$ridhe doesn't<</if>> seem to understand it $ridhimself. Call me an idiot if you want." You grunt an affirmation. Ridley is smart, you'll give $allardhim that. [[''You're an idiot.''|ch1pg7501][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[''Maybe you're right.''|ch1pg7502][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Can you afford to take those kinds of risks out here?''|ch1pg7503][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''I'm just not willing to risk it. Lost too much to even try.''|ch1pg7504][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]]

With a knowing smile, Allard fingers the rim as if considering just whipping the glasses off entirely before $allardhis hand falls away with a hum. "Light hurts my eyes is all," $allardhe <<if $allard_gender is "non">>shrug<<else>>shrugs<</if>>, "Always has, since I was small. Gives me the biggest headaches and I never manage to get anything done. Now, back to you," The priest looks at you, "Do you think your decision was wise?" "And what would you have done?" You ask instead of answering, uncertainty coiling a string around your throat, "Risk running into bandits, dogs, or worse, or go around?" Allard sighs and stretches $allardhis arms up towards the sky, letting out a groan of discomfort from $allardhis place seated cross-legged in the dust. Slowly, <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they grace<<else>>$allardhe graces<</if>> you with a toothy grin behind those dark glasses, like Allard knows something you don't and you'd have to force it out of $allardhim even if you wanted to know. "Personally? I would have trusted 'em. Your partner's smart, observant, even if <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$ridhe doesn't<</if>> seem to understand it $ridhimself. Call me an idiot if you want." You grunt an affirmation. Ridley is smart, you'll give $allardhim that. [[''You're an idiot.''|ch1pg7501][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[''Maybe you're right.''|ch1pg7502][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Can you afford to take those kinds of risks out here?''|ch1pg7503][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''I'm just not willing to risk it. Lost too much to even try.''|ch1pg7504][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]]

You don't immediately answer, chewing on the question like you chew on your bottom lip. You aren't sure you made the right decision. Really, you can never be sure, not in Wasteland, and yet... "And what would you have done?" You can't help but ask, "Risk running into bandits, dogs, or worse, or go around?" Allard sighs and stretches $allardhis arms up towards the sky, letting out a groan of discomfort from $allardhis place seated cross-legged in the dust. Slowly, <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they grace<<else>>$allardhe graces<</if>> you with a toothy grin behind those dark glasses, like Allard knows something you don't and you'd have to force it out of $allardhim even if you wanted to know. "Personally? I would have trusted 'em. Your partner's smart, observant, even if <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$ridhe doesn't<</if>> seem to understand it $ridhimself. Call me an idiot if you want." You grunt an affirmation. Ridley is smart, you'll give $allardhim that. [[''You're an idiot.''|ch1pg7501][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[''Maybe you're right.''|ch1pg7502][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Can you afford to take those kinds of risks out here?''|ch1pg7503][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''I'm just not willing to risk it. Lost too much to even try.''|ch1pg7504][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]]

A bark of laughter startles from Allard's chest before $allardhis hand slaps over $allardhis parted lips. Shoulders shaking, $allardhe <<if $allard_gender is "non">>shake<<else>>shakes<</if>> $allardhis head, "Can you really be certain you should trust anyone these days? Even friendships crumble quickly out here, Hunter." Your mind turns to Mordred. You chew on the inside of your mouth until you taste iron. "And what would you have done?" You can't help but ask, "Risk running into bandits, dogs, or worse, or go around?" Allard sighs and stretches $allardhis arms up towards the sky, letting out a groan of discomfort from $allardhis place seated cross-legged in the dust. Slowly, <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they grace<<else>>$allardhe graces<</if>> you with a toothy grin behind those dark glasses, like Allard knows something you don't and you'd have to force it out of $allardhim even if you wanted to know. "Personally? I would have trusted 'em. Your partner's smart, observant, even if <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$ridhe doesn't<</if>> seem to understand it $ridhimself. Call me an idiot if you want." You grunt an affirmation. Ridley is smart, you'll give $allardhim that. [[''You're an idiot.''|ch1pg7501][$allard_f to $allard_f +.05]] [[''Maybe you're right.''|ch1pg7502][$allard_r to $allard_r +.03]] [[''Can you afford to take those kinds of risks out here?''|ch1pg7503][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]] [[''I'm just not willing to risk it. Lost too much to even try.''|ch1pg7504][$allard_r to $allard_r +.05]]

A laugh erupts from the hunched figure beside you, a deep, rich sound that echoes across the desert before abruptly cutting short with a hand over $allardhis mouth. Allard smiles sheepishly, an almost shy twitch to the corner of $allardhis mouth once it's freed. You share a chuckle, something almost companionable were it not cut by your startled huff as you find your eyes drifting back to the wagon, where Colette is examining the saddle. "What's she doing?" You ask to no one as Allard clambers to $allardhis feet on unsteady knees. You follow, eyeing the $allardman but not quite worrying. Yet. "Hunter, I wouldn't worry too much about that," Allard says with a laugh, cheerful like an old friend. Wiping some mousy brown hair from $allardhis eyes, in one smooth motion Allard tucks $allardhis glasses into a pocket. It hits you like ten tonnes of steel when you're met by yellow pools as bright as the sun cut by black slits, your body frozen like you're stuck in tar. Your mind barely registers just what is strange about the $allardman, as <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they stare<<else>>$allardhe stares<</if>>, and only when it finally hits you that those eyes aren't human does Allard break into a thin, fox-like grin. The traveller reaches into $allardhis robes and a hot breath against your ear, a voice not entirely your own, rumbles out the command that you should //run//. Allard draws near, no semblance of feeling behind the eyes, "No, if I were you, I'd be worrying so much more about //me//." [[''A, uh, a bit close, don't you think?''|ch1pg8101][$right to $right +.05]] [[''Get the fuck away from me!''|ch1pg8102][$right to $right -.05]] [[''What are you doing?''|ch1pg8103][$right to $right +.05]] [[Punch Allard.|ch1pg8104][$right to $right -.05]] [[Brace myself for impact.|ch1pg8105]]

Allard hums in agreement, a shaky hand momentarily creeping up to curl around $allardhis mouth. Paying it no mind, you bask in the silence, something almost companionable were it not cut by your startled huff as you find your eyes drifting back to the wagon, where Colette is examining the saddle. "What's she doing?" You ask to no one as Allard clambers to $allardhis feet on unsteady knees. You follow, eyeing the $allardman but not quite worrying. Yet. "Hunter, I wouldn't worry too much about that," Allard says with a laugh, cheerful like an old friend. Wiping some mousy brown hair from $allardhis eyes, in one smooth motion Allard tucks $allardhis glasses into a pocket. It hits you like ten tonnes of steel when you're met by yellow pools as bright as the sun cut by black slits, your body frozen like you're stuck in tar. Your mind barely registers just what is strange about the $allardman, as <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they stare<<else>>$allardhe stares<</if>>, and only when it finally hits you that those eyes aren't human does Allard break into a thin, fox-like grin. The traveller reaches into $allardhis robes and a hot breath against your ear, a voice not entirely your own, rumbles out the command that you should //run//. Allard draws near, no semblance of feeling behind the eyes, "No, if I were you, I'd be worrying so much more about //me//." [[''A, uh, a bit close, don't you think?''|ch1pg8101][$right to $right +.05]] [[''Get the fuck away from me!''|ch1pg8102][$right to $right -.05]] [[''What are you doing?''|ch1pg8103][$right to $right +.05]] [[Punch Allard.|ch1pg8104][$right to $right -.05]] [[Brace myself for impact.|ch1pg8105]]

"Fair point." Allard chuckles, scratching nervously at the back of $allardhis hand. It isn't quite hard enough to shave off any skin, but the nail does dig in enough to raise the flesh. You hum, but otherwise sit in silence, something almost companionable were it not cut by your startled huff as you find your eyes drifting back to the wagon, where Colette is examining the saddle. "What's she doing?" You ask to no one as Allard clambers to $allardhis feet on unsteady knees. You follow, eyeing the $allardman but not quite worrying. Yet. "Hunter, I wouldn't worry too much about that," Allard says with a laugh, cheerful like an old friend. Wiping some mousy brown hair from $allardhis eyes, in one smooth motion Allard tucks $allardhis glasses into a pocket. It hits you like ten tonnes of steel when you're met by yellow pools as bright as the sun cut by black slits, your body frozen like you're stuck in tar. Your mind barely registers just what is strange about the $allardman, as <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they stare<<else>>$allardhe stares<</if>>, and only when it finally hits you that those eyes aren't human does Allard break into a thin, fox-like grin. The traveller reaches into $allardhis robes and a hot breath against your ear, a voice not entirely your own, rumbles out the command that you should //run//. Allard draws near, no semblance of feeling behind the eyes, "No, if I were you, I'd be worrying so much more about //me//." [[''A, uh, a bit close, don't you think?''|ch1pg8101][$right to $right +.05]] [[''Get the fuck away from me!''|ch1pg8102][$right to $right -.05]] [[''What are you doing?''|ch1pg8103][$right to $right +.05]] [[Punch Allard.|ch1pg8104][$right to $right -.05]] [[Brace myself for impact.|ch1pg8105]]

"You're probably wiser than I." Allard chuckles, scratching nervously at the back of $allardhis hand. It isn't quite hard enough to shave off any skin, but the nail does dig in enough to raise the flesh. You hum, but otherwise sit in silence, something almost companionable were it not cut by your startled huff as you find your eyes drifting back to the wagon, where Colette is examining the saddle. "What's she doing?" You ask to no one as Allard clambers to $allardhis feet on unsteady knees. You follow, eyeing the $allardman but not quite worrying. Yet. "Hunter, I wouldn't worry too much about that," Allard says with a laugh, cheerful like an old friend. Wiping some mousy brown hair from $allardhis eyes, in one smooth motion Allard tucks $allardhis glasses into a pocket. It hits you like ten tonnes of steel when you're met by yellow pools as bright as the sun cut by black slits, your body frozen like you're stuck in tar. Your mind barely registers just what is strange about the $allardman, as <<if $allard_gender is "non">>they stare<<else>>$allardhe stares<</if>>, and only when it finally hits you that those eyes aren't human does Allard break into a thin, fox-like grin. The traveller reaches into $allardhis robes and a hot breath against your ear, a voice not entirely your own, rumbles out the command that you should //run//. Allard draws near, no semblance of feeling behind the eyes, "No, if I were you, I'd be worrying so much more about //me//." [[''A, uh, a bit close, don't you think?''|ch1pg8101][$right to $right +.05]] [[''Get the fuck away from me!''|ch1pg8102][$right to $right -.05]] [[''What are you doing?''|ch1pg8103][$right to $right +.05]] [[Punch Allard.|ch1pg8104][$right to $right -.05]] [[Brace myself for impact.|ch1pg8105]]

<<set $mc1_play to false>><<set $mc2_play to true>> !!!Chapter Two //There's something //wrong// that lingers deep in your gut, curling cold fingers into your stomach and chilling you to ice. It's an eternal tightness in your chest, some kind of vice that threatens to crush you where you stand, cut off your blood supply just to watch your slow, painful death.// [[Somewhere else entirely...|ch2pg01]]

With a nod, Ridley tucks $ridhis gun into $ridhis pocket, braces a hand against the outer wall of Ledala, and begins tracing the journey you'll soon to be taking. You'd say you're worried for $ridhim but... Ridley knows what $ridhes doing, contrary to evidence otherwise. "That sounded interesting," Allard notes from beside you, eyes closed as $allardhe <<if $allard_gender is "non">>wipe<<else>>wipes<</if>> dust off the inside of $allardhis glasses. Only once they're secured on $allardhis head once more does Allard look at you. "You sure the decision was a good one?" "It's fine, thanks," You mutter, slumping against the wall with a shake of your head, "Just... <<if $out > .5>>figuring out our direction, is all." You snort and roll your eyes. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."<<else>>nothing in particular." You give Allard a look. The problem's dealt with, you don't need some priest to be poking $allardhis head where it doesn't belong.<</if>> Allard hums and tugs at $allardhis collar in thought. "Whatever you say, Hunter." [[''Alright. If you're so smart what would you do?''|ch1pg7401][$out to $out +.05]] [[I ignore the statement. ''What's the deal with the glasses, anyway?''|ch1pg7402][$worldly to $worldly +.05]] [[''Indeed.''|ch1pg7403][$out to $out -.05]] [[''Be honest with me. Should I be concerned about you?''|ch1pg7404][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]]

Ridley considers the question with something akin to amusement twinkling in their eye. "Yeah," Ridley chuckles gracelessly, $ridhis hand sneaking up to wrap around your wrist. "I will be." $ridhe <<if $ridley_gender is "non">>tug<<else>>tugs<</if>> you off with a gentle hand. "Thank you." Taking a step, two, back, you're offered an uncertain smile before, with a nod, Ridley tucks $ridhis gun into $ridhis pocket, braces a hand against the outer wall of Ledala, and begins tracing the journey you'll soon be taking. You'd say you're worried for $ridhim but... Ridley knows what $ridhes doing, contrary to evidence otherwise. "That sounded interesting," Allard notes from beside you, eyes closed as $allardhe <<if $allard_gender is "non">>wipe<<else>>wipes<</if>> dust off the inside of $allardhis glasses. Only once they're secured on $allardhis head once more does Allard look at you. "You sure the decision was a good one?" "It's fine, thanks," You mutter, slumping against the wall with a shake of your head, "Just... <<if $out > .5>>figuring out our direction, is all." You snort and roll your eyes. "It's nothing, don't worry about it."<<else>>nothing in particular." You give Allard a look. The problem's dealt with, you don't need some priest to be poking $allardhis head where it doesn't belong.<</if>> Allard hums and tugs at $allardhis collar in thought. "Whatever you say, Hunter." [[''Alright. If you're so smart what would you do?''|ch1pg7401][$out to $out +.05]] [[I ignore the statement. ''What's the deal with the glasses, anyway?''|ch1pg7402][$worldly to $worldly +.05]] [[''Indeed.''|ch1pg7403][$out to $out -.05]] [[''Be honest with me. Should I be concerned about you?''|ch1pg7404][$allard_f to $allard_f +.03]]

<<set $out to $out -.05>>The stare you're given is downright stormy, a momentary flicker of a frown crossing that thin face before it disappears with a glance away. This is painfully familiar--a cold hand clutches around your heart--losing family, no matter how estranged, but no matter how many times it happens to you or someone around you, you never quite know how to respond. "Sorry," You mutter, "That was stupid. I mean..." You fumble, the urge to just get up and flee overwhelming, making the world feel muffled and unreal like your head is being held underwater. You... aren't good at this. A hiss thrusts out from the back of your throat, an attempt to push away that thought, "What do you need?" Lowrie is silent for a moment more, head bowed as they meticulously comb rough hands through the long strands of their hair. Lips quiver, a whisper pushed out like the ghost of a voice in your ear, "Just talk to me." They say, "I don't care what about." A distraction, then. You can do that. [[''It's getting hotter out, huh?''|ch1pg7701]] [[''Should you be drinking?''|ch1pg7702]] [[''Did you catch how rude Harley was to me before?''|ch1pg7703]] <<if $carol_name is "Carol">>[[''Carol's worried about you.''|ch1pg7704]]<<else>>[[''Caroline's worried about you.''|ch1pg7704]]<</if>>

<<set $worldly to $worldly +.05>>Your mouth opens as if to speak but all that escapes is a choke of garbled words cut off by your own uncertainty. This is painfully familiar--a cold hand clutches around your heart--losing family, no matter how estranged, but no matter how many times it happens to you or someone around you, you never quite know how to respond. You swallow hard, try again. "I mean..." You fumble, the urge to just get up and flee overwhelming, making the world feel muffled and unreal like your head is being held underwater. You... aren't good at this. A hiss thrusts out from the back of your throat, an attempt to push away that thought, "What do you need?" Lowrie is silent for a moment more, head bowed as they meticulously comb rough hands through the long strands of their hair. Lips quiver, a whisper pushed out like the ghost of a voice in your ear, "Just talk to me." They say, "I don't care what about." A distraction, then. You can do that. [[''It's getting hotter out, huh?''|ch1pg7701]] [[''Should you be drinking?''|ch1pg7702]] [[''Did you catch how rude Harley was to me before?''|ch1pg7703]] <<if $carol_name is "Carol">>[[''Carol's worried about you.''|ch1pg7704]]<<else>>[[''Caroline's worried about you.''|ch1pg7704]]<</if>>

<<set $right to $right +.05>>This is painfully familiar--a cold hand clutches around your heart--losing family, no matter how estranged, but no matter how many times it happens to you or someone around you, you never quite know how to respond. I mean..." You fumble, the urge to just get up and flee overwhelming, making the world feel muffled and unreal like your head is being held underwater. You... aren't good at this. A hiss thrusts out from the back of your throat, an attempt to push away that thought, "Anything at all, just say the word." Lowrie is silent for a moment more, head bowed as they meticulously comb rough hands through the long strands of their hair. Lips quiver, a whisper pushed out like the ghost of a voice in your ear, "Just talk to me." They say, "I don't care what about." A distraction, then. You can do that. [[''It's getting hotter out, huh?''|ch1pg7701]] [[''Should you be drinking?''|ch1pg7702]] [[''Did you catch how rude Harley was to me before?''|ch1pg7703]] <<if $carol_name is "Carol">>[[''Carol's worried about you.''|ch1pg7704]]<<else>>[[''Caroline's worried about you.''|ch1pg7704]]<</if>>

<<set $out to $out +.05>>Lowrie doesn't quite smile but they do look at you for the first time since you sat yourself down. There's no humour in their expression, lips pulled tight and eyes unsteady. This is painfully familiar--a cold hand clutches around your heart--losing family, no matter how estranged, but no matter how many times it happens to you or someone around you, you never quite know how to respond. "I mean..." You fumble, the urge to just get up and flee overwhelming, making the world feel muffled and unreal like your head is being held underwater. You... aren't good at this. A hiss thrusts out from the back of your throat, an attempt to push away that thought, "What do you need?" Lowrie is silent for a moment more, head bowed as they meticulously comb rough hands through the long strands of their hair. Lips quiver, a whisper pushed out like the ghost of a voice in your ear, "Just keep talking to me." They say, "I don't care what about." A distraction, then. You can do that. [[''It's getting hotter out, huh?''|ch1pg7701]] [[''Should you be drinking?''|ch1pg7702]] [[''Did you catch how rude Harley was to me before?''|ch1pg7703]] <<if $carol_name is "Carol">>[[''Carol's worried about you.''|ch1pg7704]]<<else>>[[''Caroline's worried about you.''|ch1pg7704]]<</if>>

Bushy brows crease in confusion for half a second before a humourless hiss of a laugh pushes from Lowrie's chest. "It's always hot," They mutter, "What's a little more heat gonna do?" "Kill us all?" You suggest, much to the twitch of Lowrie's thin lips. "Probably wouldn't be so bad if it did," Comes the murmur of a reply, grey eyes losing any spark you might have given them as they stare into the depths of their cup. Your body seizes like a cold hand has taken hold of your insides, holding them hostage as you watch your companion momentarily consider Harley at the bar. "Harley thinks we'd be better off leaving..." A beat of silence hangs over you, your feet sink into the floorboards, your body into your seat. Lowrie shrugs as if they've just said the most normal thing in the world. They can't leave. //No one// can leave. "And I think I agree with them but, but I won't leave Carol." Head turned unsteadily away from the bartender yet unwilling to quite meet your eye, Lowrie instead lets their head hit the table with a heavy //thud//. [[''Leaving means death, Lowrie. We've seen it happen before.''|ch1pg7801][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +.03]] [[''They're right. This isn't going to last.''|ch1pg7802][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +.03]] <<if $carol_name is "Carol">>[[''Will you tell Carol that?''|ch1pg7803][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +.01]]<<else>>[[''Will you tell Caroline that?''|ch1pg7803][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +.03]]<</if>>

You're given a world-weary stare, before Lowrie slides the cup over to you. There's no familiar, sour stench of old alcohol in the cup, nothing that leaves a bad taste in the back of your throat from scent alone. No, the liquid barely fills half of the cup and it takes you a bit too long to recognise that it's //water//. "They're coddling me," Lowrie mutters, jerking their head towards the bar. Your body seizes like a cold hand has taken hold of your insides, holding them hostage as you watch your companion momentarily consider Harley at the bar. "Harley thinks we'd be better off leaving..." A beat of silence hangs over you, your feet sink into the floorboards, your body into your seat. Lowrie shrugs as if they've just said the most normal thing in the world. They can't leave. //No one// can leave. "And I think I agree with them but, but I won't leave Carol." Head turned unsteadily away from the bartender yet unwilling to quite meet your eye, Lowrie instead lets their head hit the table with a heavy //thud//. [[''Leaving means death, Lowrie. We've seen it happen before.''|ch1pg7801][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +.03]] [[''They're right. This isn't going to last.''|ch1pg7802][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +.03]] <<if $carol_name is "Carol">>[[''Will you tell Carol that?''|ch1pg7803][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +.01]]<<else>>[[''Will you tell Caroline that?''|ch1pg7803][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +.03]]<</if>>

Lowrie grunts, head shaking with disinterest. "Probably deserved it." They say, the joke falling flat on their dull tone. Despite the joke, your body... just thrumbs with an uncertain pulse. Your companion momentarily considers Harley at the bar. "Harley thinks we'd be better off leaving..." A beat of silence hangs over you, your feet sink into the floorboards, your body into your seat. Lowrie shrugs as if they've just said the most normal thing in the world. They can't leave. //No one// can leave. "And I think I agree with them but, but I won't leave Carol." Head turned unsteadily away from the bartender yet unwilling to quite meet your eye, Lowrie instead lets their head hit the table with a heavy //thud//. [[''Leaving means death, Lowrie. We've seen it happen before.''|ch1pg7801][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +.03]] [[''They're right. This isn't going to last.''|ch1pg7802][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +.03]] [[''Will you tell your partner that?''|ch1pg7803][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +.03]]

<<if $carol_name is "Carol">>"It's //Caroline//," Lowrie insists with a hiss, still just as eager to jump in to protect their partner.<<else>><</if>>"She's always worried abour me," They reply, "And I love her but I don't need her coddling." //What makes it coddling?// You almost think to ask, but you bite back the question and save it for another time. Your body seizes like a cold hand has taken hold of your insides, holding them hostage as you watch your companion momentarily consider Harley at the bar. "Harley thinks we'd be better off leaving..." A beat of silence hangs over you, your feet sink into the floorboards, your body into your seat. Lowrie shrugs as if they've just said the most normal thing in the world. They can't leave. //No one// can leave. "And I think I agree with them but, but I won't leave Carol." Head turned unsteadily away from the bartender yet unwilling to quite meet your eye, Lowrie instead lets their head hit the table with a heavy //thud//. [[''Leaving means death, Lowrie. We've seen it happen before.''|ch1pg7801][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +.03]] [[''They're right. This isn't going to last.''|ch1pg7802][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +.03]] <<if $carol_name is "Carol">>[[''Will you tell Carol that?''|ch1pg7803][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +.01]]<<else>>[[''Will you tell Caroline that?''|ch1pg7803][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +.03]]<</if>>

<<set $worldly to $worldly +.05>>"Yeah, probably. Not much reason to stay, though." Lowrie's head refuses to lift from its spot locked in a passionate embrace with the splintered grain of the table, "We'll die either way unless we do something." You glance away until your eyes fall on Harley and their work. They don't always agree with Carol but you never expected them to just-- "They think Carol's hiding something," Lowrie explains, "And--yeah, I guess she is." You guess she is, you agree, "But it's not just about that. Not really, or at least I don't think..." They trail off once more, maybe in thought, perhaps just because they're finished with the conversation. They still don't sit up, their wraith-thin body bent over the table at a dramatic angle that almost looks as if their back is broken. [[I don't have anything left to say. I just sit in silent thought.|ch1pg7901]] [[I don't have anything left to say. I reach over and give Lowrie a pat on the head.|ch1pg7902][$lowrie_a to $lowrie_a +.05]] [[''Are you... okay?''|ch1pg7903]] [[''I think we should stop talking about this. Seems... Unhealthy for you.''|ch1pg7904]]

<<set $worldly to $worldly +.05>>Lowrie hums in half-hearted agreement, taking another sip from their cup, slowly, as if to avoid outwardly speaking the thought. "Whether or not they're right," They say instead, "I guess we'll find out one way or another." You glance away until your eyes fall on Harley and their work. They don't always agree with $carol_name but you never expected them to just-- "They think Carol's hiding something," Lowrie explains, "And--yeah, I guess she is." You guess she is, you agree, "But it's not just about that. Not really, or at least I don't think..." They trail off once more, maybe in thought, perhaps just because they're finished with the conversation. They still don't sit up, their wraith-thin body bent over the table at a dramatic angle that almost looks as if their back is broken. [[I don't have anything left to say. I just sit in silent thought.|ch1pg7901]] [[I don't have anything left to say. I reach over and give Lowrie a pat on the head.|ch1pg7902][$lowrie_a to $lowrie_a +.05]] [[''Are you... okay?''|ch1pg7903]] [[''I think we should stop talking about this. Seems... Unhealthy for you.''|ch1pg7904]]

<<set $worldly to $worldly -.05>>"Hell, no," Lowrie sighs, scratching at the back of their head, "I'm staying with her whether I agree or not. Because I love her. Harley..." Their voice cracks, and their eyes find your silent bartender now, something conflicting in that gaze, "They can do what they want." You glance away until your eyes fall on Harley and their work. They don't always agree with Carol but you never expected them to just-- "They think Carol's hiding something," Lowrie explains, "And--yeah, I guess she is." You guess she is, you agree, "But it's not just about that. Not really, or at least I don't think..." They trail off once more, maybe in thought, perhaps just because they're finished with the conversation. They still don't sit up, their wraith-thin body bent over the table at a dramatic angle that almost looks as if their back is broken. [[I don't have anything left to say. I just sit in silent thought.|ch1pg7901]] [[I don't have anything left to say. I reach over and give Lowrie a pat on the head.|ch1pg7902][$lowrie_a to $lowrie_a +.05]] [[''Are you... okay?''|ch1pg7903]] [[''I think we should stop talking about this. Seems... Unhealthy for you.''|ch1pg7904]]

And in silence you both stew, lost to your own thoughts as you each consider your own places in Eden. Whether or not you agree is irrelevant in the larger scheme of things; you'll either die or you won't. Or your body will simply keep going despite what it is you //want//. The quiet stretches on, even despite the shifting of Harley at the bar and the occasional other hunter being led in or out by their own collection of duties. Your eyes drag lethargically over to Lowrie once more, long, black hair spread out around their head not unlike a mop. Even sitting in such an uncomfortable position, back bent at an unfortunate angle and slouched, it's clear to see just how tall Lowrie is; they tower over most everyone, after all. [[Not me though. We're about the same height. (very tall)|ch1pg8001][$mc1_height to "vtall"]] [[Though I am quite tall Lowrie still beats me on that front by quite a few inches. (tall)|ch1pg8002][$mc1_height to "tall"]] [[Even if I am about average in height Lowrie somehow makes me look tiny when standing next to me. (average)|ch1pg8003][$mc1_height to "average"]] [[I've always been rather short and Lowrie's height somehow manages to make me look like a child in comparison. (short)|ch1pg8004][$mc1_height to "short"]] [[Every day is a struggle not to have a crick in my neck just from staring up at their freakish height. (very short)|ch1pg8005][$mc1_height to "vshort"]]

Lowrie's body twitches at the sudden touch, shoulders tensing and breath sucked back up through clenched teeth... Yet they don't pull away, they don't complain, and they don't ask what it is you're doing. No, as you drag your fingers through the surprisingly well-kept strands of hair, their body relaxes, a strained sigh pushing out from their chest. Eventually, you find yourself idly worrying a chunk of that black hair between two fingers, focusing on the texture. The quiet stretches on, even despite the shifting of Harley at the bar and the occasional other hunter being led in or out by their own collection of duties. Your eyes drag lethargically over to Lowrie once more, long, black hair spread out around their head not unlike a mop. Even sitting in such an uncomfortable position, back bent at an unfortunate angle and slouched, it's clear to see just how tall Lowrie is; they tower over most everyone, after all. [[Not me though. We're about the same height. (very tall)|ch1pg8001][$mc1_height to "vtall"]] [[Though I am quite tall Lowrie still defeats me on that front by quite a lot. (tall)|ch1pg8002][$mc1_height to "tall"]] [[Even if I am about average in height Lowrie somehow makes me look tiny when standing next to me. (average)|ch1pg8003][$mc1_height to "average"]] [[I've always been rather short and Lowrie's height somehow manages to make me look like a child in comparison. (short)|ch1pg8004][$mc1_height to "short"]] [[Every day is a struggle not to have a crick in my neck just from staring up at their freakish height. (very short)|ch1pg8005][$mc1_height to "vshort"]]

The silence is answer enough as you wait, recieving no evidence that Lowrie feels particularly inclined to respond at all. You swallow hard, uncertainty curling around your throat and squeezing the breath from you. The quiet stretches on, even despite the shifting of Harley at the bar and the occasional other hunter being led in or out by their own collection of duties. Your eyes drag lethargically over to Lowrie once more, long, black hair spread out around their head not unlike a mop. Even sitting in such an uncomfortable position, back bent at an unfortunate angle and slouched, it's clear to see just how tall Lowrie is; they tower over most everyone, after all. [[Not me though. We're about the same height. (very tall)|ch1pg8001][$mc1_height to "vtall"]] [[Though I am quite tall Lowrie still defeats me on that front by quite a lot. (tall)|ch1pg8002][$mc1_height to "tall"]] [[Even if I am about average in height Lowrie somehow makes me look tiny when standing next to me. (average)|ch1pg8003][$mc1_height to "average"]] [[I've always been rather short and Lowrie's height somehow manages to make me look like a child in comparison. (short)|ch1pg8004][$mc1_height to "short"]] [[Every day is a struggle not to have a crick in my neck just from staring up at their freakish height. (very short)|ch1pg8005][$mc1_height to "vshort"]]

Lowrie grunts, though whether in agreement or not you're not quite sure. You elect to interpret it as you will; it isn't as if they're going to correct you. So, for now, you allow the silence. The quiet stretches on, even despite the shifting of Harley at the bar and the occasional other hunter being led in or out by their own collection of duties. Your eyes drag lethargically over to Lowrie once more, long, black hair spread out around their head not unlike a mop. Even sitting in such an uncomfortable position, back bent at an unfortunate angle and slouched, it's clear to see just how tall Lowrie is; they tower over most everyone, after all. [[Not me though. We're about the same height. (very tall)|ch1pg8001][$mc1_height to "vtall"]] [[Though I am quite tall Lowrie still defeats me on that front by quite a lot. (tall)|ch1pg8002][$mc1_height to "tall"]] [[Even if I am about average in height Lowrie somehow makes me look tiny when standing next to me. (average)|ch1pg8003][$mc1_height to "average"]] [[I've always been rather short and Lowrie's height somehow manages to make me look like a child in comparison. (short)|ch1pg8004][$mc1_height to "short"]] [[Every day is a struggle not to have a crick in my neck just from staring up at their freakish height. (very short)|ch1pg8005][$mc1_height to "vshort"]]

While that doesn't necessarily put a crick in your neck when you're talking to //them//, any conversation with anyone else is another matter entirely. Lowrie turns their head, cheek squished up against the table now as they eye you with a conflicted suspicion. They don't speak, not immediately, instead taking the time to wet their lips and wipe the water from their eyes. You allow them that, allow the time it takes to collect themself because you were never afforded that time yourself. It takes a moment longer than your patience, but you hold your tongue until Lowrie is ready. Their voice comes out like a choke. "You wouldn't know because I don't talk about it," They mumble, "But I may as well explain because there's no point denying it now. I grew up in Elysium." You had guessed as much. You suck in your bottom lip and consider the situation. Lowrie clearly has something to say, but is it really your place to hear? Is it really the right time? [[''You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to.''|Ch1pg80l01][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''I had assumed that, yes.''|ch1pg80l02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''I don't expect an explanation. You can keep your secrets.''|ch1pg80l03][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''I'm not going to say I'm not a little bit curious.''|ch1pg80l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[I nod, waiting for them to continue.|ch1pg80l05]]

It's frustrating and amusing in equal measure; if your boots were only slightly thicker in the soles then maybe you'd be about the same height, but alas... Lowrie turns their head, cheek squished up against the table now as they eye you with a conflicted suspicion. They don't speak, not immediately, instead taking the time to wet their lips and wipe the water from their eyes. You allow them that, allow the time it takes to collect themself because you were never afforded that time yourself. It takes a moment longer than your patience, but you hold your tongue until Lowrie is ready. Their voice comes out like a choke. "You wouldn't know because I don't talk about it," They mumble, "But I may as well explain because there's no point denying it now. I grew up in Elysium." You had guessed as much. You suck in your bottom lip and consider the situation. Lowrie clearly has something to say, but is it really your place to hear? Is it really the right time? [[''You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to.''|Ch1pg80l01][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''I had assumed that, yes.''|ch1pg80l02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''I don't expect an explanation. You can keep your secrets.''|ch1pg80l03][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''I'm not going to say I'm not a little bit curious.''|ch1pg80l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[I nod, waiting for them to continue.|ch1pg80l05]]

Being of average of height may be many things but whether you're talking to a very tall person or a very short person either way gives you an ache in your neck where it most certainly doesn't belong. Lowrie turns their head, cheek squished up against the table now as they eye you with a conflicted suspicion. They don't speak, not immediately, instead taking the time to wet their lips and wipe the water from their eyes. You allow them that, allow the time it takes to collect themself because you were never afforded that time yourself. It takes a moment longer than your patience, but you hold your tongue until Lowrie is ready. Their voice comes out like a choke. "You wouldn't know because I don't talk about it," They mumble, "But I may as well explain because there's no point denying it now. I grew up in Elysium." You had guessed as much. You suck in your bottom lip and consider the situation. Lowrie clearly has something to say, but is it really your place to hear? Is it really the right time? [[''You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to.''|Ch1pg80l01][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''I had assumed that, yes.''|ch1pg80l02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''I don't expect an explanation. You can keep your secrets.''|ch1pg80l03][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''I'm not going to say I'm not a little bit curious.''|ch1pg80l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[I nod, waiting for them to continue.|ch1pg80l05]]

Unfortunately, you've often been compared, mostly in jest because it irritates you, to a fifteen year old. Well, those people may joke now, just wait until they're keeled over from a very precise strike to their shins. Lowrie turns their head, cheek squished up against the table now as they eye you with a conflicted suspicion. They don't speak, not immediately, instead taking the time to wet their lips and wipe the water from their eyes. You allow them that, allow the time it takes to collect themself because you were never afforded that time yourself. It takes a moment longer than your patience, but you hold your tongue until Lowrie is ready. Their voice comes out like a choke. "You wouldn't know because I don't talk about it," They mumble, "But I may as well explain because there's no point denying it now. I grew up in Elysium." You had guessed as much. You suck in your bottom lip and consider the situation. Lowrie clearly has something to say, but is it really your place to hear? Is it really the right time? [[''You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to.''|Ch1pg80l01][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''I had assumed that, yes.''|ch1pg80l02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''I don't expect an explanation. You can keep your secrets.''|ch1pg80l03][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''I'm not going to say I'm not a little bit curious.''|ch1pg80l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[I nod, waiting for them to continue.|ch1pg80l05]]

But perhaps your shortness complements their tallness. Ostensibly. Perhaps that was just something Carol said to placate you. Lowrie turns their head, cheek squished up against the table now as they eye you with a conflicted suspicion. They don't speak, not immediately, instead taking the time to wet their lips and wipe the water from their eyes. You allow them that, allow the time it takes to collect themself because you were never afforded that time yourself. It takes a moment longer than your patience, but you hold your tongue until Lowrie is ready. Their voice comes out like a choke. "You wouldn't know because I don't talk about it," They mumble, "But I may as well explain because there's no point denying it now. I grew up in Elysium." You had guessed as much. You suck in your bottom lip and consider the situation. Lowrie clearly has something to say, but is it really your place to hear? Is it really the right time? [[''You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to.''|Ch1pg80l01][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''I had assumed that, yes.''|ch1pg80l02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''I don't expect an explanation. You can keep your secrets.''|ch1pg80l03][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''I'm not going to say I'm not a little bit curious.''|ch1pg80l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[I nod, waiting for them to continue.|ch1pg80l05]]

<<set $allard_f to $allard_f +.03>>"Not nearly close enough I don't think." Allard mutters, and then hard metal pushes against the tender flesh of your stomach. You don't have the time to push Allard away before your flesh is torn in twain by a blade, driving into your gut and cutting a long, jagged line up your middle. Your breath is stolen when your attacker wraps $allardhis free arm around your suddenly limp body and pulls the blade out... it's almost a tender motion; slender fingers cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as $allardhe plunges the knife back into you all over again, every tear sending another shockwave of fire hot pain through your body even as it tries to stitch itself back together. Each stab of the knife ebbs away at any remaining strength you might have, your vice-like grip on the $allardman loosening until you're a dead weight in $allardhis arms. You hear Allard's grunt of protest before $allardhe <<if $allard_gender is "non">>drop<<else>>drops<</if>> you gracelessly into the dust and wipes the blood on $allardhis knife on $allardhis pant leg with a barely-disguised look of disgust. If you were inclined to look too close, you would almost describe $allardhis pallour as a little green. "Sorry to do this to you, Hunter, but if I know you like I know me, the least I could do isn't quite good enough." Thin lips pulled into a tight smile, Allard watches you for a good long, excruciating second, then turns on wobbly legs, a glint of canine fang flashed carelessly your way. Try as you might, your body is prone, refuses to allow you to clamber to your feet even as your blood rages in animalistic fury. "It was lovely meeting you. I'd say we'll meet again but, well..." Allard gives you one last awkward smile before stretching out $allardhis lithe body and limping off towards the wagon. Like a herald of death, Allard steps onto the wagon and gives you a little wave as Colette kicks the horse up into a brusque trot, abandoning you to the cruelty of the afternoon sun. [[Chapter End]]

<<set $allard_f to $allard_f +.05>>"Hm, no," Allard chuckles, those impossibly bright, fiery amber eyes lit alight by the laugh rumbling out from$allardhis chest. "I don't think I will." Then hard metal presses against the tender flesh of your stomach. You don't have the time to push Allard away before your flesh is torn in twain by a blade, driving into your gut and cutting a long, jagged line up your middle. Your breath is stolen when your attacker wraps $allardhis free arm around your suddenly limp body and pulls the blade out... it's almost a tender motion; slender fingers cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as $allardhe plunges the knife back into you all over again, every tear sending another shockwave of fire hot pain through your body even as it tries to stitch itself back together. Each stab of the knife ebbs away at any remaining strength you might have, your vice-like grip on the $allardman loosening until you're a dead weight in $allardhis arms. You hear Allard's grunt of protest before $allardhe <<if $allard_gender is "non">>drop<<else>>drops<</if>> you gracelessly into the dust and wipes the blood on $allardhis knife on $allardhis pant leg with a barely-disguised look of disgust. If you were inclined to look too close, you would almost describe $allardhis pallour as a little green. "Sorry to do this to you, Hunter, but if I know you like I know me, the least I could do isn't quite good enough." Thin lips pulled into a tight smile, Allard watches you for a good long, excruciating second, then turns on wobbly legs, a glint of canine fang flashed carelessly your way. Try as you might, your body is prone, refuses to allow you to clamber to your feet even as your blood rages in animalistic fury. "It was lovely meeting you. I'd say we'll meet again but, well..." Allard gives you one last awkward smile before stretching out $allardhis lithe body and limping off towards the wagon. Like a herald of death, Allard steps onto the wagon and gives you a little wave as Colette kicks the horse up into a brusque trot, abandoning you to the cruelty of the afternoon sun. [[Chapter End]]

<<set $allard_r to $allard_r +.05>>Allard sighs as if the question is obvious, as if you're actors in a play and, hell, maybe you are but you were never given your lines. "What I must, Hunter. I'm sure you'll understand in time..." And with that, hard metal presses firmly into the tender flesh of your stomach. You don't have the time to push Allard away before your flesh is torn in twain by a blade, driving into your gut and cutting a long, jagged line up your middle. Your breath is stolen when your attacker wraps $allardhis free arm around your suddenly limp body and pulls the blade out... it's almost a tender motion; slender fingers cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as $allardhe plunges the knife back into you all over again, every tear sending another shockwave of fire hot pain through your body even as it tries to stitch itself back together. Each stab of the knife ebbs away at any remaining strength you might have, your vice-like grip on the $allardman loosening until you're a dead weight in $allardhis arms. You hear Allard's grunt of protest before $allardhe <<if $allard_gender is "non">>drop<<else>>drops<</if>> you gracelessly into the dust and wipes the blood on $allardhis knife on $allardhis pant leg with a barely-disguised look of disgust. If you were inclined to look too close, you would almost describe $allardhis pallour as a little green. "Sorry to do this to you, Hunter, but if I know you like I know me, the least I could do isn't quite good enough." Thin lips pulled into a tight smile, Allard watches you for a good long, excruciating second, then turns on wobbly legs, a glint of canine fang flashed carelessly your way. Try as you might, your body is prone, refuses to allow you to clamber to your feet even as your blood rages in animalistic fury. "It was lovely meeting you. I'd say we'll meet again but, well..." Allard gives you one last awkward smile before stretching out $allardhis lithe body and limping off towards the wagon. Like a herald of death, Allard steps onto the wagon and gives you a little wave as Colette kicks the horse up into a brusque trot, abandoning you to the cruelty of the afternoon sun. [[Chapter End]]

<<set $allard_f to $allard_f +.05>>"Ah, ah--" Your wrist is seized in a hard grip, nails digging into the underside of your tender flesh as Allard grins wolfishly. Your breath seizes and you thrash just to get away as hard metal presses into your stomach, but you can't seem to get a good hit in when $allardhes so close. "Now that wasn't very nice, Hunter." You don't have the time to push Allard away before your flesh is torn in twain by a blade, driving into your gut and cutting a long, jagged line up your middle. Your breath is stolen when your attacker wraps $allardhis free arm around your suddenly limp body and pulls the blade out... it's almost a tender motion; slender fingers cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as $allardhe plunges the knife back into you all over again, every tear sending another shockwave of fire hot pain through your body even as it tries to stitch itself back together. Each stab of the knife ebbs away at any remaining strength you might have, your vice-like grip on the $allardman loosening until you're a dead weight in $allardhis arms. You hear Allard's grunt of protest before $allardhe <<if $allard_gender is "non">>drop<<else>>drops<</if>> you gracelessly into the dust and wipes the blood on $allardhis knife on $allardhis pant leg with a barely-disguised look of disgust. If you were inclined to look too close, you would almost describe $allardhis pallour as a little green. "Sorry to do this to you, Hunter, but if I know you like I know me, the least I could do isn't quite good enough." Thin lips pulled into a tight smile, Allard watches you for a good long, excruciating second, then turns on wobbly legs, a glint of canine fang flashed carelessly your way. Try as you might, your body is prone, refuses to allow you to clamber to your feet even as your blood rages in animalistic fury. "It was lovely meeting you. I'd say we'll meet again but, well..." Allard gives you one last awkward smile before stretching out $allardhis lithe body and limping off towards the wagon. Like a herald of death, Allard steps onto the wagon and gives you a little wave as Colette kicks the horse up into a brusque trot, abandoning you to the cruelty of the afternoon sun. [[Chapter End]]

Your body seizes as hard metal presses against the tender flesh of your stomach and you realise in that moment it's too later to push away. And so you clench your eyes shut and brace yourself for pain. You don't have the time to push Allard away before your flesh is torn in twain by a blade, driving into your gut and cutting a long, jagged line up your middle. Your breath is stolen when your attacker wraps $allardhis free arm around your suddenly limp body and pulls the blade out... it's almost a tender motion; slender fingers cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as $allardhe plunges the knife back into you all over again, every tear sending another shockwave of fire hot pain through your body even as it tries to stitch itself back together. Each stab of the knife ebbs away at any remaining strength you might have, your vice-like grip on the $allardman loosening until you're a dead weight in $allardhis arms. You hear Allard's grunt of protest before $allardhe <<if $allard_gender is "non">>drop<<else>>drops<</if>> you gracelessly into the dust and wipes the blood on $allardhis knife on $allardhis pant leg with a barely-disguised look of disgust. If you were inclined to look too close, you would almost describe $allardhis pallour as a little green. "Sorry to do this to you, Hunter, but if I know you like I know me, the least I could do isn't quite good enough." Thin lips pulled into a tight smile, Allard watches you for a good long, excruciating second, then turns on wobbly legs, a glint of canine fang flashed carelessly your way. Try as you might, your body is prone, refuses to allow you to clamber to your feet even as your blood rages in animalistic fury. "It was lovely meeting you. I'd say we'll meet again but, well..." Allard gives you one last awkward smile before stretching out $allardhis lithe body and limping off towards the wagon. Like a herald of death, Allard steps onto the wagon and gives you a little wave as Colette kicks the horse up into a brusque trot, abandoning you to the cruelty of the afternoon sun. [[Chapter End]]

''Outside the Serendipidy Bar, Ledala Understreets - Daylight Hours'' With a harsh gasp that rips breath from your lungs you're propelled forward by a hard impact on your back. The landing leaves much to be desired, your hands, arms, and half of your side slides over the brick-laid pavement with a hard //scrape// that peels off several layers of bloody red skin before you come to a full stop with a grunt of pain bitten back through your gritted teeth. Brick-burned and sore, a hissed out curse through heaving lungs as you roll onto your back is all you can manage in the interim between taking the fall and seeing your attacker. A hulking beast of a man leers over you like a lion, all clenched fists and pulsing muscles under that suit straining at the seams. Oh, he does his best to make it look good but given the circumstances... eyes of electronic red zero in on you with a swivel of the tech embedded into his neck, another step forward rocking the ground as you attempt to drag yourself back. It was just a shortcut, you insisted, would get you to work on time for once. You suppose running back first into someone else's fist is as good a reason as any for your tardiness. "Your boss owes me, Tiny," Comes the accent thick with electricity that doesn't sound quite natural or at all safe. It only hits you belatedly that he's insulted you. Bile rises, your fists clench<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>>... your leg aches.<<else>>, heart racing like a horse in flight.<</if>> If you weren't cornered, if you weren't in the dust and bleeding from multiple places including your head, you might just be a little irritated--your boss doesn't owe anybody //shit//. "Sorry," You hiss, mouth tasting like dirt, "But my boss' services are non-refundable. If you weren't happy with the result you should have brought it up on our customer service line." You don't have a customer service line, but the thought goes incomplete when a meaty fist wrenches you off your feet with a threatening shake. <<if $mc2_gender is "Male">>"This isn't a game, boy," Another harsh shake, one that has your skull rattling.<<elseif $mc2_gender is "Female">>"This isn't a game, girlie." Another harsh shake, one that has your skull rattling.<<else>>"This isn't a game, kiddo," Another harsh shake, one that has your skull rattling.<</if>> "I spent good money on your scam for //nothing//. I want my money back." Vaguely, your mind registers a smile creeping onto his tech-distorted face, the flexible, metal facede that cuts across half of his face at a diagonal warping like a cheap sheet of film barely keeping it intact. "Or would your boss be more receptive to a bloody little gift at his door?" A full-body shudder brings a stop to your heart, and then your next breath kicks life back into it. You're gonna need to act, and fast; you eye the mouth of the alley that hides the bar's entryway. The morning crowd is rushing in now, the sounds of hawkers and vendors alike competing with the oncoming riffraff of the Ledalan underground. If you get away, you could get lost in the throng. //If// you get away. "Listen here, guy," You sigh... The only question is how. [[Give him a big ol' kick in the groin.|ch2pg0201][$escape to "kick"]] [[Dig my fingers into the seam between his skin and his tech.|ch2pg0202][$escape to "tech"]] [[Reach for the knife hidden under my coat.|ch2pg0203][$escape to "knife"]] [[I use my words, ''Trust me, he really isn't that fond of me.''|ch2pg0204][$escape to "talk"]]

<<set $reck += .05>>A punch is shot directly into your ribcage killing any chance of getting a word out, yet even with legs dangling and body rapidly losing the strength to fight your mind is working overtime to keep you alive. You kick out once, your foot collides against his hard-capped knee, twice, a little closer at his hip--but another hard punch leaves your brain somersaulting somewhere between the ground and the stars. Bracing yourself with both hands against the man's monstrous forearm, your eyes only just barely meet his own, "You know," You say, slapping on a grin to hide the fear and grimacing pain boiling underneath your skin. It's an unnatural emotion for you, something not quite right amidst the conglomeration of feelings not exactly your own swimming around within you. "You really ought to guard yourself a little better. Size isn't everything." And with that the tip of your heavy, steel-capped boot, comes colliding with the fork of your gracious attacker's legs in a great big //kick// that sends shockwaves through your kneecap. An ungraceful yelp rings up and out through the alleyway. Your body falls, falls, falls, until, with another heavy thud, you land into a heap of limbs and pain. And then you're scrambling to your unsteady feet as best as you're able and dashing to the white-lit mouth of the alley<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>>, grabbing your fallen cane along the way.<<else>>.<</if>> You're barely given even an ounce of air to breath before the elephantine footsteps of the man are bounding upon you like a speeding train, that hulking body all muscle and tech moving much faster than what someone with such mass otherwise might. And so you push yourself faster than the speeding tonne racing after you despite the ache setting into your bones in protest. Bursting from the alley and into the typically bustling street of the morning in the <<click "Ledalan Understreets">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Understreets"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Understreets").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>>, you halfway trip over a street vendor's cart and scatter the remnants of her freshly-grilled <<click "cheesesnaps">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Ledalan Street food"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("street food").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> across the dirty road that quickly become stamped over and smeared across the underside of every shoe, bare foot, and prosthetic that may just have the displeasure of treading upon the savoury goodness. Now it's the vendor's turn to shoot you with a few colourful curses you've never heard before, her tied-back hair pulling up the skin of her forehead even as her frowning brows struggle against it. [[I throw some credits to pay for the damages as I pass. I think.|ch2pg0301]] [[I stop and hand her a handful of credits, ensuring I pay for the full damages.|ch2pg0302][$manip -=.05]] [[I just keep running.|ch2pg0303][$manip +=.05]]

<<set $reck -= .05>>A punch is shot directly into your ribcage killing any chance of getting a word out, yet even with legs dangling and body rapidly losing the strength to fight your mind is working overtime to keep you alive. Your hands reach up, clawing uselessly at the air as your feet kick out and bounce off the hard exterior of your attacker's metal-padded legs. Your hands continue their journey, coiling into the deep crevises cutting thin lines across the man's face. It takes half a moment's consideration before you dig your nails into his tender skin, he grunts, then lets out a shout when you start to //pull//. It doesn't do much damage, not really, but it hurts enough for his hand to unclasp from around your collar and swipe your own away to slap at the blood now beading across his face. Your body falls, falls, falls, until, with another heavy thud, you land into a heap of limbs and pain. And then you're scrambling to your unsteady feet as best as you're able and dashing to the white-lit mouth of the alley<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>>, grabbing your fallen cane along the way.<<else>>.<</if>> You're barely given even an ounce of air to breath before the elephantine footsteps of the man are bounding upon you like a speeding train, that hulking body all muscle and tech moving much faster than what someone with such mass otherwise might. And so you push yourself faster than the speeding tonne racing after you despite the ache setting into your bones in protest. Bursting from the alley and into the typically bustling street of the morning in the <<click "Ledalan Understreets">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Understreets"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Understreets").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>>, you halfway trip over a street vendor's cart and scatter the remnants of her freshly-grilled <<click "cheesesnaps">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Ledalan Street food"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("street food").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> across the dirty road that quickly become stamped over and smeared across the underside of every shoe, bare foot, and prosthetic that may just have the displeasure of treading upon the savoury goodness. Now it's the vendor's turn to shoot you with a few colourful curses you've never heard before, her tied-back hair pulling up the skin of her forehead even as her frowning brows struggle against it. [[I throw some credits to pay for the damages as I pass. I think.|ch2pg0301]] [[I stop and hand her a handful of credits, ensuring I pay for the full damages.|ch2pg0302][$manip -=.05]] [[I just keep running.|ch2pg0303][$manip +=.05]]

<<set $reck -= .05>><<set $goonstab to true>>Everyone in Ledala knows that to make it in the understreets you have to come prepared. As another punch forces air and words from your lungs your fingers scramble at the inside of your coat, fumbling with the leather-bound hilt of a knife tucked away just for these occasions. Another rib-rattling hit and your grip tightens. You're never certain whether this will actually work, never quite sure whether there's any tender flesh underneath all those clothes to dig into. And yet. With a hiss through clenched teeth you take that risk, arm shooting out to swipe that glistening blade through the pool of cloth before you. The knife strikes... and //tears// through skin with a wet fleshy sound. The man lets loose a howl, his grip faltering, weakening, before letting you go completely Your body falls, falls, falls, until, with another heavy thud, you land into a heap of limbs and pain. And then you're scrambling to your unsteady feet as best as you're able and dashing to the white-lit mouth of the alley<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>>, grabbing your fallen cane along the way.<<else>>.<</if>> You're barely given even an ounce of air to breath before the elephantine footsteps of the man are bounding upon you like a speeding train, that hulking body all muscle and tech moving much faster than what someone with such mass otherwise might. And so you push yourself faster than the speeding tonne racing after you despite the ache setting into your bones in protest. Bursting from the alley and into the typically bustling street of the morning in the <<click "Ledalan Understreets">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Understreets"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Understreets").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>>, you halfway trip over a street vendor's cart and scatter the remnants of her freshly-grilled <<click "cheesesnaps">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Ledalan Street food"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("street food").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> across the dirty road that quickly become stamped over and smeared across the underside of every shoe, bare foot, and prosthetic that may just have the displeasure of treading upon the savoury goodness. Now it's the vendor's turn to shoot you with a few colourful curses you've never heard before, her tied-back hair pulling up the skin of her forehead even as her frowning brows struggle against it. [[I throw some credits to pay for the damages as I pass. I think.|ch2pg0301]] [[I stop and hand her a handful of credits, ensuring I pay for the full damages.|ch2pg0302][$manip -=.05]] [[I just keep running.|ch2pg0303][$manip +=.05]]

<<set $sarc +=.05>>"After all, I'm always late, yeah?" Hands steepled out in front of you in an attempts to dissuade any more underhanded attacks, you simply dangle there in front of the man with an awkward grimace. Still, his frown twitches, fingers loosening. "I'm really not that great of an employee, you see, and--and this is just part-time for me--" "--And why does that matter?" Comes the muttered response, just a little bit of give. Finally, you take. Body twisting in his loosened grip, you kick and flail with all the remaining might you have left despite the cursing suddenly accosting your ears. Finally, with a swipe at the man's wrist, he lets go. Your body falls, falls, falls, until, with another heavy thud, you land into a heap of limbs and pain. And then you're scrambling to your unsteady feet as best as you're able and dashing to the white-lit mouth of the alley<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>>, grabbing your fallen cane along the way.<<else>>.<</if>> You're barely given even an ounce of air to breath before the elephantine footsteps of the man are bounding upon you like a speeding train, that hulking body all muscle and tech moving much faster than what someone with such mass otherwise might. And so you push yourself faster than the speeding tonne racing after you despite the ache setting into your bones in protest. Bursting from the alley and into the typically bustling street of the morning in the <<click "Ledalan Understreets">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Understreets"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Understreets").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>>, you halfway trip over a street vendor's cart and scatter the remnants of her freshly-grilled <<click "cheesesnaps">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Ledalan Street food"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("street food").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> across the dirty road that quickly become stamped over and smeared across the underside of every shoe, bare foot, and prosthetic that may just have the displeasure of treading upon the savoury goodness. Now it's the vendor's turn to shoot you with a few colourful curses you've never heard before, her tied-back hair pulling up the skin of her forehead even as her frowning brows struggle against it. [[I throw some credits to pay for the damages as I pass. I think.|ch2pg0301]] [[I stop and hand her a handful of credits, ensuring I pay for the full damages.|ch2pg0302][$manip -=.05]] [[I just keep running.|ch2pg0303][$manip +=.05]]

Ledala is separated into two parts; The Disk suspended from a large cavern ceiling, and The Understreets sprawling directly underneath it. Travel between the two is quite heavily restricted by the Council and their Enforcers, though it isn't uncommon for citizens of Ledala to travel between the two for work or other matters via the use of a Permit that states its wearer has due course or benevolent intent in their travels. Mainly, this just means they work and live in two different locations. Much easier for a Disk-dweller to get a permit into the Understreets than vice-versa, most permits nowadays are acquired through less-then legal means--a fact that goes mostly ignored by the Enforcers so long as it isn't an obvious forgery.

Your hand reaches into your oversized pocket of its own accord and curls loosely around a few loose sheets of credit slips. The sleek, technoscale-lined paper vibrates under your touch and registers the purchase with a little popping sound in your ear--you're never getting used to that. In the next instant the little slips of paper are thrown at the raging woman's cart, but you don't linger to watch as your pursuer bowls over the cart entirely with a cacophany of screeching metal and flame. Cries and curses of offense echo out behind you through the crowd reluctantly parting for the unstoppable force of your attacker as he barrels down the street after you with, or without, their permission. You glance back only just long enough to see the contorted wrath of his face on your heels before you swerve down another alley to avoid the path of an incoming collection of locals, unaware, and uncaring, of your plight. Shrouded in the shadow of a pair of rundown buildings that smell of smoke your footsteps are all you hear above the harsh exhales of air puffing from your straining lungs. You have to get out; there's no way you're outrunning this beast<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>> least of all with your leg burning like a dog bite,<<else>>,<</if>> no, instead you have to find some other way to outpace him. Blood pounds in your skull and in your lungs as you follow the path of the alley back into the streets, suddenly jostled by those sorry sods making the commute to and from work. You only have half a second to decide what your plan is, your head whips around, eyes searching, scanning, for anything that just might... Over there! Beside an industrial building surrounded by a metal wire fence, all covered in pipes and oil, is a spindly ladder leading to the rooftops. If you can only make it up there... you might just lose this sucker... and make it to work on time. Or you could lose him in the crowd--but it's risky, you stand out with your thick coat and you certainly are no living machine. You don't have any time to consider your options, so in a split-second decision you... [[Dash for the industrial building and up the ladder.|ch2pg0402][$escape to "ladder"]] [[Wade into the crowd, hoping he doesn't see me.|ch2pg0403][$escape to "crowd"]]

Skidding to an almost complete stop, you rummage through your coat pocket to pull out a handful of sleek, technoscale-lined set of notes, "How much do I owe you?" The question, however harried, morphs a stormy glare into a grumpy frown. The unlucky woman simply glances over at the remains of her stock and let's loose a put-out sigh, "Twenty-five 'cus you're a local." You give her 30, the purchase processed with a little ping in your ear you're never getting used to. And you're off again, a cringe wrecking your awkward smile as your pursuer comes rocketing through the stall you only just leapt over, any damage reduction you could have managed immediately undone by the behemoth chasing after you. Cries and curses of offense echo out behind you through the crowd reluctantly parting for the unstoppable force of your attacker as he barrels down the street after you with, or without, their permission. You glance back only just long enough to see the contorted wrath of his face on your heels before you swerve down another alley to avoid the path of an incoming collection of locals, unaware, and uncaring, of your plight. Shrouded in the shadow of a pair of rundown buildings that smell of smoke your footsteps are all you hear above the harsh exhales of air puffing from your straining lungs. You have to get out; there's no way you're outrunning this beast<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>> least of all with your leg burning like a dog bite,<<else>>,<</if>> no, instead you have to find some other way to outpace him. Blood pounds in your skull and in your lungs as you follow the path of the alley back into the streets, suddenly jostled by those sorry sods making the commute to and from work. You only have half a second to decide what your plan is, your head whips around, eyes searching, scanning, for anything that just might... Over there! Beside an industrial building surrounded by a metal wire fence, all covered in pipes and oil, is a spindly ladder leading to the rooftops. If you can only make it up there... you might just lose this sucker... and make it to work on time. Or you could lose him in the crowd--but it's risky, you stand out with your thick coat and you certainly are no living machine. You don't have any time to consider your options, so in a split-second decision you... [[Dash for the industrial building and up the ladder.|ch2pg0402][$escape to "ladder"]] [[Wade into the crowd, hoping he doesn't see me.|ch2pg0403][$escape to "crowd"]]

Even despite the curses following after you, you don't dare turn back to glimpse the damage. It's only made all the worse by the eruption of shreiks that herald the walking mountain who all but destroys the stall on his way past, boiling oil clattering onto the pavement with the rest of the grill. Still, you push on. Cries and curses of offense echo out behind you through the crowd reluctantly parting for the unstoppable force of your attacker as he barrels down the street after you with, or without, their permission. You glance back only just long enough to see the contorted wrath of his face on your heels before you swerve down another alley to avoid the path of an incoming collection of locals, unaware, and uncaring, of your plight. Shrouded in the shadow of a pair of rundown buildings that smell of smoke your footsteps are all you hear above the harsh exhales of air puffing from your straining lungs. You have to get out; there's no way you're outrunning this beast<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>> least of all with your leg burning like a dog bite,<<else>>,<</if>> no, instead you have to find some other way to outpace him. Blood pounds in your skull and in your lungs as you follow the path of the alley back into the streets, suddenly jostled by those sorry sods making the commute to and from work. You only have half a second to decide what your plan is, your head whips around, eyes searching, scanning, for anything that just might... Over there! Beside an industrial building surrounded by a metal wire fence, all covered in pipes and oil, is a spindly ladder leading to the rooftops. If you can only make it up there... you might just lose this sucker... and make it to work on time. Or you could lose him in the crowd--but it's risky, you stand out with your thick coat and you certainly are no living machine. You don't have any time to consider your options, so in a split-second decision you... [[Dash for the industrial building and up the ladder.|ch2pg0402][$escape to "ladder"]] [[Wade into the crowd, hoping he doesn't see me.|ch2pg0403][$escape to "crowd"]]

Originating in the crowded Understreet Markets of Ledala, street foods are a staple of the place typically made of of cheap or easy to acquire foods such as various fruits and vegetables, processed ingredients, and dairy-products. As meat is considered a premium, it is generally too expensive to really incorporate into a regular series of foods or meals. One of the most popular foods in the Understreets and in Ledala proper are Cheesesnaps: caramelised celery, carrots, or other such vegetables doused in creamy cheese.

It's your only real option; like hell are you gonna lose yourself in a crowd perfectly happy to take its time, and even less are you going to risk the ire of Understreet denizens and <<click "Enforcers">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Enforcers"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Enforcers").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>> alike. No, aching bones be damned, you have to make a run for it. Your strength fails you when you attempt to shove a wayward man from your path but even so you weave around him as best you're able as you shoot through the street and onto the other side caged in by a wire fence in a pretty attempt to keep civilians from wandering into the industrial district and being killed by lax regulations and workers who just don't care past their next payday. You leap, latch onto the fence, then vault over the top only to come to a halt with your knee-shattering landing on the other side. Body all hot and screaming from the disgraceful roll, you scramble up, up, then make it to the ladder before anyone can decide you don't belong. You only catch a glimpse of your attacker standing on the other side of the fence before you launch yourself into the rooftops. Standing up on high above the riffraff of the understreets and staring up into the thick smog that perpetually hangs low to obscure the golden heights of Ledala herself, shining from above. If you squint... just squint... you can almost make out the hundred glaring disks of light fastened to the roof of the mighty stone cavern that encloses the whole of the city. You blink, your vision blurs from the strain. And besides... you have to get going. Your typical Understreet denizen may not call for the Enforcers but a factory worker might. Best not test the theory. [[Continue|ch2pg0500]]

All things considered it's the more troublesome option; you could get lost in a crowd down here for hours... but it's your best bet. With a held breath you inch back towards the light, towards all the sights and sounds and smells that can only really be described as 'greasy', poke your foot out into the world... and disappear. As you follow the wave of a particularly large congregation of individuals not necessarily caring if you are one of their own (dangerous, that, your mind provides with some sense of superiority), you almost dare to lock eyes with your attacker as he passes... almost, but your logic tells you to turn away as he casts his eyes over the heads of your crowded safetynet. With something like safety coushioning you with numbers, you let yourself be taken away into the mass. [[Continue|ch2pg0500]]

The law enforcement of Ledala. While they do not work directly for the Council, they do have a tendancy to err more towards violence than keeping actual peace and are under the thumb of a Council subsidiary besides. Not considered quite so militant or violent as the very public military or secret police, both of which work directly for the Council, not that they'll ever admit it.

<<if $escape is "ladder">>Your hand slips on your way down the building a few blocks away and your body goes tumbling to the the dusty ground in a heap not a few meters from safe harbour. Your lungs hiss in a breath of air that doesn't feel half as satisfying with a mouth full of muck. Back aching and the rest of your body broken, you roll over with a much-beleagered groan that creaks past your lips. If nothing else, you're exactly where you need to be; peeking out from the side of the alley, right across the road, is the elevator manned by two bored-looking enforcers clad in grey uniforms that almost hide the body armour strapped on underneath.<<else>>You pass from between a pair of buildings, wiping off the muck with a grimace as you attempt to make yourself presentable for the entry into safe harbour. Drifting between crowds in the cramped Understreets took longer to escape than you'd planned, took you places you might otherwise avoid. You only managed to slip away once the group began to disperse for the day, and you had to return through the various backalleys and cramped passages that line the Unserstreets. If nothing else, you're exactly where you need to be; peeking out from the side of the alley, right across the road, is the elevator manned by two bored-looking enforcers clad in grey uniforms that almost hide the body armour strapped on underneath.<</if>> Unlike the rest of the Understreets, the elevator is a slick, white tubular building that extends into the thick smog and disappears from sight entirely. Very few can actually ever lock eyes on the elevator, much less ride it, that is unless they have a permit. "Morning gentlemen," You say with a practiced grace as you stroll up to the pair guarding the entryway. An agitated grimace paints itself across the very being of the taller of the two men, pock-marked face all contorted in what appears to be pain. The other one just offers you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes no matter how hard he tries. "Morning, <<textbox "$mc2_name" "Icarus">>," He says, voice small, muffled behind the clear, plastic bubble strapped uselessly over his nose and mouth. "And where are you going on this... fine morning?" "You know the drill, just need to make my way up top. Work, you see, very official, very important." Despite your own smile, neither of the two men seem particularly interested in your charms as they blithely scan the flashing light indicating a very unoccupied elevator. "Permit," The stony-faced man gruffs, frown deepening. A sigh almost falls from your lungs but, reigning it in with a smile, you hold yourself back from throttling the both of them. You've been in enough fights today. "Now don't be like that, Ajax. You see my permit every day, you know I'm legit." Another dubious glare, the pair of Enforcers exchange a look. Ajax clears his throat, stomps a foot. "Permit." He says again, harder, a knife point in his tone directed solely at you. [[''Of course, can't forget that...'' I say as I hand him my permit.|ch2pg0601]] [[''Neither of you are ever any fun...'' I say and hand him my permit.|ch2pg0602]] [[''This is utter nonsense, you both know me.'' I don't want to admit I forgot my permit at home.|ch2pg0603][$forgetful to true]] [[''Oh come now, we're all friends here!'' I have my permit on me, I just want to see if I can just talk my way into the elevator.|ch2pg0604][$trickster to true]]

The small, rectangular projector on a lanyard is passed between hands, and this time for good measure Ajax takes one look at the thing and hands it off to his compatriot with a grunt. "It good?" He says, eyeing you as if you don't have this conversation every single day. Ajax's companion hums, shrugs, then returns it to you. "It's good. Same as every other day." He says as you tuck it back into your pocket with a satisfied, if not slightly irritated, huff. Ajax grumbles something akin to a curse then steps aside and smashes a fist upon the elevator door's button. With a whirr, the doors slide crisply open, offering you freedom, however brief. The man who's name you've never quite gotten--and perhaps that's for the best--levels you with that same smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "Behave up there, yeah?" You know better than to stoop so low as to respond to that particular warning, you know better than to meet his eye or to give him lip, or even worse to question him. No, instead you give him a stiff nod despite your curled lip and step into the elevator. You're only given one last parting glance before the doors slide closed and you're sent shooting ever-upwards. [[Continue|ch2pg07]]

You don't like to describe yourself as 'forgetful', least of all with important documents such as your permit, but everyone who knows you is loathe to describe you as anything else. You cringe, and a spark of recognition in Ajax's eye presses his teeth together, "Permit," he says again, hand outstretched, "We need to check them all." Face screwing up, you give them both a grimace that fails to affect either of them either way, "Fellas, don't you think you're being a bit uptight? I just need to get to work. Not gonna do anything untoward." The pair exchange a glance, Ajax sighs when his colleague nods, "Just get up there," Comes a growl, a clenched fist slamming on the button that flings the doors open with a beep. Gratefully, you step inside the plain white tube, a camera pointing your way with a blip that informs you of your face being scanned. The man who's name you've never quite gotten--and perhaps that's for the best--levels you with that same smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "Behave up there, yeah?" You know better than to stoop so low as to respond to that particular warning, you know better than to meet his eye or to give him lip, or even worse to question him. No, instead you give him a stiff nod despite your curled lip and step into the elevator. You're only given one last parting glance before the doors slide closed and you're sent shooting ever-upwards. [[Continue|ch2pg07]]

But your companion of the elevator who occasionally humours you isn't budging, "Permit," he says again, hand outstretched, "We need to check them all." Face screwing up, you give them both a grimace that fails to affect either of them either way, "Well you fellas are no fun this morning." You reach into your pocket with a sigh. The small, rectangular projector on a lanyard is passed between hands, and this time for good measure Ajax takes one look at the thing and hands it off to his compatriot with a grunt. "It good?" He says, eyeing you as if you don't have this conversation every single day. Ajax's companion hums, shrugs, then returns it to you. "It's good. Same as every other day." He says as you tuck it back into your pocket with a satisfied, if not slightly irritated, huff. Ajax grumbles something akin to a curse then steps aside and smashes a fist upon the elevator door's button. With a whirr, the doors slide crisply open, offering you freedom, however brief. The man who's name you've never quite gotten--and perhaps that's for the best--levels you with that same smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "Behave up there, yeah?" You know better than to stoop so low as to respond to that particular warning, you know better than to meet his eye or to give him lip, or even worse to question him. No, instead you give him a stiff nod despite your curled lip and step into the elevator. You're only given one last parting glance before the doors slide closed and you're sent shooting ever-upwards. [[Continue|ch2pg07]]

''The Uppercity Disk, Ledala'' The artificial daylight causes an eruption of pain behind your eyes as you step out onto the suspended platform that holds up the titanic city of Ledala proper to the roof of the expansive cavern that encompasses the whole population. Fenced in by a clear, glass dome, anyone who has the thought to make the journey out to the edge of the Uppercity limits could feasibly stare down in judgement at the dirty understreets that house those too unimportant to be given a place upon the Disk. The Ledala of the Disk is an alien to the fallen city you knew by that same name; your new home is populated by revelry and science beyond your ken, with far more people housed within than you've ever had the displeasure of knowing. Overseen by a collection of scientists and the Elite called The Council with the military under their direct thumb, you can't help but feel the paranoia dripping from every sorry sod who calls the Disk home. The Understreets are safer, better if you're trying to hide. And by the Ancients are you trying to hide. The pair of Enforcers stationed up top barely glance your way as you step past, their stances all relaxed with disinterest, perhaps their usual paranoia disippated by the obnoxious-looking guns strapped to their hips. Regardless, you don't allow the lingering of your eyes, scurrying past as best as you're able with a vague<<if $forgetful is true>> wave that goes unquestioned.<<else>> wave of your permit that goes unquestioned.<</if>> Now, all the challenge you have left to face is getting yourself a ride into the office. Mostly you walk, today just isn't time or place to do so. You hail a vehicle at the transporter hub across the road with barely any acknowledgement from the A.I Driver after you place your credits in the front tray, and then you're off with a jolt that does little to settle your stomach. [[I still haven't gotten used to these strange metal vehicles. They make me sick.|ch2pg0801]] [[It was easy enough to get used to these strange metal vehicles. They're much more convenient than a horse and wagon.|ch2pg0802]]

The Group that Governs Ledala. It consists of a number of Ledala's rich and old population with varying jobs and degrees of importance. While seats upon the council //can// be lost or replaced by other individuals, it is a very rare occasion indeed that usually requires the consent of the sitting member in general or a majority vote. The duties of each Council member varies depending on their role, and can sometimes change if one takes a sabbatical or a break from their duties. These duties can include but are not limited to; Crime and Punishment, Scientific Direction, Military oversight, etc. Some members have more overlap with others.

For whatever reason, perhaps it's the movement, your body never fails to feel the lurch of every little halt, your stomach swimming, throat constricting, head pounding like a monster fighting to erupt from your body. Something not uncommon, or so your boss would say. The vehicle peels off from the hub and into the crowded lanes with a stuttered, electronic warning that shoots a jolt like electricity through your blood. There aren't so many vehicles on the road this morning; most of the activity picks up around 'sundown' and most people save those who make the commute from the Understreets have long since made it to their respective places of work. As you look out past the tinted window, the blurr of buildings passing by causes your head to spin with them, a momentary nausea settled by closed eyes and the palm of your hand digging into your temple on the right side. You blink, the world clears up once more. On first glance the buildings and streets situated upon the disk appear clean, crisp, and sleek, all set up in an easy grid system. It's a huge difference from the dirty, crowded, and convoluted walkways that make up the Understreets, but you know better than anyone--you've spent many a night traversing the backalleys of Ledala--that the initial exterior hides something dark. No, everyone knows that all comes out in the night. Bilboards and projectors line the facade of each company building you pass, advertising their great new product or an old favourite only coming back for a limited time (yeah right). With them comes flashing lights and scanners that search to determine just how long your eyes linger on the advertisement, just how long you ponder the product before hitting 'buy'. You look away, uninterested and without any credits besides. Your vehicle remains on the outskirts of the city, remaining on the roads that teeter on the edge of the disk rather than venturing into the city proper. If you look close; squint your eyes and find a place to focus on, you might just see your current home, a collection of apartments where no one bothers to question whether you really should be there, or exist at all. You suppose you have your boss to thank for that. [[Not that I ever will.|ch2pg0901]] [[And one day, I might.|ch2pg0902]] [[And I have, though he probably didn't hear it.|ch2pg0903]]

It's been ten years since you had your first ride upon the strange metal beasts that carry just about anyone who has the means. The concept of a machine wasn't new to you, but one of such scale and sheer power was unthinkable. Indeed, you once refused to step foot inside but now... now, well, the smooth rumble of the beast's engine is almost enough to lul you back to slumber. The vehicle peels off from the hub and into the crowded lanes with a stuttered, electronic warning that shoots a jolt like electricity through your blood. There aren't so many vehicles on the road this morning; most of the activity picks up around 'sundown' and most people save those who make the commute from the Understreets have long since made it to their respective places of work. As you look out past the tinted window, the blurr of buildings passing by does little to dissuade your wandering eyes. The world clear with a blink, you watch on with the usual vacancy a simple car ride would bring. On first glance the buildings and streets situated upon the disk appear clean, crisp, and sleek, all set up in an easy grid system. It's a huge difference from the dirty, crowded, and convoluted walkways that make up the Understreets, but you know better than anyone--you've spent many a night traversing the backalleys of Ledala--that the initial exterior hides something dark. No, everyone knows that all comes out in the night. Bilboards and projectors line the facade of each company building you pass, advertising their great new product or an old favourite only coming back for a limited time (yeah right). With them comes flashing lights and scanners that search to determine just how long your eyes linger on the advertisement, just how long you ponder the product before hitting 'buy'. You look away, uninterested and without any credits besides. Your vehicle remains on the outskirts of the city, remaining on the roads that teeter on the edge of the disk rather than venturing into the city proper. If you look close; squint your eyes and find a place to focus on, you might just see your current home, a collection of apartments where no one bothers to question whether you really should be there, or exist at all. You suppose you have your boss to thank for that. [[Not that I ever will.|ch2pg0901]] [[And one day, I might.|ch2pg0902]] [[And I have, though he probably didn't hear it.|ch2pg0903]]

It would either go ignored or go straight to his head, and you've no idea which would be worse. The vehicle begins to slow as it pulls up to the hub on the opposite side of a shabby-looking building that looks significantly older than its siblings on either side, greyed out windows that only serve to remind you which floors each organisation resides. You know better than most that this particular building hasn't had a working elevator for many years now. "Please take your change--" you're interrupted by a mechanical chiming that buzzes at the edge of your senses like a metal rod jammed in your ear, "--and exit the vehicle. For security reasons, we have videos of your time with us stored within our databanks. Should you have partaken in any activity the Council deems unworthy while within this vehicle they will be sent off for--" You don't stay to hear the remainder of the message; you know it too well. One of the reasons you prefer not to take public transport, the monitoring. But that's everywhere up top nowadays and so far you haven't been called upon to answer for your 'unworthy deeds.' One of these days, maybe. You take a glance at the credit tray and wince at your meagre change. It's a racket, it has to be! As the strange vehicle settles into it's charging port on one side of the hub with a mechanical sigh of satisfaction, you dash through the sluggish traffic and push open the double doors of a building that should long have been fully automated. The guts of the building are just as dour as the facade; the lights don't quite work, some office doors hang off their hinges--from no fault of your own--and the stairs leading up seem... precarious at best. Not for the first time you're glad just to stay on the first floor. You come to a stop in front of a thin door with a sign on the handle that reads, 'Prince Arthur Investigations,' ignore it with a roll of your eyes, and [[push through into the office beyond.|ch2pg1000]]

But that won't be any time soon. Not if you have anything to say about it. The vehicle begins to slow as it pulls up to the hub on the opposite side of a shabby-looking building that looks significantly older than its siblings on either side, greyed out windows that only serve to remind you which floors each organisation resides. You know better than most that this particular building hasn't had a working elevator for many years now. "Please take your change--" you're interrupted by a mechanical chiming that buzzes at the edge of your senses like a metal rod jammed in your ear, "--and exit the vehicle. For security reasons, we have videos of your time with us stored within our databanks. Should you have partaken in any activity the Council deems unworthy while within this vehicle they will be sent off for--" You don't stay to hear the remainder of the message; you know it too well. One of the reasons you prefer not to take public transport, the monitoring. But that's everywhere up top nowadays and so far you haven't been called upon to answer for your 'unworthy deeds.' One of these days, maybe. You take a glance at the credit tray and wince at your meagre change. It's a racket, it has to be! As the strange vehicle settles into it's charging port on one side of the hub with a mechanical sigh of satisfaction, you dash through the sluggish traffic and push open the double doors of a building that should long have been fully automated. The guts of the building are just as dour as the facade; the lights don't quite work, some office doors hang off their hinges--from no fault of your own--and the stairs leading up seem... precarious at best. Not for the first time you're glad just to stay on the first floor. You come to a stop in front of a thin door with a sign on the handle that reads, 'Prince Arthur Investigations,' ignore it with a roll of your eyes, and [[push through into the office beyond.|ch2pg1000]]

Or chose simply to ignore it. The vehicle begins to slow as it pulls up to the hub on the opposite side of a shabby-looking building that looks significantly older than its siblings on either side, greyed out windows that only serve to remind you which floors each organisation resides. You know better than most that this particular building hasn't had a working elevator for many years now. "Please take your change--" you're interrupted by a mechanical chiming that buzzes at the edge of your senses like a metal rod jammed in your ear, "--and exit the vehicle. For security reasons, we have videos of your time with us stored within our databanks. Should you have partaken in any activity the Council deems unworthy while within this vehicle they will be sent off for--" You don't stay to hear the remainder of the message; you know it too well. One of the reasons you prefer not to take public transport, the monitoring. But that's everywhere up top nowadays and so far you haven't been called upon to answer for your 'unworthy deeds.' One of these days, maybe. You take a glance at the credit tray and wince at your meagre change. It's a racket, it has to be! As the strange vehicle settles into it's charging port on one side of the hub with a mechanical sigh of satisfaction, you dash through the sluggish traffic and push open the double doors of a building that should long have been fully automated. The guts of the building are just as dour as the facade; the lights don't quite work, some office doors hang off their hinges--from no fault of your own--and the stairs leading up seem... precarious at best. Not for the first time you're glad just to stay on the first floor. You come to a stop in front of a thin door with a sign on the handle that reads, 'Prince Arthur Investigations,' ignore it with a roll of your eyes, and [[push through into the office beyond.|ch2pg1000]]

You're met by a meticulously clean office despite the closed curtains that stop the light of the artificial morning from bringing too much joy to the small world of your workplace; everything is perfectly in place, nothing askew or oozing a strange oil for a nebulous reason. Even the door leading into the archive next door is shut tight and doubtlessly locked. The only pair of items that may just be out of place are the burning wax candles situated upon the corner of the desk in the center of the room, well on their way to a steady doom. A couch sits on the right wall, stuffed between two filing cabinets dented at the bottom, and a thin, flat screen is fixed to the wall beside the opened door--hazardous for the machine, you'd believe, but your boss has no interest in getting it fixed. A pair sit across from one another at the desk, one an individual bundled up in scarves and coats despite the warmth of the morning. Their hands cling to one another like their only lifeline, shoulders shaking even under all that cloth. The other figure, however-- "$mc2_name! How lovely of you to join us this morning," Arthur offers you an easy smile despite his pearly blue eyes honing in on the gash digging into your forehead and the bruise in full bloom around your eye. Even the limp wisps of his platinum blond hair hanging over the vast majority of his face don't hide the concerned twitch of his dark eyebrows. Even still, as he pokes an unlit cigarette through his lips, he turns back to the client with a pat of the desk, "Taranis, this is my very late assistant. But, of course, I was just about to let you go, we all have work to do, I'm sure." The client--Taranis--nods like a board, head bowed as they quietly thank Arthur and gather up their collection of files strewn about the desk. You don't get a chance to get a word in edgewise or even see their face before they're scurrying out of the office like a fire has been lit upon their coattails. Only once the door has slammed shut does Arthur turn to you once more, "You're late." [[''Yes, and thank you so much for mentioning that to the new client.''|ch2pg1101][$sarc +=.05]] [[''Uhuh. That I am.''|ch2pg1102][$gruff +=.05]] [[''Yes and I'm so sorry about that.''|ch2pg1103][$manip -=.05]] [[''Well I wouldn't be if you weren't so good at pissing off clients.''|ch2pg1104][$gruff -=.05]]

<<set $art_r +=.05>>"Now they're sure to use our services, what with their thinking your office is full of morons." It's a difficult task to hide the irritation that clenches in your throat, least of all when your head pounds at the back like an eternally-beating drum. Arthur simply levels you with an even stare, that previously easy smile having fallen from his face the moment Taranins walked out of the office. He never gives you that smile, as if it's a mask he can't bear wearing in your presence. "Well, technically $mc2_name there would be only one moron, and normally that would be true," Arthur finally says after taking the time to light up his cigarette with a lighter skillfully hidden in his sleeve. With a shrug then, however, he produces a stack of credits and taps them lightly against the egde of the desk, "But luckily for the both of us, we've already been paid and thus we have a job to do." Stuffing the credits back into his pocket for safe-keeping after handing you a good quarter of it--still a substantial amount as far as you're concerned--Arthur takes a stand and tugs you over to the well-loved couch. On top of one of the cabinets sits a roughed-up medical kit, one that's seen many of your injuries across the ten years you've known Arthur. "Still not healing?" He asks. "What's the case?" You return instead, voice like broken glass. He knows the answer just as well as you do; you'll never be what you were. <<if $mc2statelimp is 2>>As he pulls up the sleeve of your coat with little regard to your bleeding head, he reveals what isn't quite an arm all covered in fur and tipped with claws that don't quite twitch whenever touched so much as they spasm. <<elseif $mc2statelimp is 1>>As he gives your knee a gentle squeeze your leg spasms weakly. If you pulled up your pant leg it would look normal save the jagged scar running diagonally across your shin, but you've never quite been able to put your full weight upon it. Not for a long time now. <<else>><</if>>Pale blue eyes meet your own and the two of you let loose a collective sigh at the other's stubbornness. Ten years ago you lost many things, your younger sibling who you were supposed to protect, your home you thought would never fall, and the wolf inside that made you strong. "Just looking into some illicit dealings for a company that will not be named," Arthur says as he pulls out some aged rubbing alcohol, a gauze pad, and a little cotton ball clenched between the claws of a pair of tweezers. Not named to you, at least, so you don't go poking around yourself. Ever since that night, and Arthur knows this perhaps even moreso than you, you're weaker, heal much more slowly, and can't call upon the beast residing within you that served as a comfort in trying times for nearly two decades of your life. No, now you may as well be human. The alcohol stings against your bloody forehead, but you bite your tongue and glare unflinchingly against the neverending tide of Arthur's own sad stare. He's all focused on dealing with the cut, eyes barely meeting your own. Eventually, as he pulls away to drop the bloody cotton pad onto his knee, his tongue darts out to lap at his bottom lip. "Now, how did this happen? Walk into a wall?" He knows the answer, just needs you to tell him first. [[''No, actually, it's one of your old clients to blame. Funny, that.''|ch2pg1201][$manip -=.05]] [[''Yes, Art, I walked into a wall.''|ch2pg1202][$sarc +=.05]] [[I can only give him a weary look.|ch2pg1203]]

<<set $art_r +=.05>>"Nothing else to say about it?" Arthur returns, only partially focusing in on you as he counts his way through the stack of credits placed upon the table. "Nope." You pop the 'p' when Arthur finally glances up... and grunts in response with little other protest in his tone. Stuffing the credits back into his pocket for safe-keeping after handing you a good quarter of it--still a substantial amount as far as you're concerned--Arthur takes a stand and tugs you over to the well-loved couch. On top of one of the cabinets sits a roughed-up medical kit, one that's seen many of your injuries across the ten years you've known Arthur. "Still not healing?" He asks. "What's the case?" You return instead, voice like broken glass. He knows the answer just as well as you do; you'll never be what you were. <<if $mc2statelimp is 2>>As he pulls up the sleeve of your coat with little regard to your bleeding head, he reveals what isn't quite an arm all covered in fur and tipped with claws that don't quite twitch whenever touched so much as they spasm. <<elseif $mc2statelimp is 1>>As he gives your knee a gentle squeeze your leg spasms weakly. If you pulled up your pant leg it would look normal save the jagged scar running diagonally across your shin, but you've never quite been able to put your full weight upon it. Not for a long time now. <<else>><</if>>Pale blue eyes meet your own and the two of you let loose a collective sigh at the other's stubbornness. Ten years ago you lost many things, your younger sibling who you were supposed to protect, your home you thought would never fall, and the wolf inside that made you strong. "Just looking into some illicit dealings for a company that will not be named," Arthur says as he pulls out some aged rubbing alcohol, a gauze pad, and a little cotton ball clenched between the claws of a pair of tweezers. Not named to you, at least, so you don't go poking around yourself. Ever since that night, and Arthur knows this perhaps even moreso than you, you're weaker, heal much more slowly, and can't call upon the beast residing within you that served as a comfort in trying times for nearly two decades of your life. No, now you may as well be human. The alcohol stings against your bloody forehead, but you bite your tongue and glare unflinchingly against the neverending tide of Arthur's own sad stare. He's all focused on dealing with the cut, eyes barely meeting your own. Eventually, as he pulls away to drop the bloody cotton pad onto his knee, his tongue darts out to lap at his bottom lip. "Now, how did this happen? Walk into a wall?" He knows the answer, just needs you to tell him first. [[''No, actually, it's one of your old clients to blame. Funny, that.''|ch2pg1201][$manip -=.05]] [[''Yes, Art, I walked into a wall.''|ch2pg1202][$sarc +=.05]] [[I can only give him a weary look.|ch2pg1203]]

<<set $art_f +=.05>>"Doesn't look like it was your fault." Arthur mutters, nodding his head towards you. You've half a mind to protest but the stinging scrape upon your forehead stops you in your tracks. Stuffing the credits back into his pocket for safe-keeping after handing you a good quarter of it--still a substantial amount as far as you're concerned--Arthur takes a stand and tugs you over to the well-loved couch. On top of one of the cabinets sits a roughed-up medical kit, one that's seen many of your injuries across the ten years you've known Arthur. "Still not healing?" He asks. "What's the case?" You return instead, voice like broken glass. He knows the answer just as well as you do; you'll never be what you were. <<if $mc2statelimp is 2>>As he pulls up the sleeve of your coat with little regard to your bleeding head, he reveals what isn't quite an arm all covered in fur and tipped with claws that don't quite twitch whenever touched so much as they spasm. <<elseif $mc2statelimp is 1>>As he gives your knee a gentle squeeze your leg spasms weakly. If you pulled up your pant leg it would look normal save the jagged scar running diagonally across your shin, but you've never quite been able to put your full weight upon it. Not for a long time now. <<else>><</if>>Pale blue eyes meet your own and the two of you let loose a collective sigh at the other's stubbornness. Ten years ago you lost many things, your younger sibling who you were supposed to protect, your home you thought would never fall, and the wolf inside that made you strong. "Just looking into some illicit dealings for a company that will not be named," Arthur says as he pulls out some aged rubbing alcohol, a gauze pad, and a little cotton ball clenched between the claws of a pair of tweezers. Not named to you, at least, so you don't go poking around yourself. Ever since that night, and Arthur knows this perhaps even moreso than you, you're weaker, heal much more slowly, and can't call upon the beast residing within you that served as a comfort in trying times for nearly two decades of your life. No, now you may as well be human. The alcohol stings against your bloody forehead, but you bite your tongue and glare unflinchingly against the neverending tide of Arthur's own sad stare. He's all focused on dealing with the cut, eyes barely meeting your own. Eventually, as he pulls away to drop the bloody cotton pad onto his knee, his tongue darts out to lap at his bottom lip. "Now, how did this happen? Walk into a wall?" He knows the answer, just needs you to tell him first. [[''No, actually, it's one of your old clients to blame. Funny, that.''|ch2pg1201][$manip -=.05]] [[''Yes, Art, I walked into a wall.''|ch2pg1202][$sarc +=.05]] [[I can only give him a weary look.|ch2pg1203]]

<<set $art_r +=.05>>Arthur barely graces you with a look, one dark brow raising up under his whispy blond hair as he counts through the stack of credit slips on the desk. "Maybe you should calm down a little before snapping at your boss." A part of you feels inclined to ignore the order (offer?), but your teeth grit around your tongue with a low hiss. If Arthur notices it at all, he neglects it. Stuffing the credits back into his pocket for safe-keeping after handing you a good quarter of it--still a substantial amount as far as you're concerned--Arthur takes a stand and tugs you over to the well-loved couch. On top of one of the cabinets sits a roughed-up medical kit, one that's seen many of your injuries across the ten years you've known Arthur. "Still not healing?" He asks. "What's the case?" You return instead, voice like broken glass. He knows the answer just as well as you do; you'll never be what you were. <<if $mc2statelimp is 2>>As he pulls up the sleeve of your coat with little regard to your bleeding head, he reveals what isn't quite an arm all covered in fur and tipped with claws that don't quite twitch whenever touched so much as they spasm. <<elseif $mc2statelimp is 1>>As he gives your knee a gentle squeeze your leg spasms weakly. If you pulled up your pant leg it would look normal save the jagged scar running diagonally across your shin, but you've never quite been able to put your full weight upon it. Not for a long time now. <<else>><</if>>Pale blue eyes meet your own and the two of you let loose a collective sigh at the other's stubbornness. Ten years ago you lost many things, your younger sibling who you were supposed to protect, your home you thought would never fall, and the wolf inside that made you strong. "Just looking into some illicit dealings for a company that will not be named," Arthur says as he pulls out some aged rubbing alcohol, a gauze pad, and a little cotton ball clenched between the claws of a pair of tweezers. Not named to you, at least, so you don't go poking around yourself. Ever since that night, and Arthur knows this perhaps even moreso than you, you're weaker, heal much more slowly, and can't call upon the beast residing within you that served as a comfort in trying times for nearly two decades of your life. No, now you may as well be human. The alcohol stings against your bloody forehead, but you bite your tongue and glare unflinchingly against the neverending tide of Arthur's own sad stare. He's all focused on dealing with the cut, eyes barely meeting your own. Eventually, as he pulls away to drop the bloody cotton pad onto his knee, his tongue darts out to lap at his bottom lip. "Now, how did this happen? Walk into a wall?" He knows the answer, just needs you to tell him first. [[''No, actually, it's one of your old clients to blame. Funny, that.''|ch2pg1201][$manip -=.05]] [[''Yes, Art, I walked into a wall.''|ch2pg1202][$sarc +=.05]] [[I can only give him a weary look.|ch2pg1203]]

"Yeah," Arthur agrees, lips pinching as he prepares the gauze, "Funny that. Which one?" You should probably be horrified at the prospect of your boss having so many former clients who may or may not wish you harm but for better or for worse you're far too used to it. It certainly isn't the first time your skull has been split on the pavement and your ribs have been bruised upon the fist of another. "Guy from a few months back who didn't find what he was looking for. The case that had you running all up downtown." Arthur grunts non-committedly, face pulling up in distaste. "Huh, that was a pain and a half, that one. Next time, maybe just run," He suggests, eyeing the pad now pressed into your forehead. Give it time, maybe a week, and you'll be fine, but in this day and age, with as many altered humans walking around as there are... you're a walking corpse if you aren't careful. <<if $sarc > .5>>"Gee, never would have thought of that." You mutter with a roll of your eyes, "It's not as if I was cornered and couldn't get away until later." If that stings Arthur, he doesn't show it, instead smoothing out the edges of the gauze with another grunt that doesn't quite express any emotion in particular.<<else>>"I tried," You sigh with a roll of your eyes, "But I was cornered, couldn't get away until later." Arthur gives you another largely non-expressive grunt as he smoothes out the edges of the gauze, if he hears you at all he doesn't show it.<</if>> Only once he's happy with the state of your bloody head does he pull away, stuffing the used supplies into the corner of the couch with little interest in cleaning it back up--a job for you later, no doubt. With one last glance over that only barely lingers, he stands, wipes some hair from his brow, and turns away to shuffle about for his satchel hanging from his chair tucked neatly under the desk. "I'll be out for a while," Arthur says, "You good to hold down the fort? I need some research done for the new case and I can't do it all on the street." A muted heat clenches around your throat, something not quite intense enough to curl your fists or really act upon. It settles in your cheeks as a warm tingling, and not the kind that flutters in your heart. You should be grateful your mind protests the irritation, but it's far too easy to fall back into old habits that have died only too recently. "Going out already?" You manage to sigh on the bile dotting your tongue, "I thought you were staying in the office today." Arthur shrugs, shifts his gaze away from your own with a discomforted cough around the cigarette. "Plans change," He says with a certain amount of finality to it. The internal irritation halts in its tracks as it bumps up against Arthur's quiet stare. It doesn't calm you, no, nothing like the emptiness in those pale blue eyes could do anything but //scare// you. "Can I count on you?" [[I swallow that particular feeling, slap on a small smile, ''You know it, Boss.''|ch2pg1301][$sarc -=.05]] [[It's hard to hide it, but at the very least I can dampen it, ''As if I have anything else to do.''|ch2pg1302][$sarc +=.05]] [[I can't help but huff, ''No need to baby me, I can do it.''|ch2pg1303][$gruff +=.05]] [[I'm still fed up, ''One day you gotta stay in the office, you know.''|ch2pg1304][$gruff -=.03]]

"You should probably stop doing that," He says, momentary mischief flashing behind his pale blue eyes, "Which client cornered you?" You should probably be horrified at the prospect of your boss having so many former clients who may or may not wish you harm but for better or for worse you're far too used to it. It certainly isn't the first time your skull has been split on the pavement and your ribs have been bruised upon the fist of another. "Guy from a few months back who didn't find what he was looking for. The case that had you running all up downtown." Arthur grunts non-committedly, face pulling up in distaste. "Huh, that was a pain and a half, that one. Next time, maybe just run," He suggests, eyeing the pad now pressed into your forehead. Give it time, maybe a week, and you'll be fine, but in this day and age, with as many altered humans walking around as there are... you're a walking corpse if you aren't careful. <<if $sarc > .5>>"Gee, never would have thought of that." You mutter with a roll of your eyes, "It's not as if I was cornered and couldn't get away until later." If that stings Arthur, he doesn't show it, instead smoothing out the edges of the gauze with another grunt that doesn't quite express any emotion in particular.<<else>>"I tried," You sigh with a roll of your eyes, "But I was cornered, couldn't get away until later." Arthur gives you another largely non-expressive grunt as he smoothes out the edges of the gauze, if he hears you at all he doesn't show it.<</if>> Only once he's happy with the state of your bloody head does he pull away, stuffing the used supplies into the corner of the couch with little interest in cleaning it back up--a job for you later, no doubt. With one last glance over that only barely lingers, he stands, wipes some hair from his brow, and turns away to shuffle about for his satchel hanging from his chair tucked neatly under the desk. "I'll be out for a while," Arthur says, "You good to hold down the fort? I need some research done for the new case and I can't do it all on the street." A muted heat clenches around your throat, something not quite intense enough to curl your fists or really act upon. It settles in your cheeks as a warm tingling, and not the kind that flutters in your heart. You should be grateful your mind protests the irritation, but it's far too easy to fall back into old habits that have died only too recently. "Going out already?" You manage to sigh on the bile dotting your tongue, "I thought you were staying in the office today." Arthur shrugs, shifts his gaze away from your own with a discomforted cough around the cigarette. "Plans change," He says with a certain amount of finality to it. The internal irritation halts in its tracks as it bumps up against Arthur's quiet stare. It doesn't calm you, no, nothing like the emptiness in those pale blue eyes could do anything but //scare// you. "Can I count on you?" [[I swallow that particular feeling, slap on a small smile, ''You know it, Boss.''|ch2pg1301][$sarc -=.05]] [[It's hard to hide it, but at the very least I can dampen it, ''As if I have anything else to do.''|ch2pg1302][$sarc +=.05]] [[I can't help but huff, ''No need to baby me, I can do it.''|ch2pg1303][$gruff +=.05]] [[I'm still fed up, ''One day you gotta stay in the office, you know.''|ch2pg1304][$gruff -=.03]]

<<set $art_r +=.05>>You've been through this song and dance many times before, neither of you coming to the end either of you would idealise. Arthur either prefers it that way or keeps it like a safety blanket between you while you, perhaps, don't know any better. Even still, Arthur considers you for a good second, pale blue eyes ghosting across your face before his head shakes in disappointment, pale wisps floating uselessly around his head. "You can, but will you?" Arthur doesn't allow you the time to properly answer, "I won't be back 'till tomorrow," Comes the usual shrug, shoving his aging camera into the satchel now despite the many more less conspicuous of lenses stuffed into the bottom draw of his desk. That may be true, or it may just be another week 'till you see him next in office. "Don't wait up and if you need feel free to get off early." <<if $gruff > .5>>You grunt and let your arms fall across your chest. Maybe you will, if you finish the research. "So I'm not making dinner for two?" As expected, Arthur just nods; you may live together in that cramped apartment in the Ledala Understreets but you certainly wouldn't call it anything but your home whether or not your name is on the deed. He's not there enough to call it his own.<<else>>"And I suppose you'll be sleeping in the office again," Even without an answer you know it to be true, you hold back your exasperated sigh behind your hand. Arthur neglects to mention it. You may live together in that cramped apartment in the Ledala Understreets but you certainly wouldn't call it anything but your home whether or not your name is on the deed. He's not there enough to call it his own.<</if>> As Arthur readjusts his grip on his satchel and nudges open the door with his thick boots, he offers you a halfway there smile and mutters out a goodbye. [[I give him a wave then take a seat at the desk.|ch2pg1401]] [[''Be careful, Arthur.''|ch2pg1402][$art_f +=.05]] [[''And don't come back, you hear me?''|ch2pg1403][$art_f +=.03]] [[I don't say a word, simply take a seat at the desk.|ch2pg1404][$art_r +=.03]]

<<set $art_f +=.05>>It's easier that way, better if you want to avoid that strange sort of tension that holds in Arthur's neck like a curse held back. No, it's better to just smile and wave and wish him luck, better than creating conflict where it isn't needed. Even still, Arthur considers you for a good second, pale blue eyes ghosting across your face before his head shakes of its own accord, pale wisps floating uselessly around his head. "Good. I won't be back 'till tomorrow," Comes the usual shrug, shoving his aging camera into the satchel now despite the many more less conspicuous of lenses stuffed into the bottom draw of his desk. That may be true, or it may just be another week 'till you see him next in office. "Don't wait up and if you need feel free to get off early." <<if $gruff > .5>>You grunt and let your arms fall across your chest. Maybe you will, if you finish the research. "So I'm not making dinner for two?" As expected, Arthur just nods; you may live together in that cramped apartment in the Ledala Understreets but you certainly wouldn't call it anything but your home whether or not your name is on the deed. He's not there enough to call it his own.<<else>>"And I suppose you'll be sleeping in the office again," Even without an answer you know it to be true, you hold back your exasperated sigh behind your hand. Arthur neglects to mention it. You may live together in that cramped apartment in the Ledala Understreets but you certainly wouldn't call it anything but your home whether or not your name is on the deed. He's not there enough to call it his own.<</if>> As Arthur readjusts his grip on his satchel and nudges open the door with his thick boots, he offers you a halfway there smile and mutters out a goodbye. [[I give him a wave then take a seat at the desk.|ch2pg1401]] [[''Be careful, Arthur.''|ch2pg1402][$art_f +=.05]] [[''And don't come back, you hear me?''|ch2pg1403][$art_f +=.03]] [[I don't say a word, simply take a seat at the desk.|ch2pg1404][$art_r +=.03]]

<<set $art_f +=.05>>Arthur knows, oh he //knows// every little thought and opinion on his near-constant outings with no contact for days but you've both had enough arguments to know neither of you will like where it gets you. No, it's better to just smile and wave, no matter how strained, and wish him luck, better than creating conflict where it isn't needed. Even still, Arthur considers you for a good second, pale blue eyes ghosting across your face before his head shakes of its own accord, pale wisps floating uselessly around his head. "Good. I won't be back 'till tomorrow," Comes the usual shrug, shoving his aging camera into the satchel now despite the many more less conspicuous of lenses stuffed into the bottom draw of his desk. That may be true, or it may just be another week 'till you see him next in office. "Don't wait up and if you need feel free to get off early." <<if $gruff > .5>>You grunt and let your arms fall across your chest. Maybe you will, if you finish the research. "So I'm not making dinner for two?" As expected, Arthur just nods; you may live together in that cramped apartment in the Ledala Understreets but you certainly wouldn't call it anything but your home whether or not your name is on the deed. He's not there enough to call it his own.<<else>>"And I suppose you'll be sleeping in the office again," Even without an answer you know it to be true, you hold back your exasperated sigh behind your hand. Arthur neglects to mention it. You may live together in that cramped apartment in the Ledala Understreets but you certainly wouldn't call it anything but your home whether or not your name is on the deed. He's not there enough to call it his own.<</if>> As Arthur readjusts his grip on his satchel and nudges open the door with his thick boots, he offers you a halfway there smile and mutters out a goodbye. [[I give him a wave then take a seat at the desk.|ch2pg1401]] [[''Be careful, Arthur.''|ch2pg1402][$art_f +=.05]] [[''And don't come back, you hear me?''|ch2pg1403][$art_f +=.03]] [[I don't say a word, simply take a seat at the desk.|ch2pg1404][$art_r +=.03]]

<<set $art_r +=.05>>You've been through this song and dance many times before, neither of you coming to the end either of you would idealise. You don't know why you take the steps like a practised performance of each argument, and you don't know why he bothers to humour you. Even still, Arthur considers you for a good second, pale blue eyes ghosting across your face before his head shakes in disappointment, pale wisps floating uselessly around his head. "Can't control the job." Is all Arthur can bring himself to reply, "I won't be back 'till tomorrow," Comes the usual shrug, shoving his aging camera into the satchel now despite the many more less conspicuous of lenses stuffed into the bottom draw of his desk. That may be true, or it may just be another week 'till you see him next in office. "Don't wait up and if you need feel free to get off early." <<if $gruff > .5>>You grunt and let your arms fall across your chest. Maybe you will, if you finish the research. "So I'm not making dinner for two?" As expected, Arthur just nods; you may live together in that cramped apartment in the Ledala Understreets but you certainly wouldn't call it anything but your home whether or not your name is on the deed. He's not there enough to call it his own.<<else>>"And I suppose you'll be sleeping in the office again," Even without an answer you know it to be true, you hold back your exasperated sigh behind your hand. Arthur neglects to mention it. You may live together in that cramped apartment in the Ledala Understreets but you certainly wouldn't call it anything but your home whether or not your name is on the deed. He's not there enough to call it his own.<</if>> As Arthur readjusts his grip on his satchel and nudges open the door with his thick boots, he offers you a halfway there smile and mutters out a goodbye. [[I give him a wave then take a seat at the desk.|ch2pg1401]] [[''Be careful, Arthur.''|ch2pg1402][$art_f +=.05]] [[''And don't come back, you hear me?''|ch2pg1403][$art_f +=.03]] [[I don't say a word, simply take a seat at the desk.|ch2pg1404][$art_r +=.03]]

Any challenge that might edge your gaze remains unsaid and ignored, "Which client was it?" Arthur asks instead. You should probably be horrified at the prospect of your boss having so many former clients who may or may not wish you harm but for better or for worse you're far too used to it. It certainly isn't the first time your skull has been split on the pavement and your ribs have been bruised upon the fist of another. "Guy from a few months back who didn't find what he was looking for. The case that had you running all up downtown." Arthur grunts non-committedly, face pulling up in distaste. "Huh, that was a pain and a half, that one. Next time, maybe just run," He suggests, eyeing the pad now pressed into your forehead. Give it time, maybe a week, and you'll be fine, but in this day and age, with as many altered humans walking around as there are... you're a walking corpse if you aren't careful. <<if $sarc > .5>>"Gee, never would have thought of that." You mutter with a roll of your eyes, "It's not as if I was cornered and couldn't get away until later." If that stings Arthur, he doesn't show it, instead smoothing out the edges of the gauze with another grunt that doesn't quite express any emotion in particular.<<else>>"I tried," You sigh with a roll of your eyes, "But I was cornered, couldn't get away until later." Arthur gives you another largely non-expressive grunt as he smoothes out the edges of the gauze, if he hears you at all he doesn't show it.<</if>> Only once he's happy with the state of your bloody head does he pull away, stuffing the used supplies into the corner of the couch with little interest in cleaning it back up--a job for you later, no doubt. With one last glance over that only barely lingers, he stands, wipes some hair from his brow, and turns away to shuffle about for his satchel hanging from his chair tucked neatly under the desk. "I'll be out for a while," Arthur says, "You good to hold down the fort? I need some research done for the new case and I can't do it all on the street." A muted heat clenches around your throat, something not quite intense enough to curl your fists or really act upon. It settles in your cheeks as a warm tingling, and not the kind that flutters in your heart. You should be grateful your mind protests the irritation, but it's far too easy to fall back into old habits that have died only too recently. "Going out already?" You manage to sigh on the bile dotting your tongue, "I thought you were staying in the office today." Arthur shrugs, shifts his gaze away from your own with a discomforted cough around the cigarette. "Plans change," He says with a certain amount of finality to it. The internal irritation halts in its tracks as it bumps up against Arthur's quiet stare. It doesn't calm you, no, nothing like the emptiness in those pale blue eyes could do anything but //scare// you. "Can I count on you?" [[I swallow that particular feeling, slap on a small smile, ''You know it, Boss.''|ch2pg1301][$sarc -=.05]] [[It's hard to hide it, but at the very least I can dampen it, ''As if I have anything else to do.''|ch2pg1302][$sarc +=.05]] [[I can't help but huff, ''No need to baby me, I can do it.''|ch2pg1303][$gruff +=.05]] [[I'm still fed up, ''One day you gotta stay in the office, you know.''|ch2pg1304][$gruff -=.03]]

The name Perci calls you, for whatever reason.

One blink and the door swings closed once more, Arthur is gone. Now alone, you take a breath, let out the angry heat settled in your cheeks, and prepare for your day. What you need is where it always is with a list of things Arthur needs from you; settled on the corner opposite the red candles--you light them and a warm, nutty scent helps excise the acrid cigarette stench from the room, easing the tension in your shoulders better than any balm ever could. For now, however... Arthur prefers his information on paper, physical paper, says he won't bother reading if it's on a screen. Seems odd, really, that you're the one who's adapted to this strange world of screens and tech better than a man who's lived here his entire life, but who are you to judge? It gives you a job. A Job you wouldn't have if Arthur hadn't picked you up and saved you from an enemy you didn't know was there. You lost a lot, perhaps too much to bear... you find it's better not to think about your past. But Ancients, that was ten years ago now. [[And I'm still a little bitter. Somehow I still blame him for not leaving me to die.|ch2pg1501][$art_op to "bitter"]] [[And... I appreciate what he's done but I'm stuck here in a world not my own with nowhere else to go.|ch2pg1502][$art_op to "lost"]] [[And I'm indebted to him for all he's done.|ch2pg1503][$art_op to "thankful"]] [[And I could never repay back what he's done for me, regardless of what I actually think of him.|ch2pg1504][$art_op to "debt"]]

A part of you still believes he should have, still believes that simply leaving you in that street to die with your comrades would have resulted in so much less pain in the long run. Every morning actually climbing from bed is a struggle you're loathe to win, yet every day you do so under the weight of your own regrets and missteps. You've lost your family, you've lost your friends, and you still blame Arthur for it. You'd leave this place if you could, but where else would you go? [[Nowhere good...|ch2pg1601]]

It's like you're in a limbo of someone else's creation, as if you're a stranger in a place that //should// be your home but... this isn't a desert. This isn't the Ledala you knew and it certainly isn't anything resembling such a place. As much as you couldn't possibly thank Arthur enough for your life... a part of you still can't help but wish it had turned out some way different. [[Either way you can't go home.|ch2pg1601]]

You could spend your whole life thanking Arthur for saving you and that would still not be enough. Yes, you miss your old life dearly but there was no way you were ever going to be able to return to that if you died in Ledala. No, if you have any hope left of returning to the life you had living is your only option, and you have Arthur to thank for that. [[Either way you can't go home.|ch2pg1601]]

You could hate him, you could love him, but whatever the case may be and whatever you may think of Arthur it doesn't change the fact that he did something you could never repay. It's probably a good thing, then, that you have all your life left to do so. If he'll even let you. [[Either way you can't go home.|ch2pg1601]]

Back up top? To a crumbling city and endless desert? If anyone yet still lives they'll be not beholden to you, if at all they know you. No, there's no place there and with no identity in Ledala you're stuck in limbo. Can't go forward, can't step back. For now, with Arthur, you're safe. You take one look at your list then turn the screen on the opposite wall on with that controller Arthur thinks you don't know he keeps in the middle drawer of his desk. It flickers on to the grainy image of a pretty individual decked out in a crisp suit, natural-looking makeup and hair so perfectly done up and greying at the roots that you can't help but think it's done that way on purpose. Of course, as the namecard fades into view on the screen with the name 'Dagda' all done up in crisp white lettering. Trustworthy, the name should imply, but everyone with half a thought knows better. There are many Dagda's proudly suffering the responsibility of spouting off Council propaganda to the masses of the Ledalan Disk. <<if $rogender is "choice">>This particular Dagda, however, is someone you've seen before. [[She is a short woman with a trustworthy face and an all-too perfectly imperfect smile.|ch2pg1701][$dagda_gender to "female"]] [[They are a short person with a trustworthy face and an all-too perfectly imperfect smile.|ch2pg1702][$dagda_gender to "non"]] [[He is a short man with a trustworthy face and an all-too perfectly imperfect smile.|ch2pg1703][$dagda_gender to "male"]]<<elseif $rogender is "female">>This particular Dagda, however, is [[someone you've seen before.|ch2pg1701]]<<elseif $rogender is "male">>This particular Dagda, however, is [[someone you've seen before.|ch2pg1703]]<<else>>This particular Dagda, however, is [[someone you've seen before.|ch2pg1702]]<</if>>

Short with a tanned pink face and a pair of green eyes almost covered by the straight, grey-brown frindge that cuts a sharp line across her forehead, you can't deny Dagda is pretty. Natural, even human. Her entire appearance is calculated to appeal to the everyman of Ledalan citizenship; though she appears unmarred by technological advances save perhaps the slight glow of bronze flecks in her eyes everyone knows, at least in the backs of their minds, that Dagda is at least a couple of centuries old at this point. She is exactly how she should be; to be a mirror that shows off what everyone in Ledala likes to think themselves are. She doesn't stand out, she doesn't //act// out, and she certainly has no original thought outside of what she is told. Truly, she is the best of us. The Primary Dagda as you have so lovingly dubbed her is one of the more popular mouthpieces of an archaic system that loves to crush you and others alike beneath its very pretty heel. Starring in the farce that is the Disk's most popular news channel, each episode is hosted by an ever-cycling list of people just like her who also happen to be named Dagda. The Dagda's main purpose is to tell the world of all the recent news such as the string of disappearances plaguing 7th district tattooists but perhaps most importantly it serves to humanise various faces of the council in the vain hopes that someone somewhere would truly believe that they're just like everyone else. You're not sure whether any of the Dagda's ever truly had a choice in their career paths, but maybe that isn't the point. [[It isn't. They've all chosen their sides regardless of intentions.|ch2pg1801]] [[The council are doubtlessly the big bad behind them but the Dagda's aren't children.|ch2pg1802]] [[Do they even know what they're doing wrong?|ch2pg1803]] [[I don't know what to think. I don't have the time to think.|ch2pg1804]]

<<set $daghe to "they">><<set $daghim to "them">><<set $daghis to "their">><<set $daghis2 to "theirs">><<set $daghimself to "themself">><<set $daghes to "they're">><<set $dagman to "person">>Short with a tanned pink face and a pair of green eyes almost covered by the straight, grey-brown frindge that cuts a diagonal line from one side of their forehead to their opposing cheek, you can't deny Dagda is pretty just as they are meant to be. Natural, even human. Their entire appearance is calculated to appeal to the everyman of Ledalan citizenship; though they appear unmarred by technological advances save perhaps the slight glow of bronze flecks in their eyes everyone knows, at least in the backs of their minds, that Dagda is at least a couple of centuries old at this point. Exactly how they should be; a mirror that shows off what everyone in Ledala likes to think themselves are. They don't stand out, they don't //act// out, and they certainly have no original thought outside of what they are told. Truly, they are the best of us. The Primary Dagda as you have so lovingly dubbed them is one of the more popular mouthpieces of an archaic system that loves to crush you and others alike beneath its very pretty heel. Starring in the farce that is the Disk's most popular news channel, each episode is hosted by an ever-cycling list of people just like them who also happen to be named Dagda. The Dagda's main purpose is to tell the world of all the recent news such as the string of disappearances plaguing 7th district tattooists but perhaps most importantly it serves to humanise various faces of the council in the vain hopes that someone somewhere would truly believe that they're just like everyone else. You're not sure whether any of the Dagda's ever truly had a choice in their career paths, but maybe that isn't the point. [[It isn't. They've all chosen their sides regardless of intentions.|ch2pg1801]] [[The council are doubtlessly the big bad behind them but the Dagda's aren't children.|ch2pg1802]] [[Do they even know what they're doing wrong?|ch2pg1803]] [[I don't know what to think. I don't have the time to think.|ch2pg1804]]

<<set $daghe to "he">><<set $daghim to "him">><<set $daghis to "his">><<set $daghis2 to "his">><<set $daghimself to "himself">><<set $daghes to "they're">><<set $dagman to "person">>Dagda is more pretty than handsome, with a round face with just enough freckling on his tanned, pink cheeks to make him look as if he isn't covered by five layers of make up just to be put on screens across the disk that can't quite parse all the details. His entire appearance is calculated to appeal to the everyman of Ledalan citizenship; though he appears unmarred by technological advances save perhaps the slight glow of bronze flecking his otherwise green eyes everyone knows, at least in the backs of their minds, that Dagda is at least a couple of centuries old at this point. He is exactly how He should be; to be a mirror that shows off what everyone in Ledala likes to think themselves are. He doesn't stand out, he doesn't //act// out, and he certainly has no original thought outside of what he is told. Truly, he is the best of us. The Primary Dagda as you have so lovingly dubbed him is one of the more popular mouthpieces of an archaic system that loves to crush you and others alike beneath its very pretty heel. Starring in the farce that is the Disk's most popular news channel, each episode is hosted by an ever-cycling list of people just like him who also happen to be named Dagda. The Dagda's main purpose is to tell the world of all the recent news such as the string of disappearances plaguing 7th district tattooists but perhaps most importantly it serves to humanise various faces of the council in the vain hopes that someone somewhere would truly believe that they're just like everyone else. You're not sure whether any of the Dagda's ever truly had a choice in their career paths, but maybe that isn't the point. [[It isn't. They've all chosen their sides regardless of intentions.|ch2pg1801]] [[The council are doubtlessly the big bad behind them but the Dagda's aren't children.|ch2pg1802]] [[Do they even know what they're doing wrong?|ch2pg1803]] [[I don't know what to think. I don't have the time to think.|ch2pg1804]]

And regardless of intentions, just how much damage are they doing? You tune the program out to focus on your work; it certainly isn't busywork, nothing you can do with your eyes closed or mind half-focused. Which also means it's a change of pace. Eyes momentarily casting over the closed door and very empty office, a sigh pushes out of its own accord. And, as ever, you do your work as you are meant to. Your research bears fruit, the rotten kind you've little use for, but Ancints save you if Arthur hears you thinking that so you write everything down regardless. Time ticks on and gradually you make a small stack of notes that may or may not be even slightly useful for your boss to peruse at his own leasure. With naught but an aching wrist, however, your fingers twitch, drop the ink-thirsty pen and watch as it rolls lethargically across the expanse of the desk... only to come to a precarious stop teetering on the corner once more. Lucky, you almost feel a stirring like an acrid dog's yawning maw within you. It passes before you can fathom the change. All through the process of your work, you've been listening to the program... just listening. Mostly to propaganda, mostly to anything that mimicks exactly what your research has turned up, but there is one headline that catches you with a hook sunk deep into your tongue. "Now for a very special announcement from the Council regarding the new strains of Serum currently being sent out to vendors and doctors all across the disk," Dagda chimes like a hymm, $daghis voice edged with the excitement of a child just given their first toy. You don't look up, no, your glare is boring holes in the desk where you stare and your nails dig grooves where they scrape, but you can't look up at the screen in your focus. A growl, more muscle memory than anything else, almost hisses past your lips in your growing discomfort. "After taking over the project for their mother, Aphrodite, the new Head of Scientific Development for the Council has made a breakthrough with decades of hard work and plenty of tears behind it. Next up, we hear from them directly just what these breakthroughs entail and what we can next expect when the Serum rolls out." [[You see red.|ch2pg1900]]

If they wanted to change things from the inside, they've had plenty of years to do so. You tune the program out to focus on your work; it certainly isn't busywork, nothing you can do with your eyes closed or mind half-focused. Which also means it's a change of pace. Eyes momentarily casting over the closed door and very empty office, a sigh pushes out of its own accord. And, as ever, you do your work as you are meant to. Your research bears fruit, the rotten kind you've little use for, but Ancints save you if Arthur hears you thinking that so you write everything down regardless. Time ticks on and gradually you make a small stack of notes that may or may not be even slightly useful for your boss to peruse at his own leasure. With naught but an aching wrist, however, your fingers twitch, drop the ink-thirsty pen and watch as it rolls lethargically across the expanse of the desk... only to come to a precarious stop teetering on the corner once more. Lucky, you almost feel a stirring like an acrid dog's yawning maw within you. It passes before you can fathom the change. All through the process of your work, you've been listening to the program... just listening. Mostly to propaganda, mostly to anything that mimicks exactly what your research has turned up, but there is one headline that catches you with a hook sunk deep into your tongue. "Now for a very special announcement from the Council regarding the new strains of Serum currently being sent out to vendors and doctors all across the disk," Dagda chimes like a hymm, $daghis voice edged with the excitement of a child just given their first toy. You don't look up, no, your glare is boring holes in the desk where you stare and your nails dig grooves where they scrape, but you can't look up at the screen in your focus. A growl, more muscle memory than anything else, almost hisses past your lips in your growing discomfort. "After taking over the project for their mother, Aphrodite, the new Head of Scientific Development for the Council has made a breakthrough with decades of hard work and plenty of tears behind it. Next up, we hear from them directly just what these breakthroughs entail and what we can next expect when the Serum rolls out." [[You see red.|ch2pg1900]]

Some of them, maybe, but surely not all. They might just truly believe what they're doing is the right thing. You tune the program out to focus on your work; it certainly isn't busywork, nothing you can do with your eyes closed or mind half-focused. Which also means it's a change of pace. Eyes momentarily casting over the closed door and very empty office, a sigh pushes out of its own accord. And, as ever, you do your work as you are meant to. Your research bears fruit, the rotten kind you've little use for, but Ancints save you if Arthur hears you thinking that so you write everything down regardless. Time ticks on and gradually you make a small stack of notes that may or may not be even slightly useful for your boss to peruse at his own leasure. With naught but an aching wrist, however, your fingers twitch, drop the ink-thirsty pen and watch as it rolls lethargically across the expanse of the desk... only to come to a precarious stop teetering on the corner once more. Lucky, you almost feel a stirring like an acrid dog's yawning maw within you. It passes before you can fathom the change. All through the process of your work, you've been listening to the program... just listening. Mostly to propaganda, mostly to anything that mimicks exactly what your research has turned up, but there is one headline that catches you with a hook sunk deep into your tongue. "Now for a very special announcement from the Council regarding the new strains of Serum currently being sent out to vendors and doctors all across the disk," Dagda chimes like a hymm, $daghis voice edged with the excitement of a child just given their first toy. You don't look up, no, your glare is boring holes in the desk where you stare and your nails dig grooves where they scrape, but you can't look up at the screen in your focus. A growl, more muscle memory than anything else, almost hisses past your lips in your growing discomfort. "After taking over the project for their mother, Aphrodite, the new Head of Scientific Development for the Council has made a breakthrough with decades of hard work and plenty of tears behind it. Next up, we hear from them directly just what these breakthroughs entail and what we can next expect when the Serum rolls out." [[You see red.|ch2pg1900]]

You have work, and you have thoughts that don't help with the completion of the task. They're for someone who has any idea what to do with them. You tune the program out to focus on your work; it certainly isn't busywork, nothing you can do with your eyes closed or mind half-focused. Which also means it's a change of pace. Eyes momentarily casting over the closed door and very empty office, a sigh pushes out of its own accord. And, as ever, you do your work as you are meant to. Your research bears fruit, the rotten kind you've little use for, but Ancints save you if Arthur hears you thinking that so you write everything down regardless. Time ticks on and gradually you make a small stack of notes that may or may not be even slightly useful for your boss to peruse at his own leasure. With naught but an aching wrist, however, your fingers twitch, drop the ink-thirsty pen and watch as it rolls lethargically across the expanse of the desk... only to come to a precarious stop teetering on the corner once more. Lucky, you almost feel a stirring like an acrid dog's yawning maw within you. It passes before you can fathom the change. All through the process of your work, you've been listening to the program... just listening. Mostly to propaganda, mostly to anything that mimicks exactly what your research has turned up, but there is one headline that catches you with a hook sunk deep into your tongue. "Now for a very special announcement from the Council regarding the new strains of Serum currently being sent out to vendors and doctors all across the disk," Dagda chimes like a hymm, $daghis voice edged with the excitement of a child just given their first toy. You don't look up, no, your glare is boring holes in the desk where you stare and your nails dig grooves where they scrape, but you can't look up at the screen in your focus. A growl, more muscle memory than anything else, almost hisses past your lips in your growing discomfort. "After taking over the project for their mother, Aphrodite, the new Head of Scientific Development for the Council has made a breakthrough with decades of hard work and plenty of tears behind it. Next up, we hear from them directly just what these breakthroughs entail and what we can next expect when the Serum rolls out." [[You see red.|ch2pg1900]]

Your fist comes colliding with the top of the desk, leaving it rattling in protest and your arm aching bone-deep. It's the familiar, yet not quite welcomed, anger that surprises you most; the way you feel every trickle of sweat down your back, how the nutty scent of the candles burns your nostrils and stings your eyes and you can't help but squeeze them shut. Even in the dark your vision dots and swims with bright light, your head flighty as if being taken away on wings. The anger is so comforting, you almost feel it changing your body,<<if $mc2statelimp is 2>> almost feel your body returning back to how it used to be...<<elseif $mc2statelimp is 1>> almost feel your ruined bones snapping back in place, fusing back together the way they should be...<<else>> almost feel your bones splintering and fusing together into shapes unlike any anyone's ever seen...<</if>> But then you open your eyes and nothing has changed. The anger has failed you once again, the wolf is silent. On the screen Dagda sits beside an individual so glamorous you almost have to look twice; coils of red-black hair and hooded iridescent eyes that say //run// stare into the lense like a seasoned professional, one leg crossed over the other in their figure-hugging dress covered in adornments utterly unneccessary to the process of keeping it on their body and completely necessary in accentuating every pretty curve of it besides. The lighting on set, all bright lights and fabricated authenticity, washes out their deep brown complexion to such a degree you could mistake them for a manequin, but even that does little to hide the vibrant smile on a pair of round cheeks. With a pair of very attractive individuals sitting on the screen you could almost forget that they're both two very important cogs in an unerring media machine. A pair of smiles as the two turn to one another and shake hands, one with seamless black gloves, the other with claws for nails. "Lovely to meet you Adrastea, it's been a while. So what can we expect from the new Serum and how do you propose those who already have the old Serum brand get the new one?" "Slow down there darling and we'll get there," The well-dressed individual's voice is like silk, nearly as perfectly trained as Dagda's is for screen time. With a smile that never leaves their face, they settle down into their seat with the grace and poise of a ballroom dancer. "I think what you really want to ask first is--" Your focus is cut by the door swinging open with a laboured creak, your hand instinctively finding the controller and switching the screen off with a flicker before you can glean any of the information you need from it. [[''Oh, Hell.''|ch2pg2001][$reck +=.05]] [[''Hello, how can I help you today?''|ch2pg2002][$gruff -=.05]] [[''Back so soon Arthur? You didn't forgot something did you?''|ch2pg2003][$sarc +=.05]] [[''The Investigator isn't in right now but I can take a note and you can come back another day if you'd like.''|ch2pg2004][$sarc -=.05]]

It's all you can think to say in the event of having to deal with a potential customer but all the reply you receive in the wake of your curse is a rough chuckle that pricks at your mind as something you should recognise. Your body seizes, you finally look up to the visor-hidden face of a ghost you have to look at twice to recognise. "Is that how you treat your potential clients?" All you see is black; an open black suit, tucked into black boots with a crisp white trimmimg, and a grey and white-striped button up half open at the top, all adorning the tall body of a woman you didn't think you'd ever see again, "Perci!" You blurt out, jumping from your seat<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>> despite your protesting aches<<else>><</if>> just to make it around to Perci's side. [[And I jump into her arms, ''I thought you were gone for good!''|ch2pg2101][$perci_f +=.05]] [[And I give her a firm punch in the shoulder, ''Took you long enough. I worried, you know.''|ch2pg2102][$perci_f +=.05]] [[And I fold my arms, ''Finally decide to show up, huh?''|ch2pg2103][$perci_r +=.05]] [[And I give her a frown, ''I thought you and Arthur weren't talking.''|ch2pg2104][$perci_r +=.05]] [[And I look her up and down, raise a brow, ''Nice getup, didn't think you owned anything this nice.''|ch2pg2105][$perci_r +=.05]] [[And I have to look away, cheeks red, ''Er, that... you look good! Really good.''|ch2pg2106][$perci_a +=.02]] [[And I offer up a snicker, ''Aw, did you come out in that for little ol' me? You shouldn't have!''|ch2pg2107][$perci_a +=.02]]

It's a muscle memory, a little greeting you could fire off without needing to see or smile at the person in front of you. And in the wake of your mindless, well-practised customer service voice is a rough chuckle that pricks at your mind as something you should recognise. Your body seizes, you finally look up to the visor-hidden face of a ghost you have to look at twice to recognise. "Don't tell me you've lost your mind just yet?" All you see is black; an open black suit, tucked into black boots with a crisp white trimmimg, and a grey and white-striped button up half open at the top, all adorning the tall body of a woman you didn't think you'd ever see again, "Perci!" You blurt out, jumping from your seat<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>> despite your protesting aches<<else>><</if>> just to make it around to Perci's side. [[And I jump into her arms, ''I thought you were gone for good!''|ch2pg2101][$perci_f +=.05]] [[And I give her a firm punch in the shoulder, ''Took you long enough. I worried, you know.''|ch2pg2102][$perci_f +=.05]] [[And I fold my arms, ''Finally decide to show up, huh?''|ch2pg2103][$perci_r +=.05]] [[And I give her a frown, ''I thought you and Arthur weren't talking.''|ch2pg2104][$perci_r +=.05]] [[And I look her up and down, raise a brow, ''Nice getup, didn't think you owned anything this nice.''|ch2pg2105][$perci_r +=.05]] [[And I have to look away, cheeks red, ''Er, that... you look good! Really good.''|ch2pg2106][$perci_a +=.02]] [[And I offer up a snicker, ''Aw, did you come out in that for little ol' me? You shouldn't have!''|ch2pg2107][$perci_a +=.02]]

He's all you can think will walk through that door, it's rarely anyone else. You're both just lucky most jobs pay enough to get by with less. Instead of a weary sigh heralded by not quite a chastisement, all you're met with is a rough chuckle that pricks at your mind as something you should recognise. Your body seizes, you finally look up to the visor-hidden face of a ghost you have to look at twice to recognise. "Arthur driving you mad already?" All you see is black; an open black suit, tucked into black boots with a crisp white trimmimg, and a grey and white-striped button up half open at the top, all adorning the tall body of a woman you didn't think you'd ever see again, "Perci!" You blurt out, jumping from your seat<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>> despite your protesting aches<<else>><</if>> just to make it around to Perci's side. [[And I jump into her arms, ''I thought you were gone for good!''|ch2pg2101][$perci_f +=.05]] [[And I give her a firm punch in the shoulder, ''Took you long enough. I worried, you know.''|ch2pg2102][$perci_f +=.05]] [[And I fold my arms, ''Finally decide to show up, huh?''|ch2pg2103][$perci_r +=.05]] [[And I give her a frown, ''I thought you and Arthur weren't talking.''|ch2pg2104][$perci_r +=.05]] [[And I look her up and down, raise a brow, ''Nice getup, didn't think you owned anything this nice.''|ch2pg2105][$perci_r +=.05]] [[And I have to look away, cheeks red, ''Er, that... you look good! Really good.''|ch2pg2106][$perci_a +=.02]] [[And I offer up a snicker, ''Aw, did you come out in that for little ol' me? You shouldn't have!''|ch2pg2107][$perci_a +=.02]]

It's almost always enough to either drive the potential customer away or get them to come back another day. Preferably when you aren't here. Yet, despite that, all you get out of your attempt is a rough chuckle that pricks at your mind as something you should recognise. Your body seizes, you finally look up to the visor-hidden face of a ghost you have to look at twice to recognise. "Well, as much as I would like to talk to ol' Artie, that's probably a good thing." All you see is black; an open black suit, tucked into black boots with a crisp white trimmimg, and a grey and white-striped button up half open at the top, all adorning the tall body of a woman you didn't think you'd ever see again, "Perci!" You blurt out, jumping from your seat<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>> despite your protesting aches<<else>><</if>> just to make it around to Perci's side. [[And I jump into her arms, ''I thought you were gone for good!''|ch2pg2101][$perci_f +=.05]] [[And I give her a firm punch in the shoulder, ''Took you long enough. I worried, you know.''|ch2pg2102][$perci_f +=.05]] [[And I fold my arms, ''Finally decide to show up, huh?''|ch2pg2103][$perci_r +=.05]] [[And I give her a frown, ''I thought you and Arthur weren't talking.''|ch2pg2104][$perci_r +=.05]] [[And I look her up and down, raise a brow, ''Nice getup, didn't think you owned anything this nice.''|ch2pg2105][$perci_r +=.05]] [[And I have to look away, cheeks red, ''Er, that... you look good! Really good.''|ch2pg2106][$perci_a +=.02]] [[And I offer up a snicker, ''Aw, did you come out in that for little ol' me? You shouldn't have!''|ch2pg2107][$perci_a +=.02]]

You meet the stalwart wall of Perci's hard body as you collide, no pliability met underneath all that sleek, grey fabric that swallows her whole. The woman laughs, the sound catching briefly in her throat before she throws her arms around you in turn and gives you a tight squeeze with a click of fingers made of metal. It's not an uncomfortable embrace, but her emotional warmth does little to hinder the cool of her single mechanical arm from sinking into your skin through your clothes. With a stiff pat on the back with her one flesh arm, she steps out of the embrace and flicks up her dark visor with a lopsided grin. "Not for good, <<click "Pup">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Pup"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Pup").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>>, just for a while," Perci's narrow black eyes squint with her smile, but it doesn't completely miss you that there's a brand new scar cutting a thin line across her right temple where the straight, black growth of her roots are tucked behind her ear. Your hand inadvertently ghosts across your own temple with a wince, something she harumphs at like an old man considering himself in his beer. "I'm fine, just a bump." "Perci," You can't help but mutter, "Where have you been?" That turns Perci to silence, her lips screwing up in an awkward grimace as she scratches at her bleached hair a few weeks late to its next trim. Even underneath those layers of finery--perhaps the strangest thing of all when she's so proud of her ink--her body is held taut like a vice. Something cynical can't help but note how well she's done for herself in the month following her argument with Arthur. No hide nor hair of her until today... and she's shown up in an outfit that wouldn't be alien on one of the very Council members she claims to so despise. Seems as unlikely as it is real. "I've just been... at a friend's, that's all. Needed to give Artie some time to cool off..." Perci hesitates, mouth hanging open as her foot tap, tap, taps in its nervous rhythm, "He //has// cooled off, hasn't he?" Not in the slightest. [[''Er... yeah, of course.''|ch2pg2201][$reck +=.05]] [[''What do you think? Not as if he kicked you out of the office or anything.''|ch2pg2202][$sarc +=.05]] [[''No Perci, he hasn't. You left pretty abruptly...''|ch2pg2203][$sarc -=.05]] [[''I wouldn't know. I'm not exactly Arthur's closest confidant right now.''|ch2pg2204][$manip +=.05]]

Your fist cracks against the hard surface where Perci's shoulder should be, her own expression barely twitching as yours screws up in pain however slight. All covered up like that, it's easy to forget that once upon a time she replaced an arm of flesh and blood--such as it was--with metal and tech. As an apology, she offers you a weak smile "Wasn't gone for good, <<click "Pup">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Pup"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Pup").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>>, just for a while," Perci's narrow black eyes squint with her smile, but it doesn't completely miss you that there's a brand new scar cutting a thin line across her right temple where the straight, black growth of her roots are tucked behind her ear. Your hand inadvertently ghosts across your own temple with a wince, something she harumphs at like an old man considering himself in his beer. "I'm fine, just a bump." "Perci," You can't help but mutter, "Where have you been?" That turns Perci to silence, her lips screwing up in an awkward grimace as she scratches at her bleached hair a few weeks late to its next trim. Even underneath those layers of finery--perhaps the strangest thing of all when she's so proud of her ink--her body is held taut like a vice. Something cynical can't help but note how well she's done for herself in the month following her argument with Arthur. No hide nor hair of her until today... and she's shown up in an outfit that wouldn't be alien on one of the very Council members she claims to so despise. Seems as unlikely as it is real. "I've just been... at a friend's, that's all. Needed to give Artie some time to cool off..." Perci hesitates, mouth hanging open as her foot tap, tap, taps in its nervous rhythm, "He //has// cooled off, hasn't he?" Not in the slightest. [[''Er... yeah, of course.''|ch2pg2201][$reck +=.05]] [[''What do you think? Not as if he kicked you out of the office or anything.''|ch2pg2202][$sarc +=.05]] [[''No Perci, he hasn't. You left pretty abruptly...''|ch2pg2203][$sarc -=.05]] [[''I wouldn't know. I'm not exactly Arthur's closest confidant right now.''|ch2pg2204][$manip +=.05]]

As you size Perci up, eyes scanning over her suited form with some semblance of disdain. She's done well for herself, certainly looks nothing like the scrappy woman with her full metal arm on display like some kind of prize that you knew but a month prior. Perci, perhaps noticing the sour frown--not as if you're hiding it at all--takes a small step back. Your brow twitches. "Not as if I could come back, <<click "Pup">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Pup"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Pup").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>>, I haven't exactly been welcome here since. Well. You know." Perci's narrow black eyes squint with her grimace, but it doesn't completely miss you through your irritation that there's a brand new scar cutting a thin line across her right temple where the straight, black growth of her roots are tucked behind her ear. Your hand inadvertently ghosts across your own temple with a wince, something she harumphs at like an old man considering himself in his beer. "I'm fine, just a bump." "Perci," You can't help but mutter, "Where have you been?" That turns Perci to silence, her lips screwing up in an awkward grimace as she scratches at her bleached hair a few weeks late to its next trim. Even underneath those layers of finery--perhaps the strangest thing of all when she's so proud of her ink--her body is held taut like a vice. Something cynical can't help but note how well she's done for herself in the month following her argument with Arthur. No hide nor hair of her until today... and she's shown up in an outfit that wouldn't be alien on one of the very Council members she claims to so despise. Seems as unlikely as it is real. "I've just been... at a friend's, that's all. Needed to give Artie some time to cool off..." Perci hesitates, mouth hanging open as her foot tap, tap, taps in its nervous rhythm, "He //has// cooled off, hasn't he?" Not in the slightest. [[''Er... yeah, of course.''|ch2pg2201][$reck +=.05]] [[''What do you think? Not as if he kicked you out of the office or anything.''|ch2pg2202][$sarc +=.05]] [[''No Perci, he hasn't. You left pretty abruptly...''|ch2pg2203][$sarc -=.05]] [[''I wouldn't know. I'm not exactly Arthur's closest confidant right now.''|ch2pg2204][$manip +=.05]]

It's hard not to be suspicious of Perci's sudden reappearance. With as disgraceful a departure as she had just a month prior you can't help but feel as if she wants something. You're not fully sure whether you'd prefer it if she were up front or not about it at this point. Noticing your suspicion, Perci clears her throat with a grimace, black eyes flicking across the room, away "We aren't, <<click "Pup">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Pup"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Pup").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>>, but, well. Had to come back eventually." Perci's narrow black eyes squint with her grimace, but it doesn't completely miss you through your irritation that there's a brand new scar cutting a thin line across her right temple where the straight, black growth of her roots are tucked behind her ear. Your hand inadvertently ghosts across your own temple with a wince, something she harumphs at like an old man considering himself in his beer. "I'm fine, just a bump." "Perci," You can't help but mutter, "Where have you been?" That turns Perci to silence, her lips screwing up in an awkward grimace as she scratches at her bleached hair a few weeks late to its next trim. Even underneath those layers of finery--perhaps the strangest thing of all when she's so proud of her ink--her body is held taut like a vice. Something cynical can't help but note how well she's done for herself in the month following her argument with Arthur. No hide nor hair of her until today... and she's shown up in an outfit that wouldn't be alien on one of the very Council members she claims to so despise. Seems as unlikely as it is real. "I've just been... at a friend's, that's all. Needed to give Artie some time to cool off..." Perci hesitates, mouth hanging open as her foot tap, tap, taps in its nervous rhythm, "He //has// cooled off, hasn't he?" Not in the slightest. [[''Er... yeah, of course.''|ch2pg2201][$reck +=.05]] [[''What do you think? Not as if he kicked you out of the office or anything.''|ch2pg2202][$sarc +=.05]] [[''No Perci, he hasn't. You left pretty abruptly...''|ch2pg2203][$sarc -=.05]] [[''I wouldn't know. I'm not exactly Arthur's closest confidant right now.''|ch2pg2204][$manip +=.05]]

<<set $perci_r +=.05>>"Arthur is..." And yet, somehow, you lack all the lies your mind might otherwise conjure in that hardened stare of Perci's.<<if $carollie is "cant">> You aren't the only horrible liar in your family.<<else>> You are the worst liar in your family for a reason.<</if>> Mouth gone bone dry, you scramble to collect yourself, but Perci's already caught the hesitation that scrambles your brain enough to warrant a pause. "He's still mad." A statement, not a question, as Perci's steel facade grows colder. There's no anger in her black eyes, not at you nor at your stubborn saviour with the world's worst trust issues. No, all that crosses Perci's deadened expression in that half of a second she shows it is defeat. "Yeah... I figured." <<if $gruff > .5>>Your arms fold, your shoe dragging in the dust across the stained tiles of the office floor with reluctant lethargy that matches your gaze as it follows Perci across the room. "What now?"<<else>>Arms hanging limply at your side as you awkwardly allow the toe of your shoe to play in the dusk caking the stained tiles, your eyes don't quite follow Perci as she crosses the room. "What... what'll you do?"<</if>> Perci falls onto the couch with a huff. "Perci?" "Well, I wasn't looking for ol' Artie so that doesn't change much. Sucks though." A flimsy chuckle hangs in her throat for an extended moment of time as she picks at a chunk of detritus caught up in the hinges of her wrist just peeking out from her loose-fitting jacket, "Who I //was// looking for..." And Perci looks at you now, brow creased as she chews on a thought you already know you won't like. She knows it too, it's in the way her foot bounces even when it's hooked over her knee. There's already a fully formed scheme behind her eyes and you're at center stage, "Is you." Something tells you to run while you can<<if $perci_a >= 5>> despite her enticing smile.<<else>>.<</if>> [[I let out a sigh, ''Okay, tell me this master plan.''|ch2pg2301]] [[''No, I want no part of whatever this is.''|ch2pg2302][$perci_r +=.05]] [[''Maybe I'm interested. Lay it on me.''|ch2pg2303][$perci_f +=.05]]

<<set $perci_f +=.05>>"Still mad. Yeah... I figured." Perci's steel facade grows colder with her weakning voice. There's no anger in her black eyes, not at you nor at your stubborn saviour with the world's worst trust issues. No, all that crosses Perci's deadened expression in that half of a second she shows it is defeat. "Thanks for being up front about it though." <<if $gruff > .5>>Your arms fold, your shoe dragging in the dust across the stained tiles of the office floor with reluctant lethargy that matches your gaze as it follows Perci across the room. "What now?"<<else>>Arms hanging limply at your side as you awkwardly allow the toe of your shoe to play in the dusk caking the stained tiles, your eyes don't quite follow Perci as she crosses the room. "What... what'll you do?"<</if>> Perci falls onto the couch with a huff. "Perci?" "Well, I wasn't looking for ol' Artie so that doesn't change much. Sucks though." A flimsy chuckle hangs in her throat for an extended moment of time as she picks at a chunk of detritus caught up in the hinges of her wrist just peeking out from her loose-fitting jacket, "Who I //was// looking for..." And Perci looks at you now, brow creased as she chews on a thought you already know you won't like. She knows it too, it's in the way her foot bounces even when it's hooked over her knee. There's already a fully formed scheme behind her eyes and you're at center stage, "Is you." Something tells you to run while you can<<if $perci_a >= 5>> despite her enticing smile.<<else>>.<</if>> [[I let out a sigh, ''Okay, tell me this master plan.''|ch2pg2301]] [[''No, I want no part of whatever this is.''|ch2pg2302][$perci_r +=.05]] [[''Maybe I'm interested. Lay it on me.''|ch2pg2303][$perci_f +=.05]]

<<set $perci_r +=.05>>"That's a load of shit and you know it," Perci gives you a hard stare, a brow twitching with the corner of her mouth. The anger quickly subsides, however, instead fading to a cold apathy that says more to her disappointment than any curse or tear otherwise might... And it isn't her style besides. "You're just about the closest confidant he allows and if you don't look after him--" She sucks something back, "Well, it figures that he's still mad." <<if $gruff > .5>>Your arms fold, your shoe dragging in the dust across the stained tiles of the office floor with reluctant lethargy that matches your gaze as it follows Perci across the room. "What now?"<<else>>Arms hanging limply at your side as you awkwardly allow the toe of your shoe to play in the dusk caking the stained tiles, your eyes don't quite follow Perci as she crosses the room. "What... what'll you do?"<</if>> Perci falls onto the couch with a huff. "Perci?" "Well, I wasn't looking for ol' Artie so that doesn't change much. Sucks though." A flimsy chuckle hangs in her throat for an extended moment of time as she picks at a chunk of detritus caught up in the hinges of her wrist just peeking out from her loose-fitting jacket, "Who I //was// looking for..." And Perci looks at you now, brow creased as she chews on a thought you already know you won't like. She knows it too, it's in the way her foot bounces even when it's hooked over her knee. There's already a fully formed scheme behind her eyes and you're at center stage, "Is you." Something tells you to run while you can<<if $perci_a >= 5>> despite her enticing smile.<<else>>.<</if>> [[I let out a sigh, ''Okay, tell me this master plan.''|ch2pg2301]] [[''No, I want no part of whatever this is.''|ch2pg2302][$perci_r +=.05]] [[''Maybe I'm interested. Lay it on me.''|ch2pg2303][$perci_f +=.05]]

Your brow raises, so does hers, and two pairs of arms mirror themselves in folding across your chests. Even if you think she did have something formal like this squirrelled away somewhere it wouldn't change the fact that this is entirely at odds with her usual style. No, unless she's had a major change of style in the past month or so she'd be standing here, scrappy as always, with her arm of metal and tech on display like some kind of prize. As it is, however... Perci coughs, takes a stiff step back. I have nice outfits, <<click "Pup">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Pup"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Pup").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>>,I just don't like to wear it often," Perci's narrow black eyes squint with her grimace, but it doesn't completely miss you in your suspicion that there's a brand new scar cutting a thin line across her right temple where the straight, black growth of her roots are tucked behind her ear. Your hand inadvertently ghosts across your own temple with a wince, something she harumphs at like an old man considering himself in his beer. "I'm fine, just a bump." "Perci," You can't help but mutter, "Where have you been?" That turns Perci to silence, her lips screwing up in an awkward grimace as she scratches at her bleached hair a few weeks late to its next trim. Even underneath those layers of finery--perhaps the strangest thing of all when she's so proud of her ink--her body is held taut like a vice. Something cynical can't help but note how well she's done for herself in the month following her argument with Arthur. No hide nor hair of her until today... and she's shown up in an outfit that wouldn't be alien on one of the very Council members she claims to so despise. Seems as unlikely as it is real. "I've just been... at a friend's, that's all. Needed to give Artie some time to cool off..." Perci hesitates, mouth hanging open as her foot tap, tap, taps in its nervous rhythm, "He //has// cooled off, hasn't he?" Not in the slightest. [[''Er... yeah, of course.''|ch2pg2201][$reck +=.05]] [[''What do you think? Not as if he kicked you out of the office or anything.''|ch2pg2202][$sarc +=.05]] [[''No Perci, he hasn't. You left pretty abruptly...''|ch2pg2203][$sarc -=.05]] [[''I wouldn't know. I'm not exactly Arthur's closest confidant right now.''|ch2pg2204][$manip +=.05]]

Face burning like a furnace, you fumble over your words like a hapless child and their first crush. Ancients, but you shouldn't have to be this flimsy, your words shouldn't have to be so stuttered. If Perci finds it distasteful she simply covers it with a snicker, flexing the metal fingers of her arm in their grip upon her hip. "Do I now, <<click "Pup">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Pup"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Pup").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>>? Good to know." Perci's narrow black eyes squint with her grin much to your utter embarassment, but it doesn't completely miss you that there's a brand new scar cutting a thin line across her right temple where the straight, black growth of her roots are tucked behind her ear. Your hand inadvertently ghosts across your own temple with a wince, something she harumphs at like an old man considering himself in his beer. "I'm fine, just a bump." "Perci," You can't help but mutter, "Where have you been?" That turns Perci to silence, her lips screwing up in an awkward grimace as she scratches at her bleached hair a few weeks late to its next trim. Even underneath those layers of finery--perhaps the strangest thing of all when she's so proud of her ink--her body is held taut like a vice. Something cynical can't help but note how well she's done for herself in the month following her argument with Arthur. No hide nor hair of her until today... and she's shown up in an outfit that wouldn't be alien on one of the very Council members she claims to so despise. Seems as unlikely as it is real. "I've just been... at a friend's, that's all. Needed to give Artie some time to cool off..." Perci hesitates, mouth hanging open as her foot tap, tap, taps in its nervous rhythm, "He //has// cooled off, hasn't he?" Not in the slightest. [[''Er... yeah, of course.''|ch2pg2201][$reck +=.05]] [[''What do you think? Not as if he kicked you out of the office or anything.''|ch2pg2202][$sarc +=.05]] [[''No Perci, he hasn't. You left pretty abruptly...''|ch2pg2203][$sarc -=.05]] [[''I wouldn't know. I'm not exactly Arthur's closest confidant right now.''|ch2pg2204][$manip +=.05]]

It's presumptuous as all hell, it's also entirely a joke as you look Perci up and down with equal parts appreciation and a suspicion. This isn't at all like her; you're happy to see her but if this were a casual visit she'd be more likely seen in a sleeveless shirt just to show off the full metal arm she takes so much pride in. Even still, if Perci caught the suspicion through the flirtation she doesn't let you know it. "Oh yeah, just for you, <<click "Pup">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("Pup"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Pup").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>>." Perci's narrow black eyes roll with her grin much to your pleasure, but it doesn't completely miss you that there's a brand new scar cutting a thin line across her right temple where the straight, black growth of her roots are tucked behind her ear. Your hand inadvertently ghosts across your own temple with a wince, something she harumphs at like an old man considering himself in his beer. "I'm fine, just a bump." "Perci," You can't help but mutter, the cheeriness of before falling from your tone, "Where have you been?" That turns Perci to silence, her lips screwing up in an awkward grimace as she scratches at her bleached hair a few weeks late to its next trim. Even underneath those layers of finery--perhaps the strangest thing of all when she's so proud of her ink--her body is held taut like a vice. Something cynical can't help but note how well she's done for herself in the month following her argument with Arthur. No hide nor hair of her until today... and she's shown up in an outfit that wouldn't be alien on one of the very Council members she claims to so despise. Seems as unlikely as it is real. "I've just been... at a friend's, that's all. Needed to give Artie some time to cool off..." Perci hesitates, mouth hanging open as her foot tap, tap, taps in its nervous rhythm, "He //has// cooled off, hasn't he?" Not in the slightest. [[''Er... yeah, of course.''|ch2pg2201][$reck +=.05]] [[''What do you think? Not as if he kicked you out of the office or anything.''|ch2pg2202][$sarc +=.05]] [[''No Perci, he hasn't. You left pretty abruptly...''|ch2pg2203][$sarc -=.05]] [[''I wouldn't know. I'm not exactly Arthur's closest confidant right now.''|ch2pg2204][$manip +=.05]]

A smile grows upon Perci's oval face like a lion's roar, her hands clenching around the other as she allows a huff of celebration. Your stomach sinks, you aren't going to like this in the slightest. "I just need a favour, it's really small and you'll get paid for it. I can guarantee that Pup." In the past you may not have been the type to jump at the first mention of pay, but in your current state of things... Ledala can be hazardous at the best of times without it. "The favour being?" Perci's expression morphs into a grimace, something pained and apologetic and so totally wrong on her face that you almost cease to recognise her. "Er... it's a job, need you to convince Arthur to take it--listen, just... I can come find you tonight and I'll explain everything." Stomach becoming more and more unsettled by the second, you cross your arms over it in a vain attempt to stifle its churning. There's almost a whisper past your ear as the discomfort rises like the bile in your throat, almost smell acrid air of a wolf's breath... but it's gone in a second, if it ever was there to begin with. "Perci..." You manage with a hoarse cough... [[''I don't think I can do this.''|ch2pg2401][$reck -=.05]] [[''I'm not gonna be able to convince Arthur of anything if he doesn't want to be.''|ch2pg2402][$manip -=.05]] [[''I'm in, but...''|ch2pg2403][$reck +=.05]] [[''Why do you need this done so badly? And why me?''|ch2pg2404][$gruff -=.05]]

Frantically, Perci leans closer, hands pressed between her knees as she rushes past you with a string of words that take half a moment to even process. "Please just hear me out, it won't take much!" Your stomach sinks, you aren't going to like this in the slightest. "I just need a favour, it's really small and you'll get paid for it. I can guarantee that, Pup." In the past you may not have been the type to jump at the first mention of pay, but in the current state of things... Ledala can be hazardous at the best of times without it. "The favour being?" Perci's expression morphs into a grimace, something pained and apologetic and so totally wrong on her face that you almost cease to recognise her at all. "Er... it's a job, need you to convince Arthur to take it--listen, just... I can come find you tonight and I'll explain everything." Stomach becoming more and more unsettled by the second, you cross your arms over it in a vain attempt to stifle its churning. There's almost a whisper past your ear as the discomfort rises like the bile in your throat, almost smell acrid air of a wolf's breath... but it's gone in a second, if it ever was there to begin with. "Perci..." You manage with a hoarse cough... [[''I don't think I can do this.''|ch2pg2401][$reck -=.05]] [[''I'm not gonna be able to convince Arthur of anything if he doesn't want to be.''|ch2pg2402][$manip -=.05]] [[''I'm in, but...''|ch2pg2403][$reck +=.05]] [[''Why do you need this done so badly? And why me?''|ch2pg2404][$gruff -=.05]]

"I can't be the first person you think of to help you in this." You hold your finger up as Perci scoots herself to the edge of the couch, hands clasped together as she stares you down with not-quite a frown and lips screwed up in determination. Your stomach sinks. "You're right, you're not." Comes the immediate reply, black eyes flickering across your face like a moth but never leaving, never reflecting back at you any hesitation as you return Perci's concentrated stare. "My first choice was, is, Arthur but we both know he won't listen unless he's made to listen. So I came to you and hoped he wasn't in." She's serious then. You were afraid of this. "Meet me tonight, somewhere safer, better, I'll even come get you from your apartment and tell you as much as I'm able." Perci pauses, and it's now you take the time to stop her. "Which would be fine if I didn't also have work tonight." She offers up a dubious look, however stifled, "New job, Art knows about it, knows we need it. I can't do tonight." Not that he knows //where// or //what// it is. "Then tomorrow morning, or tomorrow night. I'm not giving up on this $mc2_name, I have all the time in the world." Perci pushes first, you break. If you know anything about Perci it's that she's stubborn. Probably why she and Arthur never fully meshed. Two stubborn individuals rarely get their way with one another even if they are best friends. With you, however... "Alright," You acquiesce... [[''But I expect good compensation out of this.''|ch2pg2501][$manip +=.05]] [[''You've convinced me.''|ch2pg2502][$manip -=.05]] [[''But if Arthur finds out you've gone through me to get to him...''|ch2pg2503][$manip +=.05]] [[''I better not regret this.''|ch2pg2504][$gruff +=.05]]

"It's too risky, requires going behind my boss' back, and even if I //could// and was willing I don't have the time tonight to be gallivanting off with you." Perhaps you come off a little strong in your denial, perhaps the way your voice cracks isn't quite convincing, either way, Perci scoots forward to teeter on the edge of the couch, hands clasped, narrow eyes trained on yours with that same intensity you know she learned from Arthur. "I have work tonight." You add flimsily. "You have work right now," She challenges, "Unless you've somehow picked up a new job to spend your time." "That... is indeed what's happened. Can't do tonight." If you push... just push... "Then tomorrow morning, or tomorrow night. I'm not giving up on this $mc2_name, I have all the time in the world." Perci pushes first, you break. If you know anything about Perci it's that she's stubborn. Probably why she and Arthur never fully meshed. Two stubborn individuals rarely get their way with one another even if they are best friends. With you, however... "Fine," You huff... [[''But I expect good compensation out of this.''|ch2pg2501][$manip +=.05]] [[''You've convinced me.''|ch2pg2502][$manip -=.05]] [[''But if Arthur finds out you've gone through me to get to him...''|ch2pg2503][$manip +=.05]] [[''I better not regret this.''|ch2pg2504][$gruff +=.05]]

"He's too stubborn and treats me like a child--" Would he even know a child if he saw one? "-- we both know it's not gonna happen. Even if I //could// and was willing I don't have the time tonight to be gallivanting off with you." Perhaps you come off a little strong in your denial, perhaps the way your voice cracks isn't quite convincing, either way, Perci scoots forward to teeter on the edge of the couch, hands clasped, narrow eyes trained on yours with that same intensity you know she learned from Arthur. "I have work tonight." You add flimsily. "You have work right now," She challenges, "Unless you've somehow picked up a new job to spend your time." "That's exactly what happened Perci, you've been gone for a while. I can't do tonight." If you push... just push... "Then tomorrow morning, or tomorrow night. I'm not giving up on this $mc2_name, I have all the time in the world." Perci pushes first, you break. If you know anything about Perci it's that she's stubborn. Probably why she and Arthur never fully meshed. Two stubborn individuals rarely get their way with one another even if they are best friends. With you, however... "Fine," You huff... [[''But I expect good compensation out of this.''|ch2pg2501][$manip +=.05]] [[''You've convinced me.''|ch2pg2502][$manip -=.05]] [[''But if Arthur finds out you've gone through me to get to him...''|ch2pg2503][$manip +=.05]] [[''I better not regret this.''|ch2pg2504][$gruff +=.05]]

"I have conditions." You hold your finger up as Perci scoots herself to the edge of the couch, hands clasped together as she stares you down with not-quite a frown and lips screwed up in determination. Your stomach sinks. "Name them and they're done." Comes the immediate reply, black eyes flickering across your face like a moth but never leaving, never reflecting back at you any hesitation as you return Perci's concentrated stare. "Just hear me out first." She's serious then. You were afraid of this. "Meet me tonight, somewhere safer, better, I'll even come get you from your apartment and tell you as much as I'm able." Perci pauses, and it's now you take the time to stop her. "Which would be fine if I didn't also have work tonight." She offers up a dubious look, however stifled, "New job, Art knows about it, knows we need it. I can't do tonight." Not that he knows //where// or //what// it is. "Then tomorrow morning, or tomorrow night. I'm not giving up on this $mc2_name, I have all the time in the world." Perci pushes first, you break. If you know anything about Perci it's that she's stubborn. Probably why she and Arthur never fully meshed. Two stubborn individuals rarely get their way with one another even if they are best friends. With you, however... "Alright," You acquiesce... [[''But I expect good compensation out of this.''|ch2pg2501][$manip +=.05]] [[''You've convinced me.''|ch2pg2502][$manip -=.05]] [[''But if Arthur finds out you've gone through me to get to him...''|ch2pg2503][$manip +=.05]] [[''I better not regret this.''|ch2pg2504][$gruff +=.05]]

"Of course," Perci grins, vindicated by your acceptance and defeat, "You and Arthur will be paid for this, trust me." A part of you wishes you could, another simply does, but Arthur must have thrown her out for a reason and her strange reappearance has your skin on pinpricks. As she picks herself up from her crumpled position on the sofa, she gives her shoulders a good roll and a groan of protest. "Tomorrow morning?" For better or for worse, you nod. "And if I regret this..." "You won't," Perci almost sounds certain, "In the meantime I have more work to do. And I guess you need to return to your daily dose of Council propaganda." One black eye winks at you, a dimple creasing in Perci's crooked smile. <<if $perci_f >= $perci_r>>With a pat on the back as Perci squeezes you goodbye, you hear her whisper a quick, 'be careful' but can't quite pinpoint why. Even still you return with a mirror of her words and hope that's enough.<<else>>Shuffling awkwardly towards you, Perci pats you on the back as her only form of goodbye. You think she mutters something but she isn't quite close enough for you to hear at her volume and so you silently nod, feigning understanding.<</if>> A stiff smile heralds Perci's departure, a closed door swinging shut with a click the only evidence that anyone was ever in the office with you to begin with. You return to the desk, head swimming, doubt clawing, teeth gnashing. You shouldn't have agreed, and you agree with the ghost of a being you no longer share the headspace with that she's doubtlessly gotten herself into something dangerous. The only question is why you're now in it with her. [[Perci's fun. The fact that often her schemes are dangerous are... more of a second thought.|ch2pg2601][$reck +=.05]] [[I want her and Arthur to reconcile. Maybe this will help.|ch2pg2602][$sarc -=.05]] [[I felt that if I kept saying no Perci would never give up.|ch2pg2603][$reck -=.05]] [[I... like spending time with Perci.|ch2pg2604]]

"Thank the Ancients," Perci grins, vindicated by your acceptance, "You and Arthur will be paid for this, trust me." A part of you wishes you could, another simply does, but Arthur must have thrown her out for a reason and her strange reappearance has your skin on pinpricks. As she picks herself up from her crumpled position on the sofa, she gives her shoulders a good roll and a groan of protest. "If not tonight then tomorrow morning?" For better or for worse, you nod. "And if I regret this..." "You won't," Perci almost sounds certain, "In the meantime I have more work to do. And I guess you need to return to your daily dose of Council propaganda." One black eye winks at you, a dimple creasing in Perci's crooked smile. <<if $perci_f >= $perci_r>>With a pat on the back as Perci squeezes you goodbye, you hear her whisper a quick, 'be careful' but can't quite pinpoint why. Even still you return with a mirror of her words and hope that's enough.<<else>>Shuffling awkwardly towards you, Perci pats you on the back as her only form of goodbye. You think she mutters something but she isn't quite close enough for you to hear at her volume and so you silently nod, feigning understanding.<</if>> A stiff smile heralds Perci's departure, a closed door swinging shut with a click the only evidence that anyone was ever in the office with you to begin with. You return to the desk, head swimming, doubt clawing, teeth gnashing. You shouldn't have agreed, and you agree with the ghost of a being you no longer share the headspace with that she's doubtlessly gotten herself into something dangerous. The only question is why you're now in it with her. [[Perci's fun. The fact that often her schemes are dangerous are... more of a second thought.|ch2pg2601][$reck +=.05]] [[I want her and Arthur to reconcile. Maybe this will help.|ch2pg2602][$sarc -=.05]] [[I felt that if I kept saying no Perci would never give up.|ch2pg2603][$reck -=.05]] [[I... like spending time with Perci.|ch2pg2604]]

"He'll be super fucking mad," Perci agrees, vindicated by your acceptance and defeat, "Let's just make sure that doesn't happen, yeah? Trust me." A part of you wishes you could, another simply does, but Arthur must have thrown her out for a reason and her strange reappearance has your skin on pinpricks. As she picks herself up from her crumpled position on the sofa, she gives her shoulders a good roll and a groan of protest. "If not tonight then tomorrow morning?" For better or for worse, you nod. "And if I regret this..." "You won't," Perci almost sounds certain, "In the meantime I have more work to do. And I guess you need to return to your daily dose of Council propaganda." One black eye winks at you, a dimple creasing in Perci's crooked smile. <<if $perci_f >= $perci_r>>With a pat on the back as Perci squeezes you goodbye, you hear her whisper a quick, 'be careful' but can't quite pinpoint why. Even still you return with a mirror of her words and hope that's enough.<<else>>Shuffling awkwardly towards you, Perci pats you on the back as her only form of goodbye. You think she mutters something but she isn't quite close enough for you to hear at her volume and so you silently nod, feigning understanding.<</if>> A stiff smile heralds Perci's departure, a closed door swinging shut with a click the only evidence that anyone was ever in the office with you to begin with. You return to the desk, head swimming, doubt clawing, teeth gnashing. You shouldn't have agreed, and you agree with the ghost of a being you no longer share the headspace with that she's doubtlessly gotten herself into something dangerous. The only question is why you're now in it with her. [[Perci's fun. The fact that often her schemes are dangerous are... more of a second thought.|ch2pg2601][$reck +=.05]] [[I want her and Arthur to reconcile. Maybe this will help.|ch2pg2602][$sarc -=.05]] [[I felt that if I kept saying no Perci would never give up.|ch2pg2603][$reck -=.05]] [[I... like spending time with Perci.|ch2pg2604]]

"You won't," Perci says, vindicated by your acceptance and defeat, "You'll both be paid for your services and it'll be all roses from there. Trust me." A part of you wishes you could, another simply does, but Arthur must have thrown her out for a reason and her strange reappearance has your skin on pinpricks. As she picks herself up from her crumpled position on the sofa, she gives her shoulders a good roll and a groan of protest. "If not tonight then tomorrow morning?" For better or for worse, you nod. "Tomorrow morning it is. Ancients help me." "They're not around anymore. They can't help you for shit." Perci's joke offers little hope to you, whether or not you even believe in them anymore (and really, how couldn't you?), "In the meantime I have more work to do. And I guess you need to return to your daily dose of Council propaganda." One black eye winks at you, a dimple creasing in Perci's crooked smile. <<if $perci_f >= $perci_r>>With a pat on the back as Perci squeezes you goodbye, you hear her whisper a quick, 'be careful' but can't quite pinpoint why. Even still you return with a mirror of her words and hope that's enough.<<else>>Shuffling awkwardly towards you, Perci pats you on the back as her only form of goodbye. You think she mutters something but she isn't quite close enough for you to hear at her volume and so you silently nod, feigning understanding.<</if>> A stiff smile heralds Perci's departure, a closed door swinging shut with a click the only evidence that anyone was ever in the office with you to begin with. You return to the desk, head swimming, doubt clawing, teeth gnashing. You shouldn't have agreed, and you agree with the ghost of a being you no longer share the headspace with that she's doubtlessly gotten herself into something dangerous. The only question is why you're now in it with her. [[Perci's fun. The fact that often her schemes are dangerous are... more of a second thought.|ch2pg2601][$reck +=.05]] [[I want her and Arthur to reconcile. Maybe this will help.|ch2pg2602][$sarc -=.05]] [[I felt that if I kept saying no Perci would never give up.|ch2pg2603][$reck -=.05]] [[I... like spending time with Perci.|ch2pg2604]]

That particular trait just sort of blends into the background with her around. There's a particular trustworthiness about her that makes those around her believe that regardless of the danger she will keep you safe. And maybe you fell right into that trap. Who's to say? Body falling slack into your seat, you consider your completed stack of paper, the gently swaying door, and finally the time that ticks on at just mid-afternoon. You could busy yourself, you suppose, turn the screen back on and continue your own private investigation, but as time has moved on, so too would have the bulletin... It's not even a question, now, is it? Not really, not truly. [[I turn the screen back on. I have the time.|ch2pg2701]]

Or maybe it won't. Maybe it'll all combust in one final confrontation between the two that leaves a building burning and you caught in the crossfires of a friendship best let fade into obscurity. But who knows, maybe you'll be pleasantly surprised. You can all but hope. Body falling slack into your seat, you consider your completed stack of paper, the gently swaying door, and finally the time that ticks on at just mid-afternoon. You could busy yourself, you suppose, turn the screen back on and continue your own private investigation, but as time has moved on, so too would have the bulletin... It's not even a question, now, is it? Not really, not truly. [[I turn the screen back on. I have the time.|ch2pg2701]]

It wouldn't be the first time. She's a one-woman army. If she had the mind she could probably take down at least four enforcers solo and injure the fifth besides. There's a downside to that intensity, however, and it's the reason Arthur kicked her out in the first place... a conflict of passions. Body falling slack into your seat, you consider your completed stack of paper, the gently swaying door, and finally the time that ticks on at just mid-afternoon. You could busy yourself, you suppose, turn the screen back on and continue your own private investigation, but as time has moved on, so too would have the bulletin... It's not even a question, now, is it? Not really, not truly. [[I turn the screen back on. I have the time.|ch2pg2701]]

It only takes a second of hesitation at that halfway-to-standing stage of your exit from the seat for your mind to dwell on... fuck it. Your backside protests the less than gracefull plop back into your seat with a vague pain and flip the switch. The screen winks back into existance with a screetch of static. The primary Dagda has been replaced by a new one now--a man with heavy under-eye makeup--though the individual in question still talks on beside him as if nothing changed, their conversation is cut by footage of Enforcers in their off time. "And Adrastea--" Dagda says--right, Adrastea, that was their name--placing a too-manicured hand on their arm, "Just what will be the changes that we can expect from this new brand of Serum?" Cut back to the pair. Adrastea smiles brightly, perking up gracefully, but noticeably, as they wipe their curls behind their shoulder with eyes unflinching. "Well, Dagda, great of you to ask. As you well know, previous iterations of the Serum were rife with debilitating side effects; while we've since moved past the worst of it with my mother's previous iteration of the Serum, we all must remember where we came from." Your head twinges, a ringing in your ear, "Our first voluntary testers ended up with quite a few problems in versions 1 to 8 of the Serum, you see. While they did have the desired effect of granting a heavily extended lifespan to the individuals there was also a great deal of unintended side effect they face even today." "And where are all these people now?" Dagda ventures like a rebellious teen sneaking out through the open window of their bedroom. Adrastea, chuckles behind their hand before looking directly at the camera, directly at you. Your head pounds, an ache like digging nails into skin. "I'm sure they're out there somewhere." [[Continue|ch2pg28]]

You finish up work when Arthur doesn't return by mid-afternoon. Your research concluded, information written and collated into a neat document of awkward cursive and underlined points of interest, you stack the collected parchments neatly on the desk for your boss to find when he returns and, with one final lingering glance, you lock the door behind you. The city day cycle has ticked on down from neutral yellows to deep oranges reds, simulated sunset displayed across the dome rather than the stale rock walls of the underground. The city is situated, as far as you can tell, in a huge subterranean cavern of red rock. You're not sure how deep this cavern sits into the earth, only that the way back to the surface of the planet is via a series of sealed tunnels only accessable by vehicle at certain times of the 275 day calendar. Far out of reach from you, at any rate. As you step out onto the sidewalk to greet the afternoon, the street is deserted save a few pedestrians milling about and the vehicles that speed along the skirting roads. Typically, as the cycle fades into the darkest of nights, the city would come alive, but currently the world stands stagnant, as if waiting for a sign to spring into action. Or as if something out there in the technological jungle is watching you through the eyes of a camera. [[You make your way to the elevator.|ch2pg29]]

The Enforcers are more concerned with keeping people out of the city than in. They barely question you when you make your approach, only taking cursory glances at your permit before waving you in. When you step into the small, tubular compartment, your stomach tightens--and when it plummets to the bottom of the Ledalan cavern, your guts go with it. Much to your relief, Ajax and his companion have been replaced by another pair at the bottom, both equally as flighty as they watch the passers by with suspicion. You shuffle out into the dirty understreets with the rest of your group, only stopping to breathe when you've long since left the ever-watchful eyes of Ledalan law around a corner. Compared to the crisp, perfectly filtered air of the disk, breathing in the Undercity fills your lungs like cotton. It's a different kind of oppressive, really; at least in the desert you knew it was mostly clean. As it is, you'd take the gritty heat in your chest over this smoky layer of oil that coats your throat. Arthur's kindness to let you off early means you have a brief period of time to dart back home and have a shower before rushing off to your second job of the day. Your shared apartment is on the third storey of a brick-laden facade made mostly of toothpicks and prayers. It's a tiny hovel with three rooms total, all equally as cramped as the rest; a kitchen and couch-slash-bed greets you when you enter, old clothes and bin bags shoved by the door for when you next make a trash run. The remaining two rooms are mostly reserved for the bathroom and your bedroom. It used to belong to Arthur, but he gave it up one day when it became clear he wasn't truly using it anymore. All up it isn't glamorous living; rent is far too high for what it is and the fridge hasn't been fully stocked for well over a month, but it's a place to sleep and the water mostly runs clear. [[I still hate it, all the same.|ch2pg3001]] [[It's a roof over my head, that has to be enough.|ch2pg3002]] [[There's something cozy about it, despite everything.|ch2pg3003]] [[One of these days I'll actually get to dressing the place up a little.|ch2pg3004]]

It's not home, it's barely even a shelter. You had your troubles in Ledala--the desert, that is--but none so grave that you couldn't go to your friends and loved ones about them. Here in this damp, in this dark, there's nothing but isolation, nothing but the endless despair with no one to turn to. Well, there is Arthur you suppose, but he's rearely around these days. Hell, but it is stuffy in here. You tug open a window to let the stagnant air escape before heading to your room to get ready for the night. You collect a towel and set your clothes out on the single-person bed, neglecting to take the time to examine it. You don't need to; you know it like your own mind. In a word, your room is best described as: [[Pristine. I need control of something in my life.|ch2pg3101][$room to "clean"]] [[Chaotic. Nothing is quite where it should be.|ch2pg3102][$room to "chaos"]] [[Occupied. It's not messy, but it shows the teltale signs of something lived in.|ch2pg3103][$room to "neut"]]

What more can you ask for when it will never be the same as what used to be home? Really, four flimsy walls are good enough when you've known plenty who had less. Hell, but it is stuffy in here. You tug open a window to let the stagnant air escape before heading to your room to get ready for the night. You collect a towel and set your clothes out on the single-person bed, neglecting to take the time to examine it. You don't need to; you know it like your own mind. In a word, your room is best described as: [[Pristine. I need control of something in my life.|ch2pg3101][$room to "clean"]] [[Chaotic. Nothing is quite where it should be.|ch2pg3102][$room to "chaos"]] [[Occupied. It's not messy, but it shows the teltale signs of something lived in.|ch2pg3103][$room to "neut"]]

Some call it cramped but there's security in a small space you know well. Up top, you hear the apartments can span the size of your whole building. Such displays of oppulence always seemed so... odd to you. How could anyone need that much space except to prove their wealth to others? Hell, but it is stuffy in here. You tug open a window to let the stagnant air escape before heading to your room to get ready for the night. You collect a towel and set your clothes out on the single-person bed, neglecting to take the time to examine it. You don't need to; you know it like your own mind. In a word, your room is best described as: [[Pristine. I need control of something in my life.|ch2pg3101][$room to "clean"]] [[Chaotic. Nothing is quite where it should be.|ch2pg3102][$room to "chaos"]] [[Occupied. It's not messy, but it shows the teltale signs of something lived in.|ch2pg3103][$room to "neut"]]

Not as if you ever have any plans for company. Arthur fumbles on many things, but he is right that you should avoid making friends where possible. If the wrong person found out you aren't originally from Ledala... well, loneliness is the preferable alternative. Hell, but it is stuffy in here. You tug open a window to let the stagnant air escape before heading to your room to get ready for the night. You collect a towel and set your clothes out on the single-person bed, neglecting to take the time to examine it. You don't need to; you know it like your own mind. In a word, your room is best described as: [[Pristine. I need control of something in my life.|ch2pg3101][$room to "clean"]] [[Chaotic. Nothing is quite where it should be.|ch2pg3102][$room to "chaos"]] [[Occupied. It's not messy, but it shows the teltale signs of something lived in.|ch2pg3103][$room to "neut"]]

Some would certainly describe the state of your room as clean, some would even go so far as to say excessively so. In every way but one it is picture perfect; your sheets are tucked in and colour-coordinated, the surfaces clear of any clutter and cleaned to sparkling. It if weren't for the room itself, it would almost be mistaken for a space on the disk. Oh, if only. You leave your clothes as they are, instead collecting your towel before padding into the bathroom. It's really nothing more than a shower with a sink and toilet shoved in beside it, with just as little ventilation besides. The door barely fits in the frame behind you as you shut it with your foot. As you turn the faucet, the water comes through the pipes with a high-pitched squeal and a rattle from behind the loose tiles, but it heats up quickly which is better than can be said for others of its ilk. You discard your worn clothes and step into the stream. You only stay under the water long enough to wash the smell of the city from your skin, but when you emerge out the mirror is fogged and the air is heavy with moisture. The scalding heat has burned you into a new person--or at least the one you have to be to survive the Understreets without the natural protection of the serum. As you wrap the towel around yourself, you reach out to smear your fingers across the moisture-fogged surface of the bathroom mirror. What stares back is someone you recognise all too well. At thirty you practically stopped againg altogether, thanks to some concoction halfway between science and madness. Supposesly, when they stuck that needle into your veins, the stuff was supposed to make you immortal, eternally unaging in a world left stagnant. And yet... you find a frown. Are those crows feet at the corners of your eyes? Sometimes you can't be sure whether the wrinkles set into your skin are from an aging process restarted, or by the long nights you spend in a stressful haze. Perhaps worse, you can't tell if they're even truly there at all, settling into your skin like a vacant home. You suppose age doesn't matter here of all places, yet the pit in your stomach grows deeper by the day, the bags under your eyes an eternal fixture upon your face. You certainly haven't aged, but your years in Ledala, underground, has matured you. You trace the creases of your cheek idly, pulling one of your lower lids down as if to smooth out the darkness settled in the skin there. You suppose your body is much the same; your advanced healing factor never quite returned after that fateful day on the surface. The scratch that still screams across your brow is proof of that alone, <<if $mc2statelimp is 1>>the fact that you still walk with a pronounced limp even ten years later is just the icing on that particularly bitter cake. You still have the scar to show it, too, running like a vein up from your ankle to your knee. Day by day it fades, but the pain persists on particularly cold days.<<elseif $mc2statelimp is 2>>nevermind that your mind has since gone silent of the monster that shared it. You glance down at your left arm, covered from shoulder to fingers in a layer of shaggy fur, simply hanging there limply at your side. You could control it if you needed, but there's always something lethargic about the movement, something heavy like a weight strapped to your wrist.<<else>> nevermind the countless scars you've since maintained that litters your body like a particularly grim garden.<</if>> It's... a strange feeling, collecting the signs of experience and myriad pains across the years, only to show themselves on a body that refuses to age. It somehow just feels... wrong. [[But that's just my curse.|ch2pg3201]] [[But it certainly wouldn't be the first thing that felt wrong about my body.|ch2pg3202]]

Your room can probably best be described as a fallout zone, an area of pure carnage you've never quite mustered up the energy to clear. Clothes litter the floor and what surfaces would otherwise be free, your sheets sit bundled on the bed in a pile from when you clambered out of it that morning, and you'd have better luck swiming through the mess to crack open a window than wading. You leave your clothes as they are, instead collecting your towel before padding into the bathroom. It's really nothing more than a shower with a sink and toilet shoved in beside it, with just as little ventilation besides. The door barely fits in the frame behind you as you shut it with your foot. As you turn the faucet, the water comes through the pipes with a high-pitched squeal and a rattle from behind the loose tiles, but it heats up quickly which is better than can be said for others of its ilk. You discard your worn clothes and step into the stream. You only stay under the water long enough to wash the smell of the city from your skin, but when you emerge out the mirror is fogged and the air is heavy with moisture. The scalding heat has burned you into a new person--or at least the one you have to be to survive the Understreets without the natural protection of the serum. As you wrap the towel around yourself, you reach out to smear your fingers across the moisture-fogged surface of the bathroom mirror. What stares back is someone you recognise all too well. At thirty you practically stopped againg altogether, thanks to some concoction halfway between science and madness. Supposesly, when they stuck that needle into your veins, the stuff was supposed to make you immortal, eternally unaging in a world left stagnant. And yet... you find a frown. Are those crows feet at the corners of your eyes? Sometimes you can't be sure whether the wrinkles set into your skin are from an aging process restarted, or by the long nights you spend in a stressful haze. Perhaps worse, you can't tell if they're even truly there at all, settling into your skin like a vacant home. You suppose age doesn't matter here of all places, yet the pit in your stomach grows deeper by the day, the bags under your eyes an eternal fixture upon your face. You certainly haven't aged, but your years in Ledala, underground, has matured you. You trace the creases of your cheek idly, pulling one of your lower lids down as if to smooth out the darkness settled in the skin there. You suppose your body is much the same; your advanced healing factor never quite returned after that fateful day on the surface. The scratch that still screams across your brow is proof of that alone, <<if $mc2statelimp is 1>>the fact that you still walk with a pronounced limp even ten years later is just the icing on that particularly bitter cake. You still have the scar to show it, too, running like a vein up from your ankle to your knee. Day by day it fades, but the pain persists on particularly cold days.<<elseif $mc2statelimp is 2>>nevermind that your mind has since gone silent of the monster that shared ot. You glance down at your left arm, covered from shoulder to fingers in a layer of shaggy fur, simply hanging there limply at your side. You could control it if you needed, but there's always something lethargic about the movement, something heavy like a weight strapped to your wrist.<<else>> nevermind the countless scars you've since maintained that litters your body like a particularly grim garden.<</if>> It's... a strange feeling, collecting the signs of experience and myriad pains across the years, only to show themselves on a body that refuses to age. It somehow just feels... wrong. [[But that's just my curse.|ch2pg3201]] [[But it certainly wouldn't be the first thing that felt wrong about my body.|ch2pg3202]]

If someone were to take a peek into your corner of the world, they probably wouldn't think much of it. Your sheets aren't quite lined up perfectly on the bed, and they certainly aren't colour coordinated enough to make it work but most of your surfaces are clear enough and it there is any clutter it appears //lived in// rather than messy. The being said, you don't have many baubles to your name, not enough to fill a box let alone be strewn about on every surface available. It just... never felt right, making the space your own. You leave your clothes as they are, instead collecting your towel before padding into the bathroom. It's really nothing more than a shower with a sink and toilet shoved in beside it, with just as little ventilation besides. The door barely fits in the frame behind you as you shut it with your foot. As you turn the faucet, the water comes through the pipes with a high-pitched squeal and a rattle from behind the loose tiles, but it heats up quickly which is better than can be said for others of its ilk. You discard your worn clothes and step into the stream. You only stay under the water long enough to wash the smell of the city from your skin, but when you emerge out the mirror is fogged and the air is heavy with moisture. The scalding heat has burned you into a new person--or at least the one you have to be to survive the Understreets without the natural protection of the serum. As you wrap the towel around yourself, you reach out to smear your fingers across the moisture-fogged surface of the bathroom mirror. What stares back is someone you recognise all too well. At thirty you practically stopped againg altogether, thanks to some concoction halfway between science and madness. Supposesly, when they stuck that needle into your veins, the stuff was supposed to make you immortal, eternally unaging in a world left stagnant. And yet... you find a frown. Are those crows feet at the corners of your eyes? Sometimes you can't be sure whether the wrinkles set into your skin are from an aging process restarted, or by the long nights you spend in a stressful haze. Perhaps worse, you can't tell if they're even truly there at all, settling into your skin like a vacant home. You suppose age doesn't matter here of all places, yet the pit in your stomach grows deeper by the day, the bags under your eyes an eternal fixture upon your face. You certainly haven't aged, but your years in Ledala, underground, has matured you. You trace the creases of your cheek idly, pulling one of your lower lids down as if to smooth out the darkness settled in the skin there. You suppose your body is much the same; your advanced healing factor never quite returned after that fateful day on the surface. The scratch that still screams across your brow is proof of that alone, <<if $mc2statelimp is 1>>the fact that you still walk with a pronounced limp even ten years later is just the icing on that particularly bitter cake. You still have the scar to show it, too, running like a vein up from your ankle to your knee. Day by day it fades, but the pain persists on particularly cold days.<<elseif $mc2statelimp is 2>>nevermind that your mind has since gone silent of the monster that shared it. You glance down at your left arm, covered from shoulder to fingers in a layer of shaggy fur, simply hanging there limply at your side. You could control it if you needed, but there's always something lethargic about the movement, something heavy like a weight strapped to your wrist.<<else>> nevermind the countless scars you've since maintained that litters your body like a particularly grim garden.<</if>> It's... a strange feeling, collecting the signs of experience and myriad pains across the years, only to show themselves on a body that refuses to age. It somehow just feels... wrong. [[But that's just my curse.|ch2pg3201]] [[But it certainly wouldn't be the first thing that felt wrong about my body.|ch2pg3202]]

Everyone has one thing or another, yours just seem... messier than others. You click your tongue and turn your attentions elsewhere; you have responsibilities to uphold, after all. You don't specifically require a uniform for your job, however, there are articals of clothing that you find help you to do it better. Set out on the bed is your choice for the day. [[An old boilersuit. It helps protect me while I'm working with potentially dangerous material. (you're a mechanic)|ch2pg3501][$job to "Mechanic"]] [[An apron. I don't want to be spilling food on myself, after all. (You run a food stall)|ch2pg3502][$job to "Stall Manager"]] [[Something clean, neat, without drawing too much attention to myself. (You are a stagehand)|ch2pg3503][$job to "Stagehand"]]

There's something //wrong// that lingers deep in your gut, curling cold fingers into your stomach and chilling you to ice. It's an eternal tightness in your chest, some kind of vice that threatens to crush you where you stand, cut off your blood supply just to watch your slow, painful death. Everyone has something that tightens that vice, deepens the burn life brands on their back, but the question remains. What is yours? [[Other than being trapped in a world not my own? How could I not feel wrong?|ch2pg3301]] [[My gender. It never quite lined up with how I thought it should be.|ch2pg3302][$trans to true]] [[I don't actually think of it like that, but my gender incongruence fits the bill well enough.|ch2pg3303][$trans to true]]

It's a nagging isolation, a niggling loneliness that tugs at the edges of your psyche when you have these spare moments alone with your thoughts. It hangs over you, an unrelenting weight upon your shoulders with that constant reminder that the world you knew as home is out of reach, the people you loved dead or otherwise gone. You don't even have the company of the monster in your head to quell that swell of abandonment in your chest, not anymore. If there is still life to live in your body, you certainly don't feel it. With a heavy swallow, you move to other things. You don't specifically require a uniform for your job, however, there are articals of clothing that you find help you to do it better. Set out on the bed is your choice for the day. [[An old boilersuit. It helps protect me while I'm working with potentially dangerous material. (you're a mechanic)|ch2pg3501][$job to "Mechanic"]] [[An apron. The rest doesn't matter much so long as I get nothing on it. (You run a food stall)|ch2pg3502][$job to "Stall Manager"]] [[Something clean, neat, without drawing too much attention to myself. (You are a stagehand)|ch2pg3503][$job to "Stagehand"]]

At home, gender was second always to whether you could properly fight; the people that loved you accepted you for who you were unconditionally and the world was generally a fine place to be in that regard, but there were always certain expectations put upon you, about how you were supposed to be. In the wrong company, there were always boxes, upon boxes, upon boxes you were forced to act within to be properly accepted as the person you reported to be. But as the years had dragged on, those people were becoming less and less vocal, and you'd determined how to evade them besides. Here in Ledala, however, gender seems something of a vague shrug to the people who have the means to get the care to transition. You've known and know of a fair few who have simply transitioned for the fun of it, never once regretting it if they later found they wanted to return to who they were before--or another gender entirely. It's... a distinctly stark difference to what you've always been used to, and yet there's a certain freedom to be had in a world that views gender as something to explore rather than something to settle on. Whether or not that is for you, however, you've reaped the benefits of a society that isn't interested in forcing you to jump through hoops just to prove who you are. Whatever choices you've made to affirm yourself, be they medical or not, you can't deny that in this place, no one has questioned you for it. Because in this place, it is simply not something //to// question. [[And I have used that to my advantage. (You have medically transitioned to at least some degree in Ledala)|ch2pg3401][$mc2transition to 1]] [[And I would have taken advantage of it if I hadn't already transitioned prior. (You had medically transition to some degree in the past)|ch2pg3402][$mc2transition to 2]] [[Even still, I have not taken advantage of these resources. (You have not medically transitioned)|ch2pg3403][$mc2transition to 3]] [[To be honest, none of this matters. (Keep it vague)|ch2pg3404][$mc2transition to 4]]

Say what you will about Ledala. Say what you will about it's immortal overlords and its downtrodden lower class, but let it not be said you haven't been able to become who you are today because of skilled, back-alley doctors willing to take your credits without questions. You move on from thoughts of your body to other, more important things. You don't specifically require a uniform for your job, however, there are articals of clothing that you find help you to do it better. Set out on the bed is your choice for the day. [[An old boilersuit. It helps protect me while I'm working with potentially dangerous material. (You're a mechanic)|ch2pg3501][$job to "Mechanic"]] [[An apron. I don't want to be spilling food on myself, after all. (You run a food stall)|ch2pg3502][$job to "Stall Manager"]] [[Something clean, neat, without drawing too much attention to myself. (You are a stagehand)|ch2pg3503][$job to "Stagehand"]]

You'd already long since made the decisions you'd wanted to make to change your body to fit yourself. Perhaps if you'd waited the process down in Ledala would have been more... seamless, would have had ways around the ever-healing serum in your body that threatened to redo all the hard work you'd put in. But that's what hindsight is for; knowing now what you hadn't known prior. You move on from thoughts of your body to other, more important things. You don't specifically require a uniform for your job, however, there are articals of clothing that you find help you to do it better. Set out on the bed is your choice for the day. [[An old boilersuit. It helps protect me while I'm working with potentially dangerous material. (You're a mechanic)|ch2pg3501][$job to "Mechanic"]] [[An apron. I don't want to be spilling food on myself, after all. (You run a food stall)|ch2pg3502][$job to "Stall Manager"]] [[Something clean, neat, without drawing too much attention to myself. (You are a stagehand)|ch2pg3503][$job to "Stagehand"]]

Whether you cannot or simply have chosen not to, it ultimately doesn't matter. You move on from lamentations of your body and instead get to work on readying yourself for the night. You don't specifically require a uniform for your job, however, there are articals of clothing that you find help you to do it better. Set out on the bed is your choice for the day. [[An old boilersuit. It helps protect me while I'm working with potentially dangerous material. (You're a mechanic)|ch2pg3501][$job to "Mechanic"]] [[An apron. I don't want to be spilling food on myself, after all. (You run a food stall)|ch2pg3502][$job to "Stall Manager"]] [[Something clean, neat, without drawing too much attention to myself. (You are a stagehand)|ch2pg3503][$job to "Stagehand"]]

<<set $met_kim to true>>What goes under the boilersuit... doesn't really matter; it keeps the elements and dangerous substances out while you work on the abandoned bio-tech of yesterday. Or at least, that's what you're supposed to be doing in theory. You shrug off that particular irritation as you pull yourself into your clothes, pausing only long enough to gather up some tools from the drawer beside the bed. Then, you're off, neglecting to leave a note for Arthur when he returns. He never does. As you step out into the smog-filled air once more, you can't help but look up at the city towering above you on its disk. It glows an unnatural white, acting as the sun to the denizens of the Understreets and casting you with a deep shadow. There is no natural light where you make your home, simulated or otherwise. The streets are lined with towering lanterns that shine an oppressive spotlight upon your head and the walls of the cavern reflect their reddish brown as far as the eye can see--which isn't particularly far in the low light. It's a drab place that only gets dimmer as you duck through a few thin alleyways and weave through crowded marketplaces and stores set up in the most unlikely of corners. Tucked away into a secluded alcove, where the Enforcers don't walk their trails, is //The Oilslick//. It's a building that's really more of a garage than a home, situated next to a sparse living-space that is better described as a shack. An old, neon sign hangs precariously from a hand-made display board, with a series of scrawled drawings, directions, and orders that you haven't yet been able to decipher. From inside, a loud, droning, thumping rhythm can be heard, barely contained by the thin walls of the home. It's what passes for 'music' in these parts, something merely to throw your body around to rather than strictly 'dance'. The door is unlocked for you, so you push it open after a steeling breath to prepare yourself for the incoming auditory onslaught. [[Continue|ch2pg36-1]]

<<set $met_strix to true>>You don't actually put the apron on immediately; instead you fold it up so it can sit neatly in a small bag slung over an arm. The rest of the outfit is comfortable--nothing that wouldn't devistate you if you found mystery stains on it at the end of the night. Not that... you really have any item of clothing that fits that particular bill. You don't linger when you're done, not even long enough to write out a note for Arthur when (if) he gets back home. He never does. As you step out into the smog-filled air once more, you can't help but look up at the city towering above you on its disk. It glows an unnatural white, acting as the sun to the denizens of the Understreets and casting you with a deep shadow. There is no natural light where you make your home, simulated or otherwise. The streets are lined with towering lanterns that shine an oppressive spotlight upon your head and the walls of the cavern reflect their reddish brown as far as the eye can see--which isn't particularly far in the low light. 'Thom's Bites', as it's come to be known, is set up relatively close by on the Main Street that runs the entire circut of the Under city. It's an old, slap-dash little thing that barely fits one person let alone the two your boss knows it can't accomodate. A hot plate sits square at one end and the metal board that serves as the counter is at the other, crowded over with condiments, storage space for cash, and some unneccesary extras that see little use. Out the back, there's a cold box that stores all the ingredients for the bread-based delicacy you hawk all night long. The little compartment of a storefront is located on a sidewalk, the blue, striped awning that serves as the only form of shelter sagging somewhat as the ropes used to secure it loosen with time. It sits blissfully patron-less when you arrive, manned only by an additional helper. A helper who's early. [[Continue.|ch2pg36-2]]

<<set $met_erato to true>>For tonight, you've picked out a pair of black slacks, a long sleeve shirt, and a dark overcoat in case it gets cold. While in theory you could get away with wearing just about anything, you'd rather not chance the ire of an irritated stage manager. After all, you're merely a stagehand at a local underground theatre. Pomp and spleandour is best left to the actors and costume department. You pull yourself into your clothing and briefly check the time before heading out. You don't leave a note; Arthur won't be home besides. As you step out into the smog-filled air once more, you can't help but look up at the city towering above you on its disk. It glows an unnatural white, acting as the sun to the denizens of the Understreets and casting you with a deep shadow. There is no natural light where you make your home, simulated or otherwise. The streets are lined with towering lanterns that shine an oppressive spotlight upon your head and the walls of the cavern reflect their reddish brown as far as the eye can see--which isn't particularly far in the low light. It's a fairly drab place to live but there are worse places to set up shop. The theatre is a relatively long walk from the main street that eventually takes you to the Elevator. No, you have to weave through alleys and carve your way through a few open bars and markets to finally wind up on the farthest edge of the Understreets. Enforcers don't really make their routes around these parts, paving the way for something of a culture to spring up where they least expect it. Underneath a neon nightclub of strobing lights and thumping music, down a tiny, concrete staircase, sits an inconspicuous door. Amidst the frenzy of dance and alcohol, you would almost be forgiven for missing it entirely. You push the door open and slip inside to the dimly lit hallway and then another set of stairs lined with old concrete. When you finally make your way down to that final step, however, the world before you opens up to a small assembly hall with a stage set deep into the stone on the other side of the underground compartment. You're not entirely sure what it was or who found it first, but this cramped space has since been turned into something of a community theatre. Old chairs sit in lines with the occasional table set between and the once-concrete walls have since been covered over by curtains to maintain a more comfortable atmosphere. Low-hanging light fixtures swing rhythmically above your head in time with the raging, stomping dancing taking place above you. As you weave through the rows of seating, you eye off the bar squirrelled away in a corner. It's a private thing; small enough only to fit one would-be tender willing to brave the intermission between acts. For now it sits vacant, but you know a few people on standby for when the theatre opens up to the public. Or if the production for the evenining has taken a turn for the worse in matters of quality. A relatively small collection of actors mills about upon the stage, reading their lines with varying degrees of enthusiasm as the myriad stagehands rush to complete their duties. Though you would certainly be forgiven for thinking you're late, even you know that a check of the time would tell you otherwise. Instead of worrying overlong, you shrug off your coat in the balmy atmosphere and climb onto the stage to find your boss. [[Continue|ch2pg36]]

It certainly doesn't take long for you to find your superior. Just tucked into the wings on the right side of the stage stands a slim individual with a smart vest adorned in silver embroidery and a perpetual frown creasing the space between their brows. <<if $rogender is "choice">>Erato, while not the owner of the theatre, is the closest person to a manager it's ever going to have. And your little workplace is all the better for it, despite certain grumblings. [[They are a sharp individual with a short but messy mop of black and grey curls that end at their neckline.|ch2stagegender][$erato_gender to "non"]] [[He is a sharply-dressed man with a short head of black and grey curls.|ch2stagegender][$erato_gender to "male"]] [[She is a well-kept woman with a thick bed of black and gray curls bundled haphazardly onto the top of her head.|ch2stagegender][$erato _gender to "female"]]<<else>>Erato, while not the owner of the theatre, is the closest person to a manager it's ever going to have. And your little workplace is all the better for it, despite certain grumblings. <<if $erato_gender is "non">>Their brown eyes find you sharply, peeking through their messy fringe of black and grey curls. There's a momentary flash of something angry there, as if speaking to a stranger, before their lips, which had previously curled into a sneer become a thin line once more. Erato takes a breath, shakes their head, before smoothing a shaking hand down the front of their perfectly creaseless vest. In the dim light their skin is ashen, compared to that usually natural tan bracketing a light brown on any other occasion. Eventually, the tightness fades from their face, and they look at you with a perfectly curated apathy. "It's you," They say, as if they don't know you through the tired lines forming under their eyes. "You're late."<<elseif $erato_gender is "male">><<set $erahe to "he">><<set $erahim to "him">><<set $erahis to "his">><<set $erahis2 to "his">><<set $erahimself to "himself">><<set $erahes to "he's">><<set $eraman to "man">>His brown eyes find you sharply, peeking through his messy fringe of black and grey curls. There's a momentary flash of something angry there, as if speaking to a stranger, before his lips, which had previously curled into a sneer become a thin line once more. Erato takes a breath, shakes his head, before smoothing a shaking hand down the front of his perfectly creaseless vest. In the dim light his skin is ashen, compared to that usually natural tan bracketing a light brown on any other occasion. Eventually, the tightness fades from his face, and he looks at you with a perfectly curated apathy. "It's you," He says, as if he doesn't know you through the tired lines forming under his eyes. "You're late."<<else>><<set $erahe to "she">><<set $erahim to "her">><<set $erahis to "her">><<set $erahis2 to "hers">><<set $erahimself to "herself">><<set $erahes to "she's">><<set $eraman to "woman">>Her brown eyes find you sharply, peeking through a messy veil of black and grey curls. There's a momentary flash of something angry there, as if speaking to a stranger, before her lips, which had previously curled into a sneer become a thin line once more. Erato takes a breath, shakes her head, before smoothing a shaking hand down the front of her perfectly creaseless vest. In the dim light her skin is ashen, compared to that usually natural tan bracketing a light brown on any other occasion. Eventually, the tightness fades from her face, and she looks at you with a perfectly curated apathy. "It's you," She says, as if she doesn't know you through the tired lines forming under her eyes. "You're late."<</if>><</if>> You both know you aren't. [[''Maybe tell that to someone who's willing to take that shit.''|ch2stage0101][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''Sorry about that, I got lost.''|ch2stage0102][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[I simply wait for Erato to continue.|ch2stage0103][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''I'm not, you're just early.''|ch2stage0104]] [[''I'm early, actually. I won't be late for another five minutes.''|ch2stage0105][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]]

Erato's frown softens, lips curling downward as if to fight back the lingering irritation threatening to tear $erahis face asunder. Eventually, it dissolves from $erahis lips entirely, brows tipping upwards as they let out a long, slow sigh through a slack jaw. "I'm sorry," <<if $erato_gender is "non">>They admit,<<elseif $erato_gender is "female">>She admits,<<else>>He admits,<</if>> "That was unfair." "It was," You reply, arms folding as you share a look with your boss. Officially speaking, you're just another stagehand here to help out on busy days like dress-rehearsals and show nights. Unofficially, however, you're more of a personal assistant to the manager $erahimself. There are plenty of stagehands to go around, but only one of you who's subtle and quick-witted enough to fix all the problems Erato finds amidst perfection. Or imperfection, as the current state of affairs may be. Sharp eyes find the plaster at your temple, and that frown returns in full force once more. "You're hurt," A statement, not a question, as $erahis fingers curl around the stack of papers. They crinkle and protest in $erahis hands, but $erahis attentions no longer lie in the scrawling text on parchment. Instead, $erahis lips tighten, eyes once more widening in an overwhelmed frustration. "What happened? Do you need to take the day?" Erato's gaze flounders, shifts down to $erahis shoes as $erahe <<if $erahe is "they">>calculate<<else>>calculates<</if>> the cost of losing the single employee capable of keeping them from spiraling into a pit of despair. [[''I just walked into a wall on my way here. Nothing to worry about.''|ch2stage0201][$manip to $manip +=.05]] [[''We're not worrying about me right now. What's gone wrong?''|ch2stage0202][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''I wouldn't be here if I planned on leaving early.''|ch2stage0203][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''You worry too much. Do you ever get out of that head of yours?''|ch2stage0204][$reck to $reck +=.05]]

You take the accusation in stride, placating the stressed pillar of bones before with a simple smile. Erato takes you in, eyes of deep brown flittering across your face before that frown of $erahis crumbles entirely. "I'm sorry," Comes $erahis next words, entirely expected even in $erahis anger. A breath comes, then another, trickling through clenched teeth, "You're not late, you're right on time that was..." This time, Erato sucks the breath back in, something unsteady, "Unfair. Did you... //actually// get lost?" "Maybe," You shrug, arms folding as you share a look with your boss. Officially speaking, you're just another stagehand here to help out on busy days like dress-rehearsals and show nights. Unofficially, however, you're more of a personal assistant to the manager $erahimself. There are plenty of stagehands to go around, but only one of you who's subtle and quick-witted enough to fix all the problems Erato finds amidst perfection. Or imperfection, as the current state of affairs may be. Sharp eyes find the plaster at your temple, and that frown returns in full force once more. "You're hurt," A statement, not a question, as $erahis fingers curl around the stack of papers. They crinkle and protest in $erahis hands, but $erahis attentions no longer lie in the scrawling text on parchment. Instead, $erahis lips tighten, eyes once more widening in an overwhelmed frustration. "What happened? Do you need to take the day?" Erato's gaze flounders, shifts down to $erahis shoes as $erahe <<if $erahe is "they">>calculate<<else>>calculates<</if>> the cost of losing the single employee capable of keeping them from spiraling into a pit of despair. [[''I just walked into a wall on my way here. Nothing to worry about.''|ch2stage0201][$manip to $manip +=.05]] [[''We're not worrying about me right now. What's gone wrong?''|ch2stage0202][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''I wouldn't be here if I planned on leaving early.''|ch2stage0203][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''You worry too much. Do you ever get out of that head of yours?''|ch2stage0204][$reck to $reck +=.05]]

Your eyes lock with dark, wine browns for a moment, staring hard until one of you relents. This day, patience is not on Erato's side and cringe finds its way onto $erahis face before those eyes leave you entirely. "My apologies. I didn't mean..." "You did, but that's fine," You reply, arms folding as you share a look with your boss. Officially speaking, you're just another stagehand here to help out on busy days like dress-rehearsals and show nights. Unofficially, however, you're more of a personal assistant to the manager $erahimself. There are plenty of stagehands to go around, but only one of you who's subtle and quick-witted enough to fix all the problems Erato finds amidst perfection. Or imperfection, as the current state of affairs may be. Sharp eyes find the plaster at your temple, and that frown returns in full force once more. "You're hurt," A statement, not a question, as $erahis fingers curl around the stack of papers. They crinkle and protest in $erahis hands, but $erahis attentions no longer lie in the scrawling text on parchment. Instead, $erahis lips tighten, eyes once more widening in an overwhelmed frustration. "What happened? Do you need to take the day?" Erato's gaze flounders, shifts down to $erahis shoes as $erahe <<if $erahe is "they">>calculate<<else>>calculates<</if>> the cost of losing the single employee capable of keeping them from spiraling into a pit of despair. [[''I just walked into a wall on my way here. Nothing to worry about.''|ch2stage0201][$manip to $manip +=.05]] [[''We're not worrying about me right now. What's gone wrong?''|ch2stage0202][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''I wouldn't be here if I planned on leaving early.''|ch2stage0203][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''You worry too much. Do you ever get out of that head of yours?''|ch2stage0204][$reck to $reck +=.05]]

For just the briefest of moments, Erato's frown deepens; a dark thing that pulls at the lines stretched into $erahis skin. Before either of you can linger on it for too long, however, your boss sighs and shakes $erahis head, <<if $erahe is "she">>curls flying left and right even with the smallest of motion.<<else>>curls stiff and stubborn atop $erahis head.<</if>> "Even so..." That inkling of complaint dies as soon as voice is given to them and instead your boss trails off with a reluctant murmur. "I'm sorry. This was unfair." "It was," You reply, arms folding as you share a look with your boss. Officially speaking, you're just another stagehand here to help out on busy days like dress-rehearsals and show nights. Unofficially, however, you're more of a personal assistant to the manager $erahimself. There are plenty of stagehands to go around, but only one of you who's subtle and quick-witted enough to fix all the problems Erato finds amidst perfection. Or imperfection, as the current state of affairs may be. Sharp eyes find the plaster at your temple, and that frown returns in full force once more. "You're hurt," A statement, not a question, as $erahis fingers curl around the stack of papers. They crinkle and protest in $erahis hands, but $erahis attentions no longer lie in the scrawling text on parchment. Instead, $erahis lips tighten, eyes once more widening in an overwhelmed frustration. "What happened? Do you need to take the day?" Erato's gaze flounders, shifts down to $erahis shoes as $erahe <<if $erahe is "they">>calculate<<else>>calculates<</if>> the cost of losing the single employee capable of keeping them from spiraling into a pit of despair. [[''I just walked into a wall on my way here. Nothing to worry about.''|ch2stage0201][$manip to $manip +=.05]] [[''We're not worrying about me right now. What's gone wrong?''|ch2stage0202][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''I wouldn't be here if I planned on leaving early.''|ch2stage0203][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''You worry too much. Do you ever get out of that head of yours?''|ch2stage0204][$reck to $reck +=.05]]

<<if $erato_gender is "non">>Their brown eyes find you sharply, peeking through their messy fringe. There's a momentary flash of something angry there, as if speaking to a stranger, before their lips, which had previously curled into a sneer become a thin line once more. Erato takes a breath, shakes their head, before smoothing a shaking hand down the front of their perfectly creaseless vest. In the dim light their skin is ashen, compared to that usually natural tan bracketing a light brown on any other occasion. Eventually, the tightness fades from their face, and they look at you with a perfectly curated apathy. "It's you," They say, as if they don't know you through the tired lines forming under their eyes. "You're late."<<elseif $erato_gender is "male">><<set $erahe to "he">><<set $erahim to "him">><<set $erahis to "his">><<set $erahis2 to "his">><<set $erahimself to "himself">><<set $erahes to "he's">><<set $eraman to "man">>His brown eyes find you sharply, peeking through his untended fringe. There's a momentary flash of something angry there, as if speaking to a stranger, before his lips, which had previously curled into a sneer become a thin line once more. Erato takes a breath, shakes his head, before smoothing a shaking hand down the front of his perfectly creaseless vest. In the dim light his skin is ashen, compared to that usually natural tan bracketing a light brown on any other occasion. Eventually, the tightness fades from his face, and he looks at you with a perfectly curated apathy. "It's you," He says, as if he doesn't know you through the tired lines forming under his eyes. "You're late."<<else>><<set $erahe to "she">><<set $erahim to "her">><<set $erahis to "her">><<set $erahis2 to "hers">><<set $erahimself to "herself">><<set $erahes to "she's">><<set $eraman to "woman">>Her brown eyes find you sharply, peeking through her messy veil of black and grey. There's a momentary flash of something angry there, as if speaking to a stranger, before her lips, which had previously curled into a sneer become a thin line once more. Erato takes a breath, shakes her head, before smoothing a shaking hand down the front of her perfectly creaseless vest. In the dim light her skin is ashen, compared to that usually natural tan bracketing a light brown on any other occasion. Eventually, the tightness fades from her face, and she looks at you with a perfectly curated apathy. "It's you," She says, as if she doesn't know you through the tired lines forming under her eyes. "You're late."<</if>><</if>> You both know you aren't. [''Maybe tell that to someone who's willing to take that shit.''|ch2stage0101][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''Sorry about that, I got lost.''|ch2stage0102][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[I simply wait for Erato to continue.|ch2stage0103][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''I'm not, you're just early.''|ch2stage0104]] [[''I'm early, actually. I won't be late for another five minutes.''|ch2stage0105][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]]

<<set $erato_r +=.05>>Erato graces you with a long-suffering stare, a cringe crawling its way across $erahis face as $erahis thoughts linger overlong on the logistics of such an accident. With a slow sigh, <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they let<<else>>$erahe lets<</if>> the thought go. "So long as it doesn't become a problem," Comes the quiet reply, a hardened exterior smothering the uncertain discomfort deepening the frown lines across $erahis face. Eventually, Erato gathers $erahis thoughts into a well-rehearsed facade of neutral passion and beckons you into the backstage area proper. As Erato spins on $erahis heel to stride effortlessly into the dim, you take note of where the props and costumes now sit, as well as anything that may turn out to be future obstacles. It's coming up to the final rehearsal night and everything sits haphazard and unfinished; backdrops still need painting, music scores need to be polished, and the costumes need to be patched up after someone tore holes in the weakest seams. "Everything's going wrong." Erato states. It isn't an opinion, it isn't born from the worrying mind of an overstressed team lead, no, it is a simple point of fact that Erato has now elected to make your problem. "The bar isn't properly stocked--and Ancients we'll need it if Dagan doesn't polish up those pipes, the lights in the green room are starting to go, and to top off an already painful cake our lead actress has gone missing. We can't contact her, her apartment's been cleared out, she's gone." A few weeks out from show day and that last one isn't... great. Erato takes a breath, teeth grinding as <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they push<<else>>$erahe pushes open<</if>> the door to $erahis meagre offering of an office and leads you inside. Only then does the stack of paper clutched in your boss' hands clatter to the desk with a heavy //thwack//, shoulders tense. Erato doesn't turn to look at you as <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they lean their full weight against the desk, caring little for the creak of protest the old wood provides.<<else>>$erahe leans $erahis full weight against the desk, caring little for the creak of protest the old wood provides.<</if>> [[''Well, I can't much help with that last one, but the other two seem relatively easy to fix.''|ch2stage0301][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''Sounds like she got her first taste of the disk and never looked back.''|ch2stage0302][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''The first thing we can do is just take some deep breaths. Because only one of those things sounds like a big problem.''|ch2stage0303][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''Are... you okay, boss?''|ch2stage0304][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[First things first. I get Erato a drink.|ch2stafe0305][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]]

Erato's lips curl inwards, a weak protest without sound or backing. With barely a grunt of vague acknowledgment, however, your boss moves on. Even if $erahis eyes linger at the plaster at your hairline. Erato gathers $erahis thoughts into a well-rehearsed facade of neutral passion and beckons you into the backstage area proper. As Erato spins on $erahis heel to stride effortlessly into the dim, you take note of where the props and costumes now sit, as well as anything that may turn out to be future obstacles. It's coming up to the final rehearsal night and everything sits haphazard and unfinished; backdrops still need painting, music scores need to be polished, and the costumes need to be patched up after someone tore holes in the weakest seams. "Everything's going wrong." Erato states. It isn't an opinion, it isn't born from the worrying mind of an overstressed team lead, no, it is a simple point of fact that Erato has now elected to make your problem. "The bar isn't properly stocked--and Ancients we'll need it if Dagan doesn't polish up those pipes, the lights in the green room are starting to go, and to top off an already painful cake our lead actress has gone missing. We can't contact her, her apartment's been cleared out, she's gone." A few weeks out from show day and that last one isn't... great. Erato takes a breath, teeth grinding as <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they push<<else>>$erahe pushes open<</if>> the door to $erahis meagre offering of an office and leads you inside. Only then does the stack of paper clutched in your boss' hands clatter to the desk with a heavy //thwack//, shoulders tense. Erato doesn't turn to look at you as <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they lean their full weight against the desk, caring little for the creak of protest the old wood provides.<<else>>$erahe leans $erahis full weight against the desk, caring little for the creak of protest the old wood provides.<</if>> [[''Well, I can't much help with that last one, but the other two seem relatively easy to fix.''|ch2stage0301][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''Sounds like she got her first taste of the disk and never looked back.''|ch2stage0302][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''The first thing we can do is just take some deep breaths. Because only one of those things sounds like a big problem.''|ch2stage0303][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''Are... you okay, boss?''|ch2stage0304][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[First things first. I get Erato a drink.|ch2stafe0305][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]]

Erato offers you a long, world-weary look that doesn't go very far if you were looking to convince $erahim. Lips pull downward, creasing at the corners as those cool, brown eyes flutter to get a look at your forehead once more. With a sigh Erato shakes $erahis head, the frown well and truly set on $erahis face now. "If you say so." Erato gathers $erahis thoughts into a well-rehearsed facade of neutral passion and beckons you into the backstage area proper. As Erato spins on $erahis heel to stride effortlessly into the dim, you take note of where the props and costumes now sit, as well as anything that may turn out to be future obstacles. It's coming up to the final rehearsal night and everything sits haphazard and unfinished; backdrops still need painting, music scores need to be polished, and the costumes need to be patched up after someone tore holes in the weakest seams. "Everything's going wrong." Erato states. It isn't an opinion, it isn't born from the worrying mind of an overstressed team lead, no, it is a simple point of fact that Erato has now elected to make your problem. "The bar isn't properly stocked--and Ancients we'll need it if Dagna doesn't polish up those pipes, the lights in the green room are starting to go, and to top off an already painful cake our lead actress has gone missing. We can't contact her, her apartment's been cleared out, she's gone." A few weeks out from show day and that last one isn't... great. Erato takes a breath, teeth grinding as <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they push<<else>>$erahe pushes open<</if>> the door to $erahis meagre offering of an office and leads you inside. Only then does the stack of paper clutched in your boss' hands clatter to the desk with a heavy //thwack//, shoulders tense. Erato doesn't turn to look at you as <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they lean their full weight against the desk, caring little for the creak of protest the old wood provides.<<else>>$erahe leans $erahis full weight against the desk, caring little for the creak of protest the old wood provides.<</if>> [[''Well, I can't much help with that last one, but the other two seem relatively easy to fix.''|ch2stage0301][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''Sounds like she got her first taste of the disk and never looked back.''|ch2stage0302][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''The first thing we can do is just take some deep breaths. Because only one of those things sounds like a big problem.''|ch2stage0303][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''Are... you okay, boss?''|ch2stage0304][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[First things first. I get Erato a drink.|ch2stafe0305][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]]

"Maybe we could both learn from each other's experiences," Erato levels you with a dour look, brown eyes narrowing in half-repressed pain as it only grows into a migrain at the front of their head. You offer a smile, your boss blinks and moves on from the topic. Erato gathers $erahis thoughts into a well-rehearsed facade of neutral passion and beckons you into the backstage area proper. As Erato spins on $erahis heel to stride effortlessly into the dim, you take note of where the props and costumes now sit, as well as anything that may turn out to be future obstacles. It's coming up to the final rehearsal night and everything sits haphazard and unfinished; backdrops still need painting, music scores need to be polished, and the costumes need to be patched up after someone tore holes in the weakest seams. "Everything's going wrong." Erato states. It isn't an opinion, it isn't born from the worrying mind of an overstressed team lead, no, it is a simple point of fact that Erato has now elected to make your problem. "The bar isn't properly stocked--and Ancients we'll need it if Dagan doesn't polish up those pipes, the lights in the green room are starting to go, and to top off an already painful cake our lead actress has gone missing. We can't contact her, her apartment's been cleared out, she's gone." A few weeks out from show day and that last one isn't... great. Erato takes a breath, teeth grinding as <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they push<<else>>$erahe pushes open<</if>> the door to $erahis meagre offering of an office and leads you inside. Only then does the stack of paper clutched in your boss' hands clatter to the desk with a heavy //thwack//, shoulders tense. Erato doesn't turn to look at you as <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they lean their full weight against the desk, caring little for the creak of protest the old wood provides.<<else>>$erahe leans $erahis full weight against the desk, caring little for the creak of protest the old wood provides.<</if>> [[''Well, I can't much help with that last one, but the other two seem relatively easy to fix.''|ch2stage0301][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''Sounds like she got her first taste of the disk and never looked back.''|ch2stage0302][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''The first thing we can do is just take some deep breaths. Because only one of those things sounds like a big problem.''|ch2stage0303][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''Are... you okay, boss?''|ch2stage0304][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[First things first. I get Erato a drink.|ch2stafe0305][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]]

"I have an idea," You say, sidling up beside Erato to look $erahim in the eye. It doesn't quite stick, instead a pair of unsteady brown eyes find you and see nothing comforting in your focused stare. Erato's mouth twitches downward, eyes scrunching up as the rest of $erahis face meets together in the middle. Slim fingers tap a rhythm against the desk in hidden irritation. "I'll take care of the easy things; replace that lightbulb, buy an entire cart's worth of alcohol if I need to. In the meantime, you grab yourself a drink and figure out who's replacing our missing actress. Sound good?" Erato doesn't immediately answer, expression numb as you cast your gaze over the tiny room. It's... a cramped space; a tiny square of an office shoved into an old supply closet. The walls of old concrete have been hastily pasted over with some kind of wallpaper, peeling at the edges where it remains forgotten. Or ignored. Just about the only thing that can fit in here is the desk and a single filing cabinet, but even that's a stretch when you bump one or the other just to eke through the door. Eventually, Erato sighs and offers a slow nod. "Right," <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they breathe,<<else>>$erahe breathes,<</if>> an unsteady stream of air eking through clenched teeth. Erato nods again after a time, more firm, more sure, "Yes, you get to that and I... I'll..." Erato wobbles on $erahis feet momentarily, the magnitude of the task before $erahim too great for one $eraman. "Or," You suggest, your patience straining at the edges. "I can help when I'm done." That's the suggestion that fully propells your boss to full functionality, like a phrase digging deep into the ugly, angry parts of $erahis mind and rebooting all $erahis systems. Erato peers at you, mouth curling into a neutral scowl not necessarily directed at you. "No," <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they say,<<else>>$erahe says<</if>> "It's my job, I'll do it. I just wish I knew anyone who knew how to memorise a script in... a week." [[''I'm sure you could. You proof all the scripts, don't you?''|ch2stage0401][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''Well, all else fails you can always order me to take the part.'' I mean this as a joke.|ch2stage0402][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''I mean... I suppose I could always do it. If you don't find anyone else, that is.''|ch2stage0403][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''You'll figure it out. You're smart when you aren't panicking.''|ch2stage0404][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]]

"I don't care //why// she's gone," Erato snaps, rolling $erahis eyes with a upturned smile. That frown tugs at $erahis cheeks, pulling downward into something resembling a pout. "Just that now we're in a position where we're forced to replace her." "Relax," You say, reaching out to give them a nudge, "There's a very simple solution to all this." Your touch grants you their attention, briefly, however it doesn't quite stick. A pair of unsteady brown eyes find you and see nothing comforting in your focused stare. Erato's mouth twitches downward, eyes scrunching up as the rest of $erahis face meets together in the middle. Slim fingers tap a rhythm against the desk in hidden irritation. "I'll take care of the easy things; replace that lightbulb, buy an entire cart's worth of alcohol if I need to. In the meantime, you grab yourself a drink and figure out who's replacing our missing actress. Sound good?" Erato doesn't immediately answer, expression numb as you cast your gaze over the tiny room. It's... a cramped space; a tiny square of an office shoved into an old supply closet. The walls of old concrete have been hastily pasted over with some kind of wallpaper, peeling at the edges where it remains forgotten. Or ignored. Just about the only thing that can fit in here is the desk and a single filing cabinet, but even that's a stretch when you bump one or the other just to eke through the door. Eventually, Erato sighs and offers a slow nod. "Right," <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they breathe,<<else>>$erahe breathes,<</if>> an unsteady stream of air eking through clenched teeth. Erato nods again after a time, more firm, more sure, "Yes, you get to that and I... I'll..." Erato wobbles on $erahis feet momentarily, the magnitude of the task before $erahim too great for one $eraman. "Or," You suggest, your patience straining at the edges. "I can help when I'm done." That's the suggestion that fully propells your boss to full functionality, like a phrase digging deep into the ugly, angry parts of $erahis mind and rebooting all $erahis systems. Erato peers at you, mouth curling into a neutral scowl not necessarily directed at you. "No," <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they say,<<else>>$erahe says<</if>> "It's my job, I'll do it. I just wish I knew anyone who knew how to memorise a script in... a week." [[''I'm sure you could. You proof all the scripts, don't you?''|ch2stage0401][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''Well, all else fails you can always order me to take the part.'' I mean this as a joke.|ch2stage0402][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''I mean... I suppose I could always do it. If you don't find anyone else, that is.''|ch2stage0403][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''You'll figure it out. You're smart when you aren't panicking.''|ch2stage0404][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]]

"Admittedly, it's a big problem," You relent, clamping a hand onto Erato's thin shoulder. It feels bony under your fingers, even under the vest. "But nothing that can't be solved with a bit of hard work. You're good at that." You offer a smile, something you try to believe is comforting instead of an awkward mask on your face. It doesn't quite stick, instead a pair of unsteady brown eyes find you and see nothing consoling in your focused stare. Erato's mouth twitches downward, eyes scrunching up as the rest of $erahis face meets together in the middle. Slim fingers tap a rhythm against the desk in hidden irritation. "I'll take care of the easy things; replace that lightbulb, buy an entire cart's worth of alcohol if I need to. In the meantime, you grab yourself a drink and figure out who's replacing our missing actress. Sound good?" Erato doesn't immediately answer, expression numb as you cast your gaze over the tiny room. It's... a cramped space; a tiny square of an office shoved into an old supply closet. The walls of old concrete have been hastily pasted over with some kind of wallpaper, peeling at the edges where it remains forgotten. Or ignored. Just about the only thing that can fit in here is the desk and a single filing cabinet, but even that's a stretch when you bump one or the other just to eke through the door. Eventually, Erato sighs and offers a slow nod. "Right," <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they breathe,<<else>>$erahe breathes,<</if>> an unsteady stream of air eking through clenched teeth. Erato nods again after a time, more firm, more sure, "Yes, you get to that and I... I'll..." Erato wobbles on $erahis feet momentarily, the magnitude of the task before $erahim too great for one $eraman. "Or," You suggest, your patience straining at the edges. "I can help when I'm done." That's the suggestion that fully propells your boss to full functionality, like a phrase digging deep into the ugly, angry parts of $erahis mind and rebooting all $erahis systems. Erato peers at you, mouth curling into a neutral scowl not necessarily directed at you. "No," <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they say,<<else>>$erahe says<</if>> "It's my job, I'll do it. I just wish I knew anyone who knew how to memorise a script in... a week." [[''I'm sure you could. You proof all the scripts, don't you?''|ch2stage0401][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''Well, all else fails you can always order me to take the part.'' I mean this as a joke.|ch2stage0402][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''I mean... I suppose I could always do it. If you don't find anyone else, that is.''|ch2stage0403][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''You'll figure it out. You're smart when you aren't panicking.''|ch2stage0404][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]]

Erato considers the question, lips pursing as brown eyes shift upwards as if beseeching the Gods on their disk. When no answer comes with any rush, $erahis shoulders slacken as if the strings holding them up have been snapped. "I'm fine," <<$erahe is "they">>they lie<<else>>$erahe lies<</if>>, turning away from you as if that would convince you more. Under your probing stare their head sags, <<if $erahe is "she>>her hair falling in tight coils over her turned face.<<else>>frown tightening in clear view with nothing to hide behind.<</if>> "I believe you," You match $erahis lie, wrapping a hand lightly around $erahis upper arm in what you hope is a comforting touch. Muscles tighten momentarily, before slowly easing. Erato's mouth twitches downward, eyes scrunching up as the rest of $erahis face meets together in the middle. Slim fingers tap a rhythm against the desk in hidden irritation. "I'll take care of the easy things; replace that lightbulb, buy an entire cart's worth of alcohol if I need to. In the meantime, you grab yourself a drink and figure out who's replacing our missing actress. Sound good?" Erato doesn't immediately answer, expression numb as you cast your gaze over the tiny room. It's... a cramped space; a tiny square of an office shoved into an old supply closet. The walls of old concrete have been hastily pasted over with some kind of wallpaper, peeling at the edges where it remains forgotten. Or ignored. Just about the only thing that can fit in here is the desk and a single filing cabinet, but even that's a stretch when you bump one or the other just to eke through the door. Eventually, Erato sighs and offers a slow nod. "Right," <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they breathe,<<else>>$erahe breathes,<</if>> an unsteady stream of air eking through clenched teeth. Erato nods again after a time, more firm, more sure, "Yes, you get to that and I... I'll..." Erato wobbles on $erahis feet momentarily, the magnitude of the task before $erahim too great for one $eraman. "Or," You suggest, your patience straining at the edges. "I can help when I'm done." That's the suggestion that fully propells your boss to full functionality, like a phrase digging deep into the ugly, angry parts of $erahis mind and rebooting all $erahis systems. Erato peers at you, mouth curling into a neutral scowl not necessarily directed at you. "No," <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they say,<<else>>$erahe says<</if>> "It's my job, I'll do it. I just wish I knew anyone who knew how to memorise a script in... a week." [[''I'm sure you could. You proof all the scripts, don't you?''|ch2stage0401][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''Well, all else fails you can always order me to take the part.'' I mean this as a joke.|ch2stage0402][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''I mean... I suppose I could always do it. If you don't find anyone else, that is.''|ch2stage0403][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''You'll figure it out. You're smart when you aren't panicking.''|ch2stage0404][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]]

"Just a moment, I'll be right back," You leave Erato with that simple set of words before making your hasty exit, $erahis dismay morphing into an expression of halted confusion if not a little bit of wrath. For your part, you slide past the practising actors and clambering stagehand, and wander back out to the bar. There, you gather some water in a metal cup (//water!//) and a bottle of cherry wine you've seen Erato stow away when <<if $erahe is "they">>they think<<else>>$erahe thinks<</if>> no one else is looking. You don't linger long, juggling the pair of cups in one hand as you make your way back to Erato's office. Your boss still lingers where you left $erahim, wide-eyed and mouth hanging so low it practically reaches the ground. "I have an idea," You say, offering both cups. Numbly, a pair of shaky hands reach out to accept the offering. Erato's mouth twitches downward as they stare into the liquid in one of $erahis cups, eyes scrunching up as the rest of $erahis face meets together in the middle. A slim index finger taps an unsteady rhythm against one of the cup. "I'll take care of the easy things; replace that lightbulb, buy an entire cart's worth of alcohol if I need to. In the meantime, you grab yourself a drink and figure out who's replacing our missing actress. Sound good?" Erato doesn't immediately answer, expression numb as you cast your gaze over the tiny room. It's... a cramped space; a tiny square of an office shoved into an old supply closet. The walls of old concrete have been hastily pasted over with some kind of wallpaper, peeling at the edges where it remains forgotten. Or ignored. Just about the only thing that can fit in here is the desk and a single filing cabinet, but even that's a stretch when you bump one or the other just to eke through the door. Eventually, Erato sighs and offers a slow nod. "Right," <<if $erato_gender is "non">>they breathe,<<else>>$erahe breathes,<</if>> an unsteady stream of air eking through clenched teeth. Erato nods again after a time, more firm, more sure, "Yes, you get to that and I... I'll..." Erato wobbles on $erahis feet momentarily, the magnitude of the task before $erahim too great for one $eraman. There's a pause, too long, before they down both drinks with a resigned sigh. "I'll figure it out. I just wish I knew anyone who knew how to memorise a script in... a week." [[''I'm sure you could. You proof all the scripts, don't you?''|ch2stage0401][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''Well, all else fails you can always order me to take the part.'' I mean this as a joke.|ch2stage0402][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''I mean... I suppose I could always do it. If you don't find anyone else, that is.''|ch2stage0403][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''You'll figure it out. You're smart when you aren't panicking.''|ch2stage0404][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]]

<<set $actor to 1>>A cringe crawls across your boss' thin face, a pair of plump lips spreading thin around a mouthful of bared teeth. "I... don't think..." <<if $erahe is "they">>they start to say<<else>>$erahe starts to say<</if>> but you cut off that particular line of thought with a grin. "You don't //need// to think too hard," You remind $erahim. "It doesn't need to be forever. Hell, this could be your one and only act for all I care, but you can't deny that you're the best pick if we're working on a deadline." For better or for worse, Erato doesn't reply, simply turning from you with that cringe fading to... thoughfulness. If not convinced $erahim, you've certainly given $erahim something to ponder. That's enough, for the moment. No more needs to be said, and for now you briefly separate to go about your work. For you, this means slipping out the back with a pocketful of credits and the hope that you can find what you're looking for before Erato pops another gasket. The air is stagnant when you exit out into the acrid night. Lanterns are hung up and left on every surface they can fit, lighting your way through the streets. While not nearly as active as the day, night in the understreets is the promise of adventure. Here, people of all stripes lay their claim to what ground space there is to stand upon just to experience all there is to offer. Some nights it's little more than drunken revelry and all that entails, others some folks get together and set up an old holo-vid onto a projector against a white-painted wall. All nights like this one, however, offer trade and commerce. Small stalls line the street, often ramshackle. Though a relatively quiet affair--there isn't much hawking, more so quiet conversation as if between friends. You grab a box of old, in-the-box lightbulbs, a technology that those upon the disk have long since surpassed. Your next stop brings you to a relatively isolated stall on the street, covered over by specially dyed cloth to shield young onlookers from the horrors within. The storefront's primary ware is bootleg alcohol or drinks otherwise made without the miracle of industry. In other words, this was mostly made in someone's tub, grime and all. Well, you've certainly imbibed worse in your day. You collect what you need, ensuring to grab a little bit of everything, for once glad it isn't your credits in use for this purchase. In the dim, you spot a particularly dark bottle of red wine and wonder partially out loud if you should get it for your own personal stash. It's not overly expensive, nor is it of particularly higher quality than the rest, but the bottle stands out only in the way that a bottle of wine can--through an overabundance of design on the label. This probably came from up top. [[I don't really drink but I may as well. Maybe someone else will share it with me.|ch2stage0501][$wine to true]] [[I don't drink, so I discard the thought.|ch2stage0502]] [[I don't even like wine... but what the hells? Maybe someone else does.|ch2stage0503][$wine to true]] [[Oh, I like a good wine on occasion. May as well.|ch2stage0504][$wine to true]] [[This is silly, why would I buy that?|ch2stage0505]]

<<set $actor to 2>>Your jest, however falls mostly flat as Erato considers your words in full seriousness. Brown eyes narrow and pursed lips tighten further, peering at you as if, for the first time ever, Erato is actually looking //at// you rather than through you. You backtrack, "I just meant it as--" "No, no, that's not the worst idea." Erato says, tapping $erahis chin in thoughtful contemplation. Suddenly, you're regretting opening your mouth at all. Eventually, the moment fades, Erato snapping from $erahis stupor with an expression of pure seriousness. No more needs to be said, and for now you briefly separate to go about your work. For you, this means slipping out the back with a pocketful of credits and the hope that you can find what you're looking for before Erato pops another gasket. The air is stagnant when you exit out into the acrid night. Lanterns are hung up and left on every surface they can fit, lighting your way through the streets. While not nearly as active as the day, night in the understreets is the promise of adventure. Here, people of all stripes lay their claim to what ground space there is to stand upon just to experience all there is to offer. Some nights it's little more than drunken revelry and all that entails, others some folks get together and set up an old holo-vid onto a projector against a white-painted wall. All nights like this one, however, offer trade and commerce. Small stalls line the street, often ramshackle. Though a relatively quiet affair--there isn't much hawking, more so quiet conversation as if between friends. You grab a box of old, in-the-box lightbulbs, a technology that those upon the disk have long since surpassed. Your next stop brings you to a relatively isolated stall on the street, covered over by specially dyed cloth to shield young onlookers from the horrors within. The storefront's primary ware is bootleg alcohol or drinks otherwise made without the miracle of industry. In other words, this was mostly made in someone's tub, grime and all. Well, you've certainly imbibed worse in your day. You collect what you need, ensuring to grab a little bit of everything, for once glad it isn't your credits in use for this purchase. In the dim, however, you spot a particularly dark bottle of red wine and wonder partially out loud if you should get it for your own personal stash. It's not overly expensive, nor is it of particularly higher quality than the rest, but the bottle stands out only in the way that a bottle of wine can--through an overabundance of design on the label. This probably came from up top. [[I don't really drink but I may as well. Maybe someone else will share it with me.|ch2stage0501][$wine to true]] [[I don't drink, so I discard the thought.|ch2stage0502]] [[I don't even like wine... but what the hells? Maybe someone else does.|ch2stage0503][$wine to true]] [[Oh, I like a good wine on occasion. May as well.|ch2stage0504][$wine to true]] [[This is silly, why would I buy that?|ch2stage0505]]

<<set $actor to 2>>It's little more than an idle thought, nothing you intend in any seriousness even if a tad of //want// is set unwittingly into your tone. Really, it's more of a joke, more of... Even still, Erato's thin face morphs from the brief expression of incredulity to... something thoughtful. Brown eyes narrow as $erahis finger taps against the apple of $erahis cheek. Slowly, something akin to a smile rugs at Erato's plump lips. "I'll think about that." They say, cogs shrugging off rust to slowly cycle in $erahis head. No more needs to be said, and for now you briefly separate to go about your work. For you, this means slipping out the back with a pocketful of credits and the hope that you can find what you're looking for before Erato pops another gasket. The air is stagnant when you exit out into the acrid night. Lanterns are hung up and left on every surface they can fit, lighting your way through the streets. While not nearly as active as the day, night in the understreets is the promise of adventure. Here, people of all stripes lay their claim to what ground space there is to stand upon just to experience all there is to offer. Some nights it's little more than drunken revelry and all that entails, others some folks get together and set up an old holo-vid onto a projector against a white-painted wall. All nights like this one, however, offer trade and commerce. Small stalls line the street, often ramshackle. Though a relatively quiet affair--there isn't much hawking, more so quiet conversation as if between friends. You grab a box of old, in-the-box lightbulbs, a technology that those upon the disk have long since surpassed. Your next stop brings you to a relatively isolated stall on the street, covered over by specially dyed cloth to shield young onlookers from the horrors within. The storefront's primary ware is bootleg alcohol or drinks otherwise made without the miracle of industry. In other words, this was mostly made in someone's tub, grime and all. Well, you've certainly imbibed worse in your day. You collect what you need, ensuring to grab a little bit of everything, for once glad it isn't your credits in use for this purchase. In the dim, however, you spot a particularly dark bottle of red wine and wonder partially out loud if you should get it for your own personal stash. It's not overly expensive, nor is it of particularly higher quality than the rest, but the bottle stands out only in the way that a bottle of wine can--through an overabundance of design on the label. This probably came from up top. [[I don't really drink but I may as well. Maybe someone else will share it with me.|ch2stage0501][$wine to true]] [[I don't drink, so I discard the thought.|ch2stage0502]] [[I don't even like wine... but what the hells? Maybe someone else does.|ch2stage0503][$wine to true]] [[Oh, I like a good wine on occasion. May as well.|ch2stage0504][$wine to true]] [[This is silly, why would I buy that?|ch2stage0505]]

<<set $actor to 3>>Erato levels you with a stern sort of cringe, "We shall see." No more needs to be said, and for now you briefly separate to go about your work. For you, this means slipping out the back with a pocketful of credits and the hope that you can find what you're looking for before Erato pops another gasket. The air is stagnant when you exit out into the acrid night. Lanterns are hung up and left on every surface they can fit, lighting your way through the streets. While not nearly as active as the day, night in the understreets is the promise of adventure. Here, people of all stripes lay their claim to what ground space there is to stand upon just to experience all there is to offer. Some nights it's little more than drunken revelry and all that entails, others some folks get together and set up an old holo-vid onto a projector against a white-painted wall. All nights like this one, however, offer trade and commerce. Small stalls line the street, often ramshackle. Though a relatively quiet affair--there isn't much hawking, more so quiet conversation as if between friends. You grab a box of old, in-the-box lightbulbs, a technology that those upon the disk have long since surpassed. Your next stop brings you to a relatively isolated stall on the street, covered over by specially dyed cloth to shield young onlookers from the horrors within. The storefront's primary ware is bootleg alcohol or drinks otherwise made without the miracle of industry. In other words, this was mostly made in someone's tub, grime and all. Well, you've certainly imbibed worse in your day. You collect what you need, ensuring to grab a little bit of everything, for once glad it isn't your credits in use for this purchase. In the dim, however, you spot a particularly dark bottle of red wine and wonder partially out loud if you should get it for your own personal stash. It's not overly expensive, nor is it of particularly higher quality than the rest, but the bottle stands out only in the way that a bottle of wine can--through an overabundance of design on the label. This probably came from up top. [[I don't really drink but I may as well. Maybe someone else will share it with me.|ch2stage0501][$wine to true]] [[I don't drink, so I discard the thought.|ch2stage0502]] [[I don't even like wine... but what the hells? Maybe someone else does.|ch2stage0503][$wine to true]] [[Oh, I like a good wine on occasion. May as well.|ch2stage0504][$wine to true]] [[This is silly, why would I buy that?|ch2stage0505]]

You can't remember the last time you even considered alcohol as a beverage. Certainly before you arrived here, before... well, the serum in your veins made it so it was near impossible to get drunk besides. Now you'd just fall over flat if you attempted to stay in lockstep with your siblings. You take the bottle and put it with the group at the makeshift counter. The person tending the place appraises your little collection with a dull-eyed stare but doesn't ask for proof of age. Despite the vast majority of the populace in Ledala being immortal, there are still a few children born each year. As such, there's always going to be a teen or two looking to get their hands on a few restricted substances. Not enough to dredge up your ID from the very bottom of your coat's pocket. With your errands complete, you head back towards the theatre with an empty wallet and heavy arms. The skirting streets remain active all through the night, the full-day nature of the place like a neverending parade of celebration and commerce. When you trundle towards the stairs, however, your way is blocked by a man guarding the railing. He's a tall man, but not obscenely so, with a dark scowl written across his pale face as he buries himself into his thick coat and scarf. Glowing, amber eyes glare at you--and you know it's //you// because there's no one else who dares approach the stairs this night--yet, slowly, the expression clears and he offers a grimace of a smile. You're sure it's meant to be friendly, or at least the closest thing he can muster to the emotion. You eye him up. He certainly looks like he could take a punch... [[And he's much taller than me besides. I wouldn't want to take him in a fight.|ch2stageh01][$mc2height to "short"]] [[But he isn't that much taller than me. I could probably take him.|ch2stageh02][$mc2height to "average"]] [[And though he's just a bit shorter than me, he'd probably give me trouble if it came down to a fight.|ch2stageh03][$mc2height to "tall"]]

It was a momentary lapse, you decide, a brief memory taking root and piloting your body for you. It used to be that achieving true drunkenness was a challenge and a half for you and your kin. You know of a few people who even made a game out of counting out how many cups or bottles they'd go through in a night. Nowadays... well, you try to avoid any alcohol. Your liver isn't what it used to be. You leave the bottle as it is. The person tending the place appraises your little collection with a dull-eyed stare but doesn't ask for proof of age. Despite the vast majority of the populace in Ledala being immortal, there are still a few children born each year. As such, there's always going to be a teen or two looking to get their hands on a few illicit substances. You, however, need not worry about whether you look young enough to buy a bit of alcohol. With your errands complete, you head back towards the theatre with an empty wallet and heavy arms. The skirting streets remain active all through the night, the full-day nature of the place like a neverending parade of celebration and commerce. When you trundle towards the stairs, however, your way is blocked by a man guarding the railing. He's a tall man, but not obscenely so, with a dark scowl written across his pale face as he buries himself into his thick coat and scarf. Glowing, amber eyes glare at you--and you know it's //you// because there's no one else who dares approach the stairs this night--yet, slowly, the expression clears and he offers a grimace of a smile. You're sure it's meant to be friendly, or at least the closest thing he can muster to the emotion. You eye him up. He certainly looks like he could take a punch... [[And he's much taller than me besides. I wouldn't want to take him in a fight.|ch2stageh01][$mc2height to "short"]] [[But he isn't that much taller than me. I could probably take him.|ch2stageh02][$mc2height to "average"]] [[And though he's just a bit shorter than me, he'd probably give me trouble if it came down to a fight.|ch2stageh03][$mc2height to "tall"]]

You don't often drink. You drink //wine// even less. Truth be told, there is no real reason why you should even consider the prospect of such a frivolous purchase. And yet... you know at least one person who enjoys a good glass of wine, you're sure there are others you could give this to as a gift. You grab the bottle and add it to your stockpile. The person tending the place appraises your little collection with a dull-eyed stare but doesn't ask for proof of age. Despite the vast majority of the populace in Ledala being immortal, there are still a few children born each year. As such, there's always going to be a teen or two looking to get their hands on a few illicit substances. You, however, need not worry about whether you look young enough to buy a bit of alcohol. With your errands complete, you head back towards the theatre with an empty wallet and heavy arms. The skirting streets remain active all through the night, the full-day nature of the place like a neverending parade of celebration and commerce. When you trundle towards the stairs, however, your way is blocked by a man guarding the railing. He's a tall man, but not obscenely so, with a dark scowl written across his pale face as he buries himself into his thick coat and scarf. Glowing, amber eyes glare at you--and you know it's //you// because there's no one else who dares approach the stairs this night--yet, slowly, the expression clears and he offers a grimace of a smile. You're sure it's meant to be friendly, or at least the closest thing he can muster to the emotion. You eye him up. He certainly looks like he could take a punch... [[And he's much taller than me besides. I wouldn't want to take him in a fight.|ch2stageh01][$mc2height to "short"]] [[But he isn't that much taller than me. I could probably take him.|ch2stageh02][$mc2height to "average"]] [[And though he's just a bit shorter than me, he'd probably give me trouble if it came down to a fight.|ch2stageh03][$mc2height to "tall"]]

You don't often drink but you do enjoy a good glass of wine on occasion. What you can't say is that you've ever tried anything from up top before. With a shrug, you add the curiosity to your pile. The person tending the place appraises your little collection with a dull-eyed stare but doesn't ask for proof of age. Despite the vast majority of the populace in Ledala being immortal, there are still a few children born each year. As such, there's always going to be a teen or two looking to get their hands on a few illicit substances. You, however, need not worry about whether you look young enough to buy a bit of alcohol. With your errands complete, you head back towards the theatre with an empty wallet and heavy arms. The skirting streets remain active all through the night, the full-day nature of the place like a neverending parade of celebration and commerce. When you trundle towards the stairs, however, your way is blocked by a man guarding the railing. He's a tall man, but not obscenely so, with a dark scowl written across his pale face as he buries himself into his thick coat and scarf. Glowing, amber eyes glare at you--and you know it's //you// because there's no one else who dares approach the stairs this night--yet, slowly, the expression clears and he offers a grimace of a smile. You're sure it's meant to be friendly, or at least the closest thing he can muster to the emotion. You eye him up. He certainly looks like he could take a punch... [[And he's much taller than me besides. I wouldn't want to take him in a fight.|ch2stageh01][$mc2height to "short"]] [[But he isn't that much taller than me. I could probably take him.|ch2stageh02][$mc2height to "average"]] [[And though he's just a bit shorter than me, he'd probably give me trouble if it came down to a fight.|ch2stageh03][$mc2height to "tall"]]

You barely drink, let alone wine. Not these days, anyway. You chuckle off that particular bit of folly and move on, unfased. The person tending the place appraises your little collection with a dull-eyed stare but doesn't ask for proof of age. Despite the vast majority of the populace in Ledala being immortal, there are still a few children born each year. As such, there's always going to be a teen or two looking to get their hands on a few illicit substances. You, however, need not worry about whether you look young enough to buy a bit of alcohol. With your errands complete, you head back towards the theatre with an empty wallet and heavy arms. The skirting streets remain active all through the night, the full-day nature of the place like a neverending parade of celebration and commerce. When you trundle towards the stairs, however, your way is blocked by a man guarding the railing. He's a tall man, but not obscenely so, with a dark scowl written across his pale face as he buries himself into his thick coat and scarf. Glowing, amber eyes glare at you--and you know it's //you// because there's no one else who dares approach the stairs this night--yet, slowly, the expression clears and he offers a grimace of a smile. You're sure it's meant to be friendly, or at least the closest thing he can muster to the emotion. You eye him up. He certainly looks like he could take a punch... [[And he's much taller than me besides. I wouldn't want to take him in a fight.|ch2stageh01][$mc2height to "short"]] [[But he isn't that much taller than me. I could probably take him.|ch2stageh02][$mc2height to "average"]] [[And though he's just a bit shorter than me, he'd probably give me trouble if it came down to a fight.|ch2stageh03][$mc2height to "tall"]]

"You'd certainly hope so, wouldn't you?," The man says, something of a feral grin pulling at the creases and scars on his face in a way that looks... unnatural. The canines in his mouth are sharp, too sharp. //A threat//. Just once, you allow yourself to take a step back, out of the space just by a little. "But no, I've got exactly who I want. //Behave// yourself." Your gulp goes down heavy, the bags in your arms weighing at your shoulders. "Am I in trouble?" You manage, using up what little air still hides in your lungs. "I don't want any..." Your memory sinks into itself, attempting to recall any crime or misdeed you may have been responsible for in the past day cycle. That fact that it's not nothing makes your skin crawl. The stranger takes a moment to consider the question, squaring his shoulders underneath that thick, black jacket. It's a warm night, why isn't he sweating? The silence stretches on long enough that you begin to wonder if he's only doing it for your sake. Eventually, the man settles, "Not yet." But who's to say you won't be? His half-cocked smile carries that implicit warning like a well-worn glove and there's no emotion past a crease in the corner of one eye to tell you he thinks otherwise. You smother a gulp, look anywhere but at him. "And you are...?" "We'll get to that," With a seamless ease, the man straightens up and cracks his knuckles. He has black nails, more claws than anything, and the rough skin of his knuckles is tinged blue with bruising. "I am here on behalf of an interested party who has a... stake in your options." That can't ever be good. [[''Interested in me? I'm flattered, really.''|ch2stage0701][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''That's great but I'm at work.''|ch2stage0702][$deimos_r to $deimos _r +=.05]] [[''Couldn't your 'interested party' have come talk to me themself?''|ch2stage0703][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[Remain silent. Stand still. Don't do a thing.|ch2stage0704][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

"No, you don't," The man shrugs, casting his amber-eyed stare over you like some kind of prey to be caught. Just once, you allow yourself to take a step back, out of the space just by a little. "And that's a good thing. People that know me tend to find themselves in trouble." "Am I?" You breathe, using up what little air still hides in your lungs. "In trouble, I mean." Your memory sinks into itself, attempting to recall any crime or misdeed you may have been responsible for in the past day cycle. That fact that it's not nothing makes your skin crawl. The stranger takes a moment to consider the question, squaring his shoulders underneath that thick, black jacket. It's a warm night, why isn't he sweating? The silence stretches on long enough that you begin to wonder if he's only doing it for your sake. Eventually, the man settles, "Not yet." But who's to say you won't be? His half-cocked smile carries that implicit warning like a well-worn glove and there's no emotion past a crease in the corner of one eye to tell you he thinks otherwise. You smother a gulp, look anywhere but at him. "And you are...?" "We'll get to that," With a seamless ease, the man straightens up and cracks his knuckles. He has black nails, more claws than anything, and the rough skin of his knuckles is tinged blue with bruising. "I am here on behalf of an interested party who has a... stake in your options." That can't ever be good. [[''Interested in me? I'm flattered, really.''|ch2stage0701][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''That's great but I'm at work.''|ch2stage0702][$deimos_r to $deimos _r +=.05]] [[''Couldn't your 'interested party' have come talk to me themself?''|ch2stage0703][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[Remain silent. Stand still. Don't do a thing.|ch2stage0704][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

You raise your chin in defiant courage, perhaps unwise as you stand your ground despite your beating heart. The man falters, but only long enough for his cool arrogance to turn to... curiosity. Your chest tightens, fear flaring. Somehow, this is worse as his eyes examine you with a renewed interest. "That isn't necessary," He eventually says, voice rough with humour. Even his lipsided grin looks unnatural on his thin face, yop lip pulling up to reveal the too-sharp canines confined to his mouth. There's something... dangerous in his tone, even despite the alleged levity, that does little to quell your growing discomfort. "You aren't in trouble. Yet." There's another pause as the stranger takes a moment to square his shoulders underneath that thick, black jacket. It's a warm night, yet he shoves his hands into his pockets as if they burn with ice. Eventually, you find the courage within you to push the conversation--Erato will be wondering where you are at this point. "And you are...?" "We'll get to that," With a seamless ease, the man straightens up and cracks his knuckles. He has black nails, more claws than anything, and the rough skin of his knuckles is tinged blue with bruising. "I am here on behalf of an interested party who has a... stake in your options." That can't ever be good. [[''Interested in me? I'm flattered, really.''|ch2stage0701][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''That's great but I'm at work.''|ch2stage0702][$deimos_r to $deimos _r +=.05]] [[''Couldn't your 'interested party' have come talk to me themself?''|ch2stage0703][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[Remain silent. Stand still. Don't do a thing.|ch2stage0704][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

"Maybe," The man shrugs, casting his amber-eyed stare over you like some kind of prey to be caught. Just once, you allow yourself to take a step back, out of the space just by a little. "But who can say?" "Am I?" You breathe, using up what little air still hides in your lungs. "In trouble, I mean." Your memory sinks into itself, attempting to recall any crime or misdeed you may have been responsible for in the past day cycle. That fact that it's not nothing makes your skin crawl. The stranger takes a moment to consider the question, squaring his shoulders underneath that thick, black jacket. It's a warm night, why isn't he sweating? The silence stretches on long enough that you begin to wonder if he's only doing it for your sake. Eventually, the man settles, "Not yet." But who's to say you won't be? His half-cocked smile carries that implicit warning like a well-worn glove and there's no emotion past a crease in the corner of one eye to tell you he thinks otherwise. You smother a gulp, look anywhere but at him. "And you are...?" "We'll get to that," With a seamless ease, the man straightens up and cracks his knuckles. He has black nails, more claws than anything, and the rough skin of his knuckles is tinged blue with bruising. "I am here on behalf of an interested party who has a... stake in your options." That can't ever be good. [[''Interested in me? I'm flattered, really.''|ch2stage0701][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''That's great but I'm at work.''|ch2stage0702][$deimos_r to $deimos _r +=.05]] [[''Couldn't your 'interested party' have come talk to me themself?''|ch2stage0703][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[Remain silent. Stand still. Don't do a thing.|ch2stage0704][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

"But there's nothing about me that you can't find out on the <<click "Registry">> <<script>> var dialog = Dialog.setup("The Registry"); new Wikifier(dialog, Story.get("Registry").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</click>>." A bold-faced lie--you aren't in any database. Arthur made sure of that. The man's smile twitches, if he knows that he certainly doesn't mention it. "As interesting as I'm sure you are," He says, leaning back against the top-most railing of the staircase, "We're more interested in your boss." "Erato?" You ask, the first name that comes to mind. The man's face darkens, his smile twists into a sneer. //No, Arthur.// Suddenly, you're eyeing off your potential escapes, hoping against hope that this man isn't as capable as he makes himself out to be. No, no, you can recover, raise yourself up to a more than equal playing field... You just wish you didn't feel so small in the face of this mystery. "We both know who it is I'm talking about," He says, staring you down with a nothingness emotion, "Let's not play games." [[''I don't know what I could tell you about Arthur you probably don't already know.''|ch2stage0801][$gruff to $gruff -=.05]] [[''You're right, let's not. I'm not talking to you about this.''|ch2stage0802][$manip to $manip -=.05]] [[''And here I thought I was special.''|ch2stage0803][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''Sorry to tell you but you've come to the wrong person. Arthur tells me nothing.''|ch2stage0804][$manip to $manip +=.05]]

"Yeah, about that," Another forceful string of words that stops you before you can make an attempt to push past him. "This isn't about you, not really. We're more interested in your boss." "Erato?" You ask, the first name that comes to mind. The man's face darkens, his smile twists into a sneer. //No, Arthur.// Suddenly, you're eyeing off your potential escapes, hoping against hope that this man isn't as capable as he makes himself out to be. No, no, you can recover, raise yourself up to a more than equal playing field... You just wish you didn't feel so small in the face of this mystery. "We both know who it is I'm talking about," He says, staring you down with a nothingness emotion, "Let's not play games." [[''I don't know what I could tell you about Arthur you probably don't already know.''|ch2stage0801][$gruff to $gruff -=.05]] [[''You're right, let's not. I'm not talking to you about this.''|ch2stage0802][$manip to $manip -=.05]] [[''And here I thought I was special.''|ch2stage0803][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''Sorry to tell you but you've come to the wrong person. Arthur tells me nothing.''|ch2stage0804][$manip to $manip +=.05]]

The man laughs. It's a huff of air through clenched teeth that doesn't quite make any sort of sound. Instead, it manifests in his shaking shoulders and a pair of rolled eyes. "No," He eventually says, gesturing up towards the disk with a nod of his head. "I think we both know why." Any heat that may have settled in your bones is sapped by that simple answer. Your eyes follow his, silently wondering //who// on the disk this 'interested party' could be. Nothing good would come of it, either way. "So?" You choke, "How does that have anything to do with me?" "Not you, per se," The man says slowly, leaning back against the top-most railing of the staircase, "We're really more interested in your boss." "Erato?" You ask, the first name that comes to mind. The man's face darkens, his smile twists into a sneer. //No, Arthur.// Suddenly, you're eyeing off your potential escapes, hoping against hope that this man isn't as capable as he makes himself out to be. No, no, you can recover, raise yourself up to a more than equal playing field... You just wish you didn't feel so small in the face of this mystery. "We both know who it is I'm talking about," He says, staring you down with a nothingness emotion, "Let's not play games." [[''I don't know what I could tell you about Arthur you probably don't already know.''|ch2stage0801][$gruff to $gruff -=.05]] [[''You're right, let's not. I'm not talking to you about this.''|ch2stage0802][$manip to $manip -=.05]] [[''And here I thought I was special.''|ch2stage0803][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''Sorry to tell you but you've come to the wrong person. Arthur tells me nothing.''|ch2stage0804][$manip to $manip +=.05]]

If that bothers the man, he neither lets you know or shows any evidence otherwise. He waits a moment, as if convinced your answer is coming, but eventually relents to the silence with a huff. Laughter? Or anger? You can't tell. He leans back against the top-most railing of the staircase, getting comfortable as he stares down his nose at you. There's something so cold in his glowing eyes. "I'm really just here to tell you that you have nothing to worry about. Yet. It's more... your boss we're interested in." "Erato?" You ask, the first name that comes to mind. The man's face darkens, his smile twists into a sneer. //No, Arthur.// Suddenly, you're eyeing off your potential escapes, hoping against hope that this man isn't as capable as he makes himself out to be. No, no, you can recover, raise yourself up to a more than equal playing field... You just wish you didn't feel so small in the face of this mystery. "We both know who it is I'm talking about," He says, staring you down with a nothingness emotion, "Let's not play games." [[''I don't know what I could tell you about Arthur you probably don't already know.''|ch2stage0801][$gruff to $gruff -=.05]] [[''You're right, let's not. I'm not talking to you about this.''|ch2stage0802][$manip to $manip -=.05]] [[''And here I thought I was special.''|ch2stage0803][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''Sorry to tell you but you've come to the wrong person. Arthur tells me nothing.''|ch2stage0804][$manip to $manip +=.05]]

The Registry is a database of all the citizens residing both on and off the disk. It is maintained and operated mostly by AI or the occasional mortal operator if they're looking for a specific person. This database contains most if not all information a person such as their name, age, residence, and other pertinent tracking data. It is said this database even has members of the Council on it. But that is just hear-say and no one has confirmed it otherwise.

"Nothing, probably." The man says, his lips pulling into another unnaturally fangy grin. You eye the door downstairs, silently calculate whether you could slip past him and through it faster than he could grab you... but you doubt your body could take any more beatings today, one is enough. "But what //I// could tell //you// about him... I do wonder what you'd think of him, after." There's a... temptation there, something that idly tugs at your agitated curiosity. Something far more dangerous than any threat the stranger could offer forth. You bite your lip to keep yourself from taking the implied offer. "What do you want?" You find yourself asking instead, more clipped than perhaps you intended in the first place. You suck in your lips, hope the fear isn't painted clear on your face. "Like I said, I'm at work." "Not much, for now," He raises his hands in mock-surrender, a feral smile tearing the peace in two, "I just needed you to know I'm around. Watching." It's a threat, you've heard enough of them to recognise this as one. It twitches your eye, sinks into your skin like a heavy lathering of cream. You feel sick. "Mind you, I doubt you'll ever need to speak to me again." You roll your eyes as the stranger pushes easily off the railing and stalks a few steps away, stopping to stand beside you like an old friend. One more chance to say something before he leaves, he's offering that much. [[''Then, why show yourself at all?''|ch2stage0901][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''Are you fishing for anti-council behaviour?''|ch2stage0902][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''Watching? Kind of creepy, don't you think?''|ch2stage0903][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''I swear, if you hurt Arthur...''|ch2stage0904][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.05]]

"Commendable," The man says, offers a crooked smile, before it falls from his face in one smooth motion, "Or stupid. Either way it doesn't much matter." You eye the door downstairs, silently calculate whether you could slip past him and through it faster than he could grab you... but you doubt your body could take any more beatings today, one is enough. "What //do// you want?" You find yourself asking, more clipped than perhaps you intended in the first place. You suck in your lips, hope the fear isn't painted clear on your face. "Like I said, I'm at work." "Not much, for now," He raises his hands in mock-surrender, a feral smile tearing the peace in two, "I just needed you to know I'm around. Watching." It's a threat, you've heard enough of them to recognise this as one. It twitches your eye, sinks into your skin like a heavy lathering of cream. You feel sick. "Mind you, I doubt you'll ever need to speak to me again." You roll your eyes as the stranger pushes easily off the railing and stalks a few steps away, stopping to stand beside you like an old friend. One more chance to say something before he leaves, he's offering that much. [[''Then, why show yourself at all?''|ch2stage0901][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''Are you fishing for anti-council behaviour?''|ch2stage0902][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''Watching? Kind of creepy, don't you think?''|ch2stage0903][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''I swear, if you hurt Arthur...''|ch2stage0904][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.05]]

"You are, just not for the reasons you think." The man says. You eye the door downstairs, silently calculate whether you could slip past him and through it faster than he could grab you... but you doubt your body could take any more beatings today, one is enough. "What do you want?" You find yourself asking, more clipped than perhaps you intended in the first place. You suck in your lips, hope the fear isn't painted clear on your face. "Like I said, I'm at work." "Not much, for now," He raises his hands in mock-surrender, a feral smile tearing the peace in two, "I just needed you to know I'm around. Watching." It's a threat, you've heard enough of them to recognise this as one. It twitches your eye, sinks into your skin like a heavy lathering of cream. You feel sick. "Mind you, I doubt you'll ever need to speak to me again." You roll your eyes as the stranger pushes easily off the railing and stalks a few steps away, stopping to stand beside you like an old friend. One more chance to say something before he leaves, he's offering that much. [[''Then, why show yourself at all?''|ch2stage0901][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''Are you fishing for anti-council behaviour?''|ch2stage0902][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''Watching? Kind of creepy, don't you think?''|ch2stage0903][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''I swear, if you hurt Arthur...''|ch2stage0904][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.05]]

"Good to know but that doesn't matter." He says. You suppose not, but it doesn't particularly make you feel any better; it's like you've already lost a battle you didn't know you were fighting. You eye the door downstairs, silently calculate whether you could slip past him and through it faster than he could grab you... but you doubt your body could take any more beatings today, one is enough. "What do you want?" You find yourself asking, more clipped than perhaps you intended in the first place. You suck in your lips, hope the fear isn't painted clear on your face. "Like I said, I'm at work." "Not much, for now," He raises his hands in mock-surrender, a feral smile tearing the peace in two, "I just needed you to know I'm around. Watching." It's a threat, you've heard enough of them to recognise this as one. It twitches your eye, sinks into your skin like a heavy lathering of cream. You feel sick. "Mind you, I doubt you'll ever need to speak to me again." You roll your eyes as the stranger pushes easily off the railing and stalks a few steps away, stopping to stand beside you like an old friend. One more chance to say something before he leaves, he's offering that much. [[''Then, why show yourself at all?''|ch2stage0901][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''Are you fishing for anti-council behaviour?''|ch2stage0902][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''Watching? Kind of creepy, don't you think?''|ch2stage0903][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''I swear, if you hurt Arthur...''|ch2stage0904][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.05]]

"A courtesy," The man coughs, stretching up to his full height and cracking his neck. "Ordered by my employer. Maybe you should think better before trusting yours." Whether you have anything to say in return, the man leaves, disappearing into the crowd before your eyes can properly track his trajectory. His departure leaves a disquieted stone in your stomach. After a moment of silent contemplation, you force yourself back down the concrete staircase. You still have work to do. When you emerge back into the bunker, you deposit all the alcohol<<if $wine>>, save one,<</if>> onto the empty shelves. The actors are a bit more lively now, having had some time to warm up. Erato has joined them for now, taking the place of $erahis missing actress with a surprising ease. There's no evidence of any script clutched in $erahis fingers when you stop to watch the scene, and $erahis voice carries loud and smooth in those low tones of $erahis. It's a rather sedate scene, one that's meant be a quiet moment between the two leads... yet Erato stands stiff against $erahis partner's touch on their arm. Despite this, the intended emotion; the longing remains. Even if $erahis physicality is much to be desired. You catch $erahis eye and end the scene, gestured past the curtains as Erato becomes your boss once more, face set in thoughtful stone. "Thank you," Erato murmurs, back in $erahis office now. "I... had a thought while you were away." A thought, that's never good. Erato turns to you with $erahis lips pressed into a straight line, partially sucked into $erahis mouth. A part of you worries what the idea may just be, but you force out an affirmative nod all the same. Erato turns to you with a vibrant light flickering behind those brown eyes, a look perhaps bordering on mania. That glimmer in $erahis eye reminds you of the warmth of coffee, like something to keep you grounded, while the growing smile that crinkles the mole on Erato's left cheek leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Your heart plummets into your stomach like an anvil in free fall and you instinctively take a step back. <<if $actor is 1>>"I know you think I'm the best pick but I need to make sure nothing goes wrong." You allow another, slow, nod, leaning back as if to stave away the optimism. <<elseif $actor is 2>>"I know you didn't really mean it the first time but, really, who else is a better option?" You can't help your dubious scowl, painting across your face as a budding realisation sinks into the pores of your mind. <<else>>"Maybe we could find someone else before show night, but the way I see it we have a much better option." You're not so sure, not with the way $erahis closed-mouth smile widens to strain at the edges. <</if>>"I just think--What if you did it?" Your boss eventually says, a thoughtful cautiousness in $erahis tone as if addressing a skittish deer. "You're here most nights, surely you've gotten an idea of the script already." You can't say you precisely //don't// but somehow can't find the words for the briefest amount of time. Instead you stand there, <<if $gruff >=.5>>practically leering as Erato paces a groove into the old flooring.<<else>>lips pursed as Erato paces a groove into the old flooring.<</if>> Eventually, the words find you. [[''You've already memorised all the lines. What's stopping you from doing it?''|ch2stage1001][$actor to 1]] [[''I... wouldn't be my first choice.''|ch2stage1002][$actor to 2]] [[''I... I don't know...'' Is it bad that I want to?|ch2stage1003][$actor to 2]] [[''Let's not get too hasty here. I'm sure we can find someone to take over before too long.''|ch2stage1004][$actor to 3]]

The man scoffs. "If that was what I cared about, we'd both be in a very different situation." He regards you, venom dripping from his smile. As the man stares you down you can't help but suffer that jolt of painful fear that stammers in your chest. He looks at you like he //knows//, like there's nothing you could ever hide from him so you may as well not. You keep your mouth shut, regardless.<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>>Your fingers clench around the handle of your cane, a deep ache settling into the back of your knee. If it weren't something you were so accustomed to, you daresay you'd be liable to keel over.<<elseif $mc2statelimp is 2>>Your fingers of fur and claw twitch under your sleeve, an almost violent compulsion speeding through your blood. You bite your tongue, clench your unsteady paw into a fist with what little feeling you can muster.<<else>><</if>> "At the end of the day, it doesn't matter," With one final shrug, the stranger stretches up to his full height and cracks his neck. "This was a courtesy ordered by my boss. Maybe you should think better before trusting yours." Whether you have anything to say in return, the man leaves, disappearing into the crowd before your eyes can properly track his trajectory. His departure leaves a disquieted stone in your stomach. After a moment of silent contemplation, you force yourself back down the concrete staircase. You still have work to do. When you emerge back into the bunker, you deposit all the alcohol<<if $wine>>, save one,<</if>> onto the empty shelves. The actors are a bit more lively now, having had some time to warm up. Erato has joined them for now, taking the place of $erahis missing actress with a surprising ease. There's no evidence of any script clutched in $erahis fingers when you stop to watch the scene, and $erahis voice carries loud and smooth in those low tones of $erahis. It's a rather sedate scene, one that's meant be a quiet moment between the two leads... yet Erato stands stiff against $erahis partner's touch on their arm. Despite this, the intended emotion; the longing remains. Even if $erahis physicality is much to be desired. You catch $erahis eye and end the scene, gestured past the curtains as Erato becomes your boss once more, face set in thoughtful stone. "Thank you," Erato murmurs, back in $erahis office now. "I... had a thought while you were away." A thought, that's never good. Erato turns to you with $erahis lips pressed into a straight line, partially sucked into $erahis mouth. A part of you worries what the idea may just be, but you force out an affirmative nod all the same. Erato turns to you with a vibrant light flickering behind those brown eyes, a look perhaps bordering on mania. That glimmer in $erahis eye reminds you of the warmth of coffee, like something to keep you grounded, while the growing smile that crinkles the mole on Erato's left cheek leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Your heart plummets into your stomach like an anvil in free fall and you instinctively take a step back. <<if $actor is 1>>"I know you think I'm the best pick but I need to make sure nothing goes wrong." You allow another, slow, nod, leaning back as if to stave away the optimism. <<elseif $actor is 2>>"I know you didn't really mean it the first time but, really, who else is a better option?" You can't help your dubious scowl, painting across your face as a budding realisation sinks into the pores of your mind. <<else>>"Maybe we could find someone else before show night, but the way I see it we have a much better option." You're not so sure, not with the way $erahis closed-mouth smile widens to strain at the edges. <</if>>"I just think--What if you did it?" Your boss eventually says, a thoughtful cautiousness in $erahis tone as if addressing a skittish deer. "You're here most nights, surely you've gotten an idea of the script already." You can't say you precisely //don't// but somehow can't find the words for the briefest amount of time. Instead you stand there, <<if $gruff >=.5>>practically leering as Erato paces a groove into the old flooring.<<else>>lips pursed as Erato paces a groove into the old flooring.<</if>> Eventually, the words find you. [[''You've already memorised all the lines. What's stopping you from doing it?''|ch2stage1001][$actor to 1]] [[''I... wouldn't be my first choice.''|ch2stage1002][$actor to 2]] [[''I... I don't know...'' Is it bad that I want to?|ch2stage1003][$actor to 2]] [[''Let's not get too hasty here. I'm sure we can find someone to take over before too long.''|ch2stage1004][$actor to 3]]

The man shrugs, "I get called worse on a good day,"He regards you, venom dripping from his smile. As the man stares you down you can't help but suffer that jolt of painful fear that stammers in your chest. He looks at you like he //knows//, like there's nothing you could ever hide from him so you may as well not. You keep your mouth shut, regardless.<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>>Your fingers clench around the handle of your cane, a deep ache settling into the back of your knee. If it weren't something you were so accustomed to, you daresay you'd be liable to keel over.<<elseif $mc2statelimp is 2>>Your fingers of fur and claw twitch under your sleeve, an almost violent compulsion speeding through your blood. You bite your tongue, clench your unsteady paw into a fist with what little feeling you can muster.<<else>><</if>> "At the end of the day, it doesn't matter," With one final shrug, the stranger stretches up to his full height and cracks his neck. "This was a courtesy ordered by my boss. Maybe you should think better before trusting yours." Whether you have anything to say in return, the man leaves, disappearing into the crowd before your eyes can properly track his trajectory. His departure leaves a disquieted stone in your stomach. After a moment of silent contemplation, you force yourself back down the concrete staircase. You still have work to do. When you emerge back into the bunker, you deposit all the alcohol<<if $wine>>, save one,<</if>> onto the empty shelves. The actors are a bit more lively now, having had some time to warm up. Erato has joined them for now, taking the place of $erahis missing actress with a surprising ease. There's no evidence of any script clutched in $erahis fingers when you stop to watch the scene, and $erahis voice carries loud and smooth in those low tones of $erahis. It's a rather sedate scene, one that's meant be a quiet moment between the two leads... yet Erato stands stiff against $erahis partner's touch on their arm. Despite this, the intended emotion; the longing remains. Even if $erahis physicality is much to be desired. You catch $erahis eye and end the scene, gestured past the curtains as Erato becomes your boss once more, face set in thoughtful stone. "Thank you," Erato murmurs, back in $erahis office now. "I... had a thought while you were away." A thought, that's never good. Erato turns to you with $erahis lips pressed into a straight line, partially sucked into $erahis mouth. A part of you worries what the idea may just be, but you force out an affirmative nod all the same. Erato turns to you with a vibrant light flickering behind those brown eyes, a look perhaps bordering on mania. That glimmer in $erahis eye reminds you of the warmth of coffee, like something to keep you grounded, while the growing smile that crinkles the mole on Erato's left cheek leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Your heart plummets into your stomach like an anvil in free fall and you instinctively take a step back. <<if $actor is 1>>"I know you think I'm the best pick but I need to make sure nothing goes wrong." You allow another, slow, nod, leaning back as if to stave away the optimism. <<elseif $actor is 2>>"I know you didn't really mean it the first time but, really, who else is a better option?" You can't help your dubious scowl, painting across your face as a budding realisation sinks into the pores of your mind. <<else>>"Maybe we could find someone else before show night, but the way I see it we have a much better option." You're not so sure, not with the way $erahis closed-mouth smile widens to strain at the edges. <</if>>"I just think--What if you did it?" Your boss eventually says, a thoughtful cautiousness in $erahis tone as if addressing a skittish deer. "You're here most nights, surely you've gotten an idea of the script already." You can't say you precisely //don't// but somehow can't find the words for the briefest amount of time. Instead you stand there, <<if $gruff >=.5>>practically leering as Erato paces a groove into the old flooring.<<else>>lips pursed as Erato paces a groove into the old flooring.<</if>> Eventually, the words find you. [[''You've already memorised all the lines. What's stopping you from doing it?''|ch2stage1001][$actor to 1]] [[''I... wouldn't be my first choice.''|ch2stage1002][$actor to 2]] [[''I... I don't know...'' Is it bad that I want to?|ch2stage1003][$actor to 2]] [[''Let's not get too hasty here. I'm sure we can find someone to take over before too long.''|ch2stage1004][$actor to 3]]

"You'll what? Hurt me back?" He regards you, venom dripping from his smile. As the man stares you down you can't help but suffer that jolt of painful fear that stammers in your chest. He looks at you like he //knows//, like there's nothing you could ever hide from him so you may as well not. You keep your mouth shut, regardless.<<if $mc2statelimp is 1>>Your fingers clench around the handle of your cane, a deep ache settling into the back of your knee. If it weren't something you were so accustomed to, you daresay you'd be liable to keel over.<<elseif $mc2statelimp is 2>>Your fingers of fur and claw twitch under your sleeve, an almost violent compulsion speeding through your blood. You bite your tongue, clench your unsteady paw into a fist with what little feeling you can muster.<<else>><</if>> "At the end of the day, it doesn't matter," With one final shrug, the stranger stretches up to his full height and cracks his neck. "This was a courtesy ordered by my boss. Maybe you should think better before trusting yours." Whether you have anything to say in return, the man leaves, disappearing into the crowd before your eyes can properly track his trajectory. His departure leaves a disquieted stone in your stomach. After a moment of silent contemplation, you force yourself back down the concrete staircase. You still have work to do. When you emerge back into the bunker, you deposit all the alcohol<<if $wine>>, save one,<</if>> onto the empty shelves. The actors are a bit more lively now, having had some time to warm up. Erato has joined them for now, taking the place of $erahis missing actress with a surprising ease. There's no evidence of any script clutched in $erahis fingers when you stop to watch the scene, and $erahis voice carries loud and smooth in those low tones of $erahis. It's a rather sedate scene, one that's meant be a quiet moment between the two leads... yet Erato stands stiff against $erahis partner's touch on their arm. Despite this, the intended emotion; the longing remains. Even if $erahis physicality is much to be desired. You catch $erahis eye and end the scene, gestured past the curtains as Erato becomes your boss once more, face set in thoughtful stone. "Thank you," Erato murmurs, back in $erahis office now. "I... had a thought while you were away." A thought, that's never good. Erato turns to you with $erahis lips pressed into a straight line, partially sucked into $erahis mouth. A part of you worries what the idea may just be, but you force out an affirmative nod all the same. Erato turns to you with a vibrant light flickering behind those brown eyes, a look perhaps bordering on mania. That glimmer in $erahis eye reminds you of the warmth of coffee, like something to keep you grounded, while the growing smile that crinkles the mole on Erato's left cheek leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Your heart plummets into your stomach like an anvil in free fall and you instinctively take a step back. <<if $actor is 1>>"I know you think I'm the best pick but I need to make sure nothing goes wrong." You allow another, slow, nod, leaning back as if to stave away the optimism. <<elseif $actor is 2>>"I know you didn't really mean it the first time but, really, who else is a better option?" You can't help your dubious scowl, painting across your face as a budding realisation sinks into the pores of your mind. <<else>>"Maybe we could find someone else before show night, but the way I see it we have a much better option." You're not so sure, not with the way $erahis closed-mouth smile widens to strain at the edges. <</if>>"I just think--What if you did it?" Your boss eventually says, a thoughtful cautiousness in $erahis tone as if addressing a skittish deer. "You're here most nights, surely you've gotten an idea of the script already." You can't say you precisely //don't// but somehow can't find the words for the briefest amount of time. Instead you stand there, <<if $gruff >=.5>>practically leering as Erato paces a groove into the old flooring.<<else>>lips pursed as Erato paces a groove into the old flooring.<</if>> Eventually, the words find you. [[''You've already memorised all the lines. What's stopping you from doing it?''|ch2stage1001][$actor to 1]] [[''I... wouldn't be my first choice.''|ch2stage1002][$actor to 2]] [[''I... I don't know...'' Is it bad that I want to?|ch2stage1003][$actor to 2]] [[''Let's not get too hasty here. I'm sure we can find someone to take over before too long.''|ch2stage1004][$actor to 3]]

Erato grunts an agreement, too engrossed in $erahis own internal decision for a moment to fully process the suggestion. After a pause, however, your boss turns to you with a curled lip. "No, no, I can't //possibly//... Could I? No, //never//." "Why not?" You push, peering at $erahim from across the cramped space. Erato doesn't immediately answer, still staring as $erahis brows slowly sink into a thick line over $erahis deep-sunken eyes. "Erato, really. Why not?" "Because..." <<if $erahe is "they">>They say, trailing off as if they don't have any true objection to bring to the table.<<else>>$erahe says, trailing off as if $erahe doesn't have any true objection to bring to the table.<</if>> Erato tries again, voice stronger this time as $erahis eyes meet yours. Properly this time, "Because I have a job to do. And I can't do that if I'm on stage." You suppose there's a sound argument in there, but Erato's gaze falters with a deep uncertainty, brown skin going ashen and clammy before <<if $erahe is "they">>they turn away entirely.<<else>>$erahe turns away entirely.<</if>> "All I'm saying is that who knows the script better than you? You didn't even need it up there today." [[''I believe you could do it.''|ch2stage1101][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]] [[''But if you don't want to do it, I can't force you.''|ch2stage1102][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''Up to you. We can always just hire any random person from off the street for a few credits.''|ch2stage1103][$erato_r to $erato_r +=.05]] [[''Or are you afraid of something?''|ch2stage1104][$erato_f to $erato_f +=.05]]

Erato makes a sound in the back of $erahis throat, half-agreeing. "Maybe so, but beggers and choosers and all that nonsense." Your boss leans $erahis weight onto the desk, wincing as it creaks in wobbly protest. Oh, <<if $erahe is "they">>they sound<<else>>$erahe sounds<</if>> so sure as they stare at you, imploring with $erahis eyes alone. "Perhaps you could just try?" You... aren't so certain. What you could do, perhaps what you //should// do is just say no, make Erato choose someone else. But... something, you're not entirely certain what, stops the words in your throat. You allow your displeasure to crawl across your face and fold your arms, but don't yet deny the suggestion. "Why do you think I'm even a good option?". Erato takes a moment to consider the question, counting a mystery number out on $erahis fingers. "Why wouldn't you be? //I// certainly can't replace the lead, there's way too much work on my plate, but //you// are more or less my personal assistant--" Well, glad to get the appreciation, you suppose, "--there isn't a specific space you'd be leaving that renders the rest of the team down a pair of hands. All you have to do is memorise a script, then say it." A part of you wonders just how much time $erahe spent on this particular train of thought, but you don't but voice to the concern, instead taking on the idea with an much enthusiasm as you can muster. [[''I really don't like this, but I'll do it, I suppose.''|ch2stage1105]] [[''I'll... give it a go.''|ch2stage1106]] [[''This couldn't possibly go wrong.''|ch2stage1107]] [[''I better get paid double for this.''|ch2stage1108]]

Perhaps not bad, more morally neutral if it has to be anything. Perhaps... just unwise. Instead of heedless acceptance, you allow a hint of coy uncertainty, frowning at Erato as if placing the greatest of importance on an idea that will eventually amount to little consequence. You can't say you've ever had any experience in an acting role, unless you count the nebulous position of 'leadership' as acting. Erato looks at you, lips twisting sideways. "Just think about it," <<if $erahe is "they">>they say,<<else>>$erahe says,<</if>> shifting a curl from the middle of $erahis forehead to the side. That smile is more subdued than it was before, perhaps morphing as appropriate for the tone, but that optimism still somehow shines in eyes of warm brown. "//I// certainly can't take part, I have a role to fulfil all of my own, but //you// aren't necessary to the running of this place." //Ouch//. Your brow twitches up. Erato hesitates, forces an awkward grin, tries again. "What I mean is, if you take up the part the world won't fall apart. //And// we spend more time actually practising than we do finding another replacement." Better, you concede, like it was even a question in your mind. [[''Fine, I guess you've convinced me.|ch2stage1105]] [[''If you think I'll be a good fit, I suppose...|ch2stage1110]] [[''I'll do it, but I have concerns.''|ch2stage1111]] [[''In that case, I can't see any problem with this solution at all.'' I wonder if my sarcasm is too obvious?|ch2stage1112]]

Erato lets loose a slow, calculated breath, giving $erahimself time to formulate an answer that isn't downtrodden, depressive, dour. It takes a moment, long enough, at least, for you to push forth with your own ideas in place of $erahis own. "I just think..." You flounder in your opening line but manage to claw back some semblance of reason before you can crumble entirely to the flub. "You're putting all your eggs in one basket for something that may not work out." Erato leans back on $erahis heels, brown eyes staring down $erahis nose at you. Less in any judgement and more just... thoughtful. You gulp, forcing whatever thoughts you can scrounge up on the matter forth through your lips, thinking on the fly. "//You// obviously have an important role to play, but I'm here to help you. I can't just go filling the role when my part to play is by your side." And, perhaps a small part of you can't help but think, you //really// don't want to have to go reciting lines. After what feels like an eternity of Erato staring at you in thought, $erahe eventually allows a low sigh. "I see your point. I just..." There's almost something //disappointed// in $erahis tone, a downwards lilt that shakes at the end. "I don't put much stock in hoping someone from off the street will properly fill the role." [[''You were putting an awful lot of hope on me.''|ch2stage1113]] [[''Just because we're looking elsewhere doesn't mean the endeavor is doomed.''|ch2stage1114]] [[''We'll figure it out. I promise.''|ch2stage1115]] [[''No point mourning it. Just gotta get to it.''|ch2stage1116]]

Erato regards you with a twisted vulnerability, a weak smile pulling up on the left side. A silence hangs over the pair of you, something heavy left hanging there that you can't quite name. Eventually, your boss shakes $erahis head. "I don't think that's a good idea," <<if $erahe is "they">>they say hoarsely,<<else>>$erahe says hoarsely,<</if>> looking off past you at the closed over door. "All fails, we can postpone the show date." You watch as Erato's shoulders rise and fall with $erahis back turned to you, head sinking low as <<if $erahe is "they">>they glare holes<<else>>$erahe glares holes<</if>> into a helpless piece of paper on $erahis desk. "Is that something you'd allow?" You ask, already knowing the answer. Your boss doesn't reply, but $erahis shoulders sink ever-deeper. Then, comes the sigh. It's a low thing, a near-silent acceptance as you wait there for your boss to eke around to your side of the argument. Finally, Erato nods and turns to you, neglecting to speak more on the matter. "Well, regardless," <<if $erahe is "they">>they say,<<else>>$erahe says,<</if>> "That's a thought for tomorrow." "If you like." <<if $reck >=.5>>You say, suppressing that deep inner urge to challenge the matter. Erato may be a $eraman of $erahis word, but there's something specifically irritating about $erahim putting off the decision. Especially when there's a perfectly viable option before $erahim.<<else>>You mutter, not feeling particularly inclined to challenge $erahim on the subject. Erato is anything if not a $eraman of $erahis word.<</if>> No matter, you leave $erahim be and go about to help out with last minute prop-painting. You've done your job for now. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

Something in the way you word it sounds like a challenge, a challenge that forces one of Erato's eyes to twitch as $erahe <<if $erahe is "they">>struggle<<else>>struggles<</if>> over $erahis perfectly neat tie as it constricts around $erahis neck like some kind of winding cord. "It isn't a matter of //want//, I just..." A sigh, teeth grinding at the back, "I can't. Push comes to shove, we can just, just postpone the show." You watch as Erato's shoulders rise and fall with $erahis back turned to you, head sinking low as <<if $erahe is "they">>they glare holes<<else>>$erahe glares holes<</if>> into a helpless piece of paper on $erahis desk. "Is that something you'd allow?" You ask, already knowing the answer. Your boss doesn't reply, but $erahis shoulders sink ever-deeper. Then, comes the sigh. It's a low thing, a near-silent acceptance as you wait there for your boss to eke around to your side of the argument. Finally, Erato nods and turns to you, neglecting to speak more on the matter. "Well, regardless," <<if $erahe is "they">>they say,<<else>>$erahe says,<</if>> "That's a thought for tomorrow." "If you like." <<if $reck >=.5>>You say, suppressing that deep inner urge to challenge the matter. Erato may be a $eraman of $erahis word, but there's something specifically irritating about $erahim putting off the decision. Especially when there's a perfectly viable option before $erahim.<<else>>You mutter, not feeling particularly inclined to challenge $erahim on the subject. Erato is anything if not a $eraman of $erahis word.<</if>> No matter, you leave $erahim be and go about to help out with last minute prop-painting. You've done your job for now. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

An eye twitches. It's an expected response to a clear slight that almost forces a snort out of you. Even still, Erato doesn't fall for the bait hanging before $erahim like a particularly juicy worm on a line. "I don't think that's a good idea." Erato says bluntly, turning away so as to not look at your face for fear of irritated retribution, "We can always postpone the, the show date." You watch as Erato's shoulders rise and fall with $erahis back turned to you, head sinking low as <<if $erahe is "they">>they glare holes<<else>>$erahe glares holes<</if>> into a helpless piece of paper on $erahis desk. "Is that something you'd allow?" You ask, already knowing the answer. Your boss doesn't reply, but $erahis shoulders sink ever-deeper. Then, comes the sigh. It's a low thing, a near-silent acceptance as you wait there for your boss to eke around to your side of the argument. Finally, Erato nods and turns to you, neglecting to speak more on the matter. "Well, regardless," <<if $erahe is "they">>they say,<<else>>$erahe says,<</if>> "That's a thought for tomorrow." "If you like." <<if $reck >=.5>>You say, suppressing that deep inner urge to challenge the matter. Erato may be a $eraman of $erahis word, but there's something specifically irritating about $erahim putting off the decision. Especially when there's a perfectly viable option before $erahim.<<else>>You mutter, not feeling particularly inclined to challenge $erahim on the subject. Erato is anything if not a $eraman of $erahis word.<</if>> No matter, you leave $erahim be and go about to help out with last minute prop-painting. You've done your job for now. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

You lean forward on your toes, a sly grin finding its way onto your face. Erato, for $erahis part, bends backwards, looking down $erihis nose at you with an expression akin to bewilderment. There's a twitch, however, something in $erahis deep eyes as that gaze peers flickers across your brow and realises that you're //deadly// serious. Erato huffs. You watch as Erato's shoulders rise and fall with $erahis back turned to you, head sinking low as <<if $erahe is "they">>they glare holes<<else>>$erahe glares holes<</if>> into a helpless piece of paper on $erahis desk. "Seriously, what's stopping you?" You ask,a part of you already knowing the disappointing answer. Your boss doesn't reply, but $erahis shoulders sink ever-deeper. Then, comes the sigh. It's a low thing, a near-silent acceptance as you wait there for your boss to eke around to your side of the argument. Finally, Erato nods and turns to you, neglecting to speak more on the matter. "Responsibility," <<if $erahe is "they">>they say,<<else>>$erahe says,<</if>> "But that's enough for tonight." "If you like." <<if $reck >=.5>>You say, suppressing that deep inner urge to challenge the matter. Erato may be a $eraman of $erahis word, but there's something specifically irritating about $erahim putting off the decision. Especially when there's a perfectly viable option before $erahim.<<else>>You mutter, not feeling particularly inclined to challenge $erahim on the subject. Erato is anything if not a $eraman of $erahis word.<</if>> No matter, you leave $erahim be and go about to help out with last minute prop-painting. You've done your job for now. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

When you get home at the end of the night your feet hurt and your mind remains foggy. In the chill, you fumble with the passkey, fingers clumsy around the sleek sheet of metal about palm-size as you wave it vaguely where the doorknob should be. It's perhaps the finest thing you own--you can't help your small scoff. And it isn't even yours. The door clicks open to let you through. You spent the rest of your work evening remaining scarce, helping to solve small problems rather than the big ones. Now home, however, the day has caught up on you and your head aches as if it's been split in twain, a pain that creates webs of a sharp, stabbing hurt that ekes out from your cutyou got that morning. You stumble inside and kick it closed, greeted by a cold, empty apartment that still somehow smells of dirt. Arthur isn't back, but that isn't your problem. <<if $room is "clean">>You at least have enough clarity to put your clothes away for washing when you shed them before bed, throwing them into a hamper shoved next to the door to be forgotten or managed later. The matter dealt with, however, you crawl into bed and warm yourself under the sheets.<<elseif $room is "chaos">>You shed your clothes in an easy-to-follow path from your bedroom door to the bed, barely looking back before falling into your sheets with a mind fogged by cold and fatigue.<<else>>All you can do is shed your clothes at your bedside and leave them where they are, barely bothering to put them away for washing before falling amidst your sheets for warmth.<</if>> Your eyes don't fall immediately closed when you properly situate yourself, bundling up against the night. As the hours grow later (or earlier, as the case may be), the Understreets do not have the privilege of an unnaturally-warmed biome like the Disk does. No, even hot, balmy days eventually turn icy like the desert come nightfall as the warmth is absorbed by the surrounding rock. Your mind drifts to other things to stave away the worst of the chill. It first shifts to the strange man who intercepted you--how his whole being was a threat you couldn't shake. Focusing overlong on his eyes in your minds' memory brings back that familiar lump in your throat, so you struggle it away with other thoughts. Thoughts best left a decade in the past--lingering, nagging reminders of old friends, a lost sibling, and a world that was somehow harder and simpler all at once. There's an emotion there, so familiar yet somehow hollow as it sits at your sternum... it's... longing? All of it holds a place in that lockbox of your mind, like a chest to hold precious memories that you don't want broken, or stolen. All of them, you regret in some way, but what you miss most of all right now, is... [[My sibling. The answer will always be my sibling.|ch2pg38aside01]] [[Honestly? My thoughts turn to Mordred.|ch2pg38aside02]] [[I... miss having a purpose. Up there, I always had something.|ch2pg38aside03]] [[It's the feeling of home I miss most of all. Somewhere to belong.|ch2pg38aside04]] [[Everything. All of it. I can't pinpoint any one thing.|ch2pg38aside05]] [[To be quite honest, what I miss right now is a good night's sleep.|ch2pg38aside06]]

Your body takes in the command from your mind, considers the notion like molasses before each cell rejects the thought one-by-one. Chest full of lead, even your groan is forced through clenched teeth as you peel your limbs from the clutches of the too-hard mattress covered with a flimsy sheet full of holes. The first limb to rise is your right arm, then your left, before you manage to coax the rest of your body to follow with the silent promise of a good breakfast. (A lie you know won't last you long) The knocking gets louder, a muffled voice raising behind your door before--//blessed silence//. All at once, the banging on your front door ceases altogether, the voice disappears. If you were in more of a state, you could almost be forgiven for thinking it a dream. Except--you wait at your closed bedroom door. A moment passes... no knocking. Then--a low squeal erupts the peace of your cold, cruel apartment; the sound of your livingroom window opening. In the next moment, a pair of feet thud against the old carpet, foodsteps quiet but not silent as they traipse through the cramped space. Your chest tightens as your heart stammers in a vague fear, something not quite fervent enough to have you moving with purpose. It offers just enough space to think, consider what you need to do to get out of this... somewhat in one piece. There's a stranger in your home. What will you do about it? [[I grab a weapon first.|ch2pg3901][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[I give the intruder a verbal warning. I really don't want to have to fight anyone.|ch2pg3902][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[I come out swinging!|ch2pg3903][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[We can talk, right? Surely we don't have to fight?|ch2pg3904][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]]

Perci certainly isn't the first loyal friend you've ever had, but there's something in the way she'll weather any storm just for the sole opportunity to see you smile. Not... you specifically, //you// generally. Arthur will say what he wants, but you know as well as he does that Perci would fight tooth an nail for those she considers friends. Warmth blossoms in your chest just thinking about it. Body falling slack into your seat, you consider your completed stack of paper, the gently swaying door, and finally the time that ticks on at just mid-afternoon. You could busy yourself, you suppose, turn the screen back on and continue your own private investigation, but as time has moved on, so too would have the bulletin... It's not even a question, now, is it? Not really, not truly. [[I turn the screen back on. I have the time.|ch2pg2701]]

You reach for the least-breakable, heaviest object you can reasonably wield and come up with... a lamp. It's an old thing, replaced a few years ago when it new bulbs stopped working and no one knew how to fix it. It's hefty, but a poor substitute for a decent bludgeoning weapon. Even still, you steel yourself with a breath... before slamming your door open with your weapon-arm raised, prepared to protect yourself from the unwary intruder. Your valiant charge is promptly stopped by an eruption of boistrous laughter, a chesty thing that seems to engulph you better than any warm blanket. Your weapon lowers, the red fades from your gaze. Before you stands-- "Perci?" You gasp, breathless, eyes flickering to the woman who stands there in silent triumph. You drop the lamp with a clatter. Perci offers an easy grin but her bare shoulders are tense, spine straight as compared to her typical casual lean. She's in her street clothes again; a loose-fitted, sleeveless hood paired with breathable sweats and comfortable joggers. Like the rest of her, those clothes have been repaired too many times; splitting apart at the seams covered by patches of mismatched fabric and filament. She chuckles. It's forced through clenched fangs. "You weren't answering the door," She says by way of explanation for her unlikely entrance, striding over to lounge carelessly upon Arthur's substitute bed. "And Arty never fixed that window." [[''Be that as it may, you can't just come breaking into people's homes!''|ch2pg4001][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[''Perci, what the fuck?!''|ch2pg4002][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[''I would ask you to come in, but...''|ch2pg4003][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[All I can do is stare at her, utterly dumbfounded.|ch2pg4004][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]]

You take a breath, a quiet one that barely ushers any spare air into your lungs, then another, considering your tone of voice and what you must say. You know how to intimidate well enough, but these days you don't often have much use for it. The footsteps tread closer, you're running out of time. "I don't know what you think you're doing," You say forcing your voice deep and loud, accusing. A //threat.// "But if you know what's good for you, you'll turn back around and leave." For just a moment, a brief pause in time, the steps cease entirely, before a giggle ekes out behind your bedroom door. Then, a full-chested laugh that shakes the frame. You recognise the tone; how it encompasses you rather than be dissauded by something as pittiful as a door. "Oh, what'll you do to me?" Perci says through laughter, pushing the flimsy thing open for you rather than wait for your preparation. She's still laughing through her words, a rough thing that warms you better than any blanket. "Perci?" You gasp, breathless, eyes flickering to the woman who stands there in shuddering triumph. Perci offers an easy grin but her bare shoulders are tense, spine straight as compared to her typical casual lean. She's in her street clothes again; a loose-fitted, sleeveless hood paired with breathable sweats and comfortable joggers. Like the rest of her, those clothes have been repaired too many times; splitting apart at the seams covered by patches of mismatched fabric and filament. She chuckles. It's forced through clenched fangs. "You weren't answering the door," She says by way of explanation for her unlikely entrance, striding over to lounge carelessly upon Arthur's substitute bed. "And Arty never fixed that window." [[''Be that as it may, you can't just come breaking into people's homes!''|ch2pg4001][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[''Perci, what the fuck?!''|ch2pg4002][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[''I would ask you to come in, but...''|ch2pg4003][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[All I can do is stare at her, utterly dumbfounded.|ch2pg4004][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]]

You don't think, you //can't//. Not without hesitating, at the very least. And so, you don't. You thrust your door open and run from the safety of your room with fists raised, screaming bloody murder straight into the hard chest of someone who isn't interested in dodging. A pair of strong arms wrap around you juest briefly before directing you away to go stumbling into the couch that serves as Arthur's bed--when he bothers to come home. Your struggle as you topple is interrupted by a laugh, a bark of a thing that ends behind clenched teeth. You turn to growl out some kind of threat as you right yourself on your two feet once more but you're stopped mid-word when you actually catch a glimpse of the intruder. "Perci?" You gasp, breathless, eyes flickering to the woman who stands there in silent triumph. You drop your fist sheepishly at your side. Perci offers an easy grin but her bare shoulders are tense, spine straight as compared to her typical casual lean. She's in her street clothes again; a loose-fitted, sleeveless hood paired with breathable sweats and comfortable joggers. Like the rest of her, those clothes have been repaired too many times; splitting apart at the seams covered by patches of mismatched fabric and filament. She chuckles. It's forced through clenched fangs. "You weren't answering the door," She says by way of explanation for her unlikely entrance, striding over to lounge carelessly upon Arthur's substitute bed. "And Arty never fixed that window." [[''Be that as it may, you can't just come breaking into people's homes!''|ch2pg4001][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[''Perci, what the fuck?!''|ch2pg4002][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[''I would ask you to come in, but...''|ch2pg4003][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[All I can do is stare at her, utterly dumbfounded.|ch2pg4004][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]]

"What would have happened if I'd hurt you?" Though you level Perci with a stare filled with as much genuine concern as you can muster, all she manages is a shrug, lips pursing to let out a low whistle of appreciation. "I don't know, Pup. I'd be pretty impressed." She mutters, inspecting a loose pipe dislodged from her metal arm. With a twist of her lips, she pushes it back into place. Her tech hisses as whatever unstuck coil settles back into its rightful place, the inner-workings of her metal arm returning to normal levels. "I just figured I'd come pick you up. Walk you to work." You can't help your folded arms, eyes narrowing at the woman as she readjusts to sit with her elbows on her knees. Her smile has diminished, once a wide grin now a thin line against rough, olive skin. Black eyes examine you, linger too long on the scab fading above your eye before she scratches at the back of her neck where an undercut has started to grow out. "And on the way we stop to take in the sights, maybe spend a bit of time just being friends again." If you didn't know Perci her words would almost sound needlessly nostalgic, but it's really more of a //hint// at a greater truth she can't quite say. Not here. The suggestion forces a snort out of you. Figures. You'd already agreed on a meeting and now Perci wants to take you to a second location. [[''You know Art hates it when I'm late.'' In other words, I'm in.|ch2pg4101][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[''Why can't we just catch up here?''|ch2pg4102][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[''I could think of worse things than spending time with you.'' (flirt)|ch2pg4103][$perci_a to $perci_a +=.05]] [[''I don't think I want to go anywhere else until I hear an explanation.''|ch2pg4104][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[''Well, gee, that's an awfully nice thought, but...''|ch2pg4105][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]]

"I was--" You take a breath, but the sudden influx of fear, anger, //confusion// does little to quell the swell of pure emotion raging in your chest, "//You were//--" Another breath, and another, but you struggle to find the words as you uselessly gesture to Perci, yourself, and the wider world with wide motions. "You just broke into my house!" "Relax, pup, there wasn't anything //new// broken. This time." She mutters, inspecting a loose pipe dislodged from her metal arm. With a twist of her lips, she pushes it back into place. Her tech hisses as whatever unstuck coil settles back into its rightful place, the inner-workings of her metal arm returning to normal levels. "I just figured I'd come pick you up. Walk you to work." You can't help your folded arms, eyes narrowing at the woman as she readjusts to sit with her elbows on her knees. Her smile has diminished, once a wide grin now a thin line against rough, olive skin. Black eyes examine you, linger too long on the scab fading above your eye before she scratches at the back of her neck where an undercut has started to grow out. "And on the way we stop to take in the sights, maybe spend a bit of time just being friends again." If you didn't know Perci her words would almost sound needlessly nostalgic, but it's really more of a //hint// at a greater truth she can't quite say. Not here. The suggestion forces a snort out of you. Figures. You'd already agreed on a meeting and now Perci wants to take you to a second location. [[''You know Art hates it when I'm late.'' In other words, I'm in.|ch2pg4101][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[''Why can't we just catch up here?''|ch2pg4102][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[''I could think of worse things than spending time with you.'' (flirt)|ch2pg4103][$perci_a to $perci_a +=.05]] [[''I don't think I want to go anywhere else until I hear an explanation.''|ch2pg4104][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[''Well, gee, that's an awfully nice thought, but...''|ch2pg4105][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]]

Perci grins, no ounce of regret on that chiselled face of hers as she looks about the place. Her gaze is... unimpressed. "Well, you make yourself at home wherever you are, anyway." You grimace, only matched in intensity by Perci's smile. "Exactly. Shame looks good on no one, Pup." She mutters, inspecting a loose pipe dislodged from her metal arm. With a twist of her lips, she pushes it back into place. Her tech hisses as whatever unstuck coil settles back into its rightful place, the inner-workings of her metal arm returning to normal levels. "I just figured I'd come pick you up. Walk you to work." You can't help your folded arms, eyes narrowing at the woman as she readjusts to sit with her elbows on her knees. Her smile has diminished, once a wide grin now a thin line against rough, olive skin. Black eyes examine you, linger too long on the scab fading above your eye before she scratches at the back of her neck where an undercut has started to grow out. "And on the way we stop to take in the sights, maybe spend a bit of time just being friends again." If you didn't know Perci her words would almost sound needlessly nostalgic, but it's really more of a //hint// at a greater truth she can't quite say. Not here. The suggestion forces a snort out of you. Figures. You'd already agreed on a meeting and now Perci wants to take you to a second location. [[''You know Art hates it when I'm late.'' In other words, I'm in.|ch2pg4101][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[''Why can't we just catch up here?''|ch2pg4102][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[''I could think of worse things than spending time with you.'' (flirt)|ch2pg4103][$perci_a to $perci_a +=.05]] [[''I don't think I want to go anywhere else until I hear an explanation.''|ch2pg4104][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[''Well, gee, that's an awfully nice thought, but...''|ch2pg4105][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]]

After all, how are you supposed to react to your friend breaking and entering just to get your attention. Instead of finding any words, you stammer and stumble over what brief flickers of intelligence flutters through your mind, coming up with little more than a pitiful stare. "As much as I like this look on you, Pup, I think it's time to use your adult words now." She mutters, inspecting a loose pipe dislodged from her metal arm. With a twist of her lips, she pushes it back into place. Her tech hisses as whatever unstuck coil settles back into its rightful place, the inner-workings of her metal arm returning to normal levels. "I just figured I'd come pick you up. Walk you to work." You can't help your folded arms, eyes narrowing at the woman as she readjusts to sit with her elbows on her knees. Her smile has diminished, once a wide grin now a thin line against rough, olive skin. Black eyes examine you, linger too long on the scab fading above your eye before she scratches at the back of her neck where an undercut has started to grow out. "And on the way we stop to take in the sights, maybe spend a bit of time just being friends again." If you didn't know Perci her words would almost sound needlessly nostalgic, but it's really more of a //hint// at a greater truth she can't quite say. Not here. The suggestion forces a snort out of you. Figures. You'd already agreed on a meeting and now Perci wants to take you to a second location. [[''You know Art hates it when I'm late.'' In other words, I'm in.|ch2pg4101][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[''Why can't we just catch up here?''|ch2pg4102][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[''I could think of worse things than spending time with you.'' (flirt)|ch2pg4103][$perci_a to $perci_a +=.05]] [[''I don't think I want to go anywhere else until I hear an explanation.''|ch2pg4104][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[''Well, gee, that's an awfully nice thought, but...''|ch2pg4105][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]]

Perci snorts, "No he doesn't." She says, "That man turns not caring into an artform." You could argue with her, tell her she doesn't really mean it, but you don't. You're not particularly interested in having a fight, not about something you both already well know. Instead you nod, silent, before saying, "Let's go." "That... was much easier than I'd expected," She admits after a time, tracing the journey of a lubricant pipe down the length of her metal arm instead of meeting your gaze. "Why? I'd already agreed." You ask, but Perci grimaces all the same. "Well..." Perci stops herself short, considering her words for the slightest of moments before clearly thinking better of it with a grin to stave off any probing questions. "It doesn't matter. Like you said, we should go." "Fine," You grimace, shift sideways and turn your gaze down. Perci allows a moment to relax as she crosses the floor to smack you on the shoulder in silent camaradery. Little time is taken on preamble after that; Perci leads you out your front door before promtly leaping over the flimsy railing to climb down to the street that way. You <<if $reck >=.5>>attempt to follow as best you're able; you don't so much leap over the railing as drag yourself, you don't so much //climb// as muster a controlled fall. Perci offers a grin when you meet back up at the bottom.<<else>>don't follow her; traversing the stairs the safe, sane way before meeting back up at the bottom.<</if>> The pair of you walk the city for a time, avoiding the busy main streets to weave through old construction sites and skirt narrow alleys. This early in the morning it isn't particularly busy, but these liminal spaces between segments of the Undercity have been... empty for a while. Any construction being done down here has been halted indefinitely. On council orders. "I think those were meant to medical facilities," Perci gestures past the chainlink fence and to the hollowed out carcass of concrete and old scaffolds. These have been around for years, no one bothered to come clean it out for the space. "Others had their own apartments yanked out from under them when the projects went under. Think about what we could have had, $mc2_name." "I... tend not to." You admit, turning your gaze away from the fragments of what was once a scant hope. Perci turns on you, eyes blazing with a deep fire, as if burning up from within her chest. "Then, maybe you should." There's no accusation there, no real anger or hurt, just... pure smoldering passion, "We could change things if we set our mind to it; if I had a few friends like you working with me--" She cuts herself off, shoulders going limp as she lowers her tone and intensity. "I've... I've been working on this for years, and I'll work until I die to ensure things change." There's almost something certain in the way Perci speaks, however futile her goals may be. [[''Why do you try? Can't you see nothing will ever change?''|ch2pg4201]] [[''I wish I had your courage. I don't think I could ever do what you do.''|ch2pg4202]] [[''Don't you ever lose hope? There's a lot around here that needs to change.''|ch2pg4203]] [[''How do you cope? Your dreams could be shut down at any moment.''|ch2pg4204]] [[''I think it's irresponsible. How many people have to get hurt before you succeed?''|ch2pg4205]]

"Come on, $mc2_name!" Perci says, a sigh tearing through her chest as she massages the bridge of her nose. "Think about it for a second," Her hand falls away to allow the space for her all-encompassing stare across the livingroom. She drives her meaning home with no ounce of sly words, "I'm asking you to come with me, to talk about--that //thing// we have to discuss." "Why are we going to a third location, Perci?" You can't help your own sigh, something equal parts exasperation and trepidation driving your hesitation. You aren't by any means scared, yet... there's something there in Perci's eyes, a sign that almost tells you to run, that if you give in to her demands, there's no turning back. You struggle that feeling down, learn to live with it. "All I ask for is a little bit of time," Perci breathes, calm yet with the undercurrents of a smoldering intensity sitting just behind the eyes, "Don't think I don't know Arty doesn't care if you're late." You let the silence drag on between you, for a time, staring each other down from your respective high horses. Perci doesn't back down like she usually does; doesn't break the stalemate with a snicker or any promises that you'll get back into it later. No, the decision is forced on your now. "Fine," You grimace, shift sideways and turn your gaze down. You'd already agreed to meet with her, perhaps the curiosity can take you just a little farther afield than your own front door. Perci grins, finally, allowing a moment to relax as she crosses the floor to smack you on the shoulder in silent camaradery. Little time is taken on preamble after that; Perci leads you out your front door before promtly leaping over the flimsy railing to climb down to the street that way. You <<if $reck >=.5>>attempt to follow as best you're able; you don't so much leap over the railing as drag yourself, you don't so much //climb// as muster a controlled fall. Perci offers a grin when you meet back up at the bottom.<<else>>don't follow her; traversing the stairs the safe, sane way before meeting back up at the bottom.<</if>> The pair of you walk the city for a time, avoiding the busy main streets to weave through old construction sites and skirt narrow alleys. This early in the morning it isn't particularly busy, but these liminal spaces between segments of the Undercity have been... empty for a while. Any construction being done down here has been halted indefinitely. On council orders. "I think those were meant to medical facilities," Perci gestures past the chainlink fence and to the hollowed out carcass of concrete and old scaffolds. These have been around for years, no one bothered to come clean it out for the space. "Others had their own apartments yanked out from under them when the projects went under. Think about what we could have had, $mc2_name." "I... tend not to." You admit, turning your gaze away from the fragments of what was once a scant hope. Perci turns on you, eyes blazing with a deep fire, as if burning up from within her chest. "Then, maybe you should." There's no accusation there, no real anger or hurt, just... pure smoldering passion, "We could change things if we set our mind to it; if I had a few friends like you working with me--" She cuts herself off, shoulders going limp as she lowers her tone and intensity. "I've... I've been working on this for years, and I'll work until I die to ensure things change." There's almost something certain in the way Perci speaks, however futile her goals may be. [[''Why do you try? Can't you see nothing will ever change?''|ch2pg4201]] [[''I wish I had your courage. I don't think I could ever do what you do.''|ch2pg4202]] [[''Don't you ever lose hope? There's a lot around here that needs to change.''|ch2pg4203]] [[''How do you cope? Your dreams could be shut down at any moment.''|ch2pg4204]] [[''I think it's irresponsible. How many people have to get hurt before you succeed?''|ch2pg4205]]

You offer as sly a smile as you can muster and hope Perci gets the hint. For a moment, she simply blinks at you, cogs turning in her head as she considers the moment. She finds a snicker, eyes flicking away as if willing the heat in her cheeks to pass, but she otherwise does not acknowledge the comment. "That was much easier than I'd expected," She admits, tracing the journey of a lubricant pipe down the length of her metal arm. "Why? I'd already agreed." Even if the main driver of such an accord was to spend more time with her. Perci grimaces all the same. "Well... This could hurt your relationship with Arthur if it goes wrong," Perci is quiet for a moment, sharing a glance as you mull over the suggestion. Something distant in the pit of your gut squirms in discomfort, but you struggle it down with a cough. "What, like it can get any worse?" Perhaps it can, but you don't dignify that little fear in your mind with any voice. "Besides, this could make //your// relationship with him." Perci scoffs, but doesn't otherwise reply to the comment. "If we're done arguing, we should get going. Don't want to be late to work or anything." "Fine," You grimace, shift sideways and turn your gaze down. Perci grins, finally, allowing a moment to relax as she crosses the floor to smack you on the shoulder in silent camaradery. Little time is taken on preamble after that; Perci leads you out your front door before promtly leaping over the flimsy railing to climb down to the street that way. You <<if $reck >=.5>>attempt to follow as best you're able; you don't so much leap over the railing as drag yourself, you don't so much //climb// as muster a controlled fall. Perci offers a grin when you meet back up at the bottom.<<else>>don't follow her; traversing the stairs the safe, sane way before meeting back up at the bottom.<</if>> The pair of you walk the city for a time, avoiding the busy main streets to weave through old construction sites and skirt narrow alleys. This early in the morning it isn't particularly busy, but these liminal spaces between segments of the Undercity have been... empty for a while. Any construction being done down here has been halted indefinitely. On council orders. "I think those were meant to medical facilities," Perci gestures past the chainlink fence and to the hollowed out carcass of concrete and old scaffolds. These have been around for years, no one bothered to come clean it out for the space. "Others had their own apartments yanked out from under them when the projects went under. Think about what we could have had, $mc2_name." "I... tend not to." You admit, turning your gaze away from the fragments of what was once a scant hope. Perci turns on you, eyes blazing with a deep fire, as if burning up from within her chest. "Then, maybe you should." There's no accusation there, no real anger or hurt, just... pure smoldering passion, "We could change things if we set our mind to it; if I had a few friends like you working with me--" She cuts herself off, shoulders going limp as she lowers her tone and intensity. "I've... I've been working on this for years, and I'll work until I die to ensure things change." There's almost something certain in the way Perci speaks, however futile her goals may be. [[''Why do you try? Can't you see nothing will ever change?''|ch2pg4201]] [[''I wish I had your courage. I don't think I could ever do what you do.''|ch2pg4202]] [[''Don't you ever lose hope? There's a lot around here that needs to change.''|ch2pg4203]] [[''How do you cope? Your dreams could be shut down at any moment.''|ch2pg4204]] [[''I think it's irresponsible. How many people have to get hurt before you succeed?''|ch2pg4205]]

"Come on, $mc2_name!" Perci says, a sigh tearing through her chest as she massages the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry I scared you, is that what you want to hear? It wasn't my intent." Her hand falls away to allow the space for her all-encompassing stare across the livingroom. She drives her meaning home with no ounce of sly words, "I'm asking you to come with me, to talk about--that //thing// we have to discuss." "Hell, Perci, but why are we going to a third location?" You can't help your own sigh, something equal parts exasperation and trepidation driving your hesitation. You aren't by any means scared, yet... there's something there in Perci's eyes, a sign that almost tells you to run, that if you give in to her demands, there's no turning back. You struggle that feeling down, learn to live with it. "All I ask for is a little bit of time," Perci breathes, calm yet with the undercurrents of a smoldering intensity sitting just behind the eyes, "Don't think I don't know Arty doesn't care if you're late." You let the silence drag on between you, for a time, staring each other down from your respective high horses. Perci doesn't back down like she usually does; doesn't break the stalemate with a snicker or any promises that you'll get back into it later. No, the decision is forced on your now. "Fine," You grimace, shift sideways and turn your gaze down. You'd already agreed to meet with her, perhaps the curiosity can take you just a little farther afield than your own front door. Perci grins, finally, allowing a moment to relax as she crosses the floor to smack you on the shoulder in silent camaradery. Little time is taken on preamble after that; Perci leads you out your front door before promtly leaping over the flimsy railing to climb down to the street that way. You <<if $reck >=.5>>attempt to follow as best you're able; you don't so much leap over the railing as drag yourself, you don't so much //climb// as muster a controlled fall. Perci offers a grin when you meet back up at the bottom.<<else>>don't follow her; traversing the stairs the safe, sane way before meeting back up at the bottom.<</if>> The pair of you walk the city for a time, avoiding the busy main streets to weave through old construction sites and skirt narrow alleys. This early in the morning it isn't particularly busy, but these liminal spaces between segments of the Undercity have been... empty for a while. Any construction being done down here has been halted indefinitely. On council orders. "I think those were meant to medical facilities," Perci gestures past the chainlink fence and to the hollowed out carcass of concrete and old scaffolds. These have been around for years, no one bothered to come clean it out for the space. "Others had their own apartments yanked out from under them when the projects went under. Think about what we could have had, $mc2_name." "I... tend not to." You admit, turning your gaze away from the fragments of what was once a scant hope. Perci turns on you, eyes blazing with a deep fire, as if burning up from within her chest. "Then, maybe you should." There's no accusation there, no real anger or hurt, just... pure smoldering passion, "We could change things if we set our mind to it; if I had a few friends like you working with me--" She cuts herself off, shoulders going limp as she lowers her tone and intensity. "I've... I've been working on this for years, and I'll work until I die to ensure things change." There's almost something certain in the way Perci speaks, however futile her goals may be. [[''Why do you try? Can't you see nothing will ever change?''|ch2pg4201]] [[''I wish I had your courage. I don't think I could ever do what you do.''|ch2pg4202]] [[''Don't you ever lose hope? There's a lot around here that needs to change.''|ch2pg4203]] [[''How do you cope? Your dreams could be shut down at any moment.''|ch2pg4204]] [[''I think it's irresponsible. How many people have to get hurt before you succeed?''|ch2pg4205]]

"Come on, $mc2_name!" Perci says, a sigh tearing through her chest as she massages the bridge of her nose. "Subtlety isn't my strong suit. As much as I'd love to think I'm just that crafty, I know I'm not." Her hand falls away to allow the space for her all-encompassing stare across the livingroom. She drives her meaning home with no ounce of sly words, "I'm asking you to come with me, to talk about--that //thing// we have to discuss." "Hell, Perci, but why are we going to a third location?" You can't help your own sigh, something equal parts exasperation and trepidation driving your hesitation. You aren't by any means scared, yet... there's something there in Perci's eyes, a sign that almost tells you to run, that if you give in to her demands, there's no turning back. You struggle that feeling down, learn to live with it. "All I ask for is a little bit of time," Perci breathes, calm yet with the undercurrents of a smoldering intensity sitting just behind the eyes, "Don't think I don't know Arty doesn't care if you're late." You let the silence drag on between you, for a time, staring each other down from your respective high horses. Perci doesn't back down like she usually does; doesn't break the stalemate with a snicker or any promises that you'll get back into it later. No, the decision is forced on your now. "Fine," You grimace, shift sideways and turn your gaze down. You'd already agreed to meet with her, perhaps the curiosity can take you just a little farther afield than your own front door. Perci grins, finally, allowing a moment to relax as she crosses the floor to smack you on the shoulder in silent camaradery. Little time is taken on preamble after that; Perci leads you out your front door before promtly leaping over the flimsy railing to climb down to the street that way. You <<if $reck >=.5>>attempt to follow as best you're able; you don't so much leap over the railing as drag yourself, you don't so much //climb// as muster a controlled fall. Perci offers a grin when you meet back up at the bottom.<<else>>don't follow her; traversing the stairs the safe, sane way before meeting back up at the bottom.<</if>> The pair of you walk the city for a time, avoiding the busy main streets to weave through old construction sites and skirt narrow alleys. This early in the morning it isn't particularly busy, but these liminal spaces between segments of the Undercity have been... empty for a while. Any construction being done down here has been halted indefinitely. On council orders. "I think those were meant to medical facilities," Perci gestures past the chainlink fence and to the hollowed out carcass of concrete and old scaffolds. These have been around for years, no one bothered to come clean it out for the space. "Others had their own apartments yanked out from under them when the projects went under. Think about what we could have had, $mc2_name." "I... tend not to." You admit, turning your gaze away from the fragments of what was once a scant hope. Perci turns on you, eyes blazing with a deep fire, as if burning up from within her chest. "Then, maybe you should." There's no accusation there, no real anger or hurt, just... pure smoldering passion, "We could change things if we set our mind to it; if I had a few friends like you working with me--" She cuts herself off, shoulders going limp as she lowers her tone and intensity. "I've... I've been working on this for years, and I'll work until I die to ensure things change." There's almost something certain in the way Perci speaks, however futile her goals may be. [[''Why do you try? Can't you see nothing will ever change?''|ch2pg4201]] [[''I wish I had your courage. I don't think I could ever do what you do.''|ch2pg4202]] [[''Don't you ever lose hope? There's a lot around here that needs to change.''|ch2pg4203]] [[''How do you cope? Your dreams could be shut down at any moment.''|ch2pg4204]] [[''I think it's irresponsible. How many people have to get hurt before you succeed?''|ch2pg4205]]

Perci is quiet for a time, her head poking out from the cramped alleyway to peer across the street. Her shoulders stand hard as stone at her ears, knuckles turning white as she momentarily clenches them against the old brick on one side and the chainlink fence on the other. Eventually, she lets out a sigh. "I don't believe that," She says, the ghost of a whisper eking through clenched teeth. Her head bows and she doesn't quite turn to you, merely glancing over her shoulder through part-lidded eyes. Even still, there's no evidence of uncertainty, no doubt that her goals could ever end up in vain. For now, you drop the topic there. Perci gestures your way before darting across the road and round the corner. Eventually, the two of you come to an old, metal door out the back of some condemned apartments on the edge of town. Scaffolding still sits at its sides where reconstruction has been neglected or forgotten, some windows are either kicked out, or were never fitted to begin with. The facade itself is relatively stain-free, but the brick-work is old and wavering where most of the weight sits. Perci makes no comment as you slip inside to mostly darkness, though after a moment your eyes adjust. "Come on, we're almost there," Perci whispers, trecking through the vacant skeleton of a building that may once have housed people. From what little you see, some of the walls have been knocked down to make space (or, a part of you considers, to ensure the place remains uninhabitable) and some few remnants of furnature tells tales of a better time. The space smells musty and the dark welcomes the cold but you follow Perci through the first floor of the old building until, eventually, you come up to a series of lanterns gathered around a closed door after a few twists and turns down a hallway. Perci steps, drags the knuckles of her flesh hand down the synthetic wood door, before enacting a series of uneven knocks in seemingly random locations both on the frame and the door itself. It's a short series of motions, but a strange one nonetheless. Or it would be if you hadn't seen one of Perci's code's before. Someone listens behind the door. Perci turns to you with a grimace in the dim, "Just... listen before you start making assumptions, yeah?" [[''What are you getting me into, Perci?''|ch2pg4301]] [[''Should I be worried?''|ch2pg4302]] [[''Just show me.''|ch2pg4303]]

Perci considers you only briefly before poking her head out from between the protective brick wall of the alleyway to peer across the street. "Here's the secret, $mc2_name," she says firmly, finally turning back to look at you with arms folded. "You don't need courage to do what's right, you don't even need the right motivations at the end of the day," There's a pause as she considers her next words, "I guess... doing it scared is just as effective." You ponder those words in the brief moment Perci gives you before squirelling them away into lockbox in your mind. Thoughts for later. Perci gestures your way before darting across the road and round the corner. Eventually, the two of you come to an old, metal door out the back of some condemned apartments on the edge of town. Scaffolding still sits at its sides where reconstruction has been neglected or forgotten, some windows are either kicked out, or were never fitted to begin with. The facade itself is relatively stain-free, but the brick-work is old and wavering where most of the weight sits. Perci makes no comment as you slip inside to mostly darkness, though after a moment your eyes adjust. "Come on, we're almost there," Perci whispers, trecking through the vacant skeleton of a building that may once have housed people. From what little you see, some of the walls have been knocked down to make space (or, a part of you considers, to ensure the place remains uninhabitable) and some few remnants of furnature tells tales of a better time. The space smells musty and the dark welcomes the cold but you follow Perci through the first floor of the old building until, eventually, you come up to a series of lanterns gathered around a closed door after a few twists and turns down a hallway. Perci steps, drags the knuckles of her flesh hand down the synthetic wood door, before enacting a series of uneven knocks in seemingly random locations both on the frame and the door itself. It's a short series of motions, but a strange one nonetheless. Or it would be if you hadn't seen one of Perci's code's before. Someone listens behind the door. Perci turns to you with a grimace in the dim, "Just... listen before you start making assumptions, yeah?" [[''What are you getting me into, Perci?''|ch2pg4301]] [[''Should I be worried?''|ch2pg4302]] [[''Just show me.''|ch2pg4303]]

"If anything," Perci says immediately, poking her head out of the safety of the alley to peer across the road. "It solidifies my resolve." You grunt a vague affirmation when she turns back to you, arms folded. Her expression is clear, truthful, no suspicion weighing heavy on her broad shoulders. "It's when we start running out of things to fix that I'll start worrying." She doesn't elaborate any further, simply nodding her head, as if content with the answer, before dropping the topic. Perci gestures your way before darting across the road and round the corner. Eventually, the two of you come to an old, metal door out the back of some condemned apartments on the edge of town. Scaffolding still sits at its sides where reconstruction has been neglected or forgotten, some windows are either kicked out, or were never fitted to begin with. The facade itself is relatively stain-free, but the brick-work is old and wavering where most of the weight sits. Perci makes no comment as you slip inside to mostly darkness, though after a moment your eyes adjust. "Come on, we're almost there," Perci whispers, trecking through the vacant skeleton of a building that may once have housed people. From what little you see, some of the walls have been knocked down to make space (or, a part of you considers, to ensure the place remains uninhabitable) and some few remnants of furnature tells tales of a better time. The space smells musty and the dark welcomes the cold but you follow Perci through the first floor of the old building until, eventually, you come up to a series of lanterns gathered around a closed door after a few twists and turns down a hallway. Perci steps, drags the knuckles of her flesh hand down the synthetic wood door, before enacting a series of uneven knocks in seemingly random locations both on the frame and the door itself. It's a short series of motions, but a strange one nonetheless. Or it would be if you hadn't seen one of Perci's code's before. Someone listens behind the door. Perci turns to you with a grimace in the dim, "Just... listen before you start making assumptions, yeah?" [[''What are you getting me into, Perci?''|ch2pg4301]] [[''Should I be worried?''|ch2pg4302]] [[''Just show me.''|ch2pg4303]]

Perci looks at you for a long moment, lips curling downward. You can't quite tell what it is that runs through her mind in that moment, her face much too inscrutable; her plans and designs held close to her chest. Slowly, //carefully//, she allows a reply, "I take precautions to ensure that doesn't happen." It's a simple reply, but one expressed through clenched teeth and a weak grin. The intensity in Perci's gaze tells you to //drop it//. And so, you do, for now. Perci gestures your way before darting across the road and round the corner. Eventually, the two of you come to an old, metal door out the back of some condemned apartments on the edge of town. Scaffolding still sits at its sides where reconstruction has been neglected or forgotten, some windows are either kicked out, or were never fitted to begin with. The facade itself is relatively stain-free, but the brick-work is old and wavering where most of the weight sits. Perci makes no comment as you slip inside to mostly darkness, though after a moment your eyes adjust. "Come on, we're almost there," Perci whispers, trecking through the vacant skeleton of a building that may once have housed people. From what little you see, some of the walls have been knocked down to make space (or, a part of you considers, to ensure the place remains uninhabitable) and some few remnants of furnature tells tales of a better time. The space smells musty and the dark welcomes the cold but you follow Perci through the first floor of the old building until, eventually, you come up to a series of lanterns gathered around a closed door after a few twists and turns down a hallway. Perci steps, drags the knuckles of her flesh hand down the synthetic wood door, before enacting a series of uneven knocks in seemingly random locations both on the frame and the door itself. It's a short series of motions, but a strange one nonetheless. Or it would be if you hadn't seen one of Perci's code's before. Someone listens behind the door. Perci turns to you with a grimace in the dim, "Just... listen before you start making assumptions, yeah?" [[''What are you getting me into, Perci?''|ch2pg4301]] [[''Should I be worried?''|ch2pg4302]] [[''Just show me.''|ch2pg4303]]

"People are hurting already," Perci says, voice hard as stone as you weild your own like fists punching through. "And if nothing changes people will continue to hurt. Either way, people are hurting, but at least my way one day ends." You consider Perci for a moment, how she stands there in full certainty. No hint of hesitation is felt in her gaze, or her tone, or her strong, wide shoulders. "For you and yours, perhaps," Hell, even //you//, to an extent, "But how can you be sure others won't be worse off?" "I can't." Whether or not your friend has anything more to say on the topic, she neglects to, instead gesturing your way before darting across the road and round the corner. Eventually, the two of you come to an old, metal door out the back of some condemned apartments on the edge of town. Scaffolding still sits at its sides where reconstruction has been neglected or forgotten, some windows are either kicked out, or were never fitted to begin with. The facade itself is relatively stain-free, but the brick-work is old and wavering where most of the weight sits. Perci makes no comment as you slip inside to mostly darkness, though after a moment your eyes adjust. "Come on, we're almost there," Perci whispers, trecking through the vacant skeleton of a building that may once have housed people. From what little you see, some of the walls have been knocked down to make space (or, a part of you considers, to ensure the place remains uninhabitable) and some few remnants of furnature tells tales of a better time. The space smells musty and the dark welcomes the cold but you follow Perci through the first floor of the old building until, eventually, you come up to a series of lanterns gathered around a closed door after a few twists and turns down a hallway. Perci steps, drags the knuckles of her flesh hand down the synthetic wood door, before enacting a series of uneven knocks in seemingly random locations both on the frame and the door itself. It's a short series of motions, but a strange one nonetheless. Or it would be if you hadn't seen one of Perci's code's before. Someone listens behind the door. Perci turns to you with a grimace in the dim, "Just... listen before you start making assumptions, yeah?" [[''What are you getting me into, Perci?''|ch2pg4301]] [[''Should I be worried?''|ch2pg4302]] [[''Just show me.''|ch2pg4303]]

"Nothing so serious," She replies in a low tone, but there's something that falters at the end of each word, like she's speaking through clenched teeth. "Just... I'll explain everything in a moment." Slowly, she pushes open the door. What lies beyond is a space you've seen many times before. While the building itself is as ramshackle as they come, the space has four walls closed off and pasted over by posters and old wood. In the middle of the small room is an old mattress topped with stained sheets pushed up against an old couch. Various baubles litter the room, but there's nothing personal here, nothing that tells you about Perci herself. As intended. <<if $saga_gender is "non">>Sitting upon the couch with knees pulled up to their chest is a young-looking individual with half their hair shaved short. The other half falls over a shoulder in silver-blue waves as black-painted nails comb through it in a calming gesture. Grey eyes shift languidly to glance at you, watery pools of precious metal rather than unerring steel. After a moment, the light freckling dotting their reddish-brown skin scrunch up with their straight nose. Their jaw clenches as they bite their tongue, lips finding a half-pout in silent contemplation of you. You can't tell what it is they see. "Perci?" They mumble in a low voice, tugging hard at the ripped sleeves of their hood, "Who is this?"<<elseif $saga_gender is "male">>Sitting upon the couch with knees pulled up to his chest is a young-looking individual with half his hair shaved short. The other half falls over a shoulder in silver-blue waves as black-painted nails comb through it in a calming gesture. Grey eyes shift languidly to glance at you, watery pools of precious metal rather than unerring steel. After a moment, the light freckling dotting his reddish-brown skin scrunch up with his straight nose. With a sharp jaw clenching, the man peers at you with a cocked head, some hair splaying across his dust-smeared cheeks. His face doesn't reflect what he sees. "Perci?" He mumbles in a low voice, tugging hard at the ripped sleeves of his hood, "Who is this?"<<else>>Sitting upon the couch with knees pulled up to her chest is a young-looking individual with half her hair shaved short. The other half falls over a shoulder in silver-blue waves as black-painted nails comb through it in a calming gesture. Grey eyes shift languidly to glance at you, watery pools of precious metal rather than unerring steel. After a moment, the light freckling dotting her reddish-brown skin scrunch up with her straight nose. The woman's cheeks puff out in a pout, hooded eyes silently examining you for a moment. You can't tell what she sees in you. "Perci?" She mumbles in a low voice, tugging hard at the ripped sleeves of her hood, "Who is this?"<</if>> "A..." Perci looks at you, black eyes skittering across the features of your face before sliding ever-away. Next, she addresses the stranger with an even register, something small and placating, "A friend. I told you $mc2_hes here to help, remember?" A hum is what comes of a reply, grey eyes fluttering downward to exposed knees through ripped jeans. "Guess so." they say, a downward lilt to $sagahis voice. Disappointment. [[''This better not be what it looks like.''|ch2pg4401]] [[''Who is this kid, Perci?''|ch2pg4402]] [[''Alright, let's just get to business, then.''|ch2pg4403]] [[First, introduce myself. It would be rude not to.|ch2pg4404]]

"No. $mc2_name, would I stear you wrong?" She replies in a low tone, but there's something that falters at the end of each word, like she's speaking through clenched teeth. "Just... I'll explain everything in a moment." Slowly, she pushes open the door. What lies beyond is a space you've seen many times before. While the building itself is as ramshackle as they come, the space has four walls closed off and pasted over by posters and old wood. In the middle of the small room is an old mattress topped with stained sheets pushed up against an old couch. Various baubles litter the room, but there's nothing personal here, nothing that tells you about Perci herself. As intended. <<if $saga_gender is "non">>Sitting upon the couch with knees pulled up to their chest is a young-looking individual with half their hair shaved short. The other half falls over a shoulder in silver-blue waves as black-painted nails comb through it in a calming gesture. Grey eyes shift languidly to glance at you, watery pools of precious metal rather than unerring steel. After a moment, the light freckling dotting their reddish-brown skin scrunch up with their straight nose. Their jaw clenches as they bite their tongue, lips finding a half-pout in silent contemplation of you. You can't tell what it is they see. "Perci?" They mumble in a low voice, tugging hard at the ripped sleeves of their hood, "Who is this?"<<elseif $saga_gender is "male">>Sitting upon the couch with knees pulled up to his chest is a young-looking individual with half his hair shaved short. The other half falls over a shoulder in silver-blue waves as black-painted nails comb through it in a calming gesture. Grey eyes shift languidly to glance at you, watery pools of precious metal rather than unerring steel. After a moment, the light freckling dotting his reddish-brown skin scrunch up with his straight nose. With a sharp jaw clenching, the man peers at you with a cocked head, some hair splaying across his dust-smeared cheeks. His face doesn't reflect what he sees. "Perci?" He mumbles in a low voice, tugging hard at the ripped sleeves of his hood, "Who is this?"<<else>>Sitting upon the couch with knees pulled up to her chest is a young-looking individual with half her hair shaved short. The other half falls over a shoulder in silver-blue waves as black-painted nails comb through it in a calming gesture. Grey eyes shift languidly to glance at you, watery pools of precious metal rather than unerring steel. After a moment, the light freckling dotting her reddish-brown skin scrunch up with her straight nose. The woman's cheeks puff out in a pout, hooded eyes silently examining you for a moment. You can't tell what she sees in you. "Perci?" She mumbles in a low voice, tugging hard at the ripped sleeves of her hood, "Who is this?"<</if>> "A..." Perci looks at you, black eyes skittering across the features of your face before sliding ever-away. Next, she addresses the stranger with an even register, something small and placating, "A friend. I told you $mc2_hes here to help, remember?" A hum is what comes of a reply, grey eyes fluttering downward to exposed knees through ripped jeans. "Guess so." they say, a downward lilt to $sagahis voice. Disappointment. [[''This better not be what it looks like.''|ch2pg4401]] [[''Who is this kid, Perci?''|ch2pg4402]] [[''Alright, let's just get to business, then.''|ch2pg4403]] [[First, introduce myself. It would be rude not to.|ch2pg4404]]

Perci looks at you for a moment, mouth twisting, cogs turning over in her mind, before she allows a shrug. "Suit yourself," She says before pushing open the door. What lies beyond is a space you've seen many times before. While the building itself is as ramshackle as they come, the space has four walls closed off and pasted over by posters and old wood. In the middle of the small room is an old mattress topped with stained sheets pushed up against an old couch. Various baubles litter the room, but there's nothing personal here, nothing that tells you about Perci herself. As intended. <<if $saga_gender is "non">>Sitting upon the couch with knees pulled up to their chest is a young-looking individual with half their hair shaved short. The other half falls over a shoulder in silver-blue waves as black-painted nails comb through it in a calming gesture. Grey eyes shift languidly to glance at you, watery pools of precious metal rather than unerring steel. After a moment, the light freckling dotting their reddish-brown skin scrunch up with their straight nose. Their jaw clenches as they bite their tongue, lips finding a half-pout in silent contemplation of you. You can't tell what it is they see. "Perci?" They mumble in a low voice, tugging hard at the ripped sleeves of their hood, "Who is this?"<<elseif $saga_gender is "male">>Sitting upon the couch with knees pulled up to his chest is a young-looking individual with half his hair shaved short. The other half falls over a shoulder in silver-blue waves as black-painted nails comb through it in a calming gesture. Grey eyes shift languidly to glance at you, watery pools of precious metal rather than unerring steel. After a moment, the light freckling dotting his reddish-brown skin scrunch up with his straight nose. With a sharp jaw clenching, the man peers at you with a cocked head, some hair splaying across his dust-smeared cheeks. His face doesn't reflect what he sees. "Perci?" He mumbles in a low voice, tugging hard at the ripped sleeves of his hood, "Who is this?"<<else>>Sitting upon the couch with knees pulled up to her chest is a young-looking individual with half her hair shaved short. The other half falls over a shoulder in silver-blue waves as black-painted nails comb through it in a calming gesture. Grey eyes shift languidly to glance at you, watery pools of precious metal rather than unerring steel. After a moment, the light freckling dotting her reddish-brown skin scrunch up with her straight nose. The woman's cheeks puff out in a pout, hooded eyes silently examining you for a moment. You can't tell what she sees in you. "Perci?" She mumbles in a low voice, tugging hard at the ripped sleeves of her hood, "Who is this?"<</if>> "A..." Perci looks at you, black eyes skittering across the features of your face before sliding ever-away. Next, she addresses the stranger with an even register, something small and placating, "A friend. I told you $mc2_hes here to help, remember?" A hum is what comes of a reply, grey eyes fluttering downward to exposed knees through ripped jeans. "Guess so." they say, a downward lilt to $sagahis voice. Disappointment. [[''This better not be what it looks like.''|ch2pg4401]] [[''Who is this kid, Perci?''|ch2pg4402]] [[''Alright, let's just get to business, then.''|ch2pg4403]] [[First, introduce myself. It would be rude not to.|ch2pg4404]]

If there are to be introductions, you may as well get them over with. "My name is $mc2_name. I work for private firm that looks into matters the Enforcers either can't or won't." It's the typical tagline Arthur uses when he thinks the prospective client will be receptive to it--which is often these days. Perci offers a sideways glance, but otherwise doesn't give voice to any surprise she may be otherwise inclined to project. "I... was told I may be of assistance?" Hell, but that didn't roll of the tongue particularly neatly. Even still, the stranger perks up somewhat, back straightening as <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they clamber to their feet.<<else>>$sagahe clambers to $sagahis feet.<</if>> <<if $saga_gender is "non">>They're<<else>>$sagahes<</if>> somewhat spindly on $sagahis feet, a little too awkward with a slouch that forces $sagahim shorter than $sagahe otherwise should be, which is already fairly short. On second glance this individual isn't a //kid// by any means, but with that uncertain posture you would certainly be forgiven the mistake. Even still <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they<<else>>$sagahe<</if>> meets you with the smallest of smiles, quivering at the corners with impatience. "Oh, excellent," <<if $saga_gender is "non">>They say<<else>>$sagahe says<</if>> voice all-too eloquent, almost... petite, as if it's never had to raise to a shout a day in $sagahis life. "I'm... " then, comes the struggle, a pair of gray eyes flickering around the room searching for... something. Perci beside you covers her eyes with a hand, grimacing. The moment extends and you offer them both a stare with your brows raised. The no-named stranger winces, bites $sagahis lip, before finally settling on, "... Raven? Yes, my name is... //Raven//." "Uhuh," You say, ensuring your disbelief goes very much heard, ensuring Perci //knows// you aren't well impressed. She takes control from there, shooting the kid a look. Not at all suspicious. "The main point is that //Raven// here needs help, and I thought you could take it to Art, maybe convince him to accept the job," Perci offers a grimace of a smile, something pained, something just on the edge of believably controlled and //hoping for a miracle//. Raven pipes up from $sagahis spot-- "I can pay, I have the credits--" Before either you or Perci can stop $sagahim, Raven has pulled a thick wad of old paper-slips that shimmer even in the dark. It's not a staggering amount by any means, but it's certainly more than enough when <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they proceed<<else>>$sagahe proceeds<</if>> to pull more out from the confines of $sagahis backpack, which had previously sat unassuming at $sagahis feet. "Sa--//Raven//!" Perci hisses, any amount of friendliness dissipating on sight of the credits. "Let me do the show-and-tell." [[''Whoah there, kid. First rule, don't go waving that amount of cash around.''|ch2pg4501]] [[''For your sake, I'll pretend I never saw that.''|ch2pg4502]] [[''Lucky for you and your... expansive wallet, my boss may not even take it.''|ch2pg4503]] [[''Whoever you are, you should listen to Perci.''|ch2pg4504]] [[''Clearly, you are not well-versed in the art of subtlety.''|ch2pg4505]]

"It's only us here," Raven barks, "What're you gonna do, take it and run?" "That's not what I meant--" You try to correct, but the kid has well and truly stopped listening, practically seeing red. "I don't care," Comes the clipped reply, the kid taking no heed of Perci's warning, "If you are who you say you are you'll accept the money, and the job--someone's life could be in danger!" Grey eyes bore into you, no hint of any hesitation swimming in those pools of steel. Raven's lips tighten, then slacken with $sagahis jaw. Perci, for her part, has taken a step well away from the situation. Her back is turned as she tears her fingers through her hair, for now ignoring the broken pieces of her carefully laid plans. "Take it, take it all," Raven hisses, "I'll do anything, just tell me what it is. I just need you to find my friend and help me get out of the city." [[CHAPTER END|CHAP2END]]

Raven pushes the stack of credits into your hands regardless, "I don't care," <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they say carelessly<<else>>$sagahe says carelessly<</if>>, "I can get more. I can always get more." "//Raven//," Perci barks a warning but the kid either isn't listening or doesn't know any better. "No, Perci, a life could be in danger and we're here wasting time." Raven's face has bloomed a vibrant red, backpack gracelessly hanging from an arm as <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they wade within its depths<<else>>$sagahe wades within its depths<</if>> to gather the remaining loose leaflets of physical cash. Thin brows knot together in desperation before gray eyes flicker up to look at you from underneath bushy bangs. "Just explain to me what the problem is," For one, you need to know whether the kid's being dramatic when they claim someone may be in trouble. Grey eyes bore into you, no hint of any hesitation swimming in those pools of steel. Raven's lips tighten, then slacken with $sagahis jaw. Perci, for her part, has taken a step well away from the situation. Her back is turned as she tears her fingers through her hair, for now ignoring the broken pieces of her carefully laid plans. Raven hisses, but takes a moment to calm before answering your question through clenched teeth. "My... friend, is missing. I just need help finding them and a way out of the city." [[CHAPTER END|CHAP2END]]

"I don't care," Comes the clipped reply, the kid taking no heed of Perci's warning, "If you are who you say you are you'll accept the money, and the job--someone's life could be in danger!" Grey eyes bore into you, no hint of any hesitation swimming in those pools of steel. Raven's lips tighten, then slacken with $sagahis jaw. Perci, for her part, has taken a step well away from the situation. Her back is turned as she tears her fingers through her hair, for now ignoring the broken pieces of her carefully laid plans. "No, what I mean is--" Any correction you have to make goes unheard as a stack of credits is pushed into your hands. "Take it, take it all," Raven hisses, "I'll do anything, just tell me what it is. I just need you to find my friend and help me get out of the city." [[CHAPTER END|CHAP2END]]

Erato's lips pull upwards into a bemused frown and though the stare that hits you is one of full-fledged //dislike//, it's better than the alternative heaviness of whatever it was that plagued $erahis mind beforehand. You'll take your small mercies. "I don't particularly like the way you talk." "But?" You probe, nudging $erahim with a cheeky smile. Erato sighs, massages the bridge of $erahis nose with closed eyes. "But... I'm sorry for my unfair comment." "Better," You say, arms folding as you share a look with your boss. Officially speaking, you're just another stagehand here to help out on busy days like dress-rehearsals and show nights. Unofficially, however, you're more of a personal assistant to the manager $erahimself. There are plenty of stagehands to go around, but only one of you who's subtle and quick-witted enough to fix all the problems Erato finds amidst perfection. Or imperfection, as the current state of affairs may be. Sharp eyes find the plaster at your temple, and that frown returns in full force once more. "You're hurt," A statement, not a question, as $erahis fingers curl around the stack of papers. They crinkle and protest in $erahis hands, but $erahis attentions no longer lie in the scrawling text on parchment. Instead, $erahis lips tighten, eyes once more widening in an overwhelmed frustration. "What happened? Do you need to take the day?" Erato's gaze flounders, shifts down to $erahis shoes as $erahe <<if $erahe is "they">>calculate<<else>>calculates<</if>> the cost of losing the single employee capable of keeping them from spiraling into a pit of despair. [[''I just walked into a wall on my way here. Nothing to worry about.''|ch2stage0201][$manip to $manip +=.05]] [[''We're not worrying about me right now. What's gone wrong?''|ch2stage0202][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''I wouldn't be here if I planned on leaving early.''|ch2stage0203][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''You worry too much. Do you ever get out of that head of yours?''|ch2stage0204][$reck to $reck +=.05]]

At home, gender was second always to whether you could properly fight; the people that loved you accepted you for who you were unconditionally and the world was generally a fine place to be in that regard, but there were always certain expectations put upon you, about how you were supposed to be. In the wrong company, there were always boxes, upon boxes, upon boxes you were forced to act within to be properly accepted as the person you reported to be. But as the years had dragged on, those people were becoming less and less vocal, and such expectations never bothered you besides. Here in Ledala, however, gender seems something of a vague shrug to the people who have the means to get the care to transition. You've known and know of a fair few who have simply transitioned for the fun of it, never once regretting it if they later found they wanted to return to who they were before--or another gender entirely. It's... a distinctly stark difference to what you've always been used to, and yet there's a certain freedom to be had in a world that views gender as something to explore rather than something to settle on. Whether or not that is for you, however, you've reaped the benefits of a society that isn't interested in forcing you to jump through hoops just to prove who you are. Whatever choices you've made to affirm yourself, be they medical or not, you can't deny that in this place, no one has questioned you for it. Because in this place, it is simply not something //to// question. [[And I have used that to my advantage. (You have medically transitioned to at least some degree in Ledala)|ch2pg3401][$mc2transition to 1]] [[And I would have taken advantage of it if I hadn't already transitioned prior. (You had medically transition to some degree in the past)|ch2pg3402][$mc2transition to 2]] [[Even still, I have not taken advantage of these resources. (You have not medically transitioned)|ch2pg3403][$mc2transition to 3]] [[To be honest, none of this matters. (Keep it vague)|ch2pg3404][$mc2transition to 4]]

What you've done to affirm yourself are your own choices, something for you alone to consider. You move on from thoughts of your body to other, more important things. You don't specifically require a uniform for your job, however, there are articals of clothing that you find help you to do it better. Set out on the bed is your choice for the day. [[An old boilersuit. It helps protect me while I'm working with potentially dangerous material. (You're a mechanic)|ch2pg3501][$job to "Mechanic"]] [[An apron. I don't want to be spilling food on myself, after all. (You run a food stall)|ch2pg3502][$job to "Stall Manager"]] [[Something clean, neat, without drawing too much attention to myself. (You are a stagehand)|ch2pg3503][$job to "Stagehand"]]

"Excellent!" Erato claps $erahis hands once in an uncharacteristic display of enthusiasm, a quietly optimistic smile tearing at the corners of $erahis lips. <<if $erahe is "they">>They take<<else>>$erahe takes<</if>> the time to collect a plastic sleeve filled to bursting with paper before shoving it into your empty hands. On a quick glance, your lines are highlighted and underlined but you don't yet bother to go through and read them. There will be time for that later. "It is a thought for tomorrow--or..." Erato trails off momentarily, a crease between the brow and a halfway-to-pursed pair of lips a halted face of thought amidst the flurry of optimism prior, "Whenever you're working next. But go over that and we can figure out where you're at next time." It's a stark contrast, how your boss simply is right now compared to how <<if $erahe is "they">>they were<<else>>$erahe was<</if>>. It's strange, like all $erahis worries have simply been plucked out in one fell swoop of a hand. Little more conversation occurrs that night. Erato leaves you to read over the script and, quietly, you forego that duty for now to help shore up any other problems your boss doesn't need to know about. You help finish some of the backdrop and prop painting, and otherwise ensure all runs smoothly. At least, until your shift comes to an end. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

It's a quiet acceptance, a tentative one cut by a nervous tension that holds your shoulders stiff at your ears. You couldn't possibly consider yourself a viable option but if Erato thinks so... who are you to deny $erahim? You just hope <<if $erahe is "they">>they don't<<else>>$erahe doesn't<</if>> blame you when it all goes to hell. Perhaps sensing your trepidation Erato offers a small smile, holding back the wave of vibrant enthusiasm that practically vibrates within $erahis very soul. "That's..." A breath cools $erahis tone before <<if $erahe is "they">>they try again<<else>>$erahe tries again<</if>>, "That's all I ask. All I want." <<if $erahe is "they">>They take<<else>>$erahe takes<</if>> the time to collect a plastic sleeve filled to bursting with paper before shoving it into your empty hands. On a quick glance, your lines are highlighted and underlined but you don't yet bother to go through and read them. There will be time for that later. "It is a thought for tomorrow--or..." Erato trails off momentarily, a crease between the brow and a halfway-to-pursed pair of lips a halted face of thought amidst the flurry of optimism prior, "Whenever you're working next. But go over that and we can figure out where you're at next time." It's a stark contrast, how your boss simply is right now compared to how <<if $erahe is "they">>they were<<else>>$erahe was<</if>>. It's strange, like all $erahis worries have simply been plucked out in one fell swoop of a hand. Little more conversation occurrs that night. Erato leaves you to read over the script and, quietly, you forego that duty for now to help shore up any other problems your boss doesn't need to know about. You help finish some of the backdrop and prop painting, and otherwise ensure all runs smoothly. At least, until your shift comes to an end. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

You offer a wince of a grin, a faux attempt at optimism that matches Erato, but it doesn't quite stick and feels disengenuous besides. "I'm not a trained actor, Erato." "No one here is," Comes the reply, something almost clipped behind the smile <<if $erahe is "they">>they offer<<else>>$erahe offers<</if>> you. It's still positive, still somehow shines with that excitement you'd recognise on anyone, but there's something forced about it in the face of your perceived negativity. "We're a 'community' theatre. Do you expect masters of your coworkers?" You suppose not, you concede the point. "All I'm saying is don't be disappointed when you find out I can't act." Erato doesn't reply. Instead, <<if $erahe is "they">>they take<<else>>$erahe takes<</if>> the time to collect a plastic sleeve filled to bursting with paper before shoving it into your empty hands. On a quick glance, your lines are highlighted and underlined but you don't yet bother to go through and read them. There will be time for that later. "It is a thought for tomorrow--or..." Erato trails off momentarily, a crease between the brow and a halfway-to-pursed pair of lips a halted face of thought amidst the flurry of optimism prior, "Whenever you're working next. But go over that and we can figure out where you're at next time." It's a stark contrast, how your boss simply is right now compared to how <<if $erahe is "they">>they were<<else>>$erahe was<</if>>. It's strange, like all $erahis worries have simply been plucked out in one fell swoop of a hand. Little more conversation occurrs that night. Erato leaves you to read over the script and, quietly, you forego that duty for now to help shore up any other problems your boss doesn't need to know about. You help finish some of the backdrop and prop painting, and otherwise ensure all runs smoothly. At least, until your shift comes to an end. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

Erato smiles wider, "You'll be paid," Comes the reply, easy and without any hesitation or crack. Your boss doesn't evade your stare, nor <<if $erahe is "they">>do they wave your concern away with pretty words.<<else>>does $erahe wave your concern away with pretty words.<</if>> "I'll make sure of it." With that particular worry assuaged, however, it leaves room for other, smaller, concerns to eke through the cracks. You're not an actor, not on stage and barely even in your own life. Why does Erato think you're the right choice? "Now, if you don't mind..." <<if $erahe is "they">>They take<<else>>$erahe takes<</if>> the time to collect a plastic sleeve filled to bursting with paper before shoving it into your empty hands. On a quick glance, your lines are highlighted and underlined but you don't yet bother to go through and read them. There will be time for that later. "It is a thought for tomorrow--or..." Erato trails off momentarily, a crease between the brow and a halfway-to-pursed pair of lips a halted face of thought amidst the flurry of optimism prior, "Whenever you're working next. But go over that and we can figure out where you're at next time." It's a stark contrast, how your boss simply is right now compared to how <<if $erahe is "they">>they were<<else>>$erahe was<</if>>. It's strange, like all $erahis worries have simply been plucked out in one fell swoop of a hand. Little more conversation occurrs that night. Erato leaves you to read over the script and, quietly, you forego that duty for now to help shore up any other problems your boss doesn't need to know about. You help finish some of the backdrop and prop painting, and otherwise ensure all runs smoothly. At least, until your shift comes to an end. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

A part of you doesn't truly think you're a viable option, not truly. You can't say you've ever had the pleasure of doing anything of the sort. You look to Erato for some kind of guidance, a confidence in their decision that you can't seem to find within you, however //willing// you may be. "Excellent," <<if $erahe is "they">>They say<<else>>$erahe says<</if>>, taking the time to collect a plastic sleeve filled to bursting with paper before shoving it into your empty hands. On a quick glance, your lines are highlighted and underlined but you don't yet bother to go through and read them. There will be time for that later. "It is a thought for tomorrow, though--or..." Erato trails off momentarily, a crease between the brow and a halfway-to-pursed pair of lips a halted face of thought amidst the flurry of optimism prior, "Whenever you're working next. But go over that and we can figure out where you're at next time." It's a stark contrast, how your boss simply is right now compared to how <<if $erahe is "they">>they were<<else>>$erahe was<</if>>. It's strange, like all $erahis worries have simply been plucked out in one fell swoop of a hand. Little more conversation occurrs that night. Erato leaves you to read over the script and, quietly, you forego that duty for now to help shore up any other problems your boss doesn't need to know about. You help finish some of the backdrop and prop painting, and otherwise ensure all runs smoothly. At least, until your shift comes to an end. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

"For one," You say, massaging the bridge of your nose, "I have no experience with this." Erato cuts in, a determined line furrowing $erahis brow, "And I can help you, because //I// do." Leaning forward, your boss offers a stiff-lipped smile, as if challenging you to offer up any more criticisms you may have--for <<if $erahe is "they>>they have<<else>>$erahe has<</if>>the answers. "And besides that, am I even getting paid for this?" "Yes, actually," An immediate reply. No hesitation, no hand-wringing or talking around the point, "I'll ensure any time outside your usual hours will be compensated." Somehow, there's something scary about Erato's certainty. The pair of you go back and forth like that for some time, trading concerns with answers until you run out entirely. Eventually, all you can muster is a sigh, quietly relenting with a stiff nod. Like you were all that pressed about it in the first place. <<if $erahe is "they">>They take<<else>>$erahe takes<</if>> the time to collect a plastic sleeve filled to bursting with paper before shoving it into your empty hands. On a quick glance, your lines are highlighted and underlined but you don't yet bother to go through and read them. There will be time for that later. "It is a thought for tomorrow--or..." Erato trails off momentarily, a crease between the brow and a halfway-to-pursed pair of lips a halted face of thought amidst the flurry of optimism prior, "Whenever you're working next. But go over that and we can figure out where you're at next time." It's a stark contrast, how your boss simply is right now compared to how <<if $erahe is "they">>they were<<else>>$erahe was<</if>>. It's strange, like all $erahis worries have simply been plucked out in one fell swoop of a hand. Little more conversation occurrs that night. Erato leaves you to read over the script and, quietly, you forego that duty for now to help shore up any other problems your boss doesn't need to know about. You help finish some of the backdrop and prop painting, and otherwise ensure all runs smoothly. At least, until your shift comes to an end. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

"After all, it wouldn't possibly be a bad idea to put an untrained actor on stage," You halfway glower at Erato, your attitude plain to see as you cock your hip and fold your arms across your chest. "I can practically see the vision." "Ah, but you see," Erato says, taking one small step towards you, "This is a Community Theatre, we aren't interested in skill more so than //passion//." You straighten up, hoping the twitching of your brow doesn't alert your boss to your discomposure. <<if $erahe is "they">>They offer<<else>>$erahe offers<</if>> a smile, small but knowing, "And I can well see that you aren't lacking in passion, at least for complaining." You huff a breath through your nose, pulling a face, but don't otherwise belabour the point. You also don't reject the proposition. Erato claps $erahis hands once in an uncharacteristic display of enthusiasm, a quietly optimistic smile tearing at the corners of $erahis lips. <<if $erahe is "they">>They take<<else>>$erahe takes<</if>> the time to collect a plastic sleeve filled to bursting with paper before shoving it into your empty hands. On a quick glance, your lines are highlighted and underlined but you don't yet bother to go through and read them. There will be time for that later. "It is a thought for tomorrow--or..." Erato trails off momentarily, a crease between the brow and a halfway-to-pursed pair of lips a halted face of thought amidst the flurry of optimism prior, "Whenever you're working next. But go over that and we can figure out where you're at next time." It's a stark contrast, how your boss simply is right now compared to how <<if $erahe is "they">>they were<<else>>$erahe was<</if>>. It's strange, like all $erahis worries have simply been plucked out in one fell swoop of a hand. Little more conversation occurrs that night. Erato leaves you to read over the script and, quietly, you forego that duty for now to help shore up any other problems your boss doesn't need to know about. You help finish some of the backdrop and prop painting, and otherwise ensure all runs smoothly. At least, until your shift comes to an end. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

"And I'm..." You gesture to yourself, so pitifully small in the face of a momentious effort that could only take the hard work of dedicated men. And you're... hardly dedicated. "Just me." Erato sighs a reigned sigh and pats you on the shoulder, "I didn't mean to hoist it upon you," comes the apology, equally as flimsy as you. Your boss unhands you with a grimace after an extended moment of companionable contact, your shoulder stinging despite yourself. "I'll... need to go talk to some of my contacts and..." You've lost Erato to thought once more as <<if $erahe is "they">>they turn their back and offer a dismissive wave.<<else>>$erahe turns $erahis back and offers a dismissive wave.<</if>> Your duty is done for the day, at least insofar as the stage manager is concerned. You leave $erahim to $erahis work. For the most part, you spend the rest of your time at work completing tasks that aren't yet severe enough to worry Erato. All runs smoothly, at least, for a night. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

"It just means I'm not the right choice," Not in the least because you would rather keel over than be caught dead reciting old poetry up on stage. Erato doesn't need to know that. "Some one will come around and you'll have forgotten all about me." Your boss gives you a long suffering look, brows knitting together in disbelief, "I never intended to..." //Force you//? Erato is much more intimidating than they give $erahimself credit for, holds a position of power that is hard to deny when it's leveraged. Oh, Erato would be mortified to hear you say such a thing... $erahes still under the illusion that $erahes just another cog in the machine of the theatre. //Yeah right//. "I suppose I better start cashing in old favours," Erato says with a grimace, a look that speaks to something interesting that you don't dare question. Yet. Having lost Erato to thought once more as <<if $erahe is "they">>they turn their back and offer a dismissive wave,<<else>>$erahe turns $erahis back and offers a dismissive wave,<</if>> you make youself scarce. Your duty is done for the day, at least insofar as the stage manager is concerned. You leave $erahim to $erahis work. For the most part, you spend the rest of your time at work completing tasks that aren't yet severe enough to worry Erato. All runs smoothly, at least, for a night. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

Erato looks at you dubiously but doesn't offer an uncertain voice to the certified cacophany already swimming around in your mind. Neither of you quite believes the other, or yourselves, but for now you'll chose to remain optimistic. Especially if Erato can't. "You've got the plan, then," You offer, stepping away before your boss can give you a pat on the shoulder in faux camaradery. "I'll be here if you need me." Erato sighs but otherwise nods, turning away to hide the way <<if $erahe is "they">>they massage the bridge of their nose.<<else>>$erahe massages the bridge of $erahis nose.<</if>> "Time to call in some old favours, then." You've lost Erato to thought once more as <<if $erahe is "they">>they turn their back and offer a dismissive wave.<<else>>$erahe turns $erahis back and offers a dismissive wave.<</if>> Your duty is done for the day, at least insofar as the stage manager is concerned. You leave $erahim to $erahis work. For the most part, you spend the rest of your time at work completing tasks that aren't yet severe enough to worry Erato. All runs smoothly, at least, for a night. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

"I suppose you're right," Erato tentatively agrees, though $erahis eyes still longer on the space where $erahe imagined you in the limelight. Perhaps it should be flattering, that your boss thought so highly of your ability to adapt... but your stomach churns when you think too hard about being up on stage reciting bad romance. A sigh cuts the brief silence in the tiny office as Erato turns $erahis back to you. "I'm sure I have some favours I can call in. You're free to go, $mc2_name." You leave $erahim to $erahis work, only vaguely interested in a comment that implies more interesting exploits than this. For the most part, you spend the rest of your time at work completing tasks that aren't yet severe enough to worry Erato. All runs smoothly, at least, for a night. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

It's not as if <<if $mc1_he is "they">>they were<<else>>$mc1_he was<</if>> always there like Mordred was. Indeed, there is a distinct period of memory where $mc1_name was absent, though what remains of that shard of recollection in your mind is... fuzzy at best. Even still, <<if $mc1_he is "they">>they are<<else>>$mc1_he is<</if>> your $mc1_brother all the same. Ancients, but $mc1_hes probably dead now--who could survive the bloodbath? You struggle that discomfort down and search for the happier times, if you can. Like all sibling relationships, yours was frought with ups and downs. By and large, however, you'd describe it as... [[Positive. We were more than siblings, we were friends.|ch2pg40aside01]] [[Mixed. We had our moments.|ch2pg40aside02]] [[Negative. We often clashed for one reason or another.|ch2pg40aside03]]

There were a lot of ways to describe Mordred; hard-headed, aggitating, a royal pain in the ass. Yet, he was the most loyal man you knew, almost to a fault. It would not be innacurate to describe him as one of your closest confidants, whether or not you were strictly 'friends' was another matter. On days like this, your mind turns to him, of what he might say... and you'd know that he wouldn't say a word, simply box you upside the head and nudge you in the right direction. He wouldn't give up, not now--not ever. But you also know in your chest as it clenches around forbidden knowledge, that he must be dead by now. In the hellhole you left, there's no other alternative. You're... not sure how that makes you feel. You think to your relationship--what was he to you? [[Truth be told, I trusted him with my life but we were never friends.|ch2pg39aside01][$mc2Mord to 1]] [[He was my best friend, a second sibling, even.|ch2pg39aside02][$mc2Mord to 2]] [[We were... more than just friends.|ch2pg39aside03][$mc2Mord to 3]]

The thing about living on the surface was that despite the comforts living in one of the six cities (at least, until they fell), there was always something that needed to be done. There was never an abundance of resources, only just enough; never pure peace with the border towns. Due to the nature of who you were, there was always something to do. Or rather, something someone else needed you to do. You miss having that purpose. You miss having a reason to get up in the morning instead of allowing your body to waste away in bed. At some point early in the morning, you close your eyes... and open them again when that artificial light is once more filtering in through the barred windows of your room. Morning, yet somehow your body weighs heavy, as if you didn't sleep a wink. There's a thumping knock at your front door, a muffled voice you don't immediately recognise through a pair of doors and paper-thin walls. Your body is lead, your mind barely a fully-formed puddle of brain matter in your skull. Painful light thrums behind your eyes. That knocking persists. [[Wait just a bit longer, close my eyes. Maybe they'll leave if I don't answer.|ch2pg3801]] [[Get up. Just get up. Face the day.|ch2pg3802]] [[I don't have to get on my feet. I can just roll out of bed.|ch2pg3803]]

Ledala is... fine. The Understreets are less than fine. Neither happens to be home. Ten years is a long time to get used to the current state of affairs but your hair still stands on edge when you ear mystery thumps in the night, the street isn't something you look forward to walking, and you don't want to meet any new people regardless of how interesting they might be. You had all that. In the //real// Ledala, in the desert that was harsh but comforting in its own ways. You miss the people that made it easier to get through the day, and you miss how the architecture stood tall against the buffetting sands. Really, you miss //home//. At some point early in the morning, you close your eyes... and open them again when that artificial light is once more filtering in through the barred windows of your room. Morning, yet somehow your body weighs heavy, as if you didn't sleep a wink. There's a thumping knock at your front door, a muffled voice you don't immediately recognise through a pair of doors and paper-thin walls. Your body is lead, your mind barely a fully-formed puddle of brain matter in your skull. Painful light thrums behind your eyes. That knocking persists. [[Wait just a bit longer, close my eyes. Maybe they'll leave if I don't answer.|ch2pg3801]] [[Get up. Just get up. Face the day.|ch2pg3802]] [[I don't have to get on my feet. I can just roll out of bed.|ch2pg3803]]

You miss your $mc1_brother, and you miss Mordred, and of course you miss your other friends. You miss what it felt like to feel true sunlight on your face and sand at your feet. You miss everything, there's nothing in your memory that you don't look on now with a certain amount of longing, even the bad stuff, even the things a younger you would have preferred to forget. All of it was preferable to this lifeless, comfortless jungle of metal and wire. At some point early in the morning, you close your eyes... and open them again when that artificial light is once more filtering in through the barred windows of your room. Morning, yet somehow your body weighs heavy, as if you didn't sleep a wink. There's a thumping knock at your front door, a muffled voice you don't immediately recognise through a pair of doors and paper-thin walls. Your body is lead, your mind barely a fully-formed puddle of brain matter in your skull. Painful light thrums behind your eyes. That knocking persists. [[Wait just a bit longer, close my eyes. Maybe they'll leave if I don't answer.|ch2pg3801]] [[Get up. Just get up. Face the day.|ch2pg3802]] [[I don't have to get on my feet. I can just roll out of bed.|ch2pg3803]]

You really take for granted the joy of a little beauty rest. Of course, there's something to be said about your surroundings when you do it; you can't cat nap in a sunbeam on the roof of your apartment, you can't curl up in a plush blanket to stave off the cool. Those are the luxuries of those on the Disk. At some point early in the morning, you close your eyes... and open them again when that artificial light is once more filtering in through the barred windows of your room. Morning, yet somehow your body weighs heavy, as if you didn't sleep a wink. There's a thumping knock at your front door, a muffled voice you don't immediately recognise through a pair of doors and paper-thin walls. Your body is lead, your mind barely a fully-formed puddle of brain matter in your skull. Painful light thrums behind your eyes. That knocking persists. [[Wait just a bit longer, close my eyes. Maybe they'll leave if I don't answer.|ch2pg3801]] [[Get up. Just get up. Face the day.|ch2pg3802]] [[I don't have to get on my feet. I can just roll out of bed.|ch2pg3803]]

You slam your stubborn eyes shut with a hiss, willing your body to sink into slumber once more, just for a little bit. If you just wait, if you just //ignore// the insistent thumping at your door (and that pounding in your head) the unwanted intruder at your door will leave. Surely. Any real hope you may have had is dashed when the knocking continues after a moment, perhaps more insistent than before. You drag yourself to your feet with a growl, thinking nothing of your sleep-things clinging to you with a cold sweat. You stomp over to your bedroom door but only stop with your hand around the knob. A muffled voice raises behind your door front before--//blessed silence//. All at once, the banging on your front door ceases altogether, the voice disappears. If you were in more of a state, you could almost be forgiven for thinking it a dream. Except--you wait at your closed bedroom door. A moment passes... no knocking. Then--a low squeal erupts the peace of your cold, cruel apartment; the sound of your livingroom window opening. In the next moment, a pair of feet thud against the old carpet, foodsteps quiet but not silent as they traipse through the cramped space. Your chest tightens as your heart stammers in a vague fear, something not quite fervent enough to have you moving with purpose. It offers just enough space to think, consider what you need to do to get out of this... somewhat in one piece. There's a stranger in your home. What will you do about it? [[I grab a weapon first.|ch2pg3901][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[I give the intruder a verbal warning. I really don't want to have to fight anyone.|ch2pg3902][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[I come out swinging!|ch2pg3903][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[We can talk, right? Surely we don't have to fight?|ch2pg3904][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]]

No amount of telling yourself to //just get up// could make your body obey, so instead you inch your iron-laden vessel closer to the edge, dragging it sideways until you tip and fall with an ungraceful //thump// against the too-hard floor that should be cushioning carpet. A groan ekes out from the impact, but your mind no longer drags along at the pace of a snail. Small mercies. The knocking gets louder, a muffled voice raising behind your door before--//blessed silence//. All at once, the banging on your front door ceases altogether, the voice disappears. If you were in more of a state, you could almost be forgiven for thinking it a dream. Except--you wait at your closed bedroom door. A moment passes... no knocking. Then--a low squeal erupts the peace of your cold, cruel apartment; the sound of your livingroom window opening. In the next moment, a pair of feet thud against the old carpet, foodsteps quiet but not silent as they traipse through the cramped space. Your chest tightens as your heart stammers in a vague fear, something not quite fervent enough to have you moving with purpose. It offers just enough space to think, consider what you need to do to get out of this... somewhat in one piece. There's a stranger in your home. What will you do about it? [[I grab a weapon first.|ch2pg3901][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[I give the intruder a verbal warning. I really don't want to have to fight anyone.|ch2pg3902][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[I come out swinging!|ch2pg3903][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[We can talk, right? Surely we don't have to fight?|ch2pg3904][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]]

It... was a strange sort of relationship that was difficult to put to words. Indeed, most people looked at you and saw the best of friends, meanwhile its true nature was something a fair more... complex. The closeness was really more an obligation; after all, you can't recall a time when Mordred wasn't just... there. The same couldn't be said for your $mc1_brother, who you recall a distinct time without before $mc1_he came into the picture. The details, otherwise... remain fuzzy. Perhaps your constant presence in each others lives was what forced the relationship, something neither of you could really pull away from for fear that everything else would go too. Either way, the reasons don't change what you were and it still brings a discomforted longing for someone even close to the friend you had. And so, you force him back into that little lockbox entirely. It's better that way. At some point early in the morning, you close your eyes... and open them again when that artificial light is once more filtering in through the barred windows of your room. Morning, yet somehow your body weighs heavy, as if you didn't sleep a wink. There's a thumping knock at your front door, a muffled voice you don't immediately recognise through a pair of doors and paper-thin walls. Your body is lead, your mind barely a fully-formed puddle of brain matter in your skull. Painful light thrums behind your eyes. That knocking persists. [[Wait just a bit longer, close my eyes. Maybe they'll leave if I don't answer.|ch2pg3801]] [[Get up. Just get up. Face the day.|ch2pg3802]] [[I don't have to get on my feet. I can just roll out of bed.|ch2pg3803]]

Hell, it wouldn't be unreasonable to describe him as the middle child in your strange family unit. There is a brief period of time that you recall without your $mc1_brother but the same cannot be said for Mordred. For good or for ill, he was always sort of... there. Of course, that presence had a way of creating fondness, and that fondness turned into a deep trust. If you had one ally in anyone, it was him... even if he would often disagree just by virtue of being who he was. There's a tightness that settles in your jaw when you think too hard about Mordred. Your mind begins to wander, replaying old memories like those vids you see on the screens at work. It creates a //longing//. Even if your feelings for Mordred have been moulded into a different shape than it was before, you can't deny that you could use a friend like him right about now, even if only to stem the tide of your decade-long loneliness. Which is why you force him back into that little lockbox entirely. It's better that way. At some point early in the morning, you close your eyes... and open them again when that artificial light is once more filtering in through the barred windows of your room. Morning, yet somehow your body weighs heavy, as if you didn't sleep a wink. There's a thumping knock at your front door, a muffled voice you don't immediately recognise through a pair of doors and paper-thin walls. Your body is lead, your mind barely a fully-formed puddle of brain matter in your skull. Painful light thrums behind your eyes. That knocking persists. [[Wait just a bit longer, close my eyes. Maybe they'll leave if I don't answer.|ch2pg3801]] [[Get up. Just get up. Face the day.|ch2pg3802]] [[I don't have to get on my feet. I can just roll out of bed.|ch2pg3803]]

Call it what you will, everyone else had their opinions. You suppose you can't remember a time when Mordred wasn't in your life, even moreso than your $mc1_brother. Truth be told, no amount of sifting through your memory can pinpoint any specific time when Mordred wasn't just... there. Sure, you were 'together', but more than that you had each other's backs, you ensured the other survived even when it all felt hopeless. Perhaps that's what you're missing now... purpose. You discard the thought, push it out of your mind as longing threatens to overcome you. Even if your feelings for Mordred have been moulded into a different shape than it was before, you can't deny that you could use a friend like him right about now, even if only to stem the tide of your decade-long loneliness. Which is why you force him back into that little lockbox entirely. It's better that way. At some point early in the morning, you close your eyes... and open them again when that artificial light is once more filtering in through the barred windows of your room. Morning, yet somehow your body weighs heavy, as if you didn't sleep a wink. There's a thumping knock at your front door, a muffled voice you don't immediately recognise through a pair of doors and paper-thin walls. Your body is lead, your mind barely a fully-formed puddle of brain matter in your skull. Painful light thrums behind your eyes. That knocking persists. [[Wait just a bit longer, close my eyes. Maybe they'll leave if I don't answer.|ch2pg3801]] [[Get up. Just get up. Face the day.|ch2pg3802]] [[I don't have to get on my feet. I can just roll out of bed.|ch2pg3803]]

Perhaps your relationship was unlike many siblings you knew. You and your $mc1_brother didn't clash often though it was bad when you did. One could almost call the peaceful nature of your sibling bond a 'friendship' though it was entirely unlike what you had with Mordred, who always seemed to be there at your side. You knew that you could go to $mc1_name without having to ask, and you like to think $mc1_he felt similar, but it was difficult to guess what was going on in each others minds because, well... neither of you ever felt the need to speak indepth because most of the time you were on a single wavelength. When you weren't... you just didn't talk about it. You choke up, throat closing in around your tongue as you struggle with memory. $mc1_name <<if was your world, and you like to think you were<<if $mc1_he is "they">> theirs<<else>> $mc1_his<</if>>. It's just a shame neither of you ever felt the need to express that. Thinking about it overlong starts to prick at the corners of your eyes and so, you force the hurt back into that little lockbox entirely. It's better that way. At some point early in the morning, you close your eyes... and open them again when that artificial light is once more filtering in through the barred windows of your room. Morning, yet somehow your body weighs heavy, as if you didn't sleep a wink. There's a thumping knock at your front door, a muffled voice you don't immediately recognise through a pair of doors and paper-thin walls. Your body is lead, your mind barely a fully-formed puddle of brain matter in your skull. Painful light thrums behind your eyes. That knocking persists. [[Wait just a bit longer, close my eyes. Maybe they'll leave if I don't answer.|ch2pg3801]] [[Get up. Just get up. Face the day.|ch2pg3802]] [[I don't have to get on my feet. I can just roll out of bed.|ch2pg3803]]

It isn't as if the pair of you didn't agree, nor that you didn't argue--you certainly had your hangups and $mc1_name had $mc1_his that often led the pair of you to clash for one reason or another. But... there was always something like love in there, always a reason underlying the conflict. That being said, on occasion you were the best of friends. There was an amount of give and take the pair of you required to maintain peace, but once you found there was a wamth there you can't say you felt anywhere else. Perhaps that was what comfort felt like, //understanding//. In a way, your $mc1_brother was your world, and you like to think you were <<if $mc1_he is "they">>theirs<<else>>$mc1_his<</if>>. You just... didn't always have the words to describe it. Thinking about it overlong starts to tighten in your chest and so, you force the hurt back into that little lockbox entirely. It's better that way. At some point early in the morning, you close your eyes... and open them again when that artificial light is once more filtering in through the barred windows of your room. Morning, yet somehow your body weighs heavy, as if you didn't sleep a wink. There's a thumping knock at your front door, a muffled voice you don't immediately recognise through a pair of doors and paper-thin walls. Your body is lead, your mind barely a fully-formed puddle of brain matter in your skull. Painful light thrums behind your eyes. That knocking persists. [[Wait just a bit longer, close my eyes. Maybe they'll leave if I don't answer.|ch2pg3801]] [[Get up. Just get up. Face the day.|ch2pg3802]] [[I don't have to get on my feet. I can just roll out of bed.|ch2pg3803]]

The pair of you often fought. Whether it was about work, money, Mordred, or simply because you could, there always seemed to be... something that raised your voices. You honestly can't say you were never to blame, but as the eldest it was often up to you to be the voice of maturity. Most of the time. Still, even despite the volatile nature of your relationship you can't help but miss $mc1_him now. Despite everything <<if $mc1_he is "they">>they were<<else>>$mc1_he was<</if>> your world, and you like to think you were <<if $mc1_he is "they">>theirs<<else>>$mc1_his<</if>>. You just... showed your care in different, often clashing, ways. Thinking about it overlong starts to hurt at the back of your throat and so, you force the hurt back into that little lockbox entirely. It's better that way. At some point early in the morning, you close your eyes... and open them again when that artificial light is once more filtering in through the barred windows of your room. Morning, yet somehow your body weighs heavy, as if you didn't sleep a wink. There's a thumping knock at your front door, a muffled voice you don't immediately recognise through a pair of doors and paper-thin walls. Your body is lead, your mind barely a fully-formed puddle of brain matter in your skull. Painful light thrums behind your eyes. That knocking persists. [[Wait just a bit longer, close my eyes. Maybe they'll leave if I don't answer.|ch2pg3801]] [[Get up. Just get up. Face the day.|ch2pg3802]] [[I don't have to get on my feet. I can just roll out of bed.|ch2pg3803]]

Yeah, right. But you sure as all hell can't go fighting every battle. Your body just isn't build for it nowadays. "I--don't know who you are," You first words tumble over one another, a jumble of sounds that don't quite sound the way you want them to. Despite that teltale sign of your inner-hesitation, you push forward, force yourself just to speak or else lose your fraying nerve. "But I'd really appreciate it if you weren't here to either hurt or steal from me." A snort of laughter from behind the door interrupts your next thoughts, only the vague notion of familiarity peeking through your uncertainty before the intruder pushes the door open without your permission. "Is that how you deal with aggressors these days?" Perci stands there with a genuine concern etched into her hard features. Despite her laugh, there's a clear tightness to her jaw. "That's... kinda lame." "Perci?" You gasp, breathless, eyes flickering to the woman who stands there in silent triumph. Your hands clasp each other just to still your overactive heart. Perci offers an easy grin but her bare shoulders are tense, spine straight as compared to her typical casual lean. She's in her street clothes again; a loose-fitted, sleeveless hood paired with breathable sweats and comfortable joggers. Like the rest of her, those clothes have been repaired too many times; splitting apart at the seams covered by patches of mismatched fabric and filament. She chuckles. It's forced through clenched fangs. "You weren't answering the door," She says by way of explanation for her unlikely entrance, striding over to lounge carelessly upon Arthur's substitute bed. "And Arty never fixed that window." [[''Be that as it may, you can't just come breaking into people's homes!''|ch2pg4001][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]] [[''Perci, what the fuck?!''|ch2pg4002][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[''I would ask you to come in, but...''|ch2pg4003][$perci_f to $perci_f +=.05]] [[All I can do is stare at her, utterly dumbfounded.|ch2pg4004][$perci_r to $perci_r +=.05]]

"I'm someone who can get you the money to take this case," Raven snaps sharply, demanding, almost //authoritative//. " And I can make my own decisions what to do with it." "//Raven//," Perci barks a warning but the kid either isn't listening or doesn't know any better. "No, Perci, a life could be in danger and we're here wasting time." Raven's face has bloomed a vibrant red, backpack gracelessly hanging from an arm as <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they wade within its depths<<else>>$sagahe wades within its depths<</if>> to gather the remaining loose leaflets of physical cash. Thin brows knot together in desperation before gray eyes flicker up to look at you from underneath bushy bangs. "Just explain to me what the problem is," For one, you need to know whether the kid's being dramatic when they claim someone may be in trouble. Grey eyes bore into you, no hint of any hesitation swimming in those pools of steel. Raven's lips tighten, then slacken with $sagahis jaw. Perci, for her part, has taken a step well away from the situation. Her back is turned as she tears her fingers through her hair, for now ignoring the broken pieces of her carefully laid plans. Raven hisses, but takes a moment to calm before answering your question through clenched teeth. "My... friend, is missing. I just need help finding them and a way out of the city." [[CHAPTER END|CHAP2END]]

"I don't need to be," Raven says flatly, "I have the money to pay you to do that for me, and Perci to hide me otherwise." It's almost an admission that the kid has something else to hide. But you won't push for now. Or at all, if you can help it. "//Raven//, that's rude." Perci barks a warning but the kid either isn't listening or doesn't know any better. "Maybe it's time to be a little rude. My friend could be in danger and we're wasting time." Raven's face has bloomed a vibrant red, backpack gracelessly hanging from an arm as <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they wade within its depths<<else>>$sagahe wades within its depths<</if>> to gather the remaining loose leaflets of physical cash. Thin brows knot together in desperation before gray eyes flicker up to look at you from underneath bushy bangs. "Just explain to me what the problem is," For one, you need to know whether the kid's being dramatic when they claim someone may be in trouble. Grey eyes bore into you, no hint of any hesitation swimming in those pools of steel. Raven's lips tighten, then slacken with $sagahis jaw. Perci, for her part, has taken a step well away from the situation. Her back is turned as she tears her fingers through her hair, for now ignoring the broken pieces of her carefully laid plans. Raven hisses, but takes a moment to calm before answering your question through clenched teeth. "My... friend, is missing. I just need help finding them and a way out of the city." [[CHAPTER END|CHAP2END]]

"And what does it look like, $mc2_name?" Perci says, doesn't snap. Truth be told, you don't have a specific notion in mind, but it //does// look bad, you know that. Arthur would take one look at this kid and offer you a look. You know the look. The one where his brows raise and his mouth twists just enough to disturb the the laugh lines around his mouth. One that isn't wholly unlike the look you give to Perci now. "Um," The kid says, glancing between the pair of you before $saga_his gaze settles on Perci. "You said you'd find someone who can help." "Let's start again," Perci grumbles, arms folding in indignity. "This is $mc2_name, and this is--Raven." There's a pause there, nothing too noticable but just enough for suspicion to set in as your eyes finally land on the kid once more. Perci gives you a look that tells you not to question too hard. "And how can I be of assistance?" You sigh instead, massaging the bridge of your nose just to give your hands something to do. The stranger perks up somewhat, back straightening as <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they clamber to their feet.<<else>>$sagahe clambers to $sagahis feet.<</if>> <<if $saga_gender is "non">>They're<<else>>$sagahes<</if>> somewhat spindly on $sagahis feet, a little too awkward with a slouch that forces $sagahim shorter than $sagahe otherwise should be, which is already fairly short. On second glance this individual isn't a //kid// by any means, but with that uncertain posture you would certainly be forgiven the mistake. Even still <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they<<else>>$sagahe<</if>> meets you with the smallest of smiles, quivering at the corners with impatience. "Perci didn't inform you?" <<if $saga_gender is "non">>They say<<else>>$sagahe says<</if>> voice all-too eloquent, almost... petite, as if it's never had to raise to a shout a day in $sagahis life. If $sagahes particuarly perturbed by this, <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they certainly don't show it.<<else>>$sagahe certainly doesn't show it.<</if>> "Raven needs help," Perci offers a grimace of a smile, something pained, something just on the edge of believably controlled and //hoping for a miracle//. "We were hoping you could convince Art to help out, since he won't talk to me right now." Raven pipes up before either of you can push the conversation forward. "I can pay, I have the credits--" Before either you or Perci can stop $sagahim, Raven has pulled a thick wad of old paper-slips that shimmer even in the dark. It's not a staggering amount by any means, but it's certainly more than enough when <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they proceed<<else>>$sagahe proceeds<</if>> to pull more out from the confines of $sagahis backpack, which had previously sat unassuming at $sagahis feet. "Sa--//Raven//!" Perci hisses, any amount of friendliness dissipating on sight of the credits. "Let me do the show-and-tell." [[''Whoah there, kid. First rule, don't go waving that amount of cash around.''|ch2pg4501]] [[''For your sake, I'll pretend I never saw that.''|ch2pg4502]] [[''Lucky for you and your... expansive wallet, my boss may not even take it.''|ch2pg4503]] [[''Whoever you are, you should listen to Perci.''|ch2pg4504]] [[''Clearly, you are not well-versed in the art of subtlety.''|ch2pg4505]]

You see the kid's eye and mouth twitch, but otherwise recieve no other response. Perci grimaces "This is--Raven," There's a pause there, nothing too noticable but just enough for suspicion to set in as your eyes finally land on the kid once more. Perci gives you a look that tells you not to question too hard. "We were hoping you'd help with a particularly... sensitive problem we have." "And how can I be of assistance?" You sigh instead, massaging the bridge of your nose just to give your hands something to do. The stranger perks up somewhat, back straightening as <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they clamber to their feet.<<else>>$sagahe clambers to $sagahis feet.<</if>> <<if $saga_gender is "non">>They're<<else>>$sagahes<</if>> somewhat spindly on $sagahis feet, a little too awkward with a slouch that forces $sagahim shorter than $sagahe otherwise should be, which is already fairly short. On second glance this individual isn't a //kid// by any means, but with that uncertain posture you would certainly be forgiven the mistake. Even still <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they<<else>>$sagahe<</if>> meets you with the smallest of smiles, quivering at the corners with impatience. "Perci didn't inform you?" <<if $saga_gender is "non">>They say<<else>>$sagahe says<</if>> voice all-too eloquent, almost... petite, as if it's never had to raise to a shout a day in $sagahis life. If $sagahes particuarly perturbed by this, <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they certainly don't show it.<<else>>$sagahe certainly doesn't show it.<</if>> "Raven needs help," Perci offers a grimace of a smile, something pained, something just on the edge of believably controlled and //hoping for a miracle//. "We were hoping you could convince Art to help out, since he won't talk to me right now." Raven pipes up before either of you can push the conversation forward. "I can pay, I have the credits--" Before either you or Perci can stop $sagahim, Raven has pulled a thick wad of old paper-slips that shimmer even in the dark. It's not a staggering amount by any means, but it's certainly more than enough when <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they proceed<<else>>$sagahe proceeds<</if>> to pull more out from the confines of $sagahis backpack, which had previously sat unassuming at $sagahis feet. "Sa--//Raven//!" Perci hisses, any amount of friendliness dissipating on sight of the credits. "Let me do the show-and-tell." [[''Whoah there, kid. First rule, don't go waving that amount of cash around.''|ch2pg4501]] [[''For your sake, I'll pretend I never saw that.''|ch2pg4502]] [[''Lucky for you and your... expansive wallet, my boss may not even take it.''|ch2pg4503]] [[''Whoever you are, you should listen to Perci.''|ch2pg4504]] [[''Clearly, you are not well-versed in the art of subtlety.''|ch2pg4505]]

"I'm $mc2_name, I work for a private company that looks into matters that the enforcers won't." You rattle off your tagline like you feel it in your heart, something practically beaten into you by Arthur when he first brought you in. "How may I be of assistance?" The stranger perks up somewhat, back straightening as <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they clamber to their feet.<<else>>$sagahe clambers to $sagahis feet.<</if>> <<if $saga_gender is "non">>They're<<else>>$sagahes<</if>> somewhat spindly on $sagahis feet, a little too awkward with a slouch that forces $sagahim shorter than $sagahe otherwise should be, which is already fairly short. On second glance this individual isn't a //kid// by any means, but with that uncertain posture you would certainly be forgiven the mistake. Even still <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they<<else>>$sagahe<</if>> meets you with the smallest of smiles, quivering at the corners with impatience. "Oh, excellent," <<if $saga_gender is "non">>They say<<else>>$sagahe says<</if>> voice all-too eloquent, almost... petite, as if it's never had to raise to a shout a day in $sagahis life. "I'm... " then, comes the struggle, a pair of gray eyes flickering around the room searching for... something. Perci beside you covers her eyes with a hand, grimacing. The moment extends and you offer them both a stare with your brows raised. The no-named stranger winces, bites $sagahis lip, before finally settling on, "... Raven? Yes, my name is... //Raven//." "Uhuh," You say, ensuring your disbelief goes very much heard, ensuring Perci //knows// you aren't well impressed. She takes control from there, shooting the kid a look. Not at all suspicious. "The main point is that //Raven// here needs help, and I thought you could take it to Art, maybe convince him to accept the job," Perci offers a grimace of a smile, something pained, something just on the edge of believably controlled and //hoping for a miracle//. Raven pipes up from $sagahis spot-- "I can pay, I have the credits--" Before either you or Perci can stop $sagahim, Raven has pulled a thick wad of old paper-slips that shimmer even in the dark. It's not a staggering amount by any means, but it's certainly more than enough when <<if $saga_gender is "non">>they proceed<<else>>$sagahe proceeds<</if>> to pull more out from the confines of $sagahis backpack, which had previously sat unassuming at $sagahis feet. "Sa--//Raven//!" Perci hisses, any amount of friendliness dissipating on sight of the credits. "Let me do the show-and-tell." [[''Whoah there, kid. First rule, don't go waving that amount of cash around.''|ch2pg4501]] [[''For your sake, I'll pretend I never saw that.''|ch2pg4502]] [[''Lucky for you and your... expansive wallet, my boss may not even take it.''|ch2pg4503]] [[''Whoever you are, you should listen to Perci.''|ch2pg4504]] [[''Clearly, you are not well-versed in the art of subtlety.''|ch2pg4505]]

The music pounds at the back of your skull as you step through the entryway, the scent of old oil, blood, and sweat permeating through the curtains that divide each room into its own little compartment. Itching a scratch at the back of your hand, you push through into the main workspace; the floors are cold concrete, the walls an old brick covered over by a thin coating of paint. There's something so... detached about the feel of the place, few reminders that someone lives here full time save for the occasional cup that now houses tea long forgotten. In the middle of the room sits an oversized, metal table, covered in tools, tech, and some medical supplies. A young-ish figure hunches over the remaining corner of the table left for working, a pair of oversized goggles taking up the vast expanse of their thin face. Their head is directed downward at the arm of metal and... bloody sinew, a tiny hook in one hand, a clamp in the other. They appear to be working on a prosthetic arm; one of the old types for when the Council still thought they could mass-produce replacement pieces for their people in test-tubes. It's bloody work; a monstrosity half-metal, half-failing flesh with too-real tendons that pull the hand into a twitching fist. It's an ugly thing; rudementary and prone to break downs one way or another. Nowhere near as easy to fix or replace as the full-metal and synthetic skin prosthetics of today. They're decades in the past, but the only real tech available for someone who can't afford the new stuff. Nowadays, it's cheaper just to make everything out of metal. Producing faux flesh is for those who can afford it. Bio-tech, the fusion was once called. You stand at the partition between rooms for a moment, watching and waiting for the individual to notice you. They're rather small, clad in little more than an oil-stained singlet and a set of ripped slacks tucked into some old boots. A slick, black braid snakes down the center of their back, swaying with each small shift as if a weight has tethered it to their spine. They never bother with gloves, need the tactile feedback to properly work their magic. It's messy work; faux-blood coats their fingers, causing the pink underside of their palms to skew red in a stark contrast to the darker, more neutral brown of the backside of their hand. Overall, Kim has a small, androgynous figure<<if $rogender is "choice">>... [[And for the longest time, I only knew them by their name.|ch2mechgender][$kim_gender to "non"]] [[And for the longest time, I only knew him by his name.|ch2mechgender][$kim_gender to "male"]] [[And for the longest time, I only knew her by her name.|ch2mechgender][$kim_gender to "female"]]<<else>><<if $kim_gender is "non">> and their customers tend to assume what they want about them. Either way, your boss has never corrected them. You've always known that Kim's relationship with their gender was a vague shrug at best, something to be used or discarded depending on the version of themself they need to be. It's become something of a secret joke between the pair of you, only given form by shared glances and the occasional chuckle.<<set $kimhe to "they">><<set $kimhim to "them">><<set $kimhis to "their">><<set $kimhis2 to "theirs">><<set $kimhimself to "themself">><<set $kimhes to "they're">><<set $kimman to "person">><<elseif $kim_gender is "male">> and though you know he's a man, your boss has always met other assumptions with a vague shrug and a knowing glance your way. Like some kind of secret joke just for the two of you.<<set $kimhe to "he">><<set $kimhim to "him">><<set $kimhis to "his">><<set $kimhis2 to "his">><<set $kimhimself to "himself">><<set $kimhes to "he's">><<set $kimman to "man">><<else>> and though you know she's a woman, your boss has always met other assumptions with a vague shrug and a knowing glance your way. Like some kind of secret joke just for the two of you.<</if>><</if>> Kim mutters something you don't quite hear over the racket, finally looking up only as the goggles come off and get thrown across the expanse of the table. They clatter amidst the tools, but don't break. In the next moment, the music is cut off, leaving your ears ringing and your head unsteady as you stare into the middle-distance just to keep your place. Kim looks you over for a moment, brown, narrow-lidded eyes fluttering over the scab on your forehead before finally settling on your nose. Your boss doesn't look you in the eyes--<<if $kim_gender is "non">>they never have.<<else>>$kimhe never has.<</if>> "You look like shit," Comes the comment with no malice behind it, arms stretching up above $kimhis head with a crisp //crack//. There's something about Kim's gaze that makes your stomach churn, some sort of half-hearted smile that doesn't reach $kimhis eyes. It's not an unkind look, more a veil separating you from $kimhim. A clear line neither of you acknowledge but know it's there. You aren't friends. [[''You're not much of a looker yourself, but you don't see me complaining.''|ch2mech0101][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''I'm well aware,'' I sigh, feeling a little self-conscious.|ch2mech0102][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''Wow, uncalled for.''|ch2mech0103][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''This is what I look like every day?''|ch2mech0104][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''What are you working on?'' I turn my attention to Kim's project instead.|ch2mech0105][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Ah yes, because you look perfect all the time.''|ch2mech0106][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

<<if $kim_gender is "non">><<set $kimhe to "they">><<set $kimhim to "them">><<set $kimhis to "their">><<set $kimhis2 to "theirs">><<set $kimhimself to "themself">><<set $kimhes to "they're">><<set $kimman to "person">>Kim took a certain twisted pleasure in watching you squirm around the topic of gender when you first met. When you introduced yourselves, all they gave you was a name and a quick handshake. You daresay, however, that they would have given you less if they could get away with it. They set you straight about a month after hiring you, evidently growing tired of the private joke that had served as their entertainment for the first few weeks. They sat you down and told you to just call them whatever you felt suited them. So, to you... they're just Kim.<<elseif $kim_gender is "male">><<set $kimhe to "he">><<set $kimhim to "him">><<set $kimhis to "his">><<set $kimhis2 to "his">><<set $kimhimself to "himself">><<set $kimhes to "he's">><<set $kimman to "man">>When you introduced yourselves, all Kim gave you was a name and a quick handshake. You daresay he would have given you less if he could get away with it, however. For the first month or so, you'd struggled to come up with a polite way to ask whether you were supposed to refer to him in certain ways. The ass even took a kind of twisted pleasure in teasing you about it when he thought he could, like his own private joke. After a few weeks, however, he sat you down and told you to just call him whatever you felt suited him. So, to you... he's just Kim.<<else>>When you introduced yourselves, all Kim gave you was a name and a quick handshake. You daresay she would have given you less if she could get away with it, however. For the first month or so, you'd struggled to come up with a polite way to ask whether you were supposed to refer to her in certain ways. The ass even took a kind of twisted pleasure in teasing you about it when she thought she could, like her own private joke. After a few weeks, however, she sat you down and told you to just call her whatever you felt suited her. So, to you... she's just Kim.<</if>> Kim mutters something you don't quite hear over the racket, finally looking up only as the goggles come off and get thrown across the expanse of the table. They clatter amidst the tools, but don't break. In the next moment, the music is cut off, leaving your ears ringing and your head unsteady as you stare into the middle-distance just to keep your place. Kim looks you over for a moment, brown, narrow-lidded eyes fluttering over the scab on your forehead before finally settling on your nose. Your boss doesn't look you in the eyes--<<if $kim_gender is "non">>they never have.<<else>>$kimhe never has.<</if>> "You look like shit," Comes the comment with no malice behind it, arms stretching up above $kimhis head with a crisp //crack//. There's something about Kim's gaze that makes your stomach churn, some sort of half-hearted smile that doesn't reach $kimhis eyes. It's not an unkind look, more a veil separating you from $kimhim. A clear line neither of you acknowledge. [[''You're not much of a looker yourself, but you don't see me complaining.''|ch2mech0101][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''I'm well aware,'' I sigh, feeling a little self-conscious.|ch2mech0102][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''Wow, uncalled for.''|ch2mech0103][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''This is what I look like every day?''|ch2mech0104][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''What are you working on?'' I turn my attention to Kim's project instead.|ch2mech0105][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Ah yes, because you look perfect all the time.''|ch2mech0106][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

You roll your eyes and turn away, as if not seeing Kim would mean <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they aren't in the room with you in the first place.<<else>>$kimhe isn't in the room with you in the first place.<</if>> You can feel the triumphant grin boring into the space between your brows, and find yourself glaring at nothing in particular. "Don't have much work for you today," Kim takes the high road, breaking the stalemate before you can. Ass. As you turn back to $kimhim, $kimhes already turned $kimhis back, rifling around amidst the mess of tools to pull out an old data tablet with a crack cutting through the top right corner of the screen. You exchange a glance and feel your face fall more than you physically tell it to do so. "Need you to go through the mail, check any outstanding bills..." ... and send something sufficiently threatening if someone is too many weeks in arrears, goes unsaid. Hell, but the last thing you want to do is go rifling through mail. Kim looks at you through brown eyes that seem to know more than <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they tell you,<<else>>$kimhe tells you,<</if>> waits patiently for the innevitable complaint with all the quiet confidence of a $kimman who's never had a worry in $kimhis life. For a moment, you look between your boss and the tablet, screen flickering where the crack carves its path... [[And shrug. ''Sure, Boss.''|ch2mech0201][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[And sigh. ''Don't you have any tech I can help you with?''|ch2mech0202][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[And look away. ''Then why am I here?''|ch2mech0203][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

You look away, a grimace tearing its way across your collected expression like a wolf on a rampage. Kim hums, looks away as if to save you from embarrassment. A kindness, you suppose, if only it didn't bring full attention to the way you wish your body wasn't working against you at all times. "Don't have much work for you today," Kim says rather than bring any more attention to you. As you turn back to $kimhim, $kimhes already turned $kimhis back, rifling around amidst the mess of tools to pull out an old data tablet with a crack cutting through the top right corner of the screen. You exchange a glance and feel your face fall more than you physically tell it to do so. "Need you to go through the mail, check any outstanding bills..." ... and send something sufficiently threatening if someone is too many weeks in arrears, goes unsaid. Hell, but the last thing you want to do is go rifling through mail. Kim looks at you through brown eyes that seem to know more than <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they tell you,<<else>>$kimhe tells you,<</if>> waits patiently for the innevitable complaint with all the quiet confidence of a $kimman who's never had a worry in $kimhis life. For a moment, you look between your boss and the tablet, screen flickering where the crack carves its path... [[And shrug. ''Sure, Boss.''|ch2mech0201][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[And sigh. ''Don't you have any tech I can help you with?''|ch2mech0202][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[And look away. ''Then why am I here?''|ch2mech0203][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

You grin, lips tugging upward despite the quiet irritation that burns in your throat. Kim's mouth twitches. Not enough to form into a smile, but enough to indicate <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they appreciate<<else>>$kimhe appreciates<</if>> the joke. "Don't have much work for you today," Kim says, expression returning to precious neutrality once more. As you turn back to $kimhim, $kimhes already turned $kimhis back, rifling around amidst the mess of tools to pull out an old data tablet with a crack cutting through the top right corner of the screen. You exchange a glance and feel your face fall more than you physically tell it to do so. "Need you to go through the mail, check any outstanding bills..." ... and send something sufficiently threatening if someone is too many weeks in arrears, goes unsaid. Hell, but the last thing you want to do is go rifling through mail. Kim looks at you through brown eyes that seem to know more than <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they tell you,<<else>>$kimhe tells you,<</if>> waits patiently for the innevitable complaint with all the quiet confidence of a $kimman who's never had a worry in $kimhis life. For a moment, you look between your boss and the tablet, screen flickering where the crack carves its path... [[And shrug. ''Sure, Boss.''|ch2mech0201][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[And sigh. ''Don't you have any tech I can help you with?''|ch2mech0202][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[And look away. ''Then why am I here?''|ch2mech0203][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

You allow a lopsided smile, play the part of clueless employee as Kim's mouth thins into a line on $kimhis thin face. Brown eyes shift to the scab on your forehead once more, $kimhis mouth opens... nothing comes of it. Explanation avoided. "Don't have much work for you today," Kim says instead. As you turn back to $kimhim, $kimhes already turned $kimhis back, rifling around amidst the mess of tools to pull out an old data tablet with a crack cutting through the top right corner of the screen. You exchange a glance and feel your face fall more than you physically tell it to do so. "Need you to go through the mail, check any outstanding bills..." ... and send something sufficiently threatening if someone is too many weeks in arrears, goes unsaid. Hell, but the last thing you want to do is go rifling through mail. Kim looks at you through brown eyes that seem to know more than <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they tell you,<<else>>$kimhe tells you,<</if>> waits patiently for the innevitable complaint with all the quiet confidence of a $kimman who's never had a worry in $kimhis life. For a moment, you look between your boss and the tablet, screen flickering where the crack carves its path... [[And shrug. ''Sure, Boss.''|ch2mech0201][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[And sigh. ''Don't you have any tech I can help you with?''|ch2mech0202][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[And look away. ''Then why am I here?''|ch2mech0203][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

"Um," Kim flounders, eyes shifting down to the prosthetic twitching on the table. "Urgent job. Double pay." Your brows raise as $kimhis ears darken just at the tips. Kim wasn't expecting the question and now you've left $kimhim swimming in uncertain seas. "Sorry, I didn't mean..." Kim shakes $kimhis head. "No, I mean--" a breath, a reevaluation. Kim grimaces. "I can show you in a bit." "I, um, Don't have much work for you today," Kim says, clumsily attempting to shift the conversation to safer shores. As you turn back to $kimhim, $kimhes already turned $kimhis back, rifling around amidst the mess of tools to pull out an old data tablet with a crack cutting through the top right corner of the screen. You exchange a glance and feel your face fall more than you physically tell it to do so. "Need you to go through the mail, check any outstanding bills..." ... and send something sufficiently threatening if someone is too many weeks in arrears, goes unsaid. Hell, but the last thing you want to do is go rifling through mail. Kim looks at you through brown eyes that seem to know more than <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they tell you,<<else>>$kimhe tells you,<</if>> waits patiently for the innevitable complaint with all the quiet confidence of a $kimman who's never had a worry in $kimhis life. For a moment, you look between your boss and the tablet, screen flickering where the crack carves its path... [[And shrug. ''Sure, Boss.''|ch2mech0201][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[And sigh. ''Don't you have any tech I can help you with?''|ch2mech0202][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[And look away. ''Then why am I here?''|ch2mech0203][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

Kim kind of does; or at least, there's never a strand of hair out of place, $kimhis singlet is always tucked so securely into the waist of $kimhis pants. The only chaos Kim ever really expresses is in the space around them. Even so, $kimhis eyes flick upwards, $kimhis mouth barely twitches to smile. "Don't have much work for you today," Kim says instead, pointedly ignoring your point. As you turn back to $kimhim, $kimhes already turned $kimhis back, rifling around amidst the mess of tools to pull out an old data tablet with a crack cutting through the top right corner of the screen. You exchange a glance and feel your face fall more than you physically tell it to do so. "Need you to go through the mail, check any outstanding bills..." ... and send something sufficiently threatening if someone is too many weeks in arrears, goes unsaid. Hell, but the last thing you want to do is go rifling through mail. Kim looks at you through brown eyes that seem to know more than <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they tell you,<<else>>$kimhe tells you,<</if>> waits patiently for the innevitable complaint with all the quiet confidence of a $kimman who's never had a worry in $kimhis life. For a moment, you look between your boss and the tablet, screen flickering where the crack carves its path... [[And shrug. ''Sure, Boss.''|ch2mech0201][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[And sigh. ''Don't you have any tech I can help you with?''|ch2mech0202][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[And look away. ''Then why am I here?''|ch2mech0203][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

Kim gives you a long look as you drag a stool up to the table from a corner. The cool box sitting by the door hums an unsteady tune, the sound it makes when it's working overtime to keep the medical waste inherent to the job cool, working, alive. The poor machine is on its last legs, the door taped up just to stay closed. Kim could probably fix the worst of it, but <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they don't.<<else>>$kimhe doesn't.<</if>> "Maybe..." Your boss says after a time, scratching at some dried blood on $kimhis singlet. Kim's lips are thinned, sucked in as if pondering a particularly difficult question, and $kimhes staring at the scab on your forehead again just to have something to look at. "There might be something you can help me with." You can't stop yourself from perking up, even as Kim backtracks, circles around the table to return to $kimhis current project. Using the space as physical barrier. The stool protests with a squeal of metal as your boss sits with a heave of a sigh. "Later," <<if $kim_gender is "non">>They decide, chewing on their tongue as they pick up where they left off.<<else>>$kimhe decides, chewing on $kimhis tongue as $kimhe picks up where $kimhe left off.<</if>> "Once you finish with the mail." [[''I know you don't like me touching the tech, Kim. I'm not gonna push it.''|ch2mech0301][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''I'd... appreciate it.'' I restrain my enthusiasm.|ch2mech0302][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Really?'' I can't help my enthusiasm. Mail is boring and I wasn't hired to be a glorified clerk.|ch2mech0303][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''What's the occasion? You don't usually...'' I stop myself before I can put my foot in my mouth.|ch2mech0304][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[I just nod. If I say anything I'm worried Kim will conveniently forget later.|ch2mech0305]]

Kim gives you a curious look as you drag a stool up to the table from a corner. The cool box sitting by the door hums an unsteady tune, the sound it makes when it's working overtime to keep the medical waste inherent to the job cool, working, alive. The poor machine is on its last legs, the door taped up just to stay closed. Kim could probably fix the worst of it, but <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they don't.<<else>>$kimhe doesn't.<</if>> "Maybe..." Your boss says after a time, scratching at some dried blood on $kimhis singlet. Kim's lips are thinned, sucked in as if pondering a particularly difficult question, and $kimhes staring at the scab on your forehead again just to have something to look at. "There might be something you can help me with." You can't stop yourself from perking up, even as Kim backtracks, circles around the table to return to $kimhis current project. Using the space as physical barrier. The stool protests with a squeal of metal as your boss sits with a heave of a sigh. "Later," <<if $kim_gender is "non">>They decide, chewing on their tongue as they pick up where they left off.<<else>>$kimhe decides, chewing on $kimhis tongue as $kimhe picks up where $kimhe left off.<</if>> "Once you finish with the mail." [[''I know you don't like me touching the tech, Kim. I'm not gonna push it.''|ch2mech0301]][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''I'd... appreciate it.'' I restrain my enthusiasm.|ch2mech0302][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Really?'' I can't help my enthusiasm. Mail is boring and I wasn't hired to be a glorified clerk.|ch2mech0303][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''What's the occasion? You don't usually...'' I stop myself before I can put my foot in my mouth.|ch2mech0304][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[I just nod. If I say anything I'm worried Kim will conveniently forget later.|ch2mech0305]]

Kim hired you to help $kimhim with the workload, needed someone who was at least marginally interested in the Bio-tech if not specifically skilled with maintenance and repair. Kim is one of about five people in the Undercity who still holds intimiate knowledge on the workings and upkeep of a technology decades in the past, $kimhes also one of about three people who actually lends $kimhis services to those who can't always pay what it would actually cost for said upkeep. All $kimhis prices are set at a steep discount to what one would typically pay on the Disk. As such, there's always too much work to do, too little time, too few hands. Interest, $kimhe could work with. As it is, your boss offers a shrug, the dark spot under $kimhis eye pulling down with a twitch of $kimhis lips. "More customers," Kim mutters by way of explanation, only halfway into the conversation as $kimhe turns $kimhis attention back to $kimhis project. Kim unfolds the clenching fingers with a gentle but firm hand, treating the lab-grown flesh as if it were $kimhis own--there's no scientific curiosity behind $kimhis eyes, merely a determined spark that only ever shows in the midst of $kimhis work. "I brought you on for a reason, you aren't just an errand-runner." Could have fooled you. Or... maybe it's just the situation with Arthur that has you stricken with a complex. You sigh, shift uncomfortably in your seat. Kim doesn't look up from $kimhis work, perhaps giving you your privacy. The silence stretches as you idly struggle with the data tablet, tapping the screen as it flickers. The touch display is a bit wonky, doesn't always respond to the right gestures. Thankfully, perhaps mercifully, it opens up into the list of mail that's been coming in since early morning. It took you some time to become accustomed to this world of strange technology, and the touch screens are the worst. There's no real feedback, no texture, not response that you can trust other than what it shows you on that horribly laminated layer of glass. You glance at Kim, at the work that takes all $kimhis attention, and can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It also, however, brings questions. Kim certainly doesn't need to be squirreled away in an old, Undercity shack. Not when $kimhe could be making a good amount of credits by working on the Disk. Your boss is almost done with the current arm, only now covering the square of exposed wrist with a thin membrane not unlike some kind of protective mucous. In time, the flesh should incorporate the membrane into itself, heal over the square of skin carved out at the wrist. Almost work as intended. Now would probably be the time to ask something, if at all. [[I busy myself with the mail, for now. No use asking questions I won't get the answers to.|ch2mech0401]] [[''Where did you learn to make these repairs?'' They certainly don't just teach anyone. Not these days.|ch2mech0402]] [[''How can you afford to keep the shop open?'' All this, the tools, the extra parts, they don't come cheap.|ch2mech0403]] [[''Are you ever gonna replace this damn thing?'' I say, gesturing to the data tablet.|ch2mech0404]]

Kim hired you to help $kimhim with the workload, needed someone who was at least marginally interested in the Bio-tech if not specifically skilled with maintenance and repair. Kim is one of about five people in the Undercity who still holds intimiate knowledge on the workings and upkeep of a technology decades in the past, $kimhes also one of about three people who actually lends $kimhis services to those who can't always pay what it would actually cost for said upkeep. All $kimhis prices are set at a steep discount to what one would typically pay on the Disk. As such, there's always too much work to do, too little time, too few hands. Interest, $kimhe could work with. As it is, your boss offers a shrug, the dark spot under $kimhis eye pulling down with a twitch of $kimhis lips. "I need the help." Kim mutters by way of explanation, only halfway into the conversation as $kimhe turns $kimhis attention back to $kimhis project. Kim unfolds the clenching fingers with a gentle but firm hand, treating the lab-grown flesh as if it were $kimhis own--there's no scientific curiosity behind $kimhis eyes, merely a determined spark that only ever shows in the midst of $kimhis work. "More customers lately; prosthetics are breaking down more often. You aren't just an errand-runner." Could have fooled you. Or... maybe it's just the situation with Arthur that has you stricken with a complex. You sigh, shift uncomfortably in your seat. Kim doesn't look up from $kimhis work, perhaps giving you your privacy. The silence stretches as you idly struggle with the data tablet, tapping the screen as it flickers. The touch display is a bit wonky, doesn't always respond to the right gestures. Thankfully, perhaps mercifully, it opens up into the list of mail that's been coming in since early morning. It took you some time to become accustomed to this world of strange technology, and the touch screens are the worst. There's no real feedback, no texture, not response that you can trust other than what it shows you on that horribly laminated layer of glass. You glance at Kim, at the work that takes all $kimhis attention, and can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It also, however, brings questions. Kim certainly doesn't need to be squirreled away in an old, Undercity shack. Not when $kimhe could be making a good amount of credits by working on the Disk. Your boss is almost done with the current arm, only now covering the square of exposed wrist with a thin membrane not unlike some kind of protective mucous. In time, the flesh should incorporate the membrane into itself, heal over the square of skin carved out at the wrist. Almost work as intended. Now would probably be the time to ask something, if at all. [[I busy myself with the mail, for now. No use asking questions I won't get the answers to.|ch2mech0401]] [[''Where did you learn to make these repairs?'' They certainly don't just teach anyone. Not these days.|ch2mech0402]] [[''How can you afford to keep the shop open?'' All this, the tools, the extra parts, they don't come cheap.|ch2mech0403]] [[''Are you ever gonna replace this damn thing?'' I say, gesturing to the data tablet.|ch2mech0404]]

Kim hired you to help $kimhim with the workload, needed someone who was at least marginally interested in the Bio-tech if not specifically skilled with maintenance and repair. Kim is one of about five people in the Undercity who still holds intimiate knowledge on the workings and upkeep of a technology decades in the past, $kimhes also one of about three people who actually lends $kimhis services to those who can't always pay what it would actually cost for said upkeep. All $kimhis prices are set at a steep discount to what one would typically pay on the Disk. As such, there's always too much work to do, too little time, too few hands. Interest, $kimhe could work with. As it is, your boss offers a shrug, the dark spot under $kimhis eye pulling down with a twitch of $kimhis lips. "No, I was only joking," Kim mutters. It's so deadpan you almost believe $kimhim,almost feel your chipper enthusiasm... flatten. Though $kimhes turned $kimhis attention back to $kimhis pet project, Kim clarifies with a cough. Kim unfolds the clenching fingers with a gentle but firm hand, treating the lab-grown flesh as if it were $kimhis own--there's no scientific curiosity behind $kimhis eyes, merely a determined spark that only ever shows in the midst of $kimhis work. "Sorry, poor joke. I do mean it. You aren't just an errand-runner." Could have fooled you. Or... maybe it's just the situation with Arthur that has you stricken with a complex. You sigh, shift uncomfortably in your seat. Kim doesn't look up from $kimhis work, perhaps giving you your privacy. The silence stretches as you idly struggle with the data tablet, tapping the screen as it flickers. The touch display is a bit wonky, doesn't always respond to the right gestures. Thankfully, perhaps mercifully, it opens up into the list of mail that's been coming in since early morning. It took you some time to become accustomed to this world of strange technology, and the touch screens are the worst. There's no real feedback, no texture, not response that you can trust other than what it shows you on that horribly laminated layer of glass. You glance at Kim, at the work that takes all $kimhis attention, and can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It also, however, brings questions. Kim certainly doesn't need to be squirreled away in an old, Undercity shack. Not when $kimhe could be making a good amount of credits by working on the Disk. Your boss is almost done with the current arm, only now covering the square of exposed wrist with a thin membrane not unlike some kind of protective mucous. In time, the flesh should incorporate the membrane into itself, heal over the square of skin carved out at the wrist. Almost work as intended. Now would probably be the time to ask something, if at all. [[I busy myself with the mail, for now. No use asking questions I won't get the answers to.|ch2mech0401]] [[''Where did you learn to make these repairs?'' They certainly don't just teach anyone. Not these days.|ch2mech0402]] [[''How can you afford to keep the shop open?'' All this, the tools, the extra parts, they don't come cheap.|ch2mech0403]] [[''Are you ever gonna replace this damn thing?'' I say, gesturing to the data tablet.|ch2mech0404]]

Kim hired you to help $kimhim with the workload, needed someone who was at least marginally interested in the Bio-tech if not specifically skilled with maintenance and repair. Kim is one of about five people in the Undercity who still holds intimiate knowledge on the workings and upkeep of a technology decades in the past, $kimhes also one of about three people who actually lends $kimhis services to those who can't always pay what it would actually cost for said upkeep. All $kimhis prices are set at a steep discount to what one would typically pay on the Disk. As such, there's always too much work to do, too little time, too few hands. Interest, $kimhe could work with. As it is, your boss offers a shrug, the dark spot under $kimhis eye pulling down with a twitch of $kimhis lips. "I need the help." Kim mutters by way of explanation, only halfway into the conversation as $kimhe turns $kimhis attention back to $kimhis project. Kim unfolds the clenching fingers with a gentle but firm hand, treating the lab-grown flesh as if it were $kimhis own--there's no scientific curiosity behind $kimhis eyes, merely a determined spark that only ever shows in the midst of $kimhis work. "Unless you don't want to?" You startle, a type of panic sinking in, "No, that's not what I meant." Either way, Kim rolls $kimhis neck, "Been getting bigger workloads lately, I can't always manage it myself." The silence stretches as you idly struggle with the data tablet, tapping the screen as it flickers. The touch display is a bit wonky, doesn't always respond to the right gestures. Thankfully, perhaps mercifully, it opens up into the list of mail that's been coming in since early morning. It took you some time to become accustomed to this world of strange technology, and the touch screens are the worst. There's no real feedback, no texture, not response that you can trust other than what it shows you on that horribly laminated layer of glass. You glance at Kim, at the work that takes all $kimhis attention, and can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It also, however, brings questions. Kim certainly doesn't need to be squirreled away in an old, Undercity shack. Not when $kimhe could be making a good amount of credits by working on the Disk. Your boss is almost done with the current arm, only now covering the square of exposed wrist with a thin membrane not unlike some kind of protective mucous. In time, the flesh should incorporate the membrane into itself, heal over the square of skin carved out at the wrist. Almost work as intended. Now would probably be the time to ask something, if at all. [[I busy myself with the mail, for now. No use asking questions I won't get the answers to.|ch2mech0401]] [[''Where did you learn to make these repairs?'' They certainly don't just teach anyone. Not these days.|ch2mech0402]] [[''How can you afford to keep the shop open?'' All this, the tools, the extra parts, they don't come cheap.|ch2mech0403]] [[''Are you ever gonna replace this damn thing?'' I say, gesturing to the data tablet.|ch2mech0404]]

Kim hired you to help $kimhim with the workload, needed someone who was at least marginally interested in the Bio-tech if not specifically skilled with maintenance and repair. Kim is one of about five people in the Undercity who still holds intimiate knowledge on the workings and upkeep of a technology decades in the past, $kimhes also one of about three people who actually lends $kimhis services to those who can't always pay what it would actually cost for said upkeep. All $kimhis prices are set at a steep discount to what one would typically pay on the Disk. As such, there's always too much work to do, too little time, too few hands. Interest, $kimhe could work with. As it is, your boss offers a shrug, the dark spot under $kimhis eye pulling down with a twitch of $kimhis lips. "I need the help." Kim mutters by way of explanation, caring not for your silence. Even turning$kimhis attention back to $kimhis project, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they continue<<else>>$kimhe continues<</if>> to speak. Kim unfolds the clenching fingers with a gentle but firm hand, treating the lab-grown flesh as if it were $kimhis own--there's no scientific curiosity behind $kimhis eyes, merely a determined spark that only ever shows in the midst of $kimhis work. "More customers lately; prosthetics are breaking down more often. You aren't just an errand-runner." Could have fooled you. Or... maybe it's just the situation with Arthur that has you stricken with a complex. You sigh, shift uncomfortably in your seat. Kim doesn't look up from $kimhis work, perhaps giving you your privacy. The silence stretches as you idly struggle with the data tablet, tapping the screen as it flickers. The touch display is a bit wonky, doesn't always respond to the right gestures. Thankfully, perhaps mercifully, it opens up into the list of mail that's been coming in since early morning. It took you some time to become accustomed to this world of strange technology, and the touch screens are the worst. There's no real feedback, no texture, not response that you can trust other than what it shows you on that horribly laminated layer of glass. You glance at Kim, at the work that takes all $kimhis attention, and can't help but feel a pang of jealousy. It also, however, brings questions. Kim certainly doesn't need to be squirreled away in an old, Undercity shack. Not when $kimhe could be making a good amount of credits by working on the Disk. Your boss is almost done with the current arm, only now covering the square of exposed wrist with a thin membrane not unlike some kind of protective mucous. In time, the flesh should incorporate the membrane into itself, heal over the square of skin carved out at the wrist. Almost work as intended. Now would probably be the time to ask something, if at all. [[I busy myself with the mail, for now. No use asking questions I won't get the answers to.|ch2mech0401]] [[''Where did you learn to make these repairs?'' They certainly don't just teach anyone. Not these days.|ch2mech0402]] [[''How can you afford to keep the shop open?'' All this, the tools, the extra parts, they don't come cheap.|ch2mech0403]] [[''Are you ever gonna replace this damn thing?'' I say, gesturing to the data tablet.|ch2mech0404]]

You don't need to pry. You don't need to do anything you don't want to. And a part of you thinks that Kim must appreciate not being grilled all the time. Or at least, you've never heard otherwise. You push on and get to the mail, reading the correspondence and replying back with a series of practised scripts depending on the situation. The work isn't wholly unlike what you do for Arthur, just slightly more involved with customers rather than research and archival duties. At least Kim isn't allergic to progress, you suppose. On occasion, you exchange words as needed; a question here, bit of advice there, but for the most part you remain separate in that lonely, little room. Your only company each other and the gentle humming of the too-bright light above. You finish up the mail with ample time to spare, and Kim's moved onto another task; cleaning $kimhis tools. A bath of foul-smelling solution, washed out in a sink in another room. The tainted, red remainder of the work is thrown out into a closed off alley out back, ensuring no one is exposed to whatever concoction of toxicity Kim's created. Any... fleshy remains are thrown into the cool box in a sealed container, to be dealt with at another time. You don't actually know how Kim disposes of everything, for all you know <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they don't.<<else>>$kimhe doesn't.<</if>> "I need you to do a delivery," Kim says after a time, gesturing to the box that houses the arm they were working on before, "Urgent." Despite yourself, you find your lips curling in distaste. [[''Is this instead of 'maybe' helping you out with one of your projects?'' I can't hide my irritation.|ch2mech0501][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''I knew you didn't want me touching your toys,'' I say with a grin, teasing.|ch2mech0502][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[I heave a sigh, ''Alright. Since it's urgent.'' I don't want to have a fight.|ch2mech0503][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Did this only now become urgent or are you just telling me?'' The least Kim could've done is tell me first.|ch2mech0504][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]]

Kim gives you a long look, one that doesn't look well pleased with the question. $kimhis lips pull downward, and though <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they struggle<<else>>$kimhe struggles<</if>> to keep a steady front, it's a losing battle. There's silence for a small while before, quietly, "I don't know." You stare at your boss, how $kimhis head bows enough to stare at a spot of old blood on the table. "What do you mean you don't know?" Kim shakes $kimhis head, a refusal. You roll your eyes and get to the mail, reading the correspondence and replying back with a series of practised scripts depending on the situation. The work isn't wholly unlike what you do for Arthur, just slightly more involved with customers rather than research and archival duties. At least Kim isn't allergic to progress, you suppose. On occasion, you exchange words as needed; a question here, bit of advice there, but for the most part you remain separate in that lonely, little room. Your only company each other and the gentle humming of the too-bright light above. You finish up the mail with ample time to spare, and Kim's moved onto another task; cleaning $kimhis tools. A bath of foul-smelling solution, washed out in a sink in another room. The tainted, red remainder of the work is thrown out into a closed off alley out back, ensuring no one is exposed to whatever concoction of toxicity Kim's created. Any... fleshy remains are thrown into the cool box in a sealed container, to be dealt with at another time. You don't actually know how Kim disposes of everything, for all you know <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they don't.<<else>>$kimhe doesn't.<</if>> "I need you to do a delivery," Kim says after a time, gesturing to the box that houses the arm they were working on before, "Urgent." Despite yourself, you find your lips curling in distaste. [[''Is this instead of 'maybe' helping you out with one of your projects?'' I can't hide my irritation.|ch2mech0501][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''I knew you didn't want me touching your toys,'' I say with a grin, teasing.|ch2mech0502][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[I heave a sigh, ''Alright. Since it's urgent.'' I don't want to have a fight.|ch2mech0503][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Did this only now become urgent or are you just telling me?'' The least Kim could've done is tell me first.|ch2mech0504][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]]

Kim shrugs, shifts $kimhis gaze up to you with a twist in $kimhis thin mouth, before offering you something of a proper answer, "Rent down here is fairly cheap, all things considered." You can't help but blink. Maybe in comparison to the Disk but that isn't really saying much. Kim coughs into $kimhis shoulder, tries again, "What I mean is, even at a sheer mark down compared to other specialists in this kind of tech I get by mostly fine." You roll your eyes and get to the mail, reading the correspondence and replying back with a series of practised scripts depending on the situation. The work isn't wholly unlike what you do for Arthur, just slightly more involved with customers rather than research and archival duties. At least Kim isn't allergic to progress, you suppose. On occasion, you exchange words as needed; a question here, bit of advice there, but for the most part you remain separate in that lonely, little room. Your only company each other and the gentle humming of the too-bright light above. You finish up the mail with ample time to spare, and Kim's moved onto another task; cleaning $kimhis tools. A bath of foul-smelling solution, washed out in a sink in another room. The tainted, red remainder of the work is thrown out into a closed off alley out back, ensuring no one is exposed to whatever concoction of toxicity Kim's created. Any... fleshy remains are thrown into the cool box in a sealed container, to be dealt with at another time. You don't actually know how Kim disposes of everything, for all you know <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they don't.<<else>>$kimhe doesn't.<</if>> "I need you to do a delivery," Kim says after a time, gesturing to the box that houses the arm they were working on before, "Urgent." Despite yourself, you find your lips curling in distaste. [[''Is this instead of 'maybe' helping you out with one of your projects?'' I can't hide my irritation.|ch2mech0501][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''I knew you didn't want me touching your toys,'' I say with a grin, teasing.|ch2mech0502][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[I heave a sigh, ''Alright. Since it's urgent.'' I don't want to have a fight.|ch2mech0503][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Did this only now become urgent or are you just telling me?'' The least Kim could've done is tell me first.|ch2mech0504][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]]

"No," Comes the shrug, without needing to look up. Kim has taken to wrapping the arm in a protective film before promptly placing it into a sturdy box. Cardboard, certainly nothing to keep the elements out, but better than nothing. "Once it goes I'll just use physical mail." You feel yourself cringe, "Does anyone use paper these days?" "They will if they want their limbs fixed." Kim says, the ghost of a smile pulling a corner of $kimhis lips upwards in a twitch. Ah. "That thing's been holding on by a thread forever. If it dies, it lived a good life." In other words, $kimhe'll get to it when it happens. You roll your eyes and get to the mail, reading the correspondence and replying back with a series of practised scripts depending on the situation. The work isn't wholly unlike what you do for Arthur, just slightly more involved with customers rather than research and archival duties. At least Kim isn't allergic to progress, you suppose. On occasion, you exchange words as needed; a question here, bit of advice there, but for the most part you remain separate in that lonely, little room. Your only company each other and the gentle humming of the too-bright light above. You finish up the mail with ample time to spare, and Kim's moved onto another task; cleaning $kimhis tools. A bath of foul-smelling solution, washed out in a sink in another room. The tainted, red remainder of the work is thrown out into a closed off alley out back, ensuring no one is exposed to whatever concoction of toxicity Kim's created. Any... fleshy remains are thrown into the cool box in a sealed container, to be dealt with at another time. You don't actually know how Kim disposes of everything, for all you know <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they don't.<<else>>$kimhe doesn't.<</if>> "I need you to do a delivery," Kim says after a time, gesturing to the box that houses the arm they were working on before, "Urgent." Despite yourself, you find your lips curling in distaste. [[''Is this instead of 'maybe' helping you out with one of your projects?'' I can't hide my irritation.|ch2mech0501][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''I knew you didn't want me touching your toys,'' I say with a grin, teasing.|ch2mech0502][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[I heave a sigh, ''Alright. Since it's urgent.'' I don't want to have a fight.|ch2mech0503][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Did this only now become urgent or are you just telling me?'' The least Kim could've done is tell me first.|ch2mech0504][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]]

<<set $kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1>>You shouldn't be showing this side of yourself. You know you shouldn't. And yet the anger drips from your lips like venom, or a leaking faucet. Kim merely looks at you, something vacant in $kimhis eyes, and for the longest time you aren't entirely sure $kimhes gonna reply in the first place. Eventually, comes a sigh, "No." Simple. To the point. No room for misinterpretation or arguments. "We'll deal with that after." Once more, Kim pats the box, this time sliding it across the table in your direction with a meaningful look. With a resigned breath, you shake your head and tuck it under your arm, filing this conversation away for later. If later ever comes. "Yeah, okay," You grumble, but if Kim has any comentary on your tone, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they don't let it out from the confines of their clasping cage of teeth.<<else>>$kimhe doesn't let it out from the confines of $kimhis clasping cage of teeth.<</if>> You don't need a location; this isn't a house-call service. No, Kim has a drop-off point--a fence, really--who exchanges credits for limbs and vice versa so your boss doesn't have to. A bit off the top comes out of the weekly earnings, but such is the price for loyal help. You turn to Kim once you reach the door, knocking by way of goodbye... [[And take my leave. No use prolonging it.|ch2mech0601]] [[And offer a wave. ''Catch you on the flip side, Boss.''|ch2mech0602]] [[And give Kim a grin, ''Don't burn the place down while I'm gone.''|ch2mech0603]]

Despite any irritation that claws at the cage of your mind, you struggle it into a far corner and slap on a crooked grin. Kim shifts, mouth twisting into an expression you can't place. Eventually, comes a sigh, "No, I'm not... //that//precious about my tools." You can't help a bitter chuckle as Kim avoids your smile. "But I'm not putting it off, I still intend to show you." Once more, Kim pats the box, this time sliding it across the table in your direction with a meaningful look. With a resigned breath, you shake your head and tuck it under your arm, filing this conversation away for later. If later ever comes. "Yeah, okay," You grumble, but if Kim has any comentary on your tone, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they don't let it out from the confines of their clasping cage of teeth.<<else>>$kimhe doesn't let it out from the confines of $kimhis clasping cage of teeth.<</if>> You don't need a location; this isn't a house-call service. No, Kim has a drop-off point--a fence, really--who exchanges credits for limbs and vice versa so your boss doesn't have to. A bit off the top comes out of the weekly earnings, but such is the price for loyal help. You turn to Kim once you reach the door, knocking by way of goodbye... [[And take my leave. No use prolonging it.|ch2mech0601]] [[And offer a wave. ''Catch you on the flip side, Boss.''|ch2mech0602]] [[And give Kim a grin, ''Don't burn the place down while I'm gone.''|ch2mech0603]]

<<set $kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1>>The last thing you want is a fight on your hands, least of all with someone you don't know particularly well. Kim regards you with a silent contemplation, lips curling inward as if about to speak. With a sigh, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they relent without another word<<else>>$kimhe relents without another word<</if>> and a shake of the head. Once more, Kim pats the box, this time sliding it across the table in your direction with a meaningful look. With a resigned breath, you shake your head and tuck it under your arm, filing this conversation away for later. If later ever comes. "Yeah, okay," You grumble, but if Kim has any comentary on your tone, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they don't let it out from the confines of their clasping cage of teeth.<<else>>$kimhe doesn't let it out from the confines of $kimhis clasping cage of teeth.<</if>> You don't need a location; this isn't a house-call service. No, Kim has a drop-off point--a fence, really--who exchanges credits for limbs and vice versa so your boss doesn't have to. A bit off the top comes out of the weekly earnings, but such is the price for loyal help. You turn to Kim once you reach the door, knocking by way of goodbye... [[And take my leave. No use prolonging it.|ch2mech0601]] [[And offer a wave. ''Catch you on the flip side, Boss.''|ch2mech0602]] [[And give Kim a grin, ''Don't burn the place down while I'm gone.''|ch2mech0603]]

You square a level gaze at Kim, as if simply staring into $kimhis placid soul will extract the information you need. Despite you unwavering gaze, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they avert<<else>>$kimhe averts<</if>> $kimhis own. Disappointing. Eventually, comes a sigh, "I... should have told you." Kim allows. To the point. No room for misinterpretation or arguments. "I apologise. I still intend to show you how I work afterwards." Better. Once more, Kim pats the box, this time sliding it across the table in your direction with a meaningful look. With a resigned breath, you shake your head and tuck it under your arm, filing this conversation away for later. If later ever comes. "Yeah, okay," You grumble, but if Kim has any comentary on your tone, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they don't let it out from the confines of their clasping cage of teeth.<<else>>$kimhe doesn't let it out from the confines of $kimhis clasping cage of teeth.<</if>> You don't need a location; this isn't a house-call service. No, Kim has a drop-off point--a fence, really--who exchanges credits for limbs and vice versa so your boss doesn't have to. A bit off the top comes out of the weekly earnings, but such is the price for loyal help. You turn to Kim once you reach the door, knocking by way of goodbye... [[And take my leave. No use prolonging it.|ch2mech0601]] [[And offer a wave. ''Catch you on the flip side, Boss.''|ch2mech0602]] [[And give Kim a grin, ''Don't burn the place down while I'm gone.''|ch2mech0603]]

No point. You have a job and you'll do it. If Kim has anything to say on the matter, it's drowned out by the blaring, thumping, droning, rhythm that follows as soon as you step out of $kimhis little corner of paradise. The day has darkened to nearly pitch when you emerge from Kim's shop, barely a sliver of light eking out from over the top of the disk as the artificial day turns to an artifical night. Up top, nothing truly sleeps, not like the dead and not like the lazy, but you certainly can't see any of that from below. A spare few spotlights flicker above you, hanging uselessly from the main mass of the disk like some kind of defective gift offered up by uncaring gods to their flock. If nothing else, they allow the sparest hint of light that you wouldn't otherwise find if they were gone. Small mercies, you suppose. Your journey takes you a little way back towards your home, through a few alleys not yet claimed for storage or forgotten garbage. The drop off point isn't exactly subtle, sitting smack dab in the middle of a fixed marketplace as people bustle by and trade items for wares. Kim's fence waits boredly in their seat in an empty stall made mostly of synthetic wood and old stone. They offer a small smile when you catch their eye, reaching out for the box with one arm, while simultaniously offering a stack of credits in the other. "Last weeks' spoils," Comes the explanation, unneeded, unnecessary, but it helps to keep them honest, you suppose. You make an effort to look like you're counting it out, offering them a wary glance as they take a brief look inside the box, cringe, then promptly decide to stash it under their seat. "Sans my cut, of course." [[''Of course,'' I agree. No use being a hardass about it.|ch2mech00701][$gruff to $gruff -=.05]] [[''Gross, right?'' I can't help my own grimace. I never said I enjoyed this job.|ch2mech0702][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''Please don't poke the merchandise.'' A warning. A polite one.|ch2mech0703][$reck to $reck -=.05]] [[Don't answer. I'm too busy counting out the credits.|ch2mech0704][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]]

If Kim has anything to say on the matter, it's drowned out by the blaring, thumping, droning, rhythm that follows as soon as you step out of $kimhis little corner of paradise. The day has darkened to nearly pitch when you emerge from Kim's shop, barely a sliver of light eking out from over the top of the disk as the artificial day turns to an artifical night. Up top, nothing truly sleeps, not like the dead and not like the lazy, but you certainly can't see any of that from below. A spare few spotlights flicker above you, hanging uselessly from the main mass of the disk like some kind of defective gift offered up by uncaring gods to their flock. If nothing else, they allow the sparest hint of light that you wouldn't otherwise find if they were gone. Small mercies, you suppose. Your journey takes you a little way back towards your home, through a few alleys not yet claimed for storage or forgotten garbage. The drop off point isn't exactly subtle, sitting smack dab in the middle of a fixed marketplace as people bustle by and trade items for wares. Kim's fence waits boredly in their seat in an empty stall made mostly of synthetic wood and old stone. They offer a small smile when you catch their eye, reaching out for the box with one arm, while simultaniously offering a stack of credits in the other. "Last weeks' spoils," Comes the explanation, unneeded, unnecessary, but it helps to keep them honest, you suppose. You make an effort to look like you're counting it out, offering them a wary glance as they take a brief look inside the box, cringe, then promptly decide to stash it under their seat. "Sans my cut, of course." [[''Of course,'' I agree. No use being a hardass about it.|ch2mech00701][$gruff to $gruff -=.05]] [[''Gross, right?'' I can't help my own grimace. I never said I enjoyed this job.|ch2mech0702][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''Please don't poke the merchandise.'' A warning. A polite one.|ch2mech0703][$reck to $reck -=.05]] [[Don't answer. I'm too busy counting out the credits.|ch2mech0704][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]]

You shrug and finish off your counting, shoving the slips into one of your coat pockets and giving it a pat for good measure. Your errand complete for the moment, you turn to make your leave, only to be stopped by the individual's voice once more. It seems they aren't done with you. "How is ol' Kim doing these days? Looking after $kimhimself?" You turn, glance at them with that easy smile on their face and find yourself offering somewhat of a questioning look yourself. [[''Just fine. See you next week.'' I say and turn to leave.|ch2mech0801][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''How would I know?'' Why would I want to?|ch2mech0802][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]] [[''Seems so. I didn't notice anything wrong at any rate. Why?''|ch2mech0803][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]] [[''Why would you care?''If I seem a bit protective it's only because I can appreciate someone needing their privacy.|ch2mech0804][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]]

You offer a lopsided smile, taking a certain kind of pleasure in the paling expression on their grimacing face. You finish off your counting with a huff through your nose, shoving the slips into one of your coat pockets and giving it a pat for good measure. Your errand complete for the moment, you turn to make your leave, only to be stopped by the individual's voice once more. It seems they aren't done with you. "How is ol' Kim doing these days? Looking after $kimhimself?" You turn, glance at them with that easy smile on their face and find yourself offering somewhat of a questioning look yourself. [[''Just fine. See you next week.'' I say and turn to leave.|ch2mech0801][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''How would I know?'' Why would I want to?|ch2mech0802][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]] [[''Seems so. I didn't notice anything wrong at any rate. Why?''|ch2mech0803][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]] [[''Why would you care?'' If I seem a bit protective it's only because I can appreciate someone needing their privacy.|ch2mech0804][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]]

You turn just slow enough to catch a brief grimace at the suggestion. A laugh bubbles up from your chest, weak but there nonetheless. If Kim has anything more to say on the matter, it's drowned out by the blaring, thumping, droning, rhythm that follows as soon as you step out of $kimhis little corner of paradise. The day has darkened to nearly pitch when you emerge from Kim's shop, barely a sliver of light eking out from over the top of the disk as the artificial day turns to an artifical night. Up top, nothing truly sleeps, not like the dead and not like the lazy, but you certainly can't see any of that from below. A spare few spotlights flicker above you, hanging uselessly from the main mass of the disk like some kind of defective gift offered up by uncaring gods to their flock. If nothing else, they allow the sparest hint of light that you wouldn't otherwise find if they were gone. Small mercies, you suppose. Your journey takes you a little way back towards your home, through a few alleys not yet claimed for storage or forgotten garbage. The drop off point isn't exactly subtle, sitting smack dab in the middle of a fixed marketplace as people bustle by and trade items for wares. Kim's fence waits boredly in their seat in an empty stall made mostly of synthetic wood and old stone. They offer a small smile when you catch their eye, reaching out for the box with one arm, while simultaniously offering a stack of credits in the other. "Last weeks' spoils," Comes the explanation, unneeded, unnecessary, but it helps to keep them honest, you suppose. You make an effort to look like you're counting it out, offering them a wary glance as they take a brief look inside the box, cringe, then promptly decide to stash it under their seat. "Sans my cut, of course." [[''Of course,'' I agree. No use being a hardass about it.|ch2mech00701][$gruff to $gruff -=.05]] [[''Gross, right?'' I can't help my own grimace. I never said I enjoyed this job.|ch2mech0702][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''Please don't poke the merchandise.'' A warning. A polite one.|ch2mech0703][$reck to $reck -=.05]] [[Don't answer. I'm too busy counting out the credits.|ch2mech0704][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]]

"Those things are fragile," you mutter, only half-lying. Yes, they tend to break down more and more over time. No, it doesn't mean they can't give newer tech a run for its money when properly maintained. You shrug and finish off your counting, shoving the slips into one of your coat pockets and giving it a pat for good measure. Your errand complete for the moment, you turn to make your leave, only to be stopped by the individual's voice once more. It seems they aren't done with you. "How is ol' Kim doing these days? Looking after $kimhimself?" You turn, glance at them with that easy smile on their face and find yourself offering somewhat of a questioning look yourself. [[''Just fine. See you next week.'' I say and turn to leave.|ch2mech0801][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''How would I know?'' Why would I want to?|ch2mech0802][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]] [[''Seems so. I didn't notice anything wrong at any rate. Why?''|ch2mech0803][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]] [[''Why would you care?''If I seem a bit protective it's only because I can appreciate someone needing their privacy.|ch2mech0804][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]]

You do, however, offer a critical glance before you finish off your counting, shoving the slips into one of your coat pockets and giving it a pat for good measure. Your errand complete for the moment, you turn to make your leave, only to be stopped by the individual's voice once more. It seems they aren't done with you. "How is ol' Kim doing these days? Looking after $kimhimself?" You turn, glance at them with that easy smile on their face and find yourself offering somewhat of a questioning look yourself. [[''Just fine. See you next week.'' I say and turn to leave.|ch2mech0801][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''How would I know?'' Why would I want to?|ch2mech0802][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]] [[''Seems so. I didn't notice anything wrong at any rate. Why?''|ch2mech0803][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]] [[''Why would you care?''If I seem a bit protective it's only because I can appreciate someone needing their privacy.|ch2mech0804][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]]

Frankly, it isn't your business. You pretend not to hear any complaints as you turn your back, leaving the fence to their corner of the world as you step back into the crowded marketplace. You tread back the way you came, easing yourself back into the quiet alleys that hail your return. It's a relatively uneventful return. You aren't accosted by anyone, there aren't any arguments heard through too-thin walls of the apartments and buildings behind you. No, the world is silent. Almost too silent. A ghost of a growl echoes in your mind, the reminder of a time when your wolf was wide awake, hungry, //violent//. Not the slumbering beast that leaves your head... vacant, your body slow, like an ailing cub. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when you spot a figure at the mouth of the final backstreet--the one that spits you out right in front of Kim's. You press forward, insisting to yourself that it's just someone loitering; no crime in that... while <<if $mc2statelimp is 2>>readying the claws of your beast-arm in case of emergency.<<else>>wrapping your fingers around the little knife you keep in your pocket. In case of emergencies.<</if>> Yet the glowing, amber eyes that peer through the dark, peer through //you//, doesn't cease, not even as you draw near. It's too dark to properly see the figure at this distance, to make out any detail, but they're tall. Taller than Kim, at any rate. [[''What are you looking at?'' I bark. Make myself look bigger, scarier.|ch2mech0901][$reck to $reck +=.05]] [[Stay silent. Don't make eye contact. Just walk past.|ch2mech0902][$rec to $reck -=.05]] [[''You know it's rude to stare,'' I say, offering a winning smile.|ch2mech0903][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[Offer a friendly nod as I pass but keep walking.|ch2mech0904][$sarc to $sarc -=.05]]

"Oh, I don't know," They say, an oily grin plastering itself across their face as they lean against the slab of faux wood that serves as their countertop. "You're just about the only one that old fool interacts with these days." You stare the this person, searching for the hidden meaning you know for sure must be there and find it closely guarded. For all the sleaziness that ekes through their tone, there's something else behind it all that you can't quite place. "Maybe I'm just worried." There's a little shimmer of truth to that. A little. Not enough to keep you there, however. With a roll of your eyes you turn for the final time and step back into the crowded marketplace, leaving that particularly uncomfortable interaction behind. You tread back the way you came, easing yourself back into the quiet alleys that hail your return. It's a relatively uneventful return. You aren't accosted by anyone, there aren't any arguments heard through too-thin walls of the apartments and buildings behind you. No, the world is silent. Almost too silent. A ghost of a growl echoes in your mind, the reminder of a time when your wolf was wide awake, hungry, //violent//. Not the slumbering beast that leaves your head... vacant, your body slow, like an ailing cub. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when you spot a figure at the mouth of the final backstreet--the one that spits you out right in front of Kim's. You press forward, insisting to yourself that it's just someone loitering; no crime in that... while <<if $mc2statelimp is 2>>readying the claws of your beast-arm in case of emergency.<<else>>wrapping your fingers around the little knife you keep in your pocket. In case of emergencies.<</if>> Yet the glowing, amber eyes that peer through the dark, peer through //you//, doesn't cease, not even as you draw near. It's too dark to properly see the figure at this distance, to make out any detail, but they're tall. Taller than Kim, at any rate. [[''What are you looking at?'' I bark. Make myself look bigger, scarier.|ch2mech0901][$reck to $reck +=.05]] [[Stay silent. Don't make eye contact. Just walk past.|ch2mech0902][$rec to $reck -=.05]] [[''You know it's rude to stare,'' I say, offering a winning smile.|ch2mech0903][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[Offer a friendly nod as I pass but keep walking.|ch2mech0904][$sarc to $sarc -=.05]]

They lean forward, across the slab of faux wood that serves as their countertop and //grins// at you. "Say hello to the old fool for me, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they never write<<else>>$kimhe never writes<</if>> anymore," They say, voice a white-knuckled fist against your sternum. It's not exactly dangerous, not exactly a threat, but there's this cheeky malevolence in their narrow-eyed gaze that rubs you wrong. "Tell 'em $kimhe can't hide away in $kimhis workshop forever." "Well," You flounder, but only for a moment, "I don't see how that's your business." Whether it is or isn't, the fence relents with a scoff and a lopsided grin. "You could at least just say 'hi' for me." With a roll of your eyes you turn for the final time and step back into the crowded marketplace, leaving that particularly uncomfortable interaction behind. You tread back the way you came, easing yourself back into the quiet alleys that hail your return. It's a relatively uneventful return. You aren't accosted by anyone, there aren't any arguments heard through too-thin walls of the apartments and buildings behind you. No, the world is silent. Almost too silent. A ghost of a growl echoes in your mind, the reminder of a time when your wolf was wide awake, hungry, //violent//. Not the slumbering beast that leaves your head... vacant, your body slow, like an ailing cub. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when you spot a figure at the mouth of the final backstreet--the one that spits you out right in front of Kim's. You press forward, insisting to yourself that it's just someone loitering; no crime in that... while <<if $mc2statelimp is 2>>readying the claws of your beast-arm in case of emergency.<<else>>wrapping your fingers around the little knife you keep in your pocket. In case of emergencies.<</if>> Yet the glowing, amber eyes that peer through the dark, peer through //you//, doesn't cease, not even as you draw near. It's too dark to properly see the figure at this distance, to make out any detail, but they're tall. Taller than Kim, at any rate. [[''What are you looking at?'' I bark. Make myself look bigger, scarier.|ch2mech0901][$reck to $reck +=.05]] [[Stay silent. Don't make eye contact. Just walk past.|ch2mech0902][$rec to $reck -=.05]] [[''You know it's rude to stare,'' I say, offering a winning smile.|ch2mech0903][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[Offer a friendly nod as I pass but keep walking.|ch2mech0904][$sarc to $sarc -=.05]]

They offer a shrug in turn, meeting your gaze with as equal ease as they find the smile. "Perhaps it's a bit of professional courtesy, perhaps I'm just being polite," They say, words as slippery as oil. "Either way I'm merely wondering after an old fool who doesn't talk enough. Is that so wrong?" There's something overly familiar in their eyes, quietly probing like a lockpick. You step back, shake your head with a sigh. "Ask $kimhim yourself, if you're so concerned," You say, hugging your coat tighter. It's not that you're cold, you just don't like the way they're looking at you. Like you're //useful//. Evidently seeing they'll get nothing from you, the fence leans back in their chair and offers a two-fingered salute. "Nah," They say, "I'm not giving Kim the win like that." With a roll of your eyes you turn for the final time and step back into the crowded marketplace, leaving that particularly uncomfortable interaction behind. You tread back the way you came, easing yourself back into the quiet alleys that hail your return. It's a relatively uneventful return. You aren't accosted by anyone, there aren't any arguments heard through too-thin walls of the apartments and buildings behind you. No, the world is silent. Almost too silent. A ghost of a growl echoes in your mind, the reminder of a time when your wolf was wide awake, hungry, //violent//. Not the slumbering beast that leaves your head... vacant, your body slow, like an ailing cub. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end when you spot a figure at the mouth of the final backstreet--the one that spits you out right in front of Kim's. You press forward, insisting to yourself that it's just someone loitering; no crime in that... while <<if $mc2statelimp is 2>>readying the claws of your beast-arm in case of emergency.<<else>>wrapping your fingers around the little knife you keep in your pocket. In case of emergencies.<</if>> Yet the glowing, amber eyes that peer through the dark, peer through //you//, doesn't cease, not even as you draw near. It's too dark to properly see the figure at this distance, to make out any detail, but they're tall. Taller than Kim, at any rate. [[''What are you looking at?'' I bark. Make myself look bigger, scarier.|ch2mech0901][$reck to $reck +=.05]] [[Stay silent. Don't make eye contact. Just walk past.|ch2mech0902][$rec to $reck -=.05]] [[''You know it's rude to stare,'' I say, offering a winning smile.|ch2mech0903][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[Offer a friendly nod as I pass but keep walking.|ch2mech0904][$sarc to $sarc -=.05]]

Despite what inner fear that might strike you through, you gather up enough charm to struggle onward. You throw on a lovely smile, eyes narrowing just to sell something genuine. The shadow--now a man up close--barely reacts. No, he watches for a brief moment, glowing eyes of amber shifting to your mouth, squinting, before flicking to your hands in your pockets. You flounder, cheeks twitching. "That would sure be a shame if I cared about being rude, now wouldn't it?" The man says, voice rough like gravel, edged with a danger that makes your chest heave //painfully//. Fear, you distantly recognise. "Nah, I'm aiming for something a bit more visceral." A threat, then. The familiar knifepoint of his returned smile indicates he knows exactly who you are. As he shoves pale hands into the pockets of his coat, he breathes into the scarf that only mostly covers his mouth. The man is tall, but not obscenely so, with shaggy, black hair that hangs partially over his eyes. In the dark, you can only barely make out the glowing edges of the tech that snakes up one side of his face. You can't quite tell what mods he might have from this angle. You fight a losing battle with the smile on your face, attempting to keep it clear, looking at least halfway real. The fear, however, pulls it from your aching cheeks entirely, and your eyes shift to size the man up instead. Just in case it comes to a fight. [[I may be taller than him, but he looks like he can take a punch.|ch2mech1001][$mc2height to "tall"]] [[He's taller than me, but not by much. I could take him, probably.|ch2mech1002][$mc2height to "average"]] [[He's much taller than me. If he knows how to fight, I'm in trouble.|ch2mech1003][$mc2height to "short"]]

You pause at the shadow--now a man up close--squaring your shoulders and jutting out your jaw. "You don't want me to consider you a threat, do you?" Usually raising your voice and looking people directly in the eye intimidates, or at the very least //discomforts//, them enough to duck their heads and scamper off, but not this man. He finds a crooked grin, shoving pale hands into the pockets of his coat after promptly readjusting the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. He's tall, but not obscenely so, with shaggy, black hair that hangs partially over his eyes. In the dark, you can only barely make out the glowing edges of the tech that snakes up one side of his face. You can't quite tell what mods he might have from this angle. His head cocks to one side, still silent, still staring, increasingly making you more uncomfortable. "Evidently," he eventually scoffs, voice rough, low, //dangerous//. A warning. "I'm looking at an idiot." A twitch of irritation deepens your frown, but you don't cow to the obvious bait. Not yet. You size him up, considering the liklihood of winning this fight. [[I may be taller than him, but he looks like he can take a punch.|ch2mech1001][$mc2height to "tall"]] [[He's taller than me, but not by much. I could take him, probably.|ch2mech1002][$mc2height to "average"]] [[He's much taller than me. If he knows how to fight, I'm in trouble.|ch2mech1003][$mc2height to "short"]]

You keep moving, head down, hands hovering at your pocket where the knife you keep in case of emergencies lies. You don't pause at the shadow--now a man up close--pretend you don't see him as you step by and past the tall darkness before you. You--nearly--make it. A hand shoots out, stopping in your tracks before you can properly get out of the way of a man just loitering in the darkness like a hunting wolf. "Not so fast," He gruffs, voice deep, dark, //dangerous//. "You and me have something to talk about." 'Talk'. Yeah, sure. He finds a crooked grin, shoving pale hands into the pockets of his coat after promptly readjusting the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. The man is tall, but not obscenely so, with shaggy, black hair that hangs partially over his eyes. In the dark, you can only barely make out the glowing edges of the tech that snakes up one side of his face. You can't quite tell what mods he might have from this angle. Despite your icy skin, and despite the way your heart stammers like a newborn deer in the sight of a predator, you size him up. Consider whether you can win a fight if push comes to shove. [[I may be taller than him, but he looks like he can take a punch.|ch2mech1001][$mc2height to "tall"]] [[He's taller than me, but not by much. I could take him, probably.|ch2mech1002][$mc2height to "average"]] [[He's much taller than me. If he knows how to fight, I'm in trouble.|ch2mech1003][$mc2height to "short"]]

There's no reason to think the worst--yet. You offer a nod, however slight, towards the shadow-turned-man and move to pass on by. Fear nags at the back of your mind, whispers thoughts best left in hypotheticals against the shell of your ear. All you can do is grit your teeth and keep moving. You--nearly--make it. A hand shoots out, stopping in your tracks before you can properly get out of the way of a man just loitering in the darkness like a hunting wolf. "Not so fast," He gruffs, voice deep, dark, //dangerous//. "You and me have something to talk about." 'Talk'. Yeah, sure. He finds a crooked grin, shoving pale hands into the pockets of his coat after promptly readjusting the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. The man is tall, but not obscenely so, with shaggy, black hair that hangs partially over his eyes. In the dark, you can only barely make out the glowing edges of the tech that snakes up one side of his face. You can't quite tell what mods he might have from this angle. Despite your icy skin, and despite the way your heart stammers like a newborn deer in the sight of a predator, you size him up. Consider whether you can win a fight if push comes to shove. [[I may be taller than him, but he looks like he can take a punch.|ch2mech1001][$mc2height to "tall"]] [[He's taller than me, but not by much. I could take him, probably.|ch2mech1002][$mc2height to "average"]] [[He's much taller than me. If he knows how to fight, I'm in trouble.|ch2mech1003][$mc2height to "short"]]

You are taller than most, so it isn't exactly a surprise that you also dwarf this man. He is, however, tall, and looks like he knows how to use his body in a fight. Shifting back on your feet, you feel your lips tighten as you consider whether you want to take the chance that he knows how to fight. The man sizes you up, peering--//glaring//, really--giving you ample opportunity to do the same in turn... and eye off any potential escape routes should you need it. Kim's place is //right there//, but do you really want to make this your boss' problem? You bite at the inside of your cheek, check the man over again. He stands so sure, shoulders square, fingers twitching for a weapon doubtlessly concealed somewhere at his belt. He stands like an enforcer. "But," The man says after a time, the standoff getting nowhere fast. "I'm not here to teach you a lesson. Today, at least." He relaxes. You don't. [[''I think you've got the wrong person.''|ch2mech1101][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''Can I... help you?''|ch2mech1102][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[I don't speak. I can't. Something has me frozen still.|ch2mech1103][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''What's that supposed to mean?''|ch2mech1104][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

He //is// taller, but not by much. In theory, it could give him an edge, but only if he knows how to use those arms of his in a fight. Cocking your head, you surmise that you could take that chance if you really needed to. The man sizes you up, peering--//glaring//, really--giving you ample opportunity to do the same in turn... and eye off any potential escape routes should you need it. Kim's place is //right there//, but do you really want to make this your boss' problem? You bite at the inside of your cheek, check the man over again. He stands so sure, shoulders square, fingers twitching for a weapon doubtlessly concealed somewhere at his belt. He stands like an enforcer. "But," The man says after a time, the standoff getting nowhere fast. "I'm not here to teach you a lesson. Today, at least." He relaxes. You don't. [[''I think you've got the wrong person.''|ch2mech1101][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''Can I... help you?''|ch2mech1102][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[I don't speak. I can't. Something has me frozen still.|ch2mech1103][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''What's that supposed to mean?''|ch2mech1104][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

He dwarfs you significantly, but that's not hard. Many people stand over you, even when you aren't crouching low. As it is, it's only a disadvantage if he knows how to fight. The man sizes you up, peering--//glaring//, really--giving you ample opportunity to do the same in turn... and eye off any potential escape routes should you need it. Kim's place is //right there//, but do you really want to make this your boss' problem? You bite at the inside of your cheek, check the man over again. He stands so sure, shoulders square, fingers twitching for a weapon doubtlessly concealed somewhere at his belt. He stands like an enforcer. "But," The man says after a time, the standoff getting nowhere fast. "I'm not here to teach you a lesson. Today, at least." He relaxes. You don't. [[''I think you've got the wrong person.''|ch2mech1101][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''Can I... help you?''|ch2mech1102][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[I don't speak. I can't. Something has me frozen still.|ch2mech1103][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''What's that supposed to mean?''|ch2mech1104][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

"I doubt that," The man says, his smile turning predatory rather than welcoming--and it doesn't reach his eyes. The scar that cuts through a thick, dark brow, creases with the frown. You take a step back but don't run. You can't, not yet. His canines are too big for his mouth, and you unconsciously drag your tongue over your own. "But you would certainly hope so, wouldn't you?" //Fear//. You can practically taste it like bile on your tongue. An unwanted shiver driving a stake through your heart. Why do you feel like you're prey running from the Hunt? "Your name is $mc2name. Unregistered Citizen. Works for a private company up on the Disk," The man rattles off a few easy facts without hesitation, tone breezy like an old friend. Another step back, but this time he follows, keeps you in arms reach, "Sound familiar?" "And if it does?" You hiss, trying to find some semblance of courage with your back against a wall. Your options are limited, more so if you want to get out unscathed. For now, you see where this leads. "Then, you have nothing to fear from me," Somehow, the //for now// goes unsaid. You find yourself glaring at the man, arms wrapping around yourself as the silence extends longer than comfortable. The man coughs, looks away while he does it, and blinks for the first time since this conversation began. "I merely have a message from an... interested party." [[''Then, deliver it and be gone.''|ch2mech1201][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''There's always something to fear from an Enforcer who knows my name and circumstances.''|ch2mech1202][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''A message or a warning?''|ch2mech1203][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[Nod for him to continue.|ch2mech1204][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]]

"Not especially," The man grunts, something predatory in the way his smile doesn't reach his eyes. The scar that cuts through a thick, dark brow, creases with the frown. You take a step back but don't run. You can't, not yet. His canines are too big for his mouth, and you unconsciously drag your tongue over your own. "I don't need your help or your cooperation to do what needs to get done." //Fear//. You can practically taste it like bile on your tongue. An unwanted shiver driving a stake through your heart. Why do you feel like you're prey running from the Hunt? "Your name is $mc2name. Unregistered Citizen. Works for a private company up on the Disk," The man rattles off a few easy facts without hesitation, tone breezy like an old friend. Another step back, but this time he follows, keeps you in arms reach, "Sound familiar?" "And if it does?" You hiss, trying to find some semblance of courage with your back against a wall. Your options are limited, more so if you want to get out unscathed. For now, you see where this leads. "Then, you have nothing to fear from me," Somehow, the //for now// goes unsaid. You find yourself glaring at the man, arms wrapping around yourself as the silence extends longer than comfortable. The man coughs, looks away while he does it, and blinks for the first time since this conversation began. "I merely have a message from an... interested party." [[''Then, deliver it and be gone.''|ch2mech1201][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''There's always something to fear from an Enforcer who knows my name and circumstances.''|ch2mech1202][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''A message or a warning?''|ch2mech1203][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[Nod for him to continue.|ch2mech1204][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]]

Your silence earns you a predatory grin that doesn't reach the man's eyes. You take a step back but don't run. You can't, not yet. His canines are too big for his mouth, and you unconsciously drag your tongue over your own. "It doesn't matter, you don't need to talk. Only listen." //Fear//. You can practically taste it like bile on your tongue. An unwanted shiver driving a stake through your heart. Why do you feel like you're prey running from the Hunt? "Your name is $mc2name. Unregistered Citizen. Works for a private company up on the Disk," The man rattles off a few easy facts without hesitation, tone breezy like an old friend. Another step back, but this time he follows, keeps you in arms reach, "Sound familiar?" "And if it does?" You hiss, trying to find some semblance of courage with your back against a wall. Your options are limited, more so if you want to get out unscathed. For now, you see where this leads. "Then, you have nothing to fear from me," Somehow, the //for now// goes unsaid. You find yourself glaring at the man, arms wrapping around yourself as the silence extends longer than comfortable. The man coughs, looks away while he does it, and blinks for the first time since this conversation began. "I merely have a message from an... interested party." [[''Then, deliver it and be gone.''|ch2mech1201][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''There's always something to fear from an Enforcer who knows my name and circumstances.''|ch2mech1202][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''A message or a warning?''|ch2mech1203][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[Nod for him to continue.|ch2mech1204][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]]

"I know your type," The man says, so matter of factly you almost forgive him the predatory grin tearing across his face. No joy reaches his eyes. A part of you has the sense to be offended, but you struggle it down as you stare at the man--not the place. The scar that cuts through a thick, dark brow, creases with the frown. His canines are too big for his mouth, and you unconsciously drag your tongue over your own. "You always seem to find trouble, whether you want to or not. Not my problem, though." //Fear//. You can practically taste it like bile on your tongue. An unwanted shiver driving a stake through your heart. Why do you feel like you're prey running from the Hunt? "Your name is $mc2name. Unregistered Citizen. Works for a private company up on the Disk," The man rattles off a few easy facts without hesitation, tone breezy like an old friend. Another step back, but this time he follows, keeps you in arms reach, "Sound familiar?" "And if it does?" You hiss, trying to find some semblance of courage with your back against a wall. Your options are limited, more so if you want to get out unscathed. For now, you see where this leads. "Then, you have nothing to fear from me," Somehow, the //for now// goes unsaid. You find yourself glaring at the man, arms wrapping around yourself as the silence extends longer than comfortable. The man coughs, looks away while he does it, and blinks for the first time since this conversation began. "I merely have a message from an... interested party." [[''Then, deliver it and be gone.''|ch2mech1201][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''There's always something to fear from an Enforcer who knows my name and circumstances.''|ch2mech1202][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''A message or a warning?''|ch2mech1203][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[Nod for him to continue.|ch2mech1204][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]]

The man snickers and cracks his knuckles. A threat? No, merely some kind of power play to keep you off-kilter. His stance doesn't change, his eyes don't narrow to pinpoints of amber in the dark. "Have it your way," He mutters, shoving his hands just as quickly back into his coat. "Despite what it may look like, I am here on business. It's about your boss." "Kim?" You ask, glancing briefly at the garage across the road. Your mind stammers as a slow grin spreads across the man's face, dangerous, predatory. No, //Arthur//. You find a gulp, hide it with a scowl that does little to help the fear pounding like running footsteps in your ears. You're searching for another escape again, wondering what the likelihood of survival is if you just punch him and run. "Not the grey-market prosthetic tech," He says, eyes rolling. "The time will come for that one, but it has nothing to do with you." You're not sure whether he's saying that for your benefit or to keep you guessing. Either way, it's working. "Arthur, then." You say, giving voice to the fear coalescing into a solid ball in your throat. The man inclines his head, as close to a nod as you're going to get. [[''What has Arthur done this time?''|ch2mech1301]] [[''If you want information on Arthur, you'll have to go somewhere else. The guy doesn't tell me anything.''|ch2mech1302]] [[''You know what I think? I think your boss is just another unsatisfied customer. No refunds, by the way.''|ch2mech1303]] [[''I'm not telling you anything. Arthur is an upstanding citizen.''|ch2mech1304]]

There's a pause now, amber eyes narrowing to tiny pinpricks as the man stares at you with a certain kind of contempt that has you more on edge than any vague threat ever could. This one is //real//. "I'm not Enforcer Scum, if that's what you're thinking," He says, voice low, quiet to the point of a whisper. "I would... //advise// you don't go throwing accusations around like that." He holds your gaze, suddenly empty, before he struggles on a cruel grin. "At any rate, I'm here on business. Your business, really. It's in regards to your boss." "Kim?" You ask, glancing briefly at the garage across the road. Your mind stammers as a slow grin spreads across the man's face, dangerous, predatory. No, //Arthur//. You find a gulp, hide it with a scowl that does little to help the fear pounding like running footsteps in your ears. You're searching for another escape again, wondering what the likelihood of survival is if you just punch him and run. "Not the grey-market prosthetic tech," He says, eyes rolling. "The time will come for that one, but it has nothing to do with you." You're not sure whether he's saying that for your benefit or to keep you guessing. Either way, it's working. "Arthur, then." You say, giving voice to the fear coalescing into a solid ball in your throat. The man inclines his head, as close to a nod as you're going to get. [[''What has Arthur done this time?''|ch2mech1301]] [[''If you want information on Arthur, you'll have to go somewhere else. The guy doesn't tell me anything.''|ch2mech1302]] [[''You know what I think? I think your boss is just another unsatisfied customer. No refunds, by the way.''|ch2mech1303]] [[''I'm not telling you anything. Arthur is an upstanding citizen.''|ch2mech1304]]

The man snickers and cracks his knuckles, but doesn't offer an answer immediately. His silence stretches on longer than is comfortable, your skin prickling with the need to run, hide, do anything to get away. You stand your ground. "Both can be true," He mutters, shoving his hands back into his coat. "It's about your boss." "Kim?" You ask, glancing briefly at the garage across the road. Your mind stammers as a slow grin spreads across the man's face, dangerous, predatory. No, //Arthur//. You find a gulp, hide it with a scowl that does little to help the fear pounding like running footsteps in your ears. You're searching for another escape again, wondering what the likelihood of survival is if you just punch him and run. "Not the grey-market prosthetic tech," He says, eyes rolling. "The time will come for that one, but it has nothing to do with you." You're not sure whether he's saying that for your benefit or to keep you guessing. Either way, it's working. "Arthur, then." You say, giving voice to the fear coalescing into a solid ball in your throat. The man inclines his head, as close to a nod as you're going to get. [[''What has Arthur done this time?''|ch2mech1301]] [[''If you want information on Arthur, you'll have to go somewhere else. The guy doesn't tell me anything.''|ch2mech1302]] [[''You know what I think? I think your boss is just another unsatisfied customer. No refunds, by the way.''|ch2mech1303]] [[''I'm not telling you anything. Arthur is an upstanding citizen.''|ch2mech1304]]

The man waits, just for a moment, as if expecting you to speak, but when no words spew forth from your lips, he offers a scoff. You can't tell whether that's a good or bad sign. "I appreciate a $sagaman who knows when to shut up," He mutters, shoving his hands into his coat. "Despite what it may look like, I am here on business. It's about your boss." "Kim?" You ask, glancing briefly at the garage across the road. Your mind stammers as a slow grin spreads across the man's face, dangerous, predatory. No, //Arthur//. You find a gulp, hide it with a scowl that does little to help the fear pounding like running footsteps in your ears. You're searching for another escape again, wondering what the likelihood of survival is if you just punch him and run. "Not the grey-market prosthetic tech," He says, eyes rolling. "The time will come for that one, but it has nothing to do with you." You're not sure whether he's saying that for your benefit or to keep you guessing. Either way, it's working. "Arthur, then." You say, giving voice to the fear coalescing into a solid ball in your throat. The man inclines his head, as close to a nod as you're going to get. [[''What has Arthur done this time?''|ch2mech1301]] [[''If you want information on Arthur, you'll have to go somewhere else. The guy doesn't tell me anything.''|ch2mech1302]] [[''You know what I think? I think your boss is just another unsatisfied customer. No refunds, by the way.''|ch2mech1303]] [[''I'm not telling you anything. Arthur is an upstanding citizen.''|ch2mech1304]]

The man chuckles, almost //laughs//. "Nothing, yet," He says, though the shimmer of amusement is more than enough of an answer. //There will be something.// "But that's the reason you need to stay away from Arthur. You don't need to up and quit, you don't even need to leave the apartment you share. Just... be distant, be a good little worker bee, and don't ask questions you aren't prepared to know the answer to." You'd almost be growling if you weren't so confused. "Why? Has he gotten caught up in something bad?" The man shrugs, watches you with the sensible caution any one in his position would be an idiot not to have. At this range, he could have you on the ground in an instant; but the same is true in reverse. "Who can say?" He says after a time. [[''Well you're no help.''|ch2mech1401]] [[''Is that your message? Can I leave now?''|ch2mech1402]] [[''If I get involved too does that mean I'm in danger?''|ch2mech1403]]

"I don't //need// to know anything about that man," Your towering intimidator pulls a face, something like disgust pulling his thin lips into a snarl. It's something that gives you pause, something that makes you blink at him with a stomach flinching with something other than fear. There's almost familiarity in the way he speaks of Arthur, besides what has clearly been conveyed for the purpose of his work. "Nothing I don't already know anyway. And not from you." Interesting. You raise a brow, a silent question that recieves no answer. "What you need to do is stay away from Arthur." There's an edge there, but it's softened by the humour you find in knowing that this man has some //dislike// of Arthur that spans further than just simple irritation. "You don't need to up and quit, you don't even need to leave the apartment you share. Just... be distant, be a good little worker bee, and don't ask questions you aren't prepared to know the answer to." You'd almost be growling if you weren't so confused. "Why? Has he gotten caught up in something bad?" The man shrugs, watches you with the sensible caution any one in his position would be an idiot not to have. At this range, he could have you on the ground in an instant; but the same is true in reverse. "Who can say?" He says after a time. [[''Well you're no help.''|ch2mech1401]] [[''Is that your message? Can I leave now?''|ch2mech1402]] [[''If I get involved too does that mean I'm in danger?''|ch2mech1403]]

For the first time during this conversation, the man's eyes twinkle with something other than numbness. There's almost an inner humour there, something halfway human. "Believe me, when my boss is unsatisfied you get more than just a gentle reminder," He says after a time, speaking with a certain hollowness beyond just the nothingness in his eyes. Spoken from experience? You don't allow the question, but tuck it away for future. "But that's not what this is about," He shakes his head, looking past you, "You need to stay away from Arthur. You don't need to up and quit, you don't even need to leave the apartment you share. Just... be distant, be a good little worker bee, and don't ask questions you aren't prepared to know the answer to." You'd almost be growling if you weren't so confused. "Why? Has he gotten caught up in something bad?" The man shrugs, watches you with the sensible caution any one in his position would be an idiot not to have. At this range, he could have you on the ground in an instant; but the same is true in reverse. "Who can say?" He says after a time. [[''Well you're no help.''|ch2mech1401]] [[''Is that your message? Can I leave now?''|ch2mech1402]] [[''If I get involved too does that mean I'm in danger?''|ch2mech1403]]

The man almost laughs. //Laughs//. "I'm not," He says through a grinning mouth of too-sharp teeth. "I know you aren't. My boss isn't. The 'Upstanding Citizen' shtick is a Council lie sold to make people think they aren't all a bunch of immortals living out their glory days like the rest of us." Hard to disagree. Doesn't mean you have to say it, however. "But that's not what this is about," The smile is gone, now only glowing eyes of raging ember stare back. "You need to stay away from Arthur. You don't need to up and quit, you don't even need to leave the apartment you share. Just... be distant, be a good little worker bee, and don't ask questions you aren't prepared to know the answer to." You'd almost be growling if you weren't so confused. "Why? Has he gotten caught up in something bad?" The man shrugs, watches you with the sensible caution any one in his position would be an idiot not to have. At this range, he could have you on the ground in an instant; but the same is true in reverse. "Who can say?" He says after a time. [[''Well you're no help.''|ch2mech1401]] [[''Is that your message? Can I leave now?''|ch2mech1402]] [[''If I get involved too does that mean I'm in danger?''|ch2mech1403]]

The man huffs a laugh, "Not my job." "Is it your job to be needlessly obtuse?" You snap back, the fear dissippating as he steps out of your space. "If I were you," He says instead of answering, sucking in a sharp breath, "I would cut and run, quit while you're ahead. Find a better gig." "You don't sound very loyal," You find yourself commenting, perhaps throwing a pointed barb at him now that you aren't in punching distance. The man allows a grin once more, almost //prideful//. Either way, dangerous. "It doesn't pay to be loyal. Just know that my boss has me around. Watching." There's the threat, a cruel glimmer of the //hunt// in his eyes. He's like a scheming animal in his manner, and you his prey. Small. Weak. //Powerless//. You gather enough of yourself to send a glare his way, but the man has already turned his back on you, leaving you to your devices. You wait and you watch him depart, his turned back and lumbering form slowly disappearing into the darkness of the night, until you can't see him at all through the dim. It's only then that you realise how long you've been holding your breath. [[Back to Kim's|ch2mechmech]]

Another shrug, but the man has already stepped out of your space. Answer enough, you suppose, when up until that point you were in grabbing distance. "If I were you," He says, sucking in a sharp breath, "I would cut and run, quit while you're ahead. Find a better gig." "You don't sound very loyal," You find yourself commenting, perhaps throwing a pointed barb at him now that you aren't in punching distance. The man allows a grin once more, almost //prideful//. Either way, dangerous. "It doesn't pay to be loyal. Just know that my boss has me around. Watching." There's the threat, a cruel glimmer of the //hunt// in his eyes. He's like a scheming animal in his manner, and you his prey. Small. Weak. //Powerless//. You gather enough of yourself to send a glare his way, but the man has already turned his back on you, leaving you to your devices. You wait and you watch him depart, his turned back and lumbering form slowly disappearing into the darkness of the night, until you can't see him at all through the dim. It's only then that you realise how long you've been holding your breath. [[Back to Kim's|ch2mechmech]]

Another shrug, another non-answer. The man has already stepped out of your space, his work done here. "If I were you," He says, sucking in a sharp breath, "I would cut and run, quit while you're ahead. Find a better gig." "You don't sound very loyal," You find yourself commenting, perhaps throwing a pointed barb at him now that you aren't in punching distance. The man allows a grin once more, almost //prideful//. Either way, dangerous. "It doesn't pay to be loyal. Just know that my boss has me around. Watching." There's the threat, a cruel glimmer of the //hunt// in his eyes. He's like a scheming animal in his manner, and you his prey. Small. Weak. //Powerless//. You gather enough of yourself to send a glare his way, but the man has already turned his back on you, leaving you to your devices. You wait and you watch him depart, his turned back and lumbering form slowly disappearing into the darkness of the night, until you can't see him at all through the dim. It's only then that you realise how long you've been holding your breath. [[Back to Kim's|ch2mechmech]]

You only allow yourself to relax when you've gotten back to Kim's and locked the front door. The music still blares, your head still swims, your hackles remain raised and your heart thumps along to that frantic beat. Something long-dormant in you clenches yellowed teeth around your throat, folds your upper half forward as you dry-heave anxious bile at Kim's doorstep. The music promptly shuts off. Kim shouldn't be able to see you behind the curtain that separates the front entrance of the old building to $kimhis workshop. There's... some shuffling in the other room, a tool drops to the ground, Kim swears under $kimhis breath. <<if $kim_gender is "non">>They don't<<else>>$kimhe doesn't<</if>> pick it back up. Your boss emerges from behind the curtain a moment later, with not a hair out of place. Brown eyes examine your bent over form, the way your face has paled from its natural tone. Eventually, those eyes creep to the scab on your forhead once more... and hold... before $kimhis mouth twitches. You wonder what conclusions $kimhes coming to, that make $kimhis brows furrow just slightly. "I'll put on some tea," <<if $kim_gender is "non">>They say,<<else>>$kimhe says,<</if>> and promptly <<if $kim_gender is "non">>spin<<else>>spins<</if>> on $kimhis heels, flicking away the curtain that has the audacity to stand in $kimhis way. You follow after a moment of collecting yourself, mentally kicking the cub in you that cowers and whines. [[''Kim, you don't need to do that!''|ch2mech1501][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[Don't say anything for now, focus on steadying my breath.|ch2mech1502]] [[''Package was delivered and secured,'' I declare, trying to keep positive.|ch2mech1503][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''A tea would be... nice.'' I don't know what else to say.|ch2mech1504][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]]

All you recieve is a grunt in reply, the telltale //click// of the kettle being turned on swiftly following. "Really, I'm okay." You don't feel okay. Blood still pounds in your ears; you can hear it running through your veins like you want to run. Just run. Chase away all the fears that have you so stricken with teeth and claws. You drag your tongue over the teeth in your mouth, silently counting them out, pretending your tongue doesn't feel too big for the meagre space offered in its place. A simple interaction with anyone close to an enforcer shouldn't have you so... afraid. Not like this. Not like... Kim returns to the workspace to wait for the kettle to boil over, evidently not interested in hearing any denials of $kimhis offer of tea. Kim looks at you, at your hands as they clasp together in a weak display of self-comfort. "Green or black?" "Sorry?" You give Kim a strange look. "Tea," <<if $kim_gender is "non">>They clarify,<<else>>$kimhe clarifies,<</if>> "I only have green or black. They don't send a lot of the good stuff down here these days." "Oh," You clear your throat, remaining silent just long enough for Kim to think you're considering your options rather than stalling. [[''Green, please.''|ch2mechmech1]] [[''I'll take black.''|ch2mechmech1]] [[''Uh... dealer's choice.''|ch2mechmech1]]

Kim will do what <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they want<<else>>$kimhe wants<</if>> to do, with or without your blessing. You distantly register the telltale //click// of a kettle being turned on in the other room as you focus on steady breaths and a still heart. You tell yourself you're okay, yet... You don't feel okay. Blood still pounds in your ears; you can hear it running through your veins like you want to run. Just run. Chase away all the fears that have you so stricken with teeth and claws. You drag your tongue over the teeth in your mouth, silently counting them out, pretending your tongue doesn't feel too big for the meagre space offered in its place. A simple interaction with anyone close to an enforcer shouldn't have you so... afraid. Not like this. Not like... Kim returns to the workspace to wait for the kettle to boil over, evidently not interested in hearing any denials of $kimhis offer of tea. Kim looks at you, at your hands as they clasp together in a weak display of self-comfort. "Green or black?" "Sorry?" You give Kim a strange look. "Tea," <<if $kim_gender is "non">>They clarify,<<else>>$kimhe clarifies,<</if>> "I only have green or black. They don't send a lot of the good stuff down here these days." "Oh," You clear your throat, remaining silent just long enough for Kim to think you're considering your options rather than stalling. [[''Green, please.''|ch2mechmech1]] [[''I'll take black.''|ch2mechmech1]] [[''Uh... dealer's choice.''|ch2mechmech1]]

Your words, however, sound a bit garbled and you suspect they go unheard by Kim in the other room. The telltale //click// of the kettle being turned on is all you hear in reply. You slap on a smile regardless, struggle on some semblance of a normal front just to trick yourself into thinking you're okay. You don't feel okay. Blood still pounds in your ears; you can hear it running through your veins like you want to run. Just run. Chase away all the fears that have you so stricken with teeth and claws. You drag your tongue over the teeth in your mouth, silently counting them out, pretending your tongue doesn't feel too big for the meagre space offered in its place. A simple interaction with anyone close to an enforcer shouldn't have you so... afraid. Not like this. Not like... Kim returns to the workspace to wait for the kettle to boil over, evidently not interested in hearing any denials of $kimhis offer of tea. Kim looks at you, at your hands as they clasp together in a weak display of self-comfort. "Green or black?" "Sorry?" You give Kim a strange look. "Tea," <<if $kim_gender is "non">>They clarify,<<else>>$kimhe clarifies,<</if>> "I only have green or black. They don't send a lot of the good stuff down here these days." "Oh," You clear your throat, remaining silent just long enough for Kim to think you're considering your options rather than stalling. [[''Green, please.''|ch2mechmech1]] [[''I'll take black.''|ch2mechmech1]] [[''Uh... dealer's choice.''|ch2mechmech1]]

Your words are quiet as you settle in, unheard and unnecessary as Kim turns the kettle on in the other room with a //click//. You just... need to speak, to talk or risk those horrible little thoughts creeping in that convince you you're not okay. But you are okay. You're safe, you're here with Kim, that stranger isn't looming over you in any way that matters. You're not okay. Blood still pounds in your ears; you can hear it running through your veins like you want to run. Just run. Chase away all the fears that have you so stricken with teeth and claws. You drag your tongue over the teeth in your mouth, silently counting them out, pretending your tongue doesn't feel too big for the meagre space offered in its place. A simple interaction with anyone close to an enforcer shouldn't have you so... afraid. Not like this. Not like... Kim returns to the workspace to wait for the kettle to boil over, evidently not interested in hearing any denials of $kimhis offer of tea. Kim looks at you, at your hands as they clasp together in a weak display of self-comfort. "Green or black?" "Sorry?" You give Kim a strange look. "Tea," <<if $kim_gender is "non">>They clarify,<<else>>$kimhe clarifies,<</if>> "I only have green or black. They don't send a lot of the good stuff down here these days." "Oh," You clear your throat, remaining silent just long enough for Kim to think you're considering your options rather than stalling. [[''Green, please.''|ch2mechmech1]] [[''I'll take black.''|ch2mechmech1]] [[''Uh... dealer's choice.''|ch2mechmech1]]

Kim shrugs and lets you stew in the mutual silence until the kettle goes off in the other room. With a soft tap on the table, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they stand<<else>>$kimhe stands<</if>> with a stretch and pads off into the little compartmentalised box of a room that serves as the kitchen area. You take a breath, eyes squeezing shut to stave off the rest of the thrumming that has your head in a haze. It's like you've had the wind knocked out of you; like you've hit your head, or your nerves are on fire. Your fingers... twitch, struggling with the buttons of your coat as you idly fiddle with them.. Another breath, held when Kim comes in with a pair of old, cups. One has a chip on the handle, the other... has no handle. Mercifully, Kim gives you the one with the chip, holding the other by the rim as <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they take<<else>>$kimhe takes<</if>> $kimhis seat once more. Slightly closer, now, just out of arm's reach. You stare into the cup, searching the discoloured liquid for some hidden meaning behind the fear clenching your chest like a constricting snake. It's a wholly animal emotion, fear, something that niggles at the back of your mind, sends shivers over the expanse of your skin, and you can't always control it. Or how you react to it. Kim watches you from $kimhis position, a hand halfway playing with the end of $kimhis braid as it falls over $kimhis shoulder. After a time, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they sigh,<<else>>$kimhe sighs,<</if>> "Do you want to talk about it?" A simple question. Difficult answer. Even if you did want to... would $kimhe understand? [[Shake my head.|ch2mech1601]] [[''I don't know.''|ch2mech1602]] [[''You wouldn't understand.''|ch2mech1603]] [[''Yeah just... give me a minute.''|ch2mech1604]]

You can't find any words. Not for the how's, not for the why's, and so you remain silent. Kim continues watching, attention diverted long enough from $kimhis pet projects that it's almost flattering. "You don't have to," Talk about it, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they mean,<<else>>$kimhe means,<</if>> but you barely register the words over the ringing in your ears. "$mc2_name?" You take a sip of the tea to stave off the need to answer, at least for the moment, but find the flavour wanting. It... really is just hot water, "How long did you leave the tea in the water?" Kim looks away, eyes tipped downward as a momentary struggle creases $kimhis otherwise smooth face. "I..." Kim coughs, "Don't know how you like it. Your tea." When your boss looks your way once more, $kimhis ears are burning an embarrassed red. Quieter this time, Kim mumbles, "Too weak is usually safer than too strong." You grunt a vague affirmation and stare down into your drink once more. You take one more sip, just to try it. [[''It could use a little sugar.''|ch2mech1701][$ktea to 1]] [[''I usually take mine as dark as it'll go.''|ch2mech1702][$ktea to 2]] [[''I... prefer coffee.''|ch2mech1703][$ktea to 3]] [[''You know what? This is fine.''|ch2mech1704][$ktea to 0]]

What would you even say? You certainly can't tell Kim about your work, least of all Arthur's. Not if it means it'll bring them into the firing line. And, besides all that, you're not sure you're ready to share. Kim continues watching regardless, eyes patient, fingers tapping a silent tune against the old, clay mug. "I understand," <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they say,<<else>>$kimhe says,<</if>> head shifting sideways to search into the murky depths of $kimhis tea. Lips fold inward, as if mulling over something or considering the right words, but a moment of silence stretches into a few minutes and you realise nothing else will come. You take a sip of the tea to stave off your impatience, at least for the moment, but find the flavour wanting. It... really is just hot water, "How long did you leave the tea in the water?" Kim looks away, eyes tipped downward as a momentary struggle creases $kimhis otherwise smooth face. "I..." Kim coughs, "Don't know how you like it. Your tea." When your boss looks your way once more, $kimhis ears are burning an embarrassed red. Quieter this time, Kim mumbles, "Too weak is usually safer than too strong." You grunt a vague affirmation and stare down into your drink once more. You take one more sip, just to try it. [[''It could use a little sugar.''|ch2mech1701][$ktea to 1]] [[''I usually take mine as dark as it'll go.''|ch2mech1702][$ktea to 2]] [[''I... prefer coffee.''|ch2mech1703][$ktea to 3]] [[''You know what? This is fine.''|ch2mech1704][$ktea to 0]]

How could $kimhe? Kim doesn't work up top; <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$kimhe doesn't<</if>> have to contend with the Council directly... Kim doesn't have Enforcer wannabes boxing $kimhim in, threatening $kimhim over decisions someone else has decided to make. Your lips thin, your gaze challenging your boss as they simply stare... worried. "I might," Kim eventually says, voice quiet and placating as if speaking to a raging animal, "But I'm not going to force you to talk about it." You look away, now, stewing in a silent shame. You take a sip of the tea to stave off the need to continue the conversation, at least for the moment, but find the flavour wanting. It... really is just hot water, "How long did you leave the tea in the water?" Kim looks away, eyes tipped downward as a momentary struggle creases $kimhis otherwise smooth face. "I..." Kim coughs, "Don't know how you like it. Your tea." When your boss looks your way once more, $kimhis ears are burning an embarrassed red. Quieter this time, Kim mumbles, "Too weak is usually safer than too strong." You grunt a vague affirmation and stare down into your drink once more. You take one more sip, just to try it. [[''It could use a little sugar.''|ch2mech1701][$ktea to 1]] [[''I usually take mine as dark as it'll go.''|ch2mech1702][$ktea to 2]] [[''I... prefer coffee.''|ch2mech1703][$ktea to 3]] [[''You know what? This is fine.''|ch2mech1704][$ktea to 0]]

Kim falls silent as you file and sort the rushing river of thoughts in your mind. There's simply too many to diminish down to a series of easy to understand points, and so instead you find your lips halting half-parted. You can't find any words. Not for the how's, not for the why's, and so you remain silent. Kim continues watching, attention diverted long enough from $kimhis pet projects that it's almost flattering. "You don't have to," Talk about it, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they mean,<<else>>$kimhe means,<</if>> but you barely register the words over the ringing in your ears. "$mc2_name?" you will talk about it, one day. Perhaps when you manage to find the reason for this deep fear that you can't quite force to the surface. You take a sip of the tea to stave off tthe discomfort, at least for the moment, but find the flavour wanting. It... really is just hot water, "How long did you leave the tea in the water?" Kim looks away, eyes tipped downward as a momentary struggle creases $kimhis otherwise smooth face. "I..." Kim coughs, "Don't know how you like it. Your tea." When your boss looks your way once more, $kimhis ears are burning an embarrassed red. Quieter this time, Kim mumbles, "Too weak is usually safer than too strong." You grunt a vague affirmation and stare down into your drink once more. You take one more sip, just to try it. [[''It could use a little sugar.''|ch2mech1701][$ktea to 1]] [[''I usually take mine as dark as it'll go.''|ch2mech1702][$ktea to 2]] [[''I... prefer coffee.''|ch2mech1703][$ktea to 3]] [[''You know what? This is fine.''|ch2mech1704][$ktea to 0]]

Kim hums, resting $kimhis chin on $kimhis knee as $kimhe stare into $kimhis own drink. It's significantly darker than your own, almost as black as $kimhis hair. "That's expensive, these days," Comes a sigh, less an outright complaint and more just a comment. Still, no further mention is made of the quality of $kimhis tea. Kim keeps you company while you decompress, opting to sort the various tools scattered across the expanse of the table. Sometimes you watch; sometimes you just idle, either way Kim is patient. Doesn't push. Doesn't force anything. Doesn't make you work when you're still feeling jittery. Eventually, your heart rate slows and the deep-seated tension that had settled in your shoulders eases. Enough so that you manage to find something resembling words. [[''Thank you, really.'' It's only right.|ch2mech1801][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''I'm sorry. I don't know what happened back there.''|ch2mech1802][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''So... are you still up to teach me how to fix shit?''|ch2mech1803][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''You know... you're awfully quiet but you sure do have a soft side.'' Figures that the first thing I do is tease Kim.|ch2mech1804][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Your fence. They um, wanted to ask how you were doing?'' Avoid the elephant in the room entirely. That'll work, surely.|ch2mech1805][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]]

Kim hums, resting $kimhis chin on $kimhis knee as $kimhe stare into $kimhis own drink. It's as black as $kimhis hair, almost as dark as you would take it. Your boss' lips twist in thought. "Next time, then," Kim promises, "I'll get it right." Kim keeps you company while you decompress, opting to sort the various tools scattered across the expanse of the table. Sometimes you watch; sometimes you just idle, either way Kim is patient. Doesn't push. Doesn't force anything. Doesn't make you work when you're still feeling jittery. Eventually, your heart rate slows and the deep-seated tension that had settled in your shoulders eases. Enough so that you manage to find something resembling words. [[''Thank you, really.'' It's only right.|ch2mech1801][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''I'm sorry. I don't know what happened back there.''|ch2mech1802][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''So... are you still up to teach me how to fix shit?''|ch2mech1803][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''You know... you're awfully quiet but you sure do have a soft side.'' Figures that the first thing I do is tease Kim.|ch2mech1804][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Your fence. They um, wanted to ask how you were doing?'' Avoid the elephant in the room entirely. That'll work, surely.|ch2mech1805][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]]

Kim hums, resting $kimhis chin on $kimhis knee as $kimhe stare into $kimhis own drink. It's significantly darker than your own, almost as black as the coffee you really wish was in its place. "That's expensive, these days," Comes a sigh, less an outright complaint and more just a comment. Still, there's something thoughtful in the curl of Kim's lips. Kim keeps you company while you decompress, opting to sort the various tools scattered across the expanse of the table. Sometimes you watch; sometimes you just idle, either way Kim is patient. Doesn't push. Doesn't force anything. Doesn't make you work when you're still feeling jittery. Eventually, your heart rate slows and the deep-seated tension that had settled in your shoulders eases. Enough so that you manage to find something resembling words. [[''Thank you, really.'' It's only right.|ch2mech1801][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''I'm sorry. I don't know what happened back there.''|ch2mech1802][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''So... are you still up to teach me how to fix shit?''|ch2mech1803][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''You know... you're awfully quiet but you sure do have a soft side.'' Figures that the first thing I do is tease Kim.|ch2mech1804][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Your fence. They um, wanted to ask how you were doing?'' Avoid the elephant in the room entirely. That'll work, surely.|ch2mech1805][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]]

Kim hums an affirmation, resting $kimhis chin on $kimhis knee as $kimhe stare into $kimhis own drink. It's significantly darker than your own, almost as black as $kimhis hair. Though $kimhis dubious look reflects disbelief, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$kimhe doesn't<</if>> push the question any further than that. Kim keeps you company while you decompress, opting to sort the various tools scattered across the expanse of the table. Sometimes you watch; sometimes you just idle, either way Kim is patient. Doesn't push. Doesn't force anything. Doesn't make you work when you're still feeling jittery. Eventually, your heart rate slows and the deep-seated tension that had settled in your shoulders eases. Enough so that you manage to find something resembling words. [[''Thank you, really.'' It's only right.|ch2mech1801][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''I'm sorry. I don't know what happened back there.''|ch2mech1802][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''So... are you still up to teach me how to fix shit?''|ch2mech1803][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''You know... you're awfully quiet but you sure do have a soft side.'' Figures that the first thing I do is tease Kim.|ch2mech1804][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Your fence. They um, wanted to ask how you were doing?'' Avoid the elephant in the room entirely. That'll work, surely.|ch2mech1805][$kim_trust to $kim_trust +=1]]

You find a smile, and in turn Kim nods, "It was nothing." Is the reply, short, sweet, if somewhat curt. It's not a matter of irritation, not for Kim, and there's certainly nothing in that reply that would have you thinking you've put $kimhim off $kimhis game. Still... It botheres you a little. Just how unbothered Kim is. Or at least, appears to be. You don't make mention, however, eyes flickering back down to your empty cup. The last dregs of old tea sit at the bottom, a few flecks of leaves stuck to the internal wall. You wonder if they mean anything, if the vague shapes mostly conjured from your mind really do have power you could never comprehend. Yeah right. "I should get out of your hair," You decide, looking back up at Kim, who still remains standing. As always, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they offer a silent stare,<<else>>$kimhe offers a silent stare,<</if>> pondering your words with more depth than they require. You clear your throat, clarify, "Let you get back to it. You still have a backlog, yeah?" "I... do." Kim doesn't deny, jaw squaring and brows meeting in the middle. And so, you stand, still a little unsteady on your feet but unwilling to stay seated. Not this long, not with this embarrassment cloying in your midsection. It's late. //Later//. And tomorrow you have... You can't help a beleagered sigh, cutting that thought process off at the legs. Later. A thought for later. Kim follows you to the door, arms folded with fingers tapping at $kimhis bicep. "You could..." <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they start<<else>>$kimhe starts<</if>> as you unlatch the lock, "Stay, if you needed to." You pause as the door swings open, turning to glance at Kim who's properly looking at you now, instead of your nose or the scratch on your head. You take a moment, just to examine the $kimman, weeding out any ulterior motives or implications. You find none. Kim just stands there, in $kimhis doorway, brows scrunched in... worry. Pure worry. [[''You're sweet, but I'm fine.''|ch2mech1901][$kim_f to $kim_f +=1]] [[''This is where I tell you to mind your own business, Kim.''|ch2mech1902][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''Lovely thought, but I don't want to get in the way.''|ch2mech1903][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Well, gee, Kim, you almost sound like you care.'' I am a little flattered, really.|ch2mech1904][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Goodbye, Kim.''|ch2mech1904][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

Kim shakes $kimhis head, "Don't apologise." Short, sweet, to the point. Though somewhat curt, there's nothing in Kim's tone that indicates any anger, $kimhis knuckles don't stain white from strain, and $kimhis jaw doesn't tighten. It botheres you a little. Just how unbothered Kim is. Or at least, appears to be. You don't make mention, however, eyes flickering back down to your empty cup. The last dregs of old tea sit at the bottom, a few flecks of leaves stuck to the internal wall. You wonder if they mean anything, if the vague shapes mostly conjured from your mind really do have power you could never comprehend. Yeah right. "I should get out of your hair," You decide, looking back up at Kim, who still remains standing. As always, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they offer a silent stare,<<else>>$kimhe offers a silent stare,<</if>> pondering your words with more depth than they require. You clear your throat, clarify, "Let you get back to it. You still have a backlog, yeah?" "I... do." Kim doesn't deny, jaw squaring and brows meeting in the middle. And so, you stand, still a little unsteady on your feet but unwilling to stay seated. Not this long, not with this embarrassment cloying in your midsection. It's late. //Later//. And tomorrow you have... You can't help a beleagered sigh, cutting that thought process off at the legs. Later. A thought for later. Kim follows you to the door, arms folded with fingers tapping at $kimhis bicep. "You could..." <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they start<<else>>$kimhe starts<</if>> as you unlatch the lock, "Stay, if you needed to." You pause as the door swings open, turning to glance at Kim who's properly looking at you now, instead of your nose or the scratch on your head. You take a moment, just to examine the $kimman, weeding out any ulterior motives or implications. You find none. Kim just stands there, in $kimhis doorway, brows scrunched in... worry. Pure worry. [[''You're sweet, but I'm fine.''|ch2mech1901][$kim_f to $kim_f +=1]] [[''This is where I tell you to mind your own business, Kim.''|ch2mech1902][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''Lovely thought, but I don't want to get in the way.''|ch2mech1903][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Well, gee, Kim, you almost sound like you care.'' I am a little flattered, really.|ch2mech1904][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Goodbye, Kim.''|ch2mech1904][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

Kim offers a long stare, a modicum of emotion eking through the dull-eyed gaze <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they give you.<<else>>$kimhe gives you.<</if>> It's something tired, something a little sad, something that makes $kimhis throat bob as <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they suck<<else>>$kimhe sucks<</if>> down the last of $kimhis tea. "Not today," Comes the reply, after a time. You wish you could call it a surprise but truth be told you'd be lying. A part of you wants to display a righteous fury but you just don't have the anger in you to care. Hell, but you really must be out of it. Your eyes flicker back down to your empty cup. The last dregs of old tea sit at the bottom, a few flecks of leaves stuck to the internal wall. You wonder if they mean anything, if the vague shapes mostly conjured from your mind really do have power you could never comprehend. Yeah right. "I should get out of your hair," You decide, looking back up at Kim, who still remains standing. As always, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they offer a silent stare,<<else>>$kimhe offers a silent stare,<</if>> pondering your words with more depth than they require. You clear your throat, clarify, "Let you get back to it. You still have a backlog, yeah?" "I... do." Kim doesn't deny, jaw squaring and brows meeting in the middle. And so, you stand, still a little unsteady on your feet but unwilling to stay seated. Not this long, not with this embarrassment cloying in your midsection. It's late. //Later//. And tomorrow you have... You can't help a beleagered sigh, cutting that thought process off at the legs. Later. A thought for later. Kim follows you to the door, arms folded with fingers tapping at $kimhis bicep. "You could..." <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they start<<else>>$kimhe starts<</if>> as you unlatch the lock, "Stay, if you needed to." You pause as the door swings open, turning to glance at Kim who's properly looking at you now, instead of your nose or the scratch on your head. You take a moment, just to examine the $kimman, weeding out any ulterior motives or implications. You find none. Kim just stands there, in $kimhis doorway, brows scrunched in... worry. Pure worry. [[''You're sweet, but I'm fine.''|ch2mech1901][$kim_f to $kim_f +=1]] [[''This is where I tell you to mind your own business, Kim.''|ch2mech1902][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''Lovely thought, but I don't want to get in the way.''|ch2mech1903][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Well, gee, Kim, you almost sound like you care.'' I am a little flattered, really.|ch2mech1904][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Goodbye, Kim.''|ch2mech1904][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

It's... safe. You don't have to talk about your woes and Kim is distracted enough to take the bait. Or maybe <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they just let you<<else>>$kimhe just lets you<</if>> steer the conversation to more comfortable shores. You can't be certain. "I'm... not," Kim says, looking down, //away// from you. Even were you to think to the contrary, you keep your thoughts to yourself to save Kim $kimhis burning ears. Your eyes flicker back down to your empty cup. The last dregs of old tea sit at the bottom, a few flecks of leaves stuck to the internal wall. You wonder if they mean anything, if the vague shapes mostly conjured from your mind really do have power you could never comprehend. Yeah right. "I should get out of your hair," You decide, looking back up at Kim, who still remains standing. As always, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they offer a silent stare,<<else>>$kimhe offers a silent stare,<</if>> pondering your words with more depth than they require. You clear your throat, clarify, "Let you get back to it. You still have a backlog, yeah?" "I... do." Kim doesn't deny, jaw squaring and brows meeting in the middle. And so, you stand, still a little unsteady on your feet but unwilling to stay seated. Not this long, not with this embarrassment cloying in your midsection. It's late. //Later//. And tomorrow you have... You can't help a beleagered sigh, cutting that thought process off at the legs. Later. A thought for later. Kim follows you to the door, arms folded with fingers tapping at $kimhis bicep. "You could..." <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they start<<else>>$kimhe starts<</if>> as you unlatch the lock, "Stay, if you needed to." You pause as the door swings open, turning to glance at Kim who's properly looking at you now, instead of your nose or the scratch on your head. You take a moment, just to examine the $kimman, weeding out any ulterior motives or implications. You find none. Kim just stands there, in $kimhis doorway, brows scrunched in... worry. Pure worry. [[''You're sweet, but I'm fine.''|ch2mech1901][$kim_f to $kim_f +=1]] [[''This is where I tell you to mind your own business, Kim.''|ch2mech1902][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''Lovely thought, but I don't want to get in the way.''|ch2mech1903][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Well, gee, Kim, you almost sound like you care.'' I am a little flattered, really.|ch2mech1904][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Goodbye, Kim.''|ch2mech1904][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

"And," You say, forcing your voice louder, stronger, more sure than you really are, "I have work in the morning. Other work, I mean." Kim looks as if $kimhes about to say something for a moment, but thinks better of it. Instead, a tiny smile pulls one side of $kimhis mouth upwards. You're sure it's not meant to be a grimace, but a smile is as alien on Kim's face as it is to see it. "I get it," Kim says, hands raised--a surrender. "Get home safe." You offer Kim a polite nod, tugging the door shut behind you, and only then do you let loose a low hiss through clenched teeth. Though the tea, and pleasant company, stilled the majority of your raging nerves you're still on somewhat shaky ground; your head still feels heavy on your shoulders, skin still aches like pins poking at the sore points. You're still not... fully you. And Kim... $kimhe helped. You're not sure what you expected of $kimhim, but it wasn't that. You've worked with $kimhim for a little bit of time now, long enough to get used to the silence, to the way $kimhes just so good at saying absolutely nothing for extended bouts of time. You figured Kim was just surly. Now, you're not so sure. You take a steeling breath and set off into the night. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

Kim nods, nothing angry in the motion, nothing surprised or outwardly hesitant. It's merely a nod, an acceptance, something that calms the gentle wave of anxiety that crests upon setting solid boundaries. You don't need to explain yourself. Not to Kim, not to anyone. "I get it," Kim says, hands raised--a surrender. "Get home safe." You offer Kim a polite nod, tugging the door shut behind you, and only then do you let loose a low hiss through clenched teeth. Though the tea, and pleasant company, stilled the majority of your raging nerves you're still on somewhat shaky ground; your head still feels heavy on your shoulders, skin still aches like pins poking at the sore points. You're still not... fully you. And Kim... $kimhe helped. You're not sure what you expected of $kimhim, but it wasn't that. You've worked with $kimhim for a little bit of time now, long enough to get used to the silence, to the way $kimhes just so good at saying absolutely nothing for extended bouts of time. You figured Kim was just surly. Now, you're not so sure. You take a steeling breath and set off into the night. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

"You wouldn't be," Kim shakes $kimhis head, but doesn't push the thought. "And," You say, forcing your voice louder, stronger, more sure than you really are, "I have work in the morning. Other work, I mean." Kim looks as if $kimhes about to say something for a moment, but thinks better of it. Instead, a tiny smile pulls one side of $kimhis mouth upwards. You're sure it's not meant to be a grimace, but a smile is as alien on Kim's face as it is to see it. "I get it," Kim says, hands raised--a surrender. "Get home safe." You offer Kim a polite nod, tugging the door shut behind you, and only then do you let loose a low hiss through clenched teeth. Though the tea, and pleasant company, stilled the majority of your raging nerves you're still on somewhat shaky ground; your head still feels heavy on your shoulders, skin still aches like pins poking at the sore points. You're still not... fully you. And Kim... $kimhe helped. You're not sure what you expected of $kimhim, but it wasn't that. You've worked with $kimhim for a little bit of time now, long enough to get used to the silence, to the way $kimhes just so good at saying absolutely nothing for extended bouts of time. You figured Kim was just surly. Now, you're not so sure. You take a steeling breath and set off into the night. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

Kim huffs through $kimhis nose, shakes $kimhis head. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked." "Maybe, but you did," You say, forcing a smile, "And I do appreciate it. But..." Kim looks at you for a long moment, reading between the lines in silence. With a shake of $kimhis head, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they take a step back<<else>>$kimhe takes a step back<</if>>, arms raised in surrender. "Not my business. I get it. Just get home safe." You offer Kim a polite nod, tugging the door shut behind you, and only then do you let loose a low hiss through clenched teeth. Though the tea, and pleasant company, stilled the majority of your raging nerves you're still on somewhat shaky ground; your head still feels heavy on your shoulders, skin still aches like pins poking at the sore points. You're still not... fully you. And Kim... $kimhe helped. You're not sure what you expected of $kimhim, but it wasn't that. You've worked with $kimhim for a little bit of time now, long enough to get used to the silence, to the way $kimhes just so good at saying absolutely nothing for extended bouts of time. You figured Kim was just surly. Now, you're not so sure. You take a steeling breath and set off into the night. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

The person setting up ahead of time is easy to recognise when you've been working shoulder to shoulder to for the past little bit. As gentle as they are giant, with a shaggy mop of blonde hair halfway pulled into a bun at the back of their head, your overly-familair coworker makes the stall look more cramped than it otherwise would. They've already donned that ugly, green apron, loose shirt rolled up to their elbows as they warm the hot plate in preparation for the evening rush. You watch and wait for a moment, examining the way they move in the tiny space as if they posessed a smaller frame; with ease, comfort, and above all without bumping their head on anything. They look up suddenly, an unexpected jerk of a motion as if they sensed your eyes boring into them from far away. There's a momentary pause, pale green eyes squinting with a vague recognition. Then... "$mc2_name!" They call out with a hearty wave, previously neutral expression morphing, spreading, //bursting// into a dimpled smile so dazzling it could put the sun up top to shame. Cover blown, you return a sheepish wave and pad on over to help set up. "Evening," You say, just to be polite. Strix pats you on the back<<if $rogender is "choice">>... [[His smile only marginally dimmer than it was before.|ch2stallgender][$strix_gender to "male"]] [[Their smile only marginally dimmer than it was before.|ch2stallgender][$strix_gender to "non"]] [[Her smile only marginally dimmer than it was before.|ch2stallgender][$strix_gender to "female"]]<<else>><<if $strix_gender is "non">><<set $strixhe to "they">><<set $strixhim to "them">><<set $strixhis to "their">><<set $strixhis2 to "theirs">><<set $strixhimself to "themself">><<set $strixhes to "they're">><<set $strixman to "person">> as you produce your own apron and tie it off around your waist with a practised ease. Your coworker is a certified ray of sunshine that brings joy and enthusiasm to everything they do, even when faced with customers who would otherwise prefer to make everyone's day worse. They're also probably the best damn cook you'll find under the Disk. "How's the kid?" You ask, lips pulled tight over your teeth as you swipe some condiments into a corner of the square of space you have available to work with. Strix heaves a sigh, a lamentation of a sound as their head falls from their broad shoulders. "Getting older," Comes the shrug, "And sassier by the day." You offer a tiny grimace, a silent display of compassion that Strix chooses not to acknowledge. You know precious little about their kid, save that she's thirteen, ferocious, and getting into the horror years of puberty. The poor bugger.<<elseif $strix_gender is "male">><<set $strixhe to "he">><<set $strixhim to "him">><<set $strixhis to "his">><<set $strixhis2 to "his">><<set $strixhimself to "himself">><<set $strixhes to "he's">><<set $strixman to "man">> as you produce your own apron and tie it off around your waist with a practised ease. Your coworker is a certified ray of sunshine that brings joy and enthusiasm to everything $strixhe does, even when faced with customers who would otherwise prefer to make everyone's day worse. $strixhes also probably the best damn cook you'll find under the Disk. "How's the kid?" You ask, lips pulled tight over your teeth as you swipe some condiments into a corner of the square of space you have available to work with. Strix heaves a sigh, a lamentation of a sound as $strixhis head falls from $strixhis broad shoulders. "Getting older," Comes the shrug, "And sassier by the day." You offer a tiny grimace, a silent display of compassion that Strix chooses not to acknowledge. You know precious little about $strixhis kid, save that she's thirteen, ferocious, and getting into the horror years of puberty. The poor bugger.<<else>><<set $strixhe to "she">><<set $strixhim to "her">><<set $strixhis to "hers">><<set $strixhis2 to "hers">><<set $strixhimself to "herself">><<set $strixhes to "she's">><<set $strixman to "woman">> as you produce your own apron and tie it off around your waist with a practised ease. Your coworker is a certified ray of sunshine that brings joy and enthusiasm to everything $strixhe does, even when faced with customers who would otherwise prefer to make everyone's day worse. $strixhes also probably the best damn cook you'll find under the Disk. "How's the kid?" You ask, lips pulled tight over your teeth as you swipe some condiments into a corner of the square of space you have available to work with. Strix heaves a sigh, a lamentation of a sound as $strixhis head falls from $strixhis broad shoulders. "Getting older," Comes the shrug, "And sassier by the day." You offer a tiny grimace, a silent display of compassion that Strix chooses not to acknowledge. You know precious little about $strixhis kid, save that she's thirteen, ferocious, and getting into the horror years of puberty. The poor bugger.<</if>> [[''I certainly couldn't do it. Be a parent.'' It's the truth, I don't know how Strix does it.|ch2stall0101][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Sassy? To you? But you're a teddy bear!'' I give Strix a nudge|ch2stall0102][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[Grunt an acknowledgment, but don't continue the conversation.|ch2stall0103][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''How does having kids work these days? You don't see a lot running around.''|ch2stall0104][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Sounds like you need a break.''|ch2stall0105][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]<</if>>

You tie off your apron with ease and offer your co-worker a somewhat bemused smile.<<if $strix_gender is "non">><<set $strixhe to "they">><<set $strixhim to "them">><<set $strixhis to "their">><<set $strixhis2 to "theirs">><<set $strixhimself to "themself">><<set $strixhes to "they're">><<set $strixman to "person">> Strix returns it with one of their own, itching at their cheek just to give their hands something to do.<<elseif $strix_gender is "male">><<set $strixhe to "he">><<set $strixhim to "him">><<set $strixhis to "his">><<set $strixhis2 to "his">><<set $strixhimself to "himself">><<set $strixhes to "he's">><<set $strixman to "man">> Strix returns it with one of his own, scratching at his bushy, blonde beard just to give his hands something to do.<<else>><<set $strixhe to "she">><<set $strixhim to "her">><<set $strixhis to "hers">><<set $strixhis2 to "hers">><<set $strixhimself to "herself">><<set $strixhes to "she's">><<set $strixman to "woman">> Strix returns it with one of her own, itching at her cheek just to give her hands something to do.<</if>> <<if $strix_gender is "non">>Your coworker is a certified ray of sunshine that brings joy and enthusiasm to everything they do, even when faced with customers who would otherwise prefer to make everyone's day worse. They're also probably the best damn cook you'll find under the Disk. "How's the kid?" You ask, lips pulled tight over your teeth as you swipe some condiments into a corner of the square of space you have available to work with. Strix heaves a sigh, a lamentation of a sound as their head falls from their broad shoulders. "Getting older," Comes the shrug, "And sassier by the day." You offer a tiny grimace, a silent display of compassion that Strix chooses not to acknowledge. You know precious little about their kid, save that she's thirteen, ferocious, and getting into the horror years of puberty. The poor bugger.<<else>>Your coworker is a certified ray of sunshine that brings joy and enthusiasm to everything $strixhe does, even when faced with customers who would otherwise prefer to make everyone's day worse. $strixhes also probably the best damn cook you'll find under the Disk. "How's the kid?" You ask, lips pulled tight over your teeth as you swipe some condiments into a corner of the square of space you have available to work with. Strix heaves a sigh, a lamentation of a sound as $strixhis head falls from $strixhis broad shoulders. "Getting older," Comes the shrug, "And sassier by the day." You offer a tiny grimace, a silent display of compassion that Strix chooses not to acknowledge. You know precious little about $strixhis kid, save that she's thirteen, ferocious, and getting into the horror years of puberty. The poor bugger.<</if>> [[''I certainly couldn't do it. Be a parent.'' It's the truth, I don't know how Strix does it.|ch2stall0101][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Sassy? To you? But you're a teddy bear!'' I give Strix a nudge|ch2stall0102][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[Grunt an acknowledgment, but don't continue the conversation.|ch2stall0103][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''How does having kids work these days? You don't see a lot running around.''|ch2stall0104][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Sounds like you need a break.''|ch2stall0105][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

Strix snorts and gives you a look you can't quite place, "It's good you aren't one, then." There's nothing specifically judging in $strixhis tone, more matter-of-fact than anything hostile. Still, it rubs you wrong. Strix coughs and clarifies, "What I mean is... no one who doesn't want to be a parent should be one." And even then, you imagine, some who do want kids shouldn't either. There's a lapse in the conversation as you each prepare your side of the stall. Only once you've cleared off your little square do you squeeze in beside Strix and wait. You're practically rubbing shoulders at this proximity, but it's become a sort of polite agreement between the pair of you that neither complains, comments, or otherwise acts affected by the admittedly common occasions when you bump into each other on the way to fulfilling your respective duties. Truth be told, just one of you could take over the whole affair and be fine, but whoever your boss is (or at least the go-between) insists that there must be two employees on the cart at all times. Maybe they just think one of you will start stealing stuff. Strix is still preparing batter when you finish your side of the set up, and so you reach around them to grab a bag of toppings and... wait. Working here is a bit of a hit and miss most nights; some days you run dry on ingredients, others you're not sure how //Thom's// makes enough to stay open. It would seem, as you watch passing figures in crowds and on their own, this will be one of those nights. You glance at Strix, tapping a silent tune against the cool, metal front, unsure what to do as your little spot on the sidewalk gets continuously ignored. Sometimes //pointedly//. "How's work?" Strix' mutters after a time, eventually settling into $strixhis own certain kind of boredom when $strixhis smile goes ignored. "Your other work, I mean. Aren't you working for a private company up top?" "Something like that," You say, perfectly happy not to elaborate. You don't need to be tracked down, to be found; no one //needs// to know who you work for. Strix certainly doesn't need to know much of anything, even if $strixhes probably harmless. 'Probably,' isn't 'certainly'. [[''Work's fine.'' I say, trying to brush Strix off.|ch2stall0201][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''How's yours?'' I may not want to talk about myself but that doesn't mean I'm not interested in chatting.|ch2stall0202][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[I let out a beleaguered sigh and give Strix a pained look.|ch2stall0203][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's... work.''|ch2stall0204][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[Make up an elaborate lie just to keep Strix' interest and stave off boredom.|ch2stall0205][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

Strix turns a pale shade of pink but smiles all the same, "You know kids," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they sigh<<else>>$strixhe sighs<</if>> "They grow out of teddy bears." You don't, or at least knew a few kids in your age that certainly didn't. There's a lapse in the conversation as you each prepare your side of the stall. Only once you've cleared off your little square do you squeeze in beside Strix and wait. You're practically rubbing shoulders at this proximity, but it's become a sort of polite agreement between the pair of you that neither complains, comments, or otherwise acts affected by the admittedly common occasions when you bump into each other on the way to fulfilling your respective duties. Truth be told, just one of you could take over the whole affair and be fine, but whoever your boss is (or at least the go-between) insists that there must be two employees on the cart at all times. Maybe they just think one of you will start stealing stuff. Strix is still preparing batter when you finish your side of the set up, and so you reach around them to grab a bag of toppings and... wait. Working here is a bit of a hit and miss most nights; some days you run dry on ingredients, others you're not sure how //Thom's// makes enough to stay open. It would seem, as you watch passing figures in crowds and on their own, this will be one of those nights. You glance at Strix, tapping a silent tune against the cool, metal front, unsure what to do as your little spot on the sidewalk gets continuously ignored. Sometimes //pointedly//. "How's work?" Strix' mutters after a time, eventually settling into $strixhis own certain kind of boredom when $strixhis smile goes ignored. "Your other work, I mean. Aren't you working for a private company up top?" "Something like that," You say, perfectly happy not to elaborate. You don't need to be tracked down, to be found; no one //needs// to know who you work for. Strix certainly doesn't need to know much of anything, even if $strixhes probably harmless. 'Probably,' isn't 'certainly'. [[''Work's fine.'' I say, trying to brush Strix off.|ch2stall0201][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''How's yours?'' I may not want to talk about myself but that doesn't mean I'm not interested in chatting.|ch2stall0202][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[I let out a beleaguered sigh and give Strix a pained look.|ch2stall0203][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's... work.''|ch2stall0204][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[Make up an elaborate lie just to keep Strix' interest and stave off boredom.|ch2stall0205][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

You're here to work, not to talk. If Strix has anything to say about that, <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$strixhe doesn't<</if>> make mention. Perhaps a mercy in the larger scheme of things, not to voice $strixhis dislike. Perhaps torture, just to keep you guessing. There's a lapse in the conversation as you each prepare your side of the stall. Only once you've cleared off your little square do you squeeze in beside Strix and wait. You're practically rubbing shoulders at this proximity, but it's become a sort of polite agreement between the pair of you that neither complains, comments, or otherwise acts affected by the admittedly common occasions when you bump into each other on the way to fulfilling your respective duties. Truth be told, just one of you could take over the whole affair and be fine, but whoever your boss is (or at least the go-between) insists that there must be two employees on the cart at all times. Maybe they just think one of you will start stealing stuff. Strix is still preparing batter when you finish your side of the set up, and so you reach around them to grab a bag of toppings and... wait. Working here is a bit of a hit and miss most nights; some days you run dry on ingredients, others you're not sure how //Thom's// makes enough to stay open. It would seem, as you watch passing figures in crowds and on their own, this will be one of those nights. You glance at Strix, tapping a silent tune against the cool, metal front, unsure what to do as your little spot on the sidewalk gets continuously ignored. Sometimes //pointedly//. "How's work?" Strix' mutters after a time, eventually settling into $strixhis own certain kind of boredom when $strixhis smile goes ignored. "Your other work, I mean. Aren't you working for a private company up top?" "Something like that," You say, perfectly happy not to elaborate. You don't need to be tracked down, to be found; no one //needs// to know who you work for. Strix certainly doesn't need to know much of anything, even if $strixhes probably harmless. 'Probably,' isn't 'certainly'. [[''Work's fine.'' I say, trying to brush Strix off.|ch2stall0201][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''How's yours?'' I may not want to talk about myself but that doesn't mean I'm not interested in chatting.|ch2stall0202][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[I let out a beleaguered sigh and give Strix a pained look.|ch2stall0203][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's... work.''|ch2stall0204][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[Make up an elaborate lie just to keep Strix' interest and stave off boredom.|ch2stall0205][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

"It's a little lonely," Strix says with a laugh. "It's kinda difficult to talk to other parents because usually their kids are turning one hundred and thirteen instead of just thirteen." The parties must suck, you surmise with a lopsided smile. There's a lapse in the conversation as you each prepare your side of the stall. Only once you've cleared off your little square do you squeeze in beside Strix and wait. You're practically rubbing shoulders at this proximity, but it's become a sort of polite agreement between the pair of you that neither complains, comments, or otherwise acts affected by the admittedly common occasions when you bump into each other on the way to fulfilling your respective duties. Truth be told, just one of you could take over the whole affair and be fine, but whoever your boss is (or at least the go-between) insists that there must be two employees on the cart at all times. Maybe they just think one of you will start stealing stuff. Strix is still preparing batter when you finish your side of the set up, and so you reach around them to grab a bag of toppings and... wait. Working here is a bit of a hit and miss most nights; some days you run dry on ingredients, others you're not sure how //Thom's// makes enough to stay open. It would seem, as you watch passing figures in crowds and on their own, this will be one of those nights. You glance at Strix, tapping a silent tune against the cool, metal front, unsure what to do as your little spot on the sidewalk gets continuously ignored. Sometimes //pointedly//. "How's work?" Strix' mutters after a time, eventually settling into $strixhis own certain kind of boredom when $strixhis smile goes ignored. "Your other work, I mean. Aren't you working for a private company up top?" "Something like that," You say, perfectly happy not to elaborate. You don't need to be tracked down, to be found; no one //needs// to know who you work for. Strix certainly doesn't need to know much of anything, even if $strixhes probably harmless. 'Probably,' isn't 'certainly'. [[''Work's fine.'' I say, trying to brush Strix off.|ch2stall0201][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''How's yours?'' I may not want to talk about myself but that doesn't mean I'm not interested in chatting.|ch2stall0202][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[I let out a beleaguered sigh and give Strix a pained look.|ch2stall0203][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's... work.''|ch2stall0204][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[Make up an elaborate lie just to keep Strix' interest and stave off boredom.|ch2stall0205][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

"Nah," Strix says, smiling wide with all $strixhis teeth, "I wouldn't miss a day if the world ended." There's a lapse in the conversation as you each prepare your side of the stall. Only once you've cleared off your little square do you squeeze in beside Strix and wait. You're practically rubbing shoulders at this proximity, but it's become a sort of polite agreement between the pair of you that neither complains, comments, or otherwise acts affected by the admittedly common occasions when you bump into each other on the way to fulfilling your respective duties. Truth be told, just one of you could take over the whole affair and be fine, but whoever your boss is (or at least the go-between) insists that there must be two employees on the cart at all times. Maybe they just think one of you will start stealing stuff. Strix is still preparing batter when you finish your side of the set up, and so you reach around them to grab a bag of toppings and... wait. Working here is a bit of a hit and miss most nights; some days you run dry on ingredients, others you're not sure how //Thom's// makes enough to stay open. It would seem, as you watch passing figures in crowds and on their own, this will be one of those nights. You glance at Strix, tapping a silent tune against the cool, metal front, unsure what to do as your little spot on the sidewalk gets continuously ignored. Sometimes //pointedly//. "How's work?" Strix' mutters after a time, eventually settling into $strixhis own certain kind of boredom when $strixhis smile goes ignored. "Your other work, I mean. Aren't you working for a private company up top?" "Something like that," You say, perfectly happy not to elaborate. You don't need to be tracked down, to be found; no one //needs// to know who you work for. Strix certainly doesn't need to know much of anything, even if $strixhes probably harmless. 'Probably,' isn't 'certainly'. [[''Work's fine.'' I say, trying to brush Strix off.|ch2stall0201][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''How's yours?'' I may not want to talk about myself but that doesn't mean I'm not interested in chatting.|ch2stall0202][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[I let out a beleaguered sigh and give Strix a pained look.|ch2stall0203][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's... work.''|ch2stall0204][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[Make up an elaborate lie just to keep Strix' interest and stave off boredom.|ch2stall0205][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

Kim's face twitches. Not into a smile, and certainly not into anything resembling satisfaction. No, $kimhis expression turns sour. "And they can mind their business." Is the reply, no real irritation directed at you. Any other mention of the fence ends there. Your eyes flicker back down to your empty cup. The last dregs of old tea sit at the bottom, a few flecks of leaves stuck to the internal wall. You wonder if they mean anything, if the vague shapes mostly conjured from your mind really do have power you could never comprehend. Yeah right. "I should get out of your hair," You decide, looking back up at Kim, who still remains standing. As always, <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they offer a silent stare,<<else>>$kimhe offers a silent stare,<</if>> pondering your words with more depth than they require. You clear your throat, clarify, "Let you get back to it. You still have a backlog, yeah?" "I... do." Kim doesn't deny, jaw squaring and brows meeting in the middle. And so, you stand, still a little unsteady on your feet but unwilling to stay seated. Not this long, not with this embarrassment cloying in your midsection. It's late. //Later//. And tomorrow you have... You can't help a beleagered sigh, cutting that thought process off at the legs. Later. A thought for later. Kim follows you to the door, arms folded with fingers tapping at $kimhis bicep. "You could..." <<if $kim_gender is "non">>they start<<else>>$kimhe starts<</if>> as you unlatch the lock, "Stay, if you needed to." You pause as the door swings open, turning to glance at Kim who's properly looking at you now, instead of your nose or the scratch on your head. You take a moment, just to examine the $kimman, weeding out any ulterior motives or implications. You find none. Kim just stands there, in $kimhis doorway, brows scrunched in... worry. Pure worry. [[''You're sweet, but I'm fine.''|ch2mech1901][$kim_f to $kim_f +=1]] [[''This is where I tell you to mind your own business, Kim.''|ch2mech1902][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]] [[''Lovely thought, but I don't want to get in the way.''|ch2mech1903][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Well, gee, Kim, you almost sound like you care.'' I am a little flattered, really.|ch2mech1904][$kim_f to $kim_f +=.05]] [[''Goodbye, Kim.''|ch2mech1905][$kim_r to $kim_r +=.05]]

"That's..." Strix fumbles, struggling to find the right reply to your non-answer. A few clever retorts seem to pass $strixhim by before eventually <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they settle on<<else>>$strixhe settles on<</if>> a simple, "Good." "It is," You lie, because lying is easier than going through the minutiae of your complaints. "How's yours?" "Oh, it's great," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they say<<else>>$strixhe says<</if>> in that tone people use to drive home exactly how 'great' it actually isn't. "Unpaid overtime every day. Really recommend it if you're looking for something to suck the soul from your body." "No thanks," You wince, because what else can you do? "I'm good." "Aw, I knew you couldn't leave me," It's a deflection in honeyed tones, but it answers enough. Your eyes roll before you stare sideways at your coworker, who's busying $strixhimself as best $strixhes able. Which... isn't very effective, if you're both being honest with yourselves. "It's fine," Strix shakes $strishis head, "It's the price you pay to give your kid a good life, right?" [[''I wouldn't know.'' I shrug.|ch2stall0301][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''I do hear that, yes.''|ch2stall0302][$reck to $reck -=.05]] [[''You're allowed to complain sometimes, you know.''|ch2stall0303][$manip to $manip +=.05]] [[''What about yours? Don't you deserve a good life too?''|ch2stall0304][$sark to $sarc -=.05]]

Strix works a few jobs here and there, not unlike you. The only difference is Strix does it to pay for $strixhis kids' education, you do it to feel useful. Your coworker offers a shrug, an up and down motion of shoulders that doesn't look particularly convincing. "Oh, it's a real blast," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they lie with a whistle,<<else>>$strixhe lies with a whistle,<</if>> "They love me there. They love me so much they ask me to do overtime every day." "Is it paid overtime at least?" Strix pretends not to hear your next question, fiddling idly with one of the wooden skewers that serves to keep the toppings in place. Unused, unneccessary when there's precious little food to be kept straight in the first place. "Forget that, does it pay at all?" "Not enough to make me leave you," It's a deflection in honeyed tones, but it answers enough. Your eyes roll before you stare sideways at your coworker, who's busying $strixhimself as best $strixhes able. Which... isn't very effective, if you're both being honest with yourselves. "It's fine," Strix shakes $strishis head, "It's the price you pay to give your kid a good life, right?" [[''I wouldn't know.'' I shrug.|ch2stall0301][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''I do hear that, yes.''|ch2stall0302][$reck to $reck -=.05]] [[''You're allowed to complain sometimes, you know.''|ch2stall0303][$manip to $manip +=.05]] [[''What about yours? Don't you deserve a good life too?''|ch2stall0304][$sark to $sarc -=.05]]

"That bad, huh?" Strix muses, only halfway paying attention to your glare. You allow a grumble, an incoherent string of sounds that gets your message across better than anything clear ever could. "What about your work?" You deflect, pushing another topic on your coworker just so <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$strixhe doesn't<</if>> pry. Strix works a few jobs here and there, not unlike you. The only difference is Strix does it to pay for $strixhis kids' education, you do it to feel useful. Your coworker offers a shrug, an up and down motion of shoulders that doesn't look particularly convincing. "Oh, I love it," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they lie with an easy grin,<<else>>$strixhe lies with an easy grin,<</if>> "Unpaid overtime was an unforseen pleasure that I totally wanted when I signed on." "Maybe you should get a new job, then," You suggest, offering Strix a side-eye. All you get is a huff of laughter in return. "With what time?" It's a deflection, perhaps a bit too blunt for Strix, but it answers enough. Your eyes roll before you stare sideways at your coworker, who's busying $strixhimself as best $strixhes able. Which... isn't very effective, if you're both being honest with yourselves. "It's fine," Strix shakes $strishis head, "It's the price you pay to give your kid a good life, right?" [[''I wouldn't know.'' I shrug.|ch2stall0301][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''I do hear that, yes.''|ch2stall0302][$reck to $reck -=.05]] [[''You're allowed to complain sometimes, you know.''|ch2stall0303][$manip to $manip +=.05]] [[''What about yours? Don't you deserve a good life too?''|ch2stall0304][$sark to $sarc -=.05]]

"Specific," Strix grunts, "Answers the question so eloquently, too." <<if $strix_gender is "non">>They snicker but don't<<else>>$strixhe snickers but doesn't<</if>> push the question. "What about your work?" Strix works a few jobs here and there, not unlike you. The only difference is Strix does it to pay for $strixhis kids' education, you do it to feel useful. Your coworker offers a shrug, an up and down motion of shoulders that doesn't look particularly convincing. "Oh, I'm sure someone somewhere would call it 'good'," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they lie with a whistle,<<else>>$strixhe lies with a whistle,<</if>> "Once upon a time, I might have. I even get to work unpaid overtime, just for the thrill." "Sounds," You struggle with the word, eventually settling on, "Thrilling." Strix laughs. "Glad we're on the same page," Your eyes roll before you stare sideways at your coworker, who's busying $strixhimself as best $strixhes able. Which... isn't very effective, if you're both being honest with yourselves. "It's fine," Strix shakes $strishis head, "It's the price you pay to give your kid a good life, right?" [[''I wouldn't know.'' I shrug.|ch2stall0301][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''I do hear that, yes.''|ch2stall0302][$reck to $reck -=.05]] [[''You're allowed to complain sometimes, you know.''|ch2stall0303][$manip to $manip +=.05]] [[''What about yours? Don't you deserve a good life too?''|ch2stall0304][$sark to $sarc -=.05]]

"Oh just great," You say, already armed with a not-so-convincing lie just to add spice to the otherwise droll afair of sharing obligatory pleasantries. "Just last week I ran down a would-be shoplifer in the street. And everyone clapped." "Uhuh," Strix says, nodding along like <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they believe<<else>>$strixhe believes<</if>> it. "Don't you work a desk job? What were you doing in the street?" "Coffee run. My boss needs one first thing every morning or he implodes," You share a grin with Strix, a pretty lie of a story all painted up on the mental mural before you, that neither one of you pokes or looks at too closely for fear it'll all fall apart. You cough, "So, anyway, how's //your// other work?" Strix works a few jobs here and there, not unlike you. The only difference is Strix does it to pay for $strixhis kids' education, you do it to feel useful. Your coworker offers a shrug, an up and down motion of shoulders that doesn't look particularly convincing. "Well, gee, nothing quite as interesting as that," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they lie with an easy grin,<<else>>$strixhe lies with an easy grin,<</if>> "Does unpaid overtime work." "Well enough," You shrug, offering Strix a side-eye. All you get is a huff of laughter in return. "We can't all have interesting lives." "And that's why I'm still here. To listen to all your lovely stories. And the easy money but that's different." Your eyes roll before you stare sideways at your coworker, who's busying $strixhimself as best $strixhes able. Which... isn't very effective, if you're both being honest with yourselves. "It's fine," Strix shakes $strishis head, "It's the price you pay to give your kid a good life, right?" [[''I wouldn't know.'' I shrug.|ch2stall0301][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''I do hear that, yes.''|ch2stall0302][$reck to $reck -=.05]] [[''You're allowed to complain sometimes, you know.''|ch2stall0303][$manip to $manip +=.05]] [[''What about yours? Don't you deserve a good life too?''|ch2stall0304][$sark to $sarc -=.05]]

It's the truth. No matter what you hear, or what you might want, the joys of parenthood have never exactly been on your list of things to do before you die. "But I'll take your word for it." "It's not for everyone," Strix shrugs, "Which is why I'm not gonna judge you for not understanding." "You could, at least a little bit," You smile, giving Strix a nudge, "If you really felt above everyone for your choices in life." "I could never," Strix at least has the decency to play the part of wounded party. "But now that you mention it..." Whatever thoughts are conjured by $strixhis playful mind, they never reach $strixhis lips. The pair of you fall quiet for a time. You wile away a good portion of the evening simply staring off across the street, where a larger, more popular stand has been setting up shop. Occasionally, you get the merciful reprieve of someone willing to give your little store a chance, but for the most part you barely get glances as the crowded main street bustles by. Forgotten. So, instead you just watch. In the brief breaks in the crowd, you see an aproned pair wheel their cart into a position directly across from yours. It's a fairly familiar sight these days; someone's gotten it into their heads that your little slice of the sidewalk is just prime realestate for unforseen gains. With the amout of credit slips (or lack thereof) you've pocketted into the front pouch of your apron... you can't say you agree. "Those motherfuckers," Strix mutters from beside you, eyes of pale green flittering up from $strixhis last batch of food. There's a bit of build up in the center of the hot plate that $strixhes idly scraping away at with the metal spatula, but there's nothing in $strixhis motions that indicate $strixhes actually looking. "They're doing that on purpose." [[''You only just noticed that?''|ch2stall0401][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''Bastards. Don't they know there's space on the sidewalk literally anywhere else?''|ch2stall0402][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''A bit aggressive there, Strix.''|ch2stall0403][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Who's doing what on purpose?'' I pretend not to see exactly what Strix sees.|ch2stall0404][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]]

"I have a good life," Strix insists, offering the most genuine smile you can't but help believe $strixhim. The moment falls flat for a spare heartbeat or two, but <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they pick<<else>>$strixhe picks<</if>> it back up with ease once <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they find<<else>>$strixhe finds<</if>> the right words. "A good life, to me, is one where I can watch my daughter grow into a happy, healthy young adult. I can do my own thing when she's flown the coop." "Wow, how selfless," You muse, somewhat teasing. You don't think you've ever met someone who just wanted what was best for their loved ones. Then again, the people you know with children who haven't taken the serum number in the single digits. Strix chuckles. "Nah. The only reason I do all this is so my daughter can one day take the serum and secure my legacy. I'm just as fucked as everyone else." It's a lie, or maybe humour. You can't quite tell behind the twinkle-less half-smile sitting unnaturally on $strixhis face. The pair of you fall quiet for a time. You wile away a good portion of the evening simply staring off across the street, where a larger, more popular stand has been setting up shop. Occasionally, you get the merciful reprieve of someone willing to give your little store a chance, but for the most part you barely get glances as the crowded main street bustles by. Forgotten. So, instead you just watch. In the brief breaks in the crowd, you see an aproned pair wheel their cart into a position directly across from yours. It's a fairly familiar sight these days; someone's gotten it into their heads that your little slice of the sidewalk is just prime realestate for unforseen gains. With the amout of credit slips (or lack thereof) you've pocketted into the front pouch of your apron... you can't say you agree. "Those motherfuckers," Strix mutters from beside you, eyes of pale green flittering up from $strixhis last batch of food. There's a bit of build up in the center of the hot plate that $strixhes idly scraping away at with the metal spatula, but there's nothing in $strixhis motions that indicate $strixhes actually looking. "They're doing that on purpose." [[''You only just noticed that?''|ch2stall0401][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''Bastards. Don't they know there's space on the sidewalk literally anywhere else?''|ch2stall0402][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''A bit aggressive there, Strix.''|ch2stall0403][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Who's doing what on purpose?'' I pretend not to see exactly what Strix sees.|ch2stall0404][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]]

You give Strix a nudge, a motion followed by a bout of stilted, nervous laughter that doesn't quite come from $strixhis chest like usual. "I couldn't do that," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>They say,<<else>>$strixhe says,<</if>> shaking $strixhis head, "What's there to complain about?" "Plenty," You shrug, offering a sideways smile, "Traffic, grocery prices, the fact that you have to work multiple jobs just to care for your kid?" Strix whistles low, "Well, when you put it like that..." <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they say,<<else>>$strixhe says,<</if>> but in the same breath laughs the idea off. "Things could be worse, though." <<if $reck >=.5>>"Come on, dude," You groan in reply, somehow finding a grimace of a smile despite yourself.<<else>>"Always the optimist," You muse, perhaps fondly, somehow finding a tiny smile despite your own complaints.<</if>> The pair of you fall quiet for a time. You wile away a good portion of the evening simply staring off across the street, where a larger, more popular stand has been setting up shop. Occasionally, you get the merciful reprieve of someone willing to give your little store a chance, but for the most part you barely get glances as the crowded main street bustles by. Forgotten. So, instead you just watch. In the brief breaks in the crowd, you see an aproned pair wheel their cart into a position directly across from yours. It's a fairly familiar sight these days; someone's gotten it into their heads that your little slice of the sidewalk is just prime realestate for unforseen gains. With the amout of credit slips (or lack thereof) you've pocketted into the front pouch of your apron... you can't say you agree. "Those motherfuckers," Strix mutters from beside you, eyes of pale green flittering up from $strixhis last batch of food. There's a bit of build up in the center of the hot plate that $strixhes idly scraping away at with the metal spatula, but there's nothing in $strixhis motions that indicate $strixhes actually looking. "They're doing that on purpose." [[''You only just noticed that?''|ch2stall0401][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''Bastards. Don't they know there's space on the sidewalk literally anywhere else?''|ch2stall0402][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''A bit aggressive there, Strix.''|ch2stall0403][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Who's doing what on purpose?'' I pretend not to see exactly what Strix sees.|ch2stall0404][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]]

But you otherwise wouldn't really know. If Strix notices your reticence, it goes unsaid, and perhaps that's for the best. "I can complain when I'm dead," Strix says by way of explanation, shrugging $strixhis large shoulders effortlessly. "Properly, I mean. For now, so long as I can give my daughter a good, happy life, then complaining about it is in poor taste." A pause, then, "What would I even be complaining about? How happy she is?" "There's other options," You shrug, offering a sideways smile, "You don't have to complain about your kid?" Strix whistles low, "Everything I do is so she can have a good life, so no matter //what// I complain about, it would ultimately lead back to here." <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they say,<<else>>$strixhe says,<</if>> but in the same breath laughs the idea off. "And I would hate for her to hear that. So I'm good. Life is good." <<if $reck >=.5>>"Come on, dude," You groan in reply, somehow finding a grimace of a smile despite yourself.<<else>>"Always the optimist," You muse, perhaps fondly, somehow finding a tiny smile despite your own complaints.<</if>> The pair of you fall quiet for a time. You wile away a good portion of the evening simply staring off across the street, where a larger, more popular stand has been setting up shop. Occasionally, you get the merciful reprieve of someone willing to give your little store a chance, but for the most part you barely get glances as the crowded main street bustles by. Forgotten. So, instead you just watch. In the brief breaks in the crowd, you see an aproned pair wheel their cart into a position directly across from yours. It's a fairly familiar sight these days; someone's gotten it into their heads that your little slice of the sidewalk is just prime realestate for unforseen gains. With the amout of credit slips (or lack thereof) you've pocketted into the front pouch of your apron... you can't say you agree. "Those motherfuckers," Strix mutters from beside you, eyes of pale green flittering up from $strixhis last batch of food. There's a bit of build up in the center of the hot plate that $strixhes idly scraping away at with the metal spatula, but there's nothing in $strixhis motions that indicate $strixhes actually looking. "They're doing that on purpose." [[''You only just noticed that?''|ch2stall0401][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''Bastards. Don't they know there's space on the sidewalk literally anywhere else?''|ch2stall0402][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''A bit aggressive there, Strix.''|ch2stall0403][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Who's doing what on purpose?'' I pretend not to see exactly what Strix sees.|ch2stall0404][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]]

Sure, one of the rival pair across the street //are// watching you with a smile the veers a little too comfortably into malicious territory. And //maybe// they do wheel their cart twenty meters up the road from its home every night //just// to sit across from you. Doesn't have to mean anything. "You know exactly what I mean," Strix says with a sigh, ruffling $strixhair shaggy mop of blonde hair in a way that does nothing to calm $strixhim. "Just--just look." You do look. Still, it doesn't mean anything. "Maybe you're just reading into things. //Maybe// one of them wants a hot single in their area and is using the weirdest way imaginable to get your attention." "Ah, forget it," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they say,<<else>>$strixhe says,<</if>> halfway through a sigh, "You good to hold down the fort for a bit? I need a smoke." [[I give Strix a thumbs up|ch2stall0501][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Just don't take too long.'' I say, giving Strix a pat on the shoulder.|ch2stall0502][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''Yeah, sure. I'll let you know if anything interesting comes up.''|ch2stall0503][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''That's a habit you should quit, you know.''|ch2stall0504][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]]

"You use that language around your kid?" You offer $strixhim a strange glance, only for $strixhim to spin on you with pout. "What's a swear gonna do?" Strix rolls $strixhis eyes and turns away after a moment, "The kid's thirteen, she's gonna hear worse just on the street." You suppose $strixhes right, too. And you were a bit judgy for a moment in time. "Sorry." You say. "It was an overstep." Strix acknowledges. "Ah, forget it," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they say,<<else>>$strixhe says,<</if>> halfway through a sigh, "You good to hold down the fort for a bit? I need a smoke." [[I give Strix a thumbs up|ch2stall0501][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Just don't take too long.'' I say, giving Strix a pat on the shoulder.|ch2stall0502][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''Yeah, sure. I'll let you know if anything interesting comes up.''|ch2stall0503][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''That's a habit you should quit, you know.''|ch2stall0504][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]]

"They've been there for at least half an hour already," You sigh, resting your chin on your palm as you follow Strix' wobbly line of a frown across the wide pedestrian road. "And you didn't deign to tell me?" There's no real complaint in $strixhis words or tone, nothing that tells you $strixhes genuinely put out. No, if anything, there's a little bit of humour in the curve of $strixhis lips. "For shame, $mc2_name. Clearly, you're sleeping with the enemy here." You roll your eyes and turn your gaze down to your hands playing idly with the pocket of your apron. From beside you, Strix grumbles something mostly incoherent and shakes $strixhis head. "Ah, forget it," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they say,<<else>>$strixhe says,<</if>> halfway through a sigh, "You good to hold down the fort for a bit? I need a smoke." [[I give Strix a thumbs up|ch2stall0501][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Just don't take too long.'' I say, giving Strix a pat on the shoulder.|ch2stall0502][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''Yeah, sure. I'll let you know if anything interesting comes up.''|ch2stall0503][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''That's a habit you should quit, you know.''|ch2stall0504][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]]

"They could go fifty meters that way--" You point up the road, a random direction without much thought, "--and see the exact same line of people who are currently ignoring us." "I think they do it to taunt us," Strix says, leaning in like a conspirator and casting a suspicious gaze across the way. "See? They're //grinning// at me because they know I'm right." You follow the line of $strixhis gaze to one of the pair. Sure enough, that smile could certainly be interpreted with evil intent. "Ah, forget it," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they say,<<else>>$strixhe says,<</if>> halfway through a sigh, "You good to hold down the fort for a bit? I need a smoke." [[I give Strix a thumbs up|ch2stall0501][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Just don't take too long.'' I say, giving Strix a pat on the shoulder.|ch2stall0502][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''Yeah, sure. I'll let you know if anything interesting comes up.''|ch2stall0503][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''That's a habit you should quit, you know.''|ch2stall0504][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]]

Strix grins $strixhis brilliant, shining grin with a mouth full of teeth and too much enthusiasm. Topped off with a companionable slap to the shoulder, all you can offer is a flimsy thumb's up in response. "Thanks $mc2_name, you're the best." "Don't take too long," You call back as you watch $strixhim go, just to have something to say. Strix rarely takes too long on their smoke breaks. Little longer than ten minutes tops, the extra five just to get the smell out of $strixhis clothes. A mercy, on particularly busy days. On a day such as this? Well, the isolation is a torture of another kind. At least with Strix beside you you're sharing the occasional conversation, and the collective pain. Now... you're just bored. Two minutes pass, then five, before you're forced to reckon with the fact that counting them out doesn't make them go any faster. No one puts a stop to your suffering, either, barely offering a glance your way let alone an order. A shadow so dark you can scarcely see through it falls across you at seven minutes--a customer. You straighten up, readjust the expression on your face to better fall in line with something resembling hospitality as you peer at the stranger through squinted eyes. The man--you're sure he's a man--blocks out the spotlight hanging above, blotting out the features of his face enough for them to appear... muddy in the shadow. One thing you do notice, however, is his glowing, amber glare, a sure sign of metal replacing bone, of tech thrumming it's unsteady rhythm somewhere under his skin. Even if you can't quite see it. "How can I help you today?" You ask, smile faltering under the onslaught of a stare that's less-than welcoming. Your heart beats up in your throat and even without any verbal threat you feel... on edge. A distant memory of a warning howls in the back of your mind, tells you to //run//. Not like you could with this man just... looming, like an attempted intimidation. [[I'm a fair bit shorter than he is, so 'looming' is about right.|ch2stall0601][$mc2height to "short"]] [[He's only just a bit taller than I am, so it might not be working as intended.|ch2stall0602][$mc2height to "average"]] [[I'm taller than him so whatever effect he intended... doesn't quite work.|ch2stall0603][$mc2height to "tall"]]

"I know, I know," Strix says, the ghost of a grin twitching at the corners of $strixhis mouth. There's a cheeky narrowing of $strixhis eyes, a playful shimmer you've come to expect when you find yourself on one end of $strixhis constant jokes. "What would you do without me?" <<if $sarc >= .5>>"Die, probably," You shoot back, slapping your hand to your chest in a dramatic fashion, "Oh, great holder of the spatula, come back quick lest I burn the whole cart down."<<else>>"I do just fine," You say, perhaps defensively. Strix' smile falters, but you roll your eyes and remind $strixhim you don't mean anything by it. "I learned from the best, right?"<</if>> Strix grins $strixhis brillian, shining grin with a mouth full of teeth and too much enthusiasm. "Thanks $mc2_name, you're the best." Strix rarely takes too long on their smoke breaks. Little longer than ten minutes tops, the extra five just to get the smell out of $strixhis clothes. A mercy, on particularly busy days. On a day such as this? Well, the isolation is a torture of another kind. At least with Strix beside you you're sharing the occasional conversation, and the collective pain. Now... you're just bored. Two minutes pass, then five, before you're forced to reckon with the fact that counting them out doesn't make them go any faster. No one puts a stop to your suffering, either, barely offering a glance your way let alone an order. A shadow so dark you can scarcely see through it falls across you at seven minutes--a customer. You straighten up, readjust the expression on your face to better fall in line with something resembling hospitality as you peer at the stranger through squinted eyes. The man--you're sure he's a man--blocks out the spotlight hanging above, blotting out the features of his face enough for them to appear... muddy in the shadow. One thing you do notice, however, is his glowing, amber glare, a sure sign of metal replacing bone, of tech thrumming it's unsteady rhythm somewhere under his skin. Even if you can't quite see it. "How can I help you today?" You ask, smile faltering under the onslaught of a stare that's less-than welcoming. Your heart beats up in your throat and even without any verbal threat you feel... on edge. A distant memory of a warning howls in the back of your mind, tells you to //run//. Not like you could with this man just... looming, like an attempted intimidation. [[I'm a fair bit shorter than he is, so 'looming' is about right.|ch2stall0601][$mc2height to "short"]] [[He's only just a bit taller than I am, so it might not be working as intended.|ch2stall0602][$mc2height to "average"]] [[I'm taller than him so whatever effect he intended... doesn't quite work.|ch2stall0603][$mc2height to "tall"]]

It won't. But it could. Strix grins $strixhis brillian, shining grin with a mouth full of teeth and too much enthusiasm. "Thanks $mc2_name, you're the best." Strix rarely takes too long on their smoke breaks. Little longer than ten minutes tops, the extra five just to get the smell out of $strixhis clothes. A mercy, on particularly busy days. On a day such as this? Well, the isolation is a torture of another kind. At least with Strix beside you you're sharing the occasional conversation, and the collective pain. Now... you're just bored. Two minutes pass, then five, before you're forced to reckon with the fact that counting them out doesn't make them go any faster. No one puts a stop to your suffering, either, barely offering a glance your way let alone an order. A shadow so dark you can scarcely see through it falls across you at seven minutes--a customer. You straighten up, readjust the expression on your face to better fall in line with something resembling hospitality as you peer at the stranger through squinted eyes. The man--you're sure he's a man--blocks out the spotlight hanging above, blotting out the features of his face enough for them to appear... muddy in the shadow. One thing you do notice, however, is his glowing, amber glare, a sure sign of metal replacing bone, of tech thrumming it's unsteady rhythm somewhere under his skin. Even if you can't quite see it. "How can I help you today?" You ask, smile faltering under the onslaught of a stare that's less-than welcoming. Your heart beats up in your throat and even without any verbal threat you feel... on edge. A distant memory of a warning howls in the back of your mind, tells you to //run//. Not like you could with this man just... looming, like an attempted intimidation. [[I'm a fair bit shorter than he is, so 'looming' is about right.|ch2stall0601][$mc2height to "short"]] [[He's only just a bit taller than I am, so it might not be working as intended.|ch2stall0602][$mc2height to "average"]] [[I'm taller than him so whatever effect he intended... doesn't quite work.|ch2stall0603][$mc2height to "tall"]]

"I'll quit it when I'm dead," Strix shoots back, with a smile turning tense. There's not enough time to stop and tell you that the comment goes unappreciated, but the dropped mirth from $strixhis sage green eyes is enough to let you on. You don't think Strix even really means what $strixhe said--it's really more a knee-jerk brush off that tells you to 'drop it'. "See you in ten." Strix offers a wave but little else as <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they disappear<<else>>$strixhe disappears<</if>> into the crown around $strixhim. Strix rarely takes too long on their smoke breaks. Little longer than ten minutes tops, the extra five just to get the smell out of $strixhis clothes. A mercy, on particularly busy days. On a day such as this? Well, the isolation is a torture of another kind. At least with Strix beside you you're sharing the occasional conversation, and the collective pain. Now... you're just bored. Two minutes pass, then five, before you're forced to reckon with the fact that counting them out doesn't make them go any faster. No one puts a stop to your suffering, either, barely offering a glance your way let alone an order. A shadow so dark you can scarcely see through it falls across you at seven minutes--a customer. You straighten up, readjust the expression on your face to better fall in line with something resembling hospitality as you peer at the stranger through squinted eyes. The man--you're sure he's a man--blocks out the spotlight hanging above, blotting out the features of his face enough for them to appear... muddy in the shadow. One thing you do notice, however, is his glowing, amber glare, a sure sign of metal replacing bone, of tech thrumming it's unsteady rhythm somewhere under his skin. Even if you can't quite see it. "How can I help you today?" You ask, smile faltering under the onslaught of a stare that's less-than welcoming. Your heart beats up in your throat and even without any verbal threat you feel... on edge. A distant memory of a warning howls in the back of your mind, tells you to //run//. Not like you could with this man just... looming, like an attempted intimidation. [[I'm a fair bit shorter than he is, so 'looming' is about right.|ch2stall0601][$mc2height to "short"]] [[He's only just a bit taller than I am, so it might not be working as intended.|ch2stall0602][$mc2height to "average"]] [[I'm taller than him so whatever effect he intended... doesn't quite work.|ch2stall0603][$mc2height to "tall"]]

It's like looking into the staring eyes of a vicious giant hell bent on crushing you. Of course, the man himself isn't obscenely tall, it's more that you're just short. "Can I help you?" You ask, expression faltering. Your body just... freezes, like a hand of ice has wrapped itself around the back of your neck, or your feet are glued in place. The man just keeps staring for a moment more, lips curling ever downwards. The silence, if nothing else, offers you a bit more time to take in the tall figure, how he stands so casually with hands tucked into his pockets; how out of place the scarf wrapped tight around his neck is on such a balmy night; how the fringe of pitch black hair falls over his face in such a way that it just so coincidentally avoids the fiery amber balls of flame that bore into you. What's perhaps most scary of all, however, is the way he stands at all. His shoulders stand stiff and his spine is much the same, but there's something almost... twitchy in the way he holds himself that at first you have trouble determining where you've seen similar stances before. It hits you like a bullet; this stranger stands like an Enforcer. At minute eight, he finally speaks, a grimace tearing across his pale features. "You //can// help me, actually. $mc2_name, I presumed?" The man's voice is rough, gravelly, but in a way that brings to mind a rake dragging over rocks rather than anything pleasant. You're not sure how he knows your name, either, and that's perhaps the thing you hate most. The uncertainty. You lick your lips in a nervous motion, glancing around in a way you hope isn't obvious. [[''I don't know why you think I could help. I've been here all night.''|ch2stall0701][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''If you order something, I'd be happy to answer a few questions.''|ch2stall0702][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''If you aren't going to order anything sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.''|ch2stall0703][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''You've got it wrong. No idea who $mc2name is.''|ch2stall0704][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

It's only really as intimidating anyone up in your face can be, though the sheer... nothingness behind the eyes makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. "Can I help you?" You ask, expression faltering. Your body just... freezes, like a hand of ice has wrapped itself around the back of your neck, or your feet are glued in place. The man just keeps staring for a moment more, lips curling ever downwards. The silence, if nothing else, offers you a bit more time to take in the tall figure, how he stands so casually with hands tucked into his pockets; how out of place the scarf wrapped tight around his neck is on such a balmy night; how the fringe of pitch black hair falls over his face in such a way that it just so coincidentally avoids the fiery amber balls of flame that bore into you. What's perhaps most scary of all, however, is the way he stands at all. His shoulders stand stiff and his spine is much the same, but there's something almost... twitchy in the way he holds himself that at first you have trouble determining where you've seen similar stances before. It hits you like a bullet; this stranger stands like an Enforcer. At minute eight, he finally speaks, a grimace tearing across his pale features. "You //can// help me, actually. $mc2_name, I presumed?" The man's voice is rough, gravelly, but in a way that brings to mind a rake dragging over rocks rather than anything pleasant. You're not sure how he knows your name, either, and that's perhaps the thing you hate most. The uncertainty. You lick your lips in a nervous motion, glancing around in a way you hope isn't obvious. [[''I don't know why you think I could help. I've been here all night.''|ch2stall0701][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''If you order something, I'd be happy to answer a few questions.''|ch2stall0702][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''If you aren't going to order anything sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.''|ch2stall0703][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''You've got it wrong. No idea who $mc2name is.''|ch2stall0704][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

The effect is somewhat stymied by your minor difference in verticality. As it is, you look down on the man, who is certainly making a valiant effort to school his frown into a wobbly, apathetic line. You're sure if your positions were switched it would be significantly more intimidating than it is. And yet. "Can I help you?" You ask, expression faltering. Your body just... freezes, like a hand of ice has wrapped itself around the back of your neck, or your feet are glued in place. The man just keeps staring for a moment more, lips curling ever downwards. The silence, if nothing else, offers you a bit more time to take in the tall figure, how he stands so casually with hands tucked into his pockets; how out of place the scarf wrapped tight around his neck is on such a balmy night; how the fringe of pitch black hair falls over his face in such a way that it just so coincidentally avoids the fiery amber balls of flame that bore into you. What's perhaps most scary of all, however, is the way he stands at all. His shoulders stand stiff and his spine is much the same, but there's something almost... twitchy in the way he holds himself that at first you have trouble determining where you've seen similar stances before. It hits you like a bullet; this stranger stands like an Enforcer. At minute eight, he finally speaks, a grimace tearing across his pale features. "You //can// help me, actually. $mc2_name, I presumed?" The man's voice is rough, gravelly, but in a way that brings to mind a rake dragging over rocks rather than anything pleasant. You're not sure how he knows your name, either, and that's perhaps the thing you hate most. The uncertainty. You lick your lips in a nervous motion, glancing around in a way you hope isn't obvious. [[''I don't know why you think I could help. I've been here all night.''|ch2stall0701][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''If you order something, I'd be happy to answer a few questions.''|ch2stall0702][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''If you aren't going to order anything sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.''|ch2stall0703][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''You've got it wrong. No idea who $mc2name is.''|ch2stall0704][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

"Whatever it is you're investigating, sir," You say, offering your most polite of smiles. It strains at your cheeks, pulling them into a shape that's painful rather than natural. Still, you persist, forcing your features to conform to whatever expression you need to get out of this interaction without this man remembering your name. "You probably won't have any help from me." Even if it may already be too late. The man scoffs, a half-smirk pulling one side of his lips into a twisted display of a smile. It disappears quickly after, an ever-present scowl flattening the man's pale features into something resembling a monochrome painting. If not for his eyes, at any rate. "That's nice, but I'm not investigating anything." He gruffs through a sigh, glare shifting briefly off to the side to survey the surrounding passers by. "And I'm not Enforcer scum. I can see it in the way you look at me. Drop that." You offer him one last up and down stare, not finding anything in the way he holds himself particularly convincing. It still reads 'Enforcer'. The only alternative could be military, or private security. Neither bodes well. "Well, 'not Enforcer scum,'" You say, only dropping the smile long enough to speak... [[''I still can't help you.''|ch2stall0801][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''Frankly, I don't care what you are. You're not a customer.''|ch2stall0802][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''Could you please step out of the line? You're blocking my view.''|ch2tall0803][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''What do you want? Do I owe someone money?''|ch2stall0804][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

The man scoffs, idly peruses the meagre selection of pickings, before dismissing the folly. Your smile, as polite as you force it, strains and pulls painfully downward, any expression going ignored. You persist, however hard it is, keeping your gaze steady under the glare of the man before you. "Let's pretend I did. What then?" "I'm not pretending anything," You reply, lips tightening into a line. He holds your gaze, an endless stare boring little holes into the surface of your skin, extracting meaning from your pores. The man growls when he doesn't find what he's looking for, a half-smirk pulling one side of his lips into a twisted display of a smile. It disappears quickly after, an ever-present scowl flattening the man's pale features into something resembling a monochrome painting. If not for his eyes, at any rate. "That's nice, but you can forget the act." He gruffs through a sigh, glare shifting briefly off to the side to survey the surrounding passers by. "And I'm not Enforcer scum. I can see it in the way you look at me. Drop that." You offer him one last up and down stare, not finding anything in the way he holds himself particularly convincing. It still reads 'Enforcer'. The only alternative could be military, or private security. Neither bodes well. "Well, 'not Enforcer scum,'" You say, only dropping the smile long enough to speak... [[''I still can't help you.''|ch2stall0801][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''Frankly, I don't care what you are. You're not a customer.''|ch2stall0802][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''Could you please step out of the line? You're blocking my view.''|ch2tall0803][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''What do you want? Do I owe someone money?''|ch2stall0804][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

There's something resembling a huff of laughter that puffs out the man's chest and drags the corners of his thin lips outward into a sneer as he leers at you. Despite the inner desire to drop everything and sprint off down the road, you hold your ground with a placid smile, avoid any chance of an arm snapping out to grab at your collar. "Yeah..." The man breathes, "That's not happening." "Then, I'm afraid we're at an impasse." You sat, holding that glare, fighting the way your fear pulls at your smile, dares to drag it downwards into a pursed line. The man growls when he doesn't find what he's looking for, a half-smirk pulling one side of his lips into a twisted display of a smile. It disappears quickly after, an ever-present scowl flattening the man's pale features into something resembling a monochrome painting. If not for his eyes, at any rate. "We really aren't. I talk, you listen." He gruffs through a sigh, glare shifting briefly off to the side to survey the surrounding passers by. "And I'm not Enforcer scum. I can see it in the way you look at me. Drop that." You offer him one last up and down stare, not finding anything in the way he holds himself particularly convincing. It still reads 'Enforcer'. The only alternative could be military, or private security. Neither bodes well. "Well, 'not Enforcer scum,'" You say, only dropping the smile long enough to speak... [[''I still can't help you.''|ch2stall0801][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''Frankly, I don't care what you are. You're not a customer.''|ch2stall0802][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''Could you please step out of the line? You're blocking my view.''|ch2tall0803][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''What do you want? Do I owe someone money?''|ch2stall0804][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

You almost coax a bitter laugh from the man, something cruel and dark in a voice turned to gravel by time and resentment. Throughout it all, you keep you placid smile, harden up the polite facade, and hope the fear threatening to tear it down doesn't succeed. The man watches you for a time but growls when he doesn't find what he's looking for, a half-smirk pulling one side of his lips into a twisted display of a smile. It disappears quickly after, an ever-present scowl flattening the man's pale features into something resembling a monochrome painting. If not for his eyes, at any rate. "Ah forget it. We both know who you are." He gruffs through a sigh, glare shifting briefly off to the side to survey the surrounding passers by. It was worth a try, you suppose. "And I'm not Enforcer scum. I can see it in the way you look at me. Drop that." You offer him one last up and down stare, not finding anything in the way he holds himself particularly convincing. It still reads 'Enforcer'. The only alternative could be military, or private security. Neither bodes well. "Well, 'not Enforcer scum,'" You say, only dropping the smile long enough to speak... [[''I still can't help you.''|ch2stall0801][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''Frankly, I don't care what you are. You're not a customer.''|ch2stall0802][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''Could you please step out of the line? You're blocking my view.''|ch2tall0803][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.02]] [[''What do you want? Do I owe someone money?''|ch2stall0804][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

"Not unless you tell me why you're blocking the line," You give your counter a tight slap despite your rapidly raising hackles, your mind working like molasses to think of any possible crime, or any reason, really , you may have committed to land yourself in this mess. A hollow laugh rumbles out from the man's chest, his eyes momentarily flicking up, before squaring in on you once more. "Right, because this little joke is so popular." You can't help a cringe, just a tad of real hurt plucking at the strings of your heart. Instead of latching onto the bait, you wait. Expectant. Silent. A sigh pushes forth from the stranger's lips and he shakes his head, "We need to have a little conversation, you and me. About your boss." "My boss?" You ask, head cocking in confusion. "I don't know my boss." Your mind stammers as a slow grin spreads across the man's face, dangerous, predatory. No, //Arthur//. You find a gulp, hide it with a scowl that does little to help the fear pounding like running footsteps in your ears. "I couldn't give a rat's furry ass about your little home away from home," He spits, "No, I'm here about your boss up there." He points upwards, as if you needed any reminder of the wayward man so intent on keeping you out of his business. Your mood plummets, anxiety soaring to hights previously unknown to man. [[''What has Arthur done this time?''|ch2stall0901]] [[''If you want information on Arthur, you'll have to go somewhere else. The guy doesn't tell me anything.''|ch2stall0902]] [[''You know what I think? I think your boss is just another unsatisfied customer. No refunds, by the way.''|ch2stall0903]] [[''I'm not telling you anything. Arthur is an upstanding citizen.''|ch2stall0904]]

"Which means I have no obligation to serve you," You give your counter a tight slap despite your rapidly raising hackles, your mind working like molasses to think of any possible crime, or any reason, really, you may have committed to land yourself in this mess. A hollow laugh rumbles out from the man's chest, his eyes momentarily flicking up, before squaring in on you once more. "Right, you're tripping over customers." You can't help a cringe, just a tad of real hurt plucking at the strings of your heart. Instead of latching onto the bait, you wait. Expectant. Silent. A sigh pushes forth from the stranger's lips and he shakes his head, "We need to have a little conversation, you and me. About your boss." "My boss?" You ask, head cocking in confusion. "I don't know my boss." Your mind stammers as a slow grin spreads across the man's face, dangerous, predatory. No, //Arthur//. You find a gulp, hide it with a scowl that does little to help the fear pounding like running footsteps in your ears. "I couldn't give a rat's furry ass about your little home away from home," He spits, "No, I'm here about your boss up there." He points upwards, as if you needed any reminder of the wayward man so intent on keeping you out of his business. Your mood plummets, anxiety soaring to hights previously unknown to man. [[''What has Arthur done this time?''|ch2stall0901]] [[''If you want information on Arthur, you'll have to go somewhere else. The guy doesn't tell me anything.''|ch2stall0902]] [[''You know what I think? I think your boss is just another unsatisfied customer. No refunds, by the way.''|ch2stall0903]] [[''I'm not telling you anything. Arthur is an upstanding citizen.''|ch2stall0904]]

"There might be a customer hidden behind you," You give your counter a tight slap despite your rapidly raising hackles, your mind working like molasses to think of any possible crime, or any reason, really , you may have committed to land yourself in this mess. "Ta." A hollow laugh rumbles out from the man's chest, his eyes momentarily flicking up, before squaring in on you once more. "Funny." You can't help a cringe, just a tad of real hurt plucking at the strings of your heart. Instead of latching onto the bait, you wait. Expectant. Silent. A sigh pushes forth from the stranger's lips and he shakes his head, "We need to have a little conversation, you and me. About your boss." "My boss?" You ask, head cocking in confusion. "I don't know my boss." Your mind stammers as a slow grin spreads across the man's face, dangerous, predatory. No, //Arthur//. You find a gulp, hide it with a scowl that does little to help the fear pounding like running footsteps in your ears. "I couldn't give a rat's furry ass about your little home away from home," He spits, "No, I'm here about your boss up there." He points upwards, as if you needed any reminder of the wayward man so intent on keeping you out of his business. Your mood plummets, anxiety soaring to hights previously unknown to man. [[''What has Arthur done this time?''|ch2stall0901]] [[''If you want information on Arthur, you'll have to go somewhere else. The guy doesn't tell me anything.''|ch2stall0902]] [[''You know what I think? I think your boss is just another unsatisfied customer. No refunds, by the way.''|ch2stall0903]] [[''I'm not telling you anything. Arthur is an upstanding citizen.''|ch2stall0904]]

"Do I owe //you// money?" You give your counter a tight slap despite your rapidly raising hackles, your mind working like molasses to think of any possible crime, or any reason, really , you may have committed to land yourself in this mess. A hollow laugh rumbles out from the man's chest, his eyes momentarily flicking up, before squaring in on you once more. "If you owe anyone anything," the man says, voice like a wolf's growl, "That's a seperate issue." You can't help a cringe, just a tad of real hurt plucking at the strings of your heart. Instead of latching onto the bait, you wait. Expectant. Silent. A sigh pushes forth from the stranger's lips and he shakes his head, "We need to have a little conversation, you and me. About your boss." "My boss?" You ask, head cocking in confusion. "I don't know my boss." Your mind stammers as a slow grin spreads across the man's face, dangerous, predatory. No, //Arthur//. You find a gulp, hide it with a scowl that does little to help the fear pounding like running footsteps in your ears. "I couldn't give a rat's furry ass about your little home away from home," He spits, "No, I'm here about your boss up there." He points upwards, as if you needed any reminder of the wayward man so intent on keeping you out of his business. Your mood plummets, anxiety soaring to hights previously unknown to man. [[''What has Arthur done this time?''|ch2stall0901]] [[''If you want information on Arthur, you'll have to go somewhere else. The guy doesn't tell me anything.''|ch2stall0902]] [[''You know what I think? I think your boss is just another unsatisfied customer. No refunds, by the way.''|ch2stall0903]] [[''I'm not telling you anything. Arthur is an upstanding citizen.''|ch2stall0904]]

The man chuckles, but there isn't any happiness to the sound. "Nothing, yet," He says, though the shimmer of amusement is more than enough of an answer. //There will be something.// "But that's the reason you need to stay away from Arthur. You don't need to up and quit, you don't even need to leave the apartment you share. Just... be distant, be a good little worker bee, and don't ask questions you aren't prepared to know the answer to." You'd almost be growling if you weren't so confused. "Why? Has he gotten caught up in something bad?" The man shrugs, watches you with the sensible caution any one in his position would be an idiot not to have. At this range, he could have you on the ground in an instant; but the same is true in reverse. "Who can say?" He says after a time. [[''Well you're no help.''|ch2stall1001]] [[''Is that your message? Can you leave now?''|ch2stall1002]] [[''If I get involved too does that mean I'm in danger?''|ch2stall1003]]

"I don't //need// to know anything about that man," Your towering intimidator pulls a face, something like disgust pulling his thin lips into a snarl. It's something that gives you pause, something that makes you blink at him with a stomach flinching with something other than fear. There's almost familiarity in the way he speaks of Arthur, besides what has clearly been conveyed for the purpose of his work. "Nothing I don't already know anyway. And not from you." Interesting. You raise a brow, a silent question that recieves no answer. "What you need to do is stay away from Arthur." There's an edge there, but it's softened by the humour you find in knowing that this man has some //dislike// of Arthur that spans further than just simple irritation. "You don't need to up and quit, you don't even need to leave the apartment you share. Just... be distant, be a good little worker bee, and don't ask questions you aren't prepared to know the answer to." You'd almost be growling if you weren't so confused. "Why? Has he gotten caught up in something bad?" The man shrugs, watches you with the sensible caution any one in his position would be an idiot not to have. At this range, he could have you on the ground in an instant; but the same is true in reverse. "Who can say?" He says after a time. [[''Well you're no help.''|ch2stall1001]] [[''Is that your message? Can you leave now?''|ch2stall1002]] [[''If I get involved too does that mean I'm in danger?''|ch2stall1003]]

For the first time during this conversation, the man's eyes twinkle with something other than numbness. There's almost an inner humour there, something halfway human. "Believe me, when my boss is unsatisfied you get more than just a gentle reminder," He says after a time, speaking with a certain hollowness beyond just the nothingness in his eyes. Spoken from experience? You don't allow the question, but tuck it away for future. "But that's not what this is about," He shakes his head, looking past you, "You need to stay away from Arthur. You don't need to up and quit, you don't even need to leave the apartment you share. Just... be distant, be a good little worker bee, and don't ask questions you aren't prepared to know the answer to." You'd almost be growling if you weren't so confused. "Why? Has he gotten caught up in something bad?" The man shrugs, watches you with the sensible caution any one in his position would be an idiot not to have. At this range, he could have you on the ground in an instant; but the same is true in reverse. "Who can say?" He says after a time. [[''Well you're no help.''|ch2stall1001]] [[''Is that your message? Can you leave now?''|ch2stall1002]] [[''If I get involved too does that mean I'm in danger?''|ch2stall1003]]

The man almost laughs. //Laughs//. "I'm not," He says through a grinning mouth of too-sharp teeth. "I know you aren't. My boss isn't. The 'Upstanding Citizen' shtick is a Council lie sold to make people think they aren't all a bunch of immortals living out their glory days like the rest of us." Hard to disagree. Doesn't mean you have to say it, however. "But that's not what this is about," The smile is gone, now only glowing eyes of raging ember stare back. "You need to stay away from Arthur. You don't need to up and quit, you don't even need to leave the apartment you share. Just... be distant, be a good little worker bee, and don't ask questions you aren't prepared to know the answer to." You'd almost be growling if you weren't so confused. "Why? Has he gotten caught up in something bad?" The man shrugs, watches you with the sensible caution any one in his position would be an idiot not to have. At this range, he could have you on the ground in an instant; but the same is true in reverse. "Who can say?" He says after a time. [[''Well you're no help.''|ch2stall1001]] [[''Is that your message? Can you leave now?''|ch2stall1002]] [[''If I get involved too does that mean I'm in danger?''|ch2stall1003]]

The man huffs a laugh, "Not my job." "Is it your job to be needlessly obtuse?" You snap back, the fear dissippating as he steps out of your space. "If I were you," He says instead of answering, sucking in a sharp breath, "I would cut and run, quit while you're ahead. Find a better gig." "You don't sound very loyal," You find yourself commenting, perhaps throwing a pointed barb at him now that you aren't in punching distance. The man allows a grin once more, almost //prideful//. Either way, dangerous. "It doesn't pay to be loyal. Just know that my boss has me around. Watching." There's the threat, a cruel glimmer of the //hunt// in his eyes. He's like a scheming animal in his manner, and you his prey. Small. Weak. //Powerless//. You gather enough of yourself to send a glare his way, but the man has already turned his back on you, leaving you to your devices. You wait and you watch him depart, his turned back and lumbering form slowly disappearing into the crowd. It's only then that you realise how long you've been holding your breath. [[You take a breath.|ch2stall11]]

Another shrug, but the man has already stepped out of your space. Answer enough, you suppose, when up until that point you were in grabbing distance. "If I were you," He says, sucking in a sharp breath, "I would cut and run, quit while you're ahead. Find a better gig." "You don't sound very loyal," You find yourself commenting, perhaps throwing a pointed barb at him now that you aren't in punching distance. The man allows a grin once more, almost //prideful//. Either way, dangerous. "It doesn't pay to be loyal. Just know that my boss has me around. Watching." There's the threat, a cruel glimmer of the //hunt// in his eyes. He's like a scheming animal in his manner, and you his prey. Small. Weak. //Powerless//. You gather enough of yourself to send a glare his way, but the man has already turned his back on you, leaving you to your devices. You wait and you watch him depart, his turned back and lumbering form slowly disappearing into the crowd. It's only then that you realise how long you've been holding your breath. [[You take a breath.|ch2stall11]]

Another shrug, another non-answer. The man has already stepped out of your space, his work done here. "If I were you," He says, sucking in a sharp breath, "I would cut and run, quit while you're ahead. Find a better gig." "You don't sound very loyal," You find yourself commenting, perhaps throwing a pointed barb at him now that you aren't in punching distance. The man allows a grin once more, almost //prideful//. Either way, dangerous. "It doesn't pay to be loyal. Just know that my boss has me around. Watching." There's the threat, a cruel glimmer of the //hunt// in his eyes. He's like a scheming animal in his manner, and you his prey. Small. Weak. //Powerless//. You gather enough of yourself to send a glare his way, but the man has already turned his back on you, leaving you to your devices. You wait and you watch him depart, his turned back and lumbering form slowly disappearing into the crowd. It's only then that you realise how long you've been holding your breath. [[You take a breath.|ch2stall11]]

At minute ten on the dot Strix returns, eyeing off the receeding backside of a man who most definitely didn't retire with a lukewarm, bread-based confectionary. You're still recovering; willing your hackles to lower and your heart to crawl back into your chest cavity with little success. For a brief moment Strix stands out front, watching you and mouthing something you can't make out over the thrumming in your blood. "$mc2_name? You good?" You manage a wordless nod, barely thinking as <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they squeeze<<else>>$strixhe squeezes<</if>> into the booth beside you. Perhaps mercifully, <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$strixhe doesn't<</if>> probe too much too quickly, simply offering concerned looks that you pretend not to notice. Eventually, Strix stumbles over something, "You need ah--a drink?" You offer a strange look, one halfway between a frown and a surprised gawk. Thom's doesn't offer drinks--whoever owns it is too cheap and like hell are either of you supplying any. Strix grins awkwardly, all teeth and zero confidence. "Water, I mean. You look like you could use something stronger but they don't encourage drinking on the job." [[Nod, still numb.|ch2stall1101]] [[''Ah, yes please,'' I manage to choke out.|ch2stall1102]] [[Shake my head, unable to find any words.|ch2stall1103]] [[''No. I'm good,'' Or at least good enough to speak.|cg2stakk1104]]

Strix hesitates, just for a moment, determining all the places $strixhe could possibly find a beverage of sufficient use. You don't care, your mind slowing to molasses as you claw back your senses with the gradual curl of your fist. Pale green eyes shift to the stall across the way, hold there for too long, before <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they relent<<else>>$strixhe relents<</if>> with the most world-weary of sighs. "I'll be right back." You nod once more, barely an acknowledgment amidst the the sound of Strix once more wandering off with a series of low curses. You watch as your scruffy co-worker weaves across the road, $strixhis sheer height and bulk shifting the crowds around $strixhim better than any polite request ever could. Strix does eventually make it to the other side, head bowed and shoulders slumped forward as <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they quietly converse<<else>>$strixhe quietly converses<</if>> with the pair who look on $strixhim with shifty eyes. You blink, and Strix is already on $strixhis way back, jogging more than walking just to return with $strixhis spoils. "I think I just got scammed," Comes the lamentation on arrival, a bottle of water no larger than your palm placed down on the cart before you. Strix offers a sheepish grin as your eyes shift from the bottle to the $strixman before you, a thin streak of sweat beading on $strixhis forehead. "You don't want to know how much this cost." "Thank you," You manage, though your throat feels like fire with every word. You open up the bottle with flimsy fingers and take a gulp... which promptly causes at least half of the bottled beverage to spontaniously disappear. [[''I think you got scammed, too.''|ch2stall1201][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Well, you tried. That counts for something.''|ch2stall1202][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''I think I do want to know how much this thing cost, actually.''|ch2stall1203][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[Don't bother speaking. Not until I've finished what remains of the bottle.|ch2stall1204]] [[''Couldn't even splurge for a bigger bottle. I'm ashamed for you.'' I shake my head in jest.|ch2stall1205][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]]

Your words come out in a stammer, really more of a choking string of sounds wrung from your clenching throat. Still, it's something, even if you'd expect more from yourself. Strix hesitates, just for a moment, determining all the places $strixhe could possibly find a beverage of sufficient use. You don't care, your mind slowing to molasses as you claw back your senses with the gradual curl of your fist. Pale green eyes shift to the stall across the way, hold there for too long, before <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they relent<<else>>$strixhe relents<</if>> with the most world-weary of sighs. "I'll be right back." You nod once more, barely an acknowledgment amidst the the sound of Strix once more wandering off with a series of low curses. You watch as your scruffy co-worker weaves across the road, $strixhis sheer height and bulk shifting the crowds around $strixhim better than any polite request ever could. Strix does eventually make it to the other side, head bowed and shoulders slumped forward as <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they quietly converse<<else>>$strixhe quietly converses<</if>> with the pair who look on $strixhim with shifty eyes. You blink, and Strix is already on $strixhis way back, jogging more than walking just to return with $strixhis spoils. "I think I just got scammed," Comes the lamentation on arrival, a bottle of water no larger than your palm placed down on the cart before you. Strix offers a sheepish grin as your eyes shift from the bottle to the $strixman before you, a thin streak of sweat beading on $strixhis forehead. "You don't want to know how much this cost." "Thank you," You manage, though your throat feels like fire with every word. You open up the bottle with flimsy fingers and take a gulp... which promptly causes at least half of the bottled beverage to spontaniously disappear. [[''I think you got scammed, too.''|ch2stall1201][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Well, you tried. That counts for something.''|ch2stall1202][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''I think I do want to know how much this thing cost, actually.''|ch2stall1203][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[Don't bother speaking. Not until I've finished what remains of the bottle.|ch2stall1204]] [[''Couldn't even splurge for a bigger bottle. I'm ashamed for you.'' I shake my head in jest.|ch2stall1205][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]]

You don't need a drink. You daresay you wouldn't be able to keep it down even if you did. Not when your stomach protests even movement, not when your body freezes at the mere thought of being left alone again. Because that's what would happen, if Strix were to go looking for something to clear your throat with. And... you can't have that. Just for now. Strix hesitates, like <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they aren't entirely sure<<else>>$strixhe isn't entirely sure<</if>> what to do... but relents all the same. A mercy, that, you're not sure what you'd do it $strixhe wandered off again. You bring yourself back down from the heights of fear by focusing on the clench of your fingers, how the joints pop, how the skin wrinkles with movement along the lines and creases years in the making. It doesn't work, not immediately, but it's something to concentrate on amidst the racing, running, fleeing thoughts picking away at the back of your skull. Strix... watches for a moment, mouth opening, closing, opening again... but nothing ever comes out. "What?" You manage after a time, a defensive frown shot $strixhis way with all the ferocity of a wounded cub. Your coworker fumbles, looks away with a grimace in the guise of a smile. "I just... wonder," Strix breathes, "If there's anything I can do to help." [[''Just chill out. You're making it worse.''|ch2stall1701][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''Just don't leave again. I can figure out the rest.''|ch2stall1702][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Frankly... there really isn't.''|ch2stall1703][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''I'll get back to you on that if I think of anything.''|ch2stall1704][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

"Really, I'm fine," You don't need a drink. You daresay you wouldn't be able to keep it down even if you did. Not when your stomach protests even movement, not when your body freezes at the mere thought of being left alone again. But at least your mouth has enough moisture so speaking isn't a chore. "Just give me a bit of time." Strix hesitates, like <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they aren't entirely sure<<else>>$strixhe isn't entirely sure<</if>> what to do... but relents all the same. A mercy, that, you're not sure what you'd do it $strixhe wandered off again. You bring yourself back down from the heights of fear by focusing on the clench of your fingers, how the joints pop, how the skin wrinkles with movement along the lines and creases years in the making. It doesn't work, not immediately, but it's something to concentrate on amidst the racing, running, fleeing thoughts picking away at the back of your skull. Strix... watches for a moment, mouth opening, closing, opening again... but nothing ever comes out. "What?" You manage after a time, a defensive frown shot $strixhis way with all the ferocity of a wounded cub. Your coworker fumbles, looks away with a grimace in the guise of a smile. "I just... wonder," Strix breathes, "If there's anything I can do to help." [[''Just chill out. You're making it worse.''|ch2stall1701][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''Just don't leave again. I can figure out the rest.''|ch2stall1702][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Frankly... there really isn't.''|ch2stall1703][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''I'll get back to you on that if I think of anything.''|ch2stall1704][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

You manage a weak smile, instantly outshined by the relief Strix displays just in a single twitch of $strixhis lips. "I think they're hiding the good stuff in their aprons, just between you and me." You look out across the way to find suspicious glares shot in your direction, lips pursed and arms folded between customers. <<if $sarc >=.5>>You find a grin just for the purpose of being slightly unsavory before downing the rest of the bottle, ensuring to maintain that eye contact the whole while.<<else>>You offer a happy wave, fighting against your body's exhaustion just to be polite.<</if>> Strix climbs into the booth once more and wipes $strishis forehead with a sigh. "I think that's the last we'll see of any generosity from those two," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they mutter<<else>>$strixhe mutters<</if>>, only somewhat in jest. "Ah well, I tried to bury the hatchet. I paid them and everything." "Did you really?" You ask, watching Strix' grin widen from the corner of your eye. "Pay them? Yes." Your eyes roll as your coworker chuckles from behind $strixhis hand. You take the time in that brief moment of levity to calm yourself, staring down at your uncertain hands as they twitch in and out of flimsy fists. Strix, however, sighs, "Do you, ah, wanna talk about it?" You look up, find yourself frowning at $strixhim. It's an undeserved, knee-jerk sort of irritation, as fleeting as it is vicious amidst the genuine concern shining clear on $strixhis round face. Strix grimaces and holds $strixhis hands up in a surrender. "That guy seemed to freak you out is all. I'm worried." [[''It won't cause any problems to you, if that's what you're asking.''|ch2stall1301][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''I appreciate the thought but I don't want to talk about it.''|ch2stall1302][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's just some asshole who thinks he can go around trying to scare people.''|ch2stall1303][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''You know how I told you that I work for a private company up top? It's related to that.''|ch3stall1304][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

/*is it obvious I watched alien last night?*/"Ouch, $mc2_name," Strix says, but there's no real hurt, no wound torn open in $strixhis chest cavity even as <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they rub<<else>>$strixhe rubs<</if>> at that pertinent spot. "I //would// have sold my arm for something more, if they'd let me." You roll your eyes and look out across the way to find suspicious glares shot in your direction, lips pursed and arms folded between customers. <<if $sarc >=.5>>You find a grin just for the purpose of being slightly unsavory before downing the rest of the bottle, ensuring to maintain that eye contact the whole while.<<else>>You offer a happy wave, fighting against your body's exhaustion just to be polite.<</if>> Strix climbs into the booth once more and wipes $strishis forehead with a sigh. "I think that's the last we'll see of any generosity from those two," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they mutter<<else>>$strixhe mutters<</if>>, only somewhat in jest. "Ah well, I tried to bury the hatchet. I paid them and everything." "Did you really?" You ask, watching Strix' grin widen from the corner of your eye. "Pay them? Yes." Your eyes roll as your coworker chuckles from behind $strixhis hand. You take the time in that brief moment of levity to calm yourself, staring down at your uncertain hands as they twitch in and out of flimsy fists. Strix, however, sighs, "Do you, ah, wanna talk about it?" You look up, find yourself frowning at $strixhim. It's an undeserved, knee-jerk sort of irritation, as fleeting as it is vicious amidst the genuine concern shining clear on $strixhis round face. Strix grimaces and holds $strixhis hands up in a surrender. "That guy seemed to freak you out is all. I'm worried." [[''It won't cause any problems to you, if that's what you're asking.''|ch2stall1301][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''I appreciate the thought but I don't want to talk about it.''|ch2stall1302][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's just some asshole who thinks he can go around trying to scare people.''|ch2stall1303][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''You know how I told you that I work for a private company up top? It's related to that.''|ch3stall1304][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

"Ah, well," Strix flounders, radiant, //wonderful// smile dimming to an awkward line just barely showing teeth. "You really wouldn't like the answer." "Just tell me," You shrug, one brow raised and the beginnings of a scowl trying to make its entrance. You're not trying to be abrasive, you really aren't... but if irritation grates at the edges of your tone, well, you're not feeling 100% yourself. Strix manages to stall for a good few seconds before crumbling entirely. "It was ten credits?" Your eyes bulge out of your head in sheer surprise, before promptly shifting to the impotent container clutched in your hand. Three entire credits would be too much for this. <<if $gruff >=.5>>"Holy hell," You grumble, staring down at the bottle with half of a glare, hoping that somehow your eyes bore holes into the wretched thing.<<else>>"Holy shit," You breathe, giving Strix a look that feels like despair.<</if>> "I know," Strix groans. "I think that's the extent of those two's //generosity//," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they mutter<<else>>$strixhe mutters<</if>>, only somewhat in jest. "Ah well, I tried to bury the hatchet. I paid them and everything." "Did you really?" You ask, watching Strix' grin widen from the corner of your eye. "I would have forgiven you for grabbing it and running." "Pay them? Yes." Your eyes roll as your coworker chuckles from behind $strixhis hand. You take the time in that brief moment of levity to calm yourself, staring down at your uncertain hands as they twitch in and out of flimsy fists. Strix, however, sighs, "Do you, ah, wanna talk about it?" You look up, find yourself frowning at $strixhim. It's an undeserved, knee-jerk sort of irritation, as fleeting as it is vicious amidst the genuine concern shining clear on $strixhis round face. Strix grimaces and holds $strixhis hands up in a surrender. "That guy seemed to freak you out is all. I'm worried." [[''It won't cause any problems to you, if that's what you're asking.''|ch2stall1301][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''I appreciate the thought but I don't want to talk about it.''|ch2stall1302][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's just some asshole who thinks he can go around trying to scare people.''|ch2stall1303][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''You know how I told you that I work for a private company up top? It's related to that.''|ch3stall1304][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

You don't need to speak, not when your throat is as parched as a desert, not when your body still shivers from your close brush with... you can't say 'death', that would be overdramatic, but your body certainly reacts like it was //this// close to meeting its end at the hands of a strange, tall man with no name. Even still, you manage a weak smile in Strix' direction. A reminder, you suppose, to be grateful. "I think that's the last we'll see of any generosity from those two," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they mutter<<else>>$strixhe mutters<</if>>, only somewhat in jest. "Ah well, I tried to bury the hatchet. I paid them and everything." "Did you really?" You ask, watching Strix' grin widen from the corner of your eye. "Pay them? Yes." Your eyes roll as your coworker chuckles from behind $strixhis hand. You take the time in that brief moment of levity to calm yourself, staring down at your uncertain hands as they twitch in and out of flimsy fists. Strix, however, sighs, "Do you, ah, wanna talk about it?" You look up, find yourself frowning at $strixhim. It's an undeserved, knee-jerk sort of irritation, as fleeting as it is vicious amidst the genuine concern shining clear on $strixhis round face. Strix grimaces and holds $strixhis hands up in a surrender. "That guy seemed to freak you out is all. I'm worried." [[''It won't cause any problems to you, if that's what you're asking.''|ch2stall1301][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''I appreciate the thought but I don't want to talk about it.''|ch2stall1302][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's just some asshole who thinks he can go around trying to scare people.''|ch2stall1303][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''You know how I told you that I work for a private company up top? It's related to that.''|ch3stall1304][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

"Really, don't you think a shivering ball of fear deserves more than this?" You shake the bottle like a weapon in Strix' direction, earning you a snicker. It really is a sorry excuse for a drink--do people actually pay for this? Maybe it's thanks to your time up top, but even the desert wasn't this stingy with the water rations. "Oh yeah, nevermind my poor wallet," Strix rolls $strixhis eyes and settles back on the heels of $strixhis feet. "I'm just saying," You say, scrounging up a grin from amidst the detritus of your anxieties. "At any rate, I think that's the last we'll see of any generosity from those two," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they mutter<<else>>$strixhe mutters<</if>>, only somewhat in jest. "Ah well, I tried to bury the hatchet. I paid them and everything." "Did you really?" You ask, watching Strix' grin widen from the corner of your eye. "Pay them? Yes." Your eyes roll as your coworker chuckles from behind $strixhis hand. You take the time in that brief moment of levity to calm yourself, staring down at your uncertain hands as they twitch in and out of flimsy fists. Strix, however, sighs, "Do you, ah, wanna talk about it?" You look up, find yourself frowning at $strixhim. It's an undeserved, knee-jerk sort of irritation, as fleeting as it is vicious amidst the genuine concern shining clear on $strixhis round face. Strix grimaces and holds $strixhis hands up in a surrender. "That guy seemed to freak you out is all. I'm worried." [[''It won't cause any problems to you, if that's what you're asking.''|ch2stall1301][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''I appreciate the thought but I don't want to talk about it.''|ch2stall1302][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's just some asshole who thinks he can go around trying to scare people.''|ch2stall1303][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''You know how I told you that I work for a private company up top? It's related to that.''|ch3stall1304][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

Strix blinks at you, a frown sinking over sage green eyes as a slow discomfort spreads across the rest of $strixhis face. "That's... not at all what I meant," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they say<<else>>$strixhe says<</if>>, something of a disappointed grimace presenting momentarily before <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they struggle<<else>>$strixhe struggles<</if>> it down. "I'm sorry, though, if that's how it came across." A whisper of guilt probes somewhere in your chest but you bury it with a sigh. Maybe you were a bit harsh, doesn't mean Strix isn't digging too deeply where <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they don't<<else>>$strixhe doesn't<</if>> belong. "Ah, no skin off my back if you don't want to tell me," Strix shrugs and offers a slightly less-than sure smile, but takes the hint all the same. "But the offer is there if you just want to scream at a wall some time." You roll your eyes, finding some semblance of comfort in Strix' breezy reply. At least <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they know<<else>>$strixhe knows<</if>> when not to poke an open sore. You let out a sigh just to give yourself something to do and find your coworker mimicking you. You don't think it's a purposeful act of immitation, more a mirror reflecting the boredom you both share. You certainly wouldn't have noticed it if you weren't looking at Strix at the time. If nothing else, you suppose you can thank that stranger for giving you something--even if it's just worry. [[''You've been doing this longer than I have. How do you deal with the boredom?''|ch2stall1401][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Why do you smoke that stuff?'' I say, gesturing to the cigarettes poking out of Strix' pocket. ''You don't have the serum do you?''|ch2stall1402][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''What's the bet that we're gonna get any more customers today?''|ch2stall1403][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[Just appreciate the silence.|ch2stall1404]]

Talking won't help. Short of finding the source of your woes and punching them into a premature goodnight, you doubt much of anything would //actually// make you feel any better. Not when your nerves scream at every touch. Strix blink at you, sage green eyes dimming with a distant understanding you decide not to place. "I getcha," Your coworker mumbles, "Talking isn't always the fix for things. But I'm here if you need me." You nod in quiet appreciation, but otherwise don't mention or continue the conversation. There's a comfort, in not having to express your fears in any way that matters, something nice about Strix just... not pressuiring you to talk when you don't want to. You let out a sigh just to give yourself something to do and find your coworker mimicking you. You don't think it's a purposeful act of immitation, more a mirror reflecting the boredom you both share. You certainly wouldn't have noticed it if you weren't looking at Strix at the time. If nothing else, you suppose you can thank that stranger for giving you something--even if it's just worry. [[''You've been doing this longer than I have. How do you deal with the boredom?''|ch2stall1401][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Why do you smoke that stuff?'' I say, gesturing to the cigarettes poking out of Strix' pocket. ''You don't have the serum do you?''|ch2stall1402][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''What's the bet that we're gonna get any more customers today?''|ch2stall1403][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[Just appreciate the silence.|ch2stall1404]]

"Lotta that going around these days," Strix sighs, the sound coming from deep within $strixhis chest. The offered smile, something a little sad but no less comforting, is edged with an understanding that chills the tips of your fingers. "What was it, did you ruin the day of someone important?" "Something like that," You say, because saying you don't actually know, or blaming your boss, would be admitting too much. "Best not to worry about it, right?" Strix offers a long look, staring at you for an extended moment of time as <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they consider<<else>>$strixhe considers<</if>> the honesty in your words. With an awkward grin, <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they turn<<else>>$strixhe turns<</if>> away. "Right." There's something comforting, you suppose, in the way Strix just doesn't push, but you both know neither of you believes what you're saying. For now, at least, Strix doesn't poke at the open sore and you can pretend nothing is amiss. You let out a sigh just to give yourself something to do and find your coworker mimicking you. You don't think it's a purposeful act of immitation, more a mirror reflecting the boredom you both share. You certainly wouldn't have noticed it if you weren't looking at Strix at the time. If nothing else, you suppose you can thank that stranger for giving you something--even if it's just worry. [[''You've been doing this longer than I have. How do you deal with the boredom?''|ch2stall1401][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Why do you smoke that stuff?'' I say, gesturing to the cigarettes poking out of Strix' pocket. ''You don't have the serum do you?''|ch2stall1402][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''What's the bet that we're gonna get any more customers today?''|ch2stall1403][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[Just appreciate the silence.|ch2stall1404]]

"Right," Strix nods in false understanding, eyes shifting away at the behest of your probing gaze. "Your boss giving you trouble? You're not being threatened are you?" Oh, if only $strixhe knew how close to the mark <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they are.<<else>>$strixhe is.<</if>> "Not in the way you're thinking," You correct, but don't elaborate no matter how hard Strix cocks $strixhis head at a fourty-five degree angle. Eventually, Strix shakes $strixhis head, giving up. There's something comforting, you suppose, in the way Strix just doesn't push when it's clear you aren't ready for a heart-to-heart. For now, at least, Strix doesn't poke at the open sore and you can pretend nothing is amiss. You let out a sigh just to give yourself something to do and find your coworker mimicking you. You don't think it's a purposeful act of immitation, more a mirror reflecting the boredom you both share. You certainly wouldn't have noticed it if you weren't looking at Strix at the time. If nothing else, you suppose you can thank that stranger for giving you something--even if it's just worry. [[''You've been doing this longer than I have. How do you deal with the boredom?''|ch2stall1401][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''Why do you smoke that stuff?'' I say, gesturing to the cigarettes poking out of Strix' pocket. ''You don't have the serum do you?''|ch2stall1402][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''What's the bet that we're gonna get any more customers today?''|ch2stall1403][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[Just appreciate the silence.|ch2stall1404]]

Strix laughs, something of a vague huff more than the usual, full-chested display of joy you're used to. "What boredom?" <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they say<<else>>$strixhe says<</if>>, but the grin tugging one corner of $strixhis mouth indicates there's no seriousness in the question. "Mostly, I don't. Mostly I just hope and pray to the nonexistent gods that someone will come along and throw a complaint at me, just to spice things up a little." "Nonexistent?" You ask, only partially curious. It's not an uncommon belief, in the Understreets most of all, but everyone has their own reasons for it. Strix shrugs, "I don't see any Divine Intervention down here." Fair enough, you don't poke $strixhim on it any further. You wile away the rest of your shift in what mostly feels like silence. You're sure you must share the occasional comversation but nothing particularly sticks out. When all is said and done, and the spotlights overhead begin to shut off in time with the mid-night cycle up on the disk, you can't help your breath of relief. Freedom. "Well, that sucked," Strix says, stretching $strixhis arms out wide as soon as <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they free<<else>>$strixhe frees<</if>> $strixhimself from the constricting confines of the stall. You each start to pack everything away, folding up what you can and otherwise covering over the rest. Neither of you both to throw away any unused stock--it always ends up replaced by the time the next shift. "Remind me why I do this again?" [[''For your kid, maybe?''|ch2stall1501][$sarc to $sarc -=.05]] [[''It sucked working with me? Wow, I sure feel loved.''|ch2stall1502][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''You know what? Yeah, it did suck.''|ch2stall1503][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''If you hate it so much why do you still do it?''|ch2stall1504][$manip to $manip -=.05]]

"Nah, I don't have the juice," Strix shrugs, "My parents couldn't afford it and I guess neither can I." And yet, there's something peaceful in the way Strix just accepts that as fact. There's no wailing against the coming tide of death, no lamentations on the topic of age. Not the place, you decide. "And the smoking...?" You probe, only to recieve a lopsided smile that fails to reach $strixhis eyes. "It's my business, $mc2_name," It's a gentle admonishment, just the smallest of steps away that draws shame out from the depths of your mind into the light. "And there's no dark story behind it, I just do it. The nonexistent gods haven't written in the starts that I am the way I am." "Nonexistent?" You ask, more just to flee from the worst parts of the conversation. It's not an uncommon belief, in the Understreets most of all, but everyone has their own reasons for it. Strix shrugs, "I don't see any Divine Intervention down here." Fair enough, you don't poke $strixhim on it any further. You wile away the rest of your shift in what mostly feels like silence. You're sure you must share the occasional comversation but nothing particularly sticks out. When all is said and done, and the spotlights overhead begin to shut off in time with the mid-night cycle up on the disk, you can't help your breath of relief. Freedom. "Well, that sucked," Strix says, stretching $strixhis arms out wide as soon as <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they free<<else>>$strixhe frees<</if>> $strixhimself from the constricting confines of the stall. You each start to pack everything away, folding up what you can and otherwise covering over the rest. Neither of you both to throw away any unused stock--it always ends up replaced by the time the next shift. "Remind me why I do this again?" [[''For your kid, maybe?''|ch2stall1501][$sarc to $sarc -=.05]] [[''It sucked working with me? Wow, I sure feel loved.''|ch2stall1502][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''You know what? Yeah, it did suck.''|ch2stall1503][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''If you hate it so much why do you still do it?''|ch2stall1504][$manip to $manip -=.05]]

"I'd put fourty on none, but I can't afford that much today," Strix laughs and shakes $strixhis head, chest heaving with the effort. "It'll have to be ten today." "Stingy," You hiss, giving $strixhim a poke. Another, startled, chuckle pushes forth from $strixhis chest, but it dies in $strixhis throat just as quickly. "Yeah, but I have a family to think about." There's nothing malicious in the words, or in $strix tone, but it hurts a bit all the same. Strix falters, offers a cringe. "Sorry, didn't mean it like that. I swear, if the Gods existed, it would be great if they struck me down, like, now." "You don't think they exist?" You ask, only partially curious. It's not an uncommon belief, in the Understreets most of all, but everyone has their own reasons for it. Strix shrugs, "You don't see a smoking pile of ash before you, do you?" Fair enough, you don't poke $strixhim on it any further. You wile away the rest of your shift in what mostly feels like silence. You're sure you must share the occasional comversation but nothing particularly sticks out. When all is said and done, and the spotlights overhead begin to shut off in time with the mid-night cycle up on the disk, you can't help your breath of relief. Freedom. "Well, that sucked," Strix says, stretching $strixhis arms out wide as soon as <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they free<<else>>$strixhe frees<</if>> $strixhimself from the constricting confines of the stall. You each start to pack everything away, folding up what you can and otherwise covering over the rest. Neither of you both to throw away any unused stock--it always ends up replaced by the time the next shift. "Remind me why I do this again?" [[''For your kid, maybe?''|ch2stall1501][$sarc to $sarc -=.05]] [[''It sucked working with me? Wow, I sure feel loved.''|ch2stall1502][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''You know what? Yeah, it did suck.''|ch2stall1503][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''If you hate it so much why do you still do it?''|ch2stall1504][$manip to $manip -=.05]]

You don't need to fill the silence just to be comfortable, and you like to think Strix appreciates the silence with you. It allows you time to just appreciate the company, or to wallow in your thoughts without being bothered or pressured to perform a social script you never practised for. Sure, eventually boredom sets in when you don't have anything to do, and you start to gnaw at the skin of your lips, at your nails and the tips of your fingers... but Strix never mentions it. A mercy, if not a kindness. You wile away the rest of your shift in what mostly feels like silence. You're sure you must share the occasional comversation but nothing particularly sticks out. When all is said and done, and the spotlights overhead begin to shut off in time with the mid-night cycle up on the disk, you can't help your breath of relief. Freedom. "Well, that sucked," Strix says, stretching $strixhis arms out wide as soon as <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they free<<else>>$strixhe frees<</if>> $strixhimself from the constricting confines of the stall. You each start to pack everything away, folding up what you can and otherwise covering over the rest. Neither of you both to throw away any unused stock--it always ends up replaced by the time the next shift. "Remind me why I do this again?" [[''For your kid, maybe?''|ch2stall1501][$sarc to $sarc -=.05]] [[''It sucked working with me? Wow, I sure feel loved.''|ch2stall1502][$sarc to $sarc +=.05]] [[''You know what? Yeah, it did suck.''|ch2stall1503][$gruff to $gruff +=.05]] [[''If you hate it so much why do you still do it?''|ch2stall1504][$manip to $manip -=.05]]

"Oh yeah, that's right," Strix chuckles and extricates $strixhimself from the constricting grip of $strixhis apron. The cheap slab of green cloth is folded into a tiny square and tucked halfway into $strixhis pocket, forgotten now that it's served its use. "The things we do for those we love, right?" "I don't know about that," You admit, perhaps quietly, you can't say you have much experience with love. Not these days at any rate. Still, at least Strix seems to have the life <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they want.<<else>>$strixhe wants.<</if>> For good or for ill, Strix doesn't offer an answer, instead simply helping you push the old shell of the stall into the nearby alleyway that serves as its home. You dubiously tuck the daily spoils into an old lockbox crudely welded to the side and shove the remaining stock behind the bulk of the stall itself. There's nothing technically stopping anyone from taking it, except a threat to your paycheck and maybe an Enforcer visit. You cringe and turn away. "Right, I'm off," Strix says with finality, offering a flimsy wave. Even late into the night, Strix' smile hasn't grown any dimmer. "If I'm lucky, the kid'll still be awake to say g'night." From what you hear, it's likely. [[''Yeah, see you next week.'' Polite, professional, but to the point.|ch2stall1601]] [[''Say hello to her for me.''|ch2stall1602]] [[''You try to get some sleep too, though.''|ch2stall1603]]

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Strix faces you, friendly accusation clear as day on $strixhis smile. "But I //can// shower you in compliments if you're really that deprived." <<if $sarc >=.5>>"Oh, perish the thought," You say, waving your hand as if dispelling a foul magic. "How else would I maintain my veneer of apathetic distance?"<<else>>"Hell, please don't," You cringe, waving your arms in an attempt to dispell that horrible, evil grin spreading wider on Strix' face. If a smile were to ever look out of place on $strixhis face, this would be the one.<</if>> "I won't, promise." Any malice, however friendly, that may have been present against the onslaught of your shame, dissipates entirely, replaced instead by a respectful line. //Safe//. For good or for ill, Strix doesn't continue the conversation, instead simply helping you push the old shell of the stall into the nearby alleyway that serves as its home. You dubiously tuck the daily spoils into an old lockbox crudely welded to the side and shove the remaining stock behind the bulk of the stall itself. There's nothing technically stopping anyone from taking it, except a threat to your paycheck and maybe an Enforcer visit. You cringe and turn away. "Right, I'm off," Strix says with finality, offering a flimsy wave. Even late into the night, Strix' smile hasn't grown any dimmer. "If I'm lucky, the kid'll still be awake to say g'night." From what you hear, it's likely. [[''Yeah, see you next week.'' Polite, professional, but to the point.|ch2stall1601]] [[''Say hello to her for me.''|ch2stall1602]] [[''You try to get some sleep too, though.''|ch2stall1603]]

What else can you say? That it was a lovely time? That you genuinely enjoyed the quiet? However true either of those statements may be... you can't find it in you to partake in anything genuine. Not now, at any rate. "Glad we agree," Strix nods, "Almost as great as when we disagree." You don't think you've //really//, //truly// heard Strix voice a dissenting opinion, so you can't speak to that specifically. Either way, you allow it with a shrug. For good or for ill Strix says no more on the topic, instead simply helping you push the old shell of the stall into the nearby alleyway that serves as its home. You dubiously tuck the daily spoils into an old lockbox crudely welded to the side and shove the remaining stock behind the bulk of the stall itself. There's nothing technically stopping anyone from taking it, except a threat to your paycheck and maybe an Enforcer visit. You cringe and turn away. "Right, I'm off," Strix says with finality, offering a flimsy wave. Even late into the night, Strix' smile hasn't grown any dimmer. "If I'm lucky, the kid'll still be awake to say g'night." From what you hear, it's likely. [[''Yeah, see you next week.'' Polite, professional, but to the point.|ch2stall1601]] [[''Say hello to her for me.''|ch2stall1602]] [[''You try to get some sleep too, though.''|ch2stall1603]]

"Need the money," It's a simple answer, one you probably should have expected. Even still, it's a little disappointing. "You could also get another job to do that." "In this economy?" Strix says, eyes wide and mouth hanging momentarily agape, "$mc2_name, everyone's looking for a job and no one's hiring. You think someone who isn't even juiced up is gonna get a job anywhere //reputable//?" Hard to argue that. You remain silent. For good or for ill Strix says no more on the topic, instead simply helping you push the old shell of the stall into the nearby alleyway that serves as its home. You dubiously tuck the daily spoils into an old lockbox crudely welded to the side and shove the remaining stock behind the bulk of the stall itself. There's nothing technically stopping anyone from taking it, except a threat to your paycheck and maybe an Enforcer visit. You cringe and turn away. "Right, I'm off," Strix says with finality, offering a flimsy wave. Even late into the night, Strix' smile hasn't grown any dimmer. "If I'm lucky, the kid'll still be awake to say g'night." From what you hear, it's likely. [[''Yeah, see you next week.'' Polite, professional, but to the point.|ch2stall1601]] [[''Say hello to her for me.''|ch2stall1602]] [[''You try to get some sleep too, though.''|ch2stall1603]]

Strix nods and wanders off with one final goodbye, leaving you to find your own way home. Lucky for you that the apartment isn't much farther off the main street. Even still, though Strix went a long way to calming your aching nerves after that not-quite-threat the strange man had given you, you still find yourself leering into the shadows of the night as if he'll make his appearance once more. Paranoid tugs somewhere at the back of your throat, wraps a tight scarf around your throat in a constricting collar of distant fear. Try as you might, you just can't shrug it off as you walk the usual track to home. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

Strix nods with that usual, radiant smile and offers one final goodbye before wandering off, leaving you to find your own way home. Lucky for you that the apartment isn't much farther off the main street. Even still, though Strix went a long way to calming your aching nerves after that not-quite-threat the strange man had given you, you still find yourself leering into the shadows of the night as if he'll make his appearance once more. Paranoid tugs somewhere at the back of your throat, wraps a tight scarf around your throat in a constricting collar of distant fear. Try as you might, you just can't shrug it off as you walk the usual track to home. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

Strix pauses halfway through a goodbye, lips twitching. "I'll give it my best," <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they say<<else>>$strixhe says<</if>> but it doesn't sound as sure as you think <<if $strix_gender is "non">>they intend<<else>>$strixhe intends<</if>> it. Either way, Strix offers a nod and completes the motion of $strixhis goodbye, before leaving you to find your own way home. Lucky for you that the apartment isn't much farther off the main street. Even still, though Strix went a long way to calming your aching nerves after that not-quite-threat the strange man had given you, you still find yourself leering into the shadows of the night as if he'll make his appearance once more. Paranoid tugs somewhere at the back of your throat, wraps a tight scarf around your throat in a constricting collar of distant fear. Try as you might, you just can't shrug it off as you walk the usual track to home. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

If you're smart, and if he isn't as dangerous as he makes himself out to be, you could probably get away in a pinch. As it is, however, he's too close to really make a break for it without at least one of his limbs snatching at you. "Not so fast," He gruffs in a deep, gravelly voice as he swipes some shaggy, black hair from his eyes. There's something dangerous edging his tone, a distinct knifepoint held to your throat with words alone. Your hackles raise and for the first time in ten years something else in the back of your mind stirs to tell you to run. But you can't. It's too late. One step out of line and he'd be able to grab you--you aren't that fast anymore. Your eyes frantically search the man's face for any recognisable feature that could clue you in to his identity but all you find is the vague excruciating familiarity of his squared off shoulders. He stands like an Enforcer. [[''I think you've got the wrong person.''|ch2stage0601][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''I'm sorry, do I know you?''|ch2stage0602][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[I remain silent. Prove that I'm not afraid of him.|ch2stage0603][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''Can... I help you?''|ch2stage0604][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

You could probably give him a run for his money at any rate, but you're not sure if that's something you want to risk when you're already at a disadvantage. You move to pass him by, but you're interupted by an arm held out that crushes any thought of getting out of this confrontation. "Not so fast," He gruffs in a deep, gravelly voice as he swipes some shaggy, black hair from his eyes. There's something dangerous edging his tone, a distinct knifepoint held to your throat with words alone. Your hackles raise and for the first time in ten years something else in the back of your mind stirs to tell you to run. But you can't. It's too late. One step out of line and he'd be able to grab you--you aren't that fast anymore. Your eyes frantically search the man's face for any recognisable feature that could clue you in to his identity but all you find is the vague excruciating familiarity of his squared off shoulders. He stands like an Enforcer. [[''I think you've got the wrong person.''|ch2stage0601][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''I'm sorry, do I know you?''|ch2stage0602][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[I remain silent. Prove that I'm not afraid of him.|ch2stage0603][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''Can... I help you?''|ch2stage0604][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

He's tall, but you're taller. If he isn't as capable as he makes himself out to be, you can probably shrug him off if he dares to grab at you. Maybe. You could probably give him a run for his money at any rate, but you're not sure if that's something you want to risk when you're already at a disadvantage. You move to pass him by, but you're interupted by an arm held out that crushes any thought of getting out of this confrontation. "Not so fast," He gruffs in a deep, gravelly voice as he swipes some shaggy, black hair from his eyes. There's something dangerous edging his tone, a distinct knifepoint held to your throat with words alone. Your hackles raise and for the first time in ten years something else in the back of your mind stirs to tell you to run. But you can't. It's too late. One step out of line and he'd be able to grab you--you aren't that fast anymore. Your eyes frantically search the man's face for any recognisable feature that could clue you in to his identity but all you find is the vague excruciating familiarity of his squared off shoulders. He stands like an Enforcer. [[''I think you've got the wrong person.''|ch2stage0601][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]] [[''I'm sorry, do I know you?''|ch2stage0602][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[I remain silent. Prove that I'm not afraid of him.|ch2stage0603][$deimos_r to $deimos_r +=.05]] [[''Can... I help you?''|ch2stage0604][$deimos_f to $deimos_f +=.02]]

Too close. Not safe. Whether Kim means it in any genuine display of worry doesn't matter. You still feel that nagging apprehension pulling out your insides. You can't deal with genuine right now. Maybe not ever. You offer Kim a polite nod, tugging the door shut behind you, and only then do you let loose a low hiss through clenched teeth. Though the tea, and pleasant company, stilled the majority of your raging nerves you're still on somewhat shaky ground; your head still feels heavy on your shoulders, skin still aches like pins poking at the sore points. You're still not... fully you. And Kim... $kimhe helped. You're not sure what you expected of $kimhim, but it wasn't that. You've worked with $kimhim for a little bit of time now, long enough to get used to the silence, to the way $kimhes just so good at saying absolutely nothing for extended bouts of time. You figured Kim was just surly. Now, you're not so sure. You take a steeling breath and set off into the night. [[Continue|ch2pg37]]

"Oh," Strix mumbles, cheeks turning pink in shame. "I didn't mean..." "You're doing it again," You remind $strixhim, fighting your buffering mind just to keep yourself from snapping too hard. While Strix might have good intentions, that doesn't mean anything if the anxiety is eating away at $strixhim more than you. "Just take a breath." Strix does just that, allowing you a moment to breathe through the vein pounding in the side of your neck. Eventually, Strix manages to get a hold of $strixhimself, a placid, pleasant expression schooled onto $strixhis features in place of the hesitant wince that boils your blood just under the skin. "Do you want to talk about it?" You look up, find yourself frowning at $strixhim. It's an undeserved, knee-jerk sort of irritation, as fleeting as it is vicious amidst the genuine concern shining clear on $strixhis round face. Strix grimaces and holds $strixhis hands up in a surrender. "That guy seemed to freak you out is all. I'm worried." [[''It won't cause any problems to you, if that's what you're asking.''|ch2stall1301][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''I appreciate the thought but I don't want to talk about it.''|ch2stall1302][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's just some asshole who thinks he can go around trying to scare people.''|ch2stall1303][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''You know how I told you that I work for a private company up top? It's related to that.''|ch3stall1304][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

"Oh," Strix mumbles, cheeks turning pink in shame. "Okay, I can do that." "It's just easier of you give me a bit of time," You remind $strixhim, fighting your buffering mind just to keep yourself from snapping too hard. While Strix might have good intentions, that doesn't mean anything if the anxiety is eating away at $strixhim more than you. "Just take a breath, we'll be fine." Strix does just that, allowing you a moment to breathe through the vein pounding in the side of your neck. Eventually, Strix manages to get a hold of $strixhimself, a placid, pleasant expression schooled onto $strixhis features in place of the hesitant wince that boils your blood just under the skin. "Do you want to talk about it?" You look up, find yourself frowning at $strixhim. It's an undeserved, knee-jerk sort of irritation, as fleeting as it is vicious amidst the genuine concern shining clear on $strixhis round face. Strix grimaces and holds $strixhis hands up in a surrender. "That guy seemed to freak you out is all. I'm worried." [[''It won't cause any problems to you, if that's what you're asking.''|ch2stall1301][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''I appreciate the thought but I don't want to talk about it.''|ch2stall1302][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's just some asshole who thinks he can go around trying to scare people.''|ch2stall1303][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''You know how I told you that I work for a private company up top? It's related to that.''|ch3stall1304][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

"Oh," Strix mumbles, cheeks turning pink in shame. "I'm sorry." "Don't apologise. It isn't your fault." You remind $strixhim, fighting your buffering mind just to keep yourself from snapping too hard. While Strix might have good intentions, that doesn't mean anything if the anxiety is eating away at $strixhim more than you. "Just take a breath." Strix does just that, allowing you a moment to breathe through the vein pounding in the side of your neck. Eventually, Strix manages to get a hold of $strixhimself, a placid, pleasant expression schooled onto $strixhis features in place of the hesitant wince that boils your blood just under the skin. "Do you want to talk about it?" You look up, find yourself frowning at $strixhim. It's an undeserved, knee-jerk sort of irritation, as fleeting as it is vicious amidst the genuine concern shining clear on $strixhis round face. Strix grimaces and holds $strixhis hands up in a surrender. "That guy seemed to freak you out is all. I'm worried." [[''It won't cause any problems to you, if that's what you're asking.''|ch2stall1301][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''I appreciate the thought but I don't want to talk about it.''|ch2stall1302][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's just some asshole who thinks he can go around trying to scare people.''|ch2stall1303][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''You know how I told you that I work for a private company up top? It's related to that.''|ch3stall1304][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

Whether you intend to actually do that is another matter. One left unspoken. "Oh," Strix mumbles, cheeks turning pink in shame. "Please do." "It isn't your responsibility, at any rate." You remind $strixhim, fighting your buffering mind just to keep yourself from snapping too hard. While Strix might have good intentions, that doesn't mean anything if the anxiety is eating away at $strixhim more than you. "Just take a breath." Strix does just that, allowing you a moment to breathe through the vein pounding in the side of your neck. Eventually, Strix manages to get a hold of $strixhimself, a placid, pleasant expression schooled onto $strixhis features in place of the hesitant wince that boils your blood just under the skin. "Do you want to talk about it?" You look up, find yourself frowning at $strixhim. It's an undeserved, knee-jerk sort of irritation, as fleeting as it is vicious amidst the genuine concern shining clear on $strixhis round face. Strix grimaces and holds $strixhis hands up in a surrender. "That guy seemed to freak you out is all. I'm worried." [[''It won't cause any problems to you, if that's what you're asking.''|ch2stall1301][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''I appreciate the thought but I don't want to talk about it.''|ch2stall1302][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]] [[''It's just some asshole who thinks he can go around trying to scare people.''|ch2stall1303][$strix_r to $strix_r +=.05]] [[''You know how I told you that I work for a private company up top? It's related to that.''|ch3stall1304][$strix_f to $strix_f +=.05]]

<<nobr>><<set $carol_r to $carol_r + 0.05>><<set $crude to $crude + 0.05>> Carol stares at you for a very long time, allowing the heat settled in the room to sink into your bones like a heavy blanket. It feels as if she's examining you for weaknesses not even you could pinpoint--you feel your breath sharpen and your nails digging into the bar. Brows furrowing, she pushes herself up from the stool and takes a hold of her shotgun, giving Harley a nod on the way up. "Follow me." She says, stomping to the door with a heavy sigh.<</nobr>> Sliding off your own stool with your hat in your hand, your feet feel like lead, your head swimming momentarily as you try to keep focus on Carol as she rests herself against the doorframe. Hot, burning, something in your mind screams as you drag yourself closer and closer to the entryway, amber eyes like fire watching you with what could be interest or disdain. Hell, both is just as likely. "You can keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better," Carol finally says when you get to her, warily eyeing that gun slung over her shoulder. She could just... shoot you, and you wouldn't get a chance to react. She won't though, she won't. One of her dark brows raise as she follows your gaze, lips pursing. "I just think your personalities are... like water on hot sand. If they're ever ready for a friendship with you I'm sure they'll tell you, but right now..." Carol slaps you on the back a little too hard and tugs your hat back onto your head. "Right now you just need to get along." Carol looks past you and over your shoulder as Lowrie bounds down the staircase with one of Caroline's hats on their head, wild black hair sticking to their face with sweat. In but a few long strides, and a little wave to Harley, they reach the two of you in the exact amount of time it takes for you to give Carol a questioning glare. [[Ignored once more for that pretty partner of hers.|ch1-pg11]]

<<nobr>><<set $ch1_task to "gun">><<set $lowrie_f to $lowrie_f + 0.05>>Carol matches your gaze, eyes flittering from one eye to the next before focusing on the picture as a whole. The crease between her brows smoothens out after a moment. Quiet acceptance and, behind it, perhaps gratitude. "Okay," She breathes, shoulders sagging, "Then, then we'll give you a crate of bullets and send you off."<</nobr>> "It's the right decision," Lowrie nods firm, lips tightening, fingers curling around their biceps. Though their face is firm, jaw tight, they're not looking at Carol. "We can't afford to give away our water." "I know that, but I thought--" Carol doesn't so much as raise her voice as hardens it, turning fully to Lowrie this time and catching that blank gaze with lips pursed into a thin line, "You know what I think. But there's only a finite amount of bullets in this world, I hope you know what you're doing." "//I// do, at the very least." Lowrie murmurs, shifting from foot to foot as Harley places a small box onto the bar from a compartment. Bullets. No other word is said as Lowrie takes the box and tucks it under their arm, secure and safe but out of your reach for now. You wonder whether they'll even trust you with it, but hold your tongue. For now. Caroline sighs and drops whatever battle is brewing between the two with a shake of her head. The last thing she says to each of you before you head out is a succinct, [[''Alright. Decisions made. Get outta here, get it done.''|ch1-pg17]]

"Are you mad?" Lowrie hisses, turning to you with a short, sharp jerk of the neck, "Those things carry infection in their saliva. At best you'll lose a limb if you get bitten." Your mouth twitches but you turn away before it can split into a proper smile. "I know," You force a stammer, "But we're running low on bullets and I was just wondering..." "Stop wondering," Lowrie sighs with a shake of the head, "That's how you get yourself killed." Time passes; you're not sure how long. Desert blends into more desert, more desert blends into old shrubbery and thorns that somehow still persist despite it all. Time out here in Wasteland is nebulous, nothing but a construct that may as well mean nothing when it comes to matters of survival. All Wasteland knows is the scorching heat of day and the bitter cold of night, and Ancients help you if you get lost in either. At some point after their begrudging appreciation Lowrie turns to you once more, sweat dripping from the end of their impossibly straight nose. <<if $carol_f > $carol_r>>Though they try to put on that usual blank mask, perhaps for your benefit, the expression just... doesn't fit their face. "I only say this nicely because Carol seems to like you," They start, "But if we can get the job done quickly, we can part ways without conflict."<<else>>There's a scowl written clear as day, something incredulous and childish in their stare. "Let's just get this job done. I don't want to work with you any longer than I have to."<</if>> The statement gives you pause, enough at least that for a few seconds as Lowrie turns away you can only stare agape at them. Indeed, even your usually active mind seems stunned to silence. [[''I'm sorry?''|ch1-pg19-01][$crude to $crude - 0.05]] [[''What did I ever do to you?''|ch1-pg19-02][$right to $right + 0.05]] [[''Who spat in your drink this morning?''|ch1-pg19-03][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[''Oh piss off you prat! I never did shit to you.''|ch1-pg19-04][$crude to $crude + 0.05]]

You lean sideways in your saddle, inching closer to Lowrie who's suddenly spluttering at you. That usual glare falters, morphing into confusion, then a placid, unwavering line. "Don't be ridiculous." A grin tears across your face, you double down. If you can't //stop// Lowrie's suspicions, the least you can do is make them shut up for a bit. "Well, you see, I've always wondered why you were always so obsessed with me," You say, eyes narrowed, "And then it hit me." "Do go on," Lowrie groans, righting themself and setting their gaze pointedly forward. "I'm sure it'll be... enlightening." "You don't give this much trouble to Mordred, or anyone else, really," You say, "It got me thinking. I think you just don't know what to do about being attracted to me. So you're just an asshole about it." Lowrie's head tips back, face exposed to the harsh sun. On it, a cringe sits comfortably, teeth bared and eyes clenched shut. They groan, head shaking, and the only thing they can manage in reply is a tense, "Let's just stop talking for a while." You'll take that win. For now, you accept the silence, allow the heat boiling in your gut to calm under the unrepentant sun. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-water]]<<else>>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-gun]]<</if>>

You level Lowrie with an even, unerring stare, fighting all your conscious faculties not to shoot them down with a wild glare. You won't be the animal they say you are. "Are you happy?" You breathe, equal parts soothing motion and forced, clear communication superseding the raging monster in your mind, "Mistrusting everyone who doesn't tell you their life story?" Lowrie watches you, eyes cautious, half-lidded under the brim of their hat. They're silent, barely even breathing as they wait to see where you're going. Just slightly, they lean sideways in their saddle, as if shifting away from you for sheer dislike. No answer--answer enough. "I know I'm not, getting interrogated all the time," And you swallow the venom building in your mouth, throat clenching around a little ball of hate, "So, I think I'm just going to tell you to lay off." The stalemate shifts--breaks, even--when Lowrie looks away and sniffs. "Even so," They mutter, voice low, quiet, and their throat bobs against the collar of their off-white button up. You wait, too long, for something to spill forth from their lips--a curse, an apology, anything--but nothing ever comes of it. "You don't have to trust me," You say, staring down at your hands and //willing// yourself not to growl. That's the animal in you talking, you're not an animal. "But I've earned my place in Eden, and I don't have to explain myself to you." Lowrie doesn't reply, staring straight ahead at the horizon and pushing their horse forward just enough to get ahead of you. For now, you accept the silence, allow the heat boiling in your gut to calm under the unrepentant sun. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-water]]<<else>>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-gun]]<</if>>

You level Lowrie with an even, unerring stare, fighting all your conscious faculties not to shoot them down with a wild glare. You won't be the animal they say you are. "Let's be honest," You breathe, equal parts soothing motion and forced, clear communication superseding the raging monster in your mind, "We aren't friends." Lowrie watches you, eyes cautious, half-lidded under the brim of their hat. They're silent, barely even breathing as they wait to see where you're going. Just slightly, they lean sideways in their saddle, as if shifting away from you for sheer dislike. "You don't trust me? Well," And you swallow the venom building in your mouth, throat clenching around a little ball of hate, "I don't trust you. And I see no reason to tell you my side of the story if you're not going to give me basic respect." The stalemate shifts--breaks, even--when Lowrie looks away and sniffs. "Even so," They mutter, voice low, quiet, and their throat bobs against the collar of their off-white button up. You wait, too long, for something to spill forth from their lips--a curse, an apology, anything--but nothing ever comes of it. "You don't have to trust me," You say, staring down at your hands and //willing// yourself not to growl. That's the animal in you talking, you're not an animal. "But I've earned my place in Eden, and I don't have to explain myself to you." Lowrie doesn't reply, staring straight ahead at the horizon and pushing their horse forward just enough to get ahead of you. For now, you accept the silence, allow the heat boiling in your gut to calm under the unrepentant sun. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-water]]<<else>>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-gun]]<</if>>

You level Lowrie with an even, unerring stare, fighting all your conscious faculties not to shoot them down with a wild glare. You won't be the animal they say you are. "I'm never gonna be able to make you happy Lowrie," You breathe, equal parts soothing motion and forced, clear communication superseding the raging monster in your mind, "You've made your opinion clear." Lowrie watches you, eyes cautious, half-lidded under the brim of their hat. They're silent, barely even breathing as they wait to see where you're going. Just slightly, they lean sideways in their saddle, as if shifting away from you for sheer dislike. "I don't need to earn your trust," And you swallow the venom building in your mouth, throat clenching around a little ball of hate, "I know by now that it's a losing battle. So, why should I even care what you think?" The stalemate shifts--breaks, even--when Lowrie looks away and sniffs. "Even so," They mutter, voice low, quiet, and their throat bobs against the collar of their off-white button up. You wait, too long, for something to spill forth from their lips--a curse, an apology, anything--but nothing ever comes of it. "You don't have to trust me," You say, staring down at your hands and //willing// yourself not to growl. That's the animal in you talking, you're not an animal. "But I've earned my place in Eden, and I don't have to explain myself to you." Lowrie doesn't reply, staring straight ahead at the horizon and pushing their horse forward just enough to get ahead of you. For now, you accept the silence, allow the heat boiling in your gut to calm under the unrepentant sun. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-water]]<<else>>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-gun]]<</if>>

You level Lowrie with an even, unerring stare, fighting all your conscious faculties not to shoot them down with a wild glare. You won't be the animal they say you are. They falter, but only long enough for grey eyes to flicket to their hands then back up again. "Granted, one woman's trust doesn't mean I'm //trustworthy//," You breathe, equal parts soothing motion and forced, clear communication superseding the raging monster in your mind, "But I take her opinion into account more than yours." Lowrie watches you, eyes cautious, half-lidded under the brim of their hat. They're silent, barely even breathing as they wait to see where you're going. Just slightly, they lean sideways in their saddle, as if shifting away from you for sheer dislike. "So, I think," And you swallow the venom building in your mouth, throat clenching around a little ball of hate, "I'm going to trust her judgment more than yours, going forward." The stalemate shifts--breaks, even--when Lowrie looks away and sniffs. "Even so," They mutter, voice low, quiet, and their throat bobs against the collar of their off-white button up. You wait, too long, for something to spill forth from their lips--a curse, an apology, anything--but nothing ever comes of it. "You don't have to trust me," You say, staring down at your hands and //willing// yourself not to growl. That's the animal in you talking, you're not an animal. "But I've earned my place in Eden, and I don't have to explain myself to you." Lowrie doesn't reply, staring straight ahead at the horizon and pushing their horse forward just enough to get ahead of you. For now, you accept the silence, allow the heat boiling in your gut to calm under the unrepentant sun. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-water]]<<else>>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-gun]]<</if>>

Lowrie lurches sideways in their saddle as if they've just been struck, stirrups tipping forward to compensate for their awkward center balance. A part of you almost pushes sideways, kicks the horse up into a trot just to see if you can't nudge them off... but the bastard of common sense gives you a knock upside the head for your thoughts. "Ask me a proper question instead of throwing accusations around," You say through clenched teeth. "Maybe if we were actually //friends// you'd know more about me, maybe if you made an effort you'd be entitled to my side of the story." Lowrie rights themself only to glower, but it frays at the edges--falters in the midst of your accusations. Grey eyes burn red, skin going ruddy in the sun, even under their wide-brimmed hat. You hold that gaze, a red hot anger burning wild in your lungs, exhaling rage like you live and breathe the stuff. Even still, you keep your mouth closed, will your teeth not to show. For if you did, you're sure Lowrie would see the monster they're so convinced you are. The stalemate shifts--breaks, even--when they look away and sniff. "I don't trust you," They mutter, voice low, quiet, and their throat bobs against the collar of their off-white button up. "You don't have to," You reply, staring down at your hands and //willing// yourself not to growl. That's the animal in you talking, you're not an animal. "But I've earned my place in Eden, and I don't have to explain myself to you." Lowrie doesn't reply, staring straight ahead at the horizon and pushing their horse forward just enough to get ahead of you. For now, you accept the silence, allow the heat boiling in your gut to calm under the unrepentant sun. A win, but it certainly doesn't feel like one. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-water]]<<else>>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-gun]]<</if>>

Lowrie lurches sideways in their saddle as if they've just been struck, stirrups tipping forward to compensate for their awkward center balance. A part of you almost pushes sideways, kicks the horse up into a trot just to see if you can't nudge them off... but the bastard of common sense gives you a knock upside the head for your thoughts. "I //try// to be polite," You say through clenched teeth. Whether strictly true or not... doesn't matter; you've got Lowrie on the backfoot. That has to be enough, "I //try// to get on--for Carol's sake if not for mine--but I've had it up to here with your shit." Lowrie rights themself only to glower, barely a word eking past tightly clenched lips. Grey eyes burn red at the edges, skin going ruddy in the sun, even under their wide-brimmed hat. You hold that gaze, a red hot anger burning wild in your lungs, exhaling rage like you live and breathe the stuff. Even still, you keep your mouth closed, will your teeth not to show. For if you did, you're sure Lowrie would see the monster they're so convinced you are. The stalemate shifts--breaks, even--when they look away and sniff. "I don't trust you," They mutter, voice low, quiet, and their throat bobs against the collar of their off-white button up. "You don't have to," You reply, staring down at your hands and //willing// yourself not to growl. That's the animal in you talking, you're not an animal. "But I've earned my place in Eden, and I don't have to explain myself to you." Lowrie doesn't reply, staring straight ahead at the horizon and pushing their horse forward just enough to get ahead of you. For now, you accept the silence, allow the heat boiling in your gut to calm under the unrepentant sun. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-water]]<<else>>[[Not long now, if you're so lucky.|ch1-pg20-gun]]<</if>>

The silence stretches on, eventually settling into a bitter ball of iron in the pit of your stomach. Meanwhile a dark chuckle inside your head sends a shiver up your spine. Mocking. //They know.// Something in your head growls, a hard strike at your very core that threatens to tip you off the horse entirely. You glance at Lowrie, but they’re intent on staring stubbornly ahead. Blood flashes through your mind, heart seizing with a fear thought long forgotten. You swallow hard, clench your jaw, and try to struggle back the monster of your thoughts. You run through a list of the people who actually //do// know; Mordred, Carol, the Doctor making her rounds. They wouldn't tell, //surely//. You glance at Lowrie again. If they did know even a little bit about you than you currently allow, would they even change? The hope in you is tentatively optimistic... but the realist in you knows better. Years of being beaten down in the harsh sun above, you can't help but find the very thought laughable. No amount of explanation will make Lowrie happy. Before the silence teeters too close to unbearable you see the beginnings of civilisation. Elysium is just up ahead; you can see the buildings poking up from the horizon. They could be a mirage, but you’ve been here long enough to know what is real and what is false. Most of the time. Lowrie stops before either of you can draw near the small collection of ramshackle huts. What you think must be failed attempts to start community gardens sit a fair bit away from the vast majority of the building next to a series of tin sheds long forgotten. Despite the shabbiness, it’s proof that humanity still exists one way or another, proof that, no matter the trial, you’ll continue to live so long as there’s hope, determination and, if you’re being honest, spite. It’s an all-too familiar sight, you’ve seen it in Eden and you’ve seen it in other settlements, seeing it here isn’t quite the shock some might think it to be. Perhaps it’s futile, living, but when the alternative is dying... Well, you know your answer. "We should arm up before we start looking around," Lowrie finally speaks for the first time since the little argument, still, they don’t look your way, eyes dark and trained perpetually forward. Lips pursed, they squint through the sweat in their eyes. "We can’t know where the dogs are. Best be ready." They unstrap their gun--one with a long, narrow barrel with a tall stock to rest their shoulder on. A raggedy 'L' is carved into the front hand guard, a sure sign of ownership, //possessiveness//, even. They keep their knife strapped to their boot, a pitiful defence should anything get too close. You sigh and unstrap your own weapons. Your gun is similar to Lowrie's but your blade is somewhat different. More a sword than a knife, it sits at your hip wrapped in a collection of dirty cloths just so it doesn't nick the horse as it sways. The rifle and sword are the traditional weapons of Hunters. The first line of defense is the rifle; bullets are faster, more likely to bring someone down, but it takes time to reload and there's only so many bullets to go around. So, the blade; getting up close and personal is risky but when push comes to shove you do what you have to. While it’s not uncommon for bandits in Wasteland to have access to guns and bullets both it’s far more likely they’ll be using handmade axes and knives. That is, assuming the task requires violence at all. Weapons are considered a last resort. <<if $right < .5>>Even if you might not like it.<<else>>Which is probably for the best.<</if>> [[I prefer using my gun.|ch1-pg21-01]] [[I prefer using my blade.|ch1-pg21-02]] [[I don’t prefer either weapon.|ch1-pg21-03]]

''Outside Elysium, Middle of Nowhere'' You don't dismount and go wandering into town straight away. With hands on your weapons of choice, the pair of you steer the horses out and into the surrounding plains of dust and weathered grass. You keep your eyes on your flanks, glancing into all the dark nooks and crannies that could hold respite for a pack of hungry mongrel dogs in the midday sun. In silence, the pair of you circle Elysium at a languid pace that would almost be mistaken for luxurious. The reality, however, is that it's careful; ensureing no possible den or cave gets missed. "There aren't any tracks," Lowrie says after a time, calling down at you from a tall outcrop of rocks a fair bit west of Elysium. "No carcasses or evidence there's been any animal in the area for a week at least." <<if $worldly >=.5>>You find yourself agreeing, however much it stings to do so. Even if the pests were holed up somewhere especially crafty or difficult for humans to get to, there would still be signs. They would still need to go out to live. You grunt a vague affirmation and take a big sniff of the air while Lowrie isn't looking. There's no scent of animal on the air; there's no smell of blood or shit or anything that might tell you you're on the right track. All you can sense is sand and body odour.<<else>>"Maybe we just aren't looking in the right place," You return, perhaps naively. Just because there's been no sign of the pests doesn't mean they aren't there. A huff is all you get in reply, "I mean... they were supposed to be here." You suck in a breath, taking in the scents around you and come back with nothing but sand and body odour. Usually, dogs would leave some sort of trace; blood, or shit, or some other castoff that would let you know they're there... but even your stronger nose picks up little of substance. You're not sure what that means.<</if>> "Maybe they moved on," Lowrie mutters as they clamber back onto their horse, but their long face is screwed up into an expression best described as 'perplexed'. "Do they tend to do that?" You ask, already knowing the answer. You //feel// more when direhounds are nearby, when they've encroaching on your territory, stepping foot where they don't belong. It's an obvious, difficult-to-shed kind of wrongness. Your gut always swims, and you feel itchy all over when familiar scents turn sour. There's none of that here. "Not... usually." Lowrie says slowly as they scan the path back to Elysium. "We should check in with them, yeah?" You say, more for Lowrie's benefit than for yours. Maybe they'll have answers, or maybe they won't. Maybe it was all one big misunderstanding. You can only hope. [[''Yeah,'' Lowrie sighs.|ch1pg23-gun2]]

''Elysium, Middle of Nowhere'' You return to town in relative silence, both continuing to pour over the ground for any sign of the wayward hounds. Still nothing. You dismount at the edge of town, just shy of an abandoned shack falling apart bit by bit. Any paint that may once have adorned the building has well and truly peeled off in the sun and the windows have no glass with which to keep any horrible pests and elements out. Instead, wood is nailed over the hole that remains. It's not too different to Eden, if you're being honest with yourself; both settlements are little more than a collection of run-down huts that may once have been towns. No one knows what happened to turn the world to dust, maybe it's better left unknown. All you hear is the creak of old buildings and the rustling stray cloth that might serve as makeshift curtains. The streets are empty, this little pocket of faux-paradise seemingly abandoned. <<if $worldly > .5>>"Awfully quiet," You note, glancing at Lowrie as that ever-present frown deepens. "I half-expected a welcoming committee. You know, since we're bringing them their water?" Their face twitches into a short-lived snarl, schooled back into a pursed line with the muzzle of their composure. Fingers drifting to their rifle as if trying to convince themself they're safe, tapping a rhythm you can't place. "It //is// quiet," Lowrie eventually concedes, sucking in their bottom lip. Their boot taps in the dirt, eyes dull as they sift through their own thoughts. As your eyes scan through the empty town you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, a cold shiver running its fingers down your spine. There's just... no one here. "Okay, tie the horses up. Let's... have a look around."<<else>>Something feels very wrong, but you can't quite pinpoint what. As you glance at Lowrie, you see their ever-present frown deepen, before, with a sharp inhale, "It's quiet." They eventually say, long fingers drifting to the rifle at their hip. As your eyes scan through the empty town, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The silence forces you to shiver despite the heat, a cold running its fingers down your spine. There's just... no one here. "Okay," Lowrie interrupts your thoughts, "Tie the horses up. Let's... have a look around."<</if>> [[''Where is everyone, Lowrie?''|ch1-pg24-water-01][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''Are... the horses safe here? What about the dogs?''|ch1-pg24-water-02][$right to $right + 0.05]] [[''I've never known any town to be this quiet in the middle of the day.''|ch1-pg24-water-03][$out to $out + 0.05]] [[''It's fine. They're probably all just inside, right?''|ch1-pg24-water-04][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]]

It doesn't escape you that there were reports of direhounds in the area, confirmed or not. Lowrie shrugs, "Haven't seen them yet," They say, but make a concerted effort to lighten their steps all the same. As the two of you pass a shack that's a bit more patched up than the rest, Lowrie reaches over with their spindly arms and pushes the door open. Nothing. There's no protest from any occupant, no evidence of any struggle, no proof that anyone was ever there in the first place. Indeed, if anyone was ever there at all it's almost as if they simply packed up and left. Lowrie flinches, their jaw clenching, but they turn away before you can say anything, thin shoulders pulled up tight by their ears. You move on in silence. 'Storage' is essentially a barn filled with everything a given settlement in Wasteland could conceivably need: food, water, and weapons. Every settlement has one, though $carol_name likes to keep stock of her alcohol under the bar back home. The doors are old, large, and heavy, made mostly of wood and rusted metal that barely keeps it intact; the latch that kept it closed now nothing but broken, sharp pieces of old metal. <<if $ch1_task is "water">>"Help me push this open, will you?" Lowrie finally says after an excruciating moment of deep breaths and their usual glare, dropping the water into the dust like discarded trash. You follow, bracing yourself against the door and with a count to three the two of you shove the huge barn door open to reveal... [[nothing.|ch1-pg26-water]]<<else>>"Help me push this open, will you?" Lowrie finally says after an excruciating moment of deep breaths and their usual glare. You follow, bracing yourself against the door and with a count to three the two of you shove the huge barn door open to reveal... [[nothing.|ch1-pg26-water]]<</if>>

<<if $lowrie_f > $lowrie_r>><<set $lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05>>Your words come out hard, but they waver at the end like a death knell. Despite everything, don't want Lowrie to think you're completely heartless. So, you reach out, an arm raised in an attempt to signal peace, "Help me understand why." They don't //owe// you anything, least of all an explanation, but it should count to something that you're asking rather than telling. "Would you want to steal from your own home?" Lowrie shuffles in place, eyes shifting down in a glare. It's a deeply uncomfortable realisation, and a part of you regrets that you even asked.<<else>><<set $lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05>>Your words are hard, harsh, seeking blind acceptance rather than understanding. Maybe you should be softer with Lowrie, but your nerves have frayed enough, your patience worn thin. "You said it yourself that you don't even want to be here, so what does it matter to you if we loot an empty town?" Perhaps you could have put it more delicately than that, but through the anger it's difficult to see logic. "It's my //home//!" Lowrie snaps, a final word to end the argument. You don't think it's the explanation they intended, judging from the wide-eyed alarm that they barely even bother to hide. Something... uncomfortable settles in the following silence between you, and you don't quite know what to do with that.<</if>> <<if $crude > .5>>You heave a sigh, irritation curling your lips into a frown of distaste. Some semblance of empathy reminds you to be //nice// but the word seems so distant now that it may as well be an alien language. "Maybe stop whining until we're back at Eden," You can't help but snap. Their spine straightens, muscles all tense as the anger turns their glare into an animalistic snarl. "Whoever was here before is gone or dead. That happens all the time." A dark anger boils inside of Lowrie, their fists clenched by a rage that you don't think you've seen in them before. They hold it in for but a second before it seems to escape from them entirely, and with it goes their wrath.<<else>>"I think... you should be prepared for the possibility that they're all gone for good." You murmur, feeling your heart break as you watch the lanky Hunter shiver in equal parts anger and distress. You can't be sure which emotion is winning, not until they bite back a sob and turn away from you entirely. You manage a quiet apology, despite it all, but aren't sure they quite hear you.<</if>> "Oh..." They sigh, as if it's only just hit them, and the fight seeps from each muscle one by one. Crumbling in on themself like used tissue paper, Lowrie struggles to fight the quivering of their shoulders. A momentary guilt seizes your heart... before it sheds entirely, replaced by grim resolve. You'll have to be strong for the both of you, at least until you get back to Eden. Taking a deep breath in, then slowly letting it out, Lowrie takes a step, two, away from the situation, washing their hands of the decision, "We, um," They fumble over the words, tongue clumsy in their mouth, "I just think..." The words are frail, never quite find an ending, and trail off inconclusively. Lowrie takes a breath, tries again, hardening their quiet tones. "Not that you're... inclined to give me any favours but," They swallow, hard. "We need to go, just... I'd like a moment alone. Please?" [[''You sure you don't need anything else?'' I reach for their shoulder.|ch1-pg32-water-01][$worldly to $worldly - 0.05]] [[''Sure, whatever you need.''|ch1-pg32-water-02][$worldly to $worldly + 0.05]] [[''Fine. Just don't take too long, we need to get going.''|ch1-pg32-water-03][$right to $right - 0.05]] [[I start to speak but stop myself. Best not.|ch1-pg32-water-04][$out to $out - 0.05]] [[''I'm sorry.''|ch1-pg32-water-05][$right to $right + 0.05]]

"Maybe," Harley shrugs, not particularly put off by that fact, "But I have priorities that sit above whether I'm making myself look like a complete prick." With a heavy sigh, Harley glances at you, "I want to help Lowrie but right now I don't have enough information to go on. Just..." As that gaze drifts to Lowrie, face full of hard edges softening just a little, the tension in their shoulders wanes. "Doesn't matter. If whatever she's hiding doesn't come out I'm gonna need to rethink my position here, okay?" <<if $out > .5>>"You mean you'll leave?" The question punches itself from your throat like a boulder pushed uphil, uncharacteristic uncertainty curling cruel tendrils around your limbs.<<else>>"You mean you want--" The words catch in your throat like a life short-lived, a quiet uncertainty curling its way around your throat as your thoughts work their way through your mind. "You mean you want to, to leave?"<</if>> All you're given is a tight, lopsided smile in reply. "Not right now, no, but there's no more water. We all deserve more than this and the world is changing faster than we can. I think maybe we have to start considering our options." [[''You're talking crazy Harley. If we leave we'll die.''|ch1pg5401][$harley_r to $harley_r +.05]] [[''Where would we even go? Everywhere is exactly the same.''|ch1pg5402][$harley_r to $harley_r +.03]] <<if $carol_name is "Carol">>[[''Maybe you have a point. But maybe we can show some faith in Carol?''|ch1pg5403][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]]<<else>>[[''Maybe you have a point. But maybe we can show some faith in Caroline?''|ch1pg5403][$harley_f to $harley_f +.03]]<</if>> [[''I agree with you. This isn't working.''|ch1pg5404][$harley_f to $harley_f +.05]] [[''Should you be saying that within earshot of Lowrie?''|ch1pg5405]] [[''If you do ever leave... maybe just don't forget to say goodbye?''|ch1pg5406][$harley_a to $harley_a +.1]]

"I want to," Lowrie affirmes, voice firmer, if a little broken. There's something there, in their slate grey eyes, something you can't quite place but feels somehow... like they no longer view you as a monster. You're not sure if that fixes everything, but it's a start. Lowrie takes some time to properly collect themself, straightening up as much as they are able while still bending over the table. "What... do you want to tell me?" You eventually probe, feeling like you're treading water, or sinking into sand. "My... relationship with Elysium was complicated," Is the response, a little shaky at the end, uncertain. Lowrie is staring off into the sunlight by the door, eyes flickering to and fro, before eventually landing on you. "In many different ways. It... isn't exactly a place you want to stand out, if you understand my point?" You could take a few guesses, but you don't want to find your foot shoved halfway down your throat for the trouble. Not when the conversation is almost... peaceful, as far as conversations with Lowrie go. Even the wolf in your brain has gone silent. [[''I... don't think I do understand.''|ch1pg81l01][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''I could take a wild guess.''|ch1pg81l02][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''What's the point of this, Lowire?''|ch1pg81l03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''Hard for you not to stand out. Just look at how tall you are.''|ch1pg81l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.03]]

"After today," They say, almost drily, "I'd be looking at you strange if you hadn't picked that up. There's something there, in their slate grey eyes, something you can't quite place but feels somehow... like they no longer view you as a monster. You're not sure if that fixes everything, but it's a start. Lowrie takes some time to properly collect themself, straightening up as much as they are able while still bending over the table. "What... do you want to tell me?" You eventually probe, feeling like you're treading water, or sinking into sand. "My... relationship with Elysium was complicated," Is the response, a little shaky at the end, uncertain. Lowrie is staring off into the sunlight by the door, eyes flickering to and fro, before eventually landing on you. "In many different ways. It... isn't exactly a place you want to stand out, if you understand my point?" You could take a few guesses, but you don't want to find your foot shoved halfway down your throat for the trouble. Not when the conversation is almost... peaceful, as far as conversations with Lowrie go. Even the wolf in your brain has gone silent. [[''I... don't think I do understand.''|ch1pg81l01][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''I could take a wild guess.''|ch1pg81l02][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''What's the point of this, Lowire?''|ch1pg81l03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''Hard for you not to stand out. Just look at how tall you are.''|ch1pg81l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.03]]

"Maybe I want to tell you," Lowrie says, firm, almost hard with the frown that creases weakly in the middle of their brows. There's something there, in their slate grey eyes, something you can't quite place but feels somehow... like they no longer view you as a monster. You suppose you can't fault bad decisions. Lowrie takes some time to properly collect themself, straightening up as much as they are able while still bending over the table. "What... do you want to tell me?" You eventually probe, feeling like you're treading water, or sinking into sand. "My... relationship with Elysium was complicated," Is the response, a little shaky at the end, uncertain. Lowrie is staring off into the sunlight by the door, eyes flickering to and fro, before eventually landing on you. "In many different ways. It... isn't exactly a place you want to stand out, if you understand my point?" You could take a few guesses, but you don't want to find your foot shoved halfway down your throat for the trouble. Not when the conversation is almost... peaceful, as far as conversations with Lowrie go. Even the wolf in your brain has gone silent. [[''I... don't think I do understand.''|ch1pg81l01][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''I could take a wild guess.''|ch1pg81l02][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''What's the point of this, Lowire?''|ch1pg81l03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''Hard for you not to stand out. Just look at how tall you are.''|ch1pg81l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.03]]

"Well, I'm glad my misfortune intrigues you," They say, but there's no real malice in their words. If anything, their voice is numb. There's something there, in their slate grey eyes, something you can't quite place but feels somehow... like they no longer view you as a monster. You're not sure if that fixes everything, but it's a start. Lowrie takes some time to properly collect themself, straightening up as much as they are able while still bending over the table. "What... do you want to tell me?" You eventually probe, feeling like you're treading water, or sinking into sand. "My... relationship with Elysium was complicated," Is the response, a little shaky at the end, uncertain. Lowrie is staring off into the sunlight by the door, eyes flickering to and fro, before eventually landing on you. "In many different ways. It... isn't exactly a place you want to stand out, if you understand my point?" You could take a few guesses, but you don't want to find your foot shoved halfway down your throat for the trouble. Not when the conversation is almost... peaceful, as far as conversations with Lowrie go. Even the wolf in your brain has gone silent. [[''I... don't think I do understand.''|ch1pg81l01][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''I could take a wild guess.''|ch1pg81l02][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''What's the point of this, Lowire?''|ch1pg81l03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''Hard for you not to stand out. Just look at how tall you are.''|ch1pg81l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.03]]

There's something there, in their slate grey eyes, something you can't quite place but feels somehow... like they no longer view you as a monster. You're not sure if that fixes everything, but it's a start. Lowrie takes some time to properly collect themself, straightening up as much as they are able while still bending over the table. You wait, and you wait some more, until Lowrie is ready to speak. "My... relationship with Elysium was complicated," Is the response, a little shaky at the end, uncertain. Lowrie is staring off into the sunlight by the door, eyes flickering to and fro, before eventually landing on you. "In many different ways. It... isn't exactly a place you want to stand out, if you understand my point?" You could take a few guesses, but you don't want to find your foot shoved halfway down your throat for the trouble. Not when the conversation is almost... peaceful, as far as conversations with Lowrie go. Even the wolf in your brain has gone silent. [[''I... don't think I do understand.''|ch1pg81l01][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''I could take a wild guess.''|ch1pg81l02][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''What's the point of this, Lowire?''|ch1pg81l03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''Hard for you not to stand out. Just look at how tall you are.''|ch1pg81l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.03]]

"It's not difficult to," Lowrie mutters, but there's no bite to the words, nothing in their tone that gives any indication of disdain. For a moment, they allow the silence, lips smoothing into a straight line as they consider where to steer the conversation. To a point, you would hope. "What I mean is," And this time their words do find some strength, even at the volume of a mouse, "I didn't get on well in Elysium. Whether it was because I looked different, acted different or just... was different, I don't know. But..." A breath, a beat of silence, Lowrie traces the grain of the table with a single slender finger, eyes shifting to their cup of too-warm water with a lip curling in disgust. "It was still my home for many years. I didn't like it, I would even go so far as to say I hated it." There's wisdom in that, you suppose. In some ways you can't escape that which has been with you all your life, whether it's a place, or a person, or something else entirely. Lowrie shakes their head. "I'm not so deluded that I think they're all alive and living out their lives in paradise, but I don't want them to be dead. That's the point, I think." You watch Lowrie for a time, sobered by the thought. It's a difficult prospect, believing the missing to be alive instead of buried somewhere, but you suppose Lowrie just can't muster the strength to say goodbye to people who were, in some way, a family. Even a bad one. [[''If they treated you so poorly, why are you torn up about it?''|ch1pg82l01][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''Honestly, sounds like good riddance to me.''|ch1pg82l02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''Why are you telling me this?''|ch1pg82l03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.03]] [[''I don't know what to tell you to make you feel better.''|ch1pg82l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]]

Lowrie doesn't give you any exact reasons, either, simply accepting the answer for what it is like some silent agreement. Still, it leaves you floundering, "Take your pick of things," They eventually say, "I was always too... something. Different, I guess." A breath, a beat of silence, Lowrie traces the grain of the table with a single slender finger, eyes shifting to their cup of too-warm water with a lip curling in disgust. "Even despite that, it was still my home for many years. I didn't like it, I would even go so far as to say I hated it." There's wisdom in that, you suppose. In some ways you can't escape that which has been with you all your life, whether it's a place, or a person, or something else entirely. Lowrie shakes their head. "I'm not so deluded that I think they're all alive and living out their lives in paradise, but I don't want them to be dead. That's the point, I think." You watch Lowrie for a time, sobered by the thought. It's a difficult prospect, believing the missing to be alive instead of buried somewhere, but you suppose Lowrie just can't muster the strength to say goodbye to people who were, in some way, a family. Even a bad one. [[''If they treated you so poorly, why are you torn up about it?''|ch1pg82l01][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''Honestly, sounds like good riddance to me.''|ch1pg82l02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''Why are you telling me this?''|ch1pg82l03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.03]] [[''I don't know what to tell you to make you feel better.''|ch1pg82l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]]

"I'm trying to..." Lowrie sighs, pulls a face that doesn't quite register as any emotion, really, "Not explain. Carol always tells me sharing is the best way to bridge a gap. I'm doing that, I guess." Yet, they look downright nauseous in doing so. "The short of it is I was just too different for Elysium." A breath, a beat of silence, Lowrie traces the grain of the table with a single slender finger, eyes shifting to their cup of too-warm water with a lip curling in disgust. "It was still my home for many years. I didn't like it, I would even go so far as to say I hated it." There's wisdom in that, you suppose. In some ways you can't escape that which has been with you all your life, whether it's a place, or a person, or something else entirely. Lowrie shakes their head. "I'm not so deluded that I think they're all alive and living out their lives in paradise, but I don't want them to be dead. That's the point, I think." You watch Lowrie for a time, sobered by the thought. It's a difficult prospect, believing the missing to be alive instead of buried somewhere, but you suppose Lowrie just can't muster the strength to say goodbye to people who were, in some way, a family. Even a bad one. [[''If they treated you so poorly, why are you torn up about it?''|ch1pg82l01][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''Honestly, sounds like good riddance to me.''|ch1pg82l02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''Why are you telling me this?''|ch1pg82l03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.03]] [[''I don't know what to tell you to make you feel better.''|ch1pg82l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]]

"And that was one of the reasons I wasn't well liked in Elysium," Lowrie almost laughs, but it's a bitter, small thing, something that doesn't quite reverb in their chest like real feeling might. They look away, lips turning downward, "I don't know what the problem was, but it may have just been the final thing that made me too different, really. I guess it was just all of me that they didn't like." A breath, a beat of silence, Lowrie traces the grain of the table with a single slender finger, eyes shifting to their cup of too-warm water with a lip curling in disgust. "It was still my home for many years. I didn't like it, I would even go so far as to say I hated it." There's wisdom in that, you suppose. In some ways you can't escape that which has been with you all your life, whether it's a place, or a person, or something else entirely. Lowrie shakes their head. "I'm not so deluded that I think they're all alive and living out their lives in paradise, but I don't want them to be dead. That's the point, I think." You watch Lowrie for a time, sobered by the thought. It's a difficult prospect, believing the missing to be alive instead of buried somewhere, but you suppose Lowrie just can't muster the strength to say goodbye to people who were, in some way, a family. Even a bad one. [[''If they treated you so poorly, why are you torn up about it?''|ch1pg82l01][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]] [[''Honestly, sounds like good riddance to me.''|ch1pg82l02][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.05]] [[''Why are you telling me this?''|ch1pg82l03][$lowrie_r to $lowrie_r +=.03]] [[''I don't know what to tell you to make you feel better.''|ch1pg82l04][$lowrie_f to $lowrie_f +=.05]]

They sit on the question for a moment, eyes shifting low to stare at the knuckles on their hand. They flex and bend, clenching and loosening into a fist. "I think that's something I have to think about for a bit." They decide, not quite looking at you. "But not everything about Elysium was shit. Just most of it." With the conversation virtually ended, you descend into an uncomfortable silence once more. One civil conversation doesn't put an end to your problems with each other; vague sharing of a past best left untouched doesn't give either of you the right to call each other 'friend'. You tap a tune without any rhythm against the hard surface of the table, chew on the inside of your mouth as you struggle to fill the silence. Lowrie sucks in a breath as their upper half turns towards the door, "Ridley's here," They mutter, "Looking at you--you have a job?" You follow that grey-eyed gaze and sure enough the hulking mass of muscle with all the meekness of a mouse stands awkwardly at the door, sweat pouring down a freckled brow quickly wiped away by a clumsy hand. "Yeah." You grunt, your taps coming to a stop. "You gonna be okay?" <<if $lowrie_r > $lowrie_f>>"Just go," Lowrie groans instead. "You have a job to do and I want to be alone, I think." Your stomach punches up into your chest, you suppose you can't argue with that. "Alright," You try, stumbling over the next few words, "Look, look after yourself." All you get is a noncommittal grunt in reply. [[Continue|ch1pg55]]<<else>>"I'll be fine," Lowrie says, too quickly, too abrupt, but there's no irritation in their tone. "And Eden comes first, at any rate." Despite your stomach sinking, you offer a stiff nod. You know that, of course, but that doesn't stop you from being just a little reluctant to go. The sun isn't exactly a welcome distraction from your horrifying find. Even still, you stand, offer a sympathetic, if stiff, smile, bfore heading off towards the door of the bar. From behind you, you almost hear the beginnings of a murmured 'thank you'. [[Continue|ch1pg55]]<</if>>

"And I wish I could say the same," Lowrie sighs, wiping a hand down the side of their face. "But I can't." You don't ask why, simply wait as Lowrie takes note of their own thoughts, files them away for later. "Not everything about Elysium was shit. Just most of it." With the conversation virtually ended, you descend into an uncomfortable silence once more. One civil conversation doesn't put an end to your problems with each other; vague sharing of a past best left untouched doesn't give either of you the right to call each other 'friend'. You tap a tune without any rhythm against the hard surface of the table, chew on the inside of your mouth as you struggle to fill the silence. Lowrie sucks in a breath as their upper half turns towards the door, "Ridley's here," They mutter, "Looking at you--you have a job?" You follow that grey-eyed gaze and sure enough the hulking mass of muscle with all the meekness of a mouse stands awkwardly at the door, sweat pouring down a freckled brow quickly wiped away by a clumsy hand. "Yeah." You grunt, your taps coming to a stop. "You gonna be okay?" <<if $lowrie_r > $lowrie_f>>"Just go," Lowrie groans instead. "You have a job to do and I want to be alone, I think." Your stomach punches up into your chest, you suppose you can't argue with that. "Alright," You try, stumbling over the next few words, "Look, look after yourself." All you get is a noncommittal grunt in reply. [[Continue|ch1pg55]]<<else>>"I'll be fine," Lowrie says, too quickly, too abrupt, but there's no irritation in their tone. "And Eden comes first, at any rate." Despite your stomach sinking, you offer a stiff nod. You know that, of course, but that doesn't stop you from being just a little reluctant to go. The sun isn't exactly a welcome distraction from your horrifying find. Even still, you stand, offer a sympathetic, if stiff, smile, bfore heading off towards the door of the bar. From behind you, you almost hear the beginnings of a murmured 'thank you'. [[Continue|ch1pg55]]<</if>>

"I don't know," They say, head bowed, lips pursed, "I half think this is less about you and more about explaining it to myself." Can't fault that. At least by bouncing their stream of consciousness off you rather than Carol or Harley, they don't get poor comforts. You don't have the obligation to make them feel a certain way about their own emotions. "I think... Not everything about Elysium was shit. Just most of it." With the conversation virtually ended, you descend into an uncomfortable silence once more. One civil conversation doesn't put an end to your problems with each other; vague sharing of a past best left untouched doesn't give either of you the right to call each other 'friend'. You tap a tune without any rhythm against the hard surface of the table, chew on the inside of your mouth as you struggle to fill the silence. Lowrie sucks in a breath as their upper half turns towards the door, "Ridley's here," They mutter, "Looking at you--you have a job?" You follow that grey-eyed gaze and sure enough the hulking mass of muscle with all the meekness of a mouse stands awkwardly at the door, sweat pouring down a freckled brow quickly wiped away by a clumsy hand. "Yeah." You grunt, your taps coming to a stop. "You gonna be okay?" <<if $lowrie_r > $lowrie_f>>"Just go," Lowrie groans instead. "You have a job to do and I want to be alone, I think." Your stomach punches up into your chest, you suppose you can't argue with that. "Alright," You try, stumbling over the next few words, "Look, look after yourself." All you get is a noncommittal grunt in reply. [[Continue|ch1pg55]]<<else>>"I'll be fine," Lowrie says, too quickly, too abrupt, but there's no irritation in their tone. "And Eden comes first, at any rate." Despite your stomach sinking, you offer a stiff nod. You know that, of course, but that doesn't stop you from being just a little reluctant to go. The sun isn't exactly a welcome distraction from your horrifying find. Even still, you stand, offer a sympathetic, if stiff, smile, bfore heading off towards the door of the bar. From behind you, you almost hear the beginnings of a murmured 'thank you'. [[Continue|ch1pg55]]<</if>>

"Then don't say anything," Lowrie shrugs, looking off into nowhere in particular. "I don't need comfort--someone else will give me that." Carol or Harley, you suppose. "I think I just needed you to //listen//. Not everything about Elysium was shit. Just most of it." With the conversation virtually ended, you descend into an uncomfortable silence once more. One civil conversation doesn't put an end to your problems with each other; vague sharing of a past best left untouched doesn't give either of you the right to call each other 'friend'. You tap a tune without any rhythm against the hard surface of the table, chew on the inside of your mouth as you struggle to fill the silence. Lowrie sucks in a breath as their upper half turns towards the door, "Ridley's here," They mutter, "Looking at you--you have a job?" You follow that grey-eyed gaze and sure enough the hulking mass of muscle with all the meekness of a mouse stands awkwardly at the door, sweat pouring down a freckled brow quickly wiped away by a clumsy hand. "Yeah." You grunt, your taps coming to a stop. "You gonna be okay?" <<if $lowrie_r > $lowrie_f>>"Just go," Lowrie groans instead. "You have a job to do and I want to be alone, I think." Your stomach punches up into your chest, you suppose you can't argue with that. "Alright," You try, stumbling over the next few words, "Look, look after yourself." All you get is a noncommittal grunt in reply. [[Continue|ch1pg55]]<<else>>"I'll be fine," Lowrie says, too quickly, too abrupt, but there's no irritation in their tone. "And Eden comes first, at any rate." Despite your stomach sinking, you offer a stiff nod. You know that, of course, but that doesn't stop you from being just a little reluctant to go. The sun isn't exactly a welcome distraction from your horrifying find. Even still, you stand, offer a sympathetic, if stiff, smile, bfore heading off towards the door of the bar. From behind you, you almost hear the beginnings of a murmured 'thank you'. [[Continue|ch1pg55]]<</if>>

Indeed, ten years in charge of a world gone wild is a long time, a rough time, and that unforgiving period has a way of wearing people down. More so, that is, than the typical trappings of a human life. Though thirty-five years is hardly old, the sun has a way of beating you down, making the sleepless nights more punishing, the thirst more a punching pain rather than an an eternal niggling discomfort. As leader of the settlement, it must hit Carol tenfold. She considers the thought, longer than is comfortable, before offering a stiff smile, "Of course," She says, "I have to be." It's not a pleasant answer, it's not the one you wanted, but it answers enough. "And what about Eden? What do we do about the missing settlement?" You manage through a chokehold. As those amber eyes turn to you, you almost feel like whatever she has to say simply isn't for your ears. Carol licks her chapped lips with a grimace, absently picking at a stray thread in her collar. No words are spoken for a few long heartbeats, the silence stiffling in the heat like someone has wrapped their hands around your neck and are squeezing with all their might. Eyes flit away to the windowsil, dragging across the sleek surface of the communicator before landing once more on the flowers. She reaches out, fingers shaking, before she lets her hand drop with a grimace. "This isn't the first case of settlements just disappearing." Your back straightens in your seat, a chill finally setting in and lingering in your stomach. Something within you still refuses to breathe. "It's the third case in the past few months, entire towns coming up to destruction, either through infighting or outside circumstances just... dropping off the map." "Do we know what happened?" //Surely// she must have an idea, three entire towns, as diminished as they are, disappearing is... well, it's almost beyond comprehension. Almost like-- Carol's eyes narrow almost, "It's not the same as Ledala or the other cities," She says firmly, quashing any worry that may have sprung up with a mere thought, "Not quite. It could just as easily be bandits showing up to flatten the place, or people just deciding to leave or..." 'End it,' remains unsaid, in its place a hard swallow that goes down like sand, "But usually there'd be bodies." [[''And you never told anybody?''|ch1pg4101]] [[''Shit.''|ch1pg4102]] [[''What the hell's going on?''|ch1pg4103]] [[''Does anyone else know?''|ch1pg4104]]