Trouble Brewing

(align:"=><=")[|storyTitle>[(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font:"Copperplate Gothic")[''Trouble Brewing'' A Romantic Comedy About Beer, Rebellion & Skipping Out on Your Responsibilities]]] (align:"=><=")[|storyAuthor>[(font:"Copperplate Gothic")[ John Q. Adams, M. B. Miller, & Douglas Wallace]]] |separator>[] It's all fun and games until somebody loses their head! Quinn, your best friend, has brought you //awful// news: your illustrious parents, having run out of potential mates for their brood, have set you up with the worst person you know -- Devon Bainbridge. Your intended is uncouth, self-indulgent, and ten years your senior. Of course, if no one can find you, the wedding's off, right? You make a daring escape from your family's castle, get pressed into joining a rebellion, and find yourself fighting alongside a plucky bard, brooding bandit, naive idealist, and a fool-in-training. Escape marriage, join a rebellion, and find love. [[Start Game->Name Selection]]

####(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")+ (size:1.5)[Chapter One] (font: "Copperplate")[In Which You Object to Marriage]] (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-time:3s)[The late morning sun wakes you from your drunken stupor, and you sit up, kicking the empty keg away from your bed. The pounding in your head gives you a brief reprise from remembering its cause. No good thing can last forever though, and it comes flooding back all at once. Oh, woe is you, $name! As the youngest (cycling-link: bind $child, "son", "daughter", "child") of House $house, you always knew you would be married off to the wealthiest noble your dear parents could find. But alas! With so many older siblings, you have been left with the slimmest of pickings. If only your fourth-youngest brother had hit his head a little harder jumping off the kitchen roof. Oh, yes, your loving father has promised you to (cycling-link: bind $baron, "Baron", "Baroness") Devon Bainbridge. It would not be so terrible if not for your betrothed being a complete ogre. No, not literally, for your parents were not that cruel. But metaphorically! Symbolically! Allegorically! Quinn, the castle fool-in-training, groans from the corner, drawing your attention to (cycling-link: bind $qhim, "him", "her", "them"). Ah, yes, the unfortunate bearer of dreadful news, cuddling a keg after your all-night planning session. With a shove from your still-shod foot, you [[wake up your oldest--and only--friend->The Hangover Rundown]]. ] {(set:$fullname to "$name $house")(set: $character to true) (save-game:"Slot A", "$fullname") {(dialog: bind $tempsexuality, "As true of any young noble of marriageable age, your parents may marry you off to whichever equally-available bachelor they deem suitable. However, if left to your own devices, your preferred partner would be...", "On the masculine side", "Of the feminine persuasion", "Any individual not likely to bore you to tears")}}

{  (if:$tempsexuality is "On the masculine side")[(set:$sexuality to "men")](else-if:$tempsexuality is "Of the feminine persuasion")[(set:$sexuality to "women")](else:)[(set:$sexuality to "both")]  (if: $baron is "Baron")[(set:$dhe to "he")(set:$dhim to "him")(set:$dhis to "his")(set:$dhers to "his")(set:$dman to "man")(set: $dspouse to "husband")(set: $dHe to "He")(set: $dHim to "Him")(set: $dHis to "His")(set: $dHers to "His") ] (if: $baron is "Baroness")[(set:$dhe to "she")(set:$dhim to "her")(set:$dhis to "her")(set:$dhers to "her")(set:$dman to "woman")(set: $dspouse to "wife")(set: $dHe to "She")(set: $dHim to "Her")(set: $dHis to "Her")(set: $dHers to "Hers")]  (if: $qhim is "him")[(set:$qhe to "he")(set:$qhis to "his")(set:$qhers to "his")(set:$qman to "man")(set: $qHe to "He")(set: $qHim to "Him")(set: $qHis to "His")(set: $qHers to "His")] (if: $qhim is "her")[(set:$qhe to "she")(set:$qhis to "her")(set:$qhers to "hers")(set:$qman to "woman") (set: $qHe to "She")(set: $qHim to "Her")(set: $qHis to "Her")(set: $qHers to "Hers")] (if: $qhim is "them")[(set:$qhe to "they")(set:$qhis to "their")(set:$qhers to "theirs")(set:$qman to "person")(set: $qplural to true)(set: $qHe to "They")(set: $qHim to "Them")(set: $qHis to "Their")(set: $qHers to "Theirs") ]  (if:$child is "son")[(set: $they to "he")(set: $them to "him")(set: $their to "his")(set: $theirs to "his")(set: $They to "He")(set: $Them to "Him")(set: $Their to "His")(set: $Theirs to "His")(set: $sibling to "brother")(set: $spouse to "husband")(set: $man to "man")] (if:$child is "daughter")[(set: $they to "she")(set: $them to "her")(set: $their to "her")(set: $ntheirs to "hers")(set: $nThey to "She")(set: $nThem to "Her")(set: $nTheir to "Her")(set: $nTheirs to "Hers")] (if:$child is "child")[(set: $they to "they")(set: $them to "them")(set: $their to "their")(set: $theirs to "theirs")(set: $They to "They")(set: $Them to "Them")(set: $Their to "Their")(set: $Theirs to "Theirs")(set: $spouse to "spouse")(set:$plural to true)(set: $man to "person")]  (if:$child is "son")[(set: $nthey to "he")(set: $nthem to "him")(set: $ntheir to "his")(set: $theirs to "his")(set: $They to "He")(set: $Them to "Him")(set: $Their to "His")(set: $Theirs to "His")(set: $nephew to "nephew")(set: $nson to "son")(set: $nname to "$name")] (if:$child is "daughter")[(set: $nthey to "she")(set: $nthem to "her")(set: $ntheir to "her")(set: $ntheirs to "hers")(set: $nThey to "She")(set: $nThem to "Her")(set: $nTheir to "Her")(set: $nTheirs to "Hers")(set: $nephew to "niece")(set: $nson to "daughter")(set: $nname to "$name")] (if:$child is "child")[(set: $ngender to (random:1,2))] (if: $ngender is 1)[(set: $nthey to "he")(set: $nthem to "him")(set: $ntheir to "his")(set: $theirs to "his")(set: $They to "He")(set: $Them to "Him")(set: $Their to "His")(set: $Theirs to "His")(set: $nephew to "nephew")(set: $nson to "son")(set: $nname to "$name")] (if: $ngender is 2)[(set: $nthey to "she")(set: $nthem to "her")(set: $ntheir to "her")(set: $ntheirs to "hers")(set: $nThey to "She")(set: $nThem to "Her")(set: $nTheir to "Her")(set: $nTheirs to "Hers")(set: $nephew to "niece")(set: $nson to "daughter")(set: $nname to "$name")] (set:$house to $house)(save-game:"Slot A") }"Come on, Quinn," you drawl. "We have life-or-death decisions to make here! And it's almost noon already!" The fact that no servants had come to drag you out of bed to a family breakfast was a troubling sign that your parents had something sinister planned. Like an unwanted betrothal. Quinn rolls over, still dressed as $qhe (cond:$qplural, "were", "was") last night, and pulls $qhis jester's cap over $qhis cropped, curly (cond: $qhis is "her", "blonde", "blond") hair. "Whazzat? Noon already?" "Yes!" A hint of desperation creeps into your voice. "So up! We have to convince my parents to... to send me to a monastery or something!" "You? A pious soul, taking vows of abstinence?" A slow grin crawls across $qhis face. "A vow of //silence?// Now that's a better joke than I could ever tell." You growl in frustration. "Focus, Quinn. $baron Bainbridge chews with $dhis mouth open and drank three kegs the last time $dhe visited." You hold up three fingers and shove them in Quinn's face for emphasis. "//Three!//" { (if:$dhe is "he")[ (if:$sexuality is "men")[ (set: _matched to true) Quinn sits up, leaning back against the wall and taps $qhis cheek thoughtfully. "At least your parents picked the right gender. Could you imagine if your parents made you marry a woman? That would have sucked." ](else-if:$sexuality is "both")[ (set: _matched to true) Quinn sits up, leaning back against the wall and taps $qhis cheek thoughtfully. "At least you aren't too caught up on the whole 'gender' thing. Your parents couldn't have messed up that one if they tried." ](else:)[ (set: _matched to false) Quinn sits up, leaning back against the wall and sighs heavily. "Your folks could have at least picked the right gender. It's not exactly a secret that you're not attracted to men."] ](else:)[ (if:$sexuality is "women")[ (set: _matched to true) Quinn sits up, leaning back against the wall and taps $qhis cheek thoughtfully. "At least your parents picked the right gender. Could you imagine if your parents made you marry a man? That would have sucked." ](else-if:$sexuality is "both")[ (set: _matched to true) Quinn sits up, leaning back against the wall and taps $qhis cheek thoughtfully. "At least you aren't too caught up on the whole 'gender' thing. Your parents couldn't have messed up that one if they tried." ](else:)[ (set: _matched to false) Quinn sits up, leaning back against the wall and sighs heavily. "Your folks could have at least picked the right gender. It's not exactly a secret that you're not attracted to women."]] } "I have bigger concerns," you wave $qhim off. "So what have we got?" (upperfirst: $qhe) (cond: $qplural, "pick", "picks") up one of the scraps of paper littering the floor and (cond: $qplural, "examine", "examines") it with a frown. "Let's see... holding your breath until your dad changes his mind... hiding amongst your nieces and nephews so they can't find you... ooh, burning down the $baron's estate! I like that one!" Falling back on the bed, you halfheartedly reply, 1. {(color: #FCBACB)[] [["Do you think my sister in Blindhill would take me in for a while?"->Sisterly Support]]} 2. {(color: #FCBACB)[] [["Holding my breath worked when I wanted a pony."->Holding Your Breath]]} 3. {(color: #FCBACB)[] [["If I burn $dhis house down, I need you to be my alibi."->Arson Is Always the Answer]]}

The great House of (cycling-link: bind $housetemp, "Kaylock", "Davenport", "Renaud", "Blackburn") came into its wealth shortly before the birth of your second-oldest brother, when your father discovered the secret to crafting the finest mead in all the kingdom. To hear him tell it, the taste of his mead was so sublime that His Majesty the king himself wept upon sipping it. Your father was knighted, and your once-small merchant family found themselves thrust into courtly life. A true comfortably-wealthy-to-riches story. The truth, reported to you by your third-eldest sister, is far less romantic: clever marketing. See, while your father //was// a brilliant brewer, he couldn't sell sweets to a toddler. Your mother was the mastermind that came up with the perfect name of (cycling-link: bind $beercotemp, "Merry Men Mead", "Honeysuckling Hog's Mead", "Farawaye Meade") and even a delightful ear-worm of a jingle. Your parents were the perfect team. In fact, they were so good together that in addition to their beer empire, they also raised a massive pack of offspring. By the time they got to you, they had run out of parents, brothers, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and sundry cousins to name their children after. Not that it was hard, anyway, what with six Williams, four Alices, and seven Henrys in your family. So, what did you get saddled with? [(text-style:"superscript","condense")[Randomize]]<randomize| (click:"Randomize")[(redirect:"Randomize Name")] (input: bind $nametemp, $tempname) [[A fine name.->Name Set]] (set:_randName to (random:1,11))

{ (set:$honest to true) (dialog: [''//Trait Gained://'' You've developed the trait: ''blunt''. Social niceties are for people with time to waste! You tell it like it is... even if it sometimes gets you into trouble.], "Proceed.") }"Emma does like you," Quinn offers. "Remember how she used to cover for us when we stole treats from the kitchen?" "Yes! Perfect!" Then Quinn grimaces. "Wait... do you remember the last big family dinner?" You frown. You remember really good beer. "Not really. I was super drunk." "I'm not saying you have a drinking problem, but... you totally do." Then $qhe (cond: $qplural, "hesitate", "hesitates"). "You know how she's pregnant?" Rolling your eyes, you wave $qhim onward. "Yes, yes, my forty-eighth niece or nephew." "Well, you, uh... you kind of called her horror-monal. And then said she was as big as a house." "Oh." [[Think of something else.->Only One Option]]

{ (set:$stubborn to true) (dialog: [''//Trait Gained://'' You've developed the trait: ''stubborn''. You refuse to do anything you don't want to, and can be rather tenacious about getting your way. It helps you succeed sometimes, but can be frustrating for other people.], "Proceed.") }"Yeah, but your parents were going to give you that pony anyway," Quinn points out. "They just thought it was funny, but I don't think they thought you were //actually// going to go until you passed out." "Well, do you have any ideas, or are you just shooting down mine?" you complain without heat. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "shrug", "shrugs"). "Just the bad ones. Unfortunately, that's all of them." [[Think of something else.->Only One Option]]

{ (set:$reckless to true) (dialog: [''//Trait Gained://'' You've developed the trait: ''reckless''. You are a risk-taker, and you've survived thus far. You are able to take riskier paths, though success is not always guaranteed.], "Proceed.") }"You know I'm always willing to be your alibi," Quinn starts. You wrinkle your nose preemptively at the //but// you know is coming. "I'm just not sure burning $dhis house down will actually stop $dhim from marrying you. I think it might just make you homeless right in time for your honeymoon." "Then why did you suggest it?" A shrug. "It'd be funny, at least." [[Think of something else.->Only One Option]]

{ (if: $sexuality is "men")[(set: $sloan to "Sloan")(set: $sman to "man")(set: $sdaughter to "son")(set: $she to "he")(set: $shim to "him")(set: $shis to "his")(set: $shers to "his")(set: $sHe to "He")(set: $sHim to "Him")(set: $sHis to "His")(set: $sHers to "His")] (if: $sexuality is "women")[(set: $sloan to "Sloane")(set: $sman to "woman")(set: $sdaughter to "daughter")(set: $she to "she")(set: $shim to "her")(set: $shis to "her")(set: $shers to "hers")(set: $sHe to "She")(set: $sHim to "Her")(set: $sHis to "Her")(set: $sHers to "Hers")] (if: $sexuality is "both")[(set: $sgender to (random:1,2))] (if: $sgender is 1)[(set: $sloan to "Sloan")(set: $sman to "man")(set: $sdaughter to "son")(set: $she to "he")(set: $shim to "him")(set: $shis to "his")(set: $shers to "his")(set: $sHe to "He")(set: $sHim to "Him")(set: $sHis to "His")(set: $sHers to "His")] (if: $sgender is 2)[(set: $sloan to "Sloane")(set: $sman to "woman")(set: $sdaughter to "daughter")(set: $she to "she")(set: $shim to "her")(set: $shis to "her")(set: $shers to "hers")(set: $sHe to "She")(set: $sHim to "Her")(set: $sHis to "Her")(set: $sHers to "Hers")] (if: $sexuality is "men")[(set: $pname to "Alistair")(set: $pshort to "Al")(set: $prince to "Prince")(set: $pman to "man")(set: $pson to "son")(set: $phe to "he")(set: $phim to "him")(set: $phis to "his")(set: $phers to "his")(set: $pHe to "He")(set: $pHim to "Him")(set: $pHis to "His")(set: $pHers to "His")] (if: $sexuality is "women")[(set: $pname to "Alastriona")(set: $pshort to "Allie")(set: $prince to "Princess")(set: $pman to "woman")(set: $pson to "daughter")(set: $phe to "she")(set: $phim to "her")(set: $phis to "her")(set: $phers to "hers")(set: $pHe to "She")(set: $pHim to "Her")(set: $pHis to "Her")(set: $pHers to "Hers")] (if: $sexuality is "both")[(set: $pgender to (random:1,2))] (if: $pgender is 1)[(set: $pname to "Alastair")(set: $pshort to "Al")(set: $prince to "Prince")(set: $pman to "man")(set: $pson to "son")(set: $phe to "he")(set: $phim to "him")(set: $phis to "his")(set: $phers to "his")(set: $pHe to "He")(set: $pHim to "Him")(set: $pHis to "His")(set: $pHers to "His")] (if: $pgender is 2)[(set: $pname to "Alastriona")(set: $pshort to "Ally")(set: $prince to "Princess")(set: $pman to "woman")(set: $pson to "daughter")(set: $phe to "she")(set: $phim to "her")(set: $phis to "her")(set: $phers to "hers")(set: $pHe to "She")(set: $pHim to "Her")(set: $pHis to "Her")(set: $pHers to "Hers")] (set: $relationships to true) }"Well, I guess there's only one thing to do," you say with a sigh. "Accept your fate and get wasted?" "Quinn!" you admonish. "No, we're going to..." 1. {(color: #FCBACB)[] [["Convince my mother.->Diplomacy Might Help]] She's the brains behind this."} 2. {(color: #FCBACB)[] [[Sneak out->Sneaky Sneaks]] under the cover of darkness.} 3. {(color: #FCBACB)[] Run away and [[join the circus->Indentured and Happy]]. Literally.}

{ (set: $diplomatic to true) (set: $badPlan to 2) (dialog: [''//Trait Gained://'' You've developed the trait: ''shrewd''. Your mother's good business sense is genetic. You tend to succeed with actions involving charisma and reason... or //sounding// reasonable, at least.], "Proceed.") }Since your mother got your father's brewery off the ground, she's only become more shrewd. Your father has left all administrative decisions to her, especially marriage ones after the disaster with your seventh-eldest brother's failed first marriage. Your father had been quite taken in with your brother's husband-to-be, but your mother quickly intervened when she realized the "dowry" was a bucket of rocks painted yellow and his "castle" was a flimsy shack with a castle facade painted on the front of it. A sign in front of the castle pointed at the ground and read: moat. Your brother had been heartbroken. At least his failed fiance was a good artist. So good in fact, that your mother used a revolutionary tactic that she calls "rebranding." She renamed the would-be con-artist and got him a job painting caricatures of the royal family, where he made tons of money. Once his rebranding was complete, he became the groom in your brother's second marriage. Nonbelievers say it's still his first, since it was "the same fiance" and "they never got married the first time." But you know the truth: rebranding is a game-changer. Yes, your mother is certainly the brains of this operation. [[Confront the dragon in her den.->Dragon Den]]

{ (set: $stealthy to true) (set: $badPlan to 3) (dialog: [''//Trait Gained://'' You've developed the trait: ''sneaky''. As the youngest sibling, you have gotten very good at getting away with things. You tend to succeed with actions involving trickery and stealth.], "Proceed.") }If you can just get out of town, you will be safe from this horrific marriage. Of course, you then need to get past the next several towns undetected, as your siblings have been spread far and wide. Maybe your best bet will be leaving the country altogether. Maybe go to Whaules or Estein, change your name to (cycling-link: "Sidon Eudocia", "Havardus Gattilusio", "Elene Kuttuvan"), and start a new life as a juggler. Who cares if Quinn thinks you should be legally banned from juggling? You were //born// to juggle. "It's time to leave the country," you declare. "I'm sneaking out tonight." "Cool," Quinn says, sitting on your bed, one leg lifted up and bent with $qhis foot behind $qhis head. "When do we leave?" "When everyone's having dinner. I'll send a servant to say that I'm feeling under the weather and can't come." (upperfirst: $qhe) (cond: $qplural, "roll", "rolls") $qhis eyes. "$name, you can't use that excuse //every// time you sneak out. You're showing your whole hand. You might as well run down to the great hall right now and shout 'hey! Mom, Dad, I'm running away tonight!' You have //got// to come up with something better." "What would you suggest, Quinn?" you ask, half-expecting a shrug. But $qhe (cond: $qplural, "surprise", "surprises") you. "Well, your parents are announcing your engagement tonight, and they've invited the circus to perform. While everyone's attention is on the performance, you and I can sneak out the back." [[That sounds easy enough.->An Awkward Dinner]]

{ (set: $audacious to true) (set: $badPlan to 1) (dialog: [''//Trait Gained://'' You've developed the trait: ''audacious''. You've had to fight to be noticed amongst your crowd of very successful siblings, and are bold as a result. You tend to succeed with actions that are over-the-top and unexpected.], "Proceed.") }A circus came to the village a few weeks back and is now preparing to move on to the next audience. Perfect. You'll indenture yourself to the circus and travel far away from Bainbridge and $dhis insistence that everyone in $dhis retinue wear the most hideous wardrobes in Bainbridge colors. It's not like you have nothing to offer the ringmaster -- you learned how to juggle as a child, and you were pretty darn good at it. You'd make a great clown. "Are you with me, Quinn?" "I've always wanted to run away and join the circus," $qhe (cond: $qplural, "muse", "muses"), tilting $qhis head to the side. "I'm more worried about you. Remember when you broke your arm trying to juggle when you were nine?" "We don't talk about that," you say quickly. "Besides, that was like ten years ago. I'm a new $man." (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "don't", "doesn't") look convinced. "Ri-i-ight. I'm sure it will be fine. As long as you don't offer to be a clown or something like that." "Psh, a clown, me?" you chuckle, hoping $qhe (cond: $qplural, "don't", "doesn't") notice the strain in your voice. "Come on, [[let's go->On With the Show]] before my parents come looking for me.

You and Quinn enter the great hall, where your mother keeps her "office." A chicken clutched in the arms of a petitioner squawks at you and you shudder. Quinn rolls $qhis eyes. "Dude, it's just a chicken. Why does your mom keep her office in the great hall anyway?" "She used to have an actual office," you whisper conspiritorally, "but she wanted to be able to see and yell at all of us at the same time. Mostly yell." You approach your mother's desk, where she is hunched over a stack of paperwork taller than your thirtieth niece, who sits under the desk playing with a make-your-own mead playset your mother designed to appeal to young drinkers. One of her more brilliant ideas, but too far ahead of its time to find success. "Mom!" She doesn't respond at first. You yell louder. "//Mom!//" This time, she nearly topples out of her chair, her ginormous wig wobbling on her head. "God, $name! I don' t think they quite heard in the next county over." "What is this about me marrying fucking Bainbridge?" you demand. She scowls. "What did I tell you about cursing? Pretend for one //fucking// minute that I am your mother and you don't curse in front of me! Also, how the fuck did you find out about that?" "Oh, a little bird told me," you respond coyly. "Quinn, were you napping behind the tapestries //again//?" Quinn is already gone. You scan the hall, searching for $qhim, but $qhe (cond: $qplural, "seem", "seems") to have disappeared entirely, until you see two pointy banana-yellow shoes poking out from under a tapestry. You sigh. "That's not the point, Mom. The point is that Bainbridge is scraps! Why should I be punished for being the youngest?" "First come, first serve," your mother shrugs. "Should've been born sooner. Or actually paid attention in your lessons. Maybe then you could have had a wider range of options to choose from." [[Maybe you shouldn't have goofed off so much, but still!->A Brief Ray of Hope]]

Your father wanders over at that point. "What's all this then?" He kisses your mother on the cheek. "Love, have you finished that trade deal with (link:"Goose Creek?")[(t8n:"fade")(show:?gc)] I wanted to try their wildflower honey in the next seasonal flavor."(hidden:)|gc>[ What fool names their estate //Goose Creek?// A goose is merely a larger, more devious cousin of the wicked chicken.] "Just a moment, dear," your mother says sweetly. Turning back to you, she says, "It's not like you're the only one with complaints about your marriage. Your sister dies of embarrassment everytime her husband picks up a pen." You groan. Your third-oldest sister's husband is an awful poet and dedicates each poem to her. Loudly. Publically. For a famed novelist like her, it's the greatest affront. Your mother, genius that she is, turned him onto writing "greeting cards," a fabulous invention for when you want to send a heartfelt message but can't be bothered. They've been wildly successful. "Oh, yes," your father adds. "What was that one he performed at Christmas? (cycling-link:"'Your emerald orbs glimmer like emeralds and are green like them too. Also round too.'", "'Your heart is like the Mariana Trench; deep and full of things I do not know.'", "'Your smile is like the sun; dangerous to stare at.'") It's your sister's personal hell." "You shouldn't be proud of that, Dad!" you argue, your heart going out to your sister. Even if she has a bad habit of sending your letters back with edits. In red ink. Red ink is expensive, but your sister is bougie with all that greeting card money. "Also, I can't help but notice," Quinn calls from behind the tapestry, "That her daughter is //right there//." Your niece blinks up at the three of you, looking mildly perturbed. Ah, well. Everyone has to learn that their parents aren't perfect anyway. "Can we get back to the important thing here?" "What would that be?" your father asks. "You were saying something about burning bridges?" "Bainbridge, Dad! And how I hate $dhim!" A flash of rare insight crosses his face. "Oh, I remember, your intended! I'm sure you'll be very happy. Only the best for [[my little persimmon."->Hope Fading]]

"Yes, well, my point was that at least your betrothed only speaks in grunts and not off-beat poetry," your mother says. "No, no," your father interrupts. "I heard $dhim say words once." She frowns. "Really? What did $dhe say?" "'More beer,'" your father says proudly. "A fine $dman with fine taste." You barely restrain the urge to rip out your own hair. "Can we focus, //please?// I hate $dhim, and I shan't marry $dhim. Not ever." "Maybe $they (cond: $plural, "are", "is") right, dear," your father addresses your mother. "Should we really make $them marry someone $they (cond: $plural, "hate", "hates")?" Your mother has already returned most of her attention to her stack of paperwork, which has grown since you started talking. "Do you really want to support $them forever?" "Well..." He ruffles your hair, leaving behind a sticky, hoppy residue. You're definitely going to have to wash it later. "(upperfirst:$they) (cond: $plural, "are", "is") our baby." She groans, picks up your niece and hands the very confused toddler to your father. "There is no shortage of babies here. And this one did not drink all of your limited-edition magic mead in one night." You cringe as your father's face falls and tears come to his eyes. In a small, broken voice, he whispers, "It was inspired." [[Looks like you're getting married.->One Last Try]]

{ (set: $personalitytrait to true) }Yet again, you find yourself pacing your room, increasingly anxious. You can practically hear the wedding bells! Wait a minute, those //are// church bells! With so many of the family here already, they could be planning on having the wedding within the week. Or worse, they're going to drag you down the aisle tomorrow! Quinn, who joined you in your chambers, stands by the window, staring out into the courtyard and tapping $qhis fingers on the sill in an uncharacteristically nervous fashion. When you flop onto your bed, holding back tears, $qhe (cond: $qplural, "flash", "flashes") a weak smile and settles down next to you. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "squeeze", "squeezes") your shoulder. "We'll get you out of this, $name." "I don't think we can," you mumble into your pillow. "I'm all out of ideas." "Luckily I'm not." The solemnity of $qhis promise is so foreign to $qhim that surprise overtakes your panic. You peer up from your pillow. "You aren't?" "$name, I swear you will only marry who and when you choose." (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "smile", "smiles") again, this time with certainty. [["Now let's get you out of here."->Who Ever Heard of Escaping by Stairs?]]

Your walk through the palace on the way to the field outside of town is not without its perils. You nearly run into your parents in the corridor, but Quinn, ever the quick thinker, yanks you behind a tapestry. The two of you wait with bated breath, listening your father's detailed description of the new seasonal flavor he's working on fade away as they move down the hall. It's almost ruined when you nearly scream at the sudden weight on your shoulder. Instead you content yourself with smacking Quinn. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$plural, "glare", "glares") at you. You respond with a baffled expression. "How are you falling asleep right now?" "Your dad's beer-y lectures are very soothing! And I didn't sleep well last night! Have you ever tried sleeping on your floor?" Crossing $qhis arms, $qhe mock-(cond:$plural, "glare", "glares") at you. "Besides //somebody// decided we're too old to share a bed." "Yeah, //you// decided that," you counter. "Maybe if you whined less about my bedtime habits--" "You punched me in the face! In your sleep!" $qhe (cond:$qplural, "exclaim", "exclaims"). You shrug as you extricate yourself from behind the tapestry and start back down the hall. "Maybe you deserved it." The both of you continue on your way to the [[circus.->Clowning Around]]

The ringmaster has been unable to pry his eyes off your mother's totally-borrowed-and-not-stolen (cycling-link: "three-foot-tall", "robin's egg blue", "metallic") wig for the past five minutes. He looks almost haunted by it, and you wave a hand in his face. "Hello, sir? We're here to offer our services." He shivers out of his trance. "Yes, yes. I'm afraid we are not in need of new talent at this time--" "Before you send us off," you cut in. "Let me assure you that we are not looking for payment. Only passage out of this town and room and board, and we will gladly work off any debt accrued." "I'm sorry, are you... are you offering to indenture yourself? To me? To leave town?" By the baffled look on his face, you reckon he isn't the sharpest. "I suppose you can try out." He glances fearfully over at Quinn, who has been silently doing a one-handed handstand with $qhis feet in an //arabesque// position since the two of you arrived. "//You// can have the job if you stop doing that." Quinn bends $qhis spine disconcertingly as $qhe (cond:$plural, "lower", "lowers") $qhis body down. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$plural, "grin", "grins"). "Thanks!" You take your place in front of the ringmaster and brandish three brightly colored balls. Quinn's face contorts in terror as $qhe quickly (cond:$plural, "take", "takes") two massive steps and (cond:$plural, "raise", "raises") $qhis arms defensively. You scowl in response, and the ringmaster looks between the two of you anxiously. With flourish, you begin to juggle. It starts off smoothly. But then you add the fourth ball. And after the fifth, [[it all starts to get out of control->Jugglapocalypse]]

"So... earning, huh?" you hedge. "How, exactly, do we do that?" "With jobs?" Quinn shoots you a weird look. "Dude, do not tell me you don't understand how jobs work." At your blank expression, $qhe (cond:$qplural, "groan", "groans") "Come on, $name! Where you think your family gets all their money?" "$beerco," you mumble. "And the peasants." Quinn pinches the bridge of $qhis nose. "The peasants have to get it from somewhere." "I just thought they... I don't know. Generated it somehow. Like a fallen log generates mushrooms." You feel your face heating. How are you supposed to know this stuff? It's never mattered before. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural, "shake", "shakes") $qhis head. "I literally do not have time to explain economics to you. Again. Or how mushrooms work. We need to get out of here. Just know that it's fine and we will get money. Through jobs, not whatever the hell you just described." You continue through the treehouse -- sorry, //arboreal fortress// -- and are shocked at the size of it. This place is //massive//. Quinn whistles as you turn another yet corner. "No wonder the King's soldiers haven't caught these bandits yet. No one ever thought to look up." "How did you even find me?" you ask, surveying the massive fortress in front of you. Quinn shrugs. "I did a little sleight-of-hand to get the keys off the woman who locked me up. Then I unlocked the door and managed to get her baton off her." (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural, "spin", "spins") the baton confidently. "After that, I just knocked people out until I found you. Took about half an hour." "Thanks for looking for me," you reply, touched. "Who said I was looking for you and not the exit?" $qhe (cond:$qplural, "tease", "teases"), affection obvious $qhis voice. You roll your eyes, even though it warms your heart that $qhe prioritized finding you. You can always count on $qhim. "There really do seem to be a lot of them. Where do they all come from? I had no idea there was such a rampant bandit problem." "It's like they spawn into existence," Quinn agrees. "How are they even feeding everyone?" "With food, Quinn, obviously," you say. Even you knew that. "No, I mean, these are obviously not just disorganized bandits." (upperfirst:$qhe) gestures to the many bandits flitting back and forth through the trees. "Look at the size of this operation. This is an army, crouching right beneath our noses. But for what?" The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. This isn't even a day's ride from Castle $house. If this //is// an army and they decide to strike, your family would be caught in the middle. It hasn't even been a generation since the last civil war, and while it ended long before your birth, your parents still get uncharactistically quiet when the topic is broached. (cycling-link: bind $armyreaction, "You need to tell someone about this. The king, even.", "But what what are these bandits up to?") [[You continue onward.->Sneaking Thru Camp 2]]

There are no broken bones at the end of your demonstration, but there are many, many bruises. The ringmaster is cowering in fear under his desk and whimpering faintly. Quinn scowls at you, a giant welt on the side of $qhis face. The rest of the makeshift office is quite destroyed. Glass litters the ground and any surviving knickknacks have been knocked over. You stand in the eye of the storm, and wait patiently for the ringmaster to gather his courage and face you. "So... did I get the job?" His eyes widen. "Do you promise never to do that again?" "Well... I mean, it is my best talent, I don't really know..." "We can find you something. I will find you something," he hastily assures you. "And you said you would work off any debt accrued, right?" "Yeah, sure!" He surveys the wreckage of his office. [["You're hired."->A Final Bow]]

Maybe taking a nap before the circus reached its final destination for the night was not the best idea. You do not wake up in a neighboring city, but rather your own courtyard. You step out of the caravan, yawning, and look around. In addition to the circus, there are vendors, carnaval games, and crowds of people milling about. "What is all this?" Quinn clears $qhis throat. "I, uh, might have forgotten to tell you something." "What was it?" Several carriages are parked in the distance. You recognize several as belonging to your (hidden:)|siblingsclicked>[siblings](link:"siblings")[(t8n:"fade")(show:?humanbugs)(show:?siblingsclicked)], one to your (hidden:)|grannyclicked>[grandmother](link:"grandmother")[(t8n:"fade")(show:?grandmothersale)(show:?grannyclicked)], and one to your (hidden:)|henryclicked>[Uncle Henry](link:"Uncle Henry")[(t8n:"fade")(show:?henrythebald)(show:?henryclicked)]. (hidden:)|humanbugs>[You make out your fourth-youngest brother's carriage as he exits it along with his wife. You scowl at the unfairness. Peregrine, the idiot who jumped off the kitchen roof, got to marry the wealthy, beautiful Emeline Ravenhill, a perfectly respectable match. Even if she has an obsession with drawing human faces on beetles. It's a stylistic choice. ](hidden:)|grandmothersale>[Grandmama Wilhelmina steps out of her carriage clothed in the finest furs despite it being August. Since your father's success, he showers his mother in riches, leading your mother to create the infamous "Fund for Elderly Women's Autonomy and Staying Out of My House" in the family budget. She's about the only member of your family you wouldn't worry about running into tonight, since she won't know which of her grandchildren you are anyway. Not only did your parents manage to keep every single one of their offspring breathing, despite the best efforts of their children, your aunts and uncles managed the same. This has led to your grandmother having over seventy grandchildren and over two-hundred great-grandchildren. She could fill a platoon with her descendents, if only poor Grandmama could make up her mind on which of her neighbors she wanted to conquer. It changes regularly. ](hidden:)|henrythebald>[Your mother's younger brother goes by Harry, a bit of cruel irony since he went bald at twelve. He insists this is a result of the criminally low number of sweets his mother gave him as a child, and has been crusading against the premature baldness of his nieces and nephews by bringing cartloads of sweets to family gathering. You can see is bulging pockets from here and know your nieces and nephews will be on a sugar high all night. Coincidentally, your uncle also acquired dentures prematurely. ]"Your parents are announcing your engagement tonight. And they hired the circus to perform for the announcement celebration." That complicates matters. Resting your hands on your hips, you ask, "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" "I was //going// to tell you, but //then// we started planning your escape." Quinn rubs the back of $qhis head awkwardly, the bells on $qhis hat jingling. "Your plans were already a little bit... wobbly, and if I told you, you might have gotten nervous." You groan. "Alright, but why didn't you say something when I suggested joining the circus." (upperfirst:$qhe) shrugs -- you really wish $qhe'd stop doing that -- and says, "I did, if you recall. I said you wouldn't mix well in a circus." "That is //literally// not the same thing, Quinn! You have to actually tell me things!" Maybe you chose the wrong best friend. Not that you had a lot of choices, but still. Susie from the kitchens would never have forgotten to tell you such vital information. Quinn has already lost interest and has begun practicing $qhis living-statue routine. [[You sigh and walk toward your doom.->The Encore Nobody Wants to See]]

The totally-not-stolen wig and baggy clown clothes the ringmaster gave you should be enough to hide your identity. You hope. And pray. Still, your heart races as the time comes for your entrance. Then you're entering the ring with the other clowns. It's a physical comedy act, where you pretend to trip and fall over your fellow clowns. But you can't seem to recall where you're suppose to trip and where you're supposed to fall. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your father frowning and whispering something to your mother. You sweat. After bumping into another clown for the seventh time, they hiss, "Stick with the script, idiot!" This act just isn't working. Your family is getting restless. You can think of only one thing to do. Use your greatest talent. Juggling. You pull out three balls again. The ringmaster makes a frantic cutting motion across his neck. You hear the other clowns, who have paused their routine, muttering in confusion. From $qhis perch on the tightrope, Quinn mouths, "Do not." You start juggling. [[The screams of terror begin soon after.->The Show is Over]]

After the show, the entire circus lines up in shame in front of your father. "I have to say, this has been a disaster," he says in that disappointed dad voice. "First, I can't find my $child, which has turned out to be a blessing! You all should be ashamed for this dreadful performance. Honestly, I should put you the dungeon!" In a quieter voice, he asks your mother, "Do, uh, do we have a dungeon?" She thinks about it for a moment. "We //did//, but we... remodelled, remember?" Your eighth-youngest sister's husband is an alchemist and trying to figure out how to transmute lead into gold. Your parents thought this worthy pursuit was worth an investment and granted him a laboratory. However, when his experiments with acid kept eating through the tables and then the floor, and then Great-Aunt Edith's third-best hat, your mother decided the dungeon would be a better place for such experiments. "Ah, yes," your father says. He returns his attention to the circus. "But I will not, for I am merciful! Instead..." He trails off, frowning. "Quinn?! Why is my fool in your circus?" The ringmaster is trembling. "(upperfirst:$qhe) showed up with some young $man earlier today asking to indenture themselves to the circus. I... I thought it was odd, but they signed contracts." "Is that my wig?" your mother asks, storming toward you. "Thief! I welcome you into my home, on the day of my $child's engagement, and you steal from me!" She yanks the wig off your head and gasps, staggering back, hand to her heart. "Viperous child!" "Mom, I can explain," you say quickly. "I didn't want to marry Bainbridge." "But, my little bergamot, whyever not?" Your father looks hurt. "Your mother and I labored to pick the very best match for you." "You never asked me what I wanted." you shout. Your mother holds up a hand to stop you. "First order of business, I want everyone out. Except you," you points to you, "and you," to Quinn, "and you," to the ringmaster. Everyone starts to file out, including your father, but your mother grabs him by the shoulder and says, exhasperated, "Darling, you stay." Once the room is empty, she says to you, "Of course we didn't ask. Did we ask any of your older siblings? No, and they are perfectly happy. Perhaps some of them have disagreements here and there with their spouses, but not all marriages can have the same bliss as your father and me. Bainbridge will be a perfectly adequate $dspouse." "Dear, could $they be right? Perhaps we should not force $them to marry when $they (cond: $plural, "are", "is") so against it," your father suggests, and you feel a ray of hope. Your mother sighs. "It is time for $them to leave the nest. Besides, do you remember when $they drank all of your limited-edition magic mead in one night?" You cringe as your father's face falls and tears come to his eyes. In a small, broken voice, he whispers, "It was inspired." "If I may...?" the ringmaster cuts in. "Your $child and fool did sign a contract with me, and they've already caused some destruction..." Your father sighs. "If you release both of them from their contracts, I will give you //one// small barrel of mead." The ringmaster considers it, then asks, "Are we talking regular mead, or one of the special fall flavors?" "Now, I don't know about that--" Your mother elbows your father. "//Darling!//" "Do you know how hard it is to properly ferment pumpkin?" he says. "There's an art to it!" "//Yes//," your mother says. "One //small// barrel of our new pumpkin spice mead in exchange for release //both// Quinn and $name. But if we catch you trying to distribute it or replicate our proprietary recipe..." "O-of course not!" he stammers. "I accept your terms!" [[Looks like you're getting married.->One Last Try]]

The escape goes smoothly, until Quinn leads you behind the chicken coop and you freeze. You've declared chickens your worst enemies ever since (cycling-link: "you learned the ghastly beasts engage in cannabalism.","the episode where you had stomped at a chicken and it charged at you. Quinn always teases you about hiding in your mother's voluminous skirts, but you don't remember doing that.","you had tried to gather all of the chicken in the outhouse for a game, but never managed to round them all up. You suspect trickery on their part.") Quinn knows you can't abide the creatures. "Quinn. Why are we behind the chicken coop?" "Because it's the fastest way out. Are you still afraid of them?" (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "look", "looks") exhasperated. "Dude, you just had one for dinner! How are you afraid of them?" "Shh!" you cover $qhis mouth with your hand. "They'll hear you!" A chicken saunters toward the two of you. "//Bok bok!//" "See!" you cry, clinging to Quinn. "It heard you, and now it's going to summon the others!" "Can you quiet down?" Quinn snaps. "You're going to get them riled up. They're just chickens. They can't hurt you." "Have you seen their deadly talons, Quinn? And their beaks -- razor sharp!" You shudder. "They're cannibals, did you know?" "Yes," $qhe (cond: $qplural, "groan", "groans"). "You've only told me about a thousand times. Come on, let's keep moving." The two of you move on, carefully avoiding the guards, but right as you reach the castle walls, you hear a soft, menacing cluck. Quinn reacts almost instinctively and wraps an arm around you, urging you forward, but you can't help but glance back like Lot's wife. There, glowing ominously in the moonlight, is a hen. Large, angry, fiercesome and heading your way. You can tell by the determination and malevolence in her beady eyes that she is about to strike. You are out in the open, unprotected, looking wildly for a weapon. "Don't," Quinn pleads softly. "Keep walking. Please." You're about to do just that, but then the hen leaps in the air, a flurry of feathers and fury, those oh-so-deady talons pointed right at your uncovered face. You don't want to lose an eye like your second-eldest brother did playing knights and bandits.(click-append: "You don't want to lose an eye like your second-eldest brother did playing knights and bandits.")[ Mom always did tell you all that you'd lose an eye swinging those sticks around. Alas, you won't have such a cool story to tell your future children.] And now, as the monster bears down on you, [[a blood-curdling scream emits from your throat.->False Alarm]]

Dinner that night is roast chicken, and you smile wickedly at thought of your great nemesis being served on a platter. //Take that,// you think, //you foul feathered demon.// Quinn rolls $qhis eyes at your triumph over the villainous bird's demise, but does not interrupt $qhis own contortionist performance. Beauregard, the current castle fool and Quinn's mentor, sits with his head in his hands. You know, from Quinn's complaining, that Beauregard thinks Quinn's dream of being a contortionist is absurd and innappropriate entertainment in a noble court. Your parents and a suspicious number of visiting siblings watch on in vague disquiet. Your father clears his throat. "Well, I'm sure you're all wondering why I've summoned you, my sweet lychees." You roll your eyes. "No one is wondering that, Dad." He looks a little crestfallen but continues valiantly. "Our little satsuma is engaged to be married!" Your fifth-eldest brother snorts. (click:"Your fifth-eldest brother")[Seems like Ifan's still a little sore from the misadventures last time you babysat his kids. ]"You found someone to take that one off your hands?" Despite your desire to //avoid// this engagement, you are insulted to hear your siblings' astonished whispers. "Remember when $they drank Dad's magic mead?" your third-youngest sister whispers to your second-youngest brother. (click-append:"your third-youngest sister")[, Hilda,](click-append:"your second-youngest brother")[, Aelric] He responds, "He cried all week. We thought he might die of heartbreak." "It was //four years ago//," you hiss. "Can we move on?" "Oh, what wonderful news!" your third-eldest sister's husband declares. "I am so moved for my darling baby $sibling-in-law. I must begin composing a sonnet at once!" (click:"your third-eldest sister's husband")[ You cover your face with your hands and groan. Tarquin's poetry is too good to be wasted on //Bainbridge//.] "Dear, don't you think it should be my $sibling's intended who dedicates sonnets to $them?" you sister suggests desperately. "Worry not, light of my life, joy of my days, and delight of my nights," he responds. "I reserve my greatest works for you, but the baby of our family is to be wed! This deserves commemoration!" "Indeed!" your father cries. "Tarquin, you are a true artist, and I would be honored if you wrote my sweet citron one of your masterpieces!" "Has anybody considered what I want?" you demand. There's a moment of silence before all of your siblings burst into hysterical laughter. Your seventh-eldest brother ruffles your hair. (click:"Your seventh-eldest brother")[Of course he'd think this was hilarious, the clodpole.] "You always were my funniest $sibling. So who did you pawn $them off on, Dad? No one can be that desperate or that stupid." "Devon Bainbridge," you growl, the name like poison on your tongue. Another long silence from your siblings, this one pitying. You hear a few of them muttering that Bainbridge is "a bit of a wet blanket, don't you think?" and "like if you took bread and bleached it." Another sibling wonders why anyone would bleach bread. Your parents take no note, however, and your father beams. "A match so perfect, my darling lemon guessed it on the first try." Quinn coughs suspiciously and shoots you a look that screams, "Go along with it." You mentally prepare yourself for the horrors to come, and say, "Yes, Dad. I am very excited to marry--" your entire body trembles with effort "--Bainbridge." Your siblings' jaws collectively drop. Your third-eldest sister says, incredulous, "That's it? No temper tantrum?" (click-append:"Your third-eldest sister")[, Clementia,] "No holding your breath until you get your way?" your fifth-eldest brother asks. Your third-youngest sister chimes in, "No running away?" "Now, now, my dears," your mother says. She shoots you a confused and suspicous glance. "Let's not give them ideas. It seems our $name has matured while we weren't looking. Tonight is one of celebration. Your father and I have arranged for a circus to entertain us." Your father beams. He does love the [[circus->The Circus]].

You sit next to your parents with your best fake smile plastered on as you watch the circus perform and try to surreptiously brush away the wheat seeds that your father keeps shedding onto you. He is delighted by the clowns' physical comedy as they trip and fall and tumble about the hall. You think it's alright, though it could use more juggling. Your various relatives all seem to be enjoying the show as well. Your seventh-eldest brother and his husband are cuddled up together, and even your third-eldest sister is laughing -- actually laughing -- at something her husband said. Everyone seems happy and content. Except you, of course, and perhaps the loathesome (hidden:)|bainbridgeclicked>[Bainbridge](link:"Bainbridge")[(t8n:"fade")(show:?garishBainbridge)(show:?bainbridgeclicked)], whom you see lurking in the corner next to a man you recognize as $dhis steward Wentworth. (hidden:)|garishBainbridge>[The (lowerfirst:$baron) leans against the wall, wearing $dhis garish family colors, vermillion and sapphire, and chatting with the equally poorly dressed Wentworth, clothed plainly without ornamentation. Not a single gold chain of office. No //sparkle//. {(if:$baron is "Baron")[Bainbridge runs a hand through his thick, curly, black hair, clutching a tankard of $beerco mead in the other. Some spills on his tunic and he scowls.]}{(else:)[Bainbridge runs a hand through her long, thick, black hair, clutching a tankard of $beerco mead in the other. Some spills on her dress and she scowls.]} Then $dhe glances up, making eye contact with you, and you scowl and look away.] Across the hall, Quinn holds up a hand in the agreed-up signal, and you wave to confirm you recieved it. You turn to your father, "Dad?" "Yes, my amaryllis?" "I really love the show. Thank you for hiring the circus." He beams, overjoyed. "Really? I'm so glad. I was disappointed when the ringmaster told me they didn't have jugglers -- I know how you love them. I'm happy you like it anyway." "Would you mind if I ran to the outhouse?" "Of course not! Hurry back though." He squeezes your shoulder affectionately. "I will." [[Not.->Goddamn Chickens]]

The chicken instead lands in Quinn's arms, as $qhe looks befuddled and defeated. (upperfirst:$qhe) gently (cond: $qplural, "stroke", "strokes") the hen's head as guards bear down on the two of you in alarm, nearly tripping over themselves to see to your safety. You are led back to the great hall, much to your parents' surprise, but at least you are spared a lecture. Once the captain of the guard explains that you and Quinn had been found with a chicken, your family nods knowingly. Your eldest brother even offers to escort you to your chambers for the evening so that you can recover from this traumatic event. [[Looks like you're getting married.->One Last Try]]

"Quinn, you're sure this won't break?" you ask, gripping the makeshift rope tightly. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "call", "calls") from below you, "Should have asked that earlier." "Quinn!" "Relax," $qhe (cond: $qplural, "say", "says"). "I tested it already. And it's held so far, hasn't it?" "Why couldn't we have just gone down the stairs?" Until today, you thought chickens were your greatest hate, but now you think heights are a close second. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "scoff", "scoffs"). "Who ever heard of a great escape down the stairs?" "We could've been trendsetters!" you argue. The wind blows heart-stoppingly strong and you cling desperately to the rope. "Quinn, please!" A heavy sigh floats up. "One moment!" A loud thump followed by a grunt. [["Let go and I'll catch you!"->Caught by Quinn]] "You're crazy!" you shout. "I'd rather [[climb down!"->Climb Down]] {(set: $strcheck to (random:1,20))}

{ (set: $qstr to $qstr+$strcheck) }"You're going to catch me?" you ask. "This isn't some kind of trick?" "Have some faith," $qhe (cond: $plural, "respond", "responds"), sounding almost offended. "I promise it's not as high as you think it is." A pause. "Just, don't scream." "No promises," you mutter. You squeeze your eyes shut tight and take a fortifying breath. Then you kick off the castle wall in complete darkness, [falling...]<falling1| (click:?page)[[...falling...]<falling2|(animate:?passage's links, "slide-down")] (click:?page)[[...falling...]<falling3|(animate:?passage's links, "slide-down")] (click:?page)[(if:$qstr >= 20)[There's a grunt accompanying your landing, but true to $qhis word, you aren't splattered on the ground. You slowly open your eyes and find yourself cradled in Quinn's arms, your face inches from $qhis. $qHis cheeks are slightly flushed a bright pink and you can feel $qhis heart hammering in $qhis chest. Presumably from the exertion of climbing down a tower for three stories and then catching $qhis bestest friend ever as $they fell into $qhis arms. Your own heart is also racing (cycling-link: bind $whyheart, "from the fall", "from the fall... and maybe something more"). Then $qhe (cond: $qplural, "grin", "grins"). "I caught you!" "Oh, you are //not// telling me you weren't absolutely sure you were going to catch me," you growl. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "laugh", "laughs"). "I was pretty sure. Besides, we were only three floors up, and you climbed most of the way down already." You gasp in outrage as $qhe gently (cond: $qplural, "set", "sets") you down. "I could have died! Splattered on the ground!" "As if I'd have let that happen." Quinn rolls $qhis eyes. "We need to [[get out of here->Smuggling Yourself]] before someone sees us."](animate:?passage's links, "fade-left")] (click:?page)[(if:$qstr < 20)[There's a grunt accompanying your landing but true to $qhis word, you aren't splattered on the ground, though it's still pretty rough. You slowly open your eyes to find yourself on top of Quinn, face buried in $qhis chest, while $qhe is sprawled out beneath you. You quickly push yourself up onto your elbows , though you're still draped across $qhim, your face inches from $qhis. $qHis cheeks are slightly flushed a bright pink and you can feel $qhis heart hammering in $qhis chest. Presumably from the exertion of climbing down a tower for three stories and then having $qhis bestest friend ever drop down on $qhim. Your own heart is also racing (cycling-link: bind $whyheart, "from the fall", "from the fall... and maybe something more"). After a few calming breaths, you drawl, "So what happened to 'jump! I'll catch you!' huh?" A cheerful grin. "I didn't catch you, but I sure broke your fall, didn't I?" "You're insufferable." You push yourself completely off of $qhim and offer $qhim a hand up, which $qhe (cond: $plural, "take", "takes"). "You could have killed me, you know." "As if." Quinn rolls $qhis eyes. "We need to [[get out of here->Smuggling Yourself]] before someone sees us."](animate:?passage's links, "slide-down")]

"I think I'll just climb down," you say. Quinn chuckles. "As long as you don't take all night." "Har-de-har," you reply. "Just give me a moment." You take a fortifying breath and begin lowering yourself, but your breathing quickly turns ragged and shallow. "I can't do this!" "You can," Quinn encourages. "Look, it's only three floors, and you're already half-way down. If you fall, I'll catch you." "Uh-huh," you bite out. Slowly and carefully, you continue inching down the rope. You're so focused on the rope that you startle upon feeling the ground beneath you and almost trip, but Quinn grabs you by the shoulders and steadies you. Turning around, you face $qhim. "See?" $qhe (cond: $plural, "grin", "grins"). "Not so bad." Your heart is racing (cycling-link: bind $whyheart, "from the climb", "from the climb... and maybe something more"), but you quip back, "That was nothing short of an assasination attempt. I'd almost rather you just shove me out the window next time. It would've been quicker." (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $plural, "laugh", "laughs"). "I'll keep that in mind. Let's [[get out of here->Smuggling Yourself]] before someone sees us."

{ (if:$whyheart is "from the fall... and maybe something more")[(set:$qromance to $qromance+5)] (set: $qstr to 10) }The warehouse where mead, beer, and ale was stored is heavily guarded, but luckily you were familiar with the guards' schedule and the guards themselves. Quinn's plan involved hiding in the mead wagon and smuggling you out with the next shipment. "So, how do you want to play this?" Quinn asks. "We can always [[sneak past the guards->Sneak Past Guard]], no problem." "Or I could try to [[convince the guards to just let us past->Quick Talking]]," you suggest.

"Let's sneak past," you say. (if:$stealthy is true)[You are rather good at it, if you say so. And you do. Just so long as there aren't any chickens around.](else:)[Quinn is pretty sneaky when $qhe (cond: $qplural, "want","wants") to be. The two of you will be fine.] Quinn nods, pleased. "Good choice. Let's go." The two of you creep around the building toward the window that you had a wedged a rock into some months ago. "Do you think your dad will send out a shipment tonight?" Quinn asks. "I mean, I know your mother came up with the overnight shipping thing, but it //is// the night of your engagement party." "Are you kidding?" you reply. "You know how my mom is about the shipping schedule. I think the castle could be burning down, and she would still insist the beer wagon went out on time." Quinn hums in agreement. You move a crate beneath the window and crawl up on it. Quinn steps up next to you, and together you shove the window open. Pulling yourselves through, you make it into the warehouse and look around. Beers, ales, and meads, neatly organized, line the walls. In the center, there are carts loaded and ready for shipment. "There we are!" Quinn says. [["Let's go!"->Wentworth Out Aid]]

"I'm a pretty smooth talker, if I do say so myself," you say with a grin. "Plus my dad owns the place, so..." Quinn snorts. "I feel like the latter ensures your success more than the former." "Hey!" You approach the guards in front of the warehouse and wave, then keep walking, Quinn trailing behind you. One guard steps in front of you. "Hold on, $name. We cannot let you pass." "Whyever not?" you ask, a hand on your hip. "Your father has given specific orders that you are not to be allowed in the warehouse without supervision." (if:$audacious is true)[Well, it looks like you need to bring out the big guns. You cross your arms, huff, and put on your best bratty-rich-kid face. The guards exchange a nervous glance -- your temper tantrums are infamous and epic. "My father is the one who sent me. I am to return with another barrel for my engagement celebration." "We would need to recieve a missive from your father revoking his previous order." He shifts nervously from foot to foot As the youngest child, you learned from an early age to sniff out weakness in your parents and siblings, and like a shark smelling blood, you know exactly what to do. "So you expect me to return to my father, interrupt his enjoyment of my engagement festivites, and request that he write a note allowing //his own// $child to acquire refreshments from //his own// warehouse? I am hearing you correctly, yes?" "Yes, th-that is correct." Like a rabbit caught in a snare. You roll your eyes. "Perfectly reasonable request, Reggie. I shall assure my father of your... eager defense of his wares when he asks me who is interrupting his fun. I am certain he will be most appreciative as he is pulled away from the finale of the show he hired." Spinning on your heel, you saunter away, waiting for the inevitable. "Wait!" There it is. You glance over your shoulder. "What is it?" "I... suppose there isn't any harm to let you in, just for tonight," he says. "It is your engagement party after all." "Aw, see, I knew you'd come around!" You pat him on the shoulder as you march past, Quinn on your heel. [[Someone is waiting for you inside.->Wentworth Out Aid]]](else-if:$diplomatic is true)[Well, looks like you'll have to charm your way past them. You sigh and smile benevolently, wearing your best, oh-you-silly-peasant-don't-you-know-who-I-am face. The guard looks a little wary, but smiles awkwardly back. "I'm sure my father will be very glad to hear about your loyalty." "I--yes, I suppose he would," the guard says, a little sheepish. "Indeed he would," you continue. "And I would be happy to bring this news to him. But the thing is, Reginald..." The guard looks pleased that you remembered his name. "What is it?" "It's just, my father asked me to come pick out a barrel. For my (cond: $baron is "Baron", "fiance", "fiancee"), you see. Putting my best foot forward and all that." You let the condescension slide off your face and replace it with your I'm-just-a-kid-who-doesn't-know-anything look. "Are you married, Reginald?" Reginald frowns, a little uncertain of where you are going with this. "I am. Fourteen years, now." You nod. "Then you know how it is." "I suppose I do, that. Still, I cannot let you pass without written permission from your father or an approved chaperone. I'm afraid your fool doesn't count." Quinn rolls $qhis eyes. "I never do." You bite your lip and glance back toward the castle. "My father seems to have forgotten... you know how he is sometimes. Is there anyway you could let it slide this time? It would be rather embarrassing to have to head back in there now, caskless. Like an idiot who couldn't handle a simple request." He glances between you and the castle before finally saying, "Oh, alright. As long as you promise to behave yourself." "Thanks!" you chirp brightly as you an Quinn hurry past. "I knew I could count on you!" [[Someone is waiting for you inside.->Wentworth Out Aid]]](else:)[Well, damn. Your father really did take that whole magic mead thing seriously. "But my father is the one that sent me." "We would need to recieve a missive from your father revoking his previous order." Double damn. "He must've forgotten, but he really did send me.' "Oh, I bet that convinced him," Quinn whispers. You elbow him. "Shut up, Quinn." "I can confirm," a voice calls. You turn to see a figure clothed in gray. The $baron's steward, Wentworth. The man radiates icy competetance. The sort of person who checks his work twice, but never finds an error. He speaks the language of proper procedure. In a word, middle management. Well, two words. "I've been sent to be $their chaperone and to ensure they pick the correct flavor." The guard looks impressed. "You may pass." Though you've gotten what you wanted, you are loathe to be grateful to the $baron's steward. Still, you won't look a gift horse in the mouth. The three of you enter the warehouse. [[Wentworth turns to you once inside.->Wentworth Aid]]]

"So you //are// running away?" a voice calls. You turn to see a figure clothed in gray. The $baron's steward, Wentworth. The man radiates icy competetance. The sort of person who checks his work twice, but never finds an error. He speaks the language of proper procedure. In a word, middle management. Well, two words. "I'm hardly surprised, though not disappointed." You halt, considering his words. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Your family is known throughout the country for its... eccentricity, and while you may, somehow, be the most normal of the lot, I fear still for my liege." He looks down his nose at you. The disgust is evident on his face. "Simply put, you are not good enough for $dhim." You sputter in indignation. "Bainbridge is an oaf! What do you mean //I'm// not good enough for $dhim?" "Yeah!" Quinn jumps in. "Bainbridge should be so lucky to marry $them. We turn lead into gold around here!" Wentworth snickers. "Like that crazy alchemist that lives in your basement?" "One day Aberardus will be successful, and we will have piles and piles of gold." You smirk at Wentworth. "And then you'll be sorry you said that." Wentworth frowns in puzzlement. "Wouldn't that just crash the market?" "What the hell does that mean?" "Well, the kingdom works on a gold standard," Quinn starts. "Gold's value is in its rarity, so if there's a lot of gold, it will devalue everyone's hoard. Also, there's really no way to invest anything, like, say, a stock market or something silly like that. Don't get me started on the lack of venture capital funds." You stare at him blankly. "A... stock market? Like, the stocks that we put peasants in when they get too drunk on feastdays? Why are we selling them?" Quinn shrugs. Wentworth scowls. "Will you two just get the fuck out of here?" Damn. The little gray man said "fuck." "Point me to a barrel of ale, and I will make your excuses," Wentworth says, pinching the bridge of his nose. You look around. Literally everything in the room is alcohol. You point randomly, and he rolls the cask out. To your chagrin, it's one of your father's attempts at replicating his magic mead. Oh, yeah, that's going to put him in a mood. With a shrug, you clamber into a wagon, Quinn, as ever, following. [[Ship out.->Shipping]]

Once in the warehouse, you turn around and examine Wentworth suspiciously. "Why did you help us just now?" "Because your family is known throughout the country for its eccentricity, and while you may, somehow, be the most normal of the lot, I fear for my liege." He looks down his nose at you. The look of disgust on his face is obvious, as well as something darker. "Simply put, you are not good enough for $dhim." You sputter in indignation. "Bainbridge is an oaf! What do you mean I'm not good enough for him?" "Yeah!" Quinn jumps in. "Bainbridge should be so lucky to marry $them. We turn lead into gold around here!" Wentworth snickers. "Like that crazy alchemist that lives in your basement?" "One day Aberardus will be successful, and we will have piles and piles of gold." You smirk at Wentworth. "And then you'll be sorry you said that." Wentworth frowns in puzzlement. "Wouldn't that just crash the market?" "What the hell does that mean?" "Well, the kingdom works on a gold standard," Quinn starts. "And gold's value is in its rarity, so if there's a lot of gold, it will devalue everyone's hoard. Also, there's really no way to invest anything, like, say, a stock market or something silly like that. Don't get me started on the lack of venture capital funds." You stare at him blankly. "A... stock market? Like, the stocks that we put peasants in when they get too drunk on feastdays? Why are we selling them?" Quinn shrugs. Wentworth scowls. "Will you two just get the fuck out of here?" Damn. The little gray man said "fuck." "Point me to a barrel of ale, and I will make your excuses," Wentworth says, pinching the bridge of his nose. You look around. Literally everything in the room is alcohol. You point randomly, and he rolls the cask out. To your chagrin, it's one of your father's attempts at replicating his magic mead. Oh, yeah, that's going to put him in a mood. With a shrug, you clamber into a wagon, Quinn, as ever, following. [[Ship out.->Shipping]]

You pull your knees to your chest and lean back against the casks stacked behind you. You already feel how sore you're going to be after sitting in this cramped space. But at least you won't be married to Bainbridge, and you aren't alone. Your lower lip trembles a bit just thinking about the miserable fate you've evaded. "Don't cry //now//," Quinn teases. "At least wait until tomorrow when we wake up hungry." You are unable to draw up the energy for a quip, your eyelids heavy. It's been a long day, and you're ready to sleep until you are far away. The last thing you hear is Quinn threatening to throw you out of the wagon if you kick $qhim. [[Get some well-derserved rest.->Unplanned Stop]]

{  (set: $showHeader to false)(set: $relationships to false)(set: $character to false) (set: $chapterCount = 1)(set:$badPlan to 0) (set: $FontSize to 1)(set: $PassageFont to "Copperplate")(set: $linkVisible to false)(set: $cheatmenu to true)(set: $uiMode to "Desktop")(set: $customBackground to (mix: 0.5, #6D616F,0.5,#BC5448))(set: $passageBackground to (mix: 0.9, transparent, 0.1, #594D4B)) (enchant: ?passage, (text-size:$FontSize)+(background: $passageBackground)) <script src="https://kit.fontawesome.com/463d2e9f3f.js" crossorigin="anonymous"></script>  (set: $strcheck to 0)(set: $dexcheck to 0)(set: $intcheck to 0)(set: $chrcheck to 0) (set: $chrcheck_pass to false) (set: $randName to 1)  (set: $name to "Cassidy")(set: $tempname to "Cassidy")(set: $house to "Kaylock")(set: $they to "they")(set: $them to "them")(set: $their to "their")(set: $theirs to "theirs")(set: $sibling to "sibling")(set: $child to "child")(set: $spouse to "spouse")(set: $man to "man")(set: $sexuality to "undefined")(set:$plural to false) (set: $honest to false)(set: $stubborn to false)(set: $reckless to false)(set: $diplomatic to false)(set: $stealthy to false)(set: $audacious to false)(set: $personalitytrait to false)(set: $socialclimber to false)(set: $earnestbeliever to false)(set: $determined to false)(set: $stubbornAcquired to false) (set:$skin to "undefined") (set: $beerco to "undefined")(set: $chamberpotjitsu to false)(set: $saboteur to 0)(set: $epiphanyStubborn to false)(set: $mcstr to 10)(set: $mcdex to 10)(set: $mcchr to 10)  (set: $whyheart to "none")  (set: $sloanmeet to "none")(set: $qeyes to "none")(set: $sclimber to "none")(set: $chamberpot to false)(set: $weapon to "none")(set: $armyreaction to "none")(set: $sexybandit to "none") (set: $alrespose to "none")(set: $askedAboutQuinn to false)  (set: $cookingHonest to false) (set: $cleaningHonest to false)(set: $eggHonest to false)(set: $honestAttempt to 0)(set: $qabsence to "none")(set: $damp to false)  (set:$c4pick to "Al")(set:$brewType to "none")(set: $toldQuinnCrushR to false)(set: $toldQuinnCrushP to false)(set: $land_solution to "nothing")(set: $nightExcursion to "None") (set:$feelings_ReeseApproval to "It’s nice to have someone put such faith in you.")(set:$ch5 to "null")(set:$village to "null")  (set: $baron to "Baron")(set: $dman to "man")(set: $dhe to "he")(set: $dhim to "him")(set: $dhis to "his")(set: $dhers to "his")(set: $dspouse to "husband")(set: $dman to "man")(set: $dHe to "He")(set: $dHim to "Him")(set: $dHis to "His")(set: $dHers to "His")  (set: $qhe to "he")(set: $qhim to "him")(set: $qhis to "his")(set: $qhers to "his")(set: $qplural to false)(set: $qstr to 10)(set:$quinnLastName to false)(set: $qHe to "He")(set: $qHim to "Him")(set: $qHis to "His")(set: $qHers to "His")  (set: $pname to "Alastair")(set: $pshort to "Al")(set: $prince to "Prince")(set: $pman to "man")(set: $pCrush to false)(set: $pson to "son")(set: $phe to "he")(set: $phim to "him")(set: $phis to "his")(set: $phers to "his")(set: $pknow to false)(set: $pHe to "He")(set: $pHim to "Him")(set: $pHis to "His")(set: $pHers to "His")  (set: $sloan to "Sloan")(set: $sman to "man")(set: $sdaughter to "son")(set: $she to "he")(set: $shim to "him")(set: $shis to "his")(set: $shers to "his")(set: $sknow to false)(set:$sloanLastName to false)(set: $sHe to "He")(set: $sHim to "Him")(set: $sHis to "His")(set: $sHers to "His") (set: $tellacrophobia to false)  (set:$rknow to false)  (set: $qromance to 0) (set: $promance to 0) (set: $sromance to 0) (set: $rromance to 0) (set: $qfriend to 50) (set: $pfriend to 0) (set: $sfriend to 0) (set: $rfriend to 0) (set: $prim to "none") (set: $second to "none") (set: $lovetriangle to false) (set: $qlover to false) (set: $plover to false) (set: $slover to false) (set: $rlover to false) (set: $loyalty to 50) }

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(align:"=><=")+(text-size:2.0)+(text-color:#FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[''Who //are// you?''] You are (text-color:#FCBACB)[$name $house], the youngest (text-color:#FCBACB)[$child] of Sir Merewin and Lady Elinor and the (text-color:#FCBACB)[intended] of $baron Devon Bainbridge. You have been known to be (text-color:#FCBACB)[(if: $reckless is true)[reckless ](else-if: $honest is true)[blunt ](else-if: $stubborn is true)[stubborn ](else:)[//undetermined//]] and (text-color:#FCBACB)[(if: $audacious is true)[audacious] (else-if: $diplomatic is true)[shrewd] (else-if: $stealthy is true)[sneaky](else:)[//undetermined//]]. {(if:$chapterCount is >= 3)[ (if:$determined is true)[Since your journey began, you have become (text-color:#FCBACB)[determined](if:$stubborn is true)[, rather than (text-color:#FCBACB)[stubborn]].](else-if:$stubbornAcquired is true)[Since your journey began, you have become more (text-color:#FCBACB)[stubborn].](else:)[You have maintained your character since your journey began.]]} You are (text-color:#FCBACB)[(cond:$loyalty >= 50, "indifferent to",$loyalty >= 30, "questioning of",$loyalty >= 20, "disloyal to",$loyalty >=0,"in opposition of")] His Majesty, King Alistair II's rule. (b4r:"ridge","none","none")+(b4r-colour:#fcc2d7,white,white)+(align:"=><=")+(text-size:2.0)+(text-color:#FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[ ''Your Journey Thus Far''] (if:$chapterCount >= 1)[Your journey has just begun. There is much trouble to get into yet.](else:)[After learning of your (text-color:#FCBACB)[engagement to Bainbridge], you attempted to escape this ghastly fate by (text-color:#FCBACB)[(cond:$badPlan is 1, "joining the circus", $badPlan is 2, "convincing your mother to side with you", $badPlan is 3, "sneaking away in the dead of night").] However, Fate intevervened, leaving you in dire straits. Luckily, (text-color:#FCBACB)[Quinn], your best friend, had a plan: stow away in the family's next shipment of beers, meads and ales. It worked perfectly... until it was seized by a group of bandits, that is...] {(if:$chapterCount is >= 4)[Turns out the "bandit problem" in the woods is actually growing rebellion against the king. And you've just been conscripted to make them beer.]} (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "settings")'s last)

(align:"=><=")+(text-size:2.0)+(text-color: red+white)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[**Relationships**] [[Alistair II]] [[$pname Woodledge->Al]] (cond: $rknow, "[[Chaithanyu 'Reese' Rasiah->Reese]]", "The Bard") [[Devon Bainbridge->Bainbridge]] [[Merewin and Elinor $house ->Parents]] [[Quinn (cond: $quinnLastName, "Swindlehurst", "")->Quinn]] {(if: $sknow is true)[ (if: $sloanLastName is true)[{ [[$sloan Farrington->Sloan]]}](else:)[{[[$sloan->Sloan]]}](else:)[The Bandit]]} (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "setting")'s last)

{ (set:$sknow to true) }You're awakened by the cart stopping abruptly, throwing you into a barrel of mead. You rub your shoulder. "Ouch." Outside, you hear yelling and whooping. Quinn squeezes between the toppled boxes toward the opening with a boneless grace. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $plural, "peek", "peeks") out and then turns back to you. "It's a band of unsavory rogues. Or maybe a congress of baboons, I can't tell which." "You know, you could've just said bandits," you point out. "Somebody's gotta use that word-of-the-day calender your sister gifted you." You squirm over to where Quinn is, nearly knocking over a few barrels. Peering outside the cart, you see the most well-organized bandits you've ever encountered.(click-append: "encountered.")[ Not that you've encountered many, but still.] They're wearing matching outfits: mid-thigh length tunics and tights. You cringe. "Tights went out of fashion, like, twenty years ago." "It seems we are cursed to be the only well-dressed pair," Quinn sighs dramatically. Reaching over you absently tug on one of the bells on Quinn's jester hat. "Indeed, it is truly a tragedy." A bandit immediately turns to you at the sound of the jingle. "Hey, boss, we missed a few!" Both of you pull back into wagon as quickly as you can. Quinn says, in as gruff a voice as $qhe can manage, "There's nobody in here but us casks of beer. Gurgle gurgle." "Why are you disguising your voice?" you whisper-hiss. "Now they're really gonna know it's us!" The tip of a rapier slices through the tarp and leaves an opening. A bandit peers through. (upperfirst:$she) eyes you up and down, raising an eyebrow. "Gurgle gurgle?" "That's the sound of beer," Quinn says helpfully. You notice the bandit's leader's golden-brown eyes first, then you notice the scar cutting across $shis cheek, shocklingly white against $shis deep bronze skin. (upperfirst:$shis) coiled black hair falls to $shis shoulders, held back from $shis face by a leather cord. (cycling-link: bind $sloanmeet, "You're almost lost watching the gold sparks in $shis eyes.", "You stare at $shim, fearful and confused.") Then Quinn's sharp elbow in your abdomen yanks you out of your daze. You blink, barely catching what $she is saying. "So what are you two, thieves or something?" $she's saying, sounding vaguely amused. "Because that stupid cap is going to make your career very short." Quinn's face turns beet-red with righteous fury. "I'll have you know that this is a symbol of my noble profession! Unlike you, a common thief!" "Ah," $she says. "A fool, then. No wonder you look like a toddler dressed you." "At least I dress myself," Quinn says. "Did your mom get a ten-for-one sale on last season's rags?" (upperfirst:$she) gestures to you. "Your buddy here clearly has the means to buy you something better, but given the... gaudiness, I'm guessing not the taste." (upperfirst:$she) gives you another once-over, and says, "Let me guess -- too many rings, ostentenious jewelry, overly elaborate clothing, and a classically-outfitted fool. Your family's either jumped-up merchants or has only been part of the gentry for a generation or two." "How does a lowly bandit know anything about courtly dress?" you spit, your face burning (cycling-link: bind $s_climber, "with embarrassment at your family's social climbing.", "with anger -- how does $she think anybody gets ahead?") (upperfirst:$she) frowns and steps back, motioning to the other bandits. "Come over here and tie these two up. If nothing else, we can ransom them back to whatever //nouveau riche// house they crawled out from." The other bandits approach, rope in hand. You and Quinn exchange an alarmed glance. [[Oh no.->Chapter 2: Hogtied]]

####(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")+ (size:1.5)[Chapter Two] (font: "Copperplate")[In Which You Have Found Yourself in a Bind... Literally]] {(set: $chapterCount to 2) (if: $sloanmeet is "You're almost lost watching the gold sparks in $shis eyes.")[(set: $sromance to $sromance+5)] (if: $s_climber is "with embarrassment at your family's social climbing.")[(set: $socialclimber to false)] (if: $s_climber is "with anger -- how does $she think anybody gets ahead?")[(set: $socialclimber to true)] }(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-time:3s)["You can't just kidnap us!" You crane your neck to glare at what you assume to be the back of the bandit leader's head. It's hard to tell with the blindfold. "You're tied up," $she says. "I am transporting you back to my base. Then I am going to ransom you back to your family. Sounds like I'm kidnapping you to me." Drawing back your feet, you swing them forward in an attempt to kick $shim. (upperfirst:$she) grunts. Success! You're about to repeat your victory when suddenly the wind is knocked out of you. The dirt is coarse against your cheek. "New plan," the bandit says. "I'm going to carry you like this--" $she scoops you up with one arm under your knees and one supporting your back. "--and if you move too much, I'll drop you. Again. And again. So how about you work with me here, hm?" You scowl, though the effect is not as effective as you would hope, given the blindfold. There's not much choice but to comply. You already feel the bruise forming from being dropped; you don't want another. It's hard to say how long the journey takes, but it feels like about an hour or two later when you hear the sound of some sort of pulley system creaking and slight breeze as you and your captor are lifted into the air. You haven't heard anything from Quinn, if $qhe (cond: $qplural, "are", "is") even nearby. A pang of worry hits you -- would the bandits have hurt $qhim? Maybe they didn't think they would get anything from ransoming Quinn. Would your parents pay a ransom to get Quinn back? (cond: $audacious, "Your parents did pay for Quinn to be freed from $qhis indenture as well.", "You aren't sure, but you think they would. You and Quinn grew up together.") "We got an extra room to keep this one in?" the bandit leader asks. "Preferably one with a lock?" "Yes, boss," someone says. "The room at the end of the hall locks. Do you want me to send a guard?" "That would be great, thanks." [[Engage, kidnapped... what's next?->Imprisoned]]]

{ (set: $chamberpot to false) (set: $mcstr to 10) (set: $strcheck to (random:1,20)) (if: $stubborn is true)[(set: $luck to (random:1,8))] (if: $stubborn is false)[(set: $luck to (random:1,4))] }The bandit doesn't drop you, but $she isn't gentle in putting you down either. Your blindfold is removed, and it takes a few minutes for your eyes to adjust to your surrounds. It's a simple, wooden room, unadorned. It's bare, except for the straw mattress and wooden chamber pot in the corner. A window lets in sunlight, and you can see tree branches, green and leafy right outside. Almost as if... "Are we in a tree house?" you ask, puzzled. "It's an arboreal fortress," $she snaps. "Where you will remain until your family pays the ransom. So which house are we reaching out to?" Your parents will certainly pay your ransom. Which means going back and marrying Bainbridge. "None of your business." "Have it your way," $she says with a shrug. (upperfirst:$she) stands and paces in a slow circle around you. "We found you in a commercial wagon from House $house, and, as I said before, your sense of style reeks of new money. Sir $house was knighted by King Alistair about thirty-five years ago. I'm willing to bet that you are his $child, one of the younger ones." (upperfirst:$she) scowls. "Considering your family is known for their ridiculous number of children, you're not worth much." Ah, yes, the Ransom Standardization Act. The last king had passed it after too many nobles were being ransomed. It standardized ransoms by rank and birth order... so no, you are not worth much at all. You stick your tongue out at $shim. "I wouldn't be so sassy if I were you," $she says. (upperfirst:$she) flourishes a small knife and cuts the twine that binds your hands. "That jewelry of yours could feed about a dozen orphans." (upperfirst:$she) gestures to your outfit. "Your clothes... maybe a dozen pensioners. They eat less than the orphans." "And what am supposed to wear?" you snap. "We'll provide you with more appropriate clothes for a prisoner," $she says. "Which brings us to the next thing. While you are here, you will be fed breakfast, dinner, and supper. You will eat what you are given or starve. You will have a bath twice a week. You will wash your own clothes and clean your own chamberpot. There are no servants out here. Any questions?" 1. {[[Ask about Quinn->Is Quinn Ok?]]} 2. {[[No questions.->Robbed]]}

{ (set: $sfriend to +5) (set: $askedAboutQuinn to true) }"Just one," you begin apprehensively. "Is Quinn alright? You didn't hurt $qhim, did you?" The bandit's brown eyes widen. She sounds a bit surprised as she answers, "We're not monsters. Your jester will be released along with you when you are ransomed." "Quinn's my friend," you say, a little uncertain as to why you're telling $shim this. It just feels like it matters. "I mean, I guess $qhe (cond: $qplural, "are", "is") my jester too, but... $qhe's my friend. Please don't hurt $shim." (upperfirst:$she) frowns. "We won't. You have my word." [[The lock clicks after $she leaves.->Robbed]]

{ (set: $strcheck to $mcstr+$strcheck+$luck) (set: $weapon to "unarmed") (set: $mcdex to 10) (set: $dexcheck to (random:1,20)) (if: $audacious is true)[(set: $luck to (random:1,8))] (if: $reckless is true)[(set: $luck to (random:1,4))] }You are left to your own devices, something which you ensure the bandits regret. You search the room for something useful.(click-append:"useful.")[ Nothing. Just the mattress and the chamber pot.(click-append: "chamber pot.")[ {(set:$chamberpot to true)(set: $mcstr to +2)}You examine the chamber pot closely. It's heavy and made of wood. Also empty, thankfully. ]] You look out the window.(click-replace:"You look out the window.")[The window faces the east, from what you can tell, and there's a mess of tree branches. They're thick enough and close enough together that somebody with enough skill could (cond: $audacious, "[[climb->Climb Out the Window]]", "climb") them. Or perhaps enough (cond: $reckless, "[[stupidity->Climb Out the Window]]", "stupidity.") You are at least 20 feet off the ground.] You examine the door.(click-replace:"You examine the door.")[The door seems pretty solid and out of place. From the embossed pattern, you suspect that it once made its home elsewhere. The lock seems pretty sturdy, though you could attempt to [[break->Break the Lock]] it. (cond: $stealthy, "[[Picking it->Pick the Lock]]", "Picking it") would be stealthier and less likely to alert the guard outside, if you have the skills... and the tools.] Perhaps it would be best to [[bide your time->Wait for Quinn]].

{ (set: $dexcheck to $mcdex+$dexcheck+$luck) (set: $qeyes to "") }(cond: $reckless, "You throw open the shutters and hoist yourself up onto the sill and reach for a branch.", "You peer over the edge at the drop to the ground and swallow nervously. You can do this. You steel yourself and hoist yourself up onto the sill and reach for a branch.") It holds your weight and you step off the sill, fully suspended over the forest floor. Your heart pounds in your chest as you force yourself to take another step. Then the branch beneath your foot shifts away from you, and you find yourself doing the slowest split ever, while your breathing turns quick and shallow. Gasping, you beg the branch, "Please, please, please stop." And it does. Leaving you suspended 20 feet in the air. You let out a whimper. "You couldn't just wait for someone to push you out?" a very familiar voice calls. You nearly sob in relief. [[Quinn.->Quinn to the rescue]]

(if:$strcheck >= 25)[You examine the door and take a deep, determined breath. You are a $house. You can do this if you put all your might into it. 1.{(cond: $chamberpot, " (color: red+white)[] [[Use the chamber pot to beat the door in.->Toilet Break High]]", " (color: red+white)[] Use the chamber pot to beat the door in.")} 2. {[[Just kick it down.->Kick It Down High]]} ](else-if:$strcheck >= 20)[You examine the door and take a deep, determined breath. You are a $house. You can do this if you put all your might into it. 1. {(cond: $chamberpot, " (color: red+white)[] [[Use the chamber pot to beat the door in.->Toilet Break Low]]", " (color: red+white)[] Use the chamber pot to beat the door in.")} 2. {[[Just kick it down.->Kick It Down Low]]} ](else:)[You examine the door and take a deep, determined breath. You can totally do this. Yeah. You've never //had// to be strong before, but you're sure you could if you wanted. 1.{(cond: $chamberpot, " (color: red+white)[] [[Use the chamber pot to beat the door in.->Toilet Break Fail]]", " (color: red+white)[] Use the chamber pot to beat the door in.")} 2. [[Just kick it down.->Kick It Down Fail]] ]

You kneel down in front of the lock and examine it carefully. It's a fairly simple lock, much simpler than the lock to, say, your parents' liquor cabinet. Not that you or any of your siblings have ever broken into said cabinet. The problem lies not in your skill, but in your lack of tools. Their leader had taken your clothes, and your set of lockpicks, stowed away in a hidden pocket, with them. Perhaps there's something in the room that can help? (click-replace: "Perhaps there's something in the room that can help?")[You search the room again, carefully examining the mattress and chamberpot, the window sill, and each nook and cranny. It takes about ten minutes, and leaves you with nothing to show for it. Damn bandits are efficient, at least.] You sigh. [[Seems like you aren't escaping after all.->Wait for Quinn]]

{ (set: $weapon to "knife") }You wait in the room, sitting on the straw mattress and staring (cond: $chamberpotjitsu, "at where the chamber pot once was. You wonder if the bandit ever got it off her head. More importantly, you wonder if someone will check on you and get you a new one before you have to pee.", "at the chamber pot. You've used one before, of course, but you've never cleaned one. You wonder if it's hard.") Suddenly, you hear a grunt from the hall, followed by a loud thud. There's a jingling of keys, and the door swings open, revealing Quinn, baton in hand. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "step", "steps") into the room and (cond: $qplural, "look", "looks") around. "I have to do everything around here, don't I?" "Hey!" you protest. "They didn't exactly leave me anything useful to escape with. Besides, I totally saved your butt when you got bacon grease on my great-grandfather's portrait." It was the angriest you'd ever seen your mother. It had taken nothing short of a miracle to calm her down. Quinn shudders. "Fair enough. We still need to get out of here, though. I can't take more than one of those guys at a time." "Yeah," you agree. "I don't want to be in this place longer than we have to be." You follow $qhim out of the room, past the guard, who is now lying face-down with a nastly welt on the back of his head. Quinn nudges him with $qhis foot, then crouches down, searching the unconsious man. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "stand", "stands") up and hands you a jackknife. "Here." [[Time to sneak through the "arboreal fortress."->Sneaking Thru Camp 1]]

You examine the door again, lift up your foot, and look at it. You nod. Yes, you can do this. You take a few practice swings. You've never kicked down a door before, but it seems easy enough. Then you kick next to the lock with all your might, squeezing your eyes shut tight. Miraculously, you hear a sharp cracking sound, and open your eyes to see the lock busted and the door drifting open. You grin. "Hey, that was pretty easy!" The guard stands in the hall, staring, and looking dumbfounded, but only for a moment before he springs into action. . (if: $diplomatic is true)[Taking advantage of his surprise, you leap back into the room and slam the door in his face. He groans in pain, and then you hear a thump. "Nice one!" you hear from the hall. You open the door to see Quinn, one arm raised with a baton that $qhe slowly lowers. (upperfirst:$qhe) glances between the busted lock and you. "Nice glutes."](else-if: $reckless is true)[You lift your leg again and attempt to kick him in the chest, but you lose your balance and fall backwards, groaning in pain. The guard bears down you, but freezes suddenly, his eyes rolling back as he collapse. Behind him stands Quinn, baton in hand. (upperfirst:$qhe) grins. "Nice glutes."](else:)[The guard bears down on you, and kick in a furied flury, catching him on the chin. He flies back into the wall, groaning in pain, as he slides down to the floor. Quinn comes around the corner, armed with a baton. Without thinking, you wind your leg up again, and kick $qhim in the stomach. He doubles over, falling to $qhis knees, looking up at you with betrayel in $qhis eyes. "//Why?//" "I'm sorry!" you say. "I can't help it! These are deadly weapons!" Quinn groans as $qhe (cond: $qplural, "stand.", "stands.")] "I'm glad you're alright," you say. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$pqlural, "nod", "nods"). "Me too." Quinn nudges the guard with $qhis foot, then crouches down, searching the unconsious man. (upperfirst:$qhe) stands up and hands you a jackknife. "Here. You can put your deadly weapons away now. We need to go." (set: $weapon to "knife")

You swing the chamberpot back with all of your might, then bring it down on the lock, squeezing your eyes shut. Miraculously, you hear a sharp cracking sound, and open your eyes to see the lock busted and the door drifting open. You quickly open the door and enter the hallway, where the guard looks a little dumbfounded. (if: $diplomatic is true)[Taking advantage of his surprise, you step forward and wield the chamberpot above your head. "Walk me out of camp right now or--" The guard drops like a stone. Quinn stands behind him, baton in hand. "Hey."](else-if: $reckless is true)[You rush into the hall, plowing over the guard and whoever was behind him. You roll off, scampering away, and readying your chamberpot. The guard gets up, but before he can attack, the other person you tackled knocks him out, and stands up, dusting (cond: $qplural, "themselves", "$qhim+self") off. It's Quinn, armed with a baton. "Hey."](else:)[The both of you stand there, staring, trying to come up with a plan. The guard manages first and lunges at you, but something causes him to drop to the floor like a stone. Quinn stands behind him, baton in hand. "Hey."] "Quinn!" you exclaim. "You're alright! And free!" "Did you doubt me?" (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "eye", "eyes") the chamberpot. "You, er, didn't use that first, right?" "Did I...?" you trail off, face contorting in disgust. "Ew, no! What the hell?!" You pause, then ask, "Why? Do you think I should have?" Quinn nudges the guard with $qhis foot, then crouches down, searching the unconsious man. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "stand", "stands") up and hands you a jackknife. "Here. You can dump the crapper now. We need to go." 1. {You decide to stick with the [[chamberpot.->Keep the Pot]]} 2. {You happily accept the [[knife.->Take the knife.]] }

You swing the chamberpot back with all of your might, then bring it down on the lock, squeezing your eyes shut. Miraculously, you hear a sharp cracking sound, and open your eyes to see a dent in the door. You give it a few more whacks, gleefully watching the dent grow. "Knock that off in there!" the guard outside demands, but you pay him no mind. Finally, the wood splinters and cracks, leaving the doorknob hanging loosely, and the door drifting open. You quickly open the door and enter the hallway, where the guard looks a little dumbfounded. (if: $diplomatic is true)[Taking advantage of his surprise, you step forward and wield the chamberpot above your head. "Walk me out of camp right now or--" The guard drops like a stone. Quinn stands behind him, baton in hand. "Hey."](else-if: $reckless is true)[You rush into the hall, plowing over the guard and whoever was behind him. You roll off, scampering away, and readying your chamberpot. The guard gets up, but before he can attack, the other person you tackled knocks him out, and stand up, dusting themselves off. It's Quinn, armed with a baton. "Hey."](else:)[The both of you stand there, staring, while both trying to come up with a plan. The guard manages first and lunges at you, but something causes him to drop to the floor like a stone. Quinn stands behind him, baton in hand. "Hey."] "Quinn!" you exclaim. "You're alright! And free!" (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "eye", "eyes") the chamberpot. "You didn't use that first, right?" "Did I...?" you trail off, face contorting in disgust. "Ew, no! What the hell?!" You pause, then ask, "Why? Do you think I should have?" Quinn nudges the guard with $qhis foot, then crouches down, searching the unconsious man. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "stand", "stands") up and hands you a jackknife. "Here. You can dump the crapper now. We need to go." 1. {You decide to stick with the [[chamberpot.->Keep the Pot]]} 2. {You happily accept the [[knife.->Take the knife.]] }

You examine the door again, lift up your foot, and look at it. You nod. Yes, you can do this. You take a few practice swings. You've never kicked down a door before, but it seems easy enough. Then you kick next to the lock with all your might, squeezing your eyes shut tight. Miraculously, you hear a sharp cracking sound, and open your eyes to see a dent in the door. You give it a few more kicks. "Knock that off in there!" the guard outside demands, but you pay him no mind. Finally, the wood splinters and cracks, leaving the doorknob hanging loosely, and the door drifting open. You quickly open the door and enter the hallway, where the guard looks a little dumbfounded, but only for a moment before he springs into action. . (if: $diplomatic is true)[Taking advantage of his surprise, you leap back into the room and slam the door in his face. He groans in pain, and then you hear a thump. "Nice one!" you hear from the hall. You open the door to see Quinn, one arm raised with a baton that $qhe slowly lowers. (upperfirst:$qhe) glances between the busted lock and you. "Nice glutes."](else-if: $reckless is true)[You lift your leg again and attempt to kick him in the chest, but you lose your balance and fall backwards, groaning in pain. The guard bears down you, but freezes suddenly, his eyes rolling back as he collapse. Behind him stands Quinn, baton in hand. (upperfirst:$qhe) grins. "Nice glutes."](else:)[The guard bears down on you, and kick in a furied flury, catching him on the chin. He flies back into the wall, groaning in pain, as he slides down to the floor. Quinn comes around the corner, armed with a baton. Without thinking, you wind your leg up again, and roundhouse kick $qhim in the stomach. He doubles over, falling to $qhis knees, looking up at you with betrayel in $qhis eyes. "//Why?//" "I'm sorry!" you say. "I can't help it! These are deadly weapons!" Quinn groans as $qhe (cond: $plural, "stand.", "stands.")] "I'm glad you're alright," you say. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural, "nod", "nods"). "Me too." Quinn nudges the guard with $qhis foot, then crouches down, searching the unconsious man. (upperfirst:$qhe) stands up and hands you a jackknife. "Here. You can put your deadly weapons away now. We need to go." (set: $weapon to "knife") (uppercase:$qhe) grabs you by the other hand and [[pulls you down the hall.->Sneaking Thru Camp 1]]

{ (set: $chamberpotjitsu to true) }You swing the chamber pot into the doorknob as hard as you can, but your grip isn't very secure. It bounces off the door, flies across the room, and then, to your mounting horror, it sails out the window through the shattered shutters. If you had tossed it over your shoulder, you could not have hit the window dead center if you tried. But the chamberpot had done just that. You hear a faint cry of horror and rush to the window to see what happened. You cup your hand over your mouth as you see a bandit staggering across a rope bridge with the chamber pot stuck on her head. It might be best to just deny all knowledge of that chamber pot. You step slowly away from the window and hope nobody saw. From outside the room, you hear the guard shout, "What's going on in there?" "Nothing," you respond. There's a beat of silence. "Funny, sounds like someone just tossed a chamberpot through the window." "You know what, it sure did," you say. "You ought to go check that out. Can't have these fiends throwing chamberpots out the window at innocent bandits, can we?" "You aren't tricking me with that one," the guard replies. Hm. [[Seems like you won't be escaping after all.->Wait for Quinn]]

You examine the door again, lift up your foot, and look at it. You nod. Yes, you can do this. You take a few practice swings. You've never kicked down a door before, but it seems easy enough. Then you kick next to the lock with all your might, squeezing your eyes shut tight. Your balance is off though, and pain radiates up your leg. You stumble backward, pinwheeling your arms in a desperate attempt to catch your balance. The chamberpot trips you, speeding up your doom, as you crash through the shutters. Scrambling, you manage to get a grip on the window frame, but it's not secure. You feel yourself slipping, fingertips scratching against the wood. "No, no, no!" "What's going on in there?" the guard shouts through the door. "Help, help, help!" you shriek desperately. After a heartstopping moment, the guard opens the door and freezes. "Why are you hanging out the window?" "Never mind that! Pull me in!" you beg. He begins to walk toward, but then you see a flash of yellow, and someething small and wooden fly through air, beaning him in the back of the head. He goes down. Behind him stands Quinn, still in form from throwing. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "grin", "grins"). "I knew those throwing knife lessons would come in handy!" "Why would you do that?! He was pulling me in!" Quinn blinks. "Oh. I thought he pushed you." Grabbing your hand, $qhe pulls you back in. "So why //were// you hanging out the window?" "It doesn't matter," you sputter. "I just want to leave." "On it." Quinn nudges the guard with $qhis foot, then crouches down, searching the unconsious man. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "stand", "stands") up and hands you a jackknife. "Here. We need to go." (set: $weapon to "knife") (uppercase:$qhe) grabs you by the other hand and [[pulls you down the hall.->Sneaking Thru Camp 1]]

You follow Quinn down the hall, creeping past several unconscious bandits. You raise a brow, impressed, and $qhe (cond:$qplural, "grin", "grins") back. "I guess my 'stupid cap' wouldn't end my career as a thief, after all." "Your cap is glorious," you agree. "We do have a problem, though." "What's that?" (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural, "ask", "asks"), peering around a corner for guards, before waving you onward. "We don't have any money. Like, at all." You don't exactly know how money works, or where it comes from, for that matter. But you do know that your family has a lot of it, that everyone needs it to survive, and that you have none right now. "They took all my stuff I was going to sell." Quinn considers this for a moment, then shrugs. "It sucks, but it could be worse. We'll just earn some more. I'm used to performing for tips." "You perform for tips?" You've never thought much about it before, but technically Quinn is under your family's employ. "Don't my parents pay you?" "A little bit," Quinn says absently. "Most of my pay comes in the form of room and board. Everything else is tips from the audience and all that." "Oh." You consider this, then ask, "Did you happen to bring any of your money? You didn't just leave it at the castle, did you?" (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural, "pause", "pauses") and you think $qhe (cond:$qplural, "aren't", "isn't") going to answer until $qhe (cond:$plural, "say", "says"), "No, I... uh, I spent it already. But it's fine. Like I said, we can just earn it. We'll just be a bit hungry for a while. At least it's summer." You wonder what Quinn spends money on, if your parents provide $qhim with room, board, and caps. You've certainly never seen Quinn with anything new or expensive, and $qhe never (cond: $qplural, "buy", "buys") much, if anything, on your excursions to the market. Maybe you'll ask about it later. The two of you come upon a bandit who stares at you blankly, the wheels visibly turning in her head, but Quinn quickly knocks her out. She goes down with a thump. Quinn frowns. "She'll be okay. Probably." [[Probably.->Peasant-Generated Wealth]]

{ (set: $weapon to "chamber pot") }"Nah, I'll stick with ol' Reliable," you say, patting the chamberpot on its side. Quinn squints, glances at the pot, back at you, and then shrugs. "Alright, I guess." (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "grab", "grabs") you by the other hand and [[pulls you down the hall.->Sneaking Thru Camp 1]]

{ (set: $weapon to "knife") }"Ugh," you say, tossing the pot over your shoulder. "Glad to get rid of that thing." Behind you, you hear a pained groan. Quinn winces. "He's not getting up anytime soon." (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "grab", "grabs") you by the other hand and [[pulls you down the hall.->Sneaking Thru Camp 1]]

{ (set: $weapon to "knife") }"I got bored. What took you so long?" you gasp out. "Mind giving me a hand?" Quinn claps, slow and quietly. You would flip him off if you weren't currently clinging to this branch. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural, "stop", "stops") clapping and studies the branches carefully. "I think I can get you back in here, but you need to help me out." You nod vigorously. "Okay, so you need to move your foot there," $qhe (cond: $qplural, "point", "points") to a branch closer to the window. "And while you step, I need you to let go of that branch and grab this one over here." You shake your head. "No way." "$name," $qhe (cond:$qplural, "say", "says") softly. "Please trust me. I won't get you hurt. You got down from the tower yesterday, right?" Was that only yesterday? You've had to escape two days in a row. What even is your life right now? There really isn't a choice but to trust Quinn, though, so you reluctantly comply. You follow $qhis instructions until you're nearly back to the window. Quinn reaches out, offering $qhis hand. You prepare for the final step into the window. (if: $dexcheck is >=30)[You leap gracefully like a gazelle, sailing past an astonished Quinn and landing neatly next to $qhim. "Wow, since when did you stop being a klutz," $qhe (cond:$plural, "ask", "asks"). You roll your eyes. "I've //always// been graceful." Quinn snorts.] (else-if: $dexcheck is >=20)[Knees knocking, you follow Quinn's instructions. With one last wary glance at Quinn, you ask, "You're not going to let me fall, right?" "I'm the //last// person who would drop you, and if you don't hurry up we're going to be caught. You don't exactly pass for a bird." You nod and stretch, your arm extended to Quinn, who grasps your forearm in a vicelike grip. You meet their eyes, and they give an encouraging nod. You are pulled in through the window. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural, "grin", "grins"). "That wasn't so bad, was it?" "I could kiss the ground," you say shakily. Quinn wrinkles $qhis nose. "I wouldn't."] (else:)[You're going to fall. You just know it. You focus on Quinn's face. (cycling-link: bind $qeyes, "Have they always been this blue? Everything is so much clearer now that you're about to die.", "You try to take comfort in the familiar face, but... you're about to die!") You lunge clumsily at the window. Even as you do, you realize that you're going miss it by several inches. You close your eyes. At least now, your can never make you marry Bainbridge. For a brief moment your body is weightless, your stomach plummets. Then you feel someone clutch your shirt and yank you forward. Your stomach hits the window sill and your legs hit the outer wall. The breath is knocked out of you and plain explodes through your body. You crack open an eye. Quinn just shakes $qhis head and pulls you the rest of the way into the room.] "You're making so much noise, it'll alert the guards," $qhe (cond:$qplural, "ask", "asks"). "Sorry for making so much noise at my //impending death//," you snark, your legs still feeling like jelly. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural, "roll", "rolls") $qhis eyes. "I already told you I've got you. Anyway, let's get out of here." You follow $qhim out of the room, past the guard, who is now lying face-down with a nastly welt on the back of his head. Quinn nudges him with $qhis foot, then crouches down, searching the unconsious man. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "stand", "stands") up and hands you a jackknife. "Here." [[Time to sneak through the "arboreal fortress."->Sneaking Thru Camp 1]]

A bandit comes in a few mintues later with a small wooden box and a sack, explaining that you are to place your jewelry and clothes into the containers, then put on the "normal" clothes currently in the sack. You scowl, but obey, scoffing when the bandit merely turns around at your request for privacy. Oh, you'll be sorting this out soon. Once you've changed clothes, the bandit exits with your stuff, [[leaving you totally alone in the room.->Alone in the "Cell"]]

{ (if: $qeyes is "Have they always been this blue? Everything is so much clearer now that you're about to die.")[(set: $qromance to +1)] }As you creep through camp, you try to observe all you can. There's clearly something going on here, and you feel knowing what it is will be important. The number of elderly and children startles you. What could bandits, or an army, want with them? Quinn looks similarly puzzled, $qhis frown deepening. You find a ladder, and after some coaxing from Quinn, you climb down, coming into a well-populated clearing. You and Quinn duck behind some barrels. A grizzled, middle-aged man with an eyepatch walks amongst a group of people engaged in some sort of excercise, ranging from early twenties to middle-aged, a discerning look in his good eye. He clearly knows what he is looking for, and the scene reminds you of the guards back home running through their formations outside the barracks. Two people walk over, one of whom you immediately recognize as that damn bandit leader. The other looks strangely familiar, though you can't quite put your finger on it. You point them out to Quinn, and the two of you sidle closer, hoping to overhear what they're saying. You strain to hear their exchange, barely catching the end of whatever that bandit is saying. "...this morning. (upperfirst:$they) (cond: $plural, "don't", "doesn't") seem to be of much use. Some younger $child of House $house, so we'll probably collect the paltry ransom and leave it at that. More importantly, we got beer, and that should help morale." (cycling-link: bind $sexybandit, "Stupid bandit", "Stupid sexy bandit"). It wasn't just beer. It was beer, mead, and ale. There's a difference. "Every little bit helps the cause," the man replies. "I'm impressed with how well you've got things running, $sloan. It's been smooth sailing from what I can see." "$sloan" puffs up, obviously pleased with the praise. "Thank you, sir. Though I couldn't have done it without $pshort." $pshort..? You examine the $pman next to $sloan. Beautiful, coppery-red hair cascades down $phis shoulders in loose coils. (upperfirst:$phe) stands noticably taller than the rather petite bandit, $phis simple but finely-made clothes showing off lithe muscles. (cycling-link: bind $alresponse, "(upperfirst:$phe) is the most beautiful $pman you've ever seen.", "(upperfirst:$phe) has a strangely regal air about $phim.") 1. {[[It's the royal heir! You remember seeing $phim at court a few years back. What on Earth is $prince $pname doing here?->prince no crush]]} 2. (color: red+white)[] {[[Your cheeks warm -- you've always had a crush on the $prince. But what could $phe be doing here?->prince crush]]}

####(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")+ (size:1.5)[Chapter Three:] (font: "Copperplate")[In Which You Join a Rebellion]] { (set: $pknow to true) (if: $sexybandit is "Stupid sexy bandit")[(set:$sromance to +5)] (if: $alresponse is "(upperfirst:$phe) is the most beautiful $pman you've ever seen.")[(set: $promance to +5)] (if: $qeyes is "Have they always been this blue? Everything is so much clearer now that you're about to die.")[(set:$qromance to $qromance+5)] (if: $diplomatic is true)[(set: $mcchr to +2)] (if: $sneaky is true)[(set: $mcchr to +2)] (set: $chrcheck to (random:1,20)) (if: $armyreaction is "You need to tell someone about this. The king, even.")[(set: $loyalty to $loyalty+10)] }(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-time:3s)["Do we //have// to cross //another// bridge?" you complain. The rope handrails had already left angry red marks on your palms from gripping them so hard. You force yourself to look straight ahead to avoid looking down at the long drop below you. $sloan doesn't even turn glance back. "You sure complain a lot. Maybe just be grateful you aren't sitting alone in your room all day." That //would// be boring. (if: $weapon is "chamber pot")[After you threatened $sloan and $pshort with the chamber pot, you now had to knock on the door to have the chamber pot slid under the door through a slot, then slide it back when you were done. It didn't even get you out of cleaning it, either. ](else-if: $chamberpotjitsu is true)[After //accidentally// throwing the chamber pot on Tiffany's head, your window had been boarded up to prevent any more "aerial attacks" on unsuspecting rebels. Maybe Tiffany should have paid more attention to her surroundings. It's not like you had //used// it first, anyway.](else:)[Just you, the chamber pot, and the squirrel chittering through your window. Samson the Strong was a very considerate neighbor. He's brought a handful of acorns. You assume they are a housewarming present.] Still, it might've been preferable to $sloan dragging you out of bed at the crack of dawn to "pull your weight." Seriously, couldn't you get a break? Just three days ago you learned you were to be married to //Bainbridge//; now (cond: $sloan is "Sloan", "Baron", "Baroness") de Bandit over here is yelling about you "burning daylight." You haven't even seen Quinn since last night. Apparently, $qhe went with Robert, the one-eyed bandit from yesterday, to train their "fighting skills." Or so you were told. You're so often with them, that you never really knew what it was to miss them. Now that you've spent some time apart, you realize (cycling-link: bind $qabsence, "absence really does make the heart grow fonder.", "you miss them more than you believed you could.") "So... are you planning to throw me over while Quinn's not looking or...?" $sloan scoffs. "I could rid of you much more gracefully if I wanted. We're going to the [[kitchens->The Kitchen]]."]

"Who is this?" he asks, addressing $sloan. If looks could kill, you'd be in the ground already. You can practically see steam coming out of $sloan's ears. "//That// is little $house, who has somehow escaped $their cell along with $their fool." Another bandit comes running toward the five of you, "Boss, boss! Somebody has been knocking out all our perimeter guards! None of them remember anything but a flash of yellow and the jingling of bells!" Quinn snickers. "The Jingling Terror. I like it." (if: $chamberpotjitsu is true)["And Tiffany got a chamber pot stuck on her head!" he continues. "We don't know where it came from! It just flew out of the sky. Thank God it was empty." "Okay, that wasn't me," Quinn says, casting a sidelong glance at you. It must show on your face, because $qhe (cond: $qplural, "burst", "bursts") into laughter. ]$sloan looks torn between beating the snot out of you and sinking into the ground. You wield your $weapon threateningly. "Just try and take us down!" (if: $weapon is "chamber pot")[$sloan stares at you in bafflement. "You... you didn't //use// that before you... used it, did you?" "$sloan!" $pname admonishes. "That's disgusting! Why would you even bring that up?" "Because $they (cond:$plural, "are", "is") //clearly// deranged!" $sloan snaps. "Who threatens people with a chamber pot?!" "Resourceful people," Quinn says, loyally. "Indeed," says the old man, looking almost, but not quite, amused.](else:)[$sloan raises an eyebrow. "Do you even know how to use that?" "Well, I was just going to stab you," you reply, a little baffled. "I don't think there are a lot of ways to use a knife. Maybe slashing?" "Now, now," $pname says. "Let's all calm down for a minute and discuss the situation."] You lower your $weapon slightly. "You must be very confused right now," $pname say calmly. "This morning you were kidnapped--" $sloan shoots $phim a dirty look "--ransomed, and now you're standing here. Do you know what this is?" You consider the large numbers, the organization of the camp, and presences of the (lowercase:$prince), then say, "A hell of a lot more than a bandit camp." $pname and $sloan share a worried glance. Uncertainty hangs heavy in the air between you. Finally, the old man steps in, ignoring you entirely and addressing Quinn, "What do you know about King Alistair?" "He's the big man in charge," Quinn says, cautiously. (upperfirst:$qhis) eyes watch the old man warily. "And when the big men play their games of musical chairs, it never ends well for us." "Wisely put," the old man says, pleased. "But this big man is causing trouble all on his own. He sends our folks off to war in foreign lands because he wants to increase the power he thinks he has a right to. That doesn't end well for us either." "I'm not interested in your big picture here. I have my own people to worry about. Let us go, and we won't say anything." (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural, "take","takes") a half-step in front you. He looks at you, then turns back to Quinn. "That's a noble, you know. A very minor one, albeit, but a noble all the same. When have nobles ever cared about you, or any common person?" Quinn casts a sidelong glance at the (lowerfirst: $prince). "Clearly you don't believe that, at least not entirely. And $name is my friend." You try to hide your rather undignified sniffle. You always knew Quinn was your best friend, but you never realized how deep $qhis loyalties ran. (if:$sfriend is >=5)["$house said as much themselves earlier," $sloan adds, reluctantly.] (else:)["You seem rather loyal," $pname says, then addresses the old man. "I doubt $qhe would be so if $they weren't worthy of it."] "You always try to see the best in people, though I think you're right this time," the old man says. He studies Quinn, his brow furrowed. "Unfortunately, letting you go is not an option. Too much is at stake here to risk either of you giving us away. But you need not waste away in a prison. Somehow, the two of escaped containment and managed to sneak right into the heart of camp. That takes determination, skill, and a lot of guts. Things we need right now. If you're willing to swear loyalty to our cause, to building a better world, then I'm offering you a place among us. It's your choice, though." "Stop dancing around it." Quinn crosses their arms and glares at the man. "Tell us exactly what we're committing to here." $sloan gritted $shis teeth. "Even if we let you join, you don't get to just know everything. We have people here to protect, and the more information we give out, the more danger they're in. You aren't leaving here either way, so make your decision." Quinn considers it. "What about $name? Are you extending this offer to both of us?" "As a gesture of goodwill, yes," he says. "But you will both have to pull your own weight. $sloan, can I trust you to keep them in line?" "Of course," $sloan says. If looks could kill, you'd be a pile of ash by now. "Fine. We'll join." Quinn crosses $qhis arms, glaring back at $sloan. No one seems interested in asking your opinion, which is pretty par for the course at this point. The old man smiles. "In that case, introductions are in order. I'm Robert. [[Welcome to the rebellion."->Chapter 3: Guess We're Rebels Now]]

The kitchens are on the ground below $sloan's "arboreal fortress," much to your dismay. "You mean you have a whole other camp //on the ground?!//" You cannot believe you spent the night in that death trap when there was a perfectly good camp on the ground. "Obviously," $sloan says dryly. "You want us to light a fire in the forest canopy? That would not only give away our position, but risk starting a fire. In the trees. Where we would also be." "You don't have to try and make me feel stupid," you snap. Then, swallowing your pride, you ask, "Could... could I stay on the ground? Please?" (upperfirst:$she) raises an eyebrow. "Are you afraid of heights or something?" You're not afraid. They're just your enemy. Behind chickens. Do you really want $sloan to know that, though? 1. {[[Yes. It might convince $shim to let you stay on the ground.->Tell Sloan About Fear]]} 2. {[[No. It's something $she can use against you.->Don't Tell Sloan]]}

{ (set: $tellacrophobia to true) }"I'm not afraid of heights," you insist. "I just... don't like not having solid ground under my feet. And I would prefer to sleep here." "You would probably also prefer to sneak away." $sloan shoots you a sharp, sidelong glance. Then $shis honey-brown eyes soften. "But you aren't the only one who doesn't want to stay in the fortress. Or who can't. We have a lot of folks who just can't climb up the ladders, and we make sure to keep guards posted for their safety. I suppose we could talk about having one assigned to you, and you staying down here." You swallow, a wave of relief washing over you. Your voice is a bit hoarser than you would prefer; you didn't realize how much you did not want to spend another night in the tree house. "I would like that." "Now," $sloan begins, clapping $shis hands together. [["Let's get cooking."->First Try at Cooking]]

"No," you reply quickly. "That's ridiculous. Where would you even get that idea?" "Uh, maybe the way you nearly hyperventilated on the way down here?" $she suggests. (if: $diplomatic is true)["I wasn't //afraid//," you insist. "I was //cautious//, because your 'arboreal fortress' is clearly not up to local code." "Of course it's up to local code. Do you know how many carpenters are here?" $sloan replies hotly. "We don't have enough rebels for one to take a plunge to the forest floor. You're perfectly safe." "You expect me to believe a bandit keeps $shis fort to code?" you snort. "You're not exactly a law-abiding citizen." (upperfirst:$she) glares at you. "Needs must, in terms of banditry. But I want my people safe. That includes you, as long as you're here -- I don't have to like you to keep you safe." (cond: $sromance >= 2, "Your heart skips a beat and you frown.","Your eyes widen.") (upperfirst:$she) sounds awfully serious about that.](else-if: $sneaky is true)["It's just... why an 'arboreal fortress?' You have to admit, it's definitely different." $sloan considers your question as if $she doesn't quite believe you're sincere. Then $she says, "It's safer in the trees. The kingsmen have a harder time finding us. Not everyone can stay there long-term, because very young children, the elderly, the infirm... they can't climb the ladders. We have a lift, but it's not something we can use it all the time." $sloan doesn't ask about heights again, and you feel relieved and triumphant at having successfully distracted $shim.](else:)["I'm not afraid," you insist. "Frankly, it's none of your business if I was. Besides, I saw somebody fall yesterday." "No you didn't." $sloane narrows $shis eyes. "I did," you say. "It was an old lady. She kept hitting branches as she went down, and bouncing, and screaming. Your guards are awful at their jobs -- how didn' t they hear that?" $sloan rolls $shis eyes. "Because it didn't happen." You continue valiantly. "I tried to alert them myself, but they just accused me of trying to distract them. Then this huge bear came out of the woods! Her limbs were flailing! Her cries were heartwrenching! The bear drug her away. It was a terrible creature, with glowing red eyes and tusks!" "Bears don't have tusks," $sloan argues, while the other rebels were watching in bemusement. A few of the younger children crept closer to listen, with wide, terrified eyes. "Tusks, I tell you!" you wail. "Terrible ones, crusted with the blood of its previous victims!" The children echo your wailing. $sloan raises a brow. "I'll look into it."] Then $sloan grabs a wooden spoon and hands it to your. [["Let's get cooking."->First Try at Cooking]]

"You are going to help cook breakfast," $sloane says. "It's pretty simple, just porridge. Make sure you stir it and keep an eye on it." You sat on a stool in front of a large pot of water, a sack of barley next to you. There are no further instructions as $sloan moves on to speak to the other rebels, talking about "border patrols" and "rations." You stare at the barley. (click-append:"barley. ")[It stares back. Or it would, if it had eyes.] Looks simple enough. You reach for the barley and begin. You've never cooked before, but how hard could it be? You've been in the kitchens at the castle hundreds of times -- usually to steal food, but still! 1. {You [[give it an honest try->Cooking Honest]].} 2. {You [[get distracted->Cooking Fail]] pretty quickly}

{ (set: $cookingHonest to true) (set:$honestAttempt to $honestAttempt+1) (set:$sfriend to $sfriend+3) }You really do try, but at some point the water just starts bubbling out of control. You panic and grab the bag of barley and start pouring it in, hoping to make it stop. "Ah!" you cry out when a drop of boiling hot water hits you. A dozen feet away, $sloan spins around. (upperfirst:$shis) eyes widen comically and $she dashes over, snatches a pair of quilted potholders, and removes the pot from the fire. After a few moments, the bubbles recede and $sloan stirs the porridge. (upperfirst:$shis) eyes close and $she heaves a big sigh. "You //are// kidding me, right? All you needed to do was stir this so it didn't burn. Haven't you ever cooked porridge?" "Well ... no," you admit. "Cook usually does that." "What //can// you cook?" $she asks. A terrible suspicion begins to surface in $shis eyes. "Cook?" you ask, confused. "I just told you, we had Cook for that." (upperfirst:$shis) eye close again, and $she leans against a tree and begins to gently bang $shis head off of it. (upperfirst:$she) mutters something that sounds vaguely "worthless nobles," but you're sure you misheard. After all, you do any number of things exceedingly well. Juggling, for instance. "I did try," you note. (upperfirst:$she) sighs again -- $she has been doing that a lot, you've noticed -- and squares $shis shoulders. "Yes. Well, we'll try [[something else->First Try at Cleaning]]. You have to be useful at //something//."

{ (set: $cookingHonest to false) }Cooking is pretty boring, as it turns out. The water doesn't seem to do anything, no matter how long you stare. You sigh and start scanning the area for something //interesting// to look at. And then you see a cat, white and fluffy, napping in the sun. You glance back at the pot, which does nothing. With a shrug, you start creeping toward the cat. It yawns adorably, squeezing its eyes shut. You smile and kneel down next to it, offering your hand to it. The cat sniffs you curiously, then bolts away. "(uppercase:$name)!" $sloan shouts, furious. You spin around to see $shim grabbing the pot and removing it from the fire. The water is bubbling out of control, but settles as it cools and $sloan stirs it. You shrug. Clearly no harm was done. Then the smell hits you: burnt barley. As the child of a master brewer, you haven't had occasion to smell it often, but the stentch is unmistakable. "Oops." "Oops? //Oops!?// Do you have any idea how hard it is to get enough food to feed everyone in camp? You just wasted an entire meal!" $sloan is apoplectic. You wonder, briefly, whether that vein in $shis forehead would pop, and, if it did, how long it would take to find Quinn and escape. "It wasn't on purpose," you say sulkily. "Besides, it was the cat's fault." $sloan slaps a hand over $shis face, dragging it down over $shis eyes and mouth. "What cat?" "That one." You point. "The fluffy belly was irresistible." The cat, which was laying on its back, rolls over and opens one yellow eye, before shutting it again and tucking its face under its plumey tail. $sloan mutters something that sounds like "why can't I murder you?" but that's just silly, because everyone loves you. Or, at least, they are paid to love you ... oh, wait. "Maybe you can buy some more grain -- instead of stealing it! -- with the clothes and jewelry you stole from me!" You cross your arms. $sloan takes a deep breath through $shis nose. "I'll just pop into town, order a wagonful and have it delivered to our secret base, shall I?" "Um," you say. Perhaps it would be better to be strategically quiet now. $sloan's hand and eye are twitching quite violently now. $sloan shakes $shis head. "Fine, [[nothing that requires any sort of attention span->First Try at Cleaning]]." You're a bit offended by that, but you're being strategically quiet, so you say nothing. For now. $sloan marches off and you trail sullenly behind, plotting murder.

$sloan leads you to the mostly-empty barracks, explaining that everyone on night shift is sleeping right now. "We're going to open the windows to let air in while we sweep. You do know how to sweep, right?" You stare blankly at $shim. "How hard can it be?" "You are uniquely useless," $sloan snaps. "Here, let me show you, just so I know that you know what you're doing." After showing you how to sweep, $she sets you loose with a reminder to be quiet and unobtrusive. 1. {And you [[try.->Cleaning Honest]] You really, really do.} 2. {But you [[zone out.->Cleaning Fail]]}

{ (set: $cleaningHonest to true) (set:$honestAttempt to $honestAttempt+1) (set:$sfriend to $sfriend+3) }It goes well for a while. You've got a pretty good dust pile going, and it's almost peaceful. The sunlight filtering through the window, the slight breeze, the birdsong, all combine to create an idyllic experience. It makes you careless, though. You sit the broom against a bed while you turn and grab your dust pan. Then Hell breaks loose. The world moves in slow motion as you turn and see the broomstick falling, and you reach out, grasping for it. It is futile. The broom falls into a stack of chamber pots waiting to be cleaned. $sloan rushes over to see what the clamor was, as several rebels wake up. The contents of the pots are spilled across the floor, with you standing there as the only suspect of this putrid crime. "It wasn't me! It was Samson!" you exclaim. One of the rebels scratches the back of his head. "Don't be daft, I was sleeping," he grumbles. "Wait, you're Samson, too?" "Yes! Hold on, is there another?" All the rebels look at each other in confusion. "I don't think so, mate," seems to be the consensus. "Samson the squirrel!" you say. $sloan groans. "Someone has to clean this up." All the rebels look at you. You raise your hands to ward off their accusing stares. "Wait one second, no one said anything about //that//!" You glance at the disgusting mess seeping across the floor, flies buzzing about it. Did that ... //thing// ... just puslate? You start dry heaving. $sloan grabs you by the elbow and propels you toward the door. "I'll handle it," $she growls, before disappearing back into the room with the look of a person going to the executioner's block. "Wait here and [[I'll come get you->First Try at Egg-Gathering]] when I'm done."

{ (set: $damp to true) }$sloan is watching you like a hawk watches a mouse it intends to eat, and you're annoyed. Sure, you burnt breakfast, but that was an accident. Mostly. That doesn't mean that $she has to watch you this closely. Under $shis gimlet glare, you keep your head down and move the broom vigorously across the floor, generating clouds of dust and debris that settle back to the floor as you pass. $sloan's eyes narrow. "Firmly," $she instructs, "not frantically. You're just moving dust around." You heave a put-upon sigh. "I thought that's what we were doing." $sloan frowns. "No, we are sweeping up the dirt, not moving it around." Just at that moment, one of the rebels comes to the door and asks for $sloan, and $shis attention is thankfully diverted. You lean the broom against the wall and go to open the shutters so air can circulate through the room. You can almost hear $sloan droning about this being a task that even you can do. You glance back over your shoulder, and $she is deep in conversation with the other rebel. Since $shis back is turned, you stick out your tongue. You've got to get out of here. They can't honestly expect you to do menial chores like this, when you've never done it before in your life! Sneaking another look over your shoulder, you see that $sloan is still distracted, so you put a knee on the window sill and heave yourself up onto it. So far, so good, so you twist around, sitting down and throwing one leg out the window. Your foot dangles above the drop. It's a long drop and you shudder. You glance back over at $sloan. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Then something //alive// brushes the ankle hanging outside the window. You yelp loudly and throw yourself back into the room -- right at a stack of chamber pots set aside for cleaning. The pile collapses around and on top of you, a vile smell rising. You scramble to your feet, retching, bile hot and stinging in your mouth and throat. $sloan turns slowly, $shis face looking like carved granite. The clatter has awoken the sleeping rebels, and they crowd around, staring in silent horror. You continue to miserably retch, feeling //something// sliding down your hair and the back of your neck. Tears are pouring down your cheeks from the force of it. In the window, a squirrel sits, chittering. You recognize him as the squirrel you had dubbed Samson, and curse him under your breath, wiping your face and trying not to think about //what// you're wiping off your face. "Buckets of water," $sloan says in a flat, toneless voice. "All the buckets of water you can lay your hands on. Just pour it over $their head until [[First Try at Egg-Gathering<-$they don't smell like the inside of an privy]]. Then keep pouring. Possibly until $they drown. I haven't decided yet."

You trail after $sloan, who is silent and grim.{ (if:$damp is true)[Each step you take makes a loud, squelching sound. ]}You can't escape the faint stench of burnt barley and piss. The rebels' day turn is hungry. The night watch is awake. They are all cranky. "The next one we try will be so simple, even a child could do it." $sloan glances at you over $shis shoulder. "Even //you// could do it." Indignation rises in you. It's not fair! $sloan keeps making you do things you've never done before and expects you to get it right the first time. Who gets anything right the first time? Your mother always told you that great success came after a thousand failures. But you stay quiet. Then you realize where $sloan is leading you. The chicken coop. Your stomach drops and your mouth goes dry. Chickens in the arboreal fortress? Apparently more likely than you think. You attempt to play off your reaction. "Ha ha, what are we doing here?" "Gathering eggs," $sloan says. "The children do it all the time. You walk in, see an egg, and put it in the basket. Repeat. Nothing complicated." You swallow. "Yeah. Not complicated at all." 1. {[[You are //not// scared of chickens.->Egg Honest]]} 2. {[[You are //not// going in there. No way, no how->Egg Fail]]}

{ (set:$eggHonest to true) (set:$honestAttempt to $honestAttempt +1) (set:$sfriend to $sfriend+3) }That's what you tell yourself anyway. You march gallantly into the coop, clutching your basket in one hand. $sloan follows after, keep $shis wary gaze locked on you. Suppressing a shudder, you reach out and slide a hand under a hen. Her feathers scratch at the back of your hand. She clucks softly, her head twisting and twitching in ways no creation of God should move. "Eugh..." $sloan begins to gather eggs, apparently satisfied with your progress. (upperfirst:$she) shoots you a few curious glances, but otherwise lets you alone. The egg is slick and warm as you close your hand around it, and you cringe in disgust. Then the chicken clucks violently and you bolt. The only thought running through your mind is that you need to get out of here. You throw the egg behind you to distract the chickens, who are doubtlessly pursuing you -- such a creature could never care about its young, but the horrible cannibals won't pass up a meal. You hear the egg crack behind you as you flee through the door. A hand grabs you by the wrist, and you only just manage to avoid decking them by reminding yourself that chickens cannot grasp. "//What// is the matter with you?!" $sloan growls, egg yolk dripping down $shis face. "Do you get a kick out of tormenting me?" "Tormenting //you?//" you cry. "You have been tormenting me! Kidnapped, ransomed, pressed into your little merry band of rebels... and now this?!" you jab a finger toward the chicken coop. "You make me touch one of those horrible creatures! I saw my life flash before my eyes!" $sloan holds up $shis hands. "Alright, alright, relax. I get it. You didn't ask to be here. But you are, and you just have to make do with the hand you were dealt." "Is that what you did when you resorted to banditry and kidnapping?" you spit. (upperfirst:$she) presses $shis lips together. "You know, it's probably about time things didn't go your way, noble." "I didn't //run away// because things went my way all the time," you snap, quickly regretting the admission. You expect $sloan to mock you, but $she surprises you. Instead of making a sarcastic comment, $she furrows $shis brow and examines you, as if trying to spot a lie. Then, $she says, haltingly, "I'm... sorry. I didn't mean to step on a sore spot. I understand what it's like to feel not in control of your life. But we have no choice but to live with the decisions we make... and the ones that are made for us." You feel (cycling-link: "surprised at $shis compassion","angry at $shis pity","touched by $shis understanding"). "[[Let's get this over with->Chores End]]," $sloan says, with yet another sigh. "I'm exhausted and it's not even noon."

You cross your arms. You are not walking in to the den of Satan himself. "No." "Are you joking right now?" $sloan asks, exhasperated. "Look, this might be the only thing here you can actually do and //not// mess up." "Not doing it," you repeat, glaring at $shim. (upperfirst:$she) glares back. "Are so." "Make me." In retrospect, it wasn't the smartest thing to say. $sloan grabs you by the arm and force-marches you into the coop, despite your scrambling attempts to escape. You grab the door frame of the coop and cling desperately. "No no no!" $sloan tugs until you stumbled back against them, knocking you both to floor. You are now sprawled across $shis chest, petrified. The hens, which somehow seem even larger than the ones back at Castle $house, have you surrounded. You peek up at the sea of beady eyes, as far as the eye could see. $sloan is staring at you in baffled disgruntlement, straw and stray feathers in $shis hair. "What is the matter with you?" $sloan mutters, more to (print: $shim+"self") than to you. (upperfirst:$she) squirms out from underneath you, sending a few chickens away, squawking indignantly. With a heavy sigh, $she stands and holds out a hand to help you up. "Do you have to act like I'm torturing you? These really are simple chores. I know it's different than you're used to, but I know you're capable of it. Why aren't you at least trying?" You take $sloan's hand and scoot toward $shim unconsciously, trying to avoid the chickens clucking at your feet. "You know, I didn't //ask// to be a part of your rebellion, or to be kidnapped. I didn't even get //asked//. Your leader asked //Quinn// if //$qhe// would join. I just got dragged along." You expect $sloan to accuse you of whining or of being spoiled, but $she surprises you. "I... get that it's frustrating to not feel like you have any choices. But you do. You can choose to fight this every step of the way, or you can choose to cooperate and be a part of our community. This isn't what you want. It's frankly not what I want, either. But, we have to make do." You feel (cycling-link: "surprised at $shis compassion","angry at $shis pity","touched by $shis understanding"). "[[Let's get this over with->Chores End]]," $sloan says, with yet another sigh. "I'm exhausted and it's not even noon."

(align:"=><=")+(text-size:2.0)+(text-color: red+white)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[''Settings''] ''//Change Font Size://'' (cond:$FontSize is >0.9, "[[(-)->decrease font]]","(text-color: red+white+white+black)[(-)]") [[(reset)->default font size]] (cond:$FontSize is <2.4, "[[(+)->increase font]]","(text-color: red+white+white+black)[(+)]") ''//Change Font Type://'' (cycling-link: 2bind $PassageFont, "Copperplate", "Century Gothic","Verdana") //''Change Device: ''//(cycling-link: 2bind $uiMode, "Mobile", "Desktop") (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "settings")'s last) {(set: $showHeader to true)}

(set: $FontSize to $FontSize-0.1) (enchant:?passage, (text-size:$FontSize)) Text now looks like this. 1. {(if:$FontSize is >0.9)[(link-rerun:"Decrease text size.")[(rerun:?passage)]](else-if:$FontSize is 0.9)[(text-color: red+white+white+black)[Decrease text size (already at minimum).]]} 2. {[[Return to Settings->Settings]]} 3. (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "setting")'s last)

(set: $FontSize to $FontSize+0.1) (enchant:?passage, (text-size:$FontSize)) Text now looks like this. 1. {(if:$FontSize is <2.4)[(link-rerun:"Increase text size.")[(rerun:?passage)]](else:)[(text-color: red+white+white+black)[Increase text size (already at maximum).]]} 2. {[[Return to Settings->Settings]]} 3. (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "settings")'s last)

(set: $FontSize to 1) (enchant:?passage, (text-size:$FontSize)) Text now looks like this. 1. {[[Return to Settings->Settings]]} 2. (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "setting")'s last)

(if: $uiMode is "Desktop")[ (background:(mix: 0.99, transparent,0.01,#594D4B))[ (float-box: "====X","Y=")[ (text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")+(text-size: 0.7)[ {(if: $character is false)[(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")+(text-size:0.7)[Character]](if:$character is true)[(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")+(text-size:0.7)[[Character->Character Sheet]]]} {(if: $relationships is false)[(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")+(text-size:0.7)[Relations]](if: $relationships is true)[(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")+(text-size:0.7)[[Relations->Relationships]]]} {[[Settings ->Settings]]} {(link-repeat:"Save Menu")[ (dialog: [(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[''Save Menu''] (font: "Copperplate Gothic")+(text-size:0.7)[{(link-repeat: "Slot A")[(save-game:"Slot A",) (if:(save-game:"Slot A"))[ Saved!](else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot A')[ (link:'Load Slot A')[(loadgame:'Slot A')]]} {(link-repeat: "Slot B")[(save-game:"Slot B") (if:(save-game:'Slot B'))[ Saved!] (else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot B')[ (link:'Load Slot B')[(loadgame:'Slot B')]]} {(link-repeat: "Slot C")[(save-game:"Slot C") (if:(save-game:'Slot C'))[ Saved!](else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot C')[ (link:'Load Slot C')[(loadgame:'Slot C')]]}] ], "Close Menu") ]} {[[''Choice Indicators''->Choice Indicators]]} {(if: $cheatmenu is true)[[[Cheats->Cheatmenu]]]} [(link:"Restart")[(restart:)]]] ]]]

{(set: $sloanfire to "nothing") (if: $qabsence is "you miss them more than you believed you could.")[(set: $qromance to $qromance+5)] }(if: $honestAttempt is 3)[The end of the day can't come fast enough. $sloan takes you along as $she goes about $shis day, having you try different tasks. Each is as disastrous as the last, and (cycling-link: "frustration stings behind your eyes.", "shame warms your cheeks.", "you want to scream.") You've made an honest effort! Why is it all going so poorly? Why can't you do anything right? That night, with Quinn still off elsewhere, you sit on a log far from the fire and the bandits' laughter and camaderie. After today, you don't have much of an appetite or interest in the others. You push your vegetables around on your plate miserably. $sloan eyes you carefully, then raises a brow. "Don't tell me your palate is too refined for our food. Maude has a killer temper, and she won't take you crapping on her food lying down." Too exhausted to come up with a quip, you settle for a glare. "Hey, now, I'm just warning you," $sloan replies, a hint of amusement creeping into $shis voice as $she settles down next to you. "Look, I may have been a little harsh today, but everyone has to pitch in. This place doesn't run itself, and it's the only home a lot of us have left." You peer over at $shim. (upperfirst:$shis) smile is softer than any expression you've seen on the bandit's face yet, and the interplay of shadows and light from the distant fire accentuate the height of $shis cheekbones and the curve of $shis mouth. (cycling-link: bind $sloanfire, "You suppose that, objectively, $she is attactive, but $she stirs no feelings in you.", "You can't help but notice how attractive $she is and the look $she's giving you now gives you a fluttering feeling in your stomach.") You frown. "You're being awfully nice right now." "I know how hard change can be, even when you want it." $sloan gazes off into the forest, a wistful, faraway look in $shis eyes. "You've made a good effort today, even if it was... Well, anyway, your heart was in it, so that counts for something, I guess. Credit where it's due and all." 1. {[["I'm not used to being so... useless." At least, not so //obviously// useless.->Frustration 1]]} 2. {[["These are tasks even children can do." And you managed to botch them all.->Shameful 1]]} 3. {[["These are simple chores that everybody else can do. Why the hell can't I?" How stupid must you be?->Anger 1]]} ](else-if: $honestAttempt is 0)[The end of the day can't come fast enough. $sloan takes you along as $she goes about $shis day, having you try different tasks. You refuse to budge. Why should you work for these rebels or bandits or whoever that //literally kidnapped// you. Hopefully, $sloan will get the message soon and just release you -- if you can't be used and you can't be ransomed, there should be no reason to keep you around. That night, with Quinn still off elsewhere, you sit on a log far from the fire and the bandits' laughter and camaderie. You have no desire to join in their merry-making. You sink further into the shadows at the edge of the clearing, glancing briefly at one of the watchmen, standing at attention about twenty feet away. No chance of escape, then. $sloan approaches you, bowl in hand. (upperfirst:$she) raises an eyebrow. "Not going to eat?" "Not hungry." You glare at $shim, willing $shim to leave you to your brooding. Of course $she doesn't. Instead, $she crouches down and hands your $shis bowl. "You need to keep up your strength. It won't get easier." You shove the bowl back at $shim. "Just leave me alone." "Do you think you're better than us, just because you've never had to resort to stealing?" (upperfirst:$she) scowls. "You sit in your castle all day, doing God knows what, while you are fed and clothed and entertained by people who have to actually work for a living. You have done nothing to earn it, and yet you are better than us?" 1. {[[You growl in frustration. That's not what you meant!->Frustration 2]]} 2. {[["Of course I don't think that," you say, shame washing over you.->Shameful 2]]} 3. {[[How dare $she make assumptions about you! "I've never kidnapped anybody, so maybe I am!"->Anger 2]]} ](else:)[The end of the day can't come fast enough. $sloan takes you along as $she goes about $shis day, having you try different tasks. Sometimes you try, but sometimes you can't motivate yourself to put forth the effort. Why bother? You won't be good at it anyway. The sooner $sloan figures out you aren't any good at it, the sooner you can drop this whole charade. But still, at the same time, failing so often and spectacularly galls you. That night, with Quinn still off elsewhere, you sit on a log far from the fire and the bandits' laughter and camaderie. After today, you don't have much of an appetite or interest in the others. You wish you could just sink into the ground without anyone noticing. $sloan eyes you carefully, then raises a brow. "You're part of the family now. Come on over, we don't bite. You should make an effort to get to know us, at least." Too exhausted to come up with a quip, you settle for a glare. (upperfirst:$she) frowns. "Do you think you're too good for us? These are kind and generous people, willing to give you a chance. You should offer them the same courtesy." There's a beat of silence. "I was harsh with you today, but there were a few times where you really needed the push. You are capable of these things. You have to show up //all// the time, not just when you feel like it." You peer over at $shim. (upperfirst:$shis) mouth is set in a firm line, though $shis eyes are warm and gentle. The interplay of shadows and light from the distant fire accentuate the height of $shis cheekbones and the curve of $shis mouth. (cycling-link: bind $sloanfire, "You suppose that, objectively, $she is attactive, but $she stirs no feelings in you.", "You can't help but notice how attractive $she is and the look $she's giving you now gives you a fluttering feeling in your stomach.") You frown. "I //did// try." Though, maybe you can admit to yourself that you didn't try all the time. $sloan seems to be in agreement with the tiny voice in your head, like the bastards they are. "Change is hard. If is wasn't, it wouldn't be worth doing. You did make some effort today, but your heart wasn't in it. Still, credit where it's due." 1. {[["I not used to not being good at things." Admittedly, you don't try things you aren't good at.->Frustration 3]]} 2. {[["Maybe you're right. Maybe I didn't try as hard as I could have." It's hard to admit, but maybe that's because it's little bit true.->Shameful 3]]} 3. {[["Don't patronize me. I'm not a child." Even though everyone treats you like one.->Anger 3]]} ]

Since you were little, you've always been underfoot. None of your siblings wanted to play with the //baby//, unless the adults ordered them to. And of course, whenever your parents demanded your siblings let you have a toy or the last sweet because you were the //baby//, they resented you for it. Until Quinn came along, you were a lonely child and you didn't even know it. You swallow hard. "I'm just... not used to being useless." "No one is useless," $sloan says with conviction. (upperfirst:$she) shoots you a sideways glance, grinning. "Not even you. We just need to find your thing." You feel warmed by the statement. Until $she starts counting off all your not-things on $shis fingers. "Fighting, not your thing. Cooking, not your thing. Cleaning--" "Alright, I get the point!" you cut $shim off. "I suck at a lot of things." "You do. But one day, you will suck less," $sloan assures you. "We just have to be patient, I guess. Go get some rest. You have another early day tomorrow." (upperfirst:$she) pats you on the should before standing up and walking away. You are left alone. You consider your first real day with the bandits. It's not where you wanted to be, but at least you aren't walking down the aisle just yet. 1. { (color: red+white)[] [[You suppose you should make the best of it. You never know what opportunity might arise. After all, your mother always said opportunity is like yeast -- it rises when you let it rest.->Determination Epiphany]]} 2. {(if: $stubborn is false)[(color: red+white)[]][[You can't let these bandits change who you are to suit their agenda. You don't even know what that agenda is. For all you know, they're marching on your parent's castle next week. That would upset your father even more than drinking all of his magic mead had.->Stubborn Epiphany]]}

{ (set: $determined to true) (if: $qabsence is "you miss them more than you believed you could.")[(set:$qromance to +1)] (if: $stubborn is true)[(dialog: [''//Trait Evolution://'' Your ''stubbornness'' has evolved into ''determination''.], "Proceed.")](else:)[(dialog: [''//Trait Gained://'' You've developed the trait of ''determination''.], "Proceed.")] }(if:$tellacrophobia is false)[You tuck your blankets tighter around you, shivering from the chilly air. (cond:$chamberpotjitsu is true, "It's even worse with the broken window.","At least there isn't a draft.") You give up on sleep for now. It's impossible in this death trap, anyway. You wish you told $sloan that you wanted to sleep on the ground. Each creak on the wooden floor sets your heart heart racing. You sit up on the scratchy straw mattress, missing your warm bed and fire. You think about Isabella, the maid who always kept yours burning through the night. Did she have to sleep in the cold when she wasn't tending the fire? Or the maids who woke hours before you to make your breakfast hot, did they wake up shivering? Surely not -- the castle was always warm. Wasn't it?] (else:)[You tuck your blankets tighter around you, shivering from the chilly air. A tree root is pressing into your back. You roll over, only to feel pebbles under your ribs. With a tired sigh, you sit up. At least you aren't in that deathtrap $sloan loves so much. Admitting weakness was worth the new bunking situation. You pull your knees to your chest, trying not to kick your new roommate. You miss your warm bed and fire. You think about Isabella, the maid who always kept yours burning through the night. Did she have to sleep in the cold when she wasn't tending the fire? Or the maids who woke hours before you to make your breakfast hot, did they wake up shivering? Surely not -- the castle was always warm. Wasn't it?] You miss Quinn. Where (cond:$qplural, "are","is") $qhe? What (cond:$plural, "have","has") $qhe done all day? (if:$qabsence is "absence really does make the heart grow fonder.")[Usually, Quinn's annual day off is the only day you're without $qhim, and even then $qhe always (cond:$plural,"return","returns") before nightfall.](else:)[You wonder if $qhe (cond:$plural, "miss","misses") you just as much.] You could use some advice from your best friend right about now. Your conversation with $sloan has you thinking, a dangerous pasttime, as Quinn would say. But you haven't been able to move past it. Things are different here, and even if you get away, it won't get any easier. Not unless you to suck it up and marry Bainbridge. You need to be stronger. And maybe you should put some real effort into pulling your weight. It's not like you can leave anytime soon, anyway. Yawning, you snuggle back into your mattress and [[close your eyes.->A Few Days Later]]

{ (if: $stubborn is false)[ (set:$stubbornAcquired to true) (dialog: [''//Trait Gained://'' You've developed the trait of ''stubbornness''.], "Proceed.")] }(if:$tellacrophobia is false)[You tuck your blankets tighter around you, shivering from the chilly air. (cond:$chamberpotjitsu is true, "It's even worse with the broken window.","At least there isn't a draft.") You give up on sleep for now. It's impossible in this death trap, anyway. You wish you told $sloan that you wanted to sleep on the ground. Each creak on the wooden floor sets your heart heart racing. You sit up on the scratchy straw mattress, missing your warm bed and fire. You don't understand why it's so cold here. The castle was always nice and warm, with fires burning through the night. Just another reason this "arboreal fortress" was ridiculous. If you were back home, you'd be warm and snuggled up in bed. A maid would bring you your breakfast hot in the morning and a cup of coffee. You are certain these rebels don't even know what coffee //is//.] (else:)[You tuck your blankets tighter around you, shivering from the chilly air. A tree root is pressing into your back. You roll over, only to feel pebbles under your ribs. With a tired sigh, you sit up. At least you aren't in that deathtrap $sloan loves so much. Admitting weakness was worth the new bunking situation. You pull your knees to your chest, trying not to kick your new roommate. You miss your warm bed and fire. You don't understand why it's so cold here. The castle was always nice and warm, with fires burning through the night. Just another reason this whole "hiding out in the forest" idea was ridiculous. If you were back home, you'd be warm and snuggled up in bed. A maid would bring you your breakfast hot in the morning and a cup of coffee. You are certain these rebels don't even know what coffee //is//.] You miss Quinn. Where (cond:$qplural, "are","is") $qhe? What (cond:$plural, "have","has") $qhe done all day? (if:$qabsence is "absence really does make the heart grow fonder.")[Usually, Quinn's annual day off is the only day you're without $qhim, and even then $qhe always (cond:$plural,"return","returns") before nightfall.](else:)[You wonder if $qhe (cond:$plural, "miss","misses") you just as much.] You could use some advice from your best friend right about now. Who do these rebels think they are? Kidnapping you and Quinn, then acting like you're all one big happy family? It's insane! Preposterous, even! Your shoulders droop as all your energy seeps out of you. Life is hard out here, and you honestly don't know if you could do it alone. You'll stick around for now and try not to get on the rebels bad side, but you won't let them change who you are, either. Yawning, you snuggle back into your mattress and [[close your eyes.->A Few Days Later]]

Perhaps you have become lazy and complacent... or perhaps you always were. Quinn has always been the pragmatic one, making your wild schemes work somehow, even when they rightfully shouldn't. What have you ever brought to the table? If you're honest, not much. You think about the ruined food, the barracks left dirtier than before you began, even the stupid chickens. "I've really made a mess of things today. You gave me chores a child could do, and I couldn't manage even that." "Everyone has to learn," $sloan says softly. "You just... got a late start. It's not too late, and after today, I have faith that you can do this. You made a real effort, even when it kept going wrong. I think I misjudged you." The weight of your failures lessens at the hint of pride in $shis tone. Maybe it's silly, but it gives you hope. "Thanks." "We just have to be patient and keep at it. Go get some rest. You have another early day tomorrow." (upperfirst:$she) pats you on the should before standing up and walking away. You are left alone. You consider your first real day with the bandits. It's not where you wanted to be, but at least you aren't walking down the aisle just yet. 1. { (color: red+white)[] [[You suppose you should make the best of it. You never know what opportunity might arise. After all, your mother always said opportunity is like yeast -- it rises when you let it rest.->Determination Epiphany]]} 2. {(if: $stubborn is false)[(color: red+white)[]][[You can't let these bandits change who you are to suit their agenda. You don't even know what that agenda is. For all you know, they're marching on your parent's castle next week. That would upset your father even more than drinking all of his magic mead had.->Stubborn Epiphany]]}

You've always been directionless, never really mastering anything. You always figured that it didn't matter. If there was something to do, one of your siblings would do it. You were free to run wild, the baby of the family. Even Quinn, who was only a few years older, has had a job as long as you've known $qhim. And now it matters, and you have proven yourself incapable. Worthless, even. "I'm angry at myself, I guess. No one's ever expected... //anything// from me before. And now it's like, I can't even do the most basic tasks on my own. You can do them. A five-year-old could do them. Why the hell can't I?" "No one is born knowing these things," $sloan says. "Everyone has to learn, and you got a late start. I did too. Sometimes, we live the same way for so long that it's hard to adjust to change. But I believe you are capable of this. You've shown that much today, least." You've never thought about it that way before. Your parents, loving as they may be, never really pushed you. Heck, their attempt to push you out of the nest was marriage. To Bainbridge, who //certainly// expected nothing of you. "Thanks, $sloan. That actually means a lot." "We just have to be patient and keep at it. Go get some rest. You have another early day tomorrow." (upperfirst:$she) pats you on the should before standing up and walking away. You are left alone. You consider your first real day with the bandits. It's not where you wanted to be, but at least you aren't walking down the aisle just yet. 1. { (color: red+white)[] [[You suppose you should make the best of it. You never know what opportunity might arise. After all, your mother always said opportunity is like yeast -- it rises when you let it rest.->Determination Epiphany]]} 2. {(if: $stubborn is false)[(color: red+white)[]][[You can't let these bandits change who you are to suit their agenda. You don't even know what that agenda is. For all you know, they're marching on your parent's castle next week. That would upset your father even more than drinking all of his magic mead had.->Stubborn Epiphany]]}

You never joined in your siblings' games, so you never lost. You have piles and piles of tools and supplies from years of abandoned hobbies. Perhaps your parents' indulgence allowed you to get away with never really having to persist in anything. There was always something new if you grew tired of the old. "I'm not used to not being good at things." $sloan's eyebrows shoot toward $shis hairline. "//Really?// You aren't used to to being bad at things?" "No, really, I'm not used to being bad at things." You scowl at $shim. "I've never failed so many times in a row before." "You failed on purpose. Don't think I didn't notice." $sloan examines carefully, though for what, you aren't sure. "Why? Do you think it's beneath you?" "No, it's the exact opposite," you say. "At least if I fail, it's because I chose to fail, not because I'm not good enough." "Did you ever consider that choosing to fail and just failing result in the same thing?" $she asks with a raised brow. "But if you try, you might just surprise yourself. Can't do that if you fail on purpose." (cycling-link: "You hate that $she has a point.","(upperfirst:$she) might just have a point.") "Maybe." "You hate that I'm right, don't you?" $sloan grins slyly.{(if: $sfriend is >=8)[With a wink, $she continues, ]}"It's part of my charm. But look, even if you suck now -- and you do -- one day, if you keep at it, you won't suck. Even if you only suck a little less, that's still better than whatever today was." "It takes so long," you grumble. $sloan rolls $shis eyes. "It takes even longer when you don't try." (upperfirst:$she) stands up and walks away, calling over $shis shoulder, "Get some rest. You have another early day tomorrow." You are left alone. You consider your first real day with the bandits. It's not where you wanted to be, but at least you aren't walking down the aisle just yet. 1. { (color: red+white)[] [[You suppose you should make the best of it. You never know what opportunity might arise. After all, your mother always said opportunity is like yeast -- it rises when you let it rest.->Determination Epiphany]]} 2. {(if: $stubborn is false)[(color: red+white)[]][[You can't let these bandits change who you are to suit their agenda. You don't even know what that agenda is. For all you know, they're marching on your parent's castle next week. That would upset your father even more than drinking all of his magic mead had.->Stubborn Epiphany]]}

You tried -- you //did//. It's not fair... but maybe it's not supposed to be fair. Perhaps you didn't try as hard as you could have today. Why didn't you? (cycling-link: "Maybe because at least 'not trying' isn't as bad as failing.", "Maybe because if you failed on purpose, it wouldn't make you look stupid.", "Maybe because it just seemed... beneath you, somehow.") Your throat constricts at the thought. Quinn always made sure things worked out before. Without $qhim, you fumble. You always thought of yourself as the schemer, and Quinn as your right hand, but maybe $qhe had been playing both brains and brawn all along. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I didn't try as hard as I could have." "Not everyone is big enough to admit it," $sloan says gently. "So you're on the right track. Everyone has to learn, and now is the time for you. I did notice you try a few times. You just have to keep at it. Don't take the easy route." Your shoulder sag, tension you didn't even notice draining out. "Thanks." "We just have to be patient and keep at it. Go get some rest. You have another early day tomorrow." (upperfirst:$she) pats you on the should before standing up and walking away. You are left alone. You consider your first real day with the bandits. It's not where you wanted to be, but at least you aren't walking down the aisle just yet. 1. { (color: red+white)[] [[You suppose you should make the best of it. You never know what opportunity might arise. After all, your mother always said opportunity is like yeast -- it rises when you let it rest.->Determination Epiphany]]} 2. {(if: $stubborn is false)[(color: red+white)[]][[You can't let these bandits change who you are to suit their agenda. You don't even know what that agenda is. For all you know, they're marching on your parent's castle next week. That would upset your father even more than drinking all of his magic mead had.->Stubborn Epiphany]]}

It's getting rather tiring, the way everyone handles you like a rambunctious child not to be trusted around glassware or steep drops. Always one wrong word from a tantrum, one step from disaster. Even Quinn treats you with the same kind of exhausted affection, as if arguing with you is pointless until you're older. The worst part is that they may all be right. "Don't patronize me. I'm not a child." "No, you're not," $sloan snaps. "Which is why it's so frustrating when you act like you are. You have been given the simplest of tasks, and while I would prefer you succeed at them, I only expect you to try. And yet, again and again, you choose to pout instead. Everytime you actually made an effort today -- no matter how disasterous -- I felt a glimmer of hope, only to see you return to form." "Just give it up. I'm no good at it. The sooner you see that, the sooner we can move on," you grumble. Why can't $she just put two and two together? Trying to change you is pointless. (upperfirst:$she) scoffs. "Self-pity gets you nowhere. Everyone has to learn these things before they can be good at them, and you are no different. Of course it's hard -- do you think people like you would pay people like Quinn to do it if it weren't? But you //can// learn, and you //can// do it." You consider $shis words carefully. No one has ever expected much from you. Your parents, loving as they may be, never really pushed you. Heck, their attempt to push you out of the nest was marriage. To Bainbridge, who //certainly// expected nothing of you. "Maybe... you aren't wrong. Entirely." "We just have to be patient and keep at it. Go get some rest. You have another early day tomorrow." (upperfirst:$she) stands and walks away. You are left alone. You consider your first real day with the bandits. It's not where you wanted to be, but at least you aren't walking down the aisle just yet. 1. { (color: red+white)[] [[You suppose you should make the best of it. You never know what opportunity might arise. After all, your mother always said opportunity is like yeast -- it rises when you let it rest.->Determination Epiphany]]} 2. {(if: $stubborn is false)[(color: red+white)[]][[You can't let these bandits change who you are to suit their agenda. You don't even know what that agenda is. For all you know, they're marching on your parent's castle next week. That would upset your father even more than drinking all of his magic mead had.->Stubborn Epiphany]]}

1. {[[Change variables for testing.->Testing Variables]]} 2. {[[Build a character and jump to Chapter 3.->Chapter 3 Setup Personal]]} 3. {(link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "settings")'s last)}

''//Personal Variables//'' First Name: (input: bind $name, "Cassidy") House Name: (cycling-link: bind $house, "Kaylock", "Davenport", "Renaud", "Blackburn") Family Business: (cycling-link: bind $beerco, "Merry Men Mead", "Honeysuckling Hog's Mead", "Farawaye Meade") //''Pronouns''// (cycling-link: bind $they, "he", "she", "they") | (cycling-link: bind $them, "him", "her", "them") | (cycling-link: bind $their, "his", "her", "their") | (cycling-link: bind $theirs, "his", "hers", "theirs") You are your siblings youngest (cycling-link: bind $sibling, "brother", "sister", "sibling"). You are your parents' youngest (cycling-link: bind $child, "son", "daughter", "child"). You are a young (cycling-link: bind $man, "man", "woman", "person"). //''Sexuality''// You are attracted to (cycling-link: bind $sexuality, "men", "women", "both"). //''Personality''// You are (cycling-link: bind $cheatper1, "blunt","stubborn","reckless"), as well as, (cycling-link: bind $cheatpers2, "shrewd", "stealthy", "audacious"). {(set: $personalitytrait to true) (set: $character to true) (set: $relationships to true)(set: $sknow to true)} [[Next->Chapter 3 Setup Variables]]

(set: $honest to false)(set: $stubborn to false)(set: $reckless to false)(set: $diplomatic to false)(set: $stealthy to false)(set: $audacious to false) (set: $socialclimber to false)(set: $chamberpotjitsu to false)(set: $earnestbeliever to false)(set: $saboteur to 0) //''Character Traits:''// Honest (cycling-link: 2bind $honest, "true", "false") Stubborn (cycling-link: 2bind $stubborn, "true", "false") Reckless (cycling-link: 2bind $reckless, "true", "false") Shrewd (cycling-link: 2bind $diplomatic, "true", "false") Stealthy (cycling-link: 2bind $stealthy, "true", "false") Audacious (cycling-link: 2bind $audacious, "true", "false") //Did you have an epiphany? (if TRUE, mark Determined TRUE as well)// (cycling-link: 2bind $epiphanyStubborn, "true", "false") Determined (cycling-link: 2bind $determined, "true", "false") //Are you a social climber?// (cycling-link: 2bind $socialclimber, "true", "false") ''//Chapter Variables//'' //Did you throw a chamber pot out the window?// (cycling-link: 2bind $chamberpotjitsu, "true", "false") //What did you use as a weapon in Chapter 2?// (cycling-link: 2bind $weapon, "knife", "chamber pot") //How many times did you make an honest effort in Chapter 3?// (cycling-link: 2bind $honestAttempt, "1", "2", "3") (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "cheatmenu")'s last)

{(if: $sexuality is "men")[(set: $baron to "Baron")(set:$dhe to "he")(set:$dhim to "him")(set:$dhis to "his")(set:$dhers to "his")(set:$dman to "man")(set: $dspouse to "husband") (set: $qhim to "him")(set:$qhe to "he")(set:$qhis to "his")(set:$qhers to "his")(set:$qman to "man") (set: $sloan to "Sloan")(set: $sman to "man")(set: $she to "he")(set: $shim to "him")(set: $shis to "his")(set: $shers to "his") (set: $pname to "Alastair")(set: $pshort to "Al")(set: $prince to "Prince")(set: $pman to "man")(set: $phe to "he")(set: $phim to "him")(set: $phis to "his")(set: $phers to "his")] (else-if: $sexuality is "women")[(set: $baron to "Baroness")(set:$dhe to "she")(set:$dhim to "her")(set:$dhis to "her")(set:$dhers to "her")(set:$dman to "woman")(set: $dspouse to "wife") (set: $qhim to "her")(set:$qhe to "she")(set:$qhis to "her")(set:$qhers to "hers")(set:$qman to "woman") (set: $sloan to "Sloane")(set: $sman to "woman")(set: $she to "she")(set: $shim to "her")(set: $shis to "her")(set: $shers to "hers") (set: $pname to "Alastriona")(set: $pshort to "Allie")(set: $prince to "Princess")(set: $pman to "woman")(set: $phe to "she")(set: $phim to "her")(set: $phis to "her")(set: $phers to "hers")](else:)[(set: $baron to "Baron")(set:$dhe to "he")(set:$dhim to "him")(set:$dhis to "his")(set:$dhers to "his")(set:$dman to "man")(set: $dspouse to "husband") (set: $qhim to "them")(set:$qhe to "they")(set:$qhis to "their")(set:$qhers to "theirs")(set:$qman to "person")(set: $qplural to true) (set: $sloan to "Sloan")(set: $sman to "man")(set: $she to "he")(set: $shim to "him")(set: $shis to "his")(set: $shers to "his") (set: $pname to "Alastriona")(set: $pshort to "Allie")(set: $prince to "Princess")(set: $pman to "woman")(set: $phe to "she")(set: $phim to "her")(set: $phis to "her")(set: $phers to "hers")] (if: $cheatper1 is "blunt")[(set: $honest to true)](elseif: $cheatper1 is "stubborn")[(set: $stubborn to true)] (else:)[(set: $reckless to true)] (if: $cheatpers3 is "shrewd")[(set: $diplomatic to true)](elseif: $cheatpers2 is "stealthy")[(set: $stealthy to true)] (else:)[(set: $audacious to true)] }Did Quinn have a moment at the foot of your tower? (cycling-link: bind $cheattower, "Yes", "No") Did you ask $sloan about Quinn's safety? (cycling-link: bind $cheataskq, "Yes", "No") Were you attracted to $sloan upon first meeting? (cycling-link: bind $cheatsatt1, "Yes", "No") Were you attracted to $pname upon first meeting? (cycling-link: bind $cheataatt1, "Yes", "No") How did you escape the bandits? (cycling-link: bind $cheatescape, "Waited for Quinn", "Climbed out the window", "Broke the Lock") [[Next->Chapter 3 Setup Final Variables]]

{(if: $cheattower is "Yes")[(set: $qromance to +1)] (if: $cheataskq is "Yes")[(set: $sfriend to +5)] (if: $cheatsatt1 is "Yes")[(set: $sromance to +2)] (if: $cheataatt1 is "Yes")[(set: $promance to +2)] }What was your reaction to the bandit camp? (cycling-link: bind $armyreaction, "You need to tell someone about this. The king, even.", "But what what are these bandits up to?") Did you have a crush on $pname as a kid? (cycling-link: bind $pCrush, "true","false") (if: $cheatescape is "Waited for Quinn")[{(set: $weapon to "knife") }You're all caught up! (link-goto: "Proceed to Chapter 3?", "Chapter 3: Guess We're Rebels Now")](else-if: $cheatescape is "Climbed out the window")[(set: $weapon to "knife") Were you comforted by gazing into Quinn's eyes? (cycling-link: bind $cheatromantic, "Yes", "No") [[Next->Chapter 3 Set Up Window Romance]]](else:)[Did you throw the chamber pot out of the window? (cycling-link: bind $chamberpotjitsu, "true", "false") What weapon did you end up keeping? (cycling-link: bind $weapon, "knife", "chamber pot") (link-goto: "Proceed to Chapter 3?", "Chapter 3: Guess We're Rebels Now")]

{(if: $cheatromantic is "Yes")[(set: $qromance to +1)] }You're all caught up! (link-goto: "Proceed to Chapter 3?", "Chapter 3: Guess We're Rebels Now")

{(if:$sloanfire is "You can't help but notice how attractive $she is and the look $she's giving you now gives you a fluttering feeling in your stomach.")[(set:$sromance to $sromance+5)] }The next few days pass (cycling-link: "agonizingly slow", "dizzingly fast") as you muddle along with your chores that $sloan gives you each day. Under $shis watchful eye, you attempt various chores without much success. You haven't seen Quinn in some time now, and (cycling-link: bind $seenQuinn, "you worry for $qhim -- you feel lost without your best friend", "your heart aches in a way that feels foreign to you","you hope that whatever $qhe got saddled with is better than trying to avoid cleaning chamber pots -- by any means necessary"). Today, however, $sloan wakes you up //after// sunrise, which makes you suspicious. The two of you walk through the arboreal fortress cautiously while you try not to hyperventilate. (upperfirst:$she) hasn't looked at you since $she woke you up. You eye the back of $shis head warily. "Where are we going?" "We are going to figure out how you can be of use, because this--" $she gestures vaguely, not bothering to turn around "--isn't working. There has got to be something you're good at, and we're going to figure it out today." "'We' like you and me...?" you ask. Because after having been alone with the rebel leader for few days... [[You think the two of you could be friends, despite the circumstances.->S Just Friends]] (color: red+white)[] [[You find yourself enjoying $shis company more than you thought you would.->S Friend Romance]] [[You aren't quite over the whole kidnapping thing, but you're playing nice for now.->S Begrudging]] (color: red+white)[] [[You resent $shim for kidnapping you, though you also find $shim annoyingly attractive.->S Begrudging Romance]]

How can you possibly think you're better than anyone when you are so //powerless?// You've never been able to change anything about your life, and the //one// time you try and take control, it backfires into //this//. Sulking in the dark while a kidnapper lectures you on responsibility. You growl, "You don't know anything about my life. Don't talk to me like you do." $sloan studies you for a long moment. "I understand more than you think. You feel powerless, and you thought you'd be taking control of your life when you left. But nothing is going to plan." "No, it's not." And $she's underlined it by kidnapping you and forcing you into doing //scutwork//. "It was never going to work," $sloan says. "The world doesn't care about your plans, but that doesn't mean you failed. All of this, right here, can be life changing. You learn how to live out here, and you're free. Your life can be your own." You raise an eyebrow. "//If// you don't somehow get me killed by pressing me into your rebellion." "These people are under my protection. They depend on me to keep them safe, and letting you go is too big a risk. You have no idea what we've gone through to get to this point." $sloan rises to go. "Maybe I made too many assumptions, but so did you. Let's start over and do better tomorrow." You are left alone. You consider your first real day with the bandits. It's pretty terrible, and it's left you exhausted. But you can't survive on your own, and this day has taught you that you need to get better at surviving before you leave. At least you escaped your marriage for now. 1. { (color: red+white)[] [[You suppose you should make the best of it. You never know what opportunity might arise. After all, your mother always said opportunity is like yeast -- it rises when you let it rest.->Determination Epiphany]]} 2. {(if: $stubborn is false)[(color: red+white)[]][[You can't let these bandits change who you are to suit their agenda. You don't even know what that agenda is. For all you know, they're marching on your parent's castle next week. That would upset your father even more than drinking all of his magic mead had.->Stubborn Epiphany]]}

You //had// done things back at the castle. Lessons in history, politics, and ettiquette that you never really paid much attention. Mountains of hobbies abandoned shortly after they were begun. Pranks that only succeeded because Quinn did the legwork. What would $sloan have done, in your stead? Perhaps $sloan would have better marriage prospects than Bainbridge. "I don't think I'm better than you." "Then why not join us around the fire? It's a cold night," $sloan offers, gesturing back to the bandits huddled around the fire telling an old folk tale. You don't get it. Why is $she being so nice? Even after you yelled at $shim, $she's still trying to comfort you. "Why aren't you angry with me?" "I am," $she admits. "But you're new to this, and new to our group. Everyone needs time for some adjustment. " A long pause hangs in the air, and $sloan rises from $shis seat. "At least eat something before you go to bed. We'll work on finding something for you to do in the coming days. Just, try harder tomorrow." You are left alone. You consider your first real day with the bandits. It's pretty terrible, and it's left you exhausted. But you can't survive on your own, and this day has taught you that you need to get better at surviving before you leave. At least you escaped your marriage for now. 1. { (color: red+white)[] [[You suppose you should make the best of it. You never know what opportunity might arise. After all, your mother always said opportunity is like yeast -- it rises when you let it rest.->Determination Epiphany]]} 2. {(if: $stubborn is false)[(color: red+white)[]][[You can't let these bandits change who you are to suit their agenda. You don't even know what that agenda is. For all you know, they're marching on your parent's castle next week. That would upset your father even more than drinking all of his magic mead had.->Stubborn Epiphany]]}

Rage wells deep in your gut. They kidnapped you! Why isn't this being taken more seriously?! "You kidnapped me!" "This again?" $sloan has the gall to sound exhausted with the conversation already. "At best, that was a minor inconvinence. You aren't even worth all that much. If you hadn't tried sneaking out, you'd be back home already." "You didn't know that!" you shout, drawing attention from some of the nearby rebels. They watch you impassively, as if you are overreacting. Not letting it faze you, you continue, "You were going to hold up my parents for as much as you could get! You could have bankrupted them." $sloan scoffs. "I assure you, the way that law is codified, //no one// is going bankrupt. Sorry if you would have had to buy one less diamond pony or whatever." You blink, then burst out laughing. (upperfirst:$she) scowls. "What's so funny?" "A diamond pony?" you snort. "Why on earth would I buy one, let alone multiple of those? Where would I even get one?" (upperfirst:$she) throws up $shis hands. "Whatever! You know exactly what I mean. Either way, you're here now. There isn't any use sulking over it." "An apology might be nice," you suggest amicably. "You know, for uprooting my life and everything." $sloan smirks. "I'm //very// sorry for uprooting your life. I'm sure you were doing important noble things that are now all in arears." (upperfirst:$she) stands up with a long stretch. "I'm heading to bed now. We'll figure out everything else tomorrow." You are left alone. You consider your first real day with the bandits. It's pretty terrible, and it's left you exhausted. But you can't survive on your own, and this day has taught you that you need to get better at surviving before you leave. At least you escaped your marriage for now. 1. { (color: red+white)[] [[You suppose you should make the best of it. You never know what opportunity might arise. After all, your mother always said opportunity is like yeast -- it rises when you let it rest.->Determination Epiphany]]} 2. {(if: $stubborn is false)[(color: red+white)[]][[You can't let these bandits change who you are to suit their agenda. You don't even know what that agenda is. For all you know, they're marching on your parent's castle next week. That would upset your father even more than drinking all of his magic mead had.->Stubborn Epiphany]]}

(color: red+white)[] marks actions unlocked by your previous choices (color: red+white)[] marks actions made unavailable because of your previous choices (color: red+white)[] marks actions that begin a romantic relationship (color: red+white)[] marks actions that indicate attraction (color: red+white)[] marks choices resulting in major branching (color: red+white)[] marks choices resulting in changes to your personality (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "settings")'s last)

{ (set: $sfriend to $sfriend+10) (set: $loyalty to $loyalty-5) }Since that night by the fire, you've come to some sort of tacit understanding with $sloan. You have a new appreciation for $shis dedication to $shis band of rebels, and you have seen the love and loyalty they give $shim in turn. Children flock around $shim every afternoon while the two of you are on break, begging to be picked up and tossed. $sloan always obliges for as long as $she is able. Old ladies pinch $shis cheeks and call $shim a "handsome young $sman" while $she groans and tolerates it. Every evening, $she is welcomed with open arms and laughter around the fire. Gone are $shis irritated sighs and eyerolls, though $shis expectations don't lower at all. (if:$determined is true)[But $she glows with pride when your efforts pay off, and you can't help but bask in $shis praise.](else-if:$stubborn is true)[(upperfirst:$shis) patience is steady and $she doesn't get angry even when you insist on yet another break.] You feel warm inside when you manage to cook breakfast for the first time without burning it, and even $sloan's amused chuckle can't wipe the smile off your face. (display:"Round Table Reunion")

{ (set: $sromance to +5) (set: $loyalty to +5) }You've got to get out of here, but it's much easier said than done. The rebels don't trust you, and you're watched almost constantly. It's best to play at being friendly, even if it's insincere. For now. Right now, you're waiting and watching for your opportunity to escape. As you do, you realize that this rebellion is bigger than you realized. There are a lot of rebels moving in and out of this camp. While you see some of them every day, others you see only occasionally and still others you only see once. Then, of course, there are all the old people and children who seem to be permeant residents. The place is busier than a beehive. There are a lot of supplies moving through camp, too. Mostly food, but you've seen other things as well, like bows. This isn't just some discontented peasants. This is an organized force. Well-organized and well-supplied. You start wondering how you can turn this knowledge to your advantage. You are your mother's child, after all. You glance at $sloan out of the corner of your eye. Things would not go well for $sloan, of that much you're sure. And the thought of that disturbs you. Stupid, sexy bandit. (display:"Round Table Reunion")

{ (set:$loyalty to +5) }You've got to get out of here, but it's much easier said than done. The rebels don't trust you, and you're watched almost constantly. It's best to play at being friendly, even if it's insincere. For now. Right now, you're waiting and watching for your opportunity to escape. As you do, you realize that this rebellion is bigger than you realized. There are a lot of rebels moving in and out of this camp. While you see some of them every day, others you see only occasionally and still others you only see once. Then, of course, there are all the old people and children who seem to be permeant residents. The place is busier than a beehive. There are a lot of supplies moving through camp, too. Mostly food, but you've seen other things as well, like bows. This isn't just some discontented peasants. This is an organized force. Well-organized and well-supplied. You start wondering how you can turn this knowledge to your advantage. You are your mother's child, after all. (display:"Round Table Reunion")

{ (set: $sfriend to +10) (set: $sromance to +5) (set: $loyalty to -5) }Since that night by the fire, you've come to some sort of tacit understanding with $sloan. You have a new appreciation for $shis dedication to $shis band of rebels, and you have seen the love and loyalty they give $shim in turn. Children flock around $shim every afternoon while the two of you are on break, begging to be picked up and tossed. $sloan always obliges for as long as $she is able. Old ladies pinch $shis cheeks and call $shim a "handsome young $sman" while $she groans and tolerates it. Every evening, $she is welcomed with open arms and laughter around the fire. Gone are $shis irritated sighs and eyerolls, though $shis expectations don't lower at all. (if:$determined is true)[But $she glows with pride when your efforts pay off, and you can't help but bask in $shis praise.](else-if:$stubborn is true)[(upperfirst:$shis) patience is steady and $she doesn't get angry even when you insist on yet another break.] You feel warm inside when you manage to cook breakfast for the first time without burning it, and even $sloan's amused chuckle can't wipe the smile off your face. And you are smiling a lot more lately. Usually at $sloan. Sometimes with $sloan. Anyway, there's a lot of smiling going on. You can't help it. You don't even want to. You have the feeling that you could stay here in the arboreal fortress, smiling, with $sloan for a good long time, if you were allowed to.... (display:"Round Table Reunion")

{ (if: $seenQuinn is "your heart aches in a way that feels foreign to you")[(set:$qromance +5)] }"You, me, and a few others," $sloan responds as the two of you step onto yet //another// elevator. How big is this place anyway? Do they have the entire forest covered? (if: $loyalty > 50)[You shudder thinking about how deeply these rebels are entrenched](else:)[You find yourself intrigued by their resourcefulness.] "I figured you'd want to see some other faces by this point." "Who?" Your question is answered when $sloan opens a door and you see a very familiar face. "Quinn!" Quinn leans back in $qhis chair, feet propped up on the round wooden table dominating most of the room. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural is true, "grin","grins") mischieviously, playing with one of the bells on $qhis cap. For the most part, $qhe (cond: $qplural is true, "don't","doesn't") seem any worse for wear, though $qhis fool's outfit, except for the cap and bells, is replaced with a simple tunic. "Glad you didn't forget about poor little me, wasting away all by my lonesome." 1. {[["I'm so glad you're alright!" you cry out, relieved to see your friend again.->Quinn Friendly Reunion]]} 2. (color: red+white)[] {[[You throw your arms around $qhis neck, early toppling $qhim out of $qhis chair. "Thank God you're alright!"->Quinn Romantic Reunion]]}

"You're alive!" you blurt out. Quinn's eyes widen and $qhe (cond: $qplural is true, "gasp","gasps"). "I am! How did I manage that in this nest of vipers?" "Oh, it can't possibly be worse than when Dad took us to court -- remember that?" You smile -- the prank you two had pulled had been epic, legendary even. It had been proper punishment for Dumontfort making a 15-year-old scullory maid cry //and// it ensured your father never attempted to bring you to court again. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural is true, "grin","grins"). "How could I forget? Duke Dumb-ontfort's screams could be heard from all the way across the castle." "That was you two?!" a $pman's voice asks. $pname leans across the table, looking both scandalized and intrigued. (cycling-link:bind $alrebel, "The (lowercase:$prince) may be more fun than you thought.","This rebellious streak of $phers is rather... fascinating.")"I thought it was Lady Camille! They found all that bacon grease in her rooms!" "Ah... yes, well, my mother //may// have planted some evidence," you admit. Of course your parents knew it was the two of you and covered it up. You got a stern talking to and were never allowed back at court. Coincidentally, Lady Camille was also banned from court. Just a little more officially. "She was pretty... annoyed with Lady Camille at the time." $pname winces. "Remind me not to cross her. Like, ever. How did you manage to get the pigs inside without anyone noticing?" "Well, I am rather gifted with pigs--" Quinn starts. A groan from the doorway cuts $qhim off. $sloan joins you at the table. "You are both insane. I can't tell which of you is the fool half the time. And $pshort, you shouldn't be //encouraging// them." "And that's the way we like it," Quinn quips. "Whose the fool and whose the idiot? The world may never know." [["Excuse me,"->New Skill]] a new voice cuts in.

{(set:$qromance to +10) }You nearly topple Quinn over with the force of your embrace. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond: $qplural is true, "freeze","freezes") in your arms before throwing back $qhis head and laughing. "I missed you too, but you know it's only been a week, right?" "We've never been apart this long!" Your face heats as you try to defend yourself. Then you start wondering //why// you're defending yourself, which only makes you hyperaware of your weird embarrassment. "I didn't know where you were, or if you were uninjured. You could've been eaten a bear! With glowing red eyes!" Quinn taps $qhis chin in thought. "Well... there was this squirrel that bit me over an acorn. Drew blood too. His name was--" "Samson!" you shout. "Samson the Strong came and visited you, and he didn't even tell me about it! That traitor!" A groan sounds from the doorway. $sloan joins you at the table. "You are both insane. I can't tell which of you is the fool half the time." "And that's the way we like it," Quinn quips. "Whose the fool and whose the idiot? The world may never know." [["Excuse me,"->New Skill]] a new voice cuts in.

{ (if:$alrebel is "This rebellious streak of $phers is rather... fascinating.")[(set: $promance to $promance+5)] }A dazzling figure sweeps in, and you don't know what to look at first. The colorful caftan? The glimmering jewels? The shining eyes? The fall of wavy deep-brown hair? The neatly-trimmed beard framing their mouth? Altogether it's a stunning picture. "Please excuse my tardiness. Mother caught me on my way out the door. I had to distract her." Their voice is like that of an angel. You almost think they might actually //be// an angel. They press their hands together as if in prayer and bow quickly. "$pshort, $sloan. And I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting the two of you yet?" Quinn stares, $qhis mouth hanging open. You reach out and gentle close it. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$plural is true, "pull","pulls") away with an eyeroll before turning back to the newcomer. "You could feed a whole village with just your right hand! My God! Where do you even find that many jewels?" "My family has owned several dozen textile workshops for generations. Our funds are rather extensive." They sit down delicately and smile politely at you. The comparison to $pname is stark. Sure, $pname's wardrobe is finely made with expensive, imported fabrics your family could only //dream// of acquiring in such quantities, but this person's casual dayware blows $pher out of the water. There's no doubt about it: you are in the presence of //old// money. Ancient, antique, aged money. "Uh, this is Quinn and I'm $name. Of House $house," you mumble. "Pleased to, uh, meet you." Maybe you should have paid more attention in your ettiquette lessons because that was pitiful. "I am Chaithanya Rasiah, though you may call me Reese," they respond graciously. "I believe we are here to discuss what contributions you can make?" They point to $pname, $sloan, and themselves in turn. "$pshort provides funding, $sloan is a skilled tactician and holds the hearts of the people, and I am able to spread the news of your rebellion through songs that will rile the people while not offending the nobility." "Not offending the nobility sounds like you aren't doing it right," Quinn comments. "Anything that matters will offend them. You'd be better off just recruiting fool societies. We can actually say shit people care about without the nobility getting all hoity-toity about it because they don't think anything we say matters." "Quinn's right," you add. "The fool societies will probably spread information quicker. But I am curious as to why (upperfirst:$phis) Highness is the backer and not you. It seems like you have a lot more money and are lot further from the throne." "Considering they're trying to put me on the throne, I should have some skin in the game," $pname says with a grim smile. "Reese has less to gain and more to lose" [["Who even are you?"->New Party Member]] Quinn asks Reese, furrowing $qhis brow.

No one answers at first and Quinn shrugs. "It would be nice to get an idea of who we're working with. Considering we could get killed doing this. And the fact that you kind of, I don't know, kidnapped us?" (cycling-link: "Quinn's right. If you hadn't been held here against your will, the two of you would have moved on by now.","Quinn's right, but... after meeting some of the rebels, you're starting to realize how unfair things really are. If given the choice, you might stay.") "Can we move past this?" $sloan snaps. "If the two of you had just been good prisoners, you would have been sent home safely by now. Some days, I wonder if we didn't get the worse end of the deal." Reese motions their manicured hands in a universal gesture for Quinn and $sloan to calm down. "Relax, we are all allies here. I understand your desire to know whom you are depending on, so I will elaborate on my own reasons for being here. My parents are diplomats from Bharat. I've lived here in Anglica for the majority of my life, though we have returned once or twice for weddings and the like. This king of yours is bad for business, currently. He goes to war, and drags our Sultan's money into it, due to the treaty between our countries." Their eyes darken. "And he is terribly unforgiving to those he feels have slighted him. My mother has managed to balance our duty to the Sultan and his temper for a long time, but with the way things are going, she will not manage it for much longer." $pname rests a hand on their tensed shoulder, "We will need to be very careful so as to avoid any fallout to those around us." {upperfirst:$phe} glances at you. "As for my proximity to the throne, don't worry about it. My father hardly cares what I do with my money or anything else for that matter. He sent me out here to 'deal with the bandit problem' because he'd rather not have me underfoot. So long as I remain within my allowance, he will not notice." "Let's not reveal everything to someone who can't even sweep the floors without getting piss everywhere," Sloan cuts in with a disapproving glare. Both Reese and $pname look taken aback by his statement, and he plows onward. "As you said, we need to be careful, and $they (cond:$plural, "don't", "doesn't") have enough skin in the game to be getting a full debriefing. We are here to discuss $their contribution." Turning to you, he adds, "So what //can// you do?" "I can jug--" "If you are about to say you can juggle, I am going to beat you," Quinn warns. "If you become the freaking juggler for this little operation, we might as well just send you to the throne room now and hope your juggling manages to kill the king." You pout and slump down in your chair. "Fine. I guess I can brew but I don't see how that's useful." $sloan gapes at you for a long minute. Finally, he says, "I never, ever want to see what the inside of your mind looks like. I think it might be a scary place to live." "I'm not as good as my dad." "Your dad is like, Jesus of Beerzareth," Quinn snaps. "No one is good as him. Just be the Brewmaster for the rebellion and call it a day, please." You shrug. Not like you have much of a choice anyway. "Perfect," Sloan says, sounding a touch more lively than earlier. "The others will be excited about beer we don't have to worry about stealing. Your folks are usually pretty strict about security around their beerwagons." You are released from the meeting and returned to your sleep area under the watchful eye of the rebels. [[Just another day in the arboreal fortress.->Chapter 4:Market Day]]

You gasp and elbow your friend. "Quinn! It's the (lowerfirst:$prince)!" You slap a hand over your mouth in horror as you realize you said that at full volume. "Shut up!" Quinn hisses, but it's too late. [[The old man sees you.->An Offer You Can't Refuse]]

{ (set: $pCrush to true) }Your cheeks heat up -- the last time you saw $phim, you had tripped over your own feet trying to bow and curtsy at the same time. Which, when you think about it, was totally not your fault. (upperfirst:$phe) was just so stupidly hot that it melted your brain. //Oh my god,// you thought. //What if $phe ''remembers'' that?// That would be //so// embarrassing. And you aren't even in your best clothes! Stupid bandits, making you look drab and boring in front of your crush. This really is the worst day. Not even your siblings could have embarrassed you so thoughly. You elbow your friend. "Quinn! It's the (lowerfirst:$prince)!" You slap a hand over your mouth in horror as you realize you said that at full volume. "Shut up!" Quinn hisses, but it's too late. [[The old man sees you.->An Offer You Can't Refuse]]

####(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")+(size:1.5)[Chapter Four] (font: "Copperplate")[In Which There Are Pitchforks]] {(set:$chapterCount to 4) }(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-time:3s)[The bandits, of course, did not have the proper supplies to brew anything //en masse//, let alone (cycling-link: bind $brewType, "mead","beer") so you continued your menial labor under the watchful eye of $sloan for the next few days. You had to wonder that $she had so much time to watch you, despite ostensibly being the leader of the camp. When you brought it up, $she pointed out that you were currently the greatest threat to security. (if:$sfriend > 9)[“Or maybe it’s my charming personality,” you had teased. “It’s alright if you just can’t admit you like me – my brilliance is rather intimidating.” $sloan spluttered something about how you were ridiculous. You hadn’t really paid attention. (if:$sromance > 9)[(upperfirst:$shis) blush made you feel a little swoony. Or maybe it was the nearby chickens. Probably the chickens.]](else:)[You had rolled your eyes. “Maybe if you’d been better at taking prisoners, that wouldn’t be the case.” $sloan had just ignored that.] Regardless, today is a new day, and you are not cleaning chamberpots. Instead, you are riding on the back of a horse, your arms wrapped around your companion’s waist. You could, of course, ride on your own, but Robert and $sloan claim that you are a “flight risk.” Still, it’s your first taste of freedom in a what feels like (link-reveal:"ages")[ (or two weeks, as $sloan had pointed out with an eyeroll, because $she is a complete clodpole)]. The forest is quiet, except for birdsong and the clopping of your mount’s hooves. The foliage around you is in full bloom. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves and brings some reprise from the summer’s heat. It’s idyllic, like something out of a storybook. Then the chesnut stumbles on a bit of uneven ground, jostling you. 1. {(color: #FCBACB)[]{}[[You tighten your grip on $pname. ->Al Market Day Opener]]} 2.{(color: #FCBACB)[]{}[[You tighten your grip on Reese. ->Reese Market Day Opener]]} ]

{ (set:$c4pick to "Al") }“Sorry about that,” $pname says, abashed. “I wasn’t really paying enough attention to where we were going. Won’t happen again.” You had woken up this morning suspiciously well-rested, confirmed by the sun actually being up when you exited your shelter. You expected to see $sloan there, glowering and grumbling about you sleeping in, and were surprised to see the (lowercase:$prince) leaning against a tree instead. (if: $pCrush is true)[You had let out an undignified squeak at the sight of $phim, which $phe thankfully hadn’t noticed. If $phe had, you would have had no choice but to die on the spot, which would have been rather inconvenient.] (upperfirst:$phe) explained that $phe was going to take you toward the nearest market day to purchase the needed supplies for your new position as brewmaster. Just a small amount this time, since $sloan wanted to make sure that you were actually “good for it” before spending significant resources on this. Additionally, $sloan had “important business” to see to, so you had a new babysitter for the day. 1. {[[You are glad to spend time with $pname.->Market Al Points]]} 2. {[[You are a little disappointed that $sloan wasn’t taking you.->Market Sloan Points]]} 3. {[[You wish Quinn were with you.->Market Quinn Points]]} 4. {[[You wonder about the mysterious Reese.->Market Reese Points]]} 5. {[[You’re just glad to get out of there.->Market No Points]]}

{(set:$sromance to $sromance+1)}Oddly enough, you kind of miss the brooding bandit, but at least you get to go somewhere today. (display:"On Pain of Death")

{ (set:$qromance to $qromance+1) }Quinn was not only your best friend, but they could make any outing entertaining. And you hadn’t seen them for more than a few minutes at a time in ages. (display:"On Pain of Death")

{ (set:$promance to $promance+1) }In any case, it was a nice change of pace from the past two weeks, and you haven’t been to a proper Market Day in years. (display:"On Pain of Death")

{(set:$rromance to $rromance+1)}Reese seems like an interesting person to get to know, and, who knows? Maybe they could be talked into freeing you. You wouldn’t know until you tried. (display:"On Pain of Death")

You’re happy to be out, in any case. It doesn’t really matter with whom. (display:"On Pain of Death")

“So…” You’re not really sure how to phrase your next question, though it must be said. Ever since you were informed of which market you’ll be heading to, you’ve been thinking about how to phrase it. Because the blunt truth is that you are banned. And it’s really not you’re fault this time! “We need disguises.” “Oh, I’ve already got that covered,” $pname says airily. “I’ve borrowed some clothes from $sloan, and I figured you could just call me $pshort. Lots of people have named their kids after my father, so it shouldn’t arouse too much suspicion.” You bite your lip. “Um, yeah, that’s great, but I meant for me. I’m not allowed on the monastery grounds. Like, ever. On pain of death.” “What?” Due to your seating arrangements, you can’t see $phis face, but $phe sounds quite scandalized. (if:$pCrush is true)[Being pressed up against $phis back //felt// scandalous. You couldn’t help but notice how well-built $phe was, being smushed against $phis back, and thinking about it for too long meant your voice became oddly high and breathy. ] “I mean, not literally. Probably I’d just get put in the stocks.” You pause to consider it. “Well, maybe not. But they would certainly escort me off the premises. I don’t remember the details. It happened long ago. I think I was three?” There’s a long pause. “What did you [[//do//->Lady Blenerhayset the Writer]]?”

“I take offense to that.” You pout. //Why does everyone assume //I’m// the problem?// “I didn’t do anything. My whole family was banned after my mother sponsered this puppet show, and the Abbot took offense, even though it totally wasn’t even about him.” “Wait… wasn’t that a side plot in that one book by Lady Blenerhayset? The one where the main character’s family was trying to ‘build their brand’?” $pname asks. “Are you trying to rip off a children’s series?” You roll your eyes. Your third-eldest sister made her name writing a children’s series about your family’s misadventures, which had irritated your mother to no end. Something, something, copyright infringment. Clem had insisted that there was no copyright infringement, since none of the characters shared names with anyone in the family – an impressive feat, you thought. Additionally, the characters were //completely// different – Mom was nowhere near as shrill and penny-pinching as her alleged counterpart and Dad was so much smarter than the father character. “Do you really think there’s a resemblence, Mama? You think that’s what I think about my own dear, loving parents?” your sister had asked after one particularly exciting dinner. Your mother had been forced to admit that it would, indeed, be rather strange if Lady Lienor and Sir Merden were meant to be accurate representations. “Where do you think Clem gets her ideas from?” “You know Lady Blenerhayset? //The// Lady Blenerhayset?!” (if:$pCrush is true)[Ugh, you think. Of course $phe’s one of Clem’s fans. Your siblings are always there first.](else:)[Ugh, you think. Not another of Clem’s fans.] Reluctantly, you admit that Clem is your older sister, and $pname spends several minutes asking questions about your sister’s books before finally circling back to the original question. “So ‘Lord Handsome and the Demon Abbot’ was a puppet show about your family?” “‘Lord Handsome and the Demon Abbot’ is a work of fiction,” you recite automatically, “and any resemblance to people, place, or events are entirely coincidental or used ficticiously. Furthermore, $beerco makes no claims about our products’ ability to excorcise demons.” “…Was that rehearsed?” “Of course.” Your mother had lined up the lot of you and made you recite it until you were blue in the face. If fact, Clem – who had always took more after your mother than she liked to admit – started writing the same disclaimer at the beginning of all of her novels. “Minimizing liabilities is paramount.” $pname flinches. “That sounds like something my father would say. Though he usually has a little more in mind than a disclaimer.” [[A pall washes over the conversation.->A Little History]]

Before the current king took the throne, there was another heir: Prince Edmund, $pname’s cousin. He is only ever spoken of in a whisper, for fear that one of King Alistair’s spies might be listening. He spent much of his life in the Spire before a group of rebels attempted to free him. After that, he disappeared. You had overheard your parents speaking of it once, when you were very young. Some people thought the rebels had succeeded in freeing the prince and that he was hidden in some farflung corner of the kingdom, raising an army to take back his throne. There had even been a few coup attempts since then, claiming to be Prince Edmund, rightful king of Anglica, but they failed to unseat King Alistair. Most people believe that the king had killed his nephew in the dead of night to prevent any future attempts at rescuing the prince. As for the rebels? The king had seen each of them hanged, drawn, and quartered. To drive the point in, he also hanged their immediate families. Publicly. It was a bloodbath, with over fifty people executed that day. A grim understanding hangs between the two of you: if you are caught, it is not just you at risk. You think of your parents, and of your siblings. Would they all be at risk, all because you couldn’t stand to be married to a $dman you dislike? And what of Quinn? (upperfirst:$qhe) only joined this rebellion for you, to ensure your freedom. You swallow thickly. “Would he really hang you? You’re his…” (if: $pname is "Alistair")[“He can always have another son,” Alistair says grimly.](else:)[“He can always have another daughter,” Alastriona says grimly.] “My father is extremely paranoid. He imprisoned his own nephew and… probably had him killed to get the throne. If I betrayed him, he would never trust me again. If he didn’t kill me, then he’d probably do something worse. Maybe he would lock me up in the Spire and execute my mother. Or maybe he would hold her hostage, though he may well believe love is not a good reason to not seize the throne by any means necessessary. It certainly never was for him.” “So why risk it?” $pname will ascend the throne anyway. All $phe has to do is wait. $pname remains silent, but you can feel the way $phis shoulders tense. “My father has never treated my mother with any kindness. I might've been able to forgive that -- I know it wasn't a love match -- if he just ignored her. But he has gone out of his way to be cruel. My mother would rather live and die in her apartments than risk having to speak to my father. He can’t leave her alone even then, seeking her out, even in her small refuge from the world.” Shame and fury colored $pname’s voice as $phe continued, “Any time I failed to meet his expectations – any time he felt I had shown weakness – he blamed her for making me soft. Because my weakness reflected badly on him.” $pname's claims weren't surprising. King Alistair was never known for being kind and cuddly. You’ve been drawn into this conspiracy against your will, and if the king ever finds out, he will kill your entire family. Even your poor nieces and nephews. Would he use an entire square’s worth of gallows, or do it in lots? A chill runs down your spine. 1. {(color: #FCBACB)[] [[Perhaps you can find a way to gain the king’s favor, so that he might spare your family and Quinn. But how?->King Loyalty Points]]} 2. {(color: #FCBACB)[] [[You need to take down this tyrant, by any means necessessary.->Rebel Loyalty Points]]}

{ (set:$loyalty to $loyalty+5) }The king is dangerous, and it is always best to be on the side of dangerous people. You think of your dozens of little nieces and nephews, your parents, and Quinn, all of whom may be at risk by virtue of their connection to you. There has to be a way to convince the king to spare them. (display:"Fear For the Future")

{ (set:$loyalty to $loyalty-5) }There would be no appeasement. If the king could not forgive his own child, then no amount of free beer could save a your family. The only way you and yours walked away is to make sure your side is the victors. (display:"Fear For the Future")

You force your voice to sound light and unconcerned. “Well, then. We had better talk about our cover story. If you get caught, the rebellion will die a quick death.” “Oh, yes, of course. The matter at hand.” (upperfirst:$phis) voice is tight. “Did you have something in mind?” “Well, I was thinking about my fake name.” You feel yourself relax as you take your mind off the imminent threat of execution. Funny how that works. “I would like to be called (cycling-link: 2bind $fakename, "Elene","Sidon","Havardus"). (upperfirst:$phe) chokes on a startled laugh. “You sure do love being the center of attention.” Of course you do. How else could you stand out in such a large, accomplished family? 1. {[[You play it off as a joke. “Well, I am rather amazing.”->Love the Attention]]} 2. {[[You admit as much. “Gotta make sure my parents remember my name.”->Want to be Remembered]]}

“I don’t love the attention; the attention loves me,” you joke. $pname snorts. “That doesn’t even make sense.” You shrug, not really caring that $phe can’t see you. “Besides, when there’s so many kids, we have to take turns distracting our parents from our shenanigans.” (display:"Lonely Children")

“I’ve got sixteen brothers and sisters,” you say with a shrug. “Parents start to forget who’s who after the first seven or eight. Gotta stand out somehow.” “Ah, sibling rivalry, then,” $pname teases. You shake your head. “Not just siblings – nieces and nephews too. I have a bunch that are pretty close in age. It was like having a pack of annoying younger siblings, except that I couldn’t stoop to squabbling with them because they were my nieces and nephews and //I// had to maintain some dignity.” (display:"Lonely Children")

“I never had any siblings growing up,” $pname says wistfully. “I think I would have liked to, especially if they were as colorful as your family.” You can’t decide whether you are insulted or pleased by that descriptor. $pname continues, sounding a little embarrassed. “Truth be told, I used to read Lady Blenerhayset’s novels and pretend that was my family.” 1. {[[That makes you a little sad.->Sorry for Al]]} 2. {[[You feel oddly touched by that.->Touching Moment]]}

For the (lowercase:$prince) of the realm to be sitting in some lonely tower, wishing to be a part of a pack of feral merchant’s children was sad. (display:"The Perfect Disguise")

(upperfirst:$phe) would have fit right in. (upperfirst:$phe) kind of reminds you of your sister, Fritheswith, who was always kind and competent. You hope that someday, like Fritheswith, $phe will marry someone who can turn lead into gold. (if:$pCrush is true)[Maybe that someone could be you.] (display:"The Perfect Disguise")

A sudden thought comes to you. You hate to admit it, but you bear a striking resemblance to your father. Though it has been many years since your family was ejected in ignomitity, you know that Father Frances certainly remembers the faces of his greatest rivals. Especially since your father’s face is printed on each cask, and you know that the abbey buys from your parents. Your mother always takes the coin from that transaction to her “office” and cackles maniacly over it. And while you are dressed in unfashionable rags, your face is still as beautiful as ever. “Uh, might need a disguise as well.” “Oh, I carry a spare change of clothes in my saddlebag. You can borrow hood.” Not as good a disguise as one of your mother’s wigs, but it’ll do in a pinch. “Thanks.” [[You travel onward.->The Road to the Market]]

You arrive at the bustling market, which seems significantly bigger than it was the last time you were here. Moneylenders are set up alongside the road, joking and laughing cheerfully, despite not being allowed on monastary grounds. A steady line of marketgoers came and went from their tent, taking out small loans or repaying debts. You recognize a few that your father had previously had dealings with and wave unthinkingly. $pname frowns. “Try not to draw attention, //$fakename//.” “Oops, sorry.” Limply, you pull you hand back to your side, feeling a bit embarrassed at your impulsiveness. One of the moneylenders saw your aborted greeting, and waves back, a bemused smile on his face. He doesn’t seem to recognize you. Good. As you pass under the archway, decorated with colorful banners, you are confronted with unfortunately accurate drawings of your family posted on the gates. You are impressed that they managed to get all 18 of you onto the poster. They really did your mother’s scowl justice. It gives you a shiver to see it. You take a moment to admire it: the $house is truly a handsome family and you are glad to see justice done. Kudos to the artist. “Cool it, Narcissius,” $pname mutters with an eyeroll, though you catch $phis lip twitch. A cursory scan reveals several more posters, scattered amongst the stalls. Large text is carefully printed over the images: (text-style:"underline","emboss","expand")[(align:"=><=")[(text-colour:red)[ETERNALLY BANNED]]] Upon closer inspection, the 'B' looked suspiciously as if it had started its life as a 'D' and you were pretty sure the first 'N' might actually be an 'M' with the final stroke blotted out. $pname whistles. “You weren’t kidding. They really didn’t like you advertising.” “They knew they couldn’t compete with us,” you whisper conspiritorily. You almost admire them for it. Knowing when you have been bested by your much superior foe is a virtue; however, the inability to admit it is pitiful. $pname holds a hand to $phis mouth, hiding an unbecoming snort. “Green isn’t their color.” You examine the $prince carefully. When you had seen $phim during your first and only misadventure at court, $phe had been the picture of sophistication and grace. (if: $pCrush is true)[Terribly boring, though still heartbreakingly (if:$pname is "Alistair")[handsome](else:)[beautiful].](else:)[In a word: boring.] But now, with a touch of mischief glimmering in $phis deep brown eyes and a smile lighting up $phis face, $phe became something more. (cycling-link: "Radiant.", "Kingly.") 1. {[[It made you feel you could follow $phim anywhere.->Rebel Loyalty Points 2]]} 2. {[[It made you feel like you could fall in love with this $pman.->Al Romance Points]]} 3. {[[It made you see $phim as a leader – a dangerous thing for the king.->King Loyalty Points 2]]}

{ (set: $loyalty to $loyalty-10) }Something warm and joyful bubbles up inside you and you straighten your spine. What is this feeling? Affection? Pride, perhaps? Or… inspiration? $pname would be a good ruler, you think. (upperfirst:$phe) is kind, brave, and charismatic. Maybe it would be better for the kingdom, too. You might not be on the up-and-up, but you aren’t that ignorant. You know that the constant crusades mean people aren’t home to tend the fields. Your father had been complaining about the price of grains going up due to the shortages. With your newly acquired knowledge of money, you began to wonder if perchance the peasantry did not have much money for food. And if they didn’t have money, how could they eat? Plus, as a good friend of the newly crowned monarch, you certainly wouldn’t have to marry Bainbridge. [[Next.->Children Playing]]

{ (set: $brewType to "none") }Something hits your boot and you glanced down in surprise. A little wooden top lays on the ground next to your feet. You kneel down and pick it up: it is a simple, crudely carved child’s toy. You glance up and spot a little girl, about all of seven or eight years, watching you handle what is presumably her property. Another child, who looks to be no more than eleven or twelve, is holding her hand and eying you warily. They pull the girl closer when she tries to approach you. “Stay close, Ju. Remember what Mama said about strangers.” You blink in surprise – you didn’t think either you nor your companion looked so threatening. 1. {(if: $diplomatic is true)[[[Soothe the children.->Good With Kids]]](else:)[//You are not charismatic enough for this option.//]} 2. {[[Offer the toy back wordlessly->Silent Encounter]]} 3. {[[You are, in a word, terrible with children.->Awful Babysitter]]}

{ (set: $promance to $promance+5) }$pname would be a good ruler, you think. (upperfirst:$phe) is kind, brave, and charismatic. Maybe it would be better for the kingdom, too. You might not be on the up-and-up, but you aren’t that ignorant. You know that the constant crusades mean people aren’t home to tend the fields. Your father had been complaining about the price of grains going up due to the shortages. With your newly acquired knowledge of money, you began to wonder if perchance the peasant did not have much money for food. And if they didn’t have money, how could they eat? A little mischievousness is (cycling-link: "attractive", "sexy"). You can’t help but smile at the light dancing in $phis eyes. (upperfirst:$phe) was just as gorgeous as they had been when you met them at court and embarrassed yourself so long ago. No, that wasn’t quite right – the animation in $phis expression made $phim more so. (if:$pCrush is true)[God, you had good taste. ](else-if: $audacious is true)[You wondered if $phe was mischevious to run away and join the circus with you. ]Maybe you could marry $phim instead of Bainbridge. [[Next.->Children Playing]]

{ (set: $loyalty to $loyalty+10) }A chill ran down your spine. The current king was old, cruel, and had blood on his hands -- it was not for nothing that your mother forbade your return to court after your first mishap. On the other hand, $pname was young, charismatic, and hopeful. A dangerous thing for everyone. You could see the country plunged into another civil war. You may not be on the up-and-up, but you knew, vaguely, what war looked like – your father had been complaining more and more that the price of grain was rising due to shortages. With so many sent away to wars in foreign lands, there were not enough hands to tend the fields. Untold thousands would die, and how many of your siblings were, in one way or another, pledged to the king’s service? Even if they sided with $pname, they would have to fight. And maybe $pname was almost good enough to win, but almost wasn’t good enough. After all, who could compete with a man who had been on the throne long enough for a generation to grow up under his rule, who had decimated his own family for it? You swallow nervously. [[Next.->Children Playing]]

{ (set: $pfriend to $pfriend+10) (set: $promance to $promance+5) }You kneel down and smile winningly at the children, the same way you do with your own nieces and nephews. “Hey, there. Is this your top?” Her big round eyes never leave the toy. It occurs to you that she may not have many toys. “Here, take it back. It’s alright.” You speak softly, not wanting to frighten either of them. “Just be a bit more careful so you don’t lose it.” The girl looks at her sibling for confirmation, and they nod reluctantly. She scampers forward and snatches the toy back, clutching it to her chest. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Your heart warms at their shy smiles. $pname approaches the children and holds out a few coins to the older child. (upperfirst:$phe) speaks softly, “Why don’t you go buy your sister a treat?” The older child is clearly locked in a battle of wills between their blatant desire for the money and their mother’s request that they don’t speak to strangers. They give in. “Thank you.” They both disappear into the market crowds, hopefully to find their parents. [[Next.->Shopping with Al]]

You try not to feel like a prisoner. You shouldn’t – you’re walking along, completely unfettered, in bright daylight, with hundreds of people around you. If you want to give $pname the slip, you probably could. You’ve lost your mother more times you can count when you and Quinn had gotten into some mischief, and that was in the confines of Castle $house, surrounded by guards. But if you escape, where would you go? You have no money and your jewels and fine clothes are long gone. Most of all, how could you run away without Quinn, your best friend? (if: $pCrush is true)[If you close your eyes, maybe you could pretend that you weren’t the $prince’s prisoner. You could pretend the two of you were just on an outing because you were friends. Maybe even … something more than friends. Bosom companions … you feel your cheeks heat. You don’t even dare to think of anything more. After all, $phe is from a long line of royalty and both sets of your grandparents actually worked for money. They probably knew that peasants didn’t generate coin like a fallen log sprouts mushrooms. ](else-if: $qromance > 10)[Just the idea of leaving without them makes your heart pound and fingers tingle with panic. You have never faced life without Quinn, and you don’t want to think about it. Nor do you want to think about just exactly why the idea of leaving Quinn behind is so alarming. You shake your head with irritation, trying to shake those thoughts out of your head. Sadly, it doesn’t work. ](else-if: $promance > 10)[If you close your eyes, maybe you could pretend that you weren’t the princess’ prisoner. You could pretend the two of you were just on an outing because you were friends. Maybe even … something more than friends. Bosom companions … you feel your cheeks heat. You don’t even dare to think of anything more. After all, she is from a long line of royalty and both sets of your grandparents actually worked for money. They probably knew that peasants didn’t generate coin like a fallen log sprouts mushrooms. ](else-if: $sromance >20)[If there’s anything you hate, it’s being told what to do, and it seems like you’ve been having orders barked at you since Quinn’s rather apt, yet unwise, impersonation of a keg of beer. Yet, when it’s Sloan doing it … maybe you don’t hate it as much. No, wait you do. You hate being told what to do and you hate Sloan’s face. You’ve got to get away from these people before you go even crazier. Before you start believing in this rebellion. You shudder at the thought. ]You need to distract yourself, so you busy yourself with looking for the right ingredients for (cycling-link:bind $brewType, "mead","ale","beer"). It wasn’t enough just to buy anything. You needed to make sure it was of good quality. If your father had said it once, he had literally said a thousand times, “a good brew starts with good ingredients.” In fact, it had become a bit of a game amongst you and your siblings to get him monologuing about brewing and see how often he repeated this phrase. You frequently lay bets on it. Well, now those snooze-worthy lectures were going to come in handy. You could never tell anyone. It would get back to your siblings and you would never ever hear the end of it. You’d have to more to the end of the world just to get away from them. Come to think of it, that might be a good idea anyway. As you examine the wares, another thought crosses your mind … if you use substandard ingredients, or, even better, if you use moldy ones, anyone drinking it would become ill. Some might even see things that weren’t there. You’d heard of such things before, and your fourth-eldest brother had once even deliberately made such a brew and shared it amongst his friends. One had thought that he was a hawk and had jumped off one of the smaller towers. Your father had been furious that he had so perverted the brewmaster’s art. And Mother had been annoyed that the boy had broken his legs. The boy’s parents had made noises about a seige until she sent some apology barrels of limited-edition seasonal mead. Your mother budgeted several barrels each for smoothing over difficulties, but that little adventure had put quite the dent in the supply to her great irritation. But! Causing illness among the rebels -- do you dare? 1. {[[You don’t – even the idea makes your stomach cramp with guilt.->Rebel Loyalty Points 3]]} 2. {[[You don't – the idea of ruining a perfectly good brew is just too revolting.->Perfectly Good Brew A]]} 3. {[[You aren’t sure… you wish you had someone to tell you the right answer.->Missing Emma]]}

You kneel down and pick up the top, rolling it between your fingers. It’s carved crudely and a bit uneven, but whoever made it had carefully sanded off all sharp edges. The little girl watched with wide eyes, never taking them off of the top. Unconsciously, she took a stumbling step toward you. Her sibling yanked her back with whispered, “Julia!” Still kneeling, you held out the top wordlessly. She scampered forward and grabbed it, holding it close to her chest. The children disappeared into the market after that, tossing a squeaky “thank you!” over their shoulders. [[Next.->Shopping with Al]]

{ (set:$badbabysitter to true) }You would think that, with all of your nieces and nephews, you would be execellent with small children, but you are not. That is by design. Otherwise, your siblings would abuse their older-sibling priviledge and use you as their free babysitter. Your parents would let them, too, just to keep you busy and out of trouble. To counteract this, you set a pre-emptive trap. You offered to babysit once, innocently reminding your fifth-eldest brother that he and his beautiful wife had not gone on a trip on their own in some time. He had gracefully accepted, and you got to work. The children loved it. No bedtime, treats for dinner, sledding down the grand staircase… Honestly, you didn’t you had gone far enough, but then the children started throwing things down the privvy. You thought it was a harmless case of fun… until their toddler chucked his mother’s entire jewelry box down. The servants had all refused to dig it out, pointing out that you had encouraged this. So, as a responsible babysitter, you decided to teach the kids that actions had consequences and made them dig up the jewelry, a task made monumentally more difficult by the fact that the jewelry had opened on its way down. By the time your brother and sister-in-law returned, having rushed home after the servants had banded together and sent them a desperate plea for help, their children were caked in filth. You handed them the jewelry box, a misasma of stench rising from it, and beamed, “We had so much fun!” One necklace was missing a ruby, that you never did find, and your parents had to pay for a new one. After that, they had permanently banned you from babysitting again. How… disappointing. Victory was sweet. And maybe a little pugnant. So it should have surprised no one when you pick up the top and toss it back. It lands in the mud at their feet, accidentally splattering mud all over the little girl’s off-white linen dress. Her eyes widen, and she starts to sniffle. Her older sibling panics and tries to comfort her, glaring at you. You frown back. Don’t children play catch all the time? What’s wrong with these ones? They must be malfunctioning. A crowd of adults are watching the scene with a mixture of bafflement and disapproval. $pname sighs at you as the children reclaim their filthy toy and scamper off. “So much for keeping a low profile. You really don’t do that well.” [[Next.->Shopping with Al]]

You think about your sister, Emma. Even though she’s only three years older than you, she’s always been someone you could count on. Once when you were five, horror of horrors, a storm had knocked a cart into the chicken coop, releasing the demons to wander the courtyard and roost in the battlements. It had been a terrifying experience. You literally couldn’t throw a rock for hitting a chicken – which your mother had explicitly forbidden. For three days, the guards tried to round up the beasts without much success. You had holed up in your room with Quinn, refusing to leave and demanding that all visitors and/or servants bearing food proved that they were not feathery fiends before entering. Then Emma had arrived, like an angel in the wings, proudly heralding her victory over the enemy. Somehow, she had gathered every single chicken up and stuffed them all in the trash pit. No one was quite sure how she’d done it, or how she’d prevented the chickens from escaping their earthly prison, and soon the episode was transferred into family legend. You've always certain that she had cowed them by sheer force of personality. Even if she had only been eight at the time. She would know what to do. But she isn’t here to ask. Plus, she's still angry about the whole “horror-monal” thing. You are on your own. 1. {[[You don’t – even the idea makes your stomach cramp with guilt.->Rebel Loyalty Points 3]]} 2. {[[You don't – the idea of ruining a perfectly good brew is just too revolting.->Perfectly Good Brew A]]}

{ (set: $loyalty to $loyalty-10) }Are you … beginning to like the rebels? You don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you don’t want to make people sick. Besides, you can’t be sure that only the soldiers would consume the hallucinogenic drink. Besides, what if some of them started thinking they were hawks? In the arboreal fortress, that would be a real danger. It would be raining rebels, and what if one fell on your or Quinn? No, it wasn’t worth the risk. [[Next.->Snack]]

You and Al – as $phe insisted you call $phim – examined the wares of various merchants, and you were almost knocked on your ass by the spending power of the royal wallet. Al made purchases with ease despite the astronomical prices. You had grown up extraordinarily wealthy – you realize that more and more everyday – but this is "fuck you" money. This is “I’m the only one allowed to wear purple” money. And Al doesn’t even flinch at the numbers, like Quinn sometimes does, or haggle, like your mother. After a few hours walking the length of the market, your feet begin to hurt and your mouth feels uncomfortably dry. And frankly, you think as your stomach grumbles, a little snack won’t go to waste. You are reminded faintly of a summer, many years ago, when your parents splurged on a crate of oranges and your mouth waters. Sighing, you write the idea off. They had been prohibitively expensive, and you doubt Al would buy them just for you, despite $phis deep pockets. But maybe $phe would be amenable to something a bit more common. “Hey, Al, it’s a bit after noon.” Al blinks. “Oh, so it is. I didn’t mean for us to take so long.” “Yeah,” you reply. “We haven’t even eaten yet.” “We haven’t,” Al agrees. Then $phe continues walking and you frown. This had been a fail-safe strategy to get your mother to feed you for years. You try again. “I saw a stall selling bread and cheese earlier today. It was near the entrance.” (upperfirst:$phe) turns to you. “We have food back at… home. Back at home. That will be perfectly fine.” “It’s at least an hour’s ride back,” you reason. “And unless $sloan saved us something, there won’t be anything. They only make food at mealtimes. By the time when get back, we’ll have to wait for dinner.” At this, Al looks nonplussed. It’s a low blow, but you play your trump card: “//I’ll// have to wait for dinner at least.” Al’s countenence twists into a guilty frown. From what you’ve observed over the past few days, you know $phe feels sorry that you were recruited against your will and that $phe has a tendency to become deeply uncomfortable when the differences between $phim and the other rebels are brought up. You make sure to give $phim your biggest puppy eyes yet. It takes all of a minute for $phim to give in. [[“Alright, one snack.”->Ah, Refreshing]]

“Ah, that was refreshing,” you say, flopping backward onto the grass and relishing the shade of the ash tree. It provided a welcome reprieve from the hot midday sun. Next to you, Al sips $phis own lemonade. Despite $phis earlier protests, $phe seem to be enjoying it. “I have to agree with you there. I was a lot hungrier than I initially thought.” “The way you were spending, I don’t doubt it,” you say casually. “The weight of your wallet must be massive.” Al’s cheeks darken and $phe ducks $phis head in embarrasment. “My father gives me a liberal allowance.” “My dad used to give me an allowance,” you say, attempting to relate. “Quinn and I would go walk around the shops in the village and pick out some things we liked.” $phe tilts his head. “Quinn made enough money to do that?” It’s your turn to be embarrassed. “Um, well, no. But if $qhe (cond:$qplural, "look","looks") like $qhe(cond:$qplural, "'re","'s") interested in something, I buy it for $qhim. "Oh, that’s sweet of you.” You’re offended by how surprised $phe sounds, but you hold your tongue. Instead you say, “Quinn is basically family. I remember the last time we were here, before we got banned, my parents splurged and bought a crate of oranges for us to share. Each of us got one. I remember my dad peeling mine for me.” You close your eyes and sigh, remembering the sweet but tart smell of the juice when your father broke the skin with his thumbnail. You can almost taste it again. “I was going to just share mine with Quinn, but then my dad pulled out another orange for $qhim.” “They must miss you both.” A mixture of guilt and pity twists Al’s face into a frown. Guilt starts to weigh heavy on your heart… before you remember Bainbridge. “I’m not so sure about that. I was engaged to be married before I [[escaped->A Sorry Tale]].”

Al inhales sharply, $phis face softening into something that isn’t guilt or pity for once. “I’m surprised that I don’t know to whom you were engaged. I’ve kept up with the engagements of most of the nobility thus far. Even if your family is rather… extensive.” “I’m not surprised,” you snort. To be honest, you only knew due to Quinn’s snooping and you were one of the people getting married! “They weren’t advertising it. I think their plan was to spring it on me as we were walking down the aisle. Maybe they would have been nice and told on the way to the chapel.” You dragged your fingers through your hair, frustrated. (if:$diplomatic is true)[“I don’t get why they did this. None of my siblings were married like this, and…” You trail off as a realization dawns on you. “Do you know the which barony is Bainbridge’s?” Al frowns in thought. “Mm, maybe? I think it’s—” “Goose Creek?” A terrible name for a terrible lord. “My father said something about a trade deal with them being in progress when I left.” $phe didn’t need to say anything for you to put the pieces together. Your parents had put you up as a bargaining chip. 1. {[[Tears brim in your eyes. How could they do this to you?->Shrewd Tears]]} 2. {[[Anger boiled in your stomach. How could they do this to you?->Shrewd Anger]]} ](else:)[“I don’t get why they did this,” you groan. “All my siblings had arranged marriages, but I don’t think any of them had to marry somebody who sucked.” 1. {[[Tears brim in your eyes. How could they do this to you?->Confused Tears]]} 2. {[[Anger boiled in your stomach. How could they do this to you?->Confused Anger]]} ]

{(set: $engaged_feelings to "sadness") }You know there had been some benefit to the marriage. You aren’t totally stupid or naïve – you know that each of your siblings had married to someone who was wealthy or had the ability to become wealthy. It all serves the family as a whole. As your mother says, time and time again, “A step forward for one is a step forward for all.” But they had gotten a choice in the matter. They were married off to people who adored them and who understood them. You were to be married to a $dman who could barely manage more than five words in your presence. And not in the lovestruck way, either. Not like Aberardus, who became a stammering mess when Fritheswith presented him with a pair of lovingly embroidered gloves to protect his hands from his alchemy. Or the way Fritheswith kept making those gloves knowing Aberardus would melt right through them. You try to hold back the sniffles, but it proves too difficult. You just want to understand why your parents did this. “I’m truly sorry,” Al says quietly. [[Next.->Failed Engagement]]

“Who were you engaged to, exactly?” Al asks uneasily. You groan loudly. “Devon Bainbridge, and $dhe’s the worst. All $dhe does is sulk in corners, grimacing at everyone else. I’m pretty sure $dhe’s a vampire or something.” Al chokes on $phis lemonade, coughing a spray of the sweet sugar water everywhere, unable to breathe. Panicked that you’ve just killed the heir, you scramble over to help -- $sloan will really let you have it then! You start pounding on $phis back. “Don’t die on me, Al!” After a few minutes – and thanks to your life-saving fists – Al starts breathing normally again and gently pushing you away. “I’m fine! I’m fine!” You sit back, satisfied. “Glad you’re okay.” “Me too,” Al says shakily. “Just… warn me next time, please.” “Warn you about what?” you ask, confused. (upperfirst:$phe) studies you carefully. “You… never mind.” The two of you sit there on the grass in an almost companionable silence that lets you almost-forget about being an almost-prisoner. You lean back again, feeling the grass tickle your cheek. Closing your eyes, you breathe in the smell of the dirt and grass and the market itself. You hear Al sigh and flop down next to you. “I think it’s admirable, you know,” $phe says. “Hm?” You don’t open your eyes, instead letting the afternoon sun warm your face. “Not letting someone make that choice for you.” $phe laughs derisively. “Despite it all, if my father told me tomorrow that he’d found someone I was to marry, I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to say no. I’d just do as he asked.” You crack an eye open at that. 1. {[[You’re surprised at that. “But you’re brave enough to…”->Blowing Your Cover]]} 2. {[[Your cheeks warm at the unexpected praise. “It’s nothing.”->Humble]]} 3. {[[You try to hide your grin at the unexpected praise. “It’s nothing, really.”->Humble Brag]]}

{(set: $engaged_feelings to "anger") }Despite what everyone thinks, you aren’t so stupid that you didn’t realize your parents would benefit from this marriage. You had enough older siblings to know the drill: your marriage was always intended to serve the family as a whole. As your mother says, time and time again, “A step forward for one is a step forward for all.” But you hadn’t gotten a say in the matter. Your parents had carefully married your siblings off to people who adored them – who understood them. You were to be married to a $dman who could barely manage more than five words in your presence. And not in the dumb lovestruck way, which would have been almost acceptable. Not like Aberardus, who became a stammering mess when Fritheswith presented him with yet //another// pair of lovingly embroidered gloves to protect his hands. Or the way Fritheswith kept making those stupid gloves //knowing// Aberardus would melt right through them. Your indignation must have shown on your face, because Al is watching you carefully, shoulders tensed. You just want to know why your parents did this. “I’m truly sorry,” Al says quietly. [[Next->Failed Engagement]]

{(set: $engaged_feelings to "sadness") }You knew, on some level, that you would have to marry one day. You just didn’t think it would to Bainbridge. You siblings were all married off to people who adored them and who understood them. You were to be married to a $dman who could barely manage more than five words in your presence. And not in the lovestruck way, either. Not like Aberardus, who became a stammering mess when Fritheswith presented him with a pair of lovingly embroidered gloves to protect his hands from his alchemy. Or the way Fritheswith kept making those gloves knowing Aberardus would melt right through them. You try to hold back the sniffles, but it proves too difficult. You just want to understand why your parents did this. “I’m truly sorry,” Al says quietly. [[Next->Failed Engagement]]

{(set: $engaged_feelings to "anger") }It was a given that you would marry one day, and that it would be arrange. You just didn’t think it would be Bainbridge. Your parents had carefully married your siblings to people who adored them – who understood them. You were to be married to a $dman who could barely manage more than five words in your presence. And not in the dumb lovestruck way, which would have been almost acceptable. Not like Aberardus, who became a stammering mess when Fritheswith presented him with yet //another// pair of lovingly embroidered gloves to protect his hands. Or the way Fritheswith kept making those stupid gloves //knowing// Aberardus would melt right through them. Your indignation must have shown on your face, because Al is watching you carefully, shoulders tensed. You just want to know //how// your parents could do this. “I’m truly sorry,” Al says quietly. [[Failed Engagement<-Next.]]

“But you’re brave enough to…” You trail off, remembering that you are in public. There could be eyes and ears everywhere. “Well, you seem plenty brave to me.” Al chuckles. “It wasn’t my idea, you know. If it weren’t for $sloan, well, I couldn’t have done anything I have. (upperfirst:$she)’s really done most of the groundwork on our venture. I really haven’t done much, if we’re being honest, other than maybe cutting checks and not dying.” You bite your lip, considering that. [[Next.->Strolling Minstrels]]

“It’s nothing,” you mumble, embarrassed. “Honestly, if it weren’t for Quinn, I’d still be there. Every idea I had to get out of there was a bust.” “I feel the same way,” Al says. “If it weren’t for $sloan doing most of the groundwork on our venture, I wouldn’t have done anything that I actually //have// done. Which, admittedly, isn’t much, other than cut checks and not die.” Maybe you aren’t the only one struggling to be useful. [[Next.->Strolling Minstrels]]

As the two of you lie there digesting your well-earned snacks, a group of strolling minstrels happen by and strike up a cheerful tune. A few people begin dancing, some going gleefully and others being teasingly dragged into the throng by their partners. You had a tutor, of course, who had taught you and your siblings how to dance, and you’d been to more than enough weddings to be well-practiced. Plus, Quinn had shown you some of the more… scandalous dances banned by the Church. (upperfirst:$qhe) had taught you those ones after deciding that your juggling was ‘abyssmal’ and ‘a danger to the realm.’ (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural, "are","is") completely wrong, of course. You are an amazing juggler, if anyone would just let you have a few balls. You slowly get up and watch the performers, tapping your foot to the beat. Al stands up next to you, eyes sparkling. (upperfirst:$phe) turns to you. “Would you want to dance? I think we have time for one before we go.” “You want to dance?” Even you are bemused by this sudden turn of events. Also where did the minstrels come from? You've heard stories about princesses who were so beautiful they summoned birds and fawns and other cute baby wildlife, but you weren’t aware that minstrels fell under that jurisdiction. “Like, right now?” “Come on, it’ll be fun!” $phe shot you a dazzling smile. 1.{[[Hell yeah!]]} 2.{[[Uh … maybe not a good idea.]]} 3.{[[You don’t dance.]]}

“It’s nothing,” you crow, trying to hide your grin. “Quinn and I are always causing trouble for my parents.” Al chuckles. “I witnessed it firsthand. That’s how me and Reese are. They’re my only real friend at court. Anyone else just pretends to like me. Reese at least has to grace to ask me for favors outright when they need one, and they aren’t usually frequent or big, so I don’t mind.” Maybe you have more in common with the (lowercase:$prince) than you thought. [[Next.->Strolling Minstrels]]

You grin at $phim. You bet $phe’s an exceptional dancer. After all, $phe likely had a single tutor dedicated to teaching $phim to move (either:"as gracefully as a swan","as elegantly as a fencer"), instead of competing for a crumb of attention from an overwhelmed tutor to seventeen. Plus, there was a chance that you might see (cond:$pname is "Alastronia", "a nicely shaped ankle","those delectable calves"). Hot damn! (if:$diplomatic is true)[“I would like nothing better than to dance with you, Your Highness,” you say. “In fact, I think it’s soon to be my favorite activity.” (cycling-link: "You bow to $phim.","You curtesy.")]{ }(else-if:$audacious is true)[“Having you so close to me would be the highlight of my day.” You give $phim your best bedroom eyes. Hopefully, $phe doesn’t think you have a twitch.]{ }(else-if:$reckless is true)[“Dancing with the crown (lowercase:$prince) in the middle of an abbey I’ve been banned from?” A smile stretches your lips and you laugh, almost giddy at the thought. “What could possibly go wrong? Let’s do it!”]{ }(else-if:$determined is true)[“I thought you’d never ask.” You meet $phis eyes and hold $phis gaze. “It would be my great pleasure.”]{ }(else:)[“Your wish is my command.” You’re totally going to see some sexy (cond:$pname is "Alastronia","ankle","calves").] The blush that touches $phis cheeks and throat is undeniably charming. You are charmed. You are almost breathless with how charmed you are. You take a deep breath as the minstrels start playing a [[saltarello->First Dance with the Heir]].

(if:$diplomatic is true)[“I don’t think my skills are at the same level as yours,” you explain. “I wouldn’t want to make a poor showing and embarrass you.”]{ }(else-if:$honest is true)[“I don’t dance.” You squirm, uncomfortable. “We had one dance instructor for seventeen children, and, as the youngest, he was a bit … frazzled … by the time it was my turn. I don’t think Quinn and I helped it by gluing his dance shoes to the floor. He spent five minutes trying to pick them up before he figured it out.”]{ }(else-if:$reckless is true)[“The last time I danced in public, I accidentally knocked my Great Aunt Maerwynn into a broom closet, and no one realized she was there until the next morning.” You grimace at the memory of the unfortunate actions poor old Aunt Maerwynn had had to take, given the absence of the necessary. “She was not pleased at all, and disinherited my mother … who also was not pleased.” Your mother hated to let even a penny escape her grasp, and she had been apopletic. You really hadn’t meant it, but you and Quinn had a bet over who could leap the highest. Who would have guessed that Aunt Maerwynn would be right where you landed, in a perfect position to be sent flying unobstrusively into a nearby closet, conveniently opened, and the force of her trajectory would cause the door to slam shut and a broom, inadvertently left outside the open closet at just the wrong time, fall across it? The odds boggled the mind. It could only happen to you. Oh well, Aunt Maerwynn had a pet chicken, and if that wasn’t the sign of a disturbed mind, you didn’t know what was.]{ }(else-if:$determined)[“I’m sorry, but I would rather not.” (upperfirst:$phis) face falls. “It’s not you,” you assure $phim. “It’s me. I don’t dance in public.”]{ }(else:)[You take a deep breath, trying to think of a way to say no to the crown (lowercase:$prince), but the sparkle in $phis eyes fades as $phe takes in your expression.] “I don’t want to push you into doing something you’re not comfortable doing.” (upperfirst:$phe) looks so disappointed that you waver. What would be the harm in a single dance? You couldn’t look more foolish than you already had, and you were in disguise. No one would know who you were, and a dance wouldn’t kill you. //Probably// wouldn’t kill you. You sigh, shake your head and offer $phim your hand as the minstrels strike up a [[saltarello->First Dance with the Heir]].

You scramble for an excuse. Your dancing is mediocre at best, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your next reigning royal. Again. You open your mouth to make an excuse, any excuse, but your traitorous brain is stuck in neutral. (if:$diplomatic is true)[“Don’t you think it’s odd that these minstrels popped up out of nowhere?” You frown, thinking it over. “Maybe it’s a trap.” If fact, you’re almost certain that it is a trap. You start looking for archers on the roofs. ]{ }(else-if:$honest is true)[“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you say bluntly. “Aren’t we trying to keep a low profile? Dancing in the middle of the market day crowd isn’t low-profile.”]{ }(else-if:$determined is true)[“Maybe not a good idea.” You ignore $phis crestfallen expression. “For many reasons.” You could count them all off, but, instead, you take $phis elbow and try to draw $phim back into the crowd, as the minstrels turn their smiles – and their attention -- to $phim. (upperfirst:$phe) shrugs you off, then turns to you.]{ }(else:)[“Um … um … um … no? I mean, that wouldn’t be a good idea,” you babble.] “Just one dance wouldn’t hurt, I’m sure.” (upperfirst:$phis) smile is hopeful and you feel your objections melt away in the face of that smile. And really, when did you become the reasonable one? You shrug and raise one arm, palm up and out, as the minstrels start playing a [[saltarello.->First Dance with the Heir]]

{ (set: $dieroll to (random:1,10)) }The two of you move through the dance, skipping, hopping and twirling in time with the music, moving together, then apart. Sometimes, your hand touches $phis, palm to palm. (if:$pCrush is true)[{(set:$promance to $promance+10) }The touch of $phis palm against yours is so delightsome that your breath stutters in your chest and you miss a step. (upperfirst:$phe) smiles and lowers $phis eyes, $phis lashes brushing $phis cheeks. You’re dizzy and can barely get any air.](else:)[Luckily, your heart does not lie in $phis keeping, or the sight of $phis (cond:$pname is "Alastriona","prettily turned ankle flashing under the edge of her skirts","the flex and movement of his manly calves") would have your head spinning with desire. As it was, it was a good thing no one knew who you two were.] You’re amazed that you’re able to keep pace with $phim. Perhaps $phis skills are enough to cover your lapses and mistakes. As you whirl around, other couples join you, laughing breathlessly. Al’s eyes shine with pleasure, and you wonder if $phe dances often at court. Surely $phe has the opportunity to dance. You imagine that at least half of court life is parties, isn’t it? Since you and Quinn had released that pig in the palace, your mother had decided it might be better for your health to keep far away from the royal court, although she’d hidden your involvement. She often said that she shuddered to think about what you would have thought of as an encore. You and Quinn hadn’t quite planned it out, but you had agreed that you wouldn’t do something obvious, like a herd of pigs, although Quinn had a marvelous touch with the animals. By the time the dance winds to a halt, you’re breathless with the exercise and laughing. You had danced better than you feared you would – it is not among your talents, as juggling was. “One more?” $phe asks. It’s probably a bad idea, more than probably, but when had you ever passed on a bad idea? In fact, "Bad Ideas" should be your middle name, not Beerwout. You shrug and nod. (upperfirst:$phe) smiles brilliantly as the minstrels begin a galliard. “La Volta?” $phe suggests. Your eyes widen. La Volta? That dance was … risque. (upperfirst:$phis) smile is mischievous. And you love a spot of mischief. This just got much more interesting. The two of you glide across the cobblestones in a sinkapace, in perfect time and in sync with one another. You’ve never danced so well in your life. It’s like you have wings on your feet. You move with grace that you’ve never possessed in your life. (if:$pname is "Alastriona")[[[It’s time to lift the princess.->Lift...]]](else:)[[[He’s about to lift you.->Or Be Lifted]]]

You can do this – it’s as if your entire life has been leading up to this moment. (if:$dieroll < 4)[It goes wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong. You didn’t properly sync the jump and the lift. Up in the air she wobbles. The wobble was just the beginning, because your arms start shaking almost immediately as you hold her aloft. Then it all goes sideways – both metaphorically and literally, as you two crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs. You manage to put an elbow in the pit of Al’s stomach and a knee in her temple. How did you end up upside down? Or was it her who was upside down? You sit up, groaning and clutching your head.]{ }(else-if:$dieroll > 6)[The lift is not quite as graceful as you had hoped, but it’s not a total disaster. She isn’t lifted quite as high as the dance demands, and you’re sure that people have noticed that your arms had wobbled during the lift. Al flashes you a quick smile, head tilted and eyebrows raised. You relax a little bit; her smile is forgiving. You spin into a three-quarter turn with a bit more skill than you’d accomplished with the lift. Another lift is coming soon, and your noodle arms aren’t going to be able to lift her. You should have listened to your fifth-youngest brother. You’d thought his obsession with this new thing called “physical fitness” was silliness meant for peasants. Woe to your noodle arms -- you should have listened and developed a sturdier, peasant-like physique. ]{ }(else:)[She soars into the air like a magnificant Bohemian Waxwing. You hear a gasp of delight from the crowd as she lands, as light as a feather. She turns, her eyes meeting yours, her expression filled with delight. You have to admit, you’re enjoying yourself as well. Your feet fly across the ground as you perform a three-quarter turn, barely touching the cobblestones at all. If you squinted a little, the sun behind her head almost looks like a halo, and you know that the thought is sacreligious. Your local priest had always told you that God would punish such thoughts, but that was just silly. The two of you float across the ground, accompanied by the appreciative murmurs of the crowd, and you prepare yourself for the next lift.]{ }(if:$pCrush is true)[Your eyes meet hers, and for just a moment, you forget everything else. You could spend untold time just looking into her eyes. They’re a beautiful shade of brown with golden streaks. The phrase “lightning kissed” pops into your head. Her lips part, as if to speak … or something else even more intriguing.](else-if:$promance > 10)[Your eyes meet hers, and for just a moment, you forget everything else. You could spend untold time just looking into her eyes. They’re a beautiful shade of brown with golden streaks. The phrase “lightning kissed” pops into your head. Her lips part, as if to speak … or something else even more intriguing.] [[Next.->Angry Monks]]

You can do this – it’s as if your entire life has been leading up to this moment. (if:$dieroll < 4)[It goes wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong. You didn’t properly sync the jump and the lift. Up in the air, you wobble. The wobble was just the beginning, because your arms start shaking almost immediately as you hold brace against his shoulders. Then it all goes sideways – both metaphorically and literally, as you two crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs. You manage to put an elbow in the pit of Al’s stomach and a knee in his temple. How did you end up upside down? Or was it him who was upside down? You sit up, groaning and clutching your head.]{ }(else-if:$dieroll > 6)[The lift is not quite as graceful as you had hoped, but it’s not a total disaster. You aren’t lifted quite as high as the dance demands, and you’re sure that people have noticed that your arms had wobbled during the lift. Al flashes you a quick smile, head tilted and eyebrows raised. You relax a little bit; his smile is forgiving. You spin into a three-quarter turn with a bit more skill than you’d accomplished with the lift. Another lift is coming soon, and your noodle arms aren’t going to be able to brace yourself. You should have listened to your fifth-youngest brother. You’d thought his obsession with this new thing called “physical fitness” was silliness meant for peasants. Woe to your noodle arms -- you should have listened and developed a sturdier, peasant-like physique. ] (else:)[You soar into the air like a magnificant Bohemian Waxwing. You hear a gasp of delight from the crowd as you land, as light as a feather. He turns, his eyes meeting yours, his expression filled with delight. You have to admit, you’re enjoying yourself as well. Your feet fly across the ground as you perform a three-quarter turn, barely touching the cobblestones at all. If you squinted a little, the sun behind his head almost looks like a halo, and you know that the thought is sacreligious. Your local priest had always told you that God would punish such thoughts, but that was just silly. The two of you float across the ground, accompanied by the appreciative murmurs of the crowd, and you prepare yourself for the next lift.] (if:$pCrush is true)[Your eyes meet his, and for just a moment, you forget everything else. You could spend untold time just looking into his eyes. They’re a beautiful shade of brown with golden streaks. The phrase “lightning kissed” pops into your head. His lips part, as if to speak … or something else even more intriguing.](else-if:$promance > 10)[Your eyes meet his, and for just a moment, you forget everything else. You could spend untold time just looking into his eyes. They’re a beautiful shade of brown with golden streaks. The phrase “lightning kissed” pops into your head. His lips part, as if to speak … or something else even more intriguing.] [[Next.->Angry Monks]]

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a flash of brown. At first you ignore it – after all, you have more important things to worry about at the moment. But a column of scowling monks is a hard thing to ignore as they shove their way out of the crowd. An elder among them, his tonsure ringed by snowy white hair above his jowly face, is purple with rage. Not practically purple. He is purple, choking on his own fury. Oh no. You recognize him. It’s Father Fat-Liver, the abbott himself. How could you not, when your mother uses his likeness as her dart board? You don’t know how many darts you’ve put into his bulbous nose and beady eyes. “Stop this sinful display at once,” Father Fat-Liver roars. His voice rolls over the crowd and the market day shoppers cringe away from him. Al skips through a few more steps until the music crashes to a halt. Father Fat-Liver is breathing hard, air whistling between his flapping lips like steam from a kettle. “How dare you bring this … this … depravity onto our very doorstep!” Al steps forward, clearly about to try to smooth things over. Father Fat-Liver’s eyes are bulging like a toad’s, and you are sure that this was not the time for smoothing things over. In fact, you are pretty sure that things could not be smoothed over. You had seen the look of nearly incoherent rage before, and this was usually the time when you and Quinn made a run for it. Some of the monks carry clubs, and one had a sickle. Damn, these monks meant business. “This lascivious display will not stand!” Father Fat-Liver bellows. “Touching one another’s waists! Next, you’ll be communing with the devil!” Spit flies from his lips. You aren’t about to let Al get mauled by a cenobium of monks. You hadn’t made a decision on this rebellion one way or the other yet, but if Sickle Monk got ahold of $phim, there would be no need for a rebellion. You had to get out of here. Now. “Follow my lead,” you say out of the corner of your mouth. “What?” Al frowns. “Run!” You grab $phis hand and yank as you run as fast as you can. You are quite fast, because you have had more than a little practice at it. When you had as many older siblings who didn’t appreciate a harmless prank or twelve, it became necessary for survival into your teens. As you speed toward the gate, you look back over your shoulder. Father Fat-Liver is waving his fists in your direction and you could swear you can see the vein in his temple throbbing from here. “Lord Handsome rules!” you yell at the top of your lungs. His eyes widen in horrified reconition. The cry of "{ (if:$house is "Kaylock")[Kaaaaaylock] (if:$house is "Davenport")[Davenpooooort] (if:$house is "Renaud")[Reeeeeenaaaaaaud] (if:$house is "Blackburn")[Blackburrrrrrrn] }!" follows you as you pelt out onto the road to your horse. Al is laughing breathlessly. “So much for a low profile.” [[Chapter 5: Cosmos of Beer<-Indeed.]]

####(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")+(size:1.5)[Chapter Five] (font: "Copperplate")[In Which You Discover the Cosmos of Beer]] (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-time:3s)[Upon your return to camp, you were instructed to report to the Planning Room, where you had met with everyone before, to debrief with $sloan. Your travelling companion is called away on “official duties,” leaving you alone with the rebel leader. When you enter the room and see $shis stormy expression, you start to wonder how “official” the “business” really was. (if: $audacious is true)[“Hey, $sloan,” you say casually. “I take you’ve heard about my very successful trip to the market?” “Yes, I heard about your spectacle at the market,” $sloan grinds out. “Do you understand what ‘lay low’ mean? Because you did not do that.” You frown. “Uh, yeah, I did. I used a pseudonym and everything. How is that not laying low? They had no idea who we were!” “Did you or did you not make a massive spectacle and then run away screaming ‘Lord Handsome rules’ at the abbot?” “Sure, but that was funny and totally not a big deal,” you say offhandedly. Because everyone knows who Lord Handsome is, and it probably happens all the time. $sloan doesn’t seem to agree when you explain this to $shim though, because $shis eye starts twitching. ](else-if: $diplomatic is true)[“Good afternoon, $sloan,” you say. “How was your day? Because mine was very successful. We got everything we need to brew up a batch of $brewType.” “My day was fine until I heard that an idiot was screaming $their head off at the market today and making a spectacle of {$them}(cond: $plural, "selves", "self"),” $sloan grinds out. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” You cringe. “I really didn’t mean to, but the abbot came running at us. I swear I didn’t start anything. It was all Father Fatliver’s fault!” $sloan’s face does something very strange then. (upperfirst:$shis) eyes widen, $shis eyebrows flying up, and $she pressed $shis lips tightly together. (upperfirst:$she) was trying not to laugh. “I really need you to behave yourself.” ](else:)[“Hello, $sloan,” you begin casually. “Have you heard about what happened at the market?” “I have,” $she says through gritted teeth. You’ve got to play this one carefully, but you can do that. Between you and Quinn, you’ve gotten away with more things than all of your siblings combined. And that’s saying something. “I was hoping you could explain.” You meet $shis warm, brown eyes, blinking innocently, and lie through your teeth. “My cousin was there.” (upperfirst:$shis) eyes widen. “What?” “I didn’t expect it. I’m sorry,” you begin, maintaining a straight face. “I should have disclosed that my family has… ties to that particular monastery and a history with the monks. Totally slipped my mind. But, uh, yeah. My cousin showed up and started their assault on the monastery, screaming about ‘Lord Handsome rules!’” $sloan narrow $shis eyes. “Your… cousin.” “Yeah… my family has a lot of kids. Like, a lot.” You do your best to look apologetic. That one always works on your father, so long as mead isn’t involved. “Which cousin?” (upperfirst:$she) smirks. (upperfirst:$she) thinks $she’s got you. A challenge, and one you will more than meet. “Brictric. He’s always fighting for the family’s honor. It’s why he’s Mom’s favorite nephew.” “Fine,” $sloan says, waving you off. “I don’t care. Just keep a low profile.” ][[Next->Beer from the Beer Gods]] ]

(link:"Save")[ (if:(save-game:"Slot A"))[ Saved! ](else: )[ Sorry, I couldn't save your game. ] ]} | {(if: (saved-games: ) contains "Slot A")[(link: "Load")[(load-game:"Slot A")]] {(link-repeat: "Slot A")[(save-game:"Slot A",) (if:(save-game:"Slot A"))[ Saved!](else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot A')[ (link:'Load Slot A')[(loadgame:'Slot A')]]} {(link-repeat: "Slot B")[(save-game:"Slot B") (if:(save-game:'Slot B'))[ Saved!] (else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot B')[ (link:'Load Slot B')[(loadgame:'Slot B')]]} {(link-repeat: "Slot C")[(save-game:"Slot C") (if:(save-game:'Slot C'))[ Saved!](else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot C')[ (link:'Load Slot C')[(loadgame:' Slot C')]]}

(align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.4)+(text-color: red+white)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[(cond:$quinnLastName, "Quinn Swindlehurst","Quinn")] (align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.1)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[//The Fool-in-Training//] (align:"=><=")[{ Quinn is your ride-or-die partner-in-crime. You’ve known $qher practically your entire life, and you can’t imagine life without $qher. While Quinn has various duties to perform as a fool-in-training, $qhe (cond:$qplural, "spend", "spends") the vast majority of $qhis free time with you, making mischief and wreaking havoc on your poor, absolutely-suspecting parents. $qHe also (cond:$qplural, "serve", "serves") as your source of gossip, given their tendency to eavesdrop from behind the castle tapestries. Ever your loyal companion, Quinn immediately informed you of your parents' dastardly scheme to marry you off to the detestable Bainbridge and helped you figure out an escape route. Despite the rocky start, you managed to avoid your odious match...(if:$chapterCount >2)[unfortunately, your scheme //also// led to the two of you being press-ganged into a rebellion against King Alistair, a position that may threaten your lives. Being captured by bandits has changed the status quo. You’ve had to learn to live without $qhim at your side, making you appreciate their role in your life all the more.] (if: $qromance >20)[There's a lightness in your chest when you look at them that you're //certain// is merely that newfound appreciation. After all, what else could it be?]} (link-goto: "Return to relationships", (history: where its tags does not contain "relationships")'s last) (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "settings")'s last)]

(align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.4)+(text-color: red+white)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[$pname Woodledge] (align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.1)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[//The $prince of the Realm//] (align:"=><=")[{ $pname is around the same age as you and is known to be a gifted fencer and accomplished academic. Charming and generous, $phe is well-loved by the people and respected at court. To your parents’ excitement, $phe has recently relocated to the nearby duchy on the other end of the forest. [[Your mother->Parents]] believes that this will be an excellent opportunity for business. As for your relationship with $phim, you’ve only met $phim once at court. You embarrassed yourself by attempting to bow and curtsy at the same time(cond:$pCrush, " made worse by the fact that you had developed a bit of a crush at the time",""). (if:$pknow is true)[Since then, you’ve learned that they are part of a growing rebellion against their father, [[King Alistair->Alistair II]], a very dangerous thing to be. You find this rebellious side of $phim intriguing(cond:$promance > 10, "…and attractive.",".") Who doesn’t love a little mischief? ](else:)[{ }]} (link-goto: "Return to other relationships", (history: where its tags does not contain "relationships")'s last) (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "settings")'s last)]

(align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.4)+(text-color: red+white)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[(cond:$sloanLastName, "$sloan Farrington","$sloan")] (align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.1)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[(cond:$chapterCount < 3, "//The Bandit Leader//", "//The Rebel Leader//")] (align:"=><=")[{Your father has been complaining recently of bandits intercepting his beer wagon and stealing all of the beer. The drivers never seem to be injured, but their purses are gone and the casks and barrels of alcohol are nowhere to be found. This is apparently the doing of $sloan, who has been parcelling out a few casks to $shis bandit army before selling the rest off-label. The only crime greater than this is the way the beer and ale $she keeps is watered down to make it stretch. Your father would faint if he only knew. (if: $chapterCount > 2)[Despite having captured you, $sloan has been remarkably patient. (upperfirst:$she) is well-respected and beloved by $shis followers. You are determined not to forget the whole kidnapping thing, though. (if: $sromance > 15)[ If only $she was not so (cond:$sfriend > 15, "attractive","frustratingly").]](else:)[{ }]}(link-goto: "Return to relationships", (history: where its tags does not contain "relationships")'s last) (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "settings")'s last)]

{ (set:$c4pick to "Reese") }“Whoah, girl,” Reese tightens their grip on the reins, remaining calm, even in the face of impending doom. Or, you know, colliding with the ground. “My apologies. I’m not familiar with the terrain in this region.” You catch the faintest hint of an accent bleeding through their exceedingly prim speech, something almost musical but implaceable. You know they are from Bharat, though you can not recall where in the world that country is located. Unfortunately, your geography professor had fled the castle before he could teach you much, loudly proclaiming that you were a “devil-child” and “unteachable.” It was all rather (hidden:)|overdramaticclicked>[overdramatic](link:"overdramatic")[(t8n:"fade")(show:?peregrineswoes)(show:?overdramaticclicked)], you think. (hidden:)|peregrineswoes>[Having been thirteen at the time, you and Quinn had attempted to smoke your brother Peregrine out of his room, where he was reciting maudlin poetry after his latest breakup with yet another scullery maid. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but his window was right beneath yours and the sounds of his sobbing were disturbing you. It worked rather well, but your professor greatly disapproved of your //creative// use of his maps in the scheme. Your mother, likewise, was rather irritated, and lectured you for two hours about “not burning her God damned castle down” and “how did you manage to run off a professor who had survived all sixteen of your siblings?” When you helpfully pointed out that she shouldn’t use the Lord’s name in vain, she sent you a glare so withering that you were certain the wildflowers surrounding the castle looked a little less bright the next day. Thankfully, you were spared punishment, as your stunt inspired your father to invent his signature smokey whiskey. Alas, now you wished that you had learned at least a little geography before kickstarting your teacher’s retirement. ]As to your present position, Reese had approached after you woke up suspiciously well-rested. They explained that they were going to take you to the nearest market to purchase some ingredients to create a sample batch. $sloan, evidently, wants proof that you can “make something actually edible,” which you think is rather rude. Additionally, $sloan had “important business” to see to, so you had a new babysitter for the day. Ugh. Whatever. It all works out anyway because... 1. {[[You are curious about the mysterious Reese.->Market Reese Points 2]]} 2. {[[You’re just glad to get out of there.->Market No Points 2]]} 3. {[[Well, honestly, you do wish Quinn were with you.->Market Quinn Points 2]]} 4. {[[Actually, you sort of wonder about the $prince.->Market Al Points 2]]} 5. {[[To your surprise, you are a little disappointed that $sloan isn’t taking you.->Market Sloan Points 2]]}

{ (set:$qromance to $qromance+1) }Quinn was not only your best friend, but they could make any outing entertaining. And you hadn’t seen them for more than a few minutes at a time in //ages//. (display:"Need a Disguise")

You’re happy to be out, in any case. It doesn’t really matter with whom. (display:"Need a Disguise")

{(set:$rromance to $rromance+1) }They seem like an interesting person to get to know, and, who knows? Maybe they could be talked into letting you go. You won’t know until you try. (display:"Need a Disguise")

{ (set:$promance to $promance+1) }The heir is someone you would be interested in knowing. In any case, it’s a nice change of pace from the past two weeks, and you haven’t been to a proper Market Day in years. (display:"Need a Disguise")

{(set:$sromance to $sromance+1) }You kind of miss the brooding bandit, but at least you get to go somewhere today. (display:"Need a Disguise")

“So…” You’re not really sure how to phrase your next question, though it must be said. Ever since you were informed of //which// market you’ll be heading to, you’ve been thinking about how to explain it. Because the blunt truth is that you are banned. And it’s really not your fault this time! “We need disguises.” “Disguises?” Reese considers this. “I don’t think we need go that far. I’m not well-known in these parts, and I’ve dressed simply today. If you think calling me ‘Reese’ will give us away, I suppose you can call me ‘Chaitu’ and we can pretend to be travellers. It shouldn’t be too difficult to not get caught.” It is true that Reese was wearing a simple white tunic over a baggy pair of pants and were without their usual rings and bangles. Still, //they// aren’t the problem. “Um, yeah, that’s great, but I meant for me. I’m not allowed on the monastery grounds. Like, ever. On pain of death.” They are caught off-guard for the first time since you met them. After a period of consideration, their response comes in a measured tone. “Pain of death?” “I mean, not literally. Probably I’d just get put in the stocks.” You pause to consider it. “Well, maybe not. But they would certainly escort me off the premises. I don’t remember the details. It happened long ago. I think I was three?” There’s another long pause. [[“What did you do?”->Battle of the Beers]]

“I take offense to that.” You pout. //Why does everyone assume// I’m //the problem?// “I didn’t do anything. My whole family was banned after my mother sponsored this puppet show, and the Abbot took offense, even though it totally wasn’t even about him.” “I…” Again, they seem rather baffled. “Could you perhaps explain further?” You oblige them, explaining the tragic tale of how your family was unjustly banned. It had begun when you were very young. Your mother, as usual, had come up with a brilliant idea – to give samples of your family’s meads, ales, and other goods at the local Market Day so that you could reach a wider audience of consumers. But, as usual, your father’s brilliance was his downfall, as it sparked jealousy in the hearts of the monks, who knew their own brewery was of a lesser quality. It is a virtue to know when one is beaten, but the monks could not leave it there – no! They had to forbid your family from maintaining a stall. Did that slow your mother’s marketing? Hardly! Instead, she began depositing the youngest of her brood in front of a puppet show, with Clementia as your babysitter, and meandered the stalls with your father. Behind them trailed a crier, who anounced the superiority of $beerco. The abbot quickly caught on and demanded your mother stop this at once. Thus began the Battle of the Beers, as it would become known. Your mother sponsored shows, dissemenated flyers, and put up posters, all in the name of promoting your father’s brand. The abbot, in turn, tore the posters down, put a stop to the shows, and destroyed the flyers. Truly an uncreative man, who could only respond with destruction, rather than competing like a gentleman. Eventually, your mother was left with one final outlet: puppet shows. She sponsored a puppet show for the ages, that would go down in local legend as “Lord Handsome and the Demon Abbot.” In this ingenious show, Lord Handsome, whose similarities to your father are entirely coincidential, arrives at the monastary of Father Fatliver to investigate strange reports of demonic activity. Father Fatliver, being evil and crafty-yet-uncreative, lured Lord Handsome into the cellar, where he revealed his true nature and attempted to destroy Lord Handsome before word of his wretchedness could get out. Luckily, there was a barrel of $beerco meade nearby, and Lord Handsome broke it over the demon abbot’s head. Its purity was so great, it was akin to holy water and melted the vile creature. Thus, the day was saved. How the crowd cheered and laughed and sat on the edge of their seats! Lord Handsome, the hero of many a bedtime story told by your mother, lauded by all! Then the abbot arrived. Not one to be deterred, your mother flung a cupful of meade at the man, shouting, “Begone, foul creature! Leave this good man’s body!” The abbot had been less than amused. His face turned purple with rage and he bellowed and howled so much that you feared that he might burst into a firey devil himself and you finally understood why he had truly banned your father’s offerings – so he could not be baptized with it and melt into an unsavory puddle just like Father Fatliver! Spit flying, he demanded that your mother pack up her brood and her puppets and never again return... or else. That “or else” had set your young mind afire with trying to figure out what sort of terrible fate would await your mother if she returned to Market Day and you had clung to her skirts for a solid three weeks, ready to employ yourself as a weight at the first sign of her returning to do battle with the monastary. You never needed to set your plan into action, however, since your mother determined the legal boundaries of the monastary and deployed her newest invention: billboards. However, after a short period, she realized only the monks could read. Although she’d kept the advertising copy – and it had become even more pointed – the billboards had utilized illustrations of happy peasants and $beerco barrels. Even the unlettered could get the point. One night, several of these billboards had burned to the ground. The monks had definitely not been involved. And so, you informed Reese, the Battle of the Beers had become a cold war, waged mostly via billboard, which the monks had also adopted. Reese rides on in stunned silence, no doubt shocked at the injustice. They surprise you when they finally speak. “Your mother… wrote a puppet show… about the abbot being a demon… because he wouldn’t let her advertise your family business?” 1. [[Hell yeah!->Mom Rocks!]] 2. [[Recite the disclaimer your mother taught you.->Legal Disclaimer]] 3. [[Well… maybe it is a little silly.->Silly Mom, Puppets Are for Kids]]

“Yeah, the puppet show was awesome! You should have seen how detailed the puppets were, especially Father Fatliver’s transformation from priest to demon. It was a marvel of special effects!” “Special effects…?” Reese asks, sounding a bit lost. “You had to be there,” you say, offhandedly. “Anyway, Mom worked on that script for weeks, and made Clem help her. It was Clem’s first masterpiece. There were so many revisions, and we had to be the test audience for them all.” Reese sighs. “Your family certainly is… lively. My mother would have penned a scathing poem that read as complimentary on the surface, but ensured to point out each of the abbot’s flaws.” “I think your mom and my mom would get along fabulously,” you say with a grin. “They should have tea next time your mother is in the area.” “That might not be adviseable,” they say with a wince. “The scheming might be the end of us all.” Oh, yes, they simply must meet. Petty recognizes petty. [[Next->Riding in Silence]]

“‘Lord Handsome and the Demon Abbot’ is a work of fiction,” you recite, “and any resemblance to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental or used ficticiously. Furthermore, $beerco makes no claims about our products’ ability to excorcise demons.” Reese sighs. “That sounds rehearsed.” “It is.” Your mother had lined up the lot of you and made you recite it until you were blue in the face. In fact, Clem – who had always took more after your mother than she liked to admit – started writing the same disclaimer at the beginning of all of her novels. “Minimizing liabilities is paramount.” “Well, I can certainly appreciate the satire, but it’s rather childish, don’t you think?” Reese replies. You roll your eyes, but don’t press the issue. Perhaps your mother’s response was childish, but wasn’t the abbot’s equally – nay, even more so? Banning your family, specifically, from having a stall, merely to protect their own monopoly was hardly befitting behavior of holy men. [[Next->Riding in Silence]]

Their surprise has you taken aback. They don’t sound amused or shocked at the injustice at all, just baffled. And, perhaps, a little disapproving. Heat rises to your cheeks. The story has been lovingly told in your family since you were small. Your sister even wrote about it in her acclaimed children’s series. It had never occurred to you that it might be embarrassing. In fact, embarrassment is a feeling that you had not felt often as a child, but have been feeling more and more recently. A tight feeling in your chest and a heavy knot in your gut begin to form in tandem. You think back to when $sloan called your family “jumped-up merchants,” and even further back to when Bainbridge’s man suggested that your family was known to be eccentric. Is this how other nobles see your family, as an embarrassment? [[Next->Riding in Silence]]

You rode along in silence for a while longer before Reese attempted conversation again. “I understand that King Alistair was not always meant to be king. My mother has had some difficulty procuring information on this subject, and even Al is reluctant to talk about it with me.” A chill runs down your spine at their words. “It isn’t something most people like to talk about. My father was knighted by the previous king, but he always says it’s lucky that we were too minor of nobility to really get caught up in the succession crisis.” “Do you know anything about it?” they ask, sounding almost bored. But you can feel the way their shoulders tense ever-so-slightly as they ask the question. They want to know. You do know something. It was the one history lesson that your parents both insisted that you learn. It hadn’t even been delivered by a tutor. Your father had sat you down, along with Quinn, Emma, and Aelric, and taught you about the civil war himself. The lesson was delivered in hushed whispers and ended with a firm order not to ever repeat what he had told you. He had never looked so serious in his life than when he told you this. Since then, it had never been brought up, not even between your siblings. Reese is part of this rebellion. Should they know the full history of the kingdom they call home? Or will it run them off? How invested are they in this? 1.{[[Brush it off.->Brush Off]]} 2.{[[Tell them the factual history.->Just the Facts]]} 3.{[[Tell them the history your father told you.->Full History]]}

Your heart is hammering in your chest. Your whole life, as long as you’ve known what happened, you’ve also known that you must keep it to yourself. That isn’t going to change today. Besides, Reese doesn’t understand the question they’re asking. Who would want to hear such a violent tale, and on such a beautiful day, no less? Certainly not you. Still, the memory of your father’s hushed words comes to your mind. The young Prince Edmund, whose name is only spoken by the very brave or the very stupid. King Edmund, if you happen to be desperate for the noose. King Alistair’s nephew and Al’s older cousin was supposed to become king upon his father’s death, but things became complicated when his father, the Crown Prince, died in the Crusades shortly after his birth. The ensuing civil war had been short, but bloody, and all those nobles who openly opposed King Alistair’s ascension had been executed, publically and violently. It was good, your father had said, that your family had never caught the king’s attention. “It’s boring history,” you say with a shrug. “I was never good in school.” [[Next->A Little More History]]

Your heart is hammering in your chest. Your whole life, as long as you’ve known what happened, you’ve also known that you must keep it to yourself. If it were up to you – and it is – that won’t change today. Besides, Reese doesn’t understand the question they’re asking. Who would want to hear such a violent tale, and on such a beautiful day, no less? Certainly not you… but maybe they should. They are, after all, at just as much risk either way. Very hesitantly, you begin, “The previous king was John IV, and his heir was supposed to be his son Prince John. Prince John was pretty well liked and all, but he died fighting in the Crusades.” “Didn’t the king have other sons?” Ah, dear, sweet Reese. So reasonable. “He did… but there was a law passed, not long before my parents were born.” A law you are very familiar with, given that it pretty much ensured that you legally couldn’t inherit anything from your parents. “Only your first-born can inherit your titles and lands. People got tired of having to have a civil war every time the king died, just because his kids didn’t want to split the inheritance.” Reese hums. “But that worked poorly.” You nod absently. “This was the first time it was really being tested. Prince John was supposed to be king, then Edmund. When John died, the question became whether his younger brother Cuthbert should be next in line, or Edmund. Edmund was the first born of the first born, but Cuthbert was technically the oldest of the king. There ended up being a civil war, and King Alistair, the youngest son of John IV, came out on top.” “What about the young prince?” You can hear the dread in their voice. They want there to be something not-terrible in this story. You do your best to oblige them. “No one knows for sure. There are rumors that he’s building a base of supporters somewhere.” “Hmm,” is all they say in response. [[Next->A Little More History]]

Your heart is hammering in your chest. Your whole life, as long as you’ve known what happened, you’ve also known that you must keep it to yourself. If it were up to you – and it is – that won’t change today. Besides, Reese doesn’t understand the question they’re asking. Who would want to hear such a violent tale, and on such a beautiful day, no less? Certainly not you… but maybe they should. They are, after all, at just as much risk either way. In the same hushed whisper in which your father had delivered this bloody history to you, you begin, “King Alistair staged a coupe during a succession crisis. The country was a mess – the old king was dead, as was his most likely heir. A new law meant that only the eldest living child could inherit. Some people thought that meant the late heir’s firstborn son should be the next king and his mother should rule as regent. Others wanted the old king’s next eldest, Cuthbert, to take the throne. “Both the princes’ factions wanted old King John’s youngest son, Reginald, to back their chosen prince. Instead, he declared himself for the throne. He claimed that he was the wisest and strongest of them all, now that his eldest brother was dead, and he should be king. Out of the three factions in the war, he was the most brutal. Reginald hassled each side and stayed hidden, rarely meeting in open battle unless he had the advantage. Then he captured Edmund and killed Cuthbert in battle … after Cuthbert had surrendered.” Reese’s sucks in a sharp breath. You can’t imagine they are surprised, but even you know that one should never kill your enemy’s general after their surrender. The rules of warfare allow you to imprison him, even execute him with trial, but not brutally slaughter him in front of his entire army. His own brother, even. You’ve played some crazy pranks on your elder siblings, but you’d never dream of seriously hurting them. Solemnly, you continue, “Reginald crowned himself King Alistair II, and completely demolished any rebellion that followed. Anyone who fought against him was publically executed without trial. Fifty people were hanged in a day.” They shudder. “What about the young prince?” “No one knows for sure. There are rumors that he’s building a base of supporters somewhere.” “Hmm,” is all they say in response. [[Next->A Little More History]]

An uneasy silence falls over the two of you. Reese is outwardly calm, but you can feel how tense their muscles are beneath their flowing clothes. They’re just as frightened as you, even if you aren’t sure that they fully grasp the terror and paranoia you’re trying to convey. Prince Edmund spent much of his short life in the Spire before a group of rebels attempted to free him. After that, he disappeared. You had overheard your parents speaking of it once, when you were very young. Some people thought the rebels had succeeded in freeing the prince and that he was hidden in some farflung corner of the kingdom, raising an army to take back his throne. There had even been a few coup attempts since then, claiming to be Prince Edmund, rightful king of Anglica, but they failed to unseat King Alistair. Most people believe that the king had killed his nephew in the dead of night to prevent any future attempts at rescuing the prince. As for the rebels? The king had seen each of them hanged, drawn, and quartered. To drive the point in, he also hanged their immediate families. Publicly. It was a bloodbath, with over fifty people executed that day. A grim understanding hangs between the two of you: if you are caught, it is not just you at risk. You think of your parents, and of your siblings. Would they all be at risk, all because you couldn’t stand to be married to a $dman you dislike? And what of Quinn? (upperfirst:$qhe) only joined this rebellion for you, to ensure your freedom. You’ve been drawn into this conspiracy against your will, and if the king ever finds out, he will kill your entire family. Even your poor nieces and nephews. Would he use an entire square’s worth of gallows, or do it in lots? A chill runs down your spine. 1. {(color: #FCBACB)[] [[Perhaps you can find a way to gain the king’s favor, so that he might spare your family and Quinn. But how?->King Loyalty Points RV]]} 2. {(color: #FCBACB)[] [[You need to take down this tyrant, by any means necessessary.->Rebel Loyalty Points RV]]}

You force your voice to sound light and unconcerned. “Well, then. We had better talk about our cover story. If you get caught, I can only imagine the trouble we’d be in.” “I imagine a great deal,” Reese responds, sounding significantly more convincing. “You seem rather eager. Do you have a plan in mind?” “Well, I was thinking about my fake name.” You feel yourself relax as you take your mind off the imminent threat of execution. Funny how that works. “I would like to be called (cycling-link: 2bind $fakename, "Elene","Sidon","Havardus"). Reese considers this for a moment. “A little conspicuous, don’t you think?” “Of course,” you say confidently. “No one will ever suspect it. Who would be so bold?” “Who indeed?” they chuckle. [[Next.->Moneylenders]]

As you pass under the archway, decorated with colorful banners, you are confronted with unfortunately accurate drawings of your family posted on the gates. You are impressed that they managed to get all 18 of you onto the poster. They really did your mother’s scowl justice, too. It gives you a shiver to see it. You take a moment to admire it: the $house is truly a handsome family and you are glad to see justice done. Kudos to the artist. You wonder if your brother-in-law might do a version in his signature charicture style. A cursory scan reveals several more posters, scattered amongst the stalls. Large text is carefully printed over the images: (text-style:"underline","emboss","expand")[(align:"=><=")[(text-colour:red)[ETERNALLY BANNED]]] Upon closer inspection, the 'B' looked suspiciously as if it had started its life as a 'D' and you were pretty sure the first 'N' might actually be an 'M' with the final stroke blotted out. Reese clucks their tongue, startling you. “This seems a bit petty, especially given that I assume the majority of your family had little to actually do with the puppet show. And this poster seems to go beyond even simply banning you.” “They knew they couldn’t compete with us,” you whisper conspiritorily. You almost admire them for it. Knowing when you have been bested by your much superior foe is a virtue; however, the inability to admit it is pitiful. They don’t respond, but you think you see an amused twinkle in their eye. [[Next.->Do You Know the Melon Man?]]

{(set:$saveoldlady to false) }You are startled by a sudden yelling nearby. Following the eager crowd, you find the source. There appears to be an elderly couple having a confrontation with a merchant. The elderly woman, who a wears long veil over a loose flowing dress, stands back, her hand raised to her chest defensively. The merchant is shaking his fist and yelling about “not manhanding the produce.” Between them, the elderly man stands protectively, dark eyes glinting with anger, looking ready to pounce. Then the elderly man starts yelling back, though you can’t understand what he’s saying. He speaks quickly and angrily in a foreign language that you don’t recognize. His companion watches the exchange fearfully. The crowd is restless, murmuring, waiting to see what happens next. 1.{[[You step into the fray – no old ladies are getting bullied on your watch!->Save the Old Lady]]} 2.{[[The woman reminds you a bit of Grandmama Wilhelmina. You hope nothing bad happens to these people.->Hope for the Best]]} 3.{[[Yikes! You’re staying out of this one!->Yikes Crispies]]}

{(set:$rromance to $rromance+10)(set:$rfriend +20)(set:$saveoldlay to true) } (if:$diplomatic is true)[{ }“Easy, easy!” You position yourself in between the two parties, your hands raised In what – you hope – is a universally understood gesture of peace. “There’s no need for the fuss – you’ll draw the guards over. What’s happened?” “That one was manhandling my melons!” the merchant cries. “She’s going to ruin them.” You eye the alleged melons critically. They look… softer than they should. And now that you’ve noticed it, there is a sickly sweet smell hanging about. The melons are definitely overripe. Your eyes lift up and take in the lack of a tent. “Er, I think maybe they’ve been out in the sun too long. Are you even certified to sell fruit here?”] (else: )[{ }“Hey, who do think you are, picking on an old lady?” you demand, your arms crossed. “Do you think you can just yell at a grandma like that, huh?” “That ‘grandma’ was manhandling my melons!” the merchant cries. “She’s going to ruin them.” You eye the alleged melons critically. They look… softer than they should. And now that you’ve noticed it, there is a sickly sweet smell hanging about. The melons are definitely overripe. Your eyes lift up and take in the lack of a tent. “You mean these nasty things? Who would want to steal them? You probably aren’t even certified to sell fruit here!”] “Oooh!” the crowd gasps. “I – Why, of course I am, welp!” He practically hisses. You wonder if there’s any $beerco barrels around. “Who are you?” You grin. “I am $fakename!” “Well, $fakename, you can mind your own business!” [[Then Reese steps in.->Reese Saves the Travelers]]

Something about the woman’s sweet brown eyes and gentle face reminds you of your own dear grandmama. You hope someone wrangles this terrible merchant before he does something to this pair. Who fight with an innocent pair of grandparents anyway? Scoundrals, that’s who. [[Reese seems to agree with you.->Reese Saves the Travelers]]

You cringe back. Nope, not getting involved. This isn’t your business anyway, and you aren’t going to risk exposing yourself. This idiot is going to summon the guards with all his shouting, and you don’t think he has a permit to set up shop – not without a tent to protect his produce from the blazing summer sun. [[Reese doesn’t seem to agree.->Reese Saves the Travelers]]

They ignore the merchant entire and focus on the elderly travelers. They speak what you assume to be the same language, the words rolling off their tongue with a musical cadence and the confidence of a native speaker. Their tone is soft and hushed, soothing the fear in the woman and the anger in the man. Slowly, the couple begin to speak, offering what you can only assume is their side of the story. Reese’s face hardens as they continue, rich brown eyes flickering over to the merchant. Finally, they turn to the merchant. “You tried to take advantage of these good people. Your merchandise is overripe, and you were attempting to sell it at a premium. When they refused to buy it, you accused them of stealing. You knew that they couldn’t defend themselves, here in a foreign country.” The crowd gasps. “Lies!” the merchant shrieks. “They were fondling the produce! That woman was attempting to stash it under her scarf!” You wrinkle your nose in disgust at the soggy melons. “I don’t think a dog would steal that. You really should have invested in a tent.” The merchant puffs up his chest to argue, but the murmuring crowd stops him short. You can see the wheels turning in his head and an image comes to mind – the crooked fruit salesman in the stocks, his own nasty melons piled next to him for the amusement of the marketgoers. He sees it too, because he drops onto the ground with a loud [[“hmph!”->A Heroes Thanks]]

The elderly man shakes hands with Reese after the four of you move out of the crowd. He and Reese exchange a quick conversation, which Reese translates for you. “Thank you for your timely intervention,” the elderly man, Yusuf, says. “I don’t know what we would have done without your help. That scoundrel knew that we couldn’t speak to defend ourselves. We merely walked by and he tried to shove a one of those disgusting things in my sister’s hands. When she tried to give it back, he started shouting and pointing. He had a sign on his basket – you saw it – and he kept pointing to it. The price was ridiculous, and for something we didn’t even want!” Reese smiled kindly. “It was no trouble at all. I’m glad we could help – I was worried someone would summon the guards. It would have been rather messy.” Indeed it would have been. You and Reese share a meaningful glance. “//Jazakallahu khair//,” Yusef says. “Trouble or no, I greatly appreciated your intervention and I hope that you have good fortune today.” “//Waiyyak//,” Reese replies gracefully, bowing their head slightly. (if:$oldladysaved is true)[{ }(if:$they is "she")[{ }As the pair begin to go, the woman turns to you with a soft smile. “//Jazakallahu khair.//” Uncertain, you turn to Reese. They lean down and whisper, “She’s saying ‘thank you.’ You could respond with, ‘//wa Iyyaky//.’” “Oh,” you reply. You turn to the woman and say, “(cycling-link: "//Wa Iyyaky//.","No problemo.")" Her eyes light up in amusement, and she follows her brother back into the market.]{ }(else:)[{ }As the pair turn to go, the woman turns to you with a soft smile and nods. Surprised, you nod back. It’s strange not to be the cause of mischief for once. Her eyes light up in amusement, and she follows her brother back into the market.] ] (else:)[{}]{ }[[Next.->Shopping with Reese]]

You try not to feel like a prisoner. You shouldn’t – you’re walking along, completely unfettered, in bright daylight, with hundreds of people around you. If you want to give Reese the slip, you probably could. You’ve lost your mother more times you can count when you and Quinn had gotten into some mischief, and that was in the confines of Castle Kaylock, surrounded by guards. But if you escape, where would you go? You have no money and your jewels and fine clothes are long gone. Most of all, how could you run away without Quinn, your best friend? (if: $rromance > 0)[And well… your current traveling companion isn’t too bad either, even if they are more captor than companion at the moment. If you close your eyes, maybe you could pretend Reese is your friend. Someone who would stand up for you the way they did for those travelers before. ](else-if: $qromance > 10)[Just the idea of leaving without them makes your heart pound and fingers tingle with panic. You have never faced life without Quinn, and you don’t want to think about it. Nor do you want to think about just exactly why the idea of leaving Quinn behind is so alarming. You shake your head with irritation, trying to shake those thoughts out of your head. Sadly, it doesn’t work. ](else-if: $sromance >20)[If there’s anything you hate, it’s being told what to do, and it seems like you’ve been having orders barked at you since Quinn’s rather apt, yet unwise, impersonation of a keg of beer. Yet, when it’s Sloan doing it … maybe you don’t hate it as much. No, wait you do. You hate being told what to do and you hate Sloan’s face. You’ve got to get away from these people before you go even crazier. Before you start believing in this rebellion. You shudder at the thought. ]You need to distract yourself, so you busy yourself with looking for the right ingredients for (cycling-link:bind $brewType, "mead","ale","beer"). It wasn’t enough just to buy anything. You needed to make sure it was of good quality. If your father had said it once, he had literally said a thousand times, “a good brew starts with good ingredients.” In fact, it had become a bit of a game amongst you and your siblings to get him monologuing about brewing and see how often he repeated this phrase. You frequently lay bets on it. Well, now those snooze-worthy lectures were going to come in handy. You could never tell anyone. It would get back to your siblings and you would never ever hear the end of it. You’d have to move to the end of the world just to get away from them. Come to think of it, that might be a good idea anyway. As you examine the wares, another thought crosses your mind … if you use substandard ingredients, or, even better, if you use moldy ones, anyone drinking it would become ill. Some might even see things that weren’t there. You’d heard of such things before, and your fourth-eldest brother had once even deliberately made such a brew and shared it amongst his friends. One had thought that he was a hawk and had jumped off one of the smaller towers. Your father had been furious that he had so perverted the brewmaster’s art. And Mother had been annoyed that the boy had broken his legs. The boy’s parents had made noises about a seige until she sent some apology barrels of limited-edition seasonal mead. Your mother budgeted several barrels each for smoothing over difficulties, but that little adventure had put quite the dent in the supply to her great irritation. But! Causing illness among the rebels -- do you dare? 1. {[[You don’t – even the idea makes your stomach cramp with guilt.->Rebel Loyalty Points 3B]]} 2. {[[You don’t – it’s not safe. They’ll know it was you and then what?->King Loyalty Points 3B]]} 3. {[[You don't – the idea of ruining a perfectly good brew is just too revolting.->Perfectly Good Brew B]]} 4. {[[You aren’t sure… you wish you had someone to tell you the right answer.->Missing Emma RV]]}

Something about the idea of ruining a perfectly delicious batch of $brewType causes a violent shudder to move down your spine. It's a hair-raising sensation, as if your father had taken possession of you to express the depths of his disapproval. Really, what were you thinking? No, if you want out of here, it won't be through descrating the sacredness of your burgeoning brewery. [[Next.->Snack]]

Are you … beginning to like the rebels? You don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you don’t want to make people sick. Besides, you can’t be sure that only the soldiers would consume the hallucinogenic drink. Besides, what if some of them started thinking they were hawks? In the arboreal fortress, that would be a real danger. It would be raining rebels, and what if one fell on your or Quinn? No, it wasn’t worth the risk. [[Next.->Snack RV]]

It wouldn’t take much of an investigation to figure out it was the brew that was making people sick, and then what? At this point, you can see Sloan’s disppointed face on the back of your eyelids when you go to sleep at night. You’re not sure you want to find out what her angry face looks like, but you can imagine. You’ll see it only a few seconds before she puts an arrow through your eye. Then you and Robert can get matching eye patches. You don’t think you’d look very good in an eye patch. You don’t have the roguishness or grimy appearance to pull one off well. You sigh. You’ll have to think of something else. [[Next.->Snack RV]]

You think about your sister, Emma. Even though she’s only three years older than you, she’s always been someone you could count on. Once when you were five, horror of horrors, a storm had knocked a cart into the chicken coop, releasing the demons to wander the courtyard and roost in the battlements. It had been a terrifying experience. You literally couldn’t throw a rock for hitting a chicken – which your mother had explicitly forbidden. For three days, the guards tried to round up the beasts without much success. You had holed up in your room with Quinn, refusing to leave and demanding that all visitors and/or servants bearing food proved that they were not feathery fiends before entering. Then Emma had arrived, like an angel in the wings, proudly heralding her victory over the enemy. Somehow, she had gathered every single chicken up and stuffed them all in the trash pit. No one was quite sure how she’d done it, or how she’d prevented the chickens from escaping their earthly prison, and soon the episode was transferred into family legend. You've always certain that she had cowed them by sheer force of personality. Even if she had only been eight at the time. She would know what to do. But she isn’t here to ask. Plus, she's still angry about the whole “horror-monal” thing. You are on your own. 1. {[[You don’t – even the idea makes your stomach cramp with guilt.->Rebel Loyalty Points 3B]]} 2. {[[You don’t – it’s not safe. They’ll know it was you and then what?->King Loyalty Points 3B]]} 3. {[[You don't – the idea of ruining a perfectly good brew is just too revolting.->Perfectly Good Brew B]]}

You and Reese examine the wares of various merchants, and you could swear that Reese is nodding in approval at some of your choices of spice and herb. For your part, you are impressed by the way Reese haggles. The way their musical voice seems to enchant the merchants as they smoothly build a case for generous discounts is near-enthralling. They give your mother a proper run for her money. Quite literally. After a few hours walking the length of the market, your feet begin to hurt and your mouth feels uncomfortably dry. And frankly, you think as your stomach grumbles, a little snack won’t go to waste. You are reminded faintly of a summer, many years ago, when your parents splurged on a crate of oranges and your mouth waters. Sighing, you write the idea off. They had been prohibitively expensive, and you doubt Reese would buy them just for you, despite their deep pockets. But maybe they would be amenable to something a bit more common. “Hey, Reese, it’s a bit after noon.” Reese stops and turns to you, their brow furrowed. “Ah, yes. We’re making good time, I think. We have enough to get you started. Are you ready to go?” Well, that isn’t what you hoped would happen. You try again. “Almost. But you know, we haven’t eaten yet.” Reese brown eyes light up with understanding, and the ghost of a smirk appears on their face. “So we haven’t. We ought to get back soon, to ensure that we are not late for dinner – you know $sloan is rather strict about mealtimes.” You frown, your stomach growling piteously. This had been a fail-safe strategy to get your mother to feed you for years. You try again. “I saw a stall selling bread and cheese earlier today. It was near the entrance.” “A pity that it’s on our way out,” Reese says, a teasing lilt to their voice. “We’ll still have a long journey back to the camp, and the smell of food is surely going to make it harder.” “It will be a long journey, at least an hour.” You tug at that thread with all your might. “And unless $sloan saved us something, there won’t be anything. They only make food at mealtimes. By the time when get back, we’ll have to wait for dinner.” Before you can even play your trump card, Reese beats you to it. “You will, at least. After all, I just have to return to Al’s castle for food.” You grit your teeth as Reese blinks in faux-innocence. Your stomach growls. You cave. “Could we maybe get a snack?” They smile. [[“Of course.”->Too Bad There’s No Reese’s Pieces]]

“Ah, that was refreshing,” you say, flopping backward onto the grass and relishing the shade of the ash tree. It provided a welcome reprieve from the hot midday sun. Next to you, Reese sips from their own drink, which they said is called chai. “I agree. I really didn’t expect there to be chai so far from London.” “I figured you’d be thirsty after all that haggling,” you crow. “Truly impressive, by the way. You could sell snow to a viking.” Reese smiles as they sip their chai. “My mother taught me well.” You yawn and stretch your full body. “You’ll have to teach me. Quinn says I always spend more than I should when we go shopping.” “Sure, I could teach you, if you’re willing to learn.” They shift so that they’re facing you and sitting cross-legged in the grass. One hand holds their drink, the other fiddles with a bright yellow flower. { }(if:$oldladysaved is true)[{ }(if:$diplomatic is true)[{ }“That was an impressive intervention back there. Not a lot of people would intervene on the behalf of strangers.”]{ }(else:)[{ }“That was a good attempt back there. Not a lot of people would intervene on the behalf of strangers.”] “No one harrasses old ladies on my watch,” you half-joke. “Besides, you did more than me, I think. Was that your native language?” “No,” they say wistfully. “But it’s a common language back in Bharat. Not that those two are from there, but it was a lucky thing I learned the language.”]{ }(else:)[{ }They pluck the flower with a gently tug and fiddle with it silently. “You know,” you begin awkwardly. “It was impressive the way you helped those people earlier. Were they from Bharat, too?” “No,” they say wistfully. “They were Moorish, but their language is common in Bharat.”] “You sound homesick,” you say. “Did you leave Bharat very recently?” Reese startles a little at that, but quickly regain their composure. Their voice is soft as they continue, “No, I was very young when we left. I barely remember it. What about you? I know you’re still in your homeland, but you must miss your family.” You swallow the sudden lump in your throat and blink back the tears. You try not to think of it. After only a week or two, you already miss it. You can’t imagine being on the other side of the world. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” “Truly? When I first left Bharat as a child, the first few weeks were the hardest.” Reese speaks gently, inviting you to share your own feelings. “Everything was so different, but somehow it still reminded me of home.” “I suppose I understand,” you admit. “The camp is so different from the castle, but sometimes it reminds me of home, back when most of my siblings still lived there.” They hum in recognition. “Ah, yes. You have a large family, do you not? I understand that you are the youngest.” “Yeah,” you sigh. “I was the only one not married off. Though, [[that was about to change.”->A Sorry Tale RV]]

You explain your harrowing escape from your unwanted engagement. Reese listens intently until you finish your tale, then says, “I understand that most engagements need the approval of the king. For you not to know about it suggests that they didn’t go through any of the proper channels.” “I’m not surprised,” you snort. If Quinn hadn’t snooped, you would be on your honeymood right now. //Ugh//. “They weren’t advertising it. I think their plan was to spring it on me as we were walking down the aisle. Maybe they would have been nice and told on the way to the chapel.” You dragged your fingers through your hair, frustrated. (if:$diplomatic is true)[“I don’t get why they did this. None of my siblings were married like this, and…” You trail off as a realization dawns on you. “Do you know the which barony is Bainbridge’s?” Reese shakes their head. “No, the (lowercase:$baron) rarely comes to court. I don’t believe I’ve ever met the $dman.” You barely hear them, though. Your heart is hammering in your ears and a bit of geography and politics drags itselfs from the deep recesses of your brain. //Goose Creek//. Aterrible name for a terrible lord. “My father said something about a trade deal with Goose Creek being in progress when I left.” You and Reese put the pieces together at the same time. Your parents had put you up as a bargaining chip. 1. {[[Tears brim in your eyes. How could they do this to you?->Shrewd Tears RV]]} 2. {[[Anger boiled in your stomach. How could they do this to you?->Shrewd Anger RV]]} ](else:)[“I don’t get why they did this,” you groan. “All my siblings had arranged marriages, but I don’t think any of them had to marry somebody who sucked.” 1. {[[Tears brim in your eyes. How could they do this to you?->Confused Tears RV]]} 2. {[[Anger boiled in your stomach. How could they do this to you?->Confused Anger RV]]} ]

{(set: $engaged_feelings to "sadness") }You know there had been some benefit to the marriage. You aren’t totally stupid or naïve – you know that each of your siblings had married to someone who was wealthy or had the ability to become wealthy. It all serves the family as a whole. As your mother says, time and time again, “A step forward for one is a step forward for all.” But they had gotten a choice in the matter. They were married off to people who adored them and who understood them. You were to be married to a $dman who could barely manage more than five words in your presence. And not in the lovestruck way, either. Not like Aberardus, who became a stammering mess when Fritheswith presented him with a pair of lovingly embroidered gloves to protect his hands from his alchemy. Or the way Fritheswith kept making those gloves knowing Aberardus would melt right through them. You try to hold back the sniffles, but it proves too difficult. You just want to understand why your parents did this. Reese watches you silently, their expression unreadable. [[Next.->Failed Engagement RV]]

{(set: $engaged_feelings to "anger") }Despite what everyone thinks, you aren’t so stupid that you didn’t realize your parents would benefit from this marriage. You had enough older siblings to know the drill: your marriage was always intended to serve the family as a whole. As your mother says, time and time again, “A step forward for one is a step forward for all.” But you hadn’t gotten a say in the matter. Your parents had carefully married your siblings off to people who adored them – who understood them. You were to be married to a $dman who could barely manage more than five words in your presence. And not in the dumb lovestruck way, which would have been almost acceptable. Not like Aberardus, who became a stammering mess when Fritheswith presented him with yet //another// pair of lovingly embroidered gloves to protect his hands. Or the way Fritheswith kept making those stupid gloves //knowing// Aberardus would melt right through them. Your indignation must have shown on your face, because Al is watching you carefully, shoulders tensed. You just want to know why your parents did this. Reese watches you silently, their expression unreadable. [[Next->Failed Engagement RV]]

{(set: $engaged_feelings to "sadness") }You knew, on some level, that you would have to marry one day. You just didn’t think it would to Bainbridge. You siblings were all married off to people who adored them and who understood them. You were to be married to a $dman who could barely manage more than five words in your presence. And not in the lovestruck way, either. Not like Aberardus, who became a stammering mess when Fritheswith presented him with a pair of lovingly embroidered gloves to protect his hands from his alchemy. Or the way Fritheswith kept making those gloves knowing Aberardus would melt right through them. You try to hold back the sniffles, but it proves too difficult. You just want to understand why your parents did this. Reese watches you silently, their expression unreadable. [[Next->Failed Engagement RV]]

{(set: $engaged_feelings to "anger") }It was a given that you would marry one day, and that it would be arrange. You just didn’t think it would be Bainbridge. Your parents had carefully married your siblings to people who adored them – who understood them. You were to be married to a $dman who could barely manage more than five words in your presence. And not in the dumb lovestruck way, which would have been almost acceptable. Not like Aberardus, who became a stammering mess when Fritheswith presented him with yet //another// pair of lovingly embroidered gloves to protect his hands. Or the way Fritheswith kept making those stupid gloves //knowing// Aberardus would melt right through them. Your indignation must have shown on your face, because Al is watching you carefully, shoulders tensed. You just want to know //how// your parents could do this. Reese watches you silently, their expression unreadable. [[Failed Engagement RV<-Next.]]

“What’s wrong with Bainbridge, exactly?” Reese asks cautiously. “Is $dhe cruel, or…?” You groan loudly. “Devon Bainbridge is just the worst. All $dhe does is sulk in corners, grimacing at everyone else. I’m pretty sure $dhe’s a vampire or something.” Their composure drops as they choke on their chai, spraying the sweet drink everywhere, unable to breath. Panicked that you just killed Reese, you scramble over to help -- $sloan will really let you have it then! You start pounding on their back. “Don’t die on me, Reese!” After a few minutes – and thanks to your life-saving fists – Reese starts breathing normally again and gently pushes you away. “I’m alright now, thank you.” You sit back, satisfied. “Glad you’re okay.” “So am I,” they say. “You know, I really never know what you’re going to say next. You’re just… full of surprises.” “I don’t know what you mean,” you say, confused. A warm feeling settles in your chest anyway. You feel that they are being complimentary, somehow. Reese leans back, resting their weight on their palms. “Just that you are a determined individual. You don’t let other people decide your destiny for you. I, on the other hand, will do as my parents did, and my grandparents before them. I have a legacy to keep up. Not that it’s a terrible fate – my parents have worked hard to ensure that I will have as comfortable a life as possible. I have had a wonderful and expensive education and they have always supported my hobbies. I don’t think I’d ever be able to run away, but you did. You remind me of $sloan in that way – I’ve admired $shis ability to go against the grain as long as I’ve known $shim.” “Do you not want to follow in your parents footsteps?” They consider your question. “I really don’t know. I like to think I have inherited my best qualities from both my parents. My father was a literature professor back in Bharat and my mother a diplomat. Each of them the premier in their field. Perhaps I could merely be a musician, if I were the best.” “I hear that.” You flop into the grass with a sigh. “My father is a brewing savant. My mother is a business genius. They built an empire and I can’t even sweep a floor without getting covered in crap. At least you’re probably good at music, whether or not you’re the best.” Reese hums. “You’re kind to say so, but I’m sure you’ve got a talent too. You just have to find it.” That’s true. “I am a very gifted juggler.” “See?” They beam at you. “That’s the spirit.” [[Next.->Strolling Minstrels RV]]

As the two of you lie there digesting your well-earned snacks, a group of strolling minstrels happen by and strike up a cheerful tune. A few people begin dancing, some going gleefully and others being teasingly dragged into the throng by their partners. The song is a familiar one -- a romantic ballad about lost siblings and spurned lovers. (align:"=><=")+(box:"X=")[It's a narrow, narrow make your bed, And learn to lie your lane; For I'm ga'n oer the sea, Fair Annie, A braw bride to bring hame.] You slowly get up and watch the performers, tapping your foot to the beat. You are surprised that the joy-killing monks allowed such a baudy song about congress out of wedlock on their sacred grounds, but pleased to have real entertainment. As another verse starts up, you hear a familiar voice join in. (align:"=><=")+(box:"X=")[It's I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale, And I will welcome your brisk bride, That you bring oer the dale.] Reese isn’t the only one to join in the song, but they are, by far, the best singer. Their voice is strong, clear and sweet, somewhere between a countertenor and a contralto. Heads turn in their direction and a circle forms around them as they gesture gracefully, eyes closed and face serene and almost beatific, enraptured by the music. [[Next.->Unexpected Soloist]]

The minstrels are clearly delighted with this unexpected soloist, and they form a half-circle around Reese, who, hearing their melodic approach, opens their eyes and gestures for the harp slung over one of their shoulders. To shouts and cheers, the gleeman, with a big smile and an exaggerated, if somehow still respectful, bow, presents it to Reese, who nods their thanks and begins playing. As Reese sings, the other voices drop away until only Reese’s can be heard, ringing through the market. Someone had taught them to project their voice and sing from the diaphragm. More and more people pause in their market day errands to listen. Did Reese say they were merely a musician? An artist of their talent could entertain at their choice of royal courts. Then, to your surprise, Reese’s elegant fingers fly over the strings of their borrowed instrument into a tune you know quite well, having been the test audience in its earliest drafts. It is a song about a Frankish king and a Scanian princess and how, after being unable to consumate their marriage, despite her beauty, he imprisions her in a tower so no other man could look upon her. She spends twenty years imprisoned, with only occasional – and disasterously failed conjugal visits – from her husband until the Pontiff himself shams the king for the mistreatment of his wife and demanded the queen be freed from the tower. She returns to court in triumph and promptly takes a young and handsome lover while the king gnashes his teeth with (impotent) rage. It is not, of course, about the Anglican king and queen, but the part about the sad and lonely queen being so isolated and mistreated hits home. Your brother-in-law had been quite creative with rhyming slang for the word “penis.” Ayland, your sixth-youngest sibling, had not been a fan of their husband teaching that slang to their 12-year-old sibling, calling it “inappropriate behavior for a member of a rising noble house.” Ayland has always been a bit of a snobbish stick in the mud. Your mother had been more put out over the hand gestures that were meant to accompany the song – and that they had been more preoccupied with writing about Scanian princesses and not $beerco’s selection of seasonal and other ales. It was something she called “advertising,” a part of her ”marketing campaign” “synergizing” with the billboards that so offended the monks. You have never heard “The Frankish Queen in Her Tower” sung so beautifully, however, even the parts about the king’s uninspired sword work and how it left the queen so bored that her fjord ran dry. (Her young lover, on the other hand, was a fencer of such great renown, he easily outshone his rival.) Coins fly as the crowd expresses their approval, and with a polite nod, Reese indicates to the group of itinerant poets that they should collect them. With flourishes and thanks, they collected the money in double handfuls. [[Next.->The Fisherman Song]]

As they do so, Reese takes a few steps forward and begins to sing a new song, one that you have never heard before and suspect is meant to be sung in another language, because it doesn’t always rhyme where expected. It doesn’t matter, the story is so enchanting that the crowd quiets so that you can hear the clink of coins as the minstrels gather them. Their voice is heartbreaking as they sing about a fisherman who rescues a sea turtle from cruel children and returns it to the sea, only to learn the turtle is the Princess of the Sea in disguise. The princess falls in love with the generous and kind fisherman, and they spend many years happily married in a brilliant coral palace beneath the waves. Even as Reese sings about the pair falling in love, there is something melancholy in their voice as they recount how the fisherman leaves all those he loved and all that he knew to join his lover at the bottom of the sea. However, the fisherman grows homesick; everything in the undersea kingdom is strange to him, even the language, and he can never forget that he is not of the sea and his roots are far away. The sea princess is saddened by this, but gives him a beautifully bejewled casket he must not open and allows him to leave. You could almost picture the couple in your mind’s eye, the regretful princess and the yearning fisherman, heads bent together, the casket between them, so mournfully Reese sings their tale. Even the minstrels have stopped gathering the coins to listen and perhaps add it to their store of songs. The fisherman returns to his village only to learn that centuries have passed without his knowledge. The village has grown into a city and nothing of the place or people he loves remains, and he is neither known by anyone nor is there any sign he had ever existed. [[Next->Looking Into Your Soul]]

At some point, Reese had begun singing directly to you, their dark eyes meeting yours, and you feel the bone-deep weariness and misery of belonging nowhere settle over you. (if:$rromance > 0)[{(set: $rromance +10) }Looking into those eyes, which aren’t brown – brown is too ordinary a word, they are rich with the colors of copper and honey; amber, onyx and gold; and all kinds of richness – you can easily see how convincing they could be, if they put their mind to it. Your heart and stomach seem to have switched places. You take deep breaths, trying to steady yourself. It’s only a song, and nothing to get so worked up over, even if you know that Reese easily perceives the feeling of alienation that the two of you share.]{ }(else:)[{(set: $rfriend +10) }You shiver as if a goose walked over your grave. Reese is singing about themselves, you are sure, but they also are singing about you. Like the fisherman, you cannot return to your old life, although for a very different reason. At the same time, you are not one of the rebels, not truly. You are alone in a way that few others understand. You dip your head to Reese in quiet acknowledgement. ] In the end, the fisherman opens the box and transforms into a large white crane. As the crane takes flight, it is no longer the fisherman. It is not lonely or sad, but it is only a crane and it does not love. It flies over the ocean, heading west into the setting sun, watched by a lone turtle, bobbing on the waves. Reese’s fingers still on the strings and the silence holds for a beat or two, and you notice that many of the audience’s eyes have a suspicious shine. The moment spins out, as delicate and fragile as glass. [[And like glasses, it shatters.->Angry Monks RV]]

An enraged bellow breaks the silence. “What is this sinful display?!” The angry voice rolls over the crowd and the market day shoppers cringe away from him. Reese uncertainly sets the borrowed harp down, looking a little bit dazed. Father Fat-Liver is breathing hard, air whistling between his flapping lips like steam from a kettle. “How dare you bring this … this … depravity onto our very doorstep!” Reese steps forward, clearly about to try to smooth things over. Father Fat-Liver’s eyes are bulging like a toad’s, and you are sure that this was not the time for smoothing things over. In fact, you are pretty sure that things could not be smoothed over. You had seen the look of nearly incoherent rage before, and this was usually the time when you and Quinn made a run for it. Some of the monks carry clubs, and one had a sickle. Damn, these monks meant business. “This lascivious display will not stand!” Father Fat-Liver bellows. “These lyrics are scandalous! Next, you’ll be communing with the devil!” Spit flies from his lips. You aren’t about to let Reese get mauled by a cenobium of monks. You hadn’t made a decision on this rebellion one way or the other yet, but if Sickle Monk got ahold of them, there would be no need for a rebellion. You had to get out of here. Now. “Follow my lead,” you say out of the corner of your mouth. “What?” Reese frowns. “Run!” You grab their hand and yank as you run as fast as you can. You are quite fast, because you have had more than a little practice at it. When you had as many older siblings who didn’t appreciate a harmless prank or twelve, it became necessary for survival into your teens. As you speed toward the gate, you look back over your shoulder. Father Fat-Liver is waving his fists in your direction and you could swear you can see the vein in his temple throbbing from here. “Lord Handsome rules!” you yell at the top of your lungs. His eyes widen in horrified reconition. The cry of "{ (if:$house is "Kaylock")[Kaaaaaylock] (if:$house is "Davenport")[Davenpooooort] (if:$house is "Renaud")[Reeeeeenaaaaaaud] (if:$house is "Blackburn")[Blackburrrrrrrn] }!" follows you as you pelt out onto the road to your horse. Reese is chuckling and trying to catch their breath. “Well, there goes keeping a low profile.” [[Chapter 5: Cosmos of Beer<-Indeed.]]

(align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.4)+(text-color: red+white)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[Alistair II] (align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.1)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[//The King//] (align:"=><=")[{ Alistair II, father to [[$pname->Al]], has been the king as long as you can remember. He ascended the throne through a bloody civil war and maintained his position through subterfuge, fear, and death. Those few who dare speak out against him do so in hushed whispers. Your family is far from court, however, and you have never thought much about him. } (link-goto: "Return to relationships", (history: where its tags does not contain "relationships")'s last) (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "settings")'s last)]

(align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.4)+(text-color: red+white)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[Chaithanyu “Reese” Rasiah] (align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.1)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[//The Diplomats' Child//] (align:"=><=")[{ You know little about Reese, other than that they are the child of foreign diplomats from the faraway kingdom of Bharat. Poised, elegant, and well-funded, they subtly disseminate propaganda in favor of [[$pname->Al]]. Despite standing against the king, however, their knowledge of his bloody history appears limited. (if: $c4pick is "Reese")[Beneath their calm exterior seems to be a lonely heart, one which seems to indicate a kindred spirit. (if:$rromance > 10)[Part of you longs to ease that loneliness.]](else:)[]} (link-goto: "Return to relationships", (history: where its tags does not contain "relationships")'s last) (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "settings")'s last)]

(align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.4)+(text-color: red+white)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[Devon Bainbridge] (align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.1)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[//Your Ex-Betrothed//] (align:"=><=")[{A local $baron, Bainbridge is to marry you, if your parents have their way. Unfortunately, $dhe is a complete ogre. Rude, recalitrant, and worst of all, //boring//, $dhe would be a dreadful $dspouse. Luckily, [[Quinn]], your best friend, warned you of this wicked plot, giving you time to formulate an escape. (if: $chapterCount > 1)[On your way out, you learned that Bainbridge is equally reluctant to wed you, making your cold feet a win-win situation.]} (link-goto: "Return to relationships", (history: where its tags does not contain "relationships")'s last) (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "settings")'s last)]

(align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.4)+(text-color: red+white)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[Sir Merewin and Lady Elinor $house] (align:"=><=")+(text-size:1.1)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")[//Your Parents//] (align:"=><=")[{ Sir Merewin is known for his genius at brewing and aging beer, ale, and mead, and for his ditzy personality. Many at court enjoy his products, though avoid inviting him to feasts for fear of being drawn into a long lecture of the differences between different strains of hops. Likewise, his wife, Lady Elinor, is known as a bold eccentric, who has never-the-less successfully turned her husband’s considerable talent into an empire and married off her children into even wealthier families… even when those matches appeared ill-informed at first. At the moment, you are rather hurt and angry over their foolish attempt to marry you off to [[Bainbridge]]. } (link-goto: "Return to relationships", (history: where its tags does not contain "relationships")'s last) (link-goto: "Return to game", (history: where its tags does not contain "settings")'s last)]

“So? Make some $brewType already.” $sloan is perched in the corner of the makeshift brewery, playing with $shis knife and looking bored out of $shis mind. “How long is this going to take.” You scoff. “It’s an //artform//, you philistine. It cannot be rushed.” You really should thank your sister for that word of the day calendar. “But we’re thirsty now.” (upperfirst:$shis) voice is dangerously close to what one might call //whiney//. You ignore $shim at this point, focusing on the ingredients in front of you. You //may// have exaggerated a bit when you said you could do this, but you sat through enough of your father’s rhapsodies. You could do this. (if:$determined is true)[Even just to prove that you were capable of //something//.](else-if:$stubborn is true)[Even just to stick it to $sloan.] A little nervous, you approach your new workbench. You’ve seen your father hunched over his many a time. He is too rich and old now to do much of the grunt work, but it is his artistry that allows him to brew samples of new flavors. His sense of smell and taste are exquisitely attuned to the medley of flavors. You reach deep inside yourself, searching for the little bit of talent that he must have passed on to you. Something clicks then, something deep in your hindbrain, almost instinctual. //Inspired.// You moved as if in a haze, your hands as if possessed, the world around you fading into into nothingness. Just you and the $brewType. You hear your father’s voice speaking softly to you, whispering the truths of the grains. You think you even hear angels singing, a soft brush a of wing against your cheek. Even the ingredients seem to hum [[at a frequency only those attuned to their importance on a cosmic level can hear.->What the Hell is Fermentation?]]

Then you are back with $sloan, a little dazed after your nigh-religious experience. “It is done.” “Oh, good.” $sloan reaches for the $brewType. “I want to see this.” You smack $shis hand away. You feel protective of this $brewType, as if it is your own newborn child. “It has to rest! Ferment!” “What does that even mean?” $sloan asks, rubbing the back of $shis hand and glaring. “Fermentation is the fascinating process by which the sugars in our ingredients are broken down into—” $sloan cuts you off. “No need to explain. How long will it take?” “For $brewType? About four weeks,” you say. (upperfirst:$shis) jaw drops. “Four weeks? Seriously?” “Patience is a virtue in brewing,” you repeat the old adage your father had taught you and nod wisely. Your brusque companion remains unimpressed. “I understand that patience is a virtue in more than just brewing, but I have observed that it is not one which you possess in any other context.(if: $cookingHonest is false)[ For example, when you burned breakfast.]” “I am observing that you are right now rushing me,” you respond. “Four weeks. //Then// you can try it.” “I suppose I’ll need to [[keep you busy->Touching Base with Quinn]] for four weeks, then.” $sloan sighs. “Good Lord knows what you might get up to if I give you too much free time.”

That night, you are reunited with Quinn, who is currently laying on the ground next to you with one leg at a ninety-degree angle to $qhis torso and the front of $qhis other leg pressed against $qhis chest, placing one foot just above $qhis ear. You are, as always, amazed that $qhis hips aren’t broken. The firelight dances across $qhis face, highlighting $qhis high cheekbones. (upperfirst:$qhis) supper – gruel and vegetable broth – cools next to $qhim. “Anyway, it turns out I’m a crack shot with a longbow. Mòrag said I’m a natural, and he would know all about that. He’s fought //vikings!//” There’s a touch of awe in $qhis voice, $qhis gray-blue eyes sparkling. Being a rebel seems to suit Quinn. “Who’s Mòrag?” You pick at your gruel and grimace, trying to shove down the sudden spike of jealousy. 1.{[[It’s… fear, maybe? What if Quinn decides $qhe (cond:$qplural, "like","likes") Mòrag… more… than you?->Jealous of Morag Romantic]] (color: red+white)[]} 2.{[[It’s panic. What if Quinn decides they would prefer Mòrag as a friend?->Jealous of Morag Platonic]]}

Your chest feels tight and you clench your teeth. It doesn’t matter. You and Quinn grew up together, and you’re best friends. Nothing will change that, even if Quinn finds a friend in Mòrag. (display: "Quinn-in-Training")

{ (set: $qromance to $qromance+5) }Your chest feels tight and you clench your teeth. It doesn’t matter. You and Quinn grew up together, and you’re best friends. Nothing will change that, even if Quinn decides that they… //like// Mòrag. (display:"Quinn-in-Training")

Besides, Mòrag is a stupid name anyway. “The guy training me to fight,” Quinn explains. (upperfirst:$qhe) sits/sit up, tucking $qhis legs underneath $qhim. “Total badass – you have to meet him sometime.” “Totally.” You do your best to keep the strain out of your voice. You do an excellent job, if you say so yourself. Quinn glances over at you. “Oh, but how was the market? Did you get everything you needed?” You think back to your experiences earlier today. “Yeah, we got everything. It was crazy though. Do you remember when we used to go to that one market day thing as kids? The one we got //unjustly// banned from?” “No way!” Quinn’s face lights up in delight. “Was Father Fatliver still there?” “He was! It was a crazy trip,” you say.{ }(if:$c4pick is "Reese")[“Reese took me with them. You know, the (lowercase:$prince)’s friend?” 1.{You eagerly tell Quinn about their singing and [[try to keep your eyes from sparkling too much ->Singing Like an Angel]] (color: red+white)[]} 2.{Tell Quinn that you’ve found a friend in Reese, [[making sure to mention their more mischievous side as well.->The Mischievious Reese]]} 3.{Your outing with Reese was pleasant enough, [[though you haven’t quite formed an opinion of them yet.->No Opinion of Reese]]} ](else:)[“Al -- $phe said I can call $phim Al – took me with $phim.” 1.{[[Your heart skips a beat just thinking about the (lowercase:$prince).->Tell Quinn About Crush on Al]] (color: red+white)[]} 2.{[[You think fondly of Al, whom you're beginning to like. -> Tell Quinn Al's Your Friend]]} 3.{[[You feel neutral about Al.->Stuck in Neutral]]} ]

{ (set:$rromance to $rromance+5) }Quinn nods, smirking knowingly. You blush and duck your head but continue, “They haggle like a professional – they don’t quite put my mother to shame, but who could really?” “Indeed, that’s a high bar,” $qhe say/says. (upperfirst:$qhe) pause/pauses, then adds, “Remember that time your mom managed to haggle that spice merchant out of half his stock for //well// below the market value? She really is a force to be reckoned with.” You do remember that – your mother speaks //very// quickly and with the confidence of a general who has already outwitted her opponent. But you are not easily sidetracked with reminiscing! “You should really hear them sing, though.” Quinn blinks. “The… merchants?” “No! Reese can sing…” you sigh dreamily. “Like an angel – no, a whole //chorus// of angels! And – and – you’ll never guess what they sang!” “Why are they singing at a market…?” Quinn furrows $qhis brow. You quickly brush off the question and plow on. “They sang ‘The Frankish Queen in Her Tower’ – with all the dirty parts that Ayland used to make Binet censure.” (upperfirst:$qhis) eyes widen. “You got to hear the full version?! Without Ayland there to screech ‘small ears’ everytime the singer so much as said ‘dang?’” To be honest, you aren’t really sure why Ayland made such a big deal of the whole thing. You were only seven years younger than them, and you were already //thirteen// when they got married to Binet. What a buzzkill. “Yes, and it was awesome. Then they started to sing this song about this fisherman who falls in love with the princess of the sea, only she’s disguised as a turtle, and—” “Breathe, $name!” Quinn is barely holding back laughter. “You’ve taken quite a liking to this Reese, then?” “I – well – um…” 1.{(color: red+white)[] Tell Quinn you like Reese… [[maybe even //like///-like them.->Tell Quinn About Crush on Reese]]} 2.{Tell Quinn you aren’t sure yet… [[but you definitely like them as a friend.->Tell Quinn About Friendship with Reese]]} 3.{(color: red+white)[] Brush Quinn off – you like Reese, sure, but… [[you aren’t sure you want Quinn to... get the wrong idea. Whatever that is.->Don't Tell Quinn About Crush on Reese]]}

{ (set:$rromance to $rromance+20) (set:$toldQuinnCrushR to true) }“Maybe?” you squeak out. “I mean, they are very handsome, and they have a beautiful voice… They’re kind, too.” Quinn’s laughter dies abruptly. “Oh?” //God, this is embarrassing.// You want to sink into the ground. Quinn has always been your go-to person when you //liked// someone, and $qhe always play/plays your wing{$qman}. (upperfirst:$qhe) are/is good at it, too. Still, admitting you like someone is always a bit embarrassing. “Yeah? A little – nothing serious, yet. But, you know.” “Yeah, I know,” $qhe repond/responds quietly. (upperfirst:$qhe) reach/reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “I’m sure they like you too. {(if:$audacious is true)[You’re not afraid to do the unexpected. It’s like an adventure every day.”](else-if:$reckless is true)[You’re not afraid to do the unexpected. It’s like an adventure every day.”](else-if:$diplomatic is true)[You’re well-spoken and charismatic. I think that would definitely be their type.”](else-if:$honest is true)[You don’t pull punches – not a lot of people are so honest.”](else:)[You never give up, no matter how impossible things seem.”]} You smile softly at Quinn, touched by $qhis praise. “Thanks. You’re right – I //am// pretty awesome. Plus I’m a very gifted –” “Please don’t ruin the moment,” Quinn interrupts, smiling back at you. [[Next->Touch Base Conclusion Reese]]

“I don’t know, yet,” you admit. “I’ve only just met them, you know? I don’t want to rush into anything. They seem like they would be a good friend, though.” Quinn settles down and watches you attentively. “That makes sense. Sometimes you need to wait a bit before you know. I don’t think I could decide I liked somebody right off the bat, you know?” You blink. Quinn has always been your go-to person for love advice, but you don’t know if {$qhe}’ve/’s ever been in a relationship {$qhim}selves/self. None that you remember being told about. “Have you ever liked somebody?” (upperfirst:$qhe) look/looks startled by the question. “Oh, er, not really? Maybe once or twice, but… nothing important enough to talk about.” “You know you can tell me stuff, right?” It’s only fair. (upperfirst:$qhe) listen/listens to you all the time. The idea that Quinn doesn’t expect you to return the favor makes you sad. “I’m here for you too, you know.” Quinn waves you off, ducking $qhis head bashfully. “It’s nothing, I promise. If it gets serious as all that, I’ll tell you myself. I promise.” [[Next->Touch Base Conclusion Reese]]

{ (set:$qromance to $qromance+5) (set:$rromance to $rromance+5) }“Maybe?” you squeak out. “I mean… I’ve only just met them, you know? They seem nice enough, but I’m not in love with them or anything.” Quinn settles down. (upperfirst:$qhis) eyes narrow as $qhe (cond:$qplural,"search","searches") your face. “Oh?” You aren’t sure why you’re obsfucating. Quinn has always been your go-to person for love advice, even though you don’t think {$qhe}(cond:$qplural,"'ve","'s") ever been in a relationship {$qhim}(cond:$qplural,"selves","self"). Not that you’ve been informed of anyway. Still, you can feel your heart pounding. You don’t want Quinn to get the wrong idea… whatever that is. Maybe you do know. Deep down. Or maybe not. You’re a little confused yourself about exactly what you feel for Reese. It is very new and then there’s … you glance sideways at Quinn. Well, you just don’t know, but it seems like something has changed recently. But now isn’t the time to think about that. Instead, you change the subject. [[Next->Touch Base Conclusion Reese]]

“How could I not know?” Quinn teases. “They glitter so much, one could hardly miss them.” You chuckle but continue, “They haggle like a professional – they don’t quite put my mother to shame, but who could really?” “Indeed, that’s a high bar,” $qhe say/says. (upperfirst:$qhe) pause/pauses, then adds, “Remember that time your mom managed to haggle that spice merchant out of half his stock for //well// below the market value? She really is a force to be reckoned with.” You do remember that – your mother speaks //very// quickly and with the confidence of a general who has already outwitted her opponent. But you are not easily sidetracked with reminiscing! “There’s more. You know how I said that Father Fatliver was there?” Quinn nods, resting $qhis chin in $qhis palm. “Well, there were these travelling minstrels, and they started playing ‘Fair Annie’ nearby, and Reese joined in,” you begin. “They have a voice like an //angel//. It’s crazy! But then the minstrels just let them take over the show – gave them an instrument and everything. And you’ll never guesss what they sang! The Frankish Queen in Her Tower’ – with all the dirty parts that Ayland used to make Binet censure.” (upperfirst:$qhis) eyes widen. “You got to hear the full version?! Without Ayland there to screech ‘small ears’ everytime the singer so much as said ‘dang?’” To be honest, you aren’t really sure why Ayland made such a big deal of the whole thing. You were only seven years younger than them, and you were already //thirteen// when they got married to Binet. What a buzzkill. “Yes, and it was awesome, even if they didn’t know the hand gestures – we’re going to have to teach them. Then they started to sing this song about this fisherman who falls in love with the princess of the sea, only she’s disguised as a turtle, and—” “Hold up,” Quinn interrupts you, a conflicted expression on $qhis face. “They really just took over the minstrels’ performance?” You stop short at that. Quinn’s brow is furrow in consternation. 1.{[[The minstrels didn’t seem to mind…->Concerns Not Quelled 1]]} 2.{[[Everyone seemed to be having a good time…->Concerns Not Quelled 2]]} 3.{[[Reese didn’t take their money.->Saw Quinn's Concern]]}

{ (set: $qfriendship to 65) }It takes a minute to realize what Quinn’s concern is – the tips. You remember the coins tossed to your friend, and realize that if someone hijacked $qhis performance, $qhe may well have lost out on those. “Reese let them keep the tips, of course. It was their performance after all.” Quinn’s eyes relax and $qhe smile/smiles at you. “I’m glad of that.” “But that’s not all,” you continue, getting back on topic. “Because Father Fatliver was there and he heard about Reese singing the raunchiest version of Binet’s song and he did not like that.” “Oh, I bet.” Quinn snorts. “That old fart never likes anything. Remember when we were kids?” The two of you shudder, sharing in the memories of Father Fatliver’s reign of tyranny over the market. He never was particularly fond of children. “He came running at us, shaking his fist, a crowd of monks bearing pitchforks behind him!” “Are you sure they were after you?” (upperfirst:$qhe) waggles $qhis eyebrows. “Maybe they finally got tired of him.” You sigh. “Ah, if only. Still, Reese ran like a champ. They leapt over a whole table without breaking stride! And they didn’t waste time asking //why// we were running and //who// we were running from and //where// we were going, all of that nonsense. They have a finely honed sense of when to exit stage left, I think it’s the performer in them. I think if we ever decide to break out of here, they would be a valuable ally.” “I daresay //they// might enjoy being kidnapped,” Quinn says, looking awfully amused with {$qhim}selves/self. [[Next->Touch Base Conclusion Reese]]

“Everyone seemed to be having a good time…” you say sheepishly. “The minstrels did give Reese an instrument after all.” “Well, yes,” Quinn agrees, still looking troubled. “I don’t think I would have refused them either.” “But that’s not all,” you continue, getting back on topic. “Because Father Fatliver was there and he heard about Reese singing the raunchiest version of Binet’s song and he did not like that.” “Oh, I bet.” Quinn snorts. “That old fart never likes anything. Remember when we were kids?” The two of you shudder, sharing in the memories of Father Fatliver’s reign of tyranny over the market. He never was particularly fond of children. “He came running at us, shaking his fist, a crowd of monks bearing pitchforks behind him!” “Are you sure they were after you?” (upperfirst:$qhe) waggles $qhis eyebrows. “Maybe they finally got tired of him.” You sigh. “Ah, if only. Still, Reese ran like a champ. They leapt over a whole table without breaking stride! And they didn’t waste time asking //why// we were running and //who// we were running from and //where// we were going, all of that nonsense. They have a finely honed sense of when to exit stage left, I think it’s the performer in them. I think if we ever decide to break out of here, they would be a valuable ally.” “I daresay //they// might enjoy being kidnapped,” Quinn says, looking awfully amused with {$qhim}selves/self. [[Next->Touch Base Conclusion Reese]]

“The minstrels didn’t seem to mind…” you say sheepishly. “They did give Reese an instrument after all.” “Well, yes,” Quinn agrees, still looking troubled. “I don’t think I would have refused them either.” “But that’s not all,” you continue, getting back on topic. “Because Father Fatliver was there and he heard about Reese singing the raunchiest version of Binet’s song and he did not like that.” “Oh, I bet.” Quinn snorts. “That old fart never likes anything. Remember when we were kids?” The two of you shudder, sharing in the memories of Father Fatliver’s reign of tyranny over the market. He never was particularly fond of children. “He came running at us, shaking his fist, a crowd of monks bearing pitchforks behind him!” “Are you sure they were after you?” (upperfirst:$qhe) waggles $qhis eyebrows. “Maybe they finally got tired of him.” You sigh. “Ah, if only. Still, Reese ran like a champ. They leapt over a whole table without breaking stride! And they didn’t waste time asking //why// we were running and //who// we were running from and //where// we were going, all of that nonsense. They have a finely honed sense of when to exit stage left, I think it’s the performer in them. I think if we ever decide to break out of here, they would be a valuable ally.” “I daresay //they// might enjoy being kidnapped,” Quinn says, looking awfully amused with {$qhim}selves/self. [[Next->Touch Base Conclusion Reese]]

“How could I not know?” Quinn teases. “They glitter so much, one could hardly miss them.” You chuckle but continue, “They haggle like a professional – they don’t quite put my mother to shame, but who could really?” “Indeed, that’s a high bar,” $qhe say/says. (upperfirst:$qhe) pause/pauses, then adds, “Remember that time your mom managed to haggle that spice merchant out of half his stock for //well// below the market value? She really is a force to be reckoned with.” You do remember that – your mother speaks //very// quickly and with the confidence of a general who has already outwitted her opponent. But you are not easily sidetracked with reminiscing! “They seem kind enough, and they’re a talented musician.” “Oh, really?” Quinn perks up at that. “I gathered that they’ve some sort of talent for performance, though I wasn’t sure of what kind. Did they tell you that?” “No, they actually performed for me,” you explain. “It’s a long story, but you’ll never guess what they sang.” (upperfirst:$qhe) tap/taps $qhis chin thoughtfully. “Greensleeves?” You pull a face. Greensleeves, with all the moping and pining and unrequited love, was quite the downer. You shake your head and lean forward to make the grand reveal. “//No.// It was “The Frankish Queen in Her Tower! With all the dirty bits, too!” (upperfirst:$qhis) eyes widen. “You got to hear the full version?! Without Ayland there to screech ‘small ears’ everytime the singer so much as said ‘dang?’” To be honest, you aren’t really sure why Ayland made such a big deal of the whole thing. You were only seven years younger than them, and you were already //thirteen// when they got married to Binet. What a buzzkill. “Yes, and it was awesome. Then they started to sing this song about this fisherman who falls in love with the princess of the sea, only she’s disguised as a turtle, and—” “Whoa, remember to breath, $name,” Quinn says with a chuckle. “Sounds like you two had fun.” “Yeah,” you say. You think back to the longing in their voice as they sang today. The yearning. “You know… they seemed sort of lonely. I kind of feel… I don’t know. Sad, I guess. No one should be so lonely.” “No,” Quinn replied. “No, they shouldn’t.” (upperfirst:$qhis) blue eyes are thoughtful and far away for a moment. You lean over and bump shoulders with Quinn. “That’s why we have each other, so that we’re never lonely.” (upperfirst:$qhe) start/starts and $qhis smile is a little crooked. “Right.” [[Next->Touch Base Conclusion Reese]]

The two of you spend the rest of the evening catching up on what you’ve been doing. Quinn is interested to hear about your foray into the world of brewing, and takes your reenactment of the experience seriously, appearing almost awed – though not surprised – by your description of your father’s voice speaking to you. (upperfirst:$qhis) only comment is “I //told// you your Dad is Jesus of Beerzareth. Of course his spirit filled you with $brewType-making wisdom. Just like the Holy Spirit the priest tells us about on Sundays.” [[Planning Room Politics<-You can’t be sure that Father Fatliver would agree. ]]

{ (set:$promance to $promance+20) }Quinn waggles $qhis eyebrows at you. “Al? Now, maybe a lordling like //you// could call $phim Al, but I don’t know if //I// dare.” You roll your eyes. “Don’t be stupid. Of course you would dare. Testing boundaries is half of what you do. Didn’t you tell Lord Trumplestilskin that no one was fooled by either his awful comb-over //or// his high heels? In front of an entire banquet hall, too. I thought that he was going to have actual steam coming out of his ears.” Quinn shrugs. “Kinda hard not to notice that comb-over when his scalp is shining like the Star of Bethleham under that wispy straw he called hair. It was //crunchy.//” “Or the time that Lady Battenburg tucked the back of her skirt into her apron strings and you kept making subtle jokes about it all night, but never even clued her in.” (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural,"shake","shakes") $qhis head. “How did she not realize after I started talking about everyone being shocked by how generous she was with her //ass//ets?” “What about when Sir Tybalt fell asleep during a banquet and you drew a mustache on his face … over his actual mustache?” “I was //helping//,” Quinn says hotly. “That mustache was an affront to man and God.” You throw your hands up into the air. “The point is that you’re not exactly afraid of pissing off nobles. So why should a (lowercase:$prince) be any different?” Quinn leans back and looks up at the stars. “{$prince}s/es are dangerous, $name.” You frown. King Alistair is certainly dangerous, but Al… Al is sweet. You smile at the memory. “I don’t think Al is like all the rest.” You can’t help but jump up and start waltzing, arms around the air like it is an invisible partner. “We went dancing at the market, actually.” You sigh. “(upperfirst: $phe) is so graceful. (upperfirst: $phe) dances like a dream.” Quinn raises $qhis eyebrows. “You went dancing?” (upperfirst: $qhis) voice sounds a little odd, a bit strangled. “Is that part of shopping for $brewType ingredients that no one told me about?” You continue to make circles with your invisible partner. “No, but there was a troupe of wandering minstrels, and they were playing, and $phe asked me to dance -- $phe has a mischievous side, Quinn, not like a $prince at all, really, Quinn, you should see it.” (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural,"watch","watches") you with a strained smile and (cond:$qplural,"swallow","swallows") nervously. You stop dancing, concerned. “Quinn, what’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong,” $qhe say/says, too quickly. “No, there’s something wrong,” you argue. “You look like you’re about to throw up.” “Look,” $qhe (cond:$qplural,"say","says"). “$pname is the (lowercase:$prince) and $phis father is //King Alistair.// Even if you don’t think the (lowercase:$prince) is dangerous, $phis father certainly is. And I //know// you.” The inflection in their voice calls to mind a specific incident. 1. {(if:$pCrush is true)[[[Your long-standing crush on $pname.->Love Letter to Al]](color: red+white)[] ](else:)[Your long-standing crush on $pname. (color: red+white)[]]} 2. {[[When you had a crush on one of the stable hands.->Sonnet for a Stablehand]]} 3. {[[When you had a crush on your history tutor.->Hotz for Teacher]]} 4. {(if:$audacious is true)[[[When you had a crush on your fifth-youngest brother’s best friend.->BBF]](color: red+white)[]](else:)[You are not audacious enough for this choice. (color: red+white)[]]}

Quinn is, of course, referring to when you had your brother Peregrine assist you in writing an anonymous love letter to $pname several years ago. The letter was eleven pages long and full of metaphors about $phis long, curly auburn hair and $phis acclaimed acumen. It was a work of art. But then disaster struck – it got switched with one of Peregrine poems, written about his recent breakup! The embarrassment was unreal, and you were thankful of your intention to send it as an anonymous admirer rather than signing your name to it. You might have had to throw yourself from the ramparts if you had. You don’t have to say any of this, because Quinn was there for the whole thing. “$name, when you like somebody, you pull out all the stops,” $qhe (cond: $qplural, "say", "says") gently. “You feel so deeply, and you’re always devastated when things go wrong. And this has a //lot// of potential to go wrong. You’ve liked the (lowercase:$prince) for so long that [[there’s no way fantasy is going to live up to reality.”->It Will Totally Be Fiiine]]

“It’ll be //fiiiiine//,” you insist, waving off $qhis concern. “I’ll have Clem help this time. {(upperfirst:$phe)}’s a fan of hers, you know.” “Ah, yes, is she going to write it in her ‘famed children’s author’ voice or her ‘raunchy romance author’ voice? Because neither of those are exactly the vibe you want for a letter from an admirer,” Quinn says sardonically. “Why not just write it in your own words, then, if you must pursue this?” “It hardly makes sense not to use my connections to writers,” you argue. Besides, you think, how else would you impress a //(lowercase:$prince)?// If even Bainbridge thinks you are not ‘good enough’ to marry, you really need to step up your game. Quinn sighs. “You won’t be able to get Lady Clementia to help you anyway. Not without revealing where you are currently. And then she might exercise her sisterly duties to return you home safely.” That is true. Clem’s eldest daughter is only a few years younger than you, and she often feels the “motherly instinct” to prevent mischief on your part. You deflate a bit. “I… could help you,” Quinn says, looking a bit miserable. “If your heart is set on this. And if you really think you need help charming someone. I can help you write a love letter.” Joy and affection for your best friend fill your heart and you throw your arms around $qhim and hug $qhim tight. “I love you! You’re the best!” “I know,” $qhe say/says, patting you on the back. [[“I love you, too.”->Touch Base Conclusion Al]]

{ (if:$pman is "man")[ (set:_Alan to "Alan") (set:_ahe to "he") (set:_ahim to "him") (set:_ahis to "his") ](else:)[ (set:_Alan to "Ariana") (set:_ahe to "she") (set:_ahim to "her") (set:_ahis to "her") ] }Quinn is, of course, referring to when you had a massive crush on _Alan, one of the stable hands, when you were fourteen. You asked Tarquin, Clem’s husband, to help you woo _ahim. The resulting poem was three pages long, filled with metaphors about _ahis sun-dappled skin and azure orbs. It was a work of art. But then disaster struck – you slipped it into the wrong apron pocket! A few days later you overheard a group of servants reading it aloud and mocking your vocabulary and prose, while your dear, lovely, sweet _Alan sat in the corner, face in _ahis hands, blushing furiously. Woe betide you for having signed the damn thing! The embarrassment was unreal, and you were forced to spend a week hiding in your chambers in shame. Emma, Aelric, and Quinn all had to collectively hold you back from throwing yourself from the ramparts to avoid the embarrassment, while Peregrine suggested you write poetry to overcome your heartbreak. You don’t have to say any of this, because Quinn was there for the whole thing. “$name, when you like somebody, you pull out all the stops,” $qhe (cond: $qplural, "say", "says") gently. “You feel so deeply, and you’re always devastated when things go wrong. [[And this has a //lot// of potential to go wrong.->It Will Totally Be Fiiine]]"

Quinn is, of course, referring to when you had a massive crush on Professor Hotz, your history tutor when you were eleven. You approached your brother Peregrine to help you write a love letter to impress your teacher, but he couldn’t hear your knocking over the sounds of his own weeping and the troubador he hired with his allowance money. Apparently, the thing with the milkmaid didn’t work out. So you were forced to write your own letter without guidance. But disaster struck! Upon reading the expression of your most ardent affection, your teacher gasped and cooed over how “adorable” you were, patting your head like a child and ever so gently rejecting your tiny, fragile heart. You joined Peregrine in his lovelorn weeping. You don’t have to say any of this, because Quinn was there for the whole thing. “$name, when you like somebody, you pull out all the stops,” $qhe (cond: $qplural, "say", "says") gently. “You feel so deeply, and you’re always devastated when things go wrong. [[It Will Totally Be Fiiine<-And this has a //lot// of potential to go wrong.”]]

{ (if: $sexuality is "men")[(set: _BBF to "Tomas")(set: _the to "he")(set: _thim to "him")(set: _this to "his") (set: _thers to "his")](else:)[(set: _BBF to "Josephine")(set: _the to "she")(set: _thim to "her")(set: _this to "her") (set: _thers to "hers")] }Quinn is, of course, referring to when you had a massive crush on _BBF, whom was best friends with your fifth-youngest brother, Thurstan. You had recruited Binet, your sixth-youngest sibling’s husband, to help you write a ballad to show _BBF you weren’t just _this best friend’s baby $sibling anymore. The ballad was seven pages long, and extrodinarily tawdry. In the artform of delightfully filthy songs, it stood head and shoulders above the rest, a truly exceptional work. Binet was quite helpful in suggesting rhyming words, which was no small surprise, since he wrote “The Frankish Queen in Her Tower,” among other penny ballads and broadsides, some of them more political than others, but all of them a bit on the naughty side. But then disaster struck – your love was star-crossed. You had decided to debut your ballad at a family dinner when _BBF and _this family were visiting. The ballard was subtle and vague enough, you believed, that you could claim that it absolutely was //not// about _BBF. You cannot emphasize how much it seemed like a good idea at the time. Evidently, it had not been subtle enough. Only one verse in – you hadn’t even gotten to the chorus! – _BBF was blushing wildly; your father was choking excessively on his newest brew; Thurstan was hurling anything he could reach, be it bread or a skewer of meat, at you and yelling at you to shut up before the images were burned into his brain; _BBF’s mother was pale and thin-lipped; _this father was laughing uproariously; and your mother... Your mother had stood up and ordered everyone out of the room in a voice so deadly calm and quiet that everyone was scrambling for the exits. Except for Ayland, who was hitting Binet with their shoe and screaming, “that is my baby $sibling, what is //wrong// with you?!” while Binet tried to cover both his head and his ears and whimpered that he had only helped you with the rhyming bits. Both sets of your parents called a meeting on the spot to address “the incident.” You weren’t invited to the meeting, of course, but you did have to sit in the hall outside your father’s study while he spoke to _BBF’s parents. Meanwhile, _BBF sat on the other side of the hall, awkwardly avoiding eye contact and Thurstan glared at you, patting _BBF’s shoulder and hissing that you’d always been the “weird one.” You, the “weird one,” in //this// family? It was a ridiculous exaggeration. Meanwhile, you were nursing a bruise on your shoulder from, ironically enough, a pork shoulder that he had hurled at you. Really, //that// was ridiculous. Who had ever heard of such a thing?! It was a pity that Thurstan had such a good aim, for both you and the kitchen staff who had to clean up the hall. The embarrassment was unreal, especially when your parents insisted on having a “talk” with you about how you were “too young” to court _BBF. You don't think you've cringed as hard since then. Poor Binet didn't fare so well either. Ayland had loudly berated their spouse, banishing him from their chambers for the following month, despite his insistence that all the dirtiest bits had been your idea. He was being truthful, but your sibling cared naught for the truth. Instead, they continued to scold their spouse, asking how anyone could take their family seriously when members were writing pornographic songs and, by the way, //that was their baby $sibling!// You nearly threw yourself from the ramparts just so you didn’t have to listen to them arguing. You should have waited until you and _BBF were alone to perform your ballad. Surely, it would have been better received without Thurstan’s interference. Thurstan wasn’t moved by your insistence that Tarquin recited poetry publically to Clem at almost every family dinner, and you didn’t see people throwing food at him. Thurstan only scoffed and said it was different, and, if you didn’t understand why, you were too much of a pipsqueak to be composing -- let alone //singing// -- such songs to anyone. You didn’t see _BBF for the next year and a half, since _the avoided you like the plague. By that time, you’d moved past that silly little infatuation. The ballad had been a banger, though. You don’t have to say any of this, because Quinn was there for the whole thing. “$name, when you like somebody, you pull out all the stops,” $qhe (cond:$qplural, "say", "says") gently. “You feel so deeply, and you’re always devastated when things go wrong. [[And this has a //lot// of potential to go wrong.->It Will Totally Be Fiiine]]"

Quinn waggles $qhis eyebrows at you. “Al? Now, maybe a lordling like //you// could call $phim Al, but I don’t know if //I// dare.” You roll your eyes. “Don’t be stupid. Of course you would dare. Testing boundaries is half of what you do. Didn’t you tell Lord Trumplestilskin that no one was fooled by either his awful comb-over //or// his high heels? In front of an entire banquet hall, too. I thought that he was going to have actual steam coming out of his ears.” Quinn shrugs. “Kinda hard not to notice that comb-over when his scalp is shining like the Star of Bethleham under that wispy straw he called hair. It was //crunchy.//” “Or the time that Lady Battenburg tucked the back of her skirt into her apron strings and you kept making subtle jokes about it all night, but never even clued her in.” (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural,"shake","shakes") $qhis head. “How did she not realize after I started talking about everyone being shocked by how generous she was with her //ass//ets?” “What about when Sir Tybalt fell asleep during a banquet and you drew a mustache on his face … over his actual mustache?” “I was //helping//,” Quinn says hotly. “That mustache was an afront to man and God.” You throw your hands up into the air. “The point is that you’re not exactly afraid of pissing off nobles. So why should a (lowercase:$prince) be any different?” Quinn leans back and looks up at the stars. “{$prince}(cond: $prince is "princess","es","s") are dangerous, $name.” You frown. King Alistair was certainly dangerous, but Al… Al is genuine. You really get the sense that $phe doesn’t care for titles, and $phe really is a lot of fun. “I don’t think that $phe’s like that at all. Titles don’t really matter anyway.” “$name, I love you, but you’re being naïve.” A hint of bitterness creeps into Quinn’s voice that takes you aback. “Maybe it doesn’t matter when you have one, but if you don’t…” You’ve never heard Quinn sound so //annoyed// with you before. You wonder if $sloan has rubbed off on $qhim. The surprise must show on your face, because $qhe (cond:$qplural,"drop","drops") the subject abruptly. “Anyway, I’m glad you had a good time.” 1.{[[Press the Issue]]} 2.{[[Let It Go]]}

“No, Quinn, come on,” you say. Maybe you aren’t exactly a social savant, but you can tell when something is bothering your oldest and dearest friend. “Please talk to me. I want to help.” (upperfirst:$qhe) pressed $qhis lips in a tight line. You feel yourself tense. Then Quinn lets out a soft sigh. “It’s fine, $name. I’m just a bit sore from training, is all. It’s made me a bit touchy, but I promise I’ll be fine tomorrow.” You sense that {$qhe}(cond:$plural,"’re","’s") not being entirely straightforward, but if you press further, it might cause an argument. For the sake of peace, you make a strategic retreat. “We went dancing at the market, actually,” you say. “Al is an extraordinary dancer. Very graceful – must be the fencer in $pher.” Quinn raises $qhis eyebrows, but gratefully accepts the change in topic. “You went dancing? Is that part of shopping for $brewType ingredients that no one told me about?” You feel the tension leave your body as you relax. “No, but there was a troupe of wandering minstrels, and they were playing, and $phe asked me to dance – $phe really is a lot of fun when $phe loosens up.” [[Touch Base Conclusion Al<-“Yeah, I bet,” Quinn replies.]]

Maybe you aren’t exactly a social savant, but you can tell when something is bothering your oldest and dearest friend. You want to encourage $qhim to talk to you, but you hesitate. There’s a strain to $qhis smile. You sense that {$qhe}(if:$plural,"’re","’s") not being entirely straightforward, but if you press further, it might cause an argument. For the sake of peace, you make a strategic retreat. “We went dancing at the market, actually,” you say. “Al is an extraordinary dancer. Very graceful – must be the fencer in $pher.” Quinn raises $qhis eyebrows, but gratefully accepts the change in topic. “You went dancing? Is that part of shopping for $brewType ingredients that no one told me about?” You feel the tension leave your body as you relax. “No, but there was a troupe of wandering minstrels, and they were playing, and $phe asked me to dance – $phe really is a lot of fun when $phe loosens up.” [[“Yeah, I bet,” Quinn replies.->Touch Base Conclusion Al]]

The two of you spend the rest of the evening catching up on what you’ve been doing. Quinn is interested to hear about your foray into the world of brewing, and takes your reenactment of the experience seriously, appearing almost awed – though not surprised – by your description of your father’s voice speaking to you. (upperfirst:$qhis) only comment is “I //told// you your Dad is Jesus of Beerzareth. Of course, his spirit filled you with $brewType-making wisdom. Just like the Holy Spirit the priest tells us about on Sundays.” [[Planning Room Politics<-You can’t be sure that Father Fatliver would agree. ]]

Quinn waggles $qhis eyebrows at you. “Al? Now, maybe a lordling like //you// could call $phim Al, but I don’t know if //I// dare.” You roll your eyes. “Don’t be stupid. Of course you would dare. Testing boundaries is half of what you do. Didn’t you tell Lord Trumplestilskin that no one was fooled by either his awful comb-over //or// his high heels? In front of an entire banquet hall, too. I thought that he was going to have actual steam coming out of his ears.” Quinn shrugs. “Kinda hard not to notice that comb-over when his scalp is shining like the Star of Bethlehem under that wispy straw he called hair. It was //crunchy.//” “Or the time that Lady Battenburg tucked the back of her skirt into her apron strings and you kept making subtle jokes about it all night, but never even clued her in.” (upperfirst:$qhe) shake/shakes $qhis head. “How did she not realize after I started talking about everyone being shocked by how generous she was with her //ass//ets?” “What about when Sir Tybalt fell asleep during a banquet and you drew a mustache on his face … over his actual mustache?” “I was //helping//,” Quinn says hotly. “That mustache was an afront to man and God.” You throw your hands up into the air. “The point is that you’re not exactly afraid of pissing off nobles. So why should a (lowercase:$prince) be any different?” Quinn leans back and looks up at the stars. “{$prince}s/es are dangerous, $name.” You frown. King Alistair was certainly dangerous, but Al seems kind. Perhaps more timid than you expect for a royal heir and a rebellious figurehead. “Al? Dangerous? Hardly.” “It’s okay if you don’t get it right now,” Quinn says, so softly that it’s nearly a whisper. “I’m not going to let us get into a bad situation.” It sounds ominous, but you let it slide. Maybe you aren’t exactly a social savant, but you can tell when something is bothering your oldest and dearest friend. Whatever it is, you sense that pressing the issue will only start an argument. “We went dancing at the market, actually,” you say. “Al is an extraordinary dancer. Very graceful – must be the fencer in $pher.” Quinn raises $qhis eyebrows, but gratefully accepts the change in topic. “You went dancing? Is that part of shopping for $brewType ingredients that no one told me about?” You feel the tension leave your body as you relax. “No, but there was a troupe of wandering minstrels, and they were playing, and $phe asked me to dance – $phe really is a lot of fun when $phe loosens up.” [[“Yeah, I bet,” Quinn replies.->Touch Base Conclusion Al]]

A few days later, you find yourself in the Planning Room again. $sloan is “brooding” in the corner, though it looks a little more like pouting to you. Quinn perches on the back of the chair next to you, effortlessly balancing it on its back legs. The rebel leader has already commented on it, only for Quinn to dismiss $shim out of hand. Or rather, Quinn acted as if no one had said anything. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$plural,"have","has") always had a distaste for authority in all its forms. “I really don’t understand why //$they// (cond:$plural,"need","needs") to be here,” $sloan repeated for what must have been the fifth time. “Seriously, I kidnap $them, and now $they get to attend all of our meetings? Ridiculous.” At least $she finally admitted that you’d been kidnapped. Not that it does you much good now. “I believe $they may be of use to us today, and you have been looking for something for $them to do, have you not?” Reese speaks in a soothing voice. They are your sponsor for this meeting, (cond: $c4pick is "Reese","having been impressed by your time together","having heard about you from Al.") As such, they had invited you to participate in this meeting. Al speaks up then as well. “I mean, $they //(cond:$plural,"are","is")// a noble, $sloan. However minor, $they may have connections in the region that prove useful.” That is the agenda for the day. Al needs to gather allies to be able to appropriately engage in war against $phis father. $sloan has identified some possible options and called everyone to plan out the next move. You (and Quinn) weren’t invited. But Reese insisted and here you are. “I truly doubt $they will be that useful, $pshort,” $sloan says, but you can tell $she has already given up on this. “What did you have in mind, Reese?” “I think we should spread tales of $pshort’s bravery and kindness,” they say breezily. “Something subtle enough that we don’t disparage the king. Not openly anyway. Something that will get the people on our side.” Al winces. “Except I’ve never really done anything important. This whole excursion to this part of the country is the furthest I’ve ever been from the capital without my father and my tutors hanging over me. I’ve never fought any battles or saved children from a burning building, or anything heroes are supposed to do.” “Then we scrap the story and //do// something.” Bitter anger seeps into $sloan’s voice. “Everyone talks, few act. If we do something good for the people, then we build up your reputation //and// improve people’s lives. Your father has historically ignored veterans returning home from the crusades. Many of the yeoman farmers have returned home to find their lands taken by taxes and their families on the streets. Or worse.” Al looks intrigued by the idea. “You’re more the expert there than me. [[What do you suggest?”->Sloane's Suggestion]]

{ (set: $ch5 "castle") }“Feed them. Not a feast, something //real// that will last when the day’s over.” $sloan leans forward across the table, dark eyes shining and intent. “The Romans gave their people bread and circuses to keep them from rioting. We will give them bread – ostensibly in the name of the king – while my people spread word of who its really from.” Reese nods sagely. “What is the saying here?” they ask. “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day but teach a man to fish and you feed him for life.” Al sits up straight, $phis eyes narrowed in thought. “That’s a very good idea. And buying seeds is less expensive than purchasing the finished product, so each coin will buy more.” Reese spread their hands in a “see there” gesture. “You invest in the raw materials and the people invest in sweat equity.” You raise your eyebrows approvingly. And here you’d thought that only your mother invented new concepts with any regularity. Quinn scoffs. “Do you even know what will grow well here? Or the planting season?” (upperfirst:$qhis) chair is teetering alarmingly, but $qhe doesn’t seem to notice as $qhe glares at them. Al and Reese share an abashed look. “I hadn’t thought of that … ” Reese says slowly, biting their lip. $sloan leans forward. “But there are farmers among our number – they can advise us and help teach others who need those skills.”(upperfirst:$she) drums $shis fingers on the table, deep in reflection. “I can start making a list of good candidates.” “Hold on.” Quinn leans back in $qhis chair, balancing on its back legs and propping $qhis feet on the table. “Why would the king even allow this? If he wanted to help the veterans for his image, wouldn’t he have done it already? Sounds like this will make him suspicious.” Al bites $phis lip thoughtfully. “Father doesn’t really care what I do with my allowance. As long as I’m not making him look bad…” You cluck your tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. //Telling// him is your first mistake. No offense, but if he sent you all the way out here, he’s not paying attention to what you’re doing. Don’t even bother asking for permission. If he asks, //then// you feed him some line about ‘building his image’ or whatever. Until then, act like he doesn’t exist.” “I don’t know if that is such a good idea…” Al trails off, looking a little wan. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with $house,” $sloan says, pinching the bridge of $shis nose, “but $they have/has a point. Why bother telling the king? He didn’t send you out here to //actually// deal with the bandits – he wanted you out of the castle. For whatever reason.” Al stares down at $phis hands folded in $phis lap. “I suppose.” Reese clears their throat. “Well, then. There are five of us here, so there’s no reason not to split our resources. Al and $sloan will work on this outreach project, and I’ll take Quinn and $name to work on some sort of performance.” “Oh, no, no,” $sloan says, a touch of panic in $shis voice. “You are not taking //both// of the chaos twins by yourself. That is a disaster waiting to happen. You can have the fool, but $house is coming with me, where I can see them.” “We can’t be the chaos twins,” Quinn argues. “I’m like three years older. And much better looking.” “And you make $house three times more chaotic when you’re together,” $sloan says. You cross your arms. “I feel like, if this rebellion is supposed to be about freeing people from tyrants, that I should get some sort of say in where I go.” $sloan turns $shis eyes toward Heaven and murmurs under $shis breath, “Control what you can control.” Your mother often seeks her own patience among the heavens. Until you were eight, you believed that she kept her “wits’ ends” on the ceiling. Then $she looks at you expectantly. 1.{[[You want to go with Reese and Quinn.->Puppet Show]] (color: red+white)[]} 2.{[[You decide to stick with $sloan and Al.->Castle Rock]] (color: red+white)[]}

{ (set: $ch5 "show") }“I’m with them.” You jerk your thumb toward Reese and Quinn. “I want to make a show.” The corner of Reese’s mouth twitches as they attempt to hide their smug grin. Quinn openly pumps $qhis fist and sticks $qhis tongue out at $sloan. $sloan groans. “Fine. Just //please// don’t burn the camp down while we’re gone.” “I would never burn the camp down. How would I even do that?” You pout. It’s like $she thinks you’re insane or something. “I never know with you,” $sloan says with a heavy sigh. “I’d say I trust Reese to handle you… but I don’t think anyone can.” You shrug. [[What Kind of Show?<-"I'll take that as a compliment."]]

“I’ll go with you,” you say with a shrug. Not like it really matters, but you like to have your say in the affair. “I kind of want to see what exactly it is you’re planning to do.” Al smiles encouragingly, pleased at your decision. $sloan, however, looks ready to pop. “After all that, you’re just going to do what I say?” (upperfirst:$shis) voice gains an edge of frustration. “Seriously? Why did you make a thing out of it?” You cross your arms defiantly. “I’m doing what //I// want, which just so happens to be what you told me to do in the first place. It’s the principle of the thing!” “$sloan, you’re getting what you want.” Al rests a hand gently on $sloan’s shoulder. “Just let it go.” $sloan does so, but grumbles something about you being a demon sent to test $shim. You pay this indiscretion no mind. [[Set off!->What Are We Even Doing?]]

{(set: $land_solution to "nothing") “So… what exactly are we doing?” you ask awkwardly. You sit sandwiched between two extremes – Al’s magnanimous warmth on your left, $sloan’s chilled annoyance on your right. You aren’t really sure what $shis problem is. After all, aren’t you doing the exact thing $she wanted you to do?} Neither of them answer and a long, uncomfortable silence stretches out. A sheepish Al attempts to answer you with, “Well… I thought maybe…” No further plans come from that corner, and you cringe a bit. Al is awfully charismatic when $phe wants to be… but it seems there $phe has no clue where to begin. $pHis cheeks darken and $phe glances away. “A feast is traditional,” $sloan interjects, speaking directly to Al… and over you. “But as we established, it’s more an appeasement than anything. It feeds the local for the night, maybe it suggests generosity on your part. People might like you better. But it’s not going to do any lasting good. It certainly won’t convince them to go to war for you. You had it right before – helping people restart their lives after losing everything will win you points and help the people. You were all fire, so what are you going to do with that?” Al takes a breath and nods resolutely. “People need to rebuild. A lot of people lost their land. Perhaps return their land to them?” You cough, reminding them you’re still here. “You can’t do that. Other people are already living there, aren’t they?” “Well, yes, but the land should be returned to its original owners, shouldn’t it?” Al worries at $phis lip. $sloan shoots you a glance, one that you can’t really interpret. Acknowledgement? Respect? Gassiness? “$house is right. No matter what we do, we displace someone. The people who moved in after the original owners still need somewhere to live.” It is a conundrum. One you’re eager to help with. But how? 1.{[[The law is the law, and the current owners paid for land that was forfeited, whether it was right or wrong. Perhaps they could be convinced to hire the displaced on their land?->Subsidize!]] (color: red+white)[]} 2.{[[Your own family rose to wealth through a knighthood granted by Al’s grandfather. Giving land to the displaced yeoman farmers might ease their suffering without also causing undue difficulties for those that took their place.->Sharing!]] (color: red+white)[]}

{(set: $land_solution to "subsidies") “You can’t just kick people out of their homes, even if you’re trying to give the homes to other people who need help,” you assert. Something inside you sparks. Your mother had been insistent on you being tutored by the best and forced you to take classes on finance, accounting, and business. Other mothers scorned her quietly, muttering about how she was training you to be a //moneylender// of all things. The classes were beyond boring to you. But now, the embers of your education are beginning to light. “I mean, that’s crazy – you aren’t really solving the problem, just shuffling people around. It’s basically a Pa Enzi Scheme.”} $sloan rolls $shis eyes and mutters something about not needing to revisit history to plan this. “A Ponzi Scheme?” Al asks uncertainly. “What’s that?” “No, a //Pa Enzi// Scheme,” you correct. Your mother drilled that pronunciation into you – you simply //could not// offend Lord Ponzi, who is, of course, an outstanding pillar of his community and your father’s biggest wine connoisseur south of the Alps. “It was named for Father Enzo, who was once a beloved priest down in Etruria before he was forced out in shame.” “What did he do?” Al asks, on the edge of $phis seat. $sloan sighs. “Can we stay on top--? You cut $shim off. “He was in charge of a charity for widows and orphans of the Great Plague –” you give a dramatic shudder “—and let’s just say there were a few extra orphans. He raised the tithes and preached generosity – more was need to feed all of these mouths, of course. Except he wasn’t being totally honest. The money was really going into his purse. See, Father Enzo, or Pa Enzi, as his flock called him, had an interesting addiction to luxury yak butter that he imported from the Far East. Eventually it got so bad that his raised tithes could not cover the amount he was embezzling. When he was discovered, he fled Etruria to Fjalladrottning with his three wives, thirty-two children – this was, of course, before they forbade the priests from having wives, and my mother thinks he might be part of the reason they no longer are allowed – and his lifetime supply of fancy yak butter. The money was never found—” “Okay, history lesson over,” $sloan interrupts. “I assume you have a plan for avoiding Father Enzo’s indiscretions?” “Yeah,” you say. “We get the new tenants to hire the old ones.” “That easy, huh?” $sloan scoffs. “Why should they? And //don’t// suggest that Al force them to do so.” “Of course not,” you say, with chuckle of your own. Royals are awfully silly sometimes, with their whole Divine Right-schtick. Money, your mother always says, does the job as well as a sword. “Al will not force them – they will //incentivize// them. Offer them a yearly bonus for each veteran they hire. That’s the majority of the people that are currently homeless, right? You give them a chance to get back on their feet, the new tenants have cheaper labor, and no one is mad at you.” “Simplistic, but it will do,” $sloan says. “It doesn’t exactly right the original wrong, but nothing could, I guess. Al?” The $prince inhales deeply and closes $phis eyes. “I don’t have any other ideas. Let’s do it, and we’ll throw a feast to announce it. I think… I know how to spin this.” [[Arriving At The Castle<-You grin, pleased.]]

{(set: $land_solution to "sharing") “You can’t just kick people out of their homes, even if you’re trying to give the homes to other people who need help,” you assert. Something inside you sparks. Your father frequently brought you to his business meetings from the time you were a small child sitting on his knee. His partners thought it odd, murmuring that it was strange to insist upon bringing his youngest, a child who could never inherit his empire, to such important meetings. These affairs were beyond boring to you. But now, the embers of your education are beginning to light. “It will ruin your reputation altogether and no one will ever want to follow you, not even the people you do help.”} $sloan eyes you curiously, eyebrow raised. “Oh?” You nod. “Yeah. My dad had a situation like this once. He sold 50 kegs of beer to Lady Battenburg and another 50 to Lord Strangewayes. There was a mix up at the brewery though, and Lady Battenburg’s order was never completed. Well, the day came for Lady Battenburg to collect her order. My father was totally losing his mind – he only had Lord Strangewayes’ order ready. I asked him why he didn’t just give her that one, since the flavors they picked out were similar anyway. Then he would have extra time to complete Strangewayes’ order.” “Is this going anywhere?” $sloan demanded. “What’s that virtue we were talking about earlier?” you tease. “Because I don’t think I am the one missing it right now.” $sHe snorts. “Go on, then.” You grin triumphantly as $sloan motions for you to continue. “Anyway, Dad was aghast that I even suggested it. Even if Lady Battenburg’s palate is //famously// unrefined, it wasn’t right to trick her by giving her the wrong product on purpose. And what if Lord Strangewayes came a few days early? We certainly couldn’t tell him that the order that had been paid for was given away.” “So, what did your father do?” Al asks, leaning forward, close enough for you to catch a whiff of $phis perfume. “I understand that brewing is a complex process that takes weeks to do properly.” “Right. Well, my father explains the situation to Lady Battenburg and apologized profusely. Before she could process it enough to become angry, he offered her the opportunity to either have her money refunded… or select 50 kegs from his personal collection.” Your father’s personal collection is famous, and only rivalled by the king himself. Of course, people only say that because Alistair I is jealous, according to your oldest brother. No one can beat your father in terms of taste. $sloan nods approvingly. “I see. You’re suggesting that Al gives up some of his own land to them. It won’t give them back what they lost, but it acknowledges that the loss was wrong and corrects the current situation.” “It also avoids making me look unreliable,” Al adds. “If I just shift people around willy-nilly, no one will be able to trust me.” The ghost of a proud smile appears on $sloan’s face, and Al perks up in response. Then $sloan’s gaze shifts to you, and you have expect to see it wither and die. Instead, the rebel leader nudges you on the shoulder. “Not bad, $house. We’ll make a revolutionary out of you yet.” [[Arriving At The Castle<-You grin, pleased.]]

The three of you arrive at Al’s castle and you try not to gawk. You have been to court before your ill-fated Running of the Pigs, but in the years since, you have forgotten the splendor of the royal family. Even your interactions with Al have left you unprepared. $pHe is down-to-Earth and, while $phis clothes are finely tailored, $phe is never ostentatious. The castle before you is easily twice the size of your own, despite only officially housing Al and Reese, and brimming with servants. As you approached, $sloan throws up $shis crime hoodie. Once you reach the gate, a soldier who appeared to be a few years older than you marches forward from her post and bows deeply to Al, a half-smile dancing on her lips. “Your //Most// Royal Highness. Welcome home.” Al’s eyes widen but $phe shoots the woman a charming grin. “Hey, Kat. Is your field commander watching or something? You’re awful stiff today.” She chuckles as she straightens. “How are you even a $prince? But no, your steward really laid into me last time I failed to greet you properly, and unfortunately, he was in the guardhouse when you rolled up.” Sure enough, you can see a stout man with a shock of white hair glowering at Kat from the guardhouse. He has a round face, sharp green eyes, and the biggest ruffled collar you have ever seen in your life. You think back to when your mother scolded you for pouting, warning you that “your face will get stuck like that.” Looking a the deep lines in the steward’s face, you think she must’ve been right. Poor old chap. He exits the guardhouse then and walks regally toward your cart, next to Kat. His bow is so deep, you fear the old man might never rise again. “Your Royal Highness.” Al smiles fondly at the man, who might’ve been fifty or eighty – he has one of those faces – and bows his head. “Good morrow, Jeames. Thank you for greeting me at the gate, but you mustn’t trouble yourself. Why don’t you take the cart back? My party can walk the rest of the way.” Jeames eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Your Highness! I cannot accept such an offer, generous as it is! And I must insist that you not treat your staff with such informality! You must learn to behave as if you are to be (if:$phe is "he")[king!](else:)[queen!]” Oddly enough, Jeames doesn't seem concerned about telling the future (if:$phe is "he")[king](else:)[queen] how to conduct {$phim}self. Either way, Al has already leapt from the cart and extended a hand to you. 1.{[[Hand Down Romantic<-Take $phis hand!]] (color: red+white)[] } 2.{[[Hand Down Platonic<-Take $phis hand. You're a little wary of the distance between the cart and the ground.]]} 3.{[[Hoo, Boy!<-Hop out yourself! You don't need any help.]]}

{(set:$promance) You take Al’s hand hesitantly, feeling simultaneously lighter than air and sick to your stomach. $pHe has a strong, warm grip that holds fast as you clamber out of the cart. You feel awkward compared to Al’s graceful descent. } Then disaster! Your foot catches on the lip of the cart and you fall forward – curse you, gravity! But you do not hit the ground as expected. Instead, you find your face smooshed against Al’s (if:$phe is "he")[chest](else:)[breast]. Suddenly, you are hyper aware of each point of contact between the two of you. “Thanks for catching me,” you mumble into $phim, hoping you aren’t bright red right now/thankful that your complexion is dark enough to hide a blush. You feel the responding chuckle more than you hear it. “You are most welcome.” Al gently rights you, giving you a sunshiny smile as $phe does it, and returning $phis attention to [[Meet Kat and Jeames<-Kat.]]

Al has a strong grip and holds fast as you clamber out of the cart, nowhere near as gracefully as the dashing $prince. Then disaster! Your foot catches on the lip of the cart and you fall forward – curse you, gravity! -- and yet, you do not hit the ground. Ever the (if:$phe is "he")[gentleman](else:)[lady], Al catches your fall and helps you lower yourself to the ground. Al beams at you before releasing your hand and returning $phis attention to [[Meet Kat and Jeames<-Kat.]]

You decline Al’s hand and attempt to hop out as gracefully as $phe had. It looked so effortless! You grip the edge of the cart and attempt to swing your legs over to the other side. Unfortunately, fate is not on your side today. Your foot catches on the lip of the cart. Your arm, not used to holding your entire body weight – alas, if only you had taken your brother Thurstan’s advice and completed his suggested exercises! – buckles beneath you. You let out a horrible, strangled sound, somewhere between a cry and a yelp. You head narrowly misses meeting the wheel. In a desperate attempt to save yourself, you contort your body, gripping the side of the cart with both hands and attempting to crawl back into the cart. Oh, Miss Fortune, that cruel mistress! You are left hanging upside-down like some kind of //bat//, your nails digging into the wood and your arms already tired. Your knees, which are also wrapped around the side of the cart, absorb some of it, but you are distinctly aware of the pressure. You begin to feel lightheaded and dizzy. $sloan peers down at you, looking offensively unsurprised. Al and Kat stare, slack-jawed. “…Nice reflexes?” Kat offers after a moment. “I thought you were going to do a header there.” “Don’t,” $sloan says. “You’ll only encourage $them.” Al continues to gape at you as the blood rushes to your head. Finally, $phe offers $phis hand. “Would you like some help?” 1.{[[Save Me!<-You would.]]} 2.{(if:$determined is true or $reckless is true or $stubborn is true)[ [[No Help!<-You decline, determined to do this on your own.]]](else:)[You are not reckless, determined, or stubborn enough to take this action. (color: red+white)[]]}

You shake your head, even though you feel like your eyeballs are about to burst. You wiggle your head forward and back as Al and Kat watch in bemusement. “Hm,” you say. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, (print: (substring: $house, 1, 3))—” $sloan cuts {$shim}self off from saying your full name. “Just—let someone help you before you kill yourself, you idiot.” (after:5s)[(t8n:"shudder")+(transition-time:15s)[You begin to rock your body forward and back, doing your best to speak despite the rush of blood your head. “You!” You feel dizzy. “Shouldn’t!” Oh, you might be sick! “Take!” Breathing hurts. “The Lord’s!” Your vision is blurred. “Name!” You are //seriously// going to be sick! “In Vain!”]] (after:8s)[(t8n:"shudder")+(transition-time:10s)[You do not flip yourself back into the cart as you hope. You never make it that far. Instead, your mouth opens and out spews an arc of vomit as your breakfast loses the fight against gravity. Kat, Al, and $sloan shriek, and you think you see the blur of bodies leaping away from you.]] (after: 11s)[Then you realize that you have become airborne. For a moment, you are light as a feather, gliding through the air. As if in slow motion, you see your companions watching in shock and awe. You’re flying!] (after: 14s)[Alas, gravity again betrays you, and you hit the ground with a thump. You taste dirt. You lay there for a moment, face down, as you feel dizzy for an altogether different reason. After a moment, you hear Kat’s hesitant voice. “(cond:$plural,"Are","Is") $they… dead?” “I don’t think $they //can// die,” $sloan replies drolly. “I think $they might be some sort of demon or perhaps one of the Fair Folk. $They (cond:$plural,"cause","causes") enough mischief to be one for sure.” “Hush, $sloan,” Al scolds. “$They might be seriously hurt!” $sloan scoffs. After a moment, you slowly stand back up and dust yourself off. “$sloan, if I were one of the Fair Folk, I’d have my friends come kidnap you and replace you with someone who was nicer to me.” [[Meet Kat and Jeames<-Al sighs.]]]

(t8n:"blur")+(transition-time:15s)[Your vision is starting to blur, and the building pressure feels like you’re about to pop. Still, the fear of falling is overpowering you. “Please,” you manage weakly. Al offers $phis hand with a bemused smile. You stiffen, realizing that in order to take Al’s hand, you have to release your own vice-like grip. If you do that, you might really fall -- you need all four limbs to hold you up! “I don’t think I can!” “Don’t be silly,” Al says. “You can hardly stay where you’re at now. Come on, you’ll be fine.” You shake your head, which makes you feel nauseous] (after:15s)[(t8n:"blur")+(transition-time:15s)[You hear someone – you think it’s Al – saying something about “What if I just…? Yes, that should work.” Al steps forward and grabs you under the armpits, hoisting you like a toddler. The sudden lack of pressure behind your eyes temporarily blinds you and you shriek in panic. Al quickly attempts to comfort you. “It’s okay! You aren’t blind! Just give it a moment.”]] (after:30s)[(t8n:"blur")+(transition-time:time+15s)[Sure enough, you vision returns, lights dancing across your eyes. You are face to face with $sloan, who watches you judgingly. Like the judgey bandit $she is. Al is holding you so that you’re suspended between the $prince and the cart. Before you can think to say anything, Al asks, “Could you give me a hand?” “Yeah, yeah.” You gape as $sloan unceremoniously lifts up your feet and tosses them from the cart. “There you are.” Your feet send up a cloud of dust as they hit the dirt. You remain hanging by your elbows, like some sort of doll. Al lowers you down gently, and you sit in the dirt for a while, a bit miffed that you needed the help. As Al turns and walks back over to Kat, you stand and dust off your backside. [[Meet Kat and Jeames<-Well, that was a touch embarrassing.]]]]

$sloan hops out in a smooth motion after you. $sHe leans in and whispers, “Don’t worry about Jeames or Katherine giving anything away. Their loyalty is to Al first and foremost, but they are not to know anything yet. For their protection.” You murmur your understanding. In watching the three interact, you find yourself reminded of your family when your siblings arrive for a visit. Your mother fusses over their mode of transportation, which is never safe enough for her babies, while whichever siblings have already arrived watch with delight as the smothering begins. Meanwhile, Al kisses Jeames and Kat on the cheek in greeting, a gesture received with amusement by the latter and reluctant fondness by the former. “Now, Jeames, I absolutely //insist// you take the cart. I’ve had altogether too much sitting for the moment and wish to survey the grounds. Kat will escort us to the castle and ensure our safety. I need you to make sure the horses are properly cared for and rooms are prepared for my guests. I know I can count on you.” Jeames sighs in defeat and allows Al to assist him in clambering into the cart. He leaves with a few parting words, a hint of a Northern accent slipping through, “(if:$phe is "he")[Lad](else:)[Lass], you really mustn’t forget all your manners, or your father will be most upset upon his arrival.” $sloan stiffens next to you, and you see Al’s face tense. Kat shoots $phim a sympathetic frown. “Come on, I’ll explain on the walk.” “Why haven’t I heard my father is coming to visit?” Al asks, sounding more perturbed than you’ve ever heard $pher. “Isn’t that something I should know?” Kat sighs. “It’s a last minute thing. Besides,” she shoots Al a significant look. “It isn’t as if anyone could have told you. You’ve been gallivanting about the countryside doing God knows what with God knows who.” She glances back at you and $sloan then, her green eyes curious. “I recognize $sloan, but [[who’s your new companion?”->The Oldest of Friends]]

Al hesitates. You are at a loss yourself – you hadn’t even thought of putting on a disguise! “This is $name,” $sloan answers smoothly. “$They are the $son of a local merchant and assist me with my duties sometimes. We grew up together.” Kat nods. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, $name. $sloan is good people, and a friend of Al’s is a friend of mine.” “Well met,” you respond graciously. Though, you can’t help yourself to throw in, “Al has certainly been a pleasure, but $sloan has always been a bit of a grouch.” Al ducks $phis head to hide a smile and Kat barks out a laugh. $sloan sighs, pinching the bridge of $shis nose. “Must you always be such a child?” “Oh, aye, I can tell you two are good friends,” Kat says with a knowing smile. Ironic, given she's completely wrong. “I remember when Al first started bringing $sloan around, I couldn’t believe $phe would hang out with such a stick-in-the-mud. But then I got a chance to see $shim really cut loose. I’m sure you heard all about—” “That’s enough,” $sloan interrupts. $sHis voice is tight and clipped, and you hear the slightest hint of a northwestern brough. “His Majesty is paying a visit.” Kat’s face fell. “Aye, he is. I was surprised when I heard. No offense, Al, but I thought he was sending you out here to be out of the way. I had no clue he was planning to actually check on your progress with those bandits.” Al winces. “Well… it has been difficult to actually //find/// any of them, you know…” “I know,” Kat replies. She pauses, then smiles at Al. “You know, you could always ask for help from your //favorite// cavalry.” “Kat, I appreciate the offer, I really do, but…” “Come on, Al.” She stops and turns to face Al. You can see the desperation in her eyes. “Please let me help you. I’m bored to death guarding this castle all day, and you’re hardly ever here anymore. We were supposed to do this together.” Al flinches. $pHe touches Kat’s shoulder gently. “I know. I miss you too, but I… you can’t come with me yet. It’s not safe.” “Oh, don’t you start on that too!” Kat’s voice raises, drawing the attention of the gardener. Blushing, she lowers her voice again to add, “Al, we’ve been training together forever, and I’m two years ahead of you. And it’s //my duty// to protect //you//. You’re almost as bad as my father. Why can’t I just do what I came here to do?” Al glances at you and $sloan, then back at Kat. “Look, some things have changed out there, and we all have to adjust to that. It’s not time to call in the cavalry yet. When that time does come, I will let you know. For now, the topic is closed.” An air of quiet authority creeps into Al’s voice as $phe speaks, and you can hear the finality of what amounts to an order. Kat looks stricken but bows her head in acknowledgement. [[“Yes, Your Highness.”->Party Plotting]]

The three of you convene in Al’s private study after Kat is dismissed. You feel a jolt of pity for her. While you don’t know exactly what her relationship with Al is, you can tell that they are close. Yet, she isn’t here in this room of $phis confidantes as $phe plots treason. And you, a near-stranger, are here in her place. “Well, let’s get started,” Al says briskly. “My father is coming in three months, which isn’t ideal, but I think we can twist this to our advantage. There’s time yet to set up a tourney – maybe three days? I’ll have Jeames send letters to all the local noble houses and find some carpenters to build the grandstands. God, I should have had those built back when I first got here. //Why// didn’t I do that?!” $pHe paces the length of the room, running shaking hands through $phis hair, undoing the simple, the carefully done plait. $pHis eyes dart around the room. “I need to hire physicians for this, and a safety coordinator. And inform the Cook that we’ll have to—" $sloan stands up and grabs Al by the shoulders. “Stop.” Al freezes, looking frazzled and cornered. “$sloan, please. You don’t know what he’s like when he’s pissed, and if I don’t—” “Enough,” $sloan commands. “This is what he wants, for you to panic. But you aren’t going to give him that satisfaction. Instead, we will make the necessary decisions, and then we will call Jeames in to coordinate with whomever we need him too.” $sloan stares straight into Al's eyes, $shis face calm, composed, and determined. You can see a kinship between them, a bond that grounds the panicked Al. $pHe lets out a shaky breath, then slumps into a seat at $phis desk. “I’ve been to enough tourneys to know that we need to handle a few things. We need to get the word out so that travel preparations can be made. We need to handle the food and the official welcome feast and farewell feast. My father’s suite needs to be prepared. Safety needs to be arranged. And the order of events needs to be taken care of. I’ve never done any of that before.” You speak up then, a little miffed when both of them flinch – do you have that little presence?! “That doesn’t sound too hard.” “Thank you for your fascinating insight, $house,” $sloan says drolly. “It’s very helpful.” You scrunch your nose and stick your tongue out at $shim. Turning your chair to face both of them, you explain yourself. “My mother used to make me help her with parties all the time. Well, until I accidentally ruined her thirtieth wedding anniversary. But that cake was totally unstable to begin with, and there //really// shouldn’t have been torches near the very flammable welcome banners, and—” “$house, point, please,” $sloan says, pinching the bridge of $shis nose. “Point is, I’ve helped organize loads of parties, and a tourney is basically a huge party. You don’t even need to do much. You just need to hire a bunch of people to do the actual work and say yes or no. And keep fire away from things you want to be not-on-fire.” You think back to the last time you helped your mother with party planning. Admittedly, it's been a few years ago… or maybe more than a few. But it hadn’t looked hard. And Al was looking a lot more hopeful now. You count that as a win. “So, order of operations. [[Who are we saddling with all this?”->The Virtue of Silence]] (set:$feelings_HelpAlOut to "The things I do for love.")

Turns out, keeping your mouth shut was a great way to not get stuck with party-planning business. Also turns out that is //not// your biggest strength. It takes a few hours to work out the logistics of everything, but by early afternoon, a rough plan has been formed. Jeames was summoned and instructed to pass along plans to all of the important parties. Unfortunately, you still have a few important tasks that couldn’t be handled by any old lackey. “We need an actual organizer to run things the day of, and someone we can get at such a last minute’s notice,” Al says with a sigh. No longer coming apart at the seams, the royal heir now seems exhausted. You don’t blame $phim – hundreds of decisions, from the menu, to the planned events, to the number of entertainers, have been made in the last few hours, and all of them required Al’s attention. “I can’t ask Jeames to do it. He’s already doing way too much, and he’s frankly getting too old to be running like this.” You have to agree. Jeames accepted his assignments without complaint, but from the way his bones seemed to creak and groan with each movement, you suspected he should be retired by now. Al mentioned that he had tried to suggest it before, but the man simply refused not to come to work every day. $sloan’s gaze briefly flicked toward you. “Reese would be ideal, but you can’t expect them to do everything. And $house…” “Uh-uh,” you say quickly. “I’m at the limit of my skills. Like, I said, my mother hasn’t let help in years, but…” You clamped your mouth shut. Nope. Nope. That thought was not getting voiced. “But what?” Damn whoever gave Al that hopeful-puppy look. Definitely not $phis father. That man was terrifying. So, damn the Queen for being so pretty and passing her prettiness to Al. Damn people who still looked pretty when they're sad and not like a snotty mess. It’s not fair to the rest of you. “Do you know someone who could help us?” (cycling-link:$feelings_HelpAlOut, "The things I do for love.","The things I do for this stupid cause.") “My sister Emma. If anyone can make this happen, it’s her. It won’t be easy to get her to help, though. She’s pretty stubborn about not being asked to do stuff at the last minute.” “Would she help if //you// asked?” $sloan eyes you curiously. $pHe taps $phis chin thoughtfully. “Emma… That’s Lady Blindhill, right? She’s on the next manor over.” You wince. “Maybe? We’re… we were pretty close growing up. But, uh, I’m kind of //person non grata// with her at the moment.” “Well, patch things up, because we need her,” $sloan says. “We’ll be heading over to Blindhill at some point in the very near future. And you’ll have to go as well.” //I really need to learn to shut my mouth.// You sigh. [[“Yes, $sloan.”->A Wanderful Evening]]

That evening after supper, you find yourself wandering the halls. Al is meeting with Jeames, who was very eager to fill $phim in on the goings-on of Backton Hold. You suspect you won’t see $phim again until it’s time to make a break for it back to the arboreal fortress. $sloan is who-knows-where, and you don’t know anybody else. It all feels very odd. You grew up in a castle smaller than this one, with dozens of siblings, visiting family, servants, guards, and assorted petitioners. This castle is so much larger, with double the number of servants running to-and-fro, beginning preparations for the massive Royal Tourney that has been hoisted upon them. And it feels so much emptier. Everyone is busy here, but no one is lively. Very few of the servants make eye contact with you, opting to drop their gaze and grow quiet as you pass by. Jeames and Kat are the only people who greeted Al warmly upon $phis return after an entire week of absence, and even then with no questions asked. Back home, it was never this quiet, even at night. “Looking a little lost there,” a voice echoes down the hallway, startling you. 1.{[[It's Kat->Kat Nighttime Adventure]]} 2.{[[It's $sloan.->Sloane Nighttime Adventure]]}

(set: $nightExcursion "Kat") The woman stares at you from the other end of the hall. The armor is gone, replaced by a simple linen tunic. Without the helm, you can see her curly auburn hair is cropped short in a messy way that suggests she did it herself. She smiles at you. “Hey, you looking for someone?” “Er, no,” you say. “Just wandering. It’s my first time here, so…” “Great! I can show you around.” She closes the space between the two of you. “Come on. There’s a lot to cover.” Kat shows you the kitchens, the baths, the library, and the gardens. All the while, she shares idle court gossip that amounts to nothing. You also notice that you probably couldn’t find Al’s quarters, or indeed even what wing $phe’s in, based on her tour. Nor could you find your way back to most of the stops on your tour without a guide – Kat takes you on long, winding routes that you’re certain have you doubling back on them. She distracts you with her chatter all the while. Finally, you find yourself sitting in a field behind the barracks. The grass is cool and damp beneath you, and you feel it scratch at your calves. Next to you, Kat sighs. “Al doesn’t usually keep secrets from me, you know. $pHe isn’t supposed to, anyway.” “You two seem close,” you offer. Part of you wonders how close. Kat nods. “We grew up together. My family have served the royal family since our great-grandfathers. Grandpa had the foresight to pledge himself to King Alistair’s service early on, and that saved us from getting wiped out. Or so he says.” It doesn’t surprise you. Your own father had been called to both sides of the civil war, and pleaded neutrality – after all, he had several small children to care for and a business to run. You were never sure how he managed to plead his case, but somehow your family was sheltered from the fallout. Many haven’t been so lucky. It doesn’t seem wise to reveal this to Kat, though. So you merely hum affirmatively. “Grandpa had a lot to do with raising Al, and when my dad took over as the king’s steward, Al hired Grandpa on as a retainer. Both of us came here with $phim.” She leans back, gazing thoughtfully at the stars twinkling above you. After a moment, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I don’t really believe you’re some merchants’ kid. It just doesn’t make sense. Al runs off without any bodyguards and meets some ranger working out in the woods that no one has ever heard of. $sloan gets free run of the castle and sits in on some sort of private discussion that no one else – not guards, not even people Al has known $phis entire life – get to hear. I haven’t seen Reese for the past week either.” You consider her for a moment, twisting a blade of grass around your finger. “I don’t understand what you’re asking of me.” “$sloan won’t say anything. Reese and Al avoid me like the plague, and when they can’t, they give me this sad look, like they pity me. I just want to know what they’re thinking. I thought maybe you’d tell me.” She glances at you out of the corner of her eye. “There’s not really a special reason I picked you. I just hadn’t asked you yet, and you happened to be wandering past right when I was feeling brave. So… who //are// you? And what on God's green earth is Al doing out there?” You know you aren't supposed to tell her the truth. (if:$honest is true)[But you really don't want to lie to her.] 1.{[[Al is Brave, Truthfully<-Tell her the truth… some of it anyways.]]} 2.{[[Al is Brave, Can't Say More<-Keep it vague. It’s for her own good.]]}

{(set: $nightExcursion to "Sloan") It’s $sloan, standing in the middle of the hall, clothed in nothing but $shis undershirt and a dressing gown. $sHis hair is wrapped in a silk scarf, and you catch a whiff of lavender and cloves. It’s almost funny the way $shis eyes widen, like a child whose hand was caught in the cookie jar. $sloan crosses $shis arms defensively and grumbles, “Al does this //every single time// I visit. $pHe gets all worked up. ‘Oh, $sloan, you have such beautiful hair.’ There’s lye at camp! It’s fine!” A long pause passes between the two of you. 1.{[[Blood of Babies<-You have absolutely no clue what $she is talking about. ]]} 2.{[[Want a Bath<-You could do with a hot bath and a good wash yourself.]]} 3.{[[Cute PJs<-You kind of like $sloan’s pajamas.]] "(color: red+white)[]}

You aren’t dumb enough to tell her everything. $sloan would kill you, for one. Secondly, you really don’t want to see Al pissed. But the poor woman is desperate. You can’t imagine what it must be like, not to know where a person you love is or if they are even alive. And for that person to be doing something incredibly dangerous right under your nose? Perish the thought. “Al is doing good work out there,” you say honestly. “The truth is, I was kidnapped by bandits while traveling alongside one of my father’s deliveries. I managed to escape, and that’s when I ran into Al. $pHe was talking to $sloan – they were discussing me, in fact. I was offered a place among the two of them, finding ways to bring justice to Anglica. And it’s been incredible. I never thought I’d get the chance to work with $phim.” Kat smiles fondly. “That sounds like Al. $pHe always wanted to be the hero when we were kids, you know? I remember back when the Rasiahs -- that's Reese's family -- came to court. Al was only six, but $phe wouldn’t let any of the older kids bully Reese for their accent, or their clothes, or anything else. It didn’t hurt that $phis dad was the super-scary king, but I don’t think that ever occurred to Al. $pHe couldn’t stand a bully and wasn’t about to let size stop $phim.” She pulls her knees to her chest and gazes at the stars. Her voice becomes softer, fonder even. "I used to be a scullery maid. My mother was a scullery maid before me, and my father a groomsman. My grandfather, a steward, is the highest achieving of us all. So, when I started going around saying that I was going to become a knight one day, everyone told me to give up that dream. I was born to be a servant, and I shouldn't try for more. Al is the one who stood up for me. $pHe encouraged be to join the army, become an officer. $pHe gifted me equipment with his own allowance, even when $phis father scolded $phim for wasting $phis money and time. I’m sure you have an idea, but standing up to Al’s dad is terrifying. That man holds a grudge tighter than a tick on a dog. I wouldn't have blamed him if he gave up on me, but he didn't.” Her tone and words both betray a great deal. Love, respect, admiration. (cycling-link: $feelings_KatWords, "You wish someone spoke of you like that.","You’re starting to feel the same way about Al.","You feel a pang of jealousy.") 1.{[[In Love?<-“Are you in love with Al?”]]} 2.{[[Samsies<-"I know what you mean." (color: red+white)[]]]}

You aren’t dumb enough to tell her everything. $sloan would kill you, for one. Secondly, you really didn’t want to see Al pissed. But the poor woman is desperate. You can’t imagine what it must be like, not to know where a person you love is or if they are even alive. And for that person to be doing something incredibly dangerous right under your nose? Perish the thought. “Al is, well, $phe’s doing good work out there,” you offer simply. “$pHe is someone people can rely on and trust.” Kat snorts. “You sound like a courtier with that evasive tongue. I... guess you’re right. Al is dependable. $pHe always stuck up for me when we were kids, even if it meant $phe got into trouble. I told $phim off – $phe was the little one, you know. $pHe’s tall now, but back then, $phe was tiny. And I don’t just mean younger, though $phe was that too. $pHe would just look up at me with those big brown puppy dog eyes and tell me that ‘{$prince}s/es don’t get in trouble.’” “Those puppy dog eyes should be outlawed,” you suggest. “I mean, it’s kind of unfair.” “Totally,” Kat agrees. Her voice softens. “I know Al is out there doing important work. I just wish $phe would trust me to help.” She speaks of Al in a soft voice that betrays a great deal. Love, respect, admiration. (cycling-link: $feelings_KatWords, "You wish someone spoke of you like that.","You’re starting to feel the same way about Al.","You feel a pang of jealousy.") 1.{[[In Love?<-“Are you in love with Al?”]]} 2.{[[Samsies<-"I know what you mean." (color: red+white)[]]]}

“Are you in love with Al?” you blurt out. You don’t know what made you ask it. It just bubbled out before you could stop it. (if:$feelings_KatWords is "You’re starting to feel the same way about Al.")[Part of you hopes she doesn't. You don't want to compete with her. Your cheeks burn at that thought. Competing... do you have even a chance?{(set:$promance to $promance+10)}](else-if:$feelings_KatWords is "You feel a pang of jealousy")[A strong surge of jealousy washes over you, and you try to shove it down.](else:)[You're a little jealous. You wish someone adored you that much."] Kat’s eyes widen in alarm. “No! No, I… I mean, I do love them, but it’s hard to explain. It’s just, we’ve known each other so long, and, well, you know…” While Kat stumbled over her words, you thought of Quinn. “You don’t have to explain. I think I understand.” “Oh?” Kat searches your face, a bit skeptically. Then she finds //something// and the two of you are in perfect understanding. [[“Oh.”->Companionable Silence]]

{(set:$promance to $promance+10) “I know what you mean,” you say, so softly that you don’t think she heard you. (if:$feelings_KatWords is "You’re starting to feel the same way about Al.")[(if:$pCrush is true)[You had a youthful crush on $pname, but those feelings have deepened now that you're beginning to know //Al//.](else:)[You're starting to see why she's so fond of $phim.]](else:)[Al is very much the knight-in-armor type, from what you've seen. What more could a $man want?]} But then Kat freezes. “Oh, I don’t mean it like… I just… Wait – what?” You don’t get a chance to answer, because Kat cuts you off. “No, no. That’s, uh, that’s between you two. [[Companionable Silence<-I’m not getting involved.”]]

You sit there in almost-companionable and definitely-awkward silence for longer than either of you would like. You squirm, feeling restless. You spring to your feet. “Is this the last stop on the tour?” “Erm, just about…” Kat replies, scratching the back of her neck. She stiffens, eyes wide in realization. “Unless… do you want to see something //really cool?!//” “Hell yeah!” you cheer. Anywhere is better than here right now. You follow Kat, who walks confidently through the dark, her feet not missing a beat, even as you trip over rocks and roots. She knows the castle grounds well. You come to a shed, where she produces a key and opens it. “I live in the barracks, like the other soldiers. But whenever we first got here, Al and I claimed this shed to put some of our most important possessions.” She leads you into the shed, then, and closes the door behind you. As you speculate what this treasure could be, Kat lights a torch. Your stomach drops in horror. Along one wall is a set of wooden shelves containing a 30-volume collection of novels. Not just any novels. Clem’s. You could have almost accepted this, if it was Clem’s children’s series. But this is far worse. It's her romances. You throw up a little bit in your mouth at the thought of Al and Kat reading your sister’s //very// dirty novels. (if: $promance >20)[Oh God, what if $phe pulls a move from them?](elseif:$pCrush)[Oh God, what if $phe pulls a move from them?] And if that wasn’t bad enough, you see an old faded tourney poster on the back wall with a //very// familiar knight on it. //“THURSTY?!”// “Oh, you’re a fan of Sir Thurstan, too?” Kat squeals in girlish delight. You rub your shoulder, reminded of the many household objects-turned-projectiles your brother launched at you over the years. Dumbfounded, you ask, “//You’re// a fan?” “Of course!” she affirms, not hearing the shock in your voice. “He’s an incredible knight! Strong, handsome, brave – and his jousting technique is //incredible!//” //Blegh.// “I take it he’s your type, then?” “Oh, most definitely,” she gushes. “Such a shame he already has a wife, especially one so beautiful.” It truly is a shame, though not for the reason Kat thinks. Ermengardis, Thurstan’s wife, is entirely too beautiful and smart for him. Six-foot-one, Ermengardis, or Ermie (as she is known to you), is entirely capable of trouncing just about anyone at caber-tossing. Which is coincidentally how she met your brother – oh what a glorious day, to watch her wipe that smug look off his face! Ermie also knew the importance of a good stretch routine, which your young-and-dumb brother forgot about. Luckily for him, Ermie knew how to care for a sprained shoulder. Your mother had been incredibly impressed by Ermie’s forethought and wisdom and suggested your father arrange a match between the two post-haste. Stupid Thurstan. “Yeah, a shame.” “You know,” Kat continues obliviously. “Me and Al used to watch all his matches when he came to local tourneys. I think Al even gave him a favor, back before he married – not that it was done publicly though! Alas, Al was but 14, and Sir Thurstan very gently turned $phim down.” “What?” you choke out, shocked at this development. “You’re kidding me!” Kat shakes her head. “Nay. Al has always been a bit of a romantic, so of course a knight of Sir Thurstan’s caliber caught $phis eye. $pHe was totally heartbroken for weeks after that, but I think it was for the better. It’s the kind of thing that you don’t appreciate until you're older.” //This is going to be a long night,// you think. (if: $promance >20)[Your siblings really do manage to get everywhere before you.](elseif:$pCrush)[Thurstan //knew// you had a crush on Al!] [[If you meet one more fan of any of your siblings, you're going to lose it.->Running Into Al]]

After your very long, hard day of treason, you (if:$landsolutions is not "nothing")[settle into your borrowed bed. You are quite relieved to have an actual bed tonight.](else:)[(cond:$tellacrophobia,"You are very glad $sloan acquiesced to you sleeping on the ground level.","settle into your bedroll. You try not to think about how high in the air you are right now.")] A thousand thoughts crowd your head. You roll to your left. Then to your right. Then you try punching your pillow into submission, hoping that will make it softer. You count sheep. Finally, you try laying back and breathing deeply, escaping to your happy place. 1.{[[The kitchens of Castle $house.->Happy Kitchens]]} 2.{[[Your mother’s library.->Happy Library]]} 3.{[[Your father’s office.->Happy Office]]}

You stare at $shim blankly, trying to comprehend the babble of words coming out of $shis mouth. “Do you really think I’m going to make fun of you for washing your hair?” “It’s unnecessary,” $sloan argues… for some reason? You aren’t clear why //$she// seems to want to convince //you// that $she is being frivolous. As if you even care. “There are more important things to worry about than the state of my hair.” “It’s not that big of a deal,” you reply. “It’s not like you’re washing it in the blood of babies or something messed up like that.” $sloan stares at you blankly. You frown in return. Does $sloan understand that it won’t ruin $shis mystique if $she laughs at what was //clearly// a hilarious joke. Unless… You gasp in horror. “$sloan, you didn’t! How could you?!” $sHe pulls a face. “They are going to study you in a lab one day.” “Oh, Aberardus tried. My mother expressly forbade the use of any of her children as test subjects.” $sloan pinches the bridge of $shis nose and inhales deeply. “I’m not even surprised.” You should hope not. Your mother is always scolding you and your siblings, demanding to know “do you know how many hours that I spent in labor with you, just for you to get yourself killed?!” The whole castle heard her when Peregrine tried flying off the kitchen roof. Honestly, you think she should’ve let natural selection take its course there. God would have given him more sense if he was intended to survive. [[Anyway, back to the matter at hand.->Want to See Something Cool?]]

The two of you remain in the hall, staring at each other. You’re considering just going back to bed when $sloan says, “Do you want to see something?” You’re surprised $sloan wants to show you something. You narrow your eyes in suspicion. “Am I going to hate it?” “No, I don’t think so,” $she says. $sHe eyes are fixed on the ground. $sHe almost looks shy. “You don’t need to come – I just thought you might like to see something that didn’t have anything to do with –” $she gestures vaguely “—all this.” $sHe means the rebellion, probably. “Erm, okay?” $sloan nods, turns, and starts walking, expecting you to follow. You do, trying to keep up with $sloan’s brisk pace. $sHe leads you through the castle and out a servant door, somehow evading guards. The two of you move quickly and quietly through the courtyard and out of a small, damaged portion of the wall. $sloan whispers, “I found that this evening. I’ll tell $pshort to fix it tomorrow.” Other than that aside, neither of you speaks. Instead, you slip through farmlands, entering the lowlands. You hear the churring of nightjars and chirping of crickets. The summer air is a bit chilly this late at night, and you rub your arms. $sloan appears unbothered, marching forward with determination. The moon hangs in the sky, merely a sliver of it left. You keep your eyes on $sloan’s back, barely seeing your surroundings, too afraid of losing sight of your guide and getting lost out here. You come to a cave. When $sloan motions for you to follow, you almost quip about $shim taking you somewhere to murder you, but… It’s a nice night. You don’t want to ruin it. You follow $sloan into the cave, the air dropping several degrees as you descend. It’s dark as you expect, except for dots on the ceiling that glow a brilliant blue. They aren’t stars. You stare at them in awe. It's not possible to see $sloan’s expression in the dark, but you suspect $she feels the same way, given that $she has stopped, gazing silently at the roof of the ceiling. The silence between you is almost companionable, (if:$honestAttempt >0)[reminding you of your evening by the fire.](else:)[more relaxed than your evening by the fire.] Maybe it’s that silence, and the darkness that cloaks you both, that nudges $sloan into saying, “There aren’t any of them back home, you know. These worms can’t live anywhere too cold.” “Is that what they are?” you ask, transfixed by the lights. Then it hits you. “Wait, these are //alive?// What?!” “Yeah, they’re alive,” $sloan answers, sounding very far away, despite being close enough you can feel $shis breath. “I… Someone I once knew brought me here to see them when I was a kid. I was scared of them at first.” You hear the barest hint of a chuckle in $shis voice. “I thought they were willow-the-wisps at first, ready to lead me away to my doom. But he explained that they were just bugs that glowed in the dark for some reason. He told me that even if we didn’t know what their purpose was, they must be here for a reason. They are just as important as any other living thing. And he told me that there is always something new to learn.” “Uh-huh,” you mumble. One of the lights moves, ever so slightly, and you flinch, stumbling into $sloan. $sHe rights you with a hand on your shoulder. “You did good today, $name,” $sloan says. “Just… keep up the good work, and keep trying. That's all anybody can ask.” You aren’t sure what to say to that. After a few minutes, you settle on… 1.{[[Sus Compliment<-"Are you making fun of me?]]} 2.{[[Bragging<-“I //am// pretty great, aren’t I?”]]} 3.{[[Humilty is Yet Another Virtue<-"Thanks, $sloan]]}

You roll your eyes at $sloan’s moral panic. “I don’t care if you washed your hair. Frankly, I just want to know where the baths are – I could use one myself. Why are you worried about what I think anyway?” “I’m not,” $sloan snaps. Then $she goes right back into $shis rant, which is seriously unneeded. You aren’t clear why //$she// seems to want to convince //you// that $she is being frivolous. “But it’s unnecessary for Al to insist upon. We have more important things to worry about than my hair.” “So you aren’t worried about what I think. Why are you upset, then? You have to wash your hair sometime, and frankly I wouldn't use lye if I didn't have to.” You cross your arms and lean against the castle wall. “Speaking of, you probably need to cut your hair, too. Your split ends are like four inches long.” $sloan’s jaw drops. $sHis voice raised an octave. “They are not!” You grin, glad to have found a crack in the armor. It's clear that $sloan cares about $shis hair, despite $shis desperate attempts to convince you otherwise. It's almost endearing. “What’s that? I can’t hear you over the sound of your hair screaming in agony. Don’t you hear it? ‘Moisturize me, $sloan!’” “You seriously are a child!” $sloan crosses $shis arms. "Besides, I take care of myself. I certainly don't need //you// telling me how to groom myself, considering you probably had servants to do that for you." You did. In fact, it was Quinn who helped you dress and style your hair most days. You don't let the barb get to you, because $sloan only says it to annoy you. Having sixteen older siblings prepared you for that one. “Psh!” you scoff. “You seriously need to lighten up. And to tell me where the baths are.” $sHe does not, in fact, lighten up. Or tell you where you can take a bath. Instead, $she says, “It’s a bit late for a bath, isn’t it? You’d have to wake some poor servant to draw it for you, or at least show you where the well is.” [[Want to See Something Cool?<-Well, when you put it like that...]]

{(set:$sromance to $sromance +10) Freshly clean from a bath, with $shis hair wrapped up in silk, and dressed in a simple linen shift, $sloan looks a lot… softer. Of course, you’ve seen the mask slip before -- $sloan is too much of a sap for “$shis people” to be harsh to them, especially the children. But even among them, the rebel is tense, vigilant.} You think that $sloan might not be such a stick-in-the-mud if only $she grew up in a castle, with hot baths and regular meals and smelling of herbs. “You should dress like this more often,” you blurt out. Oh, Lord. Said to a $sman in $shis underthings. $sloan’s eyes widen in alarm, sputtering out a, //“What?”// Shit. You attempt to back peddle, not wanting $sloan to get the wrong idea. “I mean you should bathe more. You don’t stink for once.” “Me? Have you tried smelling yourself?!” $sloan points an accusing finger at you. (if:$damp)[“I’m not the one who got myself covered in crap!”](else:)[“//You// don’t exactly smell like roses.”] “Wow, it’s almost like I got //kidnapped// and //stuck in the woods// with no access to a proper bath!” you retort. “I mean seriously, trying to scrub myself in the river with a quarter of a bar of lye is – it’s dishonorable, is what it is! It’s a war crime! Cruel and unusual punishment!” Your voice becomes shrill. $sloan winces as you rise a few octaves. Most could never hope to hit such notes, but you were born a professional whiner. $sloan slaps a hand over your mouth and hisses, “Shut up! Are you trying to wake the whole damn castle?” Not appreciating the hand over your mouth, you give it a big, sloppy lick. Your assailant leaps back with a disgusted yelp, desperately wiping off your drool on $shis shirt. “Oh, my God! Are you actually insane?” $sHe stares at you as though you might be. You scrunch up your knows, not dignifying that with a response. [[Want to See Something Cool?<-Insane? You?]]

“Are you making fun of me?” you ask warily. $sloan isn’t a total knave, but you feel more tolerated than anything. “No, I’m not,” $she says, gently. “Your experience and insight were valuable today.” (display:'Not So Bad')

“Thanks,” you say. “I try.” “You do.” $sHe responds simply. “I really should remember that.” (display:'Not So Bad')

You think that maybe things aren’t so bad between the two of you. After a while, you walk in companionable silence back to the castle, slipping back in under the cover of darkness. To your surprise, $sloan even walks you back to your room and wishes you good night before quickly slipping away. 1.{[[Sloan Nighttime Interest<-It strikes an odd chord, watching $shim go.]] (color: red+white)[]} 2.{[[Sloan Nighttime Friendship<-You had a rather night time tonight.]]}

“I //am// pretty great, aren’t I?” You preen, though $she can’t see this. You hear $shis sigh. “I should know better than to compliment you.” “No take-backs,” you respond defensively. “No,” $sloan says. “I meant it. Just don’t let it go to your head, alright?” (display:'Not So Bad')

“So, what kind of performance are we doing?!” you ask, your brain already buzzing with ideas. “If you need me to juggle, I can—” “No thanks, I choose life,” Quinn interrupts. $qHe (cond: $qplural, "lean","leans") over to Reese and stage-whisper(cond:$qplural,",","s,"), “Do not, under any circumstances, allow $them to juggle if you value your possessions or your life.” You scowl at your best friend as $qhe set/sets about sabotaging you. “How could you say such a thing?” Quinn smiles sweetly at you. “I love you.” “I love you too,” you grumble, not quite appeased. Reese watches the exchange with an amused chuckle. “Well, the first decision is what medium we should use—” “Puppets!” you interrupt, feeling rather proud of yourself for your contribution. They snort at that. It’s a rather undignified sound for the usually-composed dignitary, but it lights up their whole face. 1. {[[Reese is Cute<-It's kind of cute. ]](color: red+white)[]} 2. {[[Reese is Funny<-You can't help but laugh too.]]}

{(set:$rromance to $rromance+10) Reese’s eyes squeeze shut, and you can practically count all their surprisingly shiny teeth as they guffaw, open-mouthed. You can’t help but be charmed by this more playful side of them.} Quinn leans over and whispers, “You’re staring, you dork.” You startle and try to focus on anything else. Why is it suddenly so hard? (display:'In Mind?')

You can’t help but laugh – the sound is infectious. Quinn rolls $qhis eyes, but $qhe (cond: $qplural,"are","is") smiling too. “You {$house}s and your puppets.” (display:'In Mind?')

“So, what did you have in mind?” Reese asks, glancing between the two of you. You blink, surprised. “You’re asking //me//?” Reese raises an eyebrow. “That was the purpose of requesting your presence, yes.” “But I – but – but –” you sputter. “I just got here! I don’t know what any of this is! I barely even know Al well enough to make a flattering show about them!” (if:$c4pick is "Al")[“You spent all day with $phim at the market,” they remind you. “Surely you got a picture of $phis character in that time. That is the perspective we need – someone without a vested interest in getting Al on the throne, someone who knows $phis father’s bloody history, someone who has had a chance to know //$phim// -- not $prince $pname, but //Al//. I think you would provide that perspective.”](else:)[“Based on my observations at the market, you are someone who is creative and humorous. You can think on your feet. And,” their lips twitch, “you have experience with puppet shows. You also bring a different perspective as an outsider to this rebellion. You are, in many ways, our target audience. You don’t know Al. You are at least aware of $phis father’s history. If the play convinces you, then it will convince others.”] It's hard not to feel bashful with the way they look at you. Like you are capable. Like you are important. You swallow down the uncharacteristic shyness and glance at Quinn for reassurance. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural,"chuckle","chuckles") fondly and give/gives you a thumbs-up. “Erm, alright. I guess I can do it.” Reese beams, pleased at your cooperation. (cycling-link: $feelings_ReeseApproval, "It’s nice to have someone put such faith in you.","The sight makes your heart flutter a bit.") “You’ve got some choices to make then,” Quinn says, stretching out $phis long limbs. “You need a plot, a hero, a villain, and a good ending. The message is obviously that the hero, who is totally not Al, is a good and righteous person who will handily beat the villain, who is totally not the king.” “A bit more than that,” Reese adds, “but that should be the basics.” You consider this carefully. The hero is the most important part of the story, especially since you hope to convince your audience that hero is Al. You need a puppet that will represent $phim adequately. You settle on… 1.{[[Perfect<-$prince Perfect. It is vital that you emphasize how //perfectly// suited to the throne Al really is. ]]} 2.{[[Robin Goode<-Robyn Goode. Present the (lowercase:$prince) as a folk hero, despite $phis noble background.]]} 3.{[[Sirlady Attractive<-Sir Attractive. Most people don’t care about politics anyway. Why not emphasize how charismatic and good-looking Al is?]]}

{(set: $psHero to "Robyn Goode") (set: $psVillain to "King Greedy") A kind-hearted $pman of the people, Robyn Goode protects those trampled by the oppressive rule of King Greedy by returning the means of production to the people. Robyn Goode seizes the grain stores of the greedy king to distribute them fairly amongst the people of Nottinghir. But in a shocking twist, Robyn Goode has a secret identity! They are the child and heir to King Greedy, secretly working against his evil regime. } (display:'Choose Your Plot')

{(set: $psHero to "Sir Attractive") (set: $psVillain to "King Brutal") Sir Attractive, beloved knight of the realm, champion of the just, and savior to maidens in distress everywhere, locks eyes with Queen Lovely. (uppercase:$phe) realizes in that moment that $phis queen, whom $phe serves faithfully, is withering away under the oppressive regime of King Brutal. In her eyes, $phe perceives a call for help. Can Sir Attractive rescue the queen before it’s too late? } (display:'Choose Your Plot')

{(set: $psHero to "$prince Perfect") (set: $psVillain to "Jerk King") $psHero, the honorable and noble (lowercase:$prince) of the Kingdom of Nottinghir, excels at statecraft and diplomacy. Unlike $phis very uncharismatic father, the Jerk King, $psHero loves $phis people and wants nothing more than for them to be safe and happy. When given the opportunity to do good for $phis country, $phe leaps at the chance to ensure justice and generosity prevail. } (display:'Choose Your Plot')

With your hero decided upon, you move on. The plot needs to be gripping, sensational, out of this world. You think about your options. An adventure story would suit Al, you think. Besides, what better way to emphasize heroic attributes than an adventure? You could also tell a mystery and emphasize how clever Al is. Something that makes the king look like an idiot in comparison. No one wants a stupid king. Or you could pen a side-splitting comedy about Al. Something that makes $phim seem likeable, like you could grab a beer with $phim. 1.{[[Adventure<-Go for adventure!]]} 2.{[[Mystery<-A mystery sounds... mysterious!]]} 3.{[[Comedy<-Everyone likes a laugh. You’re gonna write a comedy. ]]}

{(set: $psTitle to "$psHero and the Grumpy Bandits") (set:$psGenre to "adventure") (cond:$psHero is "Robyn Goode","Robyn Goode begins to plot against $psVillain, alongside $phis second-in-command, the very grumpy Little Jack. At first, they are reluctant to go against their king and father, but they realize this is the only way for them to save their people.","$psHero learns of a plot upon $psVillain, led by a very grumpy bandit named Little Jack. At first, they are reluctant to go against their king, but they realize this is the only way for them to save their people.")} Hijinks ensue as they work to sabotage $psVillain from the inside, collaborating with his own guard to get him into a vulnerable position to defeat him in solo battle! (display:'Choose Your Ending')

{(set: $psTitle to "$psHero Saves the Day") (set:$psGenre to "mystery") A mysterious letter arrives on $psHero’s door one day from an unknown sender. It reads only: //Please help me.//} (if:$psHero is "Sir Attractive")[Sir Attractive knows exactly who sent this note: Queen Lovely. She needs $phis help to escape her wicked husband.](else:)[$psHero wonders who could have sent this note, but whoever it was must be in trouble. $pHe vows to save them from whatever danger it may be. ] While investigating, $psHero discovers an evil plot by $psVillain to murder Queen Lovely and blame the neighboring kingdom as an excuse to enter a bloody war. $psHero rushes to the queen’s defense in order to protect her from such a devious scheme! (display:'Choose Your Ending')

{(set: $psTitle to "A Royal Laugh") (set:$psGenre to "comedy") $psHero begins by playing clever tricks on the king, showing both wit and bravery, as $psVillain tries to track down the villain causing such a ruckus. The pranks grow in scale and include convincing $psVillain’s that he had swapped bodies with $psHero! $psHero locks {$phim}self in $psVillain’s chambers one night, and when $psVillain tries to enter, calls out in a mimicry of $psVillain’s voice and orders him to leave! The guards are in on the prank and order the king to move along. He is so furious that he storms out without his guards into the center of town. } $psHero secretly follows him with the intent of confronting him for his wicked deeds. (display:'Choose Your Ending')

With your plot sketched out, you think about how you want to end the story. Something that will make a big splash and stay in people’s minds for years to come. The future of the country depends on it! How will $psHero defeat the evil, wicked, no-good $psVillain? 1.{[[Beer Smash!<-Smash a cask of beer over the $psVillain’s head. Off-label of course.]]} 2.{[[Ultraviolence!<-Beat the $psVillain to death. End his tyranny forevermore!]]} 3.{[[Irony!<-Imprison the $psVillain… much like he imprisons others.]]}

{((set:$psEnd to "beer") Why ruin a classic? $psHero waits for the villainous king to arrive with a cask of beer (obviously off-label and not quite as effective as $beerco would be), ready to attack. When $psVillain arrives, $psHero uses all $phis strength to knock him out cold, to the delight of all!} (display:'Choose Your Title')

Justice is a harsh lesson! Your $psHero puppet will wail on $psVillain, beating him to death with $phis tiny felt hands. Feel the punches of heroism! (display:'Choose Your Title')

It’s time for $psVillain to be given a taste of $phis own bitter medicine. (if:$psHero is "$prince Perfect")[$prince Perfect ascends the throne and has $psVillain tried for his many crimes against the people of Nottinghir.](else:)[$psHero has written to the $prince and asked him to help defeat $psVillain. Right as all hope appears lost, the $prince rides in on a white horse to usurp $phis father and have him tried for his crimes against the people of Nottinghir.] (display:'Choose Your Title')

With all of this in mind, you consider a title. Something catchy and easy to remember and yet fitting to your story. Perhaps... "$psTitle" would do. Or maybe you want to get more creative... (input: bind $psTitle) [[Present!<-Present to Quinn and Reese?]]

You pitch your play to Reese and Quinn, whose faces shift through a kaleidoscope of emotions as you continue to tell your tale. (if:$psHero is "Sir Attractive")[There are some raised eyebrows at your hero’s name. //Sir Attractive,// you catch Quinn mouthing. $qHe winks at you when you shoot them a glare.](if:$psHero is "Robyn Goode")[Robyn Goode draws a murmur of approval from Reese.](if:$psGenre is "comedy")[Quinn nods approvingly at your choice in genre.](if:$psGenre is "mystery")[It seems that Reese appreciates a good mystery, given the extra-attentive look they give you as you explain your plot.](if:$psEnd is "beer")[Quinn snorts in amusement at your ending, while Reese tries to hide a snicker behind their hand.] When you finish your presentation, you are breathless with excitement. (if: $determined is true)[“We can workshop it, if we need,” you say confidently. “It’s going to be great.”](else:)[“Tell me what you think,” you press. “Brilliant, right?”] Reese and Quinn glance at each other uncertainly. Quinn turns to you first. “I… have some notes. I think the villain is kind of obvious.” “Well, yes,” you say. “Don’t we want people to know who we’re talking about? We don’t want them to get the wrong idea. Besides, Father Fatliver was the abbot. No one really made a fuss about that. Except maybe the abbot.” “That’s kind of my point,” Quinn explains. (upperfirst:$qhis) voice is painfully gentle. “The abbot can’t behead us if we piss him off. The king can and will. We aren’t just portraying him in an unflattering way. We’re portraying him as a villain //that gets defeated//. That is straight up seditious.” You bite the inside of your cheek and chew on that. Quinn has a point, but… “But it’s just a show, really. Fools can say whatever they want because it’s all just a joke. If we—” (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural, "cut","cuts") you off there. “I can say whatever I want because fools are just idiots. Nothing we say matters because //we// don’t matter. Who cares if a servant with hardly any brains says something unflattering about you?” You frown and open your mouth to protest – Quinn isn’t an idiot. (upperfirst:$qhe)’re/’s probably one of the smartest people you know. But $qhe (cond:$qplural, "don't","doesn't") let you interrupt. “Here, we have to be very careful, because the king is the law, and he decides what’s satire and what’s sedition.” “Well said,” Reese says appovingly. “This is a game of words, and we win if we can insult the king without him realizing he’s been insulted.” You hate this. You hate these courtly games that make your companions so grim, and you’re beginning to hate the king that gets to decide that a //joke// of all things is worth blood. “What do you suggest?” “We keep most of your idea,” Reese says. “We change the villain. Someone recognizable, someone we can attach to the king. Someone who is an easier target.” Quinn and you share a look, then turn to Reese quizzically. Reese indulges the two of you. “The king’s spymaster and advisor, de Renault, also known as the Spider. A cold, cruel and cunning man. We can’t explicitly make the play about him, but we can skirt the line more safely with him than with the king.” Quinn glances at you out of the corner of $qhis eye and swallows. “I still don’t like it. It’s too risky. We’ll still get caught.” “//Everything// we are doing is risky,” they reply. “The longer we avoid making a serious move out of fear, the more likely we are to get caught. We must seize our opportunities when they come. I understand that you are afraid, but we can’t let fear guide us.” You find yourself nodding along with Reese. They aren’t wrong – you have made mischief enough to know that hesitation can be just as dangerous as recklessness. 1.{[[Reassure Quinn<-Give Quinn an encouraging look.]]} 2.{[[Handholding<-Squeeze Quinn’s hand in comfort.]] (color: red+white)[]}

You grin at $qhim, hoping to rally your friend. “Come, now. How many times have we pulled a prank that we thought we’d never get away with? We’ll be fine.” “How many times have we gotten caught?” Quinn says softly. (upperfirst:$qhe) (cond:$qplural, "glance","glances") at Reese. “Why (cond:$plural,"do","does") $they need to be involved anymore anyway? We have everything we need.” “Hey, now,” you protest. “I’m old enough to decide for myself, aren’t I?” Reese swoops in then, intervening before an argument sparks. “I assure the both of you that we are only taking //necessary// risks. $sloan makes the calls on what we do in this region, and Robert trained $shim well. (upperfirst: $she) is no fool.” (display: 'Quinn Reassurance Wrap')

Quinn glances away, not meeting either of your gazes. “Yeah. I’m sure.” [[Devilish Details<-It's not resolved, but it'll have to do.]]

{(set:$qromance to $qromance+10) You take Quinn’s hand the way you have thousands of times and squeeze, hoping to comfort $qhim. Instead of relaxing, $qhe (cond:$qplural,"inhale","inhales") sharply. To your surprise, the tips of $qhis ears turn scarlet, which only serves to make your own cheeks warm. You quickly yank your hand back to your side and avert your gaze.} //What// was //that?// You’ve never felt so awkward about touching another person in your entire life, and Aunt Maerwynn used to give the wettest kisses before she disinherited your branch of the family. You’ve certainly never felt shy about touching Quinn. But the way $qhe (cond:$qplural,"fold","folds") $qhis hands against $qhis body discourages you from trying again. Reese watches the exchange with a raised eyebrow. “I assure the both of you that we are only taking //necessary// risks. $sloan makes the calls on what we do in this region, and Robert trained $shim well. (upperfirst: $she) is no fool.” (display: 'Quinn Reassurance Wrap')

{(set:$rfriend to $sfriend+40)} All told, [[Ending a Day of Treason<-you are quite ready for bed.]]

{(set:$sromance to $sromance+20)(set:$rfriend to $sfriend+40) As $sloan leaves, you nearly reach out to stop $shim. $sHe's a grouchy stick-in-the-mud, but $she believes you can be something if you only tried. It's refreshing. } But in matters of love, you've never had luck. You aren't Peregrine, whose heart was broken at least once per fornight until your mother wrangled him a wife. Still, you've had your share of embarrassing yourself. Against your better judgement, as you are wont to behave, you call, "$sloan?" $sloan is merely a silhouette at the end of the hall. $sHe does not turn around. "Yes?" "Thanks for taking me out tonight. It was nice." The admission is uncomfortable, but you manage it. You think $sloan might not respond, but $she does after a long pause. "It was. Thank you for letting me share it with you. Good night again, $name. I'll see you tomorrow." All told, [[Ending a Day of Treason<-you are quite ready for bed.]]

The three of you iron out the details of the puppet show, with Reese adding in their own observations about court life, de Renault, and Al. You find that they are incredibly observant and full of gossip, ranging from how various high-ranking nobles take their tea to who’s having an affair with whom. The plot begins to take shape. The Spider confronts $psHero (cond:$psHero is "Robyn Goode","and demands that $phe discover who is stealing from the Spider’s web, in exchange for some of his treasure.","and demands that $phe do $phis duty to the country by discovering who has been stealing from the Spider’s web.") As $psHero begins searching, he discovers a colony of flies. (upperfirst:$phe) learns that the flies have been getting stuck in the Spider’s web and drained dry. They have been trying to rescue their friends from being eaten by the Spider. $psHero is uncertain how to proceed from here, for they have a duty now to complete the Spider’s request, but clearly the flies are suffering unduly. //Surely there is a way for everyone to be happy,// the hero thinks. If the Spider agrees not to kill anymore flies, and the flies agree to stop stealing, all will be well. Determined, $psHero approaches the Spider with this compromise, certain $phe is on the right path. But to $phis surprise, the Spider is not pleased. “I asked you to discover who was stealing from me,” he says. “Not for you to make peace on my behalf. You may go now. I shall manage it from here.” $psHero is disappointed, but what can $phe do? $pHe prepares to head home as the Spider scuttles off. Then $phe hears screaming – the flies! They’re under attack! The hero rushes to the flies defense, only to see the Spider attacking them and cackling maniacally. There’s only one thing to do. 1.{[[Beer Smash!!!]]} 2.{[[Beat the Spider with a shoe!]]} 3.{[[Capture him in his own web!]]}

$psHero pulls off a boot and starts swinging. Just really goes to town on that nasty spider. Breaks his legs and everything – all eight of them. And those horrible beady eyes. Eugh. Just smeared all over the battle field. “You never did like spiders, did you?” Quinn says absently. “Do you remember when Aelric snuck like five of them into your room?” “How could I forget?!” you cry, the betrayal stinging anew. “I couldn’t sleep in my room for two weeks out of fear they were hiding the corners!” “Ah, the dark side of siblings,” Reese says wistfully. “I wonder if I would have been such a terror, had I had my own.” “Aelric is uniquely annoying,” you offer. Though, to tell the truth, your siblings on the whole are very good at tormenting one another. They get plenty of practice. [[Reese nods, seeming a bit far away.->Cat Fight]]

$psHero grabs a keg of conveniently-placed beer (off-brand) and smashes it over the Spider’s head, stopping his destruction at once! Reese lets out an amused chuckle. (if:$c4pick is "Reese")[“I’m rather concerned about your mother hunting me down for stealing her ending.”](elseif:$psEnd is "beer")[“You are rather set on that ending, aren’t you?”](else:)["An explosive ending, to be sure."] “This is the way,” you say. “It’s an awesome ending. Who doesn’t love a good beer smash? And as long as we don’t specify whose beer, there is absolutely no copyright infringement.” “What’s a copyright?” Reese asks. Quinn takes this one. “Lady $house came up with it after some hack started writing knockoffs of Lady Blenerhayset’s children’s series. It’s only really a law within their village, though. Lord $house did petition the king about it again last year, though, so who knows?” [[Cat Fight<-Who knows indeed?]]

$psHero gathers up the Spiders web, which he has used to capture many of the flies and weaves a net. Cleverly, $phe captures the Spider and hoists him to the ceiling. The flies, seeing their tormentor fall (or rise, as it were, but not in a good for him) grab sticks and begin to beat him like he’s full of sweets. Hurrah! “That’s rather violent,” Reese says mildly. You nod, pleased that they noticed. “I thought it was appropriate, given our plans. What are our plans, by the way?” “Our plans?” Reese asks, brow furrowed. “Well… to depose the king, of course. Al has been working on some things for when $phe—” “Yeah, yeah, but what about the //king?//” Quinn insists. “What happens to //him// after you’ve deposed him?” Reese swallows nervously. [[Cat Fight<-They don’t know either.]]

“So, what’s next?” Quinn asks abruptly. “We’ve got the play written out and the ideas for the puppets. How are we getting word out?” Reese ponders. “Well, a puppet show was not exactly what I had in mind… I suppose we could ask a Fool Society, perchance? They could certainly market it to children at markets and tourneys. We’d have to find one, first.” “You seem to like playing it by ear a lot,” Quinn snaps, looking irritated. “Is this a game to you people?” The noble blinks in surprise at the outburst. You find (hidden:)|groundclicked>[the ground](link:"the ground")[(t8n:"fade")(show:?fuzzycaterpillar)(show:?groundclicked)] very interesting suddenly. (hidden:)|fuzzycaterpillar>[Oh, look, there’s one of those strange, fuzzy caterpillars. You haven’t seen one of them in ages. It’s crawling very slowly onto a leaf. Nice.] “Of course it is not a game.” Reese’s voice is sharp and cold. “I am merely being flexible. A rebellion is made of many moving parts. It’s safer that we operate in cells.” Quinn scoffs. “It hardly sounds like you’re working together, then. You don’t even know what future you’re building.” “It’s getting kind of late in the afternoon, don’t you think?” you interrupt the argument before it can get ugly. Quinn seemed so on board this morning – what happened? “Why don’t we get something to eat before we start going at each others’ throats?” Quinn’s eyes soften as they turn to you. [[“Yeah, you’re probably right.”->Lunch Break]]

The three of you take a lunch break, which does wonders for the overall mood. Eager to smooth things over, Reese decided to share some of their own lunch with you, a dish of which their mother is especially fond. It is wholly unfamiliar to you. There is cauliflower, mushrooms, and rutabaga in it, you can tell that much. They’re fried and spicy, with some kind of sweet-ish dipping sauce that Reese called //chutney//. It was tasty, and one of the few times you had the opportunity to taste something particularly spicy, since foreign spices are usually too expensive for your family. Quinn is struggling a bit with it and stalling a bit by asking Reese about the food. “Ah, yes, it isn’t anything fancy. Just a street food.” They frown sympathetically at Quinn, who is sweating profusely. “I apologize. It is not meant to be particularly hot.” “It’s fine,” Quinn says, waving them off. “I’m just not used to food that fights back.” Reese nods, enjoying their food. “Well, now that the script is written, we’ve got to move on to making the puppets and spreading the word. We’ll also need a place to perform. I believe we can pass the puppetmaking off. There are some talented and resourceful people in the, ahem, ‘arboreal fortress’ who can assist.” “We could advertise at the local village,” you suggest. It’s within your family’s lands, but not close enough to the castle to cause an issue. “There’s one not an hour’s ride from here. I think.” Quinn glances at you, a look of recognition in $qhis eyes. “Truly? That close?” “Probably. It’s hard to tell, but based on the distance to the market, we aren’t far.” You are curious at the nervous way Quinn is fidgeting as you say this. Reese ignores $qhim and turns to you. “I’m sure somebody here knows the way. We’ll need to choose a location and date though. Something accessible and easy to remember.” “Market days at the monastery are the only thing I can think of.” You consider the idea. You and your family are unjustly banned from the monastery grounds, which does complicate the plan. Nor are you certain the abbot will be welcoming of another puppet show after the “UnMiTiGaTeD dIsAsTeR” of the last one. “But I don’t think the abbot will allow it.” Reese winces. (cond:$c4pick is "Reese","“I do recall.”","”Yes, Al mentioned that...”") “We don’t need to go onto the monastery grounds themselves. We can set up just off the grounds.” Quinn offers the idea coolly, sitting now in a more relaxed position. Whatever was bothering $qhim, $qhe (cond: $qplural,"seem","seems") to have gotten over it. “I’m sure the moneylenders won’t mind if we do. After all, it brings more attention to them as well. And the abbot blowing a gasket that we are operating //just outside// his area of control will cause rumors to spread.” “All gossip is good gossip,” Reese remarks wrily. “I like the idea. So, we head off to the nearest village, then? I don’t think all of us need go. $name, since you seem to be familiar with it, you should be part of the team. One of us should go as well.” “It should probably be you,” Quinn says, not sounding overjoyed by the prospect. “I’m sure $sloan doesn’t want the two of us going anywhere alone. $sHe’d probably accuse us of trying to run off.” “Not at all,” they say decisively. “It would make perfect sense for me to stay back in order to inform $sloan and Al of our plans. We must coordinate, after all. Besides, you have been here for some weeks now. It would not do to be constantly worried about your loyalties. You are not prisoners. You are among friends and should be treated as such. Thus, $name, I leave it to you. I trust you to make the choice.” You are touched by the speech. You weigh your options. On the one hand, you miss Quinn, and it would be nice to go on a solo adventure together. $qHe also knows the region and the people within fairly well. It would also free up Reese to contact Al and $sloan about the plans. On the other hand, Reese has an excellent way with words and may be extremely successful. If something were to go wrong and you returned late, $sloan might be less inclined to believe you had run off and come looking for you. (if: $c4pick is "Reese")[Reese has also proven themselves a fine companion on such trips.] 1. {[[Quinn Village<-You pick Quinn.]]} 2.{[[Reese Village<-You pick Reese.]]}

(if: $rromance > 20 or $toldQuinnCrushR is true)[{(set:$village to "Reese")(set:$rfriend to $rfriend+15) }You can't help but want to spend more time with the charismatic court bard. It doesn’t hurt that they are exceedingly clever and have a gift for convincing people to see things their way. “Reese,” you say, your ears and cheeks hot. “It would probably be better if the two of us went together. It will mean that $sloan will be less likely to have a fit of apoplexy.” Quinn goes oddly still, staring off into the distance. “I don’t know,” $qhe says, although it sounds like $qhis heart isn’t fully in it. “It might be interesting to witness. I’ve been keeping track of how heated$she gets when $she’s angry, and $she nearly had steam coming out of $shis ears the last time.” You pat Quinn on the shoulder. “You’ll have to let me know how close $she comes this time – and do let me know if any steam comes out of $shis ears. I’m convinced that $she can do it. I’m almost sad to miss it.” “Of course.” Quinn’s smile is stilted, but $qhis shoulders relax. “If only there was a way to preserve the sight for you.” “You’ll paint a picture with words, I’m sure,” Reese says smoothly. They stand, their kaftan swirling around them. Today, it is shot through with gold threads. You wonder for a moment whether they should change out of it before visiting a village that had probably never even seen a gold coin before, let alone an entire kaftan embroidered with it or if the glimmering garmet would attract all the attention you hoped. They extend a hand to you to help you to stand, and your heart bangs against your ribcage and your breath becomes oddly short. You take their hand and they pull you up smoothly with no hint of effort. Your ears and cheeks, which had just cooled, heated up again. You wobble a little, your knees weak, and they steady you, looking into your eyes with a half-smile. “Shall we go, then?” they ask. [[“Yes,”->Reese Village Talk]] you squeak.]{ }(else:)[“Reese,” you say decisively. “Since $sloan chokes on $shis bile every time Quinn and I so much as look at each other – " “We’re only mildly chaotic!” Quinn interjects from the backbend $qhe had risen into from sitting on the grass. “We’ve only been banned from the royal court – not officially! – and the local market day.” “And Great Aunt Matilda’s home, but that was hardly our fault,” you add. “She overreacted,” Quinn agreed. “No one //knew// she felt that way about pigeons.” “We probably still would have done it,” you concede. “It was funny. But we would have done it differently.” “Absolutely.” Quinn has moved into a handstand. Reese is staring at the two of you, somewhat dumbfounded, and shakes their head. “Yes, now that I’ve reconsidered it, I think that it would be best if the two of us went together, after all.” They stand, their kaftan swirling around them. Today, it is shot through with gold thread and you have to squint a bit to look directly at them when they’re standing directly in the sun. “$sloan is still going to be upset,” Quinn predicts, dropping forward into a bridge. “But don’t worry about it. I’ve been keeping track of how heated $she gets when $she’s upset. $she’s almost had steam coming out of her ears several times. I’ll let you know how close $she gets this time.” “I’m sure the encounter will make a worthy story,” Quinn said. “I anticipate being regaled with it on our return.” They extend a hand to you and pull you to your feet. “If we hurry, we can get to the village and back before dark.” You rub your hands together. [[Reese Village Talk<-“Let’s start a rebellion.”]]]

(set:$village to "Reese")You point to Quinn. “I think it makes the most sense if we pair off.” $qHis eyes widen in distress ever-so-slightly. “Are you sure?” “Of course!” you enthuse. “The chaos twins, together again at last!” Quinn snorts at that. $qHe (cond:$qplural,"roll","rolls") $qhis eyes playfully. “We still aren’t twins.” You scoff at that. “We might as well be. We do everything together anyway, and we hardly have secrets, given that you’ve quite literally seen me undressed.” Reese raises an eyebrow that, before understanding washes over their face. Quinn squirms. “True, we're far from strangers. [[Let’s go.”->Quinn Village Talk]]

The walk to the village is rather uneventful. Quiet too, given Quinn’s increasing broodiness. It worries you. Such behavior might be expected from $sloan, but not from your friend. In fact, you have noticed many changes in $qhim since your disasterous betrothal. Before, $qhe was carefree, joyful, and a touch sarcastic. Now, however, Quinn is quieter, more distant, and a touch sad. It worries you. You arrive at the village in the middle of the afternoon. It’s almost eerie, how quiet it is at the moment. Quinn informs you that this is, apparently, normal. “Most people are working at the moment.” “Oh,” you say. “When will they be back?” “Probably dusk,” Quinn responds absently. $qHe scans the nearly empty streets. “We aren’t looking for laborers, though. We’ll have some children spread the word.” “Children?” you ask. Children are hardly meant to be revolutionaries. How will you raise up an army that way? “I don’t think a children’s crusade is a good idea. It didn’t go over so well last time.” “You don’t think?” Quinn quirks an eyebrow and smirks slyly. “I bet we could pull it off. But no, I mean we have the children recruit their parents. Kids like puppet shows, and they’ll annoy their parents until they agree to go. That’s how we get ‘em. This won’t radicalize anybody. It’ll just get them thinking.” “Don’t we want to get people up in arms?” You rather thought that was the whole point. Quinn shrugs. “Maybe Reese thinks that’s going to happen, but the truth is most people don’t care who’s on the throne. Most of us spend our days going to the fields, working until dusk, coming home, and going to bed. There are feastdays and holidays, of course, but farming and animals require daily care. A new king or queen won’t change that.” 1.{[[Grand Scheme<-You protest.]]} 2.{[[Curiousity<-You wonder if Quinn thinks the rebellion is worth it.]]}

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you protest. “It has to change something. A more stable king who isn’t embroiled in war must be better for everyone.” “Oh, I’m sure.” Quinn sighs. “In the grand scheme of things, yes, a new ruler may be better. Perhaps Al will pass laws that make life a little easier, but at the end of this, I expect you will still be noble, and I will be a servant. It is simply the way of it. Either way, we’re in it now and we’ve got to see it through.” (display:'Still a Servant')

“Do you think the rebellion is pointless?” Up until this point, you thought Quinn at least agreed with the principles of the rebellion. $qHe occasionally butt heads with the others, but not with the concept of taking down the king. Quinn hesitates. “No. I do think that Al might do some good. But at the end of it, I expect that you’ll still be a noble and I’ll still be a servant. It is simply the way of it. Either way, we’re in it now and we’ve got to see it through.” (display:'Still a Servant')

The hunt begins, with Quinn leading you through the streets, searching for rambunctious little ones to spread word of $psHero far and wide. Finally, you find a pair of children playing with a top. (if:$c4pick is "Al")[A very familiar top, in fact, being spun by very familiar children. You recognize them from the market. They look up from their toy with wide blue eyes. The girl pushes back a blonde curl from her face. She seems to recognize you. You try to remember her name. What was it again? Something with a J, you think. (cycling-link: bind _recall, "Jem?", "Jenna?", "Jane?", "Jules?", "Ju?", "Jalina?") (event: when time > 10s and _recall is 'Ju?')+(t8n:'fade')[“Ju, was it?” you begin confidently. Quinn glances between you and the children, wide-eyed. “How do you--?”]{ }(event: when time > 10s and _recall is not 'Ju?')["_recall" you begin uncertainly. The children both completely ignore you.] (after: 12s)+(t8n:'fade')[“Quinn!” She races past you and throws her arms around $qhis waist. The boy, who seemed so standoffish at the market, pockets the top as if it were a priceless treasure and copies his sister, nearly knocking Quinn to the ground. Many emotions pass over Quinn’s face. Surprise. Sadness. Joy. Panic. Guilt. You don’t think they settle on one before $qhe wrap/wraps $qhis long arms around the children and holds them tightly. (show:?touchingreunion)]]{ }(else:)[The children look oddly familiar, though you don’t believe you’ve ever seen them before. As you approach, you notice Quinn stiffening, looking almost like $qhe’s like to run. The girl, perhaps seven or eight, pushes a few blonde curls out of her eyes as she glances up. She freezes in recognition. Next to her, the boy, who must be a few years older, does the same. You realize that they remind you of Quinn all those years ago. The two of you had been roughly the same ages as these children when you met. “Quinn!” The girl leaps up, abandoning her top, and races to throw her arms around Quinn’s waist. Her brother pockets the toy as if it were a precious treasure and does the same, nearly toppling your friend over. Many emotions pass over Quinn’s face. Surprise. Sadness. Joy. Panic. Guilt. You don’t think they settle on one before $qhe wrap/wraps $qhis long arms around the children and holds them tightly. (show:?touchingreunion)] (hidden:)|touchingreunion>[Not wanting to ruin this… evidently touching reunion, you hold back from the flurry of questions you want to ask. Who are these children? Why do they know Quinn? Why do they look like Quinn? |5>[Enquiring minds want to know.] (click:?5, (action:'mouseover'))[(That’s you. You are the enquiring mind.)] After a few polite minutes, you clear your throat. “Er, Quinn?” Quinn releases the children, having settled a gentle smile and a fond, lingering glance at each of them. $qHe gestures to them. “$name, meet my baby sister Julia and my brother Luke.” |1>[What?] (click:?1, (action:'mouseover'))[|2>[You didn’t know Quinn had siblings.]] (click:?2, (action:'mouseover'))[|3>[You didn’t even know Quinn was from this village.]] (click:?3, (action:'mouseover'))[|4>[[[Why don’t you know these things?->Meet Quinn's Family]]]]]

“Wait, what?!” Your jaw drops. You gesture frantically at the children, the village, the entire situation. “How? Why?” (if:$badbabysitter is true)[Luke narrows his eyes and points at you. “Hey, you threw a top at us!” “What?” Quinn looks between the two of you. “What would $name throw a top at you?” “$They got mud all over my dress!” Julia adds, not to be outdone in the tattling department. You glare at them. Little snitches. “I was just trying to give it back!” Luke throws his hands up, as if you just said the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Then you pick it up and you hand it back to us like a normal person! Quinn, is this jokester with you?” ](else:)[Luke squints at you. “Don’t I know you?” “Yeah!” Julia answers. “From the market, right? You gave us back our top!” Quinn nods, still looking a bit shaken. "I... didn’t know the two of you were already acquainted with $name.” “You know this person?” Luke asks, jabbing a finger at you. ]“Yeah,” Quinn says. “$name is my friend from the castle. You remember, don’t you? I’ve told you about $them before.” $qHe told $qhis family about you, but not you about $qhis family. Why not? Why would $qhe hide this from you? “Oh,” Julia says. She grabs Quinn by the hand and tugs $qhim toward one end of the street. “Well, are you coming home for dinner, Quinn? Is your friend coming, too?” Home. The word hits you like a stampede of baracle geese. You’ve never thought of home as anywhere but Castle $house. You hadn’t considered that wasn’t the case for Quinn too. Regret is written all over Quinn's face as $qhe (cond:$qplural, "kneel","kneels") down to the girl’s height. $qHe (cond:$qplural, "smile","smiles") sadly. “I can’t tonight, Ju. I do need a favor, though.” “What’s that?” Luke is all wariness now, eyeing Quinn suspiciously. “I’m going to do a performance at the next market day. It’s going to be a puppet show about a hero who has to solve a mystery. Can you tell everyone you know? It’s very important.” Quinn speaks more solemnly than you’ve ever seen $qhim before. Julia considers this request, then grins, still holding Quinn’s hand and leaning back so that$qhe holds her up. “I can do it, but you have to do something for me.” “What would you like?” Despite her demand, Julia doesn’t appear to have thought this far ahead. After a few moments, she answers, “You have to tell me a secret. Then I’ll tell the //whole// village that they have to go see your play.” “Hm…” Quinn taps $qhis chin with $qhis, a slight, sly smile on $qhis lips, like {$qhe}(cond:$qplural,"’re","’s") teasing her. "The //whole// village?" "Uh-huh!" she says, nodding vigorously. She flings out an arm expansively. "Eeeeverybody will come!" “And if I tell you, do you promise not to tell anybody else? Not even Luke?” $qhis voice is soft, teasing, playful. You've never seen Quinn around kids before. Sure your nieces and nephews are underfoot all the time, but Quinn always seemed at little nervous of them, if anything. Luke looks rather offended by $qhis word and pouts. Julia squeals in delight. “I promise!” $qHe kneels next to $qhis sister and whispers something in her ear. You can’t make it out, though you strain to hear it. You catch Luke doing the same out of the corner of your eye. Julia’s eyes nearly bug out of her head, and she brings her hand to her mouth with a gasp. “Really?!” “Indeed,” $qhe responds with all the gravity such a secret apparently requires. “Now, I’m counting on you not to tell anyone, //and// to tell everyone you know about the show.” Julia gives Quinn a mock salute. She grabs Luke by the hand. “Come on, Luke, we have to go finish our chores so we can tell people!” As the children take off, Quinn calls out, “Tell Ma I said ‘hello!’” “We will!” Luke calls back, before taking off after Julia at full speed. “You better tell me that secret!” “Nooo!” Julia giggles. Quinn watches them go with a sort of melancholy that you hardly recognize. The $qhe (cond:$qplural,"turn","turns") to you. “Let’s go home.” [[Dinner with Q&R<-You nod, wondering about all the thing Quinn hasn’t told you.]]

The walk to the village is rather uneventful, though Reese manages to strike a perfect balance between companionable silence and friendly chatter. You find that it’s rather easy to spend time with Reese. (if: $c4pick is "Reese")[Of course, you had a wonderful time at the market not long ago. That could have been a fluke, though. This definitely proves otherwise.] It’s not hard to get caught up in Reese’s stories or laugh at their jokes. They don’t dominate the conversation, and they show a great deal of curiosity about you. You field questions on your family, your home, and your father’s brewery. You arrive at the village in the middle of the afternoon. It’s almost eerie, how quiet it is at the moment. Reese frown. “Well, this may prove a challenge.” “Where do you think everybody went?” you ask. “Perhaps the fields,” Reese suggests ruefully. “I… did not consider that people may be busy at home or at work at this time of day. It’s such a rural village, I’m sure there is very little in the way of commerce.” You scan the nearly empty streets, noting that the only people wandering them seem rather busy moving animals along. “When do you think they’ll return?” “Likely at dusk,” they reply. “We ought to go searching for people who may be out and about.” And so [[the hunt begins.->Reese Needs a Pep Talk]]

You and Reese have little luck. The villagers are polite, certainly, but they are also wary. A woman pushing a cart of manure nervously taps her fingers as you talk to her. Later, a man leading a donkey avoids your gazes, mumbling into his boots about needing to “get back to it, your lordships.” Children peer at you from behind buildings and barrels. After some time, Reese leans against a wall, getting dust all over their gold-embroidered clothes. “I believe I should not have come. I think I am hindering us.” “What do you mean?” It’s hard to imagine Reese is the one dragging the two of you down. “I hardly think our bad luck is your fault.” “Ah, but I fear it is.” They gesture to their clothing. “I am dressed like a noble, and I believe it is unnerving the villagers. They cannot help us because they fear me. You at least are dressed like one of them. But I am, yet again, an outsider.” 1.{(if: $c4pick is "Reese")[{[[Reese Can Do It<-You are certain of Reese’s skill in winning the villagers over.]]} (color: red+white)[]](else:)[This action is locked by your previous choices. (color: red+white)[]]} 2.{[[You try to cheer up your companion.->Cheer Reese Up]]} 3.{(if:$diplomatic is true)[[[Again… what do they mean by that?->Reese Insightful]](color: red+white)[]](else:)[You are not shrewd enough for this action. (color: red+white)[]]}

{(set:$rfriend to $rfriend+15) }“I don’t believe that,” you say. “If you could just talk to them, I know you can convince them to help. You were incredible at the market. Our approach is just off.” Reese chuckles. “I admire your optimism, and your confidence in my abilities. Very well, I am willing to try once more. What do you suggest?” Your eye catches on a pair of children playing with a top. Seems like as good a start as any. “Follow me. I’ll get us started this time, and then you swoop in with your fancy words. Trust me.” “Certainly.” Reese sounds far too amused, but you decide to let it go. They’re doing their best. (display:'Meeting the Children')

You approach the children, careful not to startle them from their playing. The top spins for an impressively long time. (if: $c4pick is "Al")[A very familiar top, in fact, being spun by very familiar children. You recognize them from the market. They look up from their toy with wide blue eyes. The girl pushes back a blonde curl from her face. She seems to recognize you. You try to remember her name. What was it again? Something with a J, you think. (cycling-link: bind _recall, "Jem?", "Jenna?", "Jane?", "Jules?", "Ju?", "Jalina?") (event: when time > 10s and _recall is 'Ju?')+(t8n:'fade')[“Ju, was it?” you begin confidently. The girl stops in her tracks, gaping. “How do you know my name?!”]{ (event: when time > 10s and _recall is not 'Ju?')[No, you don't recall her name]} (after:12s)[“Hey, you’re that $man from the market!” The boy jabs his finger at you. (if:$badbabysitter is true)[It is accusatory. “You threw a top at us!” “Pardon?” Reese looks at you in alarm. “Why would $name throw a top at you?” “$They got mud all over my dress!” Julia adds, not to be outdone in the tattling department. You glare at them. Little snitches. “I was just trying to give it back!” Luke throws his hands up, as if you just said the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Then you pick it up and you hand it back to us like a normal person! We know people at that castle, you know. //Important// people, and we’ll tell them you’re throwing tops at children.” You roll your eyes. They hardly know anyone at the castle. They just expect that you don’t, either. (show:?suspiciouschildren)](else:)[He relaxes ever so slightly. “You aren’t so bad, for a grown-up.” “Yeah!” (cond: _recall is "Ju?","Ju","The girl") affirms. “You gave us back our top!” Reese’s nostrils flare as they attempt to hide their laughter. “Indeed, it seems that you already have fans.” “I don’t know I’d go that far,” the boy says. “But you’re alright.” (show:?gratefulchildren)]]](else:)[{ }The children look oddly familiar, though you don’t believe you’ve ever seen them before. The girl, perhaps seven or eight, pushes a few blonde curls out of her eyes as she glances up. Next to her, the boy, who must be a few years older, tries to teach her how to spin the top, though she’s struggling with keeping it from spinning out. You realize that they remind you of Quinn all those years ago. The two of you had been roughly the same ages as these children when you met. When they notice your approach, they stop playing and stand up, looking very much like children caught doing something they shouldn’t. “What d’ye need?” the boy asks suspiciously. (show:?suspiciouschildren)]{ }(hidden:)|suspiciouschildren>[“Look, kid,” you begin. You might barely know these kids but recognizes like. You can smell a younger sibling like a hound smells blood. And you know mischief like the back of your hand. “I can tell you aren’t doing whatever your mother told you to do.” The boy crosses his arms but doesn’t otherwise react. The girl folds immediately, tugging on the boy’s sleeve. Alarmed, she hisses, “Luke, how’d $they know!” “Hush, Julia!” Luke hisses back. He addresses you haughtily. “What’s it to you?” Before you continue your mean-guard routine, Reese jumps in. “We need a favor, if you don’t mind. We have written a show, and we would very much like for people to attend. It would be a tremendous help if you spread the word for us.” “Why should we?” Luke asks, arms still crossed. Julia attempts to do the same thing next to him. She mostly succeeds. Reese reaches into their pocket and withdraws something wrapped in waxpaper. “I could sweeten the deal for you, should you prove willing.” You can already see their resolve crumbling as Reese reveals the honeycomb. Where had they gotten that? Why did they seem to be carrying so many snacks on them today? Luke reaches out and hesitantly takes the treat. “We can do that.” “Thank you,” Reese replies graciously. You are rather impressed that Luke simply breaks off a piece for Julia, then tucks the rest away, explaining to his little sister that he wants to take it home to share with their parents and older sibling. The children scurry off then, intent on sharing their prize and news of your play. “Nice one,” you compliment. Reese smiles. “I appreciated the encouragement, and the set up.”]{ }(hidden:)|gratefulchildren>[“I was wondering if we could ask a favor,” you begin. “See, we’ve written this show, and we worked pretty hard on it. Would be nice if it did well.” “What kind of show?” the girl asks. You grin. “A puppet show. We want to perform it at next market day, but we need to draw a crowd. And the abbot is a jerk who won’t let us perform it on the grounds. He //hates// puppets.” The girl gasps at this scandal. “No!” “Yes!” you insist. “We must perform it just off the grounds, where he cannot stop us from puppet glory!” Reese slips in seamlessly. “It would be a shame if no one saw it.” The boy looks amused by the both of you. “Aye, you were nice enough. We’ll spread the word. I’m Luke, by the way.” “Reese, and my companion, $name,” they respond. They offer a hand. “A pleasure.” “Sure,” Luke says, shaking their hand. “This is Julia, my sister. We’ll see you next market day, I reckon.” “Yep,” you respond. “Don’t miss it!” Julia giggles. “We won’t!” The children scurry off after that. You and Reese share a look. That wasn’t so bad, in the end.] [[You head back to camp.->Dinner with Q&R]]

“You can’t just give up,” you say. “We have to keep trying. If we do something different, then I know we’ll get it.” Reese chuckles. “I admire your optimism, and your confidence in my abilities. Very well, I am willing to try once more. What do you suggest?” Your eye catches on a pair of children playing with a top. Seems like as good a start as any. “Follow me. I’ll get us started this time, and then you swoop in with your fancy words. Trust me.” “Certainly.” Reese sounds far too amused, but you decide to let it go. They’re doing their best. (display:'Meeting the Children')

(dialog: [''//Trait Gain://'' Experience and ''shrewdness'' have led you to develop ''insight''.], "Proceed.") “Again?” you repeat. It’s hard to imagine Reese as an outsider, given how quickly how smoothly they seem to navigate social situations, despite their current difficulties. They hesitate. “A slip of the tongue. My point is merely that I do not seem to belong. Perhaps you would have had an easier time with another companion… or if I had changed into more austere clothing.” You consider this. It doesn’t seem to match with what you know of the world. You think back to Wentworth mocking your family for their “eccentricities.” Perhaps he was correct in calling your family odd. You have gained some perspective. And yet, your family is widely successful. So much so that Bainbridge was willing to marry you against both your wills, just to be a part of it. “I don’t think people should have to change who they are to find success. I think maybe you just find success in who you are.” Reese strokes their beard thoughtfully. “Perhaps… Regardless, it is beautifully said. I thank you for the advice and concede to your judgement. I shall continue trying as long as you do. What next?” Your eye catches on a pair of children playing with a top. Seems like as good a start as any. “Follow me. I’ll get us started this time, and then you swoop in with your fancy words. Trust me.” “Certainly.” Reese sounds far too amused, but you decide to let it go. They’re doing their best. (display:'Meeting the Children')

For the second time that day, you dine with Reese and Quinn. There is still food left from lunch, though now it is accompanied by pottage from the campfire. (if:$village is "Reese")[Quinn is oddly quiet tonight.](else:)[Quinn is rather quiet tonight, though $qhe (cond:$qplural,"seem","seems") reluctant to talk about it.] Reese picks up on the awkward tension and works to relieve it with stories of their childhood at court. After a few minutes, they manage to draw a chuckle out of Quinn and full-bellied laughter from you after a story regarding the Almanian ambassador, a large grub, and a fishing pole. “We got away with it,” Reese says with a smile. “The steward never figured out what we had done. He just the thought that poor ambassador was a superstious fool.” “Nice one,” Quinn says. “Have you heard about how $name got banned from court?” Reese smiles and gestures for $qhim to continue. “Do go on.” “Well,” you interject, “I //liberated// some grease from the palace larder, and Quinn here has a wonderful skill with animals…” Reese gasps, looking both scandalized and intrigued. “That was //you?!//” Before you can continue your story, a young rebel runs up to you, doubling over. The poor boy is out of breath and gasping for air. “Reese… I have… a message… from… Al… and $sloan.” Reese purses their lips, looking displeased. They gesture for the boy to sit. “Whatever it is, I am certain it can wait. Sit down with us. Have some food and drink. There is no need to run yourself ragged.” The boy practically collapses. “Thank… you.” Everyone is considerably less relaxed now, but no one dares rush the boy before he finishes eating. You watch with mild surprise as he tears through the //pakora//, only taking a second to pause at the unfamiliar sensation in his mouth, before devouring it. You suspect he barely chewed. He gulps down the watered-down beer served alongside it, before finally coming up for air. “Thanks. That was good.” If Reese has any opinions about the kid’s table manners, they keep it to themselves. “You had a message for me?” “Yes,” he replies. His face darkens, and he spits out his next words. “His Majesty, the king, is coming to visit. He’ll be here in three months” You frown. “How come? Is bringing an army?” “We don’t know,” he says. “He wants to see what Al has been doing, and Al is trying to throw together a royal tourney to welcome him.” Quinn whistles. “That’s a lot on a short notice. Why is $phe doing that? The king surely doesn’t expect an entire tourney in three months.” “It’s a distraction.” Reese’s lips are pressed into a grim line. “If the king arrives with an army to comb the forest, he’ll find the rebels. At best, Al looks incompetent. At worst, $phe’s accused of treason and hangs with the rest of us. If the tourney is successful, it might look like that is what Al has been working on all this time. And perhaps he will not have time to look too hard for you all.” “But three months is not enough time,” Quinn argues. “All $phe’ll have is a messy tourney, and that will look suspicious on it’s own. So why bother?” Reese strokes their beard thoughtfully. “True, we would need someone very familiar with planning events to take the lead on this one. $name, you would not happen to have experience in this area, would you?” You think that maybe Reese can smell these things. It’s unfair the way they can look at you like that, one eyebrow raised with an expectant smile, and you feel compelled to admit everything. “…A little. But I haven’t been able to help with planning anything in a few years.” “You mean you aren’t allowed,” Quinn corrects. $qHe (cond: $qplural,"snort","snorts"). “Man, your mom was livid over that cake. She hasn’t let you touch event planning since.” “That cake was totally unstable! And honestly, putting flammable banners near torches is ridiculous! How was I supposed to know that a thirty-tier cake could cause so much destruction if I so much as //breathed// on it wrong?” you protest heatedly. Having defended your honor, you then turn to Reese and add, “I remember a few things. By which I mean I can give pointers here and there, but I can’t really organize very well. Emma was always the one with a head for that kind of thing, not me.” They perk up. “Emma?” “Yeah, my youngest sister,” you say. “She lives in Blindhill with her husband. She… probably just had her baby in the past few weeks, actually.” Quinn shoots you a sympathetic look. You and Emma had been extremely close growing up, until you got drunk at a family dinner and pissed her off. She hadn’t spoken to you for a month at time you’d been kidnapped. Reese strokes their beard thoughtfully. “Blindhill is quite nearby.” “Yeah, it’s the next manor over.” Emma had met her husband at a tourney held by your parents, actually. She was by far the most outdoorsy of your siblings and had competed in a chicken-chasing contest. (This is the only one of its kind – your parents add it to all their tourneys because you enjoyed watching it so much. Who doesn’t like to see their enemies caged?) “Why?” Turns out, keeping your mouth shut is a great way not to get stuck with tasks you don’t want. Also turns out that is //not// your biggest strength. Reese has gotten the brilliant idea to recruit your sister post-haste to Operation Don’t Let Al’s Dad Find Out $pHe’s Been Doing Fuck-All Out Here and Definitely Don’t Let Him Know About the Whole Coup Thing. Which, admittedly, Emma is uniquely suited to complete. She is also extremely annoyed with you, and a total snitch. You will be ratted out to your mother before you can say “hops.” Plus, she’s your sister. You shouldn’t drag her into this. Luckily, Quinn, as always, is on your side. “You need to leave Emma out of it.” “We need a skilled organizer to run things the day of the tourney,” Reese argues. “There are hundreds of decisions – menus, events, entertainment – that need to be micromanaged, and Al cannot do it {$phim}self while also hosting. I can handle some of it, and $name can give some pointers, but there is too much on too short notice.” “Emma just had a baby,” you say. You think your sister’s children, and the kind of danger they will be in if their mother falls afoul of the king. “And she’s royally pissed at me already. Plus, she’ll tell my mom where I’m at. It’s a terrible idea.” “Protecting your family is admirable,” Reese says, glancing between the two of you. “However, they are already in danger. If you are found out, you will not be the only ones in trouble. In the king’s eyes, everyone is guilty by association. Perhaps your family got away with pleading neutrality before, but I assure you that it will not happen again.” You close your eyes. You know in your heart that Reese has a point. And it seems like you won’t be given a choice anyway. You can’t imagine that everyone will write off Emma just because you dug in your heels. “If anyone can make this happen, it’s Emma. It won’t be easy to get her to help, though. She’s pretty stubborn about not being asked to do stuff at the last minute.” “You will have to win her over.” Reese acts as if it’s a done deal already, because they haven’t met your sister. “Surely you know how to charm your own family?” Quinn barks out a laugh. [[“You don’t know Emma Blindhill.”->Granny Brigade]]

The details finished, you turn your project into the capable hands of the Granny Brigade, a group of women approximately your parents’ age. They often take the dawn shift guarding camp and are therefore usually asleep when you are awake. As a result, you’ve rarely had cause to interact with them beyond the occasional nod as you passed one another throughout the arboreal fortress. However, they seem charmed at being asked to participate in your puppet propaganda. You describe in great detail your vision for the puppets in your show, while they listen intently, smiling, nodding, and throwing in their own suggestions. Esther, the leader of the Brigade, pats your cheek fondly and assures you that you “will not be disappointed.” After they leave, you collapse against the nearest tree and slide down the trunk until you are sitting with your head in your hands. It’s been a long few weeks since you learned of your engagement, and so much has happened. It doesn’t feel real yet – you keep thinking you’re going to wake up in your bedroom and have breakfast with your parents. A measured set of footsteps draw you out of your reverie and you glance up. Reese settles down next to you, cross-legged. “Greetings, my (cond:$rfriend > 30,"friend","collaborator"). You have done well today. I am glad you chose to work on this with me.” There’s a long pause in the conversation that invites you to respond. 1.{[[Time Spent with Reese<-“I wanted to spend time with you.”]]} 2.{[[Not Separated Again<-“I didn’t want to be separated from Quinn again.”]]} 3.{[[Hard Time Sloane<-“I didn’t want to deal with $sloan giving me a hard time.”]]}

“I wanted to spend (if:$c4pick is "Reese","more") time with you,” you admit. “So, you know, I’m glad I picked this too. I had fun.” (if: $rromance > 20 or $toldQuinnCrushR)[You feel your cheeks heat up (cycling-link: bind $skin, "you’re glad your skin is too dark for it to show.","you curse that your complexion is too light to hide your fluster. ") If Reese notices, they don’t show it. ]“I’m glad you had fun. And, well…” The sudden shame on their expression doesn’t suit them, but before you can comment on it, they take a breath and barrel onwards. [[“I wanted to apologize to you.”->Unexpected Apology]]

{ (if:$skin is "you’re glad your skin is too dark for it to show.")[(set:$skin to "dark")] (elseif:$skin is "you curse that your complexion is too light to hide your fluster. ")[(set:$skin to "light")] }“For what?” You are startled at this admission – of everyone, Reese is one of the few who haven’t wronged you at all. “You’ve been nothing but courteous to me.” They smile ruefully. “Alas, I have been very rude. At the end of the day, you are not free to leave, as I am. You have no sway among the rebels, and you are under the constant supervision of $sloan. But I forgot that, and I demanded you work with me without considering your inclinations.” “Oh.” You blink. You hadn’t considered how powerless you really were in all of this. “Well… now I’m kind of depressed.” Reese’s eyes widen in alarm. “I’m sorry – I didn’t – I mean to say that it wasn’t my intention to drag up gloomy thoughts.” “It’s alright,” you say, a touch awkward yourself. You’ve never seen Reese look so flustered before. “We all stick our foot in our mouth sometimes.” “Indeed,” they say, regaining their footing. “Anyway, that is all I really wanted to say.” 1.{[[Let them go.->Watch Reese Walk]]} 2.{[[I Write Sins Not Apologies<-Thank them for their apology.]]}

“I didn’t want to be separated from Quinn again,” you admit. “It’s been really weird without them – we usually do everything together.” (if: $qromance > 30)[You feel your cheeks heat up (cycling-link: bind $skin, "you’re glad your skin is too dark for it to show.","you curse that your complexion is too light to hide your fluster.") If Reese notices, they don’t show it. ]“Yes, you two do seem rather close. I’m sorry that this situation has caused you strain. Speaking of which…” The sudden shame on their expression doesn’t suit them, but before you can comment on it, they take a breath and barrel onwards. [[“I wanted to apologize to you.”->Unexpected Apology]]

“I didn’t want to deal with $sloan giving me a hard time,” you admit. “I always end up embarrassing myself in front of $shim.” Reese smiles sympathetically. “$sloan has a lot on $shis shoulders, and $she can be difficult to deal with at times… but $she is loyal, and I trust $shis judgement most of the time. Though…” The sudden shame on their expression doesn’t suit them, but before you can comment on it, they take a breath and barrel onwards. [[“I wanted to apologize to you.”->Unexpected Apology]]

You watch them go in silence. The conversation was brief and yet you feel more tired than you did when it began. It’s hard to think about the ways you are restricted now. So much mischief that you’re missing out on. Perhaps you can convince the rebels that you can have a little more freedom to roam the area. Not too far, of course. There are demon bears in these woods. Even worse, there are chickens. You heave a sigh, and rest until $sloan comes to bother you again. All told, [[Ending a Day of Treason<-you are quite ready for bed.]]

“Hold up!” you call out after them. Reese pauses and turns over their shoulder to look at you. “Yes?” “Thanks,” you say. “Really.” An almost fond smile graces their lips. “Regardless of the circumstances, I believe you will find your place here, $name. Don’t fret.” You heave a sigh, and rest until $sloan comes to bother you again. All told, [[Ending a Day of Treason<-you are quite ready for bed.]]

Kat walks you back to your rooms after a very long conversation about your brother's biceps. Which wasn't so much a conversation as you listening to Kat ramble and trying not to vomit in your mouth. As you walk down the hall, you see a very tired Jeames stumble past, looking very-nearly dead on his feet. He moves sluggishly, as if he can barely stand. Al trails after him. "Jeames, //please// let me accompany you to your room." $pHe sounds exhasperated. But Jeames stubbornly continues his path. "Your Highness, you should be going to bed! I shall handle myself. I'm not an invalid, you know!" "I never said you were, but you look exhausted," Al insists. Jeames nearly topples over, only to be caught by Kat. She supports the old man with his arm thrown over her shoulders. "I've got him, Al. If you could walk with $name, I can take him from here." "Are you sure?" Al asks anxiously, eyeing Jeames as if he may drop dead. Kat nods and gestures for Al and you to head off. The old steward protests as the young guard rolls her eyes fondly and begins to walk him down the hall. Al turns to you. "Well, then. [[I suppose you need an escort?"->Al's Escort]]

Al walks by your side down the hall, leading you to your room with ease. There isn't much to say. Both of you are tired from a long day and ready for bed. You notice, however, that Al hardly looks much better than Jeames. $pHe drifts side-to-side, barely able to keep $phis eyes open. You frown. "Are you going to make it back to your room?" "What?" Al shakes $phis head as if trying to shake away $phis sleepiness. "Yeah, sure. I can do that." "Do what?" you ask, arching a brow. "Er..." $pHe scratches the back of $pher neck sheepishly. "What were we talking about?" As you approach the door to your temporary room, you turn to face $phim. "I don't think you're going to make it back to your room. You look as bad as Jeames, which is worse considering //you// aren't old enough to have seen Christ walk on water." "Jeames isn't that old," Al protests, swaying a bit. "And I can handle a walk to my room. It's not like I'm more tired than anybody else. You and $sloan don't seem to have made it to bed just fine." You roll your eyes. "Sure, but we didn't spend the last several //hours// bathing our brains in the boring brine of //bureaucracy//." "Nice alliteration." "I'm serious," you insist. "I'm not going to nag you, but you should've gone to bed a while ago. I doubt there was anything so important that you couldn't have dealt with it tomorrow." Al refuses to meet your gaze. "I've been away. How can I go sleep when there's so much for me to catch up on?" "Doesn't that also keep Jeames up?" It seems obvious to you. Your father used to scold you for refusing to go to bed when you were told as a child, since it meant that your poor nanny couldn't go to bed either. $pHe looks ashamed. "I... hadn't considered that. In the future, I could perhaps better remember that we all need rest. Thank you for the insight, $name." "Er, sure." You didn't mean to make Al feel bad, but you think maybe this conversation was a good thing as you watch Al trudge back to $phis room. Or, you assume that's where $phe's going. Either way, you hope $phe gets some sleep, now and in the future. All told, [[Ending a Day of Treason<-you are quite ready for bed.]]

You remember fondly the many nights you and Quinn snuck in for an extra snack after dinner and the many chickens you’d seen slaughtered there. The smell of Cook’s baking treats for your mother’s business luncheons permeates your memory, as does the sweet taste of smuggled goodies – Cook always winked at you as you scampered off with your prize. Looking back, you realize that your mother never seemed short despite your thieving ways, and you wonder if the kitchen staff didn’t make a few extra treats for you and your siblings. (display:'Dream of Romance')

When you were very small, your mother would read fables to you and your siblings. You think fondly of the heroic adventures of Lord Handsome and of other, more common stories. You can almost hear your mother telling you the story of the “The Three Little Pigs,” which always became a rant about how there should be some sort of insurance available to cover acts of Big, Bad Wolves, and why didn’t the pigs network with some creatures that were good at building anyway? Then she would smile at you and boop your nose. You used to think that was hilarious. (display:'Dream of Romance')

Back when you were very small, your father would let you curl up playing at his feet while he worked – he had recipes to pen, peasant complaints to address, and correspondence to answer. You would often fall asleep there, listening to the faint sounds of quill on paper and your father humming lullabies under his breath as he worked. Then he would lift you up and carry you to your bed, tuck you in, and kiss your forehead. You treasured those rare little moments between just the two of you, and admittedly you would pretend to have fallen asleep sometimes. He never said anything if he noticed. (display:'Dream of Romance')

Your shoulders relax, your jaw unclenches, and your lips begin to curl up in a soft smile. You feel safe and warm and happy. You feel at home. Then something changes. A face drifts into your thoughts, causing you to tense again, though it is less unpleasant this time. 1.{[[Primary LI Al<-$pname]](color: red+white)[]} 2.{[[Primary LI Quinn<-Quinn]](color: red+white)[]} 3.{[[Primary LI Reese<-Reese]](color: red+white)[]} 4.{[[Primary LI Bandit<-$sloan]](color: red+white)[]}

{(set: $prim to "Al") You imagine Al’s honey-brown eyes gazing gently at you, $phis loosely-coiled coppery-red hair spilling down $phis back. You might not get your childhood home back, but you think maybe you wouldn’t mind coming home to someone as warm and loving as Al, with $phis love of adventure novels and charming idealism.} (if:$pCrush is true)[ It’s crazy that you even got the chance to meet //$phim// -- until a few weeks ago, you thought that you’d be lucky to catch glimpses of $phim at court… if you were ever allowed back. Which you assume you would’ve been… as Bainbridge’s $spouse. And without grease. Or pigs.] But… even if you all survive this, there’s no way you have a future with $phim. $pHe will, in the off-chance you aren’t all beheaded, marry for political gain. Maybe one of the Hapsburgs – you hear they are rather prolific. You, on the other hand, will inherit nothing by law. It’s best to let go of the notion altogether. The idea makes your heart ache in a way that is deeply unfamiliar to you. (display:'Secondary LI Choice')

{(set: $prim to "Quinn") You imagine Quinn joyful laugh and mischievous glint in $qhis eyes. You might never have your childhood back the way it was, but with Quinn, you don’t need it. With $qhim, you’re always home, and you can’t imagine facing the rest of your life without $qhim. Why not make it more official?} But… even if you survive this, there’s no way $qhe would return your feelings. $qHe (cond:$qplural,"have","has") always treated you like a younger $sibling. Being three years older has meant that until recently, you have been playing catch-up with $qhim in terms of hitting milestones. Though the gap seems much smaller now. Still, Quinn has never been shy. If there’s feelings on $qhis part, $qhe would tell you. And $qhe (cond:$qplural,"haven't","hasn't"), so you should just let the notion go. The idea makes your heart ache in a way that is deeply unfamiliar to you. (display:'Secondary LI Choice')

{(set: $prim to "Sloan") Unbidden and //unwanted//, $sloan’s face comes to mind, with sharp cheekbones and a sharper glare. You groan into your pillow – you’re supposed to be relaxing. Thinking happy thoughts. And bandits with nothing better to do than yell at you are not happy thoughts. And yet… (if:$askedAboutQuinn is true)[you think of $sloan assuring you that Quinn would be safe.]} (if: $tellacrophobia is true)[$sHe let you sleep on the ground level when you told $shim of your fear.] $sHe approached you that first night after you “joined” (and you use that term //very// loosely) the rebellion and attempted to comfort you. (if:$nightExcursion is "Sloan")[And tonight was almost magical.] Most of all, $sloan has always treated you as capable. Like you can actually do things. You shake the thought from your head. $sloan may be kind sometimes, but $she probably thinks you're an idiot. That's fine. You don't need $shim to like you. Even if that makes your heart ache in a deeply unfamiliar way. (display:'Secondary LI Choice')

{(set: $prim to "Reese") You picture Reese’s dark, intelligent eyes and melodic voice. You might not get your childhood home back, something that Reese understands all too well. You’ve recognized the loneliness that haunts their eyes in the moments that they let the calm, collected mask slip. You know you can’t cure it, but maybe you could soothe it?} But even if you survive this rebellion, you may not have any future with them. You don’t know how their parents feel about marriage, but you’re certain you have nothing to offer. You can’t inherit anything my law, and any standing you did have is certainly gone now. Maybe Reese wouldn’t care, but you doubt they’d stand against their parents. It’s best to let go of the notion altogether. The idea makes your heart ache in a way that is deeply unfamiliar to you. (display:'Secondary LI Choice')

{(set: $second to "none") (set: $lovetriangle to false) }//Selecting a love interest here will begin a love triangle. Secondary love interests are currently limited to Al and Quinn, and are conditional.// Banishing the thoughts from your mind, you… 1.{(if:$prim is not "Quinn")[{[[Seconday LI Quinn<-…think of Quinn, and now you feel uncertain.]]} (color: red+white)[]](else:)[You do not meet the qualifications for this route. (color: red+white)[]]} 2.{(if: $pCrush is true and $prim is not "Al")[{[[Secondary LI Al<-…think of Al.]]} (color: red+white)[]](else:)[You do not meet the qualifications for this route. (color: red+white)[]]} 3.{[[Drift off to sleep.->Go the FUCK to Sleep]]}

{(set: $second to "Quinn") (set: $lovetriangle to true) }If you were confused before, your head is now a right mess. Why do your feelings for $primary make you feel so guilty when you think about Quinn? It’s not like you would ever abandon your best friend, and, well, it’s not like there’s anything //there// in the first place. $qHe (cond:$qplural,"have","has") always treated you like a younger $sibling. Being three years older has meant that until recently, you have been playing catch-up with $qhim in terms of hitting milestones. Though the gap seems much smaller now. You roll over, miserable. Of course, you only like people unavailable to you. Maybe you’re doomed to a life of (cycling-link:"bachelordom","spinsterhood"). [[Go the FUCK to Sleep<-Drift off...]]

{(set: $second to "Al") (set: $lovetriangle to true) }If you were confused before, your head is now a right mess. You’ve liked Al for years, and now that you’ve had the chance to meet them, you’ve felt the draw between you. $pHe is charming and handsome/beautiful. And totally out of your league. Maybe that’s what makes you hesitant to even consider them as an option. And yet… You roll over, miserable. Of course, you only like people unavailable to you. Maybe you’re doomed to a life of (cycling-link:"bachelordom","spinsterhood"). [[Go the FUCK to Sleep<-Drift off...]]

(if:$lovetriangle is false)[You roll over, miserable. Of course, you only like someone totally unavailable to you. Maybe you’re doomed to a life of (cycling-link:"bachelordom","spinsterhood"). ]But hey, maybe marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. After all, while your siblings seem mostly happy, all is not marital bliss. Ayland and their husband Binet get into some right nasty spats, and you know Tarquin embarrasses Clem immensely sometimes. Still, you’ve seen the way your father’s eyes spark after your mother pitches her latest scheme, and the fond glances she shoots him mid-monologue when he carries on about flavor profiles. Maybe you can have that, even a little bit. Closing your eyes yet again, you drift off to sleep. [[It’s not as peaceful as you’d like.->Interlude: The King]]

####(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")+(size:1.5)[Interlude] (font: "Copperplate")[In Which Things Happened in the North]] {(set:$chapterCount to 6) }(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-time:3s)[{ }(align:"=><=")[//Nine Years Ago//] The smoke billows up behind Reginald, leaving a thick haze over the countryside. Screams of panicked peasants echo amongst the hills as they scramble to escape with their lives. Reginald expects that they will flee, spreading word of what happened here today. The fire will likely burn for hours yet, sending a warning of ash and debris to neighboring estates. //Good.// He wants them to know. This is what becomes of those who seek to oppose Heaven’s mandate. //He// won all those years ago, through fire and bloodshed. //He// has survived every assassination attempt and failed coup. //He// is inevitable, chosen by God Almighty to rule this land, and rule it he shall. Percival Strangewayes and his children, thirteen-year-old Gareth and ten-year-old Isabel , walk before him, chained and heavily guarded. Their faces are grim, darkened with soot and fear. Reginald should have ended their line years ago, when the previous duke, Ulric, sided with his brother Prince Cuthbert. He had been too weak then, too easily influenced by his boyhood days with Percival. Had he been stronger, his old friend would have hanged that day, alongside his traitorous father and Reginald’s older brother. The day is as clear in his mind as if it were yesterday: Cuthbert, Ulric, and all of their ilk, standing against him after they refused to bend the knee. Fools, all of them. Did they truly believe he //wished// to spill his own blood? He had won, fair and square, and taken both city and crown. God had favored the bold that day, as he knew He would. [[And yet they persisted, calling him a greedy, grasping tyrant. ->The Love Lost]] ]

(set: $name to $nametemp) (set: $house to $housetemp) (set: $beerco to $beercotemp) (redirect: "Character Creation")

{(link-repeat:"Save Menu")[ (dialog: [{ (link-repeat: "Save Slot A")[(save-game:"Slot A",) (if:(save-game:"Slot A"))[{[ Saved!] (display:"Save Slot A")}](else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot A')[ (link:'Load Slot A')[(loadgame:'Slot A')]]} {(link-repeat: "Save Slot B")[(save-game:"Slot B") (if:(save-game:'Slot B'))[ Saved!] (else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot B')[ (link:'Load Slot B')[(loadgame:'Slot B')]]} {(link-repeat: "Slot C")[(save-game:"Slot C") (if:(save-game:'Slot C'))[ Saved!](else: )[ Error: game not saved.] ] (if:(saved-games:) contains 'Slot C')[ (link:'Load Slot C')[(loadgame:' Slot C')]]} ], "Close Menu") ]}

(set:_randName to (random:1,11)) (if:_randName is 1)[ (set: $tempname to "Avery") ] (else-if:_randName is 2)[ (set: $tempname to "Betrys") ] (else-if:_randName is 3)[ (set: $tempname to "Cassidy") ] (else-if:_randName is 4)[ (set: $tempname to "Eirian") ] (else-if:_randName is 5)[ (set: $tempname to "Gwenfrewi") ] (else-if:_randName is 6)[ (set: $tempname to "Idris") ] (else-if:_randName is 7)[ (set: $tempname to "Pierrick") ] (else-if:_randName is 8)[ (set: $tempname to "Rhianon") ] (else-if:_randName is 9)[ (set: $tempname to "Sawyer") ] (else-if:_randName is 10)[ (set: $tempname to "Tam") ] (else:)[ (set: $tempname to "Wynne") ] (redirect:"Name Selection")

Yet, almost a decade ago, //they// had been the ones to kidnap Eleanora and $pname, his queen and heir. It was a craven act, to snatch a wisp of girl and an infant child from their beds in the middle of the night. The imprisonment of his nephew may have been harsh, but it was necessary to end the war. Eleanora and $pname had posed no threat – Reginald could, after all, find a new queen and sire another heir. He had set aside a woman and child before when he realized their utter inappropriateness for the role. He could very well do it again. No, the cowards had captured innocents because they thought to bargain with their lives. Images of their execution flood his mind. His brother’s final words from the gallows: //Blood begets blood, Reggie//. The release of the trap doors. The subdued crowd that knew better than to weep for traitors. The one boy who dared still. Percival, then but 24 years of age, glaring at Reginald, his green eyes were filled with hate and grief. Reginald knew then the threat the man posed, but he ignored it for nearly two decades. Back then, he had been too soft, unable to stomach yet another death. He had wept for his own father’s death, he had thought. Why should he begrudge Percival’s tears? Perhaps he would come to his senses soon. After all, Percival was no fool. Now that man marches in chains, first to the Spire, and then to the gallows, like his father before him. As for the children… it can hardly be public. To hang a lord’s children would put his rule at risk. Fear is effective, but hate is dangerous. He will take them into his household, keep them close. Perhaps the boy will be taken by a riding accident, once enough time has passed and the House of Lords has settled. The girl might catch a chill and slip away into that good night. As if aware of Reginald’s musings, Percival grinds to a halt and turns to face Reginald. He ignores the guard that attempts to urge him forward. “Your Majesty, I am aware my life is forfeit, but I ask you a favor still. For the sake of the friendship we once shared.” “I believe you have already spent that favor,” Reginald says, barely keeping his rage in check. The audacity of the man, to ask a favor after his betrayal. “I let you live once for that friendship, and you threw it back in my face. You were caught red-handed working with those seeking to usurp me. What do you think I owe you?” Percival swallows harshly, averting his gaze, which wanders to his children. He takes a breath, deep and steadying. “Reggie, please… I know what I’ve done. I ask – no, I beg of you, let my children go free. They were never involved with my… indiscretions. Please, from one father to another, do not punish them for my actions.” //Fool me once…// At least he has the sense to beg, but it still annoys Reginald, that Percival leans on a friendship that //he// clearly holds no regard for. Still, Reginald’s eye wanders back to the children. Young and impressionable, if he can find the proper balance between the carrot and the stick. Strangewayes is a vassal to the king and holds significant power in the north, where the crown’s rule is weakest. Reginald himself has been busy ruling, with hardly any time to lend to matters of his own household. His heir would someday need to hold the north. Perhaps a political marriage is in order. “We shall see.” “Thank you, Your Majesty,” the duke says, lowering his gaze submissively. He is terribly convincing in his bowing and scraping. [[Too convincing.->The Wrath of Heaven]]

An unease settles over Reginald. If not for de Renault’s spies, he would have never routed this rebellious attempt on his life. While Percival had remained stubbornly distant for an entire decade, he had eventually sent a letter, addressing Reginald properly with his regnal name, and requested forgiveness for the years of distance between them. It had secretly pleased Reginald that Percival had finally let go of his grudge. The two men had slipped seamlessly into friendship again, just as if they were boys together once more. He had thought even that their children might one day wed, to show the northern lords that his hold here was still strong. Nearly another decade had passed, and now the disgraced duke is again his enemy. //Something has shifted,// he thinks. Someone has been slipping poisonous words to his friend, leading him to question God’s will. He will have de Renault lay a trap for them and lure them out. [[The wrath of Heaven shall not be denied.->The Footrace]]

Shrieks of laughter and breathless giggles fill the air, and your bare feet smack against the ground. You trip over a rabbit hole and fall to your knees. Ignoring the stinging sensation, you pull yourself back to your feet quickly and keep running. You must be faster! You cannot allow this victory to be taken from you! Yet your strength flags, your calves ache, and your skinned knees sting. Alas! Being the smallest of the lot is not fun at all. Even Emma, just two years older, has hit her growth spurt and shot up like a spring sapling. Behind you, your pursuers gain on you as you are forced to slow down. The scrapes on your knees are just too distracting! You curse under your breath as Aelric passes you, Emma quick on his heels. Collapsing into the cool grass, you cry out, “Quinn! Avenge me!” Quinn’s brows crease with a determined frown from $qhis place at the starting line. With a drawn-out yawn, $qhe (cond:$qplural, "unfold", "unfolds") {$qhim(cond:$qplural,"selves","self")} from $qhis cross-legged position and begins to race. In moments, $qhe speed/speeds from a respectable jogs to a full out sprint. $qHe (cond:$qplural, "overtake","overtakes") Emma easily, and she shrieks in protest. Aelric glances over his shoulder and grins at Quinn. “Oh, no, you don’t!” Your brother speeds up, pulling further ahead, but you know it’s useless. Aelric is already flagging, having spent his energy. His breathing is labored as he expends the last of his vigor, only for Quinn to pass him and reach the rock at the edge of the forest that marks the finish line. You cheer in delight, darting to $qhis side and throwing your arms around $qhis torso. “Victory!” You don’t even know why the four of you bother with footraces anymore. Quinn is the fastest and has the most stamina. You asked him once how $qhe did it, but $qhe just wiggled $qhis fingers at you and said it was a magic trick. And magicians never reveal their secrets. You had pointed out that Quinn was a fool, not a magician, but $qhe insisted it was the same principle. “We are the champions!” Quinn pumps $qhis fist in the air. “That’s us!” You stick your tongue out at your brother and sister as they approach with bruised egos. Aelric scowls. “That’s not fair! $name, you can’t just count Quinn’s crossing the line as your win.” “Can too!” “Can not!” He points accusingly at Quinn. “You weren’t even racing! You said you didn’t want to!” Quinn shrugs. “I changed my mind.” “And $qhe //still// won!” you crow, much to Aelric’s annoyance. “Take that, Ricky!” [[“Enough!”->Emma Intervenes]]

Emma puts her hands on her hips, bearing no nonsense. She glances between the three of you with a sniff. “Aelric, Quinn won fair and square, even if $qhe started later. $qHe still began at the starting line. However,” she turns to face you and Quinn. “$name, you can’t have a teammate. It’s not fair if you have someone else run for you. So, you’re in last place. And Quinn, you //have// to participate for yourself.” Chastised, the three of you remain silent. Eventually, Aelric casts a nervous glance at the edge of the forest, then at the setting sun. “We should head back.” “Scared?” Emma teases. She stares into the forest with a pensive frown, then a mischievous grin spreads across her face. For all that she acts like a grown-up sometimes, she’s still only twelve. “I think we should go further in.” “Are you crazy?!” Aelric throws his hands up. “Absolutely not! Mom’ll kill us if we do that! Do you really want a lecture about how she spent six hours in labor with you?” Six hours had actually been one of your mother’s fastest labors, but she claimed that she became more efficient with each child. However, given that she had spent nearly two days laboring over your oldest sibling and had taken more than a dozen children to get to Emma, she had spent nearly two weeks in labor, all told. Whenever one of you annoyed her, she often reminded the offending child of those two weeks. Actually, it was precisely twelve days, twenty hours and thirteen minutes. Emma rolls her eyes. “Don’t be silly. She won’t know if you don’t blab. What about you, $name? It’s your birthday soon. Don’t you want to go on an adventure?” You peer as far as you can into the forest. The stone marks the edge of where you’re allowed to play. Your mother forbade all of you from entering the forest on your own, telling stories of faeries waiting to snatch away naughty children who wander too far from home. Thurstan told you the real reason you weren’t allowed was that it belonged to the king, and the only reason your father was allowed to ship his beer carts through was with the king’s official blessing. Still, your mother had made a very convincing case for the faeries. 1.{(if:$reckless is false)[{[[You’re too scared.->Frightened of the Forest]]}](else:)[(color: red+white)[] //You are too reckless//.]} 2.{[[You want to enter the forest.->Enter the Forest]]}

You shake your head. In a small voice, you tell your sister, “I don’t think we should go.” Emma’s face falls. She pleads with you, “Come //on,// $name. What if there would be something //really awesome// in there?” “Or something really scary,” Aelric argues. He swallows nervously. “Emma, please. Let’s go home before we get into trouble. Quinn bites $qhis lip and studies your face. Then $qhe say/says, “If you don’t want to go in, then I won’t either. If you do want to… I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. I swear.” “I, er…” you swallow nervously. All three of them loom over you. You don’t want Quinn to think you’re a baby. $qHe(cond:$qplural,"'re","'s") always so fearless. “I want to go.” $qHe nods. “Then we’ll go.” Emma grins, while Aelric scowls. [[The forest looms before you.->The Retreat]]

You nod firmly. Admittedly, you are scared. What if your mother is right about the fairies? Or worse, what if she finds out you disobeyed her? Still, you refuse to avoid the forest out of fear. Besides, you’re not a little kid anymore – you’re almost ten! “Let’s do it.” Emma grins, while Aelric scowls. [[The forest looms before you.->The Retreat]]

“Hold on, now!” Aelric protests. “As the oldest, I am making an executive decision that we go home.” “You aren’t the oldest,” Emma points out. “That would be Quinn – by a whole month. You want to go, don’t you Quinn?” Quinn shrugs again. “If $name goes, then I’m going.” “That’s not an answer! You can’t just base what you’re doing on what $name wants!” Your best friend wrinkles $qhis face in displeasure. “It //is// an answer. I’ll do what $name wants. You’re just mad it’s not what you want. If you feel that strongly about it, go tell Lady Elinor.” You and Emma stiffen, sharing an alarmed look. But Aelric, thankfully, folds immediately. “Fine. We’ll go into the stupid forest.” Emma takes a few cautious steps into the forest, glancing around furtively, like she expects someone to leap from the bushes and arrest her for trespassing. When nothing happens she turns to you and grins. "It's fine! Come on, let's explore!" "Oh, shit," Quinn mutters, squinting at the horizon. Aelric grabs you by the arm. "We need to go home, //''now''//." Emma frowns. "What is it?" "Nothing good!" Aelric is already running, dragging you behind him. Your shoes are laying in a pile near your starting line, but Aelric ignores them altogether. As does Quinn, who merely shouts at your sister to run before turning in the direction of the castle. $qHe (cond:$qplural, "glance","glances") in your direction to ensure that you are running too. A small stone cut your foot, and you cried out in pain, limping a few steps. "Ricky!" Aelric stops and picks you up. He's only four years older, and he grunts as he takes on your weight. You wrap your arms around his neck as he rushes forward, panic lending him strength. Over his shoulder, you see Emma chasing after you, eyes wild with panic and confusion. Beyond her, above the trees, you see [[great plumes of black smoke rising.->The Smoke]]

//A forest fire?// you think, clutching tighter to your brother. "Ricky?" "It's fine!" he snaps. "Is Emma following us?" "Y-yes!" Every few months, your mother lined you and your siblings up to lecture you on fire safety. She told you that fires could spread fast. You stare at the billowing, black smoke that's beginning to choke out the sun. Where is the fire? In the forest? In one of the villages beyond? You hear distant shouting, then Quinn cries out, "Sir Merewin! Here!" At the same time, Aelric cries out, "Dad!" Twisting your neck around, you're just able to make out three figures on horseback, racing toward you. It's your father and two of your elder siblings, Ayland and Thurstan. Thurstan slows to a halt in front of Quinn and pulls him up onto the horse before continue alongside Ayland until they reach you. Your father father rides past at full speed toward Emma. "I'm grabbing Emma! Thurstan, Ayland, grab Ricky, $name, and Quinn!" Aelric sets you down. Immediately, you reach for... 1.{[[Thurstan->Thurstan Rescue]]} 2.{[[Ayland->Ayland Rescue]]}

You reach out to your brother needily. At sixteen years old, Thurstan is built like an ox and never scare of anything. He doesn't hesitate to pull you onto his horse single-handedly and seat you in front of himself. Quinn clings to Thurstan from behind and squeezes your hand comfortingly. You squeeze back. "I've got Quinn and $name," Thurstan tells Ayland. "You got Ricky, right?" Ayland is helping Aelric onto their horse with a grunt. They glance up. "Yes. I've got him." The five of you gallop back toward the castle. In a tiny voice, you say, "Thurstan?" "What's up, Mite?" he asks. You're too shaken to protest the nickname. "Is there a forest fire?" "Don't know," he replies tersely. "But Dad saw the smoke while we were out visiting the farmers. He remembered you four had gone this way to play, so we came to get you. Better safe than dead." "We were about to die?" you cry out in alarm. As if this wasn't scary enough! He winces. "No, probably not. I bet it gave you a good scare though, huh? You shouldn't be playing so near those woods anyway. Even if they didn't belong to the king, it's still not safe for a pipsqueak like you." "I'm not a pipsqueak!" You pout. "But... do you mean because of the fairies?" Thurstan groans. "No, I //told// you the fairies aren't real. Mom made them up to scare some sense into you, not that it worked. But the lynxes and wolves are definitely real, and they're mean. They'll gobble you up, so you have better stay away from the forest." "We'll be okay as long as we stay outside though, right?" Playing near the woods is fun. You don't want to give it up, even though you want to be eaten by a lynx even less. "No. Animals don't understand borders. You need to stay away altogether." He sighs. "And that means you too, Quinn. We don't need any of you getting eaten, you hear?" [[And oh, boy, was there a lecture waiting for you at home.->Chapter 6: Emma]]

You reach out to your sibling anxiously. Ayland has been a mother hen for all seventeen years of their life, and they reach out to pull you onto their horse with a grunt. "There you go." Thurstan pulls Aelric onto his own horse almost one-handed and with significantly more ease than you had. "I've got Quinn and Ricky. You two secure?" Ayland adjusts you on their saddle. Their horse is smaller than Thurstan's, but you fit well enough. They nod firmly. "I've got $them." The five of you gallop back toward the castle. Once you've been riding for a few minutes, Ayland begins their scolding. "What were you thinking, playing so close to the woods? Hasn't Mom told you a thousand times that it's dangerous? Don't you have any sense?" "It was fine until we saw the smoke," you protest. "And Emma even went into the woods, and nothing happened!" "What?!" Ayland shrieks. "You're kidding me -- you actually went in!? Those woods belong to His Majesty. Do you know what he does to children who enter without his permission? Nothing good, that's what! He--" You shrink into yourself, imagining all the horrible things he might do to you. Would he cook you in a pot, like the witches in your mother's fairytales? Or would he put you in the stocks for three days without supper? Would he give you over to his chickens? You tremble in fear at the thought. Ayland breaks off their rant. "Er, well... There, there. No need to be frightened. Just... be careful, alright? The king won't go easy just because you're little. He's not that kind of man. Besides, there's all sorts of nasties in those woods." "Like fairies?" you sniffle. "Yes..." they reply slowly. "And lynxes. And wolves. They might look nice to pet, but they bite pretty hard. But at least nothing happened today. We'll be safe at home soon." [[And oh, boy, was there a lecture waiting for you at home.->Chapter 6: Emma]]

####(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[(text-color: #FCBACB)+(font: "Copperplate Gothic")+(size:1.5)[Chapter Six] (font: "Copperplate")[In Which You Push Off Your Responsibilities Onto Someone Else]] {(set:$chapterCount to 6) }(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-time:3s)[{ (align:"=><=")[//Now//] } You are pulled out of your reverie by //yet another// bump in the road. Forget the tourney, you’re going to have a strongly worded conversation with your sister about the state of her roads! How is anybody supposed to travel like this? You blink and wriggle in your seat, trying to stretch as much as you can. The carriage was admittedly spacious, but with four people it was a little crowded. [[“Are we there yet?”->chapter 6 intro hub]]]

{= (if: $prim is "Al")[(display:"Chapter 6 Intro: Al Version")] (else-if: $prim is "Sloan")[(display:"Chapter 6 Intro: Bandit Version")] (else-if: $prim is "Quinn")[(display:"Chapter 6 Intro: Quinn Version")] (else-if: $prim is "Reese")[(display:"Chapter 6 Intro: Reese Version")]

“Not quite,” Al replies without glancing up from $phis book, $phis voice soft and distance. $pHis eyes scan the page intently, brows furrowed in concentration. $pHe’s barely breathing and the tip of $phis tongue sticks out between $phis teeth as $phe reads. It’s distractingly charming. You assume $phe reaches the end of a chapter, because $phe snaps $phis book closed and asks, “What’s your sister like?” An excellent question. How does one categorize Lady Emma Blindhill? Emma is (cycling-link: bind _emmaDescription, "bossy","brave","your //other// best friend… once"). Next. (click-replace:"Next.")[{ }(if:_emmaDescription is "bossy")[You roll your eyes dramatically. “Emma is //suuuper// bossy. She’s a take-charge kind of woman. Probably someone you’d want planning a party. Far away from you.” “That bad, huh?” Al chuckles.]{ }(else-if:_emmaDescription is "brave")[You smile despite yourself. “Brave. Once she trapped like a million chickens for me.” “What?” Al blinks at you, taken aback. You nod. “She put them all in the midden. No one is sure how she did it.”]{ }(else:)[You wince, thinking about how angry she was last time you saw her. “We… used to be really close. She hadn’t spoken to me in months.” “That bad, huh?” Al grimaces.] You recall that Al is an only child. “What was it like growing up without siblings? Did you not have anyone to play with at all?” Al bites $phis lip. “Well… It’s hard to remember. I think it was just Mother and I for a while. Father would visit us in our apartments. That’s how I met Kat . She was working in the kitchens then, as a scullery maid, and it was her job to bring us our food.” (cond: $ch5 is "castle","Kat","Kat, Al’s current bodyguard,") snorts. “I remember the first time we met. You acted like you had never even //seen// another kid before.” You get the distinct feeling that $phe hadn’t. “Were you locked in your apartments?” “Er, yes. Father always said it was too dangerous for us to leave. That I was the only heir, and it was my duty to stay safe.” $pHe avoids your gaze, looking guilty for some reason. “I remember once when I had a terrible fever. Our apartments went on lockdown and Father stayed the whole night by my side until the fever broke. I…” $pHe trails off. Kat watches $phim with a look you can’t quite place. She doesn’t know what $phe’s planning, but you are all too aware. You think of your own father, whose back had always ached too much to play with you, but who would still tuck you into bed at night. “Was he affectionate, then?” Kat snorts. Al continues to avoid your gaze. “Not really. But I am his only heir.” Suddenly, Al claps $phis hands, startling you and Kat both. Brightly, $phe asks, “Tell me, though. What are your parents like?” “Like any other set of parents, I guess,” you say with a shrug. You imagined that most kids had to deal with the same nonsense from their parents as you had. “Sometimes they were too busy for us, but we never wanted for anything. They did betroth me to //Bainbridge//, so there’s that.” “May I ask why you—” $pHe nearly jumps out of $phis skin when the carriage jerks to a halt. “What the…?” You frown at the sudden stop. “Okay, I know I asked, but I know we’re not actually there yet.” “Hold on,” Kat says. She gestures for the both of you to stay put as she exits the carriage, one hand on the hilt of her sword. The door is shut firmly behind her. [[Well->Royals Who Do Nothing]]]

“Is it your goal to sound like a child?” $sloan sighs, glancing up from $shis breviary. $sHe has dressed in clean, well-crafted, but austere clothing, with $shis normally curly hair twisted into locs and decorated with beads. (if: $sloan is "Sloan")[His face is clean-shaven.] The glint of a silver rosary peeks out from under $shis collar. All in all, $she looks rather dashing. “We’ll be there when we’re there.” You groan dramatically. “I hate traveling. It’s so very tiresome that I think I might die.” “Oh, come on, we’ve only been on the road for two hours!” $sHis full attention is on you now, as $she slips the breviary into an inner pocket. Despite the undercurrent of annoyance in $shis voice, you find it rather thrilling. “You can’t be telling me that’s too much for you?” “When I travel with my family, we play games to make the time pass. You two are just reading.” Your mother often carried several decks of cards for the purpose of entertaining her children. Al looks up with a start from $phis novel with a guilty grimace. “I’m sorry, I’m being a terrible host—” $pHe’s interrupted by a sudden jolt as the carriage suddenly halts. You’re nearly thrown into $sloan. Nearly, dash it all. Not that you want to be tossed into the bandit’s lap, but if you //were//, you were sure $she would be annoyed. $She was intriguing when $she was annoyed. Al drops $phis book, causing a loud //thump// as it hits the floor. “What the—?” $sloan has already leapt to $shis feet, bracing a hand against the roof to prevent the motion from knocking $shim back to the bench. Which means that $she is hunched over you, a hand pressed against the wall above your head. You swallow nervously. $sloan barely seems to notice how close $she is to you. Or so you thought. Al reaches out, catching $shim by the sleeve, and $she nearly jumps out of $shis skin. “I should go see what that was. You two wait here.” $sloan tries to tug $shis arm back but $phe doesn’t let go. “$pshort, let go.” Al shakes $phis head. “I don’t need you to jump into action. It might just be a pothole or something on the road. There’s no need to get worked up.” Before $sloan can think of a retort, the door opens, revealing a very grim-faced Kat. “$pname, I need to speak with you privately. It’s urgent.” The gravity of her countenance cannot be missed. The (lowercase:$prince) stands, sliding past $sloan and stepping onto the road. $pHe glances back over $phis shoulder. “I’ll be right back. [[Please remain here for now.->Alone with Sloan]]”

“Not yet.” Quinn sounds as bored as you feel. $qHe (cond:$qplural, "tug","tugs") at one of $qhis (cond:$qhe is "he", "blond","blonde") curls absently. “Keep asking, though. Perhaps the answer will change and save both of us this torture.” “It will, in fact, change,” Al points out, barely glancing up from $phis novel. “That’s the point of travel, after all.” “Not soon enough!” you protest. It already felt like hours. You were sure how much longer you could take it. Quinn raises an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you’re so eager to get there. You know how Emma gets when she’s angry.” You shudder involuntarily. Emma is (cycling-link: bind _emmaDescription, "bossy","fierce","your //other// best friend… once"). Next. (click-replace:"Next.")[{ }(if:_emmaDescription is "bossy")[Emma takes charge and doesn’t back down. “Yeah, I’m expecting the lecture to end all lectures.” “She’s learned from the master,” Quinn sighs. “Lady Elinor perfected the art, but Emma takes it to the next level.” “Her poor children will feel her disapproval before she’s even caught them.” You shudder to think of it. Al glances up from $phis book. “You make her sound like a witch from a fairytale.” “Oh, Emma is real, alright,” Quinn replies. ]{ }(else-if:_emmaDescription is "fierce")[Emma once trapped what must have been a million chickens in the midden for you. No one ever figured out how she did it. You, of course, had been immensely grateful for your sister’s aid in your eternal war against the feathered fiends. Your mother had been exasperated. Given that it was the first time you came out of your room in days, though, she let Emma’s chicken-wrangling slide and hired a few more temporary workers to handle the chicken problem. You hate to imagine that fierce determination turned against you. “I hope you’re ready for the lecture,” Quinn teases. “I shall be searching for a tapestry to cower behind.” You gasp. “Traitor! You would leave me to face the dragon alone?!” $qHe (cond:$qplural, "grin","grins"). “I have total faith in your abilities.”]{ }(else:)[Emma had always been fond of you, and you had admired her in turn. But the two of you haven’t spoken in months. You are uncertain whether her temper has cooled toward you or not. “This is going to be awkward.” “Indeed it is,” Quinn replies. “Emma was quite furious the last I saw her. I think she might actually have slapped you if Thurstan hadn’t held her back.” “//Thurstan// held her back?” You raise your eyebrows. Thurstan, your fifth-youngest brother, is typically the first to start launching projectiles at you. $qHe (cond:$qplural, "wince","winces"). “I believe he was more worried about Emma’s well-being than yours. He was also quite angry with you.” You don’t entirely recall how that night proceeded, though you feel (cycling-link: "shame","embarrassment") flood your cheeks as the details are recounted in front of Al.] “Well,” Quinn chirps, clapping $qhis hands together brightly, “At least we have the $prince with us. That should grant us some amnesty from Emma’s wrath.” “Me?” Al chokes out, closing their book in their lap. “This rather sounds like a family issue.” “Yeah, but perhaps Emma will behave if you’re there. She wouldn’t throttle me in front of a member of the royal family.” (if:$pCrush is true)[“Particularly not //$prince $pname//,” Quinn adds slyly. Your cheeks heat up as Al tilts $phis head at $qhim curiously. “Why me in particular?” “No particular reason,” you bluster, glaring at Quinn. “Quinn, quit being weird and cryptic!” ]Al squirmed awkwardly in $phis seat. “I’m not sure if—” The carriage jerks to a sudden halt then, launching Quinn, who had been perched quite precariously, across the aisle. Lithe limbs flew, like a cat desperately trying to right itself midair. $qHe (cond:$qplural, "land","lands") in your lap, a hand planted firmly on either side of your head and $qhis face pressed into the crook of your neck. For a few moments, you are stunned. Your chests are pressed against one another, and you can feel a hammering against your ribs. It might be your own heartbeat, but you can’t be sure. Then Quinn springs off of you and back into $qhis own seat, $qhis pale cheeks turning scarlet. You can’t tell whether you are relieved or disappointed. Nervously brushing yourself off, you say, [[“We can’t possibly be there.”->Alone with Quinn]]]

“Would you not know the road to your own sister’s castle better than we would?” Reese raises an eyebrow at the question. “You have asked about forty times now. The answer is the same as the last.” “That was actually the thirty-seventh time,” Al points out, barely glancing up from $phis novel. You squirm in your seat. The benches are at least padded, but you feel like you’ve been travelling for hours. “Eventually the answer will change.” “True.” Reese sighs and turns to gaze out the window, giving you a full view of their profile. They’re dressed down today in a brightly colored half-sleeve shirt with gold embroidery, and they’ve kept their jewelry limited to a pair of earrings, a simple gold nose pin, and a few unadorned rings. While it is far from the splendor of wealth they displayed upon your first meeting, they appear no less elegant. Indeed, the afternoon sun catches on their accoutrements and creates almost a halo around them. And it’s suitable for the pensive frown they wear as they watch the countryside go by. Once, when you were small, you travelled to York with your father on a business trip and he took you to the grand cathedral there. Reese reminds you of the massive stained-glass windows you had been in awe of as a child. Part of you wonders if this what saints looked like. “What is she like?” Reese’s gentle, deep voice shakes you out of it. “Your sister, I mean.” “Oh.” You consider the question. How does one categorize Lady Emma Blindhill? Emma is (cycling-link: bind _emmaDescription, "bossy","brave","your //other// best friend… once"). Next. (click-replace:"Next.")[{ }(if:_emmaDescription is "bossy")[You roll your eyes dramatically. “Emma is //suuuper// bossy. She’s a take-charge kind of woman. Probably someone you’d want planning a party. Far away from you.” Reese chuckles. “I feel she would get on famously with my mother. Mother loves a strong woman.”.]{ }(else-if:_emmaDescription is "brave")[You smile despite yourself. “Brave. Once she trapped like a million chickens for me.” Reese’s lips curl up in a hint of a smile. “A devoted elder sister, then.” You snort. “Yeah, I guess. She put them all in the midden. No one is sure how she did it.”]{ }(else:)[You wince, thinking about how angry she was last time you saw her. “We… used to be really close. She hadn’t spoken to me in months.” Reese’s gaze drops. “I’m sorry, that must be difficult.” You look away. “A little bit, yeah.”] “My parents always wanted to have more children,” Reese says. “But it was not meant to be. I think they spoiled me a bit because of that. I never wanted for anything. Books, horses, music lessons… if I wanted it, I got it.” “Is that why you always have so much jewelry?” You don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone wear as much as they do. Not that they’re gaudy about it – you think it’s rather tasteful. Still, it must be difficult to get use out of //all// of it. Reese winces, and Al glances up from $phis book to shoot Reese a sympathetic glance. “Er, no. Some of it is from my parents, but most of my jewelry is sent to me from my grandmother. So that I would not forget my roots. She… was very generous.” The carriage jerks to a sudden halt then, nearly throwing you into your companions. You frown. “We can’t possibly be there.” Al picks up $phis book from where it had been knocked out of their hands and onto the ground. “No, I don’t think we are. Did we hit a pothole?” Reese peers out the window. “Someone might have to go out and check. I can do it, if—” The carriage door opens then, revealing a very grim-faced Kat. “$pname, I need to speak with you privately. It’s urgent.” The gravity of her countenance cannot be missed. The (lowercase:$prince) stands and joins Kat on the road. $pHe glances back over $phis shoulder. “I’ll be right back. [[Please remain here for now.->Alone With Reese]]”]

{ (set: _tempcheck to "null")(set: _check to "null") }The carriage is tense. Al shuts $phis book and sets it in $phis lap. “I do hope everything’s alright.” “I’m sure it’s just a pothole,” you reply. You peek out the window, hoping to see what’s caused the stop. You can’t see anything but the countryside, bright and vibrant as ever. “I’ll talk to my sister about it. I can’t believe her roads are in such a state!” “I am surprised as well,” $phe says. “I thought Blindhill was rather wealthy.” It is. Your sister Emma had married the first son of a family whose fortune was in the wool trade. (click:"It is.")[Their sheep are the hardiest (and the fluffiest) in all of Anglica. They also are the most intelligent; they hardly ever wandered over the edge of a cliff or into a river since your sister had concerned herself with their education. It was quite the sight, watching them gaze up adoringly at her as she lectured.] “It is really weird. I wonder what’s going on?” Al nods, seemingly lost in thought. “I hate sitting in here. I can protect myself in a fight just fine, you know.” “Oh?” You are unaware of any prowess Al might possess. You have heard much of $phis academic accomplishments, but very little of any martial ability. “I’ve never heard of you competing in tourneys.” $pHe chews on his lower lip thoughtfully. “I get… rather nervous in front of crowds. Performance is not my strong suit. Every time I even think about signing up for a tourney, I get sick.” “My sister is like that,” you say. (click:"My sister")[Poor Fritheswith, your eighth youngest sister, could hardly stand to speak more than five words to another person without bursting into tears. When you were very young, you remember a 13-year-old Fritheswith still clinging to your father’s tunic long after you had let go.] “She used to be a lot clingier, but it’s gotten better over the years. My mother would make her help with addressing the household servants //en masse// so she could get practice. Mom always says that the only way out is through.” “Mm.” Al starts bouncing $phis knee and craning $phis neck to see what’s happening outside. ["(cycling-link: bind _tempcheck,"Do you want me to check?","Why don’t we head out to check?")"]<cycling| you offer, beginning to stand. (click:"offer")[(set: _check to _tempcheck){ }(if:_check is "Do you want me to check?")[{ }“I can go check and report back, if you’re worried.” “No!” Al flinches at the sound of $phis own voice. “Sorry. No, it’s quite alright. I’m not going to send you out to check for me. I’ll be fine – Kat knows what she’s doing.”{]{ }(else:)[{ }“We can pop out and take a peek.” “Ah, no…” Al’s cheeks darken with a barely noticeable blush. “It’s quite alright. Kat will be annoyed if I do that. She knows what she’s doing.”] [[You settle back down.->Engagement?!]]]

The two of you sit in awkward silence for a few minutes longer, until you attempt to reinvigorate the conversation. “I know you had Kat and Reese, but what about other children. I’m sure they were clamoring to play with you.” “Ah, yes, well, you might imagine that my father’s court isn’t the place for children. Most nobles left their offspring at home until they were about fourteen or so. Less risk of them offending Father and all.” Al tugs at $phis tunic. “There were two children that I grew up with – wards of my father. Their father died about… ten years ago? My father decided to foster them after that. Isabel still lives with us in the capital, but Gareth returned to take over his estate a few years ago when he came of age. Perhaps you’ve met him? His family name is Strangewayes.” The name rings a bell somewhere in the back of your mind. “Ah, yes. That’s the ducal family. My father pays taxes to him. Are you telling me he’s only a few years older than us?! I thought he was like thirty. He acts old.” Al chuckles and rubs the back of $phis neck. “Aye, that’s Gareth for you. Both of them were always very reserved. They kept to themselves, mostly. I only ever saw them at dinner or sometimes around the palace. Gareth especially seemed to hate me, though Father insisted on us taking our lessons together.” “He wanted you to be friends?” From everything you’d heard, the king hardly seemed the type to acquire friends for his children, unlike your own parents. “I assume…” Now Al looked extremely awkward. $pHe looked away from you, staring at the carriage wall. “I assume it was to make the, uh, marriage go more smoothly. (cond:$pname is "Alastriona", "He is my fiancé.","Gareth’s sister is my fiancée.")” [[// What?//->A Courier Carries a Message]]

Before you can follow up on that line of questioning, Kat returns. Her countenance is grim. “Al, I need to speak with you. It’s urgent.” Al stands and exits gracefully, but as you begin to follow, Kat holds up a hand to stop you. “Sorry, but I need to speak with Al alone.” “Kat, it’s fine. $He is welcome to hear whatever you must tell me.” Al’s encouraging smile warms you, and your heart flutters, but Kat shakes her head. “Apologies, Your Highness,” Kat begins, and Al stiffens at the formal address. (cond:$ch5 is "castle", "You’ve only heard Kat refer to Al by title once before.","You’ve never heard her speak so formally to Al.") “This is a matter of the Crown’s security. I must speak with you alone.” The words have what you can only assume is the intended effect. Al’s shoulders straighten and $phe nods. Until now, Kat and Al have addressed one another as friends. Equals. Now they are a (lowercase:$prince) and a bodyguard. “Of course.” Turning back to you, $phe adds, “My apologies. I’ll return soon. Please wait here.” You sit in the carriage, bored out of your mind, for what feels like hours… but is probably only about twenty minutes. When Kat and Al return, they both look unhappy. Kat’s face has not lost its solemnity, but Al is barely holding in what appears to be genuine terror. $pHe makes eye contact with you, before $phis honey-brown eyes flicker over to Kat and back to you. Ah, $phe can’t say anything about it in front of her. After all, as far as Kat is aware, you are a virtual stranger and the child of a merchant. Why would you have a place in such discussions? You are attending this meeting merely as a guest of your $prince, not as the $sibling of Lady Blindhill. “A courier hailed us down,” Kat informs you. “He was from London, carrying an important missive. He recognized the crest and wished to inform $prince $pname as soon as possible.” [[The rest of the journey continues in tense silence. ->Arrival to Blindhill]]

Blindhill looks different than you remember. Emma’s beloved gardens are withered and dull, and fewer servants walk the grounds. You scrunch your nose, bewildered. “There’s something wrong here.” Emma //had// known the $prince was coming. Al had written ahead, and she had written a gracious-but-impersonal response back a week ago. Your mother had hammered into her children the importance of a good first impression (not that you had ever cared to listen to her lectures, but still!), and you found it hard to believe that Emma would shirk that duty. And yet, the royal carriage rolled along the poorly kept roads, shuddering the whole way. Al frowns. “Has Blindhill been hit this hard?” You blink. “…What?” Al looks at you questioningly, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. (if:$prim is "Sloan")[$sloan frowns at you. “What do you mean, ‘what?’ This is your sister’s manor. Shouldn’t you be aware of what’s going on in Blindhill?” “I told you we aren’t getting along right now,” you protest. “Besides, do you have any idea how many people I’m related to? It has to be like half of Anglica!” “I am rather surprised you didn’t end up engaged to your cousin,” $sloan comments drily.]{ }(else-if: $prim is "Reese")[“I’m surprised you are unaware of the goings-on of Blindhill. This is your sister’s manor, is it not?” Reese queries. “You should know more than we do.” “I told you we aren’t getting along right now,” you protest. “Besides, do you have any idea how many people I’m related to? It has to be like half of Anglica!” Reese snorts. “Your family is certainly… prolific.”]{ }(else-if:$prim is "Quinn")[“It has been,” Quinn replies grimly. “His Majesty has raised taxes to pay for his crusades, particularly in the north. He’s always had it out for us since the late Lord Strangewayes was caught participating in an attempted coupe, but it’s been getting worse. Since Blindhill primarily focuses on wool, they don’t have as much farmland set aside and they’ve been having to import it. Except nobody else has much to spare, so they’ve been paying a premium for it.”]{ }(else:)[“Are you unaware of your sister’s matters?” Al sounds surprised. “I told you we aren’t getting along right now,” you protest. “Besides, do you have any idea how many people I’m related to? It has to be like half of Anglica!” Kat shudders. “I can’t imagine having that many kids.”] (if:$prim is not "Quinn")[“Taxes have increased due to the Crusades,” Al informs you, brushing past their earlier surprise and the ensuing commentary. “Some manors have managed to squeak on by, but some have suffered immensely. It seems Blindhill falls into the latter category.” ]You look out the window again, a mite uncomfortable. You aren’t sure how your parents managed not to be affected, but your sister clearly hasn’t had the same luck. [[“Oh.”->Bullshitting Emma]]

The door shuts behind them, leaving you and $sloan sitting in tense, suffocating silence. It stretches on impressively long. You don’t think you’ve been quiet for this long since you got into a staring contest with your third-eldest sister when you were five. It was only years later that you realized it was a ploy to keep you quiet. You had been aggravated when it had come to you over dinner, but your sister had been married and gone by that time, so you vented your upset by kicking chickens until your mother caught you. You occupy yourself by bouncing your leg, jittery without knowing why. $sloan doesn’t return to $shis devotional, but $she does compulsively fiddle with $shis rosary. If anything, $she seems more agitated than you are. Cautiously, you ask, “Are you okay?” “Why wouldn’t I be?” $sloan’s tone is dangerously close to snappish, but $she pulls back at the last second, her words fading into a mumble. $sHe tries again. “I’m fine. I would simply prefer to not be waiting in here, is all.” “Kat won’t let anything happen to Al.” The words are as soothing as you can make them. You’ve seen the fondness with which $sloan regards the (lowercase:$prince). While you don’t quite understand it – as far as you know, they’ve only known each other for less than a year – you recognize the concern. $sHe drops $shis gaze, almost bashfully, if you didn’t know better. “That’s only part of it. I don’t like relying on others for what I can do for myself. I don’t like not knowing what’s going to happen.” “You sound like my brother.” You roll your eyes. Mervin is always waxing on about how his responsibility as the eldest is ‘steward you young ones as you herald in the bright future’ or whatever. He never let you get away with sledding down the staircase or sneaking off to the tavern after dark. “You wouldn’t happen to be the eldest, would you?” $sloan stills completely. You think you can see the breath caught in $shis throat. “You are!” You cackle, delighted to have the rebel off-guard for once. “Oh, I bet you’re the most //irritating// eldest sibling of all time! You’re probably butting into their business all of the time!” $sHe releases the breath $she’s been holding… but $she doesn’t return the jab. Instead, $she turns away from you and glowers out the window. Oh, no. What if $sloan’s siblings are dead or something? You hadn’t meant to //actually// hurt $shim. “Your family… They aren’t… like, dead… right?” After a long pause, $she sighs. “No, $name, they aren’t dead. You were right. I have a few younger siblings. I’m not close with them, though. I haven’t even really seen most of them in a long time.” As the youngest – and having grown up with a full house – you struggle to imagine what it must be like to not know any of your siblings. Even your eldest siblings, who married before you could form proper memories of living together, would babysit you so regularly that they were practically your bonus parents. “…Why not?” You almost expect $shim to snap at you to mind your business, but… $she doesn’t. Instead, $she says, “My… my father felt that there were too many mouths to feed. He sent me away to live elsewhere when I was eight.” “Did you like it where he sent you?” //Too many mouths to feed…// It’s a strange concept to you. If your parents hadn’t made so much money, would you have been sent away? You remember, then something $sloan said to you. About choices. “You didn’t, did you?” $sloan fiddles with $shis rosary. “I… it wasn’t the worst thing to happen, in the end. I could have been happy there, if things had gone differently. But they didn’t, and I left.” [["Oh."->Surprise Siblings]]

“Oh.” You wonder if $shis family knows where $she is, or if they are looking for $shim. Perhaps they are relieved at one less mouth to feed. You shudder at the thought. Your own parents would never be so callous, you hope. The next words you say feel stiff and inadequate. “I’m sorry.” $sloan shakes $shis head. “There isn’t anything for you to be sorry about. I’ve found my family. To tell it truthfully, I hardly remember my parents or my siblings. It must be very difficult for you. You had something to miss. This sister that we’re calling on today, what’s she like?” You recognize the change in topic and allow it. Though how to summarize Lady Emma Blindhill is a totally different problem. She’s (cycling-link: bind _emmaDescription, "bossy","brave","your //other// best friend… once"). Next. (click-replace:"Next.")[{ }(if:_emmaDescription is "bossy")[You roll your eyes dramatically. “Emma is //suuuper// bossy. She’s a take-charge kind of woman. Probably someone you’d want planning a party. Far away from you.” “Sounds like a woman who knows what she wants,” $sloan says. You can’t tell if $she admires that or if $she’s teasing you. “Figures you’d like that,” you reply. “You’re probably almost as bossy as Emma.” “Just almost?” Definitely teasing. Probably. “I’ll have to try harder.” ]{ }(else-if:_emmaDescription is "brave")[You smile despite yourself. “Brave. Once she trapped like a million chickens for me.” $sloan sighs. “Why am I not surprised in the slightest? I swear, you’ve never told me a normal story about your family.” “What are you even talking about?” You scoff. $sloan must live a boring life. “I’ve never told you a weird story about my family.” “I shudder to think what a weird story entails.” ]{ }(else:)[You wince, thinking about how angry she was last time you saw her. “We… used to be really close. She hadn’t spoken to me in months.” “What did you do?” $sloan sighs. You gasp in outrage. “Why do you assume I did something?” $sHe raises an eyebrow. “Well, fine, I did do something, but it totally could have been her fault!” ] [[The tone in the carriage lightens considerably after that.->Al and Kat Return V1]]]

When Kat and Al return, the mood drops considerably. Kat’s face has not lost its solemnity, but Al is barely holding in what appears to be genuine terror. $sloan catches on to it immediately. “What’s wrong? What happened?” $pHe makes eye contact with $shim, before $phis honey-brown eyes flicker over to Kat and back to the two of you. Ah, $phe can’t say anything about it in front of her. After all, as far as Kat is aware, you are a virtual stranger and the child of a merchant. Why would you have a place in such discussions? You are attending this meeting merely as a guest of your $prince, not as the $sibling of Lady Blindhill. And while Kat is familiar with $sloan, $she is no one but a local peasant. And educated peasant, but one all the same. “A courier hailed us down,” Kat informs you. “He was from London, carrying an important missive. He recognized the crest and wished to inform $prince $pname as soon as possible.” [[The rest of the journey continues in tense silence. ->Arrival to Blindhill]].

The door shuts behind them, leaving you and Reese alone in the carriage. There’s a tense silence that stretches on uncomfortably long. You start to get antsy. “Tell me more about your grandmother.” “What?” Reese flinches at the request. “Why?” You shrug. “You asked about Emma.” “There is not much to tell,” Reese admits. They twist one of their rings fretfully. “She is my father’s mother. She sends me jewelry and a box of candies for Diwali. They are usually stale by the time they arrive, but she sends them anyway. She writes very long letters, but they usually arrive months late. It is… a long road to Bharat.” “Grandmama Wilhelmina only visits a few times a year, too,” you offer, hoping to ease the tension. “My mother and her don’t get along very well. I might have seen her the night I was meant to be engaged, but I ran away.” They give you a pained smile. “I am sure you love your grandmother very much. I do not know mine.” “But you said she sends you gifts and letters,” you protest. You don’t know what Diwali is, but it sounds important. “And she’s your grandmother. She must love you.” They continue to avoid your gaze. “I have not seen her since I was seven, and I have not returned any of her letters since I was twelve. My mother always remembers me in her correspondence, so I did not see the point.” “You haven’t visited at all? Is it that far?” $sloan may have rolled $shis eyes at you for the question, but Reese merely nods. “I have only ever made the journey once, when I came to Anglica with my parents. I do not remember quite how long it was, but it felt like nearly a year. My grandmother is too old to make the journey herself.” “Oh,” you say. 1.{[[Still, you are certain Reese’s grandmother loves them.->Grandmother Loves You]]} 2.{[[It’s hardly fair to judge Reese for not loving a woman they’ve never really known.->Grandma is Far Away]]}

“She still loves you.” It is the way of grandmothers to spoil their grandchildren, after all. Even if they live on a different continent. “You can always write her if you feel badly about it. Grandmothers always forgive that kind of thing.” Reese presses their lips together. “I wish I could, but my grandmother passed away several months ago. I have been a terribly neglectful grandchild, and now there is no undoing it.” (display:"All Grandmas Go to Heaven")

“There’s nothing worth censoring yourself for. You don’t know her.” Occasionally, a great aunt or uncle has approached you at the odd wedding feast or baptism to tell you they knew you when you were a baby, as if that should mean something to you. “She’s your grandmother, but she’s also a stranger. It isn’t your fault.” Reese presses their lips together. “I… wish I had known her. She died several months ago, and now I will never have the chance.” (display:"All Grandmas Go to Heaven")

You swallow and avert your gaze, unsure how to respond. “I’m… sorry for your loss. I had no idea your grandmother was…” Reese watches the countryside with an impassive expression. “You would not have known. I just found out myself. My aunt wrote to my mother when it happened, but the letter did not arrive until recently. Of course, Mother wrote me as soon as she could.” [[With that, the atmosphere in the carriage is significantly heavier than it had been.->Al and Kat Return V3]]

Kat and Al’s return does not improve matters whatsoever. Kat’s face has not lost its solemnity, but Al is barely holding in what appears to be genuine terror. Reese rests a hand on $phis shoulder. “My friend, what is the matter?” $pHe drops $phis gaze, shame washing over $phis features. “I… this is not the time or place to speak of such matters. I will tell you as soon as possible.” $pHis gaze flickers to you, then to Kat. Ah, $phe can’t say anything about it in front of her. After all, as far as Kat is aware, you are a virtual stranger and the child of a merchant. Why would you have a place in such discussions? You are attending this meeting merely as a guest of your $prince, not as the $sibling of Lady Blindhill. “A courier hailed us down,” Kat informs you. “He was from London, carrying an important missive. He recognized the crest and wished to inform $prince $pname as soon as possible.” [[The rest of the journey continues in tense silence.->Arrival to Blindhill]]

Al picks up $phis book from where it had been knocked out of their hands and onto the ground. $pHe glances between you and Quinn thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think we are. Did we hit a pothole?” “Er, maybe?” It’s hard to imagine Emma ever letting her roads get this bad. //What is going on here?// The carriage door opens then, revealing a very grim-faced Kat. “$pname, I need to speak with you privately. It’s urgent.” The gravity of her countenance cannot be missed. The (lowercase:$prince) stands and joins Kat on the road. $pHe glances back over $phis shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Please remain here for now.” A few tense moments in the carriage pass as Quinn stares pointedly out the window. Unable to take it any longer, you blurt out… 1.{[["Am I infectious or something?"->Infected by Love]]} 2.{[["You've been acting really strange."->Strange Quinn]]}

“You’ve been acting weird,” you accuse. “Ever since we left the castle, something has been off.” “No clue what you mean,” Quinn replies airily. “I’m the same as always.” You shake your head firmly. “No, you aren’t. You’ve been distant.” Quinn’s eyebrows shoot up and $qhe crosses $qhis arms. “Distant?” “Yes!” You try to formulate a coherent thought, but the way $qhis blue eyes stare into yours is making you squirm. Like $qhe is seeing something you aren’t ready to share. But what could there possibly be? Certainly not romantic feelings. //Ew,// right? Right? “In what way?” You hate the edge in Quinn’s voice. //(cond:$qplural, "Is","Are") $qhe annoyed with me?// That can’t be it. $qHe (cond:$qplural, "sound","sounds") //defensive.// But why? “You hardly spend any time with me, and you act like touching me is like… like touching hot coals, or something. What’s up with that?” $qHe (cond:$qplural, "press","presses") $qhis lips together. “If you haven’t noticed, things are a little stressful right now. I’m sorry if I haven’t been around as much, but it’s not exactly my choice. We aren’t at the castle anymore, and we have jobs to do, now. We don’t get to just fool around all day.” “Fair, but…” You gesture to the space between the two of you. “That’s doesn’t explain you leaping off of me like that.” “You wanted me in your lap, did you?” Quinn waggles $qhis eyebrows suggestively. Your cheeks heat up and you break eye contact. “I just… it was weird! The way you acted! I didn’t say I wanted you there!” Quinn gasps, clutching $qhis hand to $qhis chest in mock-hurt. “I can’t believe this! What a cad!” You cover your face, (if:$skin is "undefined")[(cycling-link: bind $skin, "hoping $qhe can’t see how red you are","glad $qhe can’t see you blush.") “I give! I give! Go and be weird. I don’t care.” [[The conversation dies out.->Al and Kat Return V2]]

“Am I infectious or something?” you gesture to the space between the two of you. “Like, we’ve shared a bed before, you know. It’s not a big deal if you land on me. You’re acting like I’m some sort of leper.” “How do you know I’m not the leper?” $qhe (cond:$qplural, "quip","quips"). You roll your eyes. “I think I would know if my //best friend// had leprosy. We know just about everything about each other.” (cond:$village is "Quinn","Except, of course, that Quinn has two younger siblings.","At least, you’re pretty sure you do.") Quinn leans back in $qhis seat. “You know, your lap isn’t exactly comfortable. No offense, but I wasn’t about to linger.” “Excuse you, but my lap is very comfortable!” “Says who?” “Gyb, so there.” The orange tabby quite enjoyed curling up in your lap in the evenings by the fire. You stick your tongue out at Quinn, victorious. $qHe (cond:$qplural, "snort","snorts"). “Gyb likes getting out of work and you let him.” “Gyb catches plenty of mice!” You stalwartly defend your friend, Gyb the Mouser. It’s not his fault that your mother’s stupid ferret horded most of the rodents to himself. “You’re just jealous that he likes me best.” “You do slip him a lot of table scraps,” Quinn muses. You kind of miss Gyb. Your parents don’t give him nearly enough treats. [[The conversation dies out.->Al and Kat Return V2]]

You’re relieved when the carriage door opens to reveal Kat and Al, but your hopes are immediately dashed. Kat’s face has not lost its solemnity, but Al is barely holding in what appears to be genuine terror. Quinn shoots you a worried glance. Al’s gaze flickers to you, then to Kat, and back again. Ah, $phe can’t say anything about it in front of her. After all, as far as Kat is aware, you are a virtual stranger and the child of a merchant. Why would you have a place in such discussions? You are attending this meeting merely as a guest of your $prince, not as the $sibling of Lady Blindhill. And Quinn… you think Al explained Quinn’s presence as being one of your poorer relations. “A courier hailed us down,” Kat informs you. “He was from London, carrying an important missive. He recognized the crest and wished to inform $prince $pname as soon as possible.” [[Arrival to Blindhill<-The rest of the journey continues in tense silence.]]

As you approach the castle, your sister and her husband come out to greet your party. Tugging your hood over your face, you pray they don’t recognize you. Or at least don’t make a big deal about it. Maybe you shouldn’t have lied about your identity. If Emma gives you away, it’s going to raise a lot of questions. Your palms sweat. Your heart is hammering in your ears with each step. This was a terrible, awful, no-good idea. Why did you let them talk you into coming to this? Have you no sense of self-preservation? Emma and her husband, Alf, stop halfway down the path from the castle. Your sister curtsies deeply, while her husband bows. “Your Highness.” Al returns the gesture. “Sir Alfsige, Lady Blindhill. I appreciate your most gracious hospitality.” “The pleasure is ours,” Alf replies. You notice the way he nervously rubs his signet ring with his thumb. Then his gaze drifts over to you. He stiffens, green eyes widening in recognition. //Please keep your mouth shut!// At the same, Emma’s eyes catch on you. Her realization is quieter, but you feel her questioning gaze burn into you all the same. Alf glances over to his wife, and she gives the tiniest shake of her head. You let out a tiny sigh of relief, but then she catches your eye. A single brow is raised. This isn’t over, but she won’t embarrass you here. Emma and Alf patiently wait for Al to introduce $phis party. (if:$prim is "Al")[{ }Al gestures to you, a wide smile plastered across $phis face. The two of you came up with a fake surname to tell Kat, though it surely won’t work on Emma and Alf. Luckily, they appear willing to play along for now. “I must introduce you to my companion, (cycling-link: bind $fake, "Creket", "Lovell", "Tabard", "Wightman"). We met a few months ago, and $they (cond:$plural, "have","has") been extraordinarily helpful in helping me adjust to the region.” You wave awkwardly at your sister and brother-in-law, before remembering that you are supposed to be a stranger to them. Hastily, you drop into a (cycling-link:"bow","curtsey"). “Sir Alfsige, Lady Blindhill.” Alf and Emma glance at each other. Emma stares you dead in the eye. “It’s a pleasure, //stranger.//” You gulp. [[“Pleasure.”->Emma Reunion]]](else-if:$prim is "Sloan")[{ }Al gestures to you and $sloan, a wide smile plastered across $phis face. The two of you came up with a fake surname to tell Kat, though it surely won’t work on Emma and Alf. Luckily, they appear willing to play along for now. “I must introduce you to my companions, (cycling-link: bind $fake, "Creket", "Lovell", "Tabard", "Wightman") and Fletcher. We met a few months ago, and $they (cond:$plural, "have","has") been extraordinarily helpful in helping me adjust to the region.” You wave awkwardly at your sister and brother-in-law, before remembering that you are supposed to be a stranger to them. Hastily, you drop into a (cycling-link:"bow","curtsey"). “Sir Alfsige, Lady Blindhill.” $sloan lets out a half-sigh and gives your family a half-bow. Alf and Emma glance at each other. Emma stares you dead in the eye. “It’s a pleasure, //stranger.//” You gulp. [[“Pleasure.”->Emma Reunion]]](else-if:$prim is "Reese")[{ }Al gestures to you and Reese, a wide smile plastered across $phis face. “I must introduce you to Lord Chaithanyu of Bharat.” Reese nods in acknowledgement of the Blindhills. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Emma curtsies. “The pleasure is all ours, my lord.” Then Al gestures to you. The two of you came up with a fake surname to tell Kat, though it surely won’t work on Emma and Alf. Luckily, they appear willing to play along for now. “And, of course, my companion, (cycling-link: bind $fake, "Creket", "Lovell", "Tabard", "Wightman"). We met a few months ago, and $they (cond:$plural, "have","has") been extraordinarily helpful in helping me adjust to the region.” You wave awkwardly at your sister and brother-in-law, before remembering that you are supposed to be a stranger to them. Hastily, you drop into a (cycling-link:"bow","curtsey"). “Sir Alfsige, Lady Blindhill.” Alf and Emma glance at each other. Emma stares you dead in the eye. “It’s a pleasure, //stranger.//” You gulp. [[“Pleasure.”->Emma Reunion]]](else:)[{ }Al gestures to you, a wide smile plastered across $phis face. The two of you came up with a fake surname to tell Kat, though it surely won’t work on Emma and Alf. Luckily, they appear willing to play along for now. “I must introduce you to my companion, (cycling-link: bind $fake, "Creket", "Lovell", "Tabard", "Wightman"). We met a few months ago, and $they (cond:$plural, "have","has") been extraordinarily helpful in helping me adjust to the region.” Quinn gives you a subtle thumbs-up from $qhis spot next to Kat. You wave awkwardly at your sister and brother-in-law, before remembering that you are supposed to be a stranger to them. Hastily, you drop into a (cycling-link:"bow","curtsey"). “Sir Alfsige, Lady Blindhill.” Alf and Emma glance at each other. Emma stares you dead in the eye. “It’s a pleasure, //stranger.//” You gulp. [[“Pleasure.”->Emma Reunion]]]

The party is led into Castle Blindhill, and Alf opens with his usual spiel regarding the history of the castle and the region. Al listens attentively and asks astute questions, seeming to be genuinely interested. Thankfully, everyone is excused to get ready for dinner, and you make a beeline for the room assigned to you. It isn’t the room you usually stay in, and for once you aren’t sharing it with anyone else. (click:"anyone else")[Which is a relief, because usually you got stuck rooming with (cycling-link:"your nephew, Tedric, who snored like a bear","your niece Judith, who always borrows your clothes without asking","your sister Clementia's kid, Aelnod, who always took up the entire bed"). ]You thought you had accustomed yourself to sleeping alone. After all, you haven’t shared a room since you ran away. But now, in the familiar halls of your sister’s castle, you feel the familiar pang of loneliness. You spent years in the nursery with Emma and Aelric, sneaking extra candles and trying to stay up late. If you think about it hard, you can even recall fuzzy memories of Hilda and Peregrine, though they graduated from the nursery years before you. Then, once you hit ten, you moved into Emma’s room, taking Fritheswith’s place after she was married off. When Emma herself married and left six years later, the room had felt so lonely that you insisted upon Quinn moving in with you. Now it’s just you. “$name.” Until a voice makes you nearly jump out of your skin. You spin around and let out the most dignified squeak you can manage. “L-lady Blindhill!” Emma crosses her arms and leans against the door frame. She has always been the sibling who most resembles you, though a //tiny// part of you has always been jealous of her for being the handsomer one. Her eyes, her hair, the curve of her jaw, and even her nose are near-perfect matches to yours, but she wears them in a way that seems so //regal.// There are some differences, of course. You aren’t twins. She inherited your father’s brow, and the set of her mouth is eerily similar to your mother’s. Since the recent birth of her first child, she still carries her baby weight, which leaves her features softer and rounder than before. Like most things, motherhood suits her. She sighs. “$name, you can drop the act. It’s just us.” You rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “Er, yeah, of course. I… I guess you’ve had the baby?” “Yes.” She crosses the room and plops down onto your bed. “I had the baby. $nThey is sleeping now.” A long silence stretches between you. Then your sister says, “$name, what are you doing here?” What a question. You have no clue how to answer it. There’s no getting around it, though. Emma knows something is up, and she’s like a bulldog when she gets a whiff of a scheme. (if:$honest is true)[You just come right out with it. “We need your help planning a tourney in about two months.”]{ }(else-if:$audacious is true)[{ }You have one chance to convince her. “Have I ever told you you’re my favorite sister?” “Only when you’re about to do something incredibly stupid,” Emma quips back. //Ouch.// “Well… we do need some help,” you barrel onwards, manifesting your own good fortune in this. “We need your help planning a tourney. In two months. With the king in attendance.”]{ }(else-if:$determined is true)[{ }You take a deep breath. “Emma, I know I’m about to ask a lot, but I //promise// this is //very// important. We… need your help planning a tourney in two months. The king will be in attendance.”]{ }(else:)[You send up a quick prayer to Saint Jude and say, “We really, really need your help planning for a tourney in two months.”] Emma crosses her arms. “No.” Your jaw drops. “You didn’t even think about it!” “Because it’s a ridiculous request.” Emma’s voice is ice cold. “Even if I hear it from $prince at dinner, I’m not going to do it. Poor planning on your part does //not// constitute an emergency on my part. If my help was so vital, then why wasn’t I asked sooner?” A year ago she would have helped. You’re sure of it. Perhaps you shouldn’t have called her horror-monal at the last family dinner, but it wasn’t entirely unprovoked! 1.{[[Emma had been practically ignoring you for months before that.->Left on Read]]} 2.{[[Kicking your cat was completely uncalled for!->Now Why Would You Do That?]]}

The point was that… well… Emma always helped you. But now your sister had little interest in your schemes. “We couldn’t have asked you sooner.” “Why not?” Not an inch is given. Your stomach squirms with a rather unpleasant feeling. “…We just came up with it?” “I expected as much from you,” she sniffs. “But I must say, I thought $pHis Highness would be better prepared than that.” Well, that’s one plan dead in the water. If Emma says no, she means it. (if:$determined is true)[No, you won’t let that be the end. You //need// Emma to pull this off. ]Without her, you were upriver without a paddle. No one else was as obsessively organized as her, save your mother. For now, a strategic retreat may be wise. “Alright. You’re right. We should have planned better for having a planner. Which is what we needed a planner for, but whatever.” She narrows her eyes. “Subliminal messaging doesn’t work on me. I’ll see you at dinner.” [[End of Demo]]

Hi! This is the end of the demo for now, but not of Chapter 6. The final two thirds of Ch. 6, as well as the LT variations will be upload in early 2025. Feedback or questions can be submitted at troublebrewing-if.tumblr.com. Thanks for playing!

{(set:$emmaEstrangement to "leftonread") }For months prior to that dinner, Emma had been ignoring your letters. You had missed her terribly, but ever she married Alf, she was far too busy with him to write to you. Even when you had visited with your family, she had spent the entire time flittering about the castle, doing this and that, until it was time to leave. When you told her as much at the family dinner, she had started //yelling// at you! (display:"See You At Dinner")

{(set:$emmaEstrangement to "catkicking") }Kicking Gyb was entirely uncalled for, though she insisted it was an accident. Still, the poor mouser didn’t deserve to be punted across the room like a kickball! Jail for Emma! Jail for a thousand years! (display:"See You At Dinner")