Cursed Ambrosia WIP

Browser lacks capabilities required to play.

Upgrade or switch to another browser.

Loading…

!Heading 1 !!Heading 1 !!!Heading 1 Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. //emphasised text//. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. ''strong text''. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. __underlined text__ Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. Normal text. ---- * List item 1 * List item 2 [[Firstname]] [[Link 2]] [[Link 3]] <<button "Button" "More Styles">><</button>>

<div id="sidebar"> <div class="sidebar-header">  <div></div>  <h1 class="story-title" data-passage="gameTitle"></h1>  <div class="sidebar-toggle"> <span id="sidebar-toggle-icon" class="lnr lnr-menu-circle"></span> </div> </div>   <div class="sidebar-history-nav"> <span id="backwards-button" class="lnr lnr-arrow-left"></span> <span id="forwards-button" class="lnr lnr-arrow-right"></span> </div> <div id="sidebar-body">  <div class="story-logo" data-passage="storyLogo"></div>  <h2 class="story-author" data-passage="storyAuthor"></h2> <nav class="sidebar-nav"> <ul class="story-tools"> <li> <span id="restart-button" class="lnr lnr-redo"></span> <span class="tooltiptext">Restart</span> </li> <li> <span id="saves-button" class="lnr lnr-download"></span> <span class="tooltiptext">Saves</span> </li> <li> <span id="settings-button" class="lnr lnr-cog"></span> <span class="tooltiptext">Settings</span> </li> </ul> <ul class="story-menu" data-passage="storyMenu"> </ul> </nav> <nav id="social-media"> <p>Social media</p> <ul data-passage="socialMedia"> </ul> </nav> </div>  </div>  <div id="story" role="main"> <div id="passages"> <div id="passage-start" data-passage="start" class="passage"> </div> </div> </div>

<<nobr>>  <li>[[Character Profile]]</li> <li>[[Relationships]]</li> <</nobr>>

<<set $hello = "hello">> [[Next|More Styles]]

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Vitae suscipit tellus mauris a diam maecenas. Sed egestas egestas fringilla phasellus faucibus scelerisque eleifend donec. Sed sed risus pretium quam. Aliquet eget sit amet tellus cras adipiscing enim eu. Nulla posuere sollicitudin aliquam ultrices sagittis orci. Pharetra vel turpis nunc eget lorem dolor sed. Vel orci porta non pulvinar neque laoreet suspendisse interdum. Tempor orci dapibus ultrices in iaculis. Eu mi bibendum neque egestas congue quisque egestas. Ultrices in iaculis nunc sed augue lacus viverra vitae. Sit amet porttitor eget dolor morbi. Nec ultrices dui sapien eget mi proin. Leo vel fringilla est ullamcorper eget nulla facilisi etiam dignissim. Nec ultrices dui sapien eget mi proin sed. Aliquet nibh praesent tristique magna. Viverra accumsan in nisl nisi scelerisque. Nunc lobortis mattis aliquam faucibus purus in massa tempor nec. Nunc sed id semper risus in hendrerit. Non sodales neque sodales ut etiam sit amet nisl purus. Pellentesque elit eget gravida cum sociis. Consectetur purus ut faucibus pulvinar elementum. Ut faucibus pulvinar elementum integer enim neque volutpat ac. Sed blandit libero volutpat sed cras ornare. Nisi vitae suscipit tellus mauris a diam. Eu sem integer vitae justo eget magna. Mauris cursus mattis molestie a iaculis at erat pellentesque adipiscing. Mattis aliquam faucibus purus in massa tempor nec feugiat. Vel quam elementum pulvinar etiam non quam lacus suspendisse faucibus. Id interdum velit laoreet id donec ultrices tincidunt arcu. Viverra aliquet eget sit amet tellus cras adipiscing. Praesent elementum facilisis leo vel fringilla. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Vitae suscipit tellus mauris a diam maecenas. Sed egestas egestas fringilla phasellus faucibus scelerisque eleifend donec. Sed sed risus pretium quam. Aliquet eget sit amet tellus cras adipiscing enim eu. Nulla posuere sollicitudin aliquam ultrices sagittis orci. Pharetra vel turpis nunc eget lorem dolor sed. Vel orci porta non pulvinar neque laoreet suspendisse interdum. Tempor orci dapibus ultrices in iaculis. Eu mi bibendum neque egestas congue quisque egestas. Ultrices in iaculis nunc sed augue lacus viverra vitae. Sit amet porttitor eget dolor morbi. Nec ultrices dui sapien eget mi proin. Leo vel fringilla est ullamcorper eget nulla facilisi etiam dignissim. Nec ultrices dui sapien eget mi proin sed. Aliquet nibh praesent tristique magna. Viverra accumsan in nisl nisi scelerisque. Nunc lobortis mattis aliquam faucibus purus in massa tempor nec. Nunc sed id semper risus in hendrerit. Non sodales neque sodales ut etiam sit amet nisl purus. Pellentesque elit eget gravida cum sociis. Consectetur purus ut faucibus pulvinar elementum. Ut faucibus pulvinar elementum integer enim neque volutpat ac. Sed blandit libero volutpat sed cras ornare. Nisi vitae suscipit tellus mauris a diam. Eu sem integer vitae justo eget magna. Mauris cursus mattis molestie a iaculis at erat pellentesque adipiscing. Mattis aliquam faucibus purus in massa tempor nec feugiat. Vel quam elementum pulvinar etiam non quam lacus suspendisse faucibus. Id interdum velit laoreet id donec ultrices tincidunt arcu. Viverra aliquet eget sit amet tellus cras adipiscing. Praesent elementum facilisis leo vel fringilla. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Vitae suscipit tellus mauris a diam maecenas. Sed egestas egestas fringilla phasellus faucibus scelerisque eleifend donec. Sed sed risus pretium quam. Aliquet eget sit amet tellus cras adipiscing enim eu. Nulla posuere sollicitudin aliquam ultrices sagittis orci. Pharetra vel turpis nunc eget lorem dolor sed. Vel orci porta non pulvinar neque laoreet suspendisse interdum. Tempor orci dapibus ultrices in iaculis. Eu mi bibendum neque egestas congue quisque egestas. Ultrices in iaculis nunc sed augue lacus viverra vitae. Sit amet porttitor eget dolor morbi. Nec ultrices dui sapien eget mi proin. Leo vel fringilla est ullamcorper eget nulla facilisi etiam dignissim. Nec ultrices dui sapien eget mi proin sed. Aliquet nibh praesent tristique magna. Viverra accumsan in nisl nisi scelerisque. Nunc lobortis mattis aliquam faucibus purus in massa tempor nec. Nunc sed id semper risus in hendrerit. Non sodales neque sodales ut etiam sit amet nisl purus. Pellentesque elit eget gravida cum sociis. Consectetur purus ut faucibus pulvinar elementum. Ut faucibus pulvinar elementum integer enim neque volutpat ac. Sed blandit libero volutpat sed cras ornare. Nisi vitae suscipit tellus mauris a diam. Eu sem integer vitae justo eget magna. Mauris cursus mattis molestie a iaculis at erat pellentesque adipiscing. Mattis aliquam faucibus purus in massa tempor nec feugiat. Vel quam elementum pulvinar etiam non quam lacus suspendisse faucibus. Id interdum velit laoreet id donec ultrices tincidunt arcu. Viverra aliquet eget sit amet tellus cras adipiscing. Praesent elementum facilisis leo vel fringilla. <<button "Next" "More Styles">><</button>>

<<set $hello = "hello">> <<print $hello.toUpperFirst()>> <<= $hello.toUpperFirst()>> !!! Checkbox: <<checkbox "$checkboxVar1" false true autocheck>> Checkbox option 1 <<checkbox "$checkboxVar2" false true autocheck>> Checkbox option 2 <<checkbox "$checkboxVar3" false true autocheck>> Checkbox option 3 !!! Cycle: <<cycle "$cycleVar" autoselect>> <<option "Option 1">> <<option "Option 2">> <<option "Option 3">> <<option "Option 4">> <<option "Option 5">> <</cycle>> !!! Listbox: <<listbox "$listboxVar" autoselect>> <<option "Option 1">> <<option "Option 2">> <<option "Option 3">> <<option "Option 4">> <<option "Option 5">> <</listbox>> !!! Radiobutton: <<radiobutton "$radiobuttonVar" "option 1" autocheck>> Option 1 <<radiobutton "$radiobuttonVar" "option 2" autocheck>> Option 2 <<radiobutton "$radiobuttonVar" "option 3" autocheck>> Option 3 !!! Textarea: <<textarea "$textareaVar" "Type text here..">> !!! Textbox: <<textbox "$textboxVar" "Type answer here">>

Cursed Ambrosia

by <a href="https://curious-corvids.tumblr.com/yourblog" target="_blank">Fawkes Decker</a>

!!!Appearance Your name is $name. Your height is<<if $height is false>>...<<else>> $height<</if>>. When it comes to physical strength, <<if $strength is 1>> you've got nothing. <<elseif $strength is 2>> you can get by decently. <<elseif $strength is 3>> you're more than capable. <</if>> <<if $eyecontact is false>> You are fine with eye contact <<else>> You have issues making eye contact with $eyecontact<</if>>. Your hair is <<if $hairlength is false>>... <<else>> $hairlength <</if>> <<if $hairtex is false>> ... <<elseif $hairlength is "non-existent">>. <<else>> and $hairtex<</if>>. Your hair colour is $haircolour Your personal style is <<if $outfit is false>> ... <<else>> $outfit <</if>>. Your eyes are <<if $eyes is false>>...<<else>>$eyes<</if>> !!!Personality //The way you interact with the people around you, and with your changing environment.// <<if $adaptable is 6>>\ You are not particularly ''adaptable'', or ''adamant''. <<elseif $adaptable lt 6 and $adaptable gt 3>> You can be somewhat ''adaptable'', though it isn’t unheard of for you to be adamant about something. <<elseif $adaptable lt 4 and $adaptable gt 1>> You have a tendency to be ''adamant'' more often than not, which can sometimes hinder how adaptable you manage to be. <<elseif $adaptable is 1>> You are an extremely ''adamant'' person. No one can shake you when you’ve decided to stand your ground. Once you’ve made up your mind, that’s that. You have no time or patience for being adaptable. <<elseif $adaptable gt 6 and $adaptable lt 9>> You can be somewhat ''adaptable'', though it isn’t unheard of for you to be adamant about something. <<elseif $adaptable gt 8 and $adaptable lt 11>> You tend to be ''adaptable'' more often than note, though sometimes it can hinder your ability to be adamant and stand your ground. <<elseif $adaptable is 11>> You are an extremely ''adaptable'' person. You roll with the punches, and can adjust to pretty well anything life throws at you. You don’t see any benefit to being adamant. <</if>>\ <<if $isolation is 6>>\ You don’t go out of your way to remain in ''isolation'', but neither do you put any real effort into forming any sort of ''connection'' with others. <<elseif $isolation lt 6 and $isolation gt 3>>\ You somewhat wish to form a ''connection'' with others, though you haven’t fully denounced the safety of isolation. <<elseif $isolation lt 4 and $isolation gt 1>>\ You tend to reach for ''connection'' with others more often than not, even if isolation would perhaps be the safer option. <<elseif $isolation is 1>>\ You crave ''connection'' like nothing else, and reach for it whenever the opportunity presents itself. You can no longer tolerate any sort of isolation. <<elseif $isolation gt 6 and $isolation lt 9>>\ You somewhat wish to remain in ''isolation'', though you haven’t fully denounced the possibility of connection. <<elseif $isolation gt 8 and $isolation lt 11>>\ You tend to retreat into ''isolation'' from others more often than not, even if connection might be worth striving for. <<elseif $isolation is 11>>\ You savor the sweet safety of ''isolation.'' You are perfectly content on your own. No one can hurt you, and you can’t hurt anyone else. Connection is a danger best avoided. <</if>>\ <<if $courteous is 6>>\ You don’t go out of your way to be ''courteous'' or ''callous.'' <<elseif $courteous lt 6 and $courteous gt 3>>\ You can be somewhat ''callous'' in social situations, but there’s a time and place for being courteous. <<elseif $courteous lt 4 and $courteous gt 1>>\ You tend to come off as ''callous'' in most social situations. Being courteous isn’t beyond you, but it isn’t your inclination. <<elseif $courteous is 1>>\ You are extremely ''callous'' in just about all social situations. Whether it’s your natural inclination or a concentrated effort to keep people at arms length, the result is the same. People see you as cold and distant, and you likely couldn’t be courteous even if you tried. <<elseif $courteous gt 6 and $courteous lt 9>>\ You can be somewhat ''courteous'' in social situations, but there’s a time and place for being callous. <<elseif $courteous gt 8 and $courteous lt 11>>\ You tend to come off as ''courteous'' in most social situations. Being callous isn’t beyond you, but it isn’t your inclination. <<elseif $courteous is 11>>\ You are extremely ''courteous'' in just about all social situations. Whether you’re just naturally polite or you make a concentrated effort to be kind to people, the result is the same. People see you as well-mannered and pleasant, and you likely couldn’t be callous even if you tried. <</if>>\ <<if $candid is 6>>\ You don’t lean towards being either ''candid'' or ''calculating.'' <<elseif $candid lt 6 and $candid gt 3>>\ You can be somewhat ''calculating'' in your words and actions, though by no means are you incapable of being candid. <<elseif $candid lt 4 and $candid gt 1>>\ You tend to be ''calculating'' in your words and actions more often than not, though you’ve been known to be candid on occasion. <<elseif $candid is 1>>\ You are extremely ''calculating'', and carefully consider the pros and cons before you say or do anything. You always have a goal in mind, and you shape your outward demeanor to achieve your goal. You find that being candid just isn’t as effective in getting you what you want. <<elseif $candid gt 6 and $candid lt 9>>\ You can be somewhat ''candid'' in your words and actions, though by no means are you incapable of being calculating. <<elseif $candid gt 8 and $candid lt 11>>\ You tend to be ''candid'' in your words and actions more often than not, though you’ve been known to be calculating on occasion. <<elseif $candid is 11>>\ You are extremely ''candid,'' your words and actions are natural results of how you truly feel. Calculating what your words and actions will gain you doesn’t even occur to you. You are simply a genuine person. <</if>>\ !!!Approach to the Unknown //How are you affected by your strange and unusual circumstances, and by the knowledge slowly being revealed to you?// <<if $hope is 6>>\ You are not very ''hopeful'', but neither are you completely ''hopeless''. <<elseif $hope lt 6 and $hope gt 3>>\ ''Hopelessness'' taints all it touches and, though you’ve tried to resist it, it’s had years to mark you as its own. Will you even try to escape it? <<elseif $hope lt 4 and $hope gt 1>>\ The shadow of ''hopelessness'' shrouds your life, making it hard to see any hint of things improving. A small part of you still hopes to see the light, but for the most part you have already consigned yourself to despair <<elseif $hope is 1>>\ You have been utterly consumed by ''hopelessness.'' You see no way out, and the despair of it has been a part of you for so long that you aren’t even sure who you’d be without it. The more your life improves, the more certain you are that something horrible is going to happen. <<elseif $hope gt 6 and $hope lt 9>>\ The smallest spark of ''hope'' has come to life within you. Will you stoke its flame to keep yourself warm, or snuff it out for fear of being burned? <<elseif $hope gt 8 and $hope lt 11>>\ ''Hope'' is an elusive thing, but you’ve grasped onto it, and you have no intention of letting it go. It doesn’t entirely ward off the fear that your hopes will be crushed, but you refuse to let that fear rule you. <<elseif $hope is 11>>\ In a life of despair and tragedy, you have become your own beacon of ''hope.'' It takes a lot to keep the light shining in the face of such darkness. Your hope is entirely your own. You built it, you maintain it, and you won’t let anyone or anything take it away. <</if>>\ <<if $skeptic is 6>>\ You aren’t sure what you ''believe'', but neither are you sure how ''skeptical'' you should be of the strangeness around you. <<elseif $skeptic lt 6 and $skeptic gt 3>>\ You ''believe'' that there is something strange afoot, but you aren’t sure that necessarily means it’s anything supernatural. Coincidences are a thing, right? At what point is it too much to be a coincidence? <<elseif $skeptic lt 4 and $skeptic gt 1>>\ You ''believe'' there is a supernatural component to all that has happened. You still leave room for healthy skepticism, though. <<elseif $skeptic is 1>>\ You ''believe'' whole-heartedly that there are strange and mysterious powers at work, not just in your situation, but in the world as a whole. Life is more that what you see, and skeptics are merely in denial. <<elseif $skeptic gt 6 and $skeptic lt 9>>\ You’re a bit ''skeptical'' of the strange new world being revealed to you. Surely it can’t all be true, right? <<elseif $skeptic gt 8 and $skeptic lt 11>>\ You’re very ''skeptical'' of the mystical world you’re being immersed in. The world just can’t be so magical, right? This sort of stuff only happens in fiction! …Right? <<elseif $skeptic is 11>>\ You are ''skeptical'' to a fault. Even when you see something with your own eyes, you struggle to accept it if it goes against your pre-established beliefs. Anyone who would readily believe this nonsense must be delusional. <</if>>\ <<if $curious is 6>>\ You aren’t particularly ''curious'', but you’re not very ''cautious'' either. <<elseif $curious lt 6 and $curious gt 3>>\ You try to be ''cautious'' in your approach to new things, but you leave plenty of room for curiosity. <<elseif $curious lt 4 and $curious gt 1>>\ You are perhaps a little too ''cautious'', but better safe than sorry, right? You know what they say about curiosity… <<elseif $curious is 1>>\ You subscribe to ''caution'' above all else. Curiosity killed the cat, after all, and you don’t have nine lives to waste if such a fate befalls you as well. <<elseif $curious gt 6 and $curious lt 9>>\ You are mildly ''curious'' about new things, though you certainly don’t throw caution to the wind. <<elseif $curious gt 8 and $curious lt 11>>\ You are perhaps a little too ''curious and'', though you spare a thought for caution, you rarely let it hold you back. <<elseif $curious is 11>>\ You are supremely, intensely ''curious.'' Finding new things to learn about excites you, exploring the unknown invigorates you. Who has time for caution when there’s so many interesting things to explore? <</if>>\  <center><<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>></center>

!!!Relationships <<if $vapproval is 0>> You have not met this neighbour yet. <<elseif $vapproval gte 1 and $vapproval lte 4 >>\ Vicente hopes you’re settling in well. <<elseif $vapproval gt 4 and $vapproval lte 7>> Vicente worries about you. <<elseif $vapproval gt 7 and $vapproval lte 9>> Vicente wants to be there for you <<elseif $vapproval is 10>> Vicente is there for you, always. <</if>>\ <<if $aapproval is 0>> You have not met this neighbour yet. <<elseif $aapproval gte 1 and $aapproval lte 4 >>\ Abby thinks you’re new and interesting! <<elseif $aapproval gt 4 and $aapproval lte 7>> Abby thinks you’re neat! <<elseif $aapproval gt 7 and $aapproval lte 9>> Abby thinks you’re plenty of fun! <<elseif $aapproval is 10>> Abby is stuck to you like very loud, very colourful velcro! <</if>>\ <<if $kapproval is 0>> You have not met this neighbour yet. <<elseif $kapproval gte 1 and $kapproval lte 4 >>\ Kaida is watching you. <<elseif $kapproval gt 4 and $kapproval lte 7>> Kaida is intrigued by you. <<elseif $kapproval gt 7 and $kapproval lte 9>> Kaida is watching out for you <<elseif $kapproval is 10>> Kaida finds your company agreeable. <</if>>\ <<if $mapproval is 0>> You have not met this neighbour yet. <<elseif $mapproval gte 1 and $mapproval lte 4 >>\ Marina is curious about you. <<elseif $mapproval gt 4 and $mapproval lte 7>> Marina thinks you’re pretty alright. <<elseif $mapproval gt 7 and $mapproval lte 9>> Marina jives with your vibes. <<elseif $mapproval is 10>> Marina thinks you’re the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off. <</if>>\ <<if $tapproval is 0>> You have not met this neighbour yet. <<elseif $tapproval gte 1 and $tapproval lte 4 >>\ Thea thinks you’re adorable. <<elseif $tapproval gt 4 and $tapproval lte 7>> Thea enjoys your company. <<elseif $tapproval gt 7 and $tapproval lte 9>> Thea finds you delightful. <<elseif $mapproval is 10>> Thea won’t ever let you down. <</if>>\ <<if $sapproval is 0>> You have not met this neighbour yet. <<elseif $sapproval gte 1 and $sapproval lte 4 >>\ Shiloh is wary of you. <<elseif $sapproval gt 4 and $sapproval lte 7>> Shiloh is only marginally wary of you. <<elseif $sapproval gt 7 and $sapproval lte 9>> Shiloh is almost at ease with you. <<elseif $sapproval is 10>> Shiloh is entirely at ease with you. <</if>>\  <center><<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>></center>

<<set $adaptable to 6>> <<set $isolation to 6>><<set $courteous to 6>><<set $candid to 6>><<set $hope to 6>><<set $skeptic to 6>><<set $curious to 6>> <<set $selflesslyalone to false>> <<set $selfishlyalone to false>> <<set $naturalisolationist to false>> <<set $adaptedisolationist to false>> <<set $elevatortrauma to false>> <<set $vapproval to 0>> <<set $aapproval to 0>> <<set $kapproval to 0>> <<set $mapproval to 0>> <<set $tapproval to 0>> <<set $sapproval to 0>> <<set $pronountense to false>><<set $height to false>><<set $eyecontact to false>><<set $hairlength to false>><<set $hairtex to false>><<set $outfit to false>><<set $eyes to false>>

!!!Chapter One “You sure this is the place?” The cab driver’s brow furrows, either in confusion or concern, as you both regard the building you’ve stopped in front of. It isn’t hard to see why. The place you've pulled up to doesn't look like anywhere someone should be lingering on their own. The mild, cozy atmosphere of autumn does nothing to soften the ominous look of the area. If anything, it makes it all seem worse, the scenery looking even more foreboding in contrast. The building is made mainly of concrete, old and cracked, stained by rain and moss and who knows what else. There are patches of crooked, poorly-laid bricks in some places, with no apparent rhyme or reason to their placement, leading to the thought that perhaps they’re the result of quick, cheap, shoddy repairs. Ivy is climbing up the building, untended and wild, making the most of the neglected structure that it has claimed for its own. The front door is painted a bright blue that may have been welcoming, once, but the effect has long since been dimmed by the way the paint chips and peels with age. The windows of the door are iron-wrought, the metal curving in elegant designs that you can’t quite make out from this distance, and the windows of the first floor are built to match. The red rust from the iron has dripped down over time, leaving the paint below the door window and the concrete below the first floor windows with streaks like hanging icicles. The windows further up, however, seem to be mainly framed in crooked, ugly-looking wood with no outer coverings. You wouldn't be shocked if you got close and found the wood was rotting. It looks like a place where rot belongs. The place would look entirely abandoned, if not for the plants in an upper window box. A thriving shock of green against the dismal face of the structure, punctuated with flashes of colour from flowers you can't identify at this distance. The neighbourhood it’s in is even worse, though. Unlike the apartment building, most of the surrounding structures do seem to be genuinely vacant and abandoned. No greenery, no repairs - shoddy or otherwise. The airport was on the far end of the city from this place, and while driving through the mostly-metropolitan city, there came a point where thriving, modern businesses and homes abruptly gave way to broken down, hollowed-out structures with the doors and windows boarded up or plastered with signs reading various warnings to stay out in big, bright red letters. This neighbourhood is no exception to all that. You don't know why this specific building remains open and functional while surrounded on all sides by the ghosts of its former neighbours, but it doesn't bother you much. You're more than used to being surrounded by the ghosts of what used to be. The cab driver doesn't know this, though. Even as he sees you nod in the rear-view mirror that yes, this is the right place, he turns to look back at you, brows upturned, now clearer in his concern. “You sure you’re gonna be okay here?” He asks, glancing between you and the building. You... [[Appreciate his concern, but assure him you're fine.|Highkey Cabbie Appreciation]] [[Appreciate his concern, but can't risk acknowledging it.|Lowkey Cabbie Appreciation]] [[Are uncomfortable receiving the concern of a stranger, but don't want to be rude|Lowkey Cabbie Discomfort]] [[Are uncomfortable receiving the concern of a stranger, and don't care if you're rude|Highkey Cabbie Discomfort]] [[Distrust his concern. Why would he care? What is he up to?|Highkey Cabbie Distrust]] [[Distrust his concern, but try not to be rude about it.|Lowkey Cabbie Distrust]] [[Don't care, and don't acknowledge his concern.|Unacknowledge Cabbie]]

<<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> How kind, for him to worry about a stranger like this. His concern makes you smile, and you bask in the brief moment of connection with someone you'll never see again. This is the only way you can safely indulge in such things. Brief, harmless interactions and passing moments of connection with people you'll only see once and then never again. Maybe, if you expected to see him regularly, you'd be more cautious. As that's not the case, though, you see no reason not to enjoy this while you can. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m sure this is the right place." You assure him, your tone awash with warmth and gratitude. "I’ll be fine. The landlord should be meeting me here to give me the keys.” His expression eases at that, and he nods in acknowledgement. “If you’re sure. You want me to wait here, just in case?” That's so nice of him to offer. To take time out of his work day, potentially losing out on money or risking a scolding from his boss just to make sure you're alright. You offer him a reassuring smile, hoping to set his kind heart at ease. “Oh, no, that’s fine. I’ll be fine. Really.” You pay him in cash, and give him a final friendly smile before exiting the vehicle. He has no idea what a wonderful gift he's just given you, but you treasure it all the same. “Have a wonderful day.” You offer, and it's far from an empty social nicety. You really and truly hope he does have a wonderful day. Someone like him certainly deserves it. “You too,” he waves with a smile as you <<cycle "$strength" autoselect>><<option "barely manage to drag" 1>><<option "struggle to drag" 2>><<option "easily lift" 3>><</cycle>> your heavy, overloaded bag out of the backseat and close the door behind. He still hesitates before driving off, but drive off he does, and you’re left alone in front of your new home. [[You exhale heavily as you look up at your new home.|New Home]]

<<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> It’s nice of him to worry, but that’s all the more reason not to acknowledge it. Perhaps you’re being overly cautious, but by now you know that it’s safer for everyone involved if you keep your distance, no matter how your instincts urge you to thank him. No matter how awful you feel about snubbing the freely-offered kindness of someone who appears genuinely concerned for your well-being. You swallow down the writhing guilt stirring within you. This is for his own good. You internally repeat that to yourself, over and over again, but the guilt doesn't seem keen to listen. “Here,” is all you say in reply as you pay in cash, though you can’t help the soft gratitude colouring your tone. You mentally scold yourself for it. If you'd been harsher, he'd find it easier to leave you alone. If you were meaner, he'd be safer... But you just don't have it in you to be needlessly cruel to a kind person who has done you no wrong. You curse yourself for your bleeding heart. In your situation, such a thing is a truly fatal flaw. Fatal for others rather than yourself, granted, but fatal all the same. Even knowing that, it doesn't help you resist your heart's better nature, nor does it fully assuage your guilt on the occasions when you do actually manage to resist. The concern on the driver's face doesn’t ease at all, but he takes the money all the same. “This area is pretty sketchy, it’s not really somewhere you should be wandering about on your own. You want me to wait here, just in case?” That's so nice of him to offer. To take time out of his work day, potentially losing out on money or risking a scolding from his boss just to make sure you're alright. He's making this so much harder for you, and he doesn't even realize. “No, thank you. Have a good day.” You'd meant to be curt, but instead the dismissal comes across polite but clear as you <<cycle "$strength" autoselect>><<option "barely manage to drag" 1>><<option "struggle to drag" 2>><<option "easily lift" 3>><</cycle>> your overloaded bag out of the backseat and shut the door behind yourself. You don’t look back as you hear him drive away. It’s better this way, you remind yourself again, and again, and again, hoping eventually your brain will manage to get that through to your heart. Even the smallest connection is just too much of a risk. [[You exhale heavily as you look up at your new home.|New Home]]

<<set $isolation +=0.5>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> You aren't going to dignify that with a response. He’s a cab driver. His job is to drive you where you need to go. Your role in this is to pay him. Anything beyond that is unnecessary, and it simply isn't his business where you go. You gave him the address, he took you there, and he isn't entitled to any further information about why you need to be there. So, you wordlessly pay him in cash, <<cycle "$strength" autoselect>><<option "barely manage to lift" 1>><<option "struggle to lift" 2>><<option "easily lift" 3>><</cycle>> your overloaded bag, and drag both it and yourself out of the backseat. You close the door behind, just as you hear him scoff and call out a sarcastic: “Well, good day to you, too!” Before he drives off. You don't look back, just sigh at his dramatics. What does he care whether you answer his pointless question, and why should you care that you offended him? You’ll never see him again, and he’s better off for it. Nothing about that interaction matters in the long run. [[You exhale heavily as you look up at your new home.|New Home]]

<<set $curious -=0.5>> <<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> You don't trust like that. Why the hell would a guy who doesn’t even know your name be worrying about you? It can’t possibly be sincere. You don’t know what information he's fishing for or what angle he’s playing, and you don’t want to find out. “It’s really not your business,” you tell him curtly, and he seems taken aback by your tone as you dig out the cash to pay and shove it in his direction. He takes it hesitantly, still seeming unsure. That just puts you further on edge. Can this guy not take a hint? Why is he so hung up on this? He has one job: Drive you to the address you give him. He's done that, and you've paid him. The transaction is done, so why is he dragging this out? His motivations can only be guessed at, and each of your guesses are more nefarious than the previous as you conjure up all the ways he could be trying to screw you over. “Well, it’s just that this area is kinda sketchy, and you're here on your own…” “Yeah, and you’re being kinda sketchy right now. So, bye.” Not to mention, you're always on your own. You're used to it, and you can handle it. You don't tell him that, though. because he doesn't need to know. You <<cycle "$strength" autoselect>><<option "barely manage to drag" 1>><<option "struggle to drag" 2>><<option "easily lift" 3>><</cycle>> your overloaded bag out of the backseat and slam the door behind you, hurrying away without looking back. There's a pause where you don't hear him driving away, and it makes your entire body tense, anticipating all sorts of awful things that may be about to happen... But then, you hear him drive off. Still, you can't quite manage to fully relax, even as the sound of his car fades off in the distance. Weird creep of a taxi driver. What business does he have asking if you’ll be okay? He’s just supposed to drive you somewhere, anything beyond that is unnecessary and therefore suspect. [[You exhale heavily as you look up at your new home.|New Home]]

<<set $curious -=0.5>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> You don't trust like that. Why would someone who doesn’t even know your name be worrying about you? Is he trying to fish for information for some reason? Is he working some sort of angle? You don't know, but on the off-chance that he’s sincere in his concern, you don’t want to be rude. He hasn’t actually done anything wrong or harmed you in any way. His only crime is being nice, and it isn’t his fault that you can’t take that at face value. “Your concern is… appreciated,” you try, though from the way he raises an eyebrow you’re certain your tone betrays your discomfort. Feeling entirely too exposed with your trust issues on display, you rush to get the rest of the words out. “But I’ll be fine. Thank you. Have a good day.” You pay him in cash, and <<cycle "$strength" autoselect>><<option "barely manage to drag" 1>><<option "struggle to drag" 2>><<option "easily lift" 3>><</cycle>> your overloaded bag out of the backseat, moving as quick as you can, not wishing to be stuck in a car with the suspiciously sweet stranger any longer than is strictly necessary. You close the door behind you, and hurry away before you even hear him start to drive off. [[You exhale heavily as you look up at your new home.|New Home]]

<<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> You don’t think he means any harm, necessarily, but the kindness of strangers always rubs you entirely the wrong way. You're so used to having to take care of yourself, being offered the help of strangers just feels... Wrong, somehow. It's uncomfortable for you. You're far more at ease when left to your own devices, without people you don't know meddling in your affairs in ways you don't know how to appropriately respond to. Still, though. He means well, and you don't want to throw his kindness back in his face. You smile uneasily as you pay him in cash. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Have a good day.” You tell him. He opens his mouth to reply as he takes your money, but you’re already out the door, <<cycle "$strength" autoselect>><<option "barely managing to drag" 1>><<option "struggling to drag" 2>><<option "easily lifting" 3>><</cycle>> your overloaded bag out of the backseat behind you. Whatever he was originally going to say dies on his tongue, and instead he just leaves you with a worried smile and a brief: “Yeah, you too.” You close the door and he drives off. You watch his car disappear into the distance, the discomfort that had been crawling beneath your skin dissipating as he fades from view. Finally, you turn away, towards the poorly-kept building where he'd dropped you off. [[You exhale heavily as you look up at your new home.|New Home]]

<<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> Ugh. The kindness of strangers is overrated and, when it comes to you, entirely unappreciated. You're used to taking care of yourself, handling things almost entirely on your own. Anything that deviates from the lonely norm you've grown comfortable with leaves you feeling off-balance and uneasy. You don't want or need his concern. In fact, you find it distinctly off-putting. You don’t bother hiding your discomfort, letting it twist your expression and colour your tone. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” You pay in cash, shoving the money towards him impatiently, eager to get out of the car and, more importantly, out of this interaction. The moment he takes the money, you’re leaving. You <<cycle "$strength" autoselect>><<option "barely manage to drag" 1>><<option "struggle to drag" 2>><<option "easily lift" 3>><</cycle>> your overloaded bag and hurry out of the car. You don’t wait for a reply before closing the door, maybe a little harder than is strictly necessary. You don’t look back as you hear him drive away. [[You exhale heavily as you look up at your new home.|New Home]]

You step forward along the poorly-maintained road, onto the equally poorly-maintained sidewalk, and then onto a moderately-better-maintained brick walkway towards the building. The path is lined on both sides by a short fence that matches the iron-wrought window inserts on the first floor, with similar twisting designs and just as much rust causing the black paint to bubble, blister, and split. As a result, the paint that had likely been meant to cover the way the old iron was rusting only ends up making it look worse. The grass of the frankly pathetic-looking front yard is unevenly mowed, so clearly someone is trying to maintain the place. Also clearly, they aren't very good at it. Every aspect of this place just emphasizes what it is. A run-down old building with only a handful of current tenants, in an otherwise vacant neighbourhood deep in an area that's literally referred to as the abandoned district. There are few places where you could be more isolated without losing access to wifi and cell service. But that was the whole point, right? To find somewhere you could live, that would still have modern amenities, but would also be as far removed from the rest of civilization as humanly possible. It isn’t somewhere most people would want to live. Even ignoring the aesthetics of it, the isolation would be enough to put most people off of living here. Humans are largely social creatures, they're built for community, they crave connection... and you’re going out of your way to ensure you never risk connecting to anyone at all. Not ever again. You… [[Hate that it has to be like this, but it’s safer for others.|Selflessly Hate It]] [[Hate that it has to be like this, but it’s safer for you.|Selfishly Hate It]] [[Have adapted to this way of life.|Adapted Isolationist]] [[Have never had much desire for connection.|Natural Isolationist]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $selfishlyalone to true>> !!!Attitude to Isolation: Selfish Separation You don’t like being alone. You never have, and you doubt you ever will. But connecting to others is dangerous. Painful. Every time you let yourself get close to someone, you lose them. Every. Single. Time. There’s only so much of that sort of agony a person can take, and you have long since hit your threshold. You can’t risk connecting anymore. Simple as that, and not simple at all. Isolation is safe. Not painless, but it’s a pain you can live with. In your situation, that’s really all you can hope for. You sigh in resignation, pushing down the familiar dread at the prospect of living the rest of your life entirely alone. The feeling pleads with you to reconsider, as it always does when it makes itself known. It loses that battle every time, paling in comparison to the dread of further loss. You have to protect yourself as best you can. It isn't as if you have anyone else to do so for you, or to comfort you when the worst comes to pass. If you tried to connect with others only to run into the same tragedy you've come to know so well... You'd be entirely alone trying to cope with the fallout, just like every time before. You'd be left in a solitary echo chamber of your own agony. As always. You have no interest in being reduced to such a state again. [[Regardless of how you feel about it, this is your home now.|Uffi Appears]]

<<set $isolation +=0.5>> <<set $naturalisolationist to true>> !!!Attitude to Isolation: Natural Isolationist You’ve never minded being alone. In fact, you prefer it, though perhaps not to the extreme extent that you're currently aiming for. Your own company has always been your favourite company, and past events have only further encouraged you to keep to yourself, to find contentment in solitude. Perhaps, if you could, you’d at least get a pet or have one friend for the rare moments when your own company just isn’t enough. Small but cherished connections to satisfy the human instinct that craves such things, without overwhelming your introverted nature. But you’ve learned the hard way that that just isn’t an option for you. As it is, you can only thank your lucky stars that you're predisposed to prefer being alone. Even with your inclination for isolation, being so entirely on your own is hard at times. You can't imagine how much worse it would be if you were the sort of person who actively needed company to be happy. If you were someone who craved socialization and connection. You aren't that sort of person, though. They say no one is an island, and maybe that's true, but you're better equipped than most to go against that. To keep vast miles of distance, both metaphorical and literal, between yourself and the rest of the world without completely falling apart. You smile as you regard your new home, already feeling fond of it. It suits you perfectly, and you can’t imagine any reason you wouldn’t be happy here. [[Regardless of how you feel about it, this is your home now.|Uffi Appears]]

<<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $adaptable +=0.5>> <<set $adaptedisolationist to true>> !!!Attitude to Isolation: Adaptive Isolationist Being alone doesn’t bother you anymore. It did, once. Living this way hasn’t come naturally to you. But the human brain is remarkably adaptable when it needs to be, and you've been alone for so long that you've gotten used to it. You've learned how to keep yourself content despite it, how to enjoy your own company. You don’t need others to be happy. You’re certain you’d be happier with them, sure. Isolation isn’t in your nature and, if you had a choice, you wouldn’t choose it. There is no choice, though. Not for you. So, you’ve adapted. After all, even if you don't actively strive to be alone, you'll still end up that way. The universe has made itself quite clear time and again that you will never be allowed to properly connect with others. Better that you remain in isolation than to get a brief taste of love and support and connection... only to have it all brutally snatched away. There’s a familiar ache in your chest. Loneliness. Your one constant companion. You’ve learned to appreciate it. To find comfort in it. You keep it close and cherish it, nurture it, because its existence means you’re on the right track… And because it’s far preferable to the alternative. [[Regardless of how you feel about it, this is your home now.|Uffi Appears]]

<<set $isolation -=0.5>> <<set $selflesslyalone to true>> !!!Attitude to Isolation: Selfless Separation You don’t like being alone. Never have, probably never will. You crave the company of others, and you wish so badly to connect… It's like an ache. A constant, throbbing thrum of painful yearning. A wound you keep open, scared to let it heal because you know what will happen if you do. Something beyond your control would just tear you open all over again, but despite the fact that you'd be the one living on in wounded agony, the blood spilled wouldn't be yours. You’re dangerous. People get hurt when they get close to you. People die when they get close to you. You can’t put others at risk for your own selfish desires. You can't condemn others just to have a brief respite from your own pain. Though, it isn't as if you'd be free from pain even if you did discard the safety of others and recklessly reach for them. The tragic result of your attempts to connect with others certainly bears a pain all its own, more acute and suffocating than the ache of yearning. Even so, you think you'd risk it as many times as you had to, just for the taste of connection, comfort, love. If only no one else suffered from your actions. If only it wouldn't put anyone else at risk. If only. If only. No. No, it has to be this way. Whether you like it or not. You swallow thickly, pushing down the familiar sorrow that comes with such isolation. You’ll be entirely alone here. The thought hangs heavy in your mind, an albatross around your neck. and you are not looking forward to it. [[Regardless of how you feel about it, this is your home now.|Uffi Appears]]

You pull yourself from your inner musings, gather yourself, and approach the front door. Your new landlord is supposed to be meeting you here to hand off the keys to the place, but you don’t see anyone around— The front door bursts open, and you have to stumble back to avoid it hitting you. A ridiculously large man is silhouetted in the doorway. Shoulder to shoulder, he takes up the entire entryway, and if he wanted to cross the threshold he would likely have to stoop to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe. He doesn’t try to step outside, though, so it isn’t an issue at the moment. Once you manage to process the behemoth of a man standing in front of you, you’re able to take in the rest of his appearance, and— —And the single tackiest sweater you’ve ever seen. A well and truly heinous affront to fashion and, even if you don’t care about fashion, an insult to eyes everywhere. You have to remind yourself that his eyes are up there, so horribly attention-grabbing is this sweater. The fabric looks very, very soft, even stretched as it is over the man's muscle-bound bulk, and that's probably the only redeeming quality it possesses. Otherwise, it's a monstrosity of patterns. It would almost look like the carpet of a bowling alley, but only if the person who installed it had a personal vendetta against the bowling alley. You finally manage to tear your eyes away from it. You… [[Avert your eyes from him entirely. (Prefer to Avoid Eye Contact)|Avert Your Eyes]] [[Fake eye contact, looking at a point just above his shoulder. (Prefer to Avoid Eye Contact)|Fake Eye Contact]] [[Force yourself to meet his eyes occasionally. (Prefer to Avoid Eye Contact)|Forced Eye Contact Lite]] [[Force yourself to meet his eyes continuously.|Forced Eye Contact]] [[Meet his eyes without issue.|No Issue With Eye Contact]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, however. You glance around as you stand outside the front door. You look at the spots of rust eating away at the iron fencing that frames the brick steps to the front door, and you look at the moss in between the bricks. Anything is better than making eye contact with <<cycle "$eyecontact" autoselect>><<option "strangers">><<option "anyone">><</cycle>>. [[His expression brightens with a beaming smile.|Uffi Greeting]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.5>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> Eye contact has always been an issue for you. All that means is that you’ve had plenty of time to learn how to work around it. You avert your eyes very slightly, looking more towards his temple than his eyes. Subtly enough that it still passes for looking at him, but far enough away that his eyes are only in your periphery. You’re well practiced with this trick, considering you rely on it any time you have to actually talk to <<cycle "$eyecontact" autoselect>><<option "strangers">><<option "anyone">><</cycle>>. [[His expression brightens with a beaming smile.|Uffi Greeting]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> Eye contact is difficult. You can only manage little bits of it at a time before the discomfort becomes too much and you have to look away again. Hopefully, he’s not the sort to get offended by that. You doubt that he is. In the moments you can bear to look at them, his soft blue eyes are kind and disarming, matching his warm smile. Still, nice as he may be, it doesn't set you at ease enough to consistently meet his eyes. That’s not his fault, though. You always struggle to make eye contact with <<cycle "$eyecontact" autoselect>><<option "strangers">><<option "anyone">><</cycle>>. [[His expression brightens with a beaming smile.|Uffi Greeting]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> Eye contact isn’t your favourite thing, but you’re nothing if not adaptable. You’ve almost entirely desensitised yourself to it over the years. It helps that his eyes are such a soft, pretty shade of blue. They shine with cheer that’s reflected in his bright smile. You almost have to wonder if you’ll develop blind spots from looking at it head-on, like staring at the sun. You’d welcome that if it specifically blocked out the atrocity masquerading as a sweater still haunting your lower periphery. [[His expression brightens with a beaming smile.|Uffi Greeting]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> His face is a very nice change of pace from the hideous sweater he’s wearing. Though, he’d likely be considered good looking even when not in comparison to such a grotesque garment. Soft blue eyes, blond hair, a stunning smile. He’s certainly conventionally attractive, if you’re into that sort of thing. None of it redeems him from his clothing crimes, however. [[His expression brightens with a beaming smile.|Uffi Greeting]]

“Hello! Welcome! Come in, come in!” He greets you enthusiastically, waving you inside the building, stepping aside to give you room to enter. You can't help but get the impression of a dog so excited to meet New People that it's wiggling its whole body as it wags its tail. He isn't wiggling, but that excited energy is certainly there, buzzing around him. You enter, <<cycle "$height" autoselect>> <<option "having to stoop a little to avoid hitting your head" "very tall">> <<option "just barely brushing the top of the doorway with the top of your head" "tall">> <<option "glancing up but not coming anywhere near the top of the doorframe" "average">> <<option "not sparing a thought for the impossible prospect of banging your head against the tall doorframe" "short">> <</cycle>>, and look around as he shuts the door behind you. The front door you come in through doesn't open into a proper porch, but rather it opens up into a red-rugged hallway. Your first thought is ‘this must be a bitch to deal with in winter.’ It’s a very lovely rug, but that only makes worse the idea of the fate awaiting it once everyone starts tracking snow and sleet into the building. It is very aesthetically pleasing to look at, though. For now. Paired with the wood-panelled walls and wall lights which presumably haven’t been changed since the eighties, it's all very <<cycle "$likesvintage" autoselect>> <<option "vintage." 1>> <<option "dated." 2>> <</cycle>> “I hope you weren't waiting long!!” The man exclaims as you take in your surroundings, though you aren't sure why he thinks you'd have been waiting when you hadn't even had time to knock. He runs a hand back through his light blond hair, pushing it out of his face, only for it to fall back into place against his forehead once he drops his hand. The style is short, and isn't messy so much as in a state of disarray that has you wondering what he'd been doing before coming to the door. “I’m Uffi!” He introduces himself, confirming your assumption that he’s your landlord. You remember the name from the emails exchanged, and having to e-transfer the deposit. “You’re $name, yes?” [[Introduce yourself with a genuine smile.|Uffi Genuine Intro]] [[Introduce yourself with a measured smile.|Uffi Measured Intro]] [[Stutter your way through a nervous introduction.|Uffi Stuttered Intro]] [[Introduce yourself politely and professionally.|Uffi Calm Intro]] [[Simply Confirm|Uffi Simple Intro]] [[Nod|Uffi Silent Intro]]

!!!What is your name? <<textbox "$name" "Ambrosia">> <<button "Proceed" "Name Confirmation">><</button>>

!!!Is $name correct? [[Yes, let me set my pronouns.|Player Pronouns]] [[No, I somehow forgot my own name.|Player Name]]

!!!What are your pronouns? Subjective Pronoun: <<textbox "$subpro" "he/she/they">> Objective Pronoun: <<textbox "$objpro" "him/her/them">> Possessive Adjective: <<textbox "$possadj" "his/her/their">> Possessive Pronoun: <<textbox "$posspro" "his/hers/theirs">> Reflective Pronoun (himself/herself/themself) <<textbox "$refpro" "himself/herself/themself">> !!!Do your pronouns use plural or singular verbs? (he/she says vs. they say) <<cycle "$pronountense" autoselect>> <<option "Singular">> <<option "Plural">> <</cycle>> <<button "Proceed" "Pronoun Confirmation">><</button>>

Are these your pronouns? Subjective Pronoun: $subpro Objective Pronoun: $objpro Possessive Pronoun: $posspro Possessive Adjective: $possadj Reflective Pronoun: $refpro [[Yes, bring me to the story.|Intro]] [[No, let me fix them.|Player Pronouns]]

!!!Please Note: This game contains themes that are centered around death, loss, and the struggle of coming to terms with those things. It also includes depictions of panic attacks, traumatic flashbacks, and other potentially graphic descriptions of trauma responses. It also includes descriptions of various causes of death, including: Anuerysm, stroke, violence, elevator crash, and more which I will add warnings for as they come up. If you find such subjects difficult or upsetting to read about, please exercise caution if you decide to proceed. Take care of yourself, and take breaks as needed. The story will still be here when you feel up to returning to it. There will be options for your character to respond to their struggle in various ways. This includes options for your character to experience suicidal ideation in response to their trauma, but such options will be clearly labelled as such. If such content is triggering for you, avoid those options to keep such themes out of your story. If such options are picked, however, your character will have an added layer to their recovery arc. On the next couple of pages, you will set your character's name and pronouns. The rest of your character's information will be built as the story goes. I hope you enjoy the story. Thank you for reading. [[Next|Player Name]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> “Yes, that’s me. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.” You smile at him, friendly and sincere. His own smile somehow manages to brighten in response… And it was already pretty damn bright. “Likewise! I was a bit worried no one would show up! It’s been a very long time since anyone new has moved in, so I haven’t had to seek out new tenants in… Many years, but I don’t want to age myself.” He jokes. It has to be a joke, because from the look of him he can't possibly be old enough to worry about that. You'd guess late twenties, maybe early thirties. Regardless, you’re fairly certain he hasn’t taken a breath yet as he continues: “I’ll show you up to your apartment! The door directly to your left leads to the laundry. Please be courteous in your use of the machine. The door on the right is actually where I live. It's the only unit on the ground floor. ” He points out the doors as you pass them, heading towards the stairs and elevator. The elevator looms ahead of you, dominating the narrow hallway that leads off of the entryway, threatening to remind you of the upsetting events that you experienced in an elevator years ago. You... [[Have no problem with elevators|Fine With Elevators]] [[Hate elevators, but don't want to show it.|Stubborn Elevators]] [[Avoid elevators at all costs|Elevator Avoidant]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> You’d much rather be on your landlord’s good side than bad. He ultimately has control over whether or not you can live here, after all. You mirror his energy with a smile, which somehow manages to make him smile even brighter… And it was already pretty damn bright. You don't try to mirror that, if only because your cheeks are sore just looking at him. “Yes, I’m $name, it’s good to finally meet you in person.” You introduce yourself, sounding for all the world like you mean every word, your tone friendly and light. Whether or not it's sincerely good to meet him in person remains to be seen. “Likewise! I was a bit worried no one would show up! It’s been a very long time since anyone new has moved in, so I haven’t had to seek out new tenants in… Many years, but I don’t want to age myself.” He jokes. It has to be a joke, because from the look of him he can't possibly be old enough to worry about that. You'd guess late twenties, maybe early thirties. Regardless, you’re fairly certain he hasn’t taken a breath yet as he continues: “I’ll show you up to your apartment! The door directly to your left leads to the laundry. Please be courteous in your use of the machine. The door on the right is actually where I live. It's the only unit on the ground floor. ” He points out the doors as you pass them, heading towards the stairs and elevator. The elevator looms ahead of you, dominating the narrow hallway that leads off of the entryway, threatening to remind you of the upsetting events that you experienced in an elevator years ago. You... [[Have no problem with elevators|Fine With Elevators]] [[Hate elevators, but don't want to show it.|Stubborn Elevators]] [[Avoid elevators at all costs|Elevator Avoidant]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $stutter to 1>> You try to introduce yourself. You really, really do. You open your mouth with every intention of being polite and making a good first impression. You open your mouth... and nothing comes out. You try again, and manage to speak this time, but you get caught on every other consonant, and the more you stutter the more acutely aware you become of the fact that you’re stuttering and then that makes everything worse— You give up on the original sentence you'd intended. "Yes, nice to finally meet you, too" just isn't happening. By the time you manage to choke out an entire sentence, you've had to switch out some words for synonyms, cut out some words altogether, and even then the sentence is choppy and stilted. As you finally manage to get out the words "Yeah, good to meet you,” it feels to you like an eternity has passed. The clear and totally casual greeting you'd had in mind has ended up nothing like you intended, much to your frustration, and you’re dreading having to look up and see how annoyed he must be. In your experience, many people don't have a lot of tolerance for someone struggling with something most others take for granted as simple. But when you look up, he’s still smiling as brightly as he was before. “Likewise! I was a bit worried no one would show up! It’s been a very long time since anyone new has moved in, so I haven’t had to seek out new tenants in… Many years, but I don’t want to age myself.” He jokes. It has to be a joke, because from the look of him he can't possibly be old enough to worry about that. You'd guess late twenties, maybe early thirties. Regardless, you’re fairly certain he hasn’t taken a breath yet as he continues: “I’ll show you up to your apartment! The door directly to your left leads to the laundry. Please be courteous in your use of the machine. The door on the right is actually where I live. It's the only unit on the ground floor. ” He points out the doors as you pass them, heading towards the stairs and elevator. The elevator looms ahead of you, dominating the narrow hallway that leads off of the entryway, threatening to remind you of the upsetting events that you experienced in an elevator years ago. You... [[Have no problem with elevators|Fine With Elevators]] [[Hate elevators, but don't want to show it.|Stubborn Elevators]] [[Avoid elevators at all costs|Elevator Avoidant]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> “Yes, I’m $name.” You reply, clear and concise, polite and almost business-like. This may not be a workplace and he may not be your manager or co-worker, but you still want to represent yourself well to the person who ultimately has control of whether or not you can live here. "Pleased to finally meet you in person." “Likewise! I was a bit worried no one would show up! It’s been a very long time since anyone new has moved in, so I haven’t had to seek out new tenants in… Many years, but I don’t want to age myself.” He jokes. It has to be a joke, because from the look of him he can't possibly be old enough to worry about that. You'd guess late twenties, maybe early thirties. Regardless, you’re fairly certain he hasn’t taken a breath yet as he continues: “I’ll show you up to your apartment! The door directly to your left leads to the laundry. Please be courteous in your use of the machine. The door on the right is actually where I live. It's the only unit on the ground floor. ” He points out the doors as you pass them, heading towards the stairs and elevator. The elevator looms ahead of you, dominating the narrow hallway that leads off of the entryway, threatening to remind you of the upsetting events that you experienced in an elevator years ago. You... [[Have no problem with elevators|Fine With Elevators]] [[Hate elevators, and that's why you insist on taking them.|Stubborn Elevators]] [[Avoid elevators at all costs|Elevator Avoidant]]

<<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> “Yes.” You respond simply. No need for anything more than that. A simple question warrants a simple answer, and simple answers often have the added benefit of discouraging further questions. He’s unfazed by your brevity, but seems keen to fill the silence. “Well, it’s great to finally meet you in person! I was a bit worried no one would show up! It’s been a very long time since anyone new has moved in, so I haven’t had to seek out new tenants in… Many years, but I don’t want to age myself.” He jokes. It has to be a joke, because from the look of him he can't possibly be old enough to worry about that. You'd guess late twenties, maybe early thirties. Regardless, you’re fairly certain he hasn’t taken a breath yet as he continues: “I’ll show you up to your apartment! The door directly to your left leads to the laundry. Please be courteous in your use of the machine. The door on the right is actually where I live. It's the only unit on the ground floor. ” He points out the doors as you pass them, heading towards the stairs and elevator. The elevator looms ahead of you, dominating the narrow hallway that leads off of the entryway, threatening to remind you of the upsetting events that you experienced in an elevator years ago. You... [[Have no problem with elevators|Fine With Elevators]] [[Hate elevators, but don't want to show it.|Stubborn Elevators]] [[Avoid elevators at all costs|Elevator Avoidant]]

<<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $nonverbal to 1>> You nod, but say nothing in reply. He doesn’t seem put off by this, but he's certainly keen to fill the silence. “Well, it’s great to finally meet you in person! I was a bit worried no one would show up! It’s been a very long time since anyone new has moved in, so I haven’t had to seek out new tenants in… Many years, but I don’t want to age myself.” He jokes. It has to be a joke, because from the look of him he can't possibly be old enough to worry about that. You'd guess late twenties, maybe early thirties. Regardless, you’re fairly certain he hasn’t taken a breath yet as he continues: “I’ll show you up to your apartment! The door directly to your left leads to the laundry. Please be courteous in your use of the machine. The door on the right is actually where I live. It's the only unit on the ground floor. ” He points out the doors as you pass them, heading towards the stairs and elevator. The elevator looms ahead of you, dominating the narrow hallway that leads off of the entryway, threatening to remind you of the upsetting events that you experienced in an elevator years ago. You... [[Have no problem with elevators|Fine With Elevators]] [[Hate elevators, but don't want to show it.|Stubborn Elevators]] [[Avoid elevators at all costs|Elevator Avoidant]]

Despite your past experiences, you have no issues with elevators. Past performance is not an indicator of future results, after all. Not to mention, elevators are common enough that you've had plenty of time to desensitize yourself to them by now. So, you and Uffi enter the elevator with no trouble. He presses the button for the fourth, and top, floor. It isn’t a long ride, but even so Uffi is apparently inclined to fill the silence. “I do hope you’ll like it here. Though, I know moving somewhere new is frightening. Not to mention isolating. I’m sure it won’t take you very long to make some friends here, though. The other tenants are a very nice bunch!” He tells you, and you suppress a cringe. You came here specifically to avoid making new connections. From the sounds of it, your neighbours won’t make that easy. <<if $selflesslyalone is true>> You steel your resolve. All the more reason to keep to yourself. You don't want to inflict your particular brand of misery on anyone, and if they're as nice as Uffi says... You need to be especially careful. It's like a cruel bit of cosmic irony that the people who are most in danger of you are the ones who make it the hardest for you to maintain a safe distance, and often also the ones least deserving of the consequences should you fail. You can't let yourself fail. You're so tired of hurting people. <<elseif $selfishlyalone is true>> Uffi may as well have just told you you're about to be stuck in the building with a bunch of hungry wolves rather than nice people. People like that are actively a threat to your well-being. Every kind word, every friendly gesture, every hallmark of a "nice person" is designed to make you let your guard down. Like they're trying to lure you in. You know they aren't. You know, logically, that genuinely nice people aren't intentionally trying to cause you draw you in to cause you harm. But it's hard to remember that when they dangle something so tempting right in front of you, drawing you in and causing you harm all the same. They think they're being kind, but you know better. You know all too well by now that if you get too close, it'll all go up in flames. No one will be getting out unscathed, and you're tired of being burnt<<elseif $adaptedisolationist is true>> You mentally brace yourself. If that's the case, then this is going to be... trying. Yes, you're used to being alone, certainly, but even so... It's not natural, for you. It's very much put on, like an ill-fitting pair of shoes - you know they won't fit, but the soreness of wearing them is preferable to having to walk over glass with bare feet. This is like someone dangling a pair that are perfectly your size right in front of you while you blister and bleed, and you somehow have to find the strength of will to turn down the opportunity for respite and carry on as you are. You're exhausted just thinking about it. <<elseif $naturalisolationist is true>> Nice people? Well, if they're as nice as he says, at the very least you'll get to have some pleasant chats. Keeping people at arm's length comes naturally to you, and their demeanour doesn't especially change that. If you were in a position where you could afford to be more open to connection, maybe that would be different. But this is how it is. So, whether they're nice or not doesn't really change much for you, though you hope it means they're courteous neighbours as well. <</if>> Uffi doesn't stop talking the entire ride up. You listen at first, in case he's saying something important, but it quickly becomes evident that he's the sort who talks and talks without ever really saying anything. [[So, you tune him out for the rest of the ride.|To the Apartment]]

<<set $elevatortrauma to true>> After what happened, you can’t stand elevators. Your stomach churns with unease the closer you get to it, but you force yourself onward. You won't let this get the best of you. You refuse to let an event from years ago, however significant, control you like this. What happened back then is statistically extremely unlikely to happen again. The only danger an elevator is likely to hold for you is the danger of dredging up the ghosts of memories that are perhaps best kept buried. You have enough of those that you're used to that by now. It's still unpleasant, it still leaves you shaken, and it sometimes trips a domino effect that leads to a more intense reaction down the line, but you're so often forced to recall things like this that it's practically a guaranteed part of your day-to-day life. You're used to having to force yourself to keep going, at least until you can get somewhere safe. You're also used to having to outwardly act like you're fine, too, but Uffi seems to notice your discomfort regardless. “Should we take the stairs, instead?” He offers with a kind, non-judgemental smile. [[You can’t stand his pity. Now you have to take the elevator.|Scoff-worthy Pity]] [[You smile back and thank him, but insist on the elevator.|Politely Refused Pity]] [[Hesitate, but insist on the elevator|Elevator Hesitation]] [[Hesitate, but ultimately take the stairs.|Stair Hesitation]] [[Gratefully take the stairs, sagging with relief.|Grateful for Stairs]]

<<set $elevatortrauma to true>> Your heart-rate soars as you approach, your chest tightening— You look away. You open your mouth to ask if you can take the stairs, but it would seem Uffi has noticed your discomfort and is ahead of you. Just as well, you're not sure you'd have been able to pull off an unaffected tone in that moment, still trying to rein in your heart-rate. You can't stand elevators. Ever since what happened... It may have been years ago, and it may be statistically unlikely to ever happen again, but neither of those facts matter. They don't keep the memories at bay, they don't lessen the pain of those memories, and they don't reduce the way those things impact you. They also don't keep present company from noticing your averse reaction. “Should we take the stairs, instead?” He offers with a kind, non-judgemental smile. [[You can’t stand his pity. Now you have to take the elevator.|Scoff-worthy Pity]] [[It stings your pride, but you take the out.|In Spite of Pride]] [[You gratefully take the out.|Grateful for the Out]]

<<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $adaptable -=0.2>> How condescending can he be? You scowl and just barely keep from rolling your eyes as you march forth and call the elevator yourself. The mere sound of it coming down makes you nauseous, sends a terrible chill of dread creeping across your skin. That chill is very quickly overshadowed by the boiling of your blood. “You can take the stairs if you like, I’m taking the elevator.” The good thing about how horribly annoyed you are with his patronizing bullshit is that you can focus that annoyance to keep your words sharp and your voice unwavering. If all else fails you, spite never lets you down. “If you’re sure…” He acquiesces, laying on the doubt as thick as is humanly possible. You grind your teeth so hard you fear they may crack. [[You're sure. You're taking the elevator.|Take the Elevator]]

<<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $adaptable -=0.2>> “Thank you for your concern, but I’d prefer to take the elevator.” You step forward and call the elevator. It’s sweet of him to worry, but you know what you’re doing. You know your own limits, you wouldn’t do this if you weren’t sure you could handle it. You refuse to shy away from these situations. You refuse to let the past control your present, even if the mere sound of the elevator coming down makes you nauseous, and sends a terrible chill of dread creeping across your skin. Though, you suppose, the fact that you’re doing this specifically to go against your past means it has a degree of control over your present either way. But you’re tired, and you don’t want to climb a flight of stairs. You want to be able to take the elevator and so [[you’re going to take the damn elevator.|Take the Elevator]]

<<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $adaptable +=0.2>> Your gaze turns to the stairs. You hesitate, conflicted. You’re so tired, there’s absolutely nothing appealing about taking the stairs. Why compound your exhaustion any further? Your eyes flick back to the elevator— There are feelings worse than exhaustion. You’d prefer to avoid them. [[So, the stairs it is.|Up the Stairs]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> Your gaze turns to the stairs. You hesitate, conflicted. You’re so tired, there’s absolutely nothing appealing about taking the stairs. Why compound your exhaustion any further? Your eyes flick back to the elevator, and feelings far worse than exhaustion threaten to stir... Even so, you step forward and call the elevator. The mere sound of it coming down makes you nauseous, sends a terrible chill of dread creeping across your skin. In your opinion, that's all the more reason to take the elevator. You'll never free yourself from this reaction if you refuse to face it. [[So, you take the elevator.|Take the Elevator]]

<<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $adaptable +=0.2>> Oh, thank goodness. As much as you try to overcome your issues with elevators, it's still a deeply unpleasant experience for you. You have a system by now for repressing the reactions those vertical coffins invoke in you, but it's not a perfect system, and a full-on breakdown is not the first impression you want to make on your landlord. You just about sag in relief as you accept his merciful offer. [[Up the stairs you go.|Up the Stairs]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> His offer stings your pride. You don't want to make a Thing of this. You just want to be able to take the elevator like anyone else would. You don't want to display this vulnerability in front of a stranger, or admit that something that's actively more convenient for most people is extraordinarily inconvenient for you. Though, having a full-on breakdown in front of your landlord within ten minutes of meeting him would also be quite the blow to your pride. So, you pick the option that stings your pride, because a sting is preferable to outright agony. [[Up the stairs you go.|Up the Stairs]]

<<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $adaptable +=0.2>> "I'd prefer that, thank you," you respond, and it's the understatement of the century. You could just about collapse with relief, you feel almost light-headed with it. You didn't have to ask, or make excuses, or anything like that, he just... handed you an out. Just like that. You're beyond grateful that you've ended up with someone so seemingly considerate as your landlord. Hopefully he'll show you just as much grace if you ever need some leeway when you pay your rent. [[You take the stairs|Up the Stairs]]

The rest of the trip up to your room is uneventful. Uffi chatters the entire way, not taking time to take a breath or to allow you to actually respond to any of it. The trip up the stairs doesn't seem to wind him, or put a dent in his stream of consciousness ramblings. <<if $strength is 1>> You wish you could say the same, but your bag was heavy enough to carry normally, let alone up a flight of stairs. You're genuinely kind of worried its heft will pull you backwards down the wooden staircase, but now that Uffi is well and truly immersed in his ramblings, he doesn't seem to notice. <<elseif $strength is 2>> You wish you could say the same. Your bag was already heavy, and carrying it up the stairs certainly isn't easier. You're winded, but you're managing. <<elseif $strength is 3>> You're similarly unaffected as you climb the staircase. Your heavy bag gives you about as much trouble now as it had before, which is to say, it doesn't give you any trouble at all. <</if>> You listen to Uffi's monologue, at first, in case he's saying something important, but it quickly becomes obvious that he's the sort who talks and talks without ever really saying anything. [[You tune him out for the rest of the climb.|To the Apartment]]

You both enter the elevator. The unease that had ignited the moment you laid eyes on the wretched thing, and which had begun increasing by increments after you'd called the elevator down, only intensifies as the doors close. Uffi presses the button for your floor. You brace yourself, but it doesn't do much to help as the elevator jerks into motion. There aren't many floors to the building. Your apartment is at the top floor, but as the building only has four floors, that's not saying much. Still, you may very well lose your lunch before you get there. Uffi is still chattering, has been since before you actually entered the elevator, but you don't hear him. You see his mouth moving, but there's a ringing in your ears that sounds more and more like a scream the longer you're stuck in this death trap. You can't tell if what your mind is forcing you to hear is the memory of the screeching of grinding metal, or the memory of your fellow passenger screaming. Neither option is pleasant, and you try not to puzzle out which, lest you get caught up in the memory entirely. As it is, you can feel the dreaded memory circle around you, watching you carefully for the slightest glimpse of weakness, for the barest, briefest chance to strike. It only needs you to slip up a little bit for a fraction of a second, and it'll gleefully drag you under. You know from repeated experience that, once its jaws clamp down on you, there will be no fighting back. You won't stand a chance. And once there's blood in the water, other rabid memories will come swarming, eager for their pound of flesh. You'll be picked apart in seconds, and who knows how long it'll take to put yourself back together this time? You try to breathe through it. Deep, even breaths, but you keep losing your count as you become increasingly distressed, and the breaths you manage to raggedly suck in are thin, short, and shaky. You're beginning to feel light-headed— The elevator jerks to a stop, and your stomach drops as your body expects the entire contraption to go plummeting to the ground. It doesn't. The moment the doors open, you shoot forward and out of the elevator as quickly as your trembling legs will allow. The memories don't recede on their own. No, of course not, that would be too easy. But it's easier, at least, to fight them off on solid ground, and thankfully you've kept enough of your composure that Uffi either doesn't notice how shaken up you are, or doesn't see fit to mention it. He's fully immersed in his ramblings as you follow him down the hallway, and [[that is just fine by you.|To the Apartment]]

Uffi is still going on and on as you both arrive outside of your apartment door, around the middle of the hallway on the left-hand side. He doesn't give you any leeway to turn his talking into an actual conversation. You keep waiting for him to run out of things to say and hand you the keys, but you two stand out in the hallway for a minute, and then three, and then five, and he still seems to have no inclination to wrap this up. He isn't telling you anything relevant to you or your apartment, he isn't talking about anything important or useful. Maybe you would be able to stand listening to him on a normal day, but you're running on empty right now. <<if $strength is 1>> You're about ready to drop. Your bag of belongings seems to grow heavier by the moment, and it was already more than you could really handle. Every minute that ticks by feels like an hour. <<elseif $strength is 2>> You're barely hanging in there. Your bag of belongings seems to weigh more by the minute, and while you've managed pretty well so far, it really is starting to wear on you. <<elseif $strength is 3>> You're not exactly struggling to stay upright, but you really don't have the energy or patience for this right now. <</if>> You're tired and grimy from travel, you need time to catch a nap before your first shift at your new job tonight, and this man is essentially holding your apartment keys hostage while he talks your ears off. By this point, you've long since noticed the pleasant lilt of his accent - something you think may be from somewhere Scandinavian - but it doesn't do much to make this experience more bearable. You... [[...cut him off and ask for the keys.|Keys Cut Off]] [[...politely interject to ask for the keys, not wanting to be rude.|Keys Genuinely Polite]] [[...politely interject to ask for the keys, not wanting to get on his bad side.|Keys Slyly Polite]] [[...listen patiently as he speaks.|Patient Keys]] [[...pretend to listen as he speaks.|Pretend Keys]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> “Can I have the keys now?” You interrupt abruptly. You expect him to take offense or otherwise react to your rudeness, though in your opinion he was being far ruder than you. You aren't sure what to make of the fact that his only reaction is an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, right! Sorry about that, I can go on and on for ages if you let me!” He laughs again, but you just grimace, as that sounds incredibly grating to you at the moment. He doesn’t seem to notice your expression or, if he does, he doesn’t care. Neither do you. You’re just happy to get out of this interaction, ready to receive your keys, but then… “It’s a very bad habit of mine. My mother used to say…” [[And there he goes again. Talking and talking and talking.|Vampiric Bail Out]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> “Sorry to interrupt,” you cut in with a small, apologetic smile. You feel awful having to cut in so abruptly, but he left no pauses between his words for you to be able to speak up otherwise. “But it’s been a very long day of travel and I’d like the chance to lie down. May I have my keys, please?” “Oh! Goodness, of course! How inconsiderate of me…” He seems genuinely apologetic, and perhaps a bit abashed to find he’s been going on for so long. You shoot him another smile as reassurance. You hope he doesn't beat himself up about it. But then… “It’s a very bad habit of mine. My mother used to say…” [[And there he goes again. Talking and talking and talking.|Vampiric Bail Out]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> “Sorry to interrupt,” you cut in with a carefully curated apologetic smile. You aren't at all sorry, and in fact are feeling a bit of vindictive glee at getting to interrupt his inconsiderate nonsense. You don't let onto that, though, keeping your tone gentle and beseeching. “But it’s been a very long day of travel and I’d like the chance to lie down. May I have my keys, please?” “Oh! Goodness, of course! How inconsiderate of me…” He seems genuinely apologetic, and perhaps a bit abashed to find he’s been going on for so long. As he should, you think, even as you shoot him another smile for good measure. But then… “It’s a very bad habit of mine. My mother used to say…” [[And there he goes again. Talking and talking and talking.|Vampiric Bail Out]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> You listen quietly, nodding to indicate you’re listening now and then. You expect him to wrap things up, if not quickly than at least with some regard for how tired you are, standing out in the hallway after days of travel. Now that you stand outside your apartment, knowing a chance to rest is so close and yet so far… It just makes you all the more eager to get out of this interaction. It doesn't seem like that's going to happen any time soon. He does not stop talking, nor does he hand you your keys, and he gives no indication that he has any intention of doing either in the near future. You try glancing pointedly at your door, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Eventually, as minutes tick by and your exhaustion weighs on you, you finally have to bite the bullet. First, you try clearing your throat as a subtle way to interject… But he doesn’t seem to notice at all. [[Keep listening, it's the polite thing to do.|Keep Listening Polite]] [[Keep listening, he may reveal something useful.|Keep Listening Sly]] [[Keep trying to interject non-verbally.|Non-Verbal Interjection]] [[Break and finally speak up.|Break and speak]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> You could not possibly care less about the words coming out of his mouth. That said, you want to stay on his good side. So you stand there, smiling and nodding like you’re listening to every word, while your thoughts begin to wander. Your brain picks a song at random to get stuck playing on repeat, the cerebral equivalent of elevator music, and you settle in for the long haul. He doesn’t seem keen on stopping anytime soon, and you have to make a conscious effort not to sigh heavily. [[You try not to think too hard about how utterly exhausted you are.|Vampiric Bail Out]]

“Oh, there you are, Uffi,” a new voice chimes in, a door across the hall from your own but a bit further down having opened without you noticing, a stranger stepping out and closing it behind. The dim, intermittent hall lights are all but useless, especially in the middle of the day when they're outdone by the soft, diluted light of an autumn afternoon through the dusty windowpane at the far end of the hall. The stranger is not particularly tall. Maybe in the mid-five-foot range, if you had to guess. His black hair is incredibly curly, and it seems he’s tried to consign it to being tied back. His hair is clearly against this decision, however, as much of it has escaped the confines of the hair tie. His lithe form is clad in a deep red sweater which compliments the warm undertones of his very dark skin. Unlike Uffi’s, this sweater has no eye-murdering colours or patterns, and in fact looks both stylish and cozy. The amount of relief you feel at the sight might seem absurd, but you’re certain it would be understood by anyone who had the misfortune of seeing Uffi’s terrible, awful, no good, very bad sweater. This is a sweater palette-cleanser, and matches very smartly with his dark slacks and shiny, burgundy loafers. His socks match the colour of his sweater almost exactly. The stranger approaching you smiles warmly, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners as he does. The expression is a perfect fit for the soft, slightly rounded quality to his features.<<if $eyecontact is false>> You think his eyes may be brown, but as facing you and Uffi right now means facing away from the window and thus the light, it’s hard to tell what shade. <<else>> You can't quite meet his eyes, but even if you could, you doubt you'd see much of them with his back to the window. <</if>> “So sorry to interrupt,” he begins, with an accent so subtle you can't quite place it. His voice is low and smooth, a little quieter than most people speak, but you don’t get the sense that that’s out of any sort of shyness. It's a bit jarring, actually, going from listening to Uffi's booming, exuberant voice to something so soft and soothing. “But Abby asked me to let you know he’s looking for you. Something in his apartment needs fixing.” He informs politely, and the answering groan of annoyance from Uffi is unlike anything you’ve heard from him so far. When you look away from the stranger toward your landlord,you find that his previous genial expression has been twisted into a frustrated frown. [[It sits strangely on his face, like he's not used to the expression.|Vamp Bail Cont]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> You have an infinite well of patience. You must, to willingly choose to just stand there, dead on your feet, while a man you've only just met prattles on about the most inane nonsense you’ve ever heard. You just keep standing there, listening. You learn that apparently he almost fell off a ladder last week, that he doesn't know what he wants for dinner tonight, or that the lawnmower apparently hates him as much as he hates it. All things he's told you in the time you've been standing in front of your apartment door, and despite the fact that you've been listening all the while, you don't know how any one of those things came up. [[He just keeps talking...and talking... and talking.|Vampiric Bail Out]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> There’s no way someone can talk so much without saying anything of any worth or meaning, right? Maybe he’ll give you some sort of insight into your neighbours, or the area. Something, anything that will be of use to you in this new place. But he keeps talking, and it keeps being inane nonsense. You can't do anything with the fact that apparently he almost fell off a ladder last week, that he doesn't know what he wants for dinner tonight, or that the lawnmower apparently hates him as much as he hates it. All things he's told you in the time you've been standing in front of your apartment door, and you don't know how any one of those things came up to begin with. The more you have to listen to this, the more utterly exhausted you feel. [[He just keeps going. Talking and talking and talking.|Vampiric Bail Out]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> He didn’t notice you clearing your throat, but there are other ways to get someone’s attention. The tricky part is finding something that won’t come off as horribly rude. Cutting in with wordless interjections can come off very differently than you intend if you're not careful. You try a few “um’s” and “uh’s,” common things to say in a conversation, something you’ve found will cause most people to pause as it signals to them that someone else has something to say. It does not work in this case. [[He just keeps talking, and talking, and talking.|Vampiric Bail Out]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> You can’t take this, you really can't. You’ve spent the better part of a week crammed into budget seats on flights, sleeping at the cheapest motels, and you are desperate to get some proper rest. This man is standing between you and solace, holding your keys hostage while he goes on at such lengths you’d swear he must be exhausting every word in the English language as he goes. You can't take it anymore! You have to say something. “Excuse me?” You try, but he’s so engrossed in his current mind-numbing tale that he doesn’t seem to hear you at all. You try again, a little louder, a little more desperate, but you get the same lack of reaction. [[He just keeps talking, and talking, and talking.|Vampiric Bail Out]]

“Are you kidding?” Uffi huffs, sounding supremely irritated. You find out, then, why his hair is in the disarrayed state that it is. As he becomes frustrated, he lifts his hands and tugs at his short, blond hair. He doesn't seem to notice that he's doing it. “I'm afraid not,” the man replies, his smile unwavering, his demeanor unshaken by Uffi’s reaction. “I believe it may be best to look into it sooner rather than later. You know what he’s like.” “I know, I know. He’ll likely just make it worse if I take too long, I know that perfectly well. Ugh.” Uffi releases his hair, one hand dropping to rest on his hip while the other drags down his face as he heaves a sigh. “I swear, if it’s another hole in the wall, I’m going to—“ He cuts himself off, shaking his head with yet another sigh, even heavier than the last. “What is this, the third time this month?” “That estimate is very generous of you. I believe we may be nearing the double-digits already this month.” The man allows himself a small, good-natured chuckle. Not laughing at Uffi, but inviting Uffi to laugh with him at the situation. It works like a charm, Uffi’s frowning expression untwisting as he lets out a brief snort at the words. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Well, sorry to cut this short,” Uffi tells you, despite the fact that he most certainly isn't cutting anything short and in fact has been dragging things out. Whatever. You're just happy that he's finally handing you your keys. You take them, and it feels like such an achievement, such a mountain conquered, such an arduous trial barely survived, that you half-expect some sort of victorious video game music to play as you accept them. “But Vicente has lived here a long time, and he’s a great guy. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you had any other questions!” Uffi hurries off before you have the chance to point out that he hadn’t given you space in the "conversation" to ask even a single question. "While it would have been polite of him to ask first, he's not wrong," the man (Vicente?) says from behind you, pulling your attention from your landlord’s retreating figure towards your new neighbour. He stands at a courteous distance, his posture perfect and his hands behind his back, but the relaxed set of his shoulders saps away any sense of rigidity. "I don't mind at all if you have any questions I can help answer." [[Thank him genuinely and introduce yourself.|Vicente Thanks and Intro]] [[Thank him and introduce yourself to keep up appearances.|Vicente Sly Thanks and Intro]] [[Don’t thank him, you didn’t need his help.|Don't Thank Vicente Rude]] [[Don’t thank him, he’ll be safer if he dislikes you.|Don't Thank Vicente Concerned]] [[Try to thank him, but get caught up by your stutter.|Stumbled Thanks Vicente]] [[Smile and nod in thanks.|Silent Thanks Vicente]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> <<set $vapproval to 4>> This man has saved your life. Truly, you would have dropped dead from boredom, exhaustion, or both if he hadn’t intervened. It's only right that you express some form of gratitude for such a thing, and it isn't as if merely thanking him will make him drop dead. If that were the case, you'd have left a grisly trail of barista's, cashier's, and servers in your wake. Since that most certainly is not the case, thanking him should be fine. “Thanks for that,” you smile gratefully. “I didn’t want to be rude, but I think I was about to fall asleep standing up.” You're only half-joking and, judging from the brief chuckle you receive in response, Vicente's picked up on that. “Yes, I could tell.” You don’t know how that could be, since he’d been inside what you can only assume is his apartment while you were talking to Uffi. You’re too tired to question it, though. “Please, don’t feel too badly about it. Uffi is sweet, but not terribly attentive to his conversational partners. He won’t take offense if you cut in, if you end up in that situation again.” “I’ll keep that in mind." You hesitate for a moment, weighing the risk of saying any more. Surely an introduction wouldn't be too dangerous... "I’m $name, by the way.” [[Offer a handshake. (Not Touch Averse)|Vicente Handshake]] [[Don't offer a handshake. (Touch Averse)|Vicente No Handshake Averse]] [[Don't offer a handshake. (Not Touch Averse, just rude.)|Vicente No Handshake]]

<<set $vpronouns to true>> You hold out your hand, which he takes. His grip is steady and firm, but not tight. You could easily pull away if you wanted, which part of you does, just because his hands are so cold. Maybe he has poor circulation? He only shakes your hand briefly before he lets go, though, so it doesn’t become an issue. “A pleasure to meet you, $name. May I inquire as to your pronouns?” "Oh, uh," you blink owlishly, a bit startled by the dissonance of such a modern question phrased in such an old-fashioned manner. “$subpro/$objpro. Yours?" "He/him." He replies. He seems as if he's about to say something more, hesitates for a moment, then continues: "Additionally, you may wish to be informed in advance that there is a young man with blue hair who lives in this building who can be... a bit much. If you run into him, and he addresses you in a way you'd rather he not, please let him know. He's rather oblivious, socially, but not malicious. If you correct him, he'll abide by your correction." He explains with a reassuring smile, though there's a tinge of anxiousness to the expression. "I’ll leave you to your rest. We can certainly speak later, if you are so inclined." "Sure. I'll see you around," you wave, and with a final smile and parting nod, Vicente turns and leaves, though he heads towards the elevator rather than his apartment. You grip your hard-earned keys and finally, finally, [[you enter your new apartment.|First Entry]]

<<set $courteous -=0.5>> <<set $vpronouns to true>> "A pleasure to meet you, $name. May I inquire as to your pronouns?" "Oh, uh," you blink owlishly, a bit startled by the dissonance of such a modern question phrased in such an old-fashioned manner. “$subpro/$objpro. Yours?" "He/him." He replies. He seems as if he's about to say something more, hesitates for a moment, then continues: , "Additionally, you may wish to be informed in advance that there is a young man with blue hair who lives in this building who can be... a bit much. If you run into him, and he addresses you in a way you'd rather he not, please let him know. He's rather oblivious, socially, but not malicious. If you correct him, he'll abide by your correction." He explains with a reassuring smile, though there's a tinge of anxiousness to the expression. "I’ll leave you to your rest. We can certainly speak later, if you are so inclined." "Sure. I'll see you around," you wave, and with a final smile and parting nod, Vicente turns and leaves at a leisurely pace, though he heads towards the elevator rather than his apartment. You grip your hard-earned keys, turn to the door, and finally, finally, [[you enter your new apartment.|First Entry]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> <<set $vapproval to 4>> This man has lived here for quite some time, and seems perfectly willing to help you out. Someone like him would be incredibly useful to you as you settle in here. Best to stay in his good books, then. Make sure he keeps wanting to help you. It's hollow, and cold, as well as dishonest and manipulative... But you do what you must <<if $selfishlyalone is true>> to protect yourself, <<elseif $selflesslyalone is true>> to keep people safe from you, <<else>> to get by in your unique situation, <</if>> as you're sure anyone else would do in your position. It might be a bit tricky in the long-run, if this new neighbour of yours is as friendly as he seems, but you’re fairly practiced now at keeping an emotional distance from people while still receiving the benefits they would offer in a proper friendship. Getting by in this life entirely alone is just not feasible, but since genuinely connecting to people isn't a real option for you, you settle for reaping the benefits of friendships without getting to indulge in the deeper aspects of one. The mere thought of genuinely getting close to someone brings about an icy dread that crystallizes in your veins. All the better. It keeps you sharp. “Thanks for that,” You smile gratefully at him, with no small amount of relief. You make the smile tremble a little, as you find helpful sorts like him are well motivated by vulnerability. Lo and behold, his already-warm <<if $eyecontact is false>> eyes <<else>> expression <</if>> softens all the more. “I didn’t want to be rude, but I think I was about to fall asleep standing up.” That pulls another chuckle out of Vicente, exactly as you’d hoped it would. “Yes, I could tell.” You don’t know how that could be, since he’d been inside what you can only assume is his apartment while you were talking to Uffi. You’re too tired to question it, though you make a mental note to keep that odd statement in mind. “Please, don’t feel too badly about it. Uffi is sweet, but not terribly attentive to his conversational partners. He won’t take offense if you cut in, if you end up in that situation again.” “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m $name, by the way.” [[Offer a handshake. (Not Touch Averse)|Vicente Handshake]] [[Don't offer a handshake. (Touch Averse)|Vicente No Handshake Averse]] [[Don't offer a handshake. (Not Touch Averse, just rude.)|Vicente No Handshake]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $vapproval to 3>> <<set $vpronouns to false>> Your teeth grind and your hands clench into fists, the jagged shape of your apartment key digging into the palm of your hand. Who asked him to step in? You’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, thank you very much! You don't need strangers sticking their noses into your business, positioning themselves as a saviour you never asked for. What, are you supposed to be grateful that he can't mind his own damn business? As if. You scoff and shake your head, turning your back on him pointedly to unlock your apartment. You don’t look to see his reaction, but he doesn’t sound perturbed when you hear his voice behind you. This doesn't help calm you at all. If anything, it just pisses you off all the more. Does he think you're a child, that a gentle tone would be enough to disarm you and make you overlook his blatant patronization? “I live just down the hall, if you need anything.” You know where he fucking lives, you saw him exit the damn place! He saw you see him! Does he think you're blind? Does he think you're stupid? Why else would he be laying out such obvious facts, if not as a discreet dig? On top of that, who is he to assume you’ll need something? You are perfectly capable of getting by all alone. You’ve certainly had enough practice by now. You turn around to tell him off, but he’s already halfway down the hall, striding quickly towards the elevator. You glare at his retreating figure and seethe for a moment longer before exhaustion saps away the rage. You turn back towards the door with an agitated sigh, already gripping your hard-earned keys and finally, finally, [[you enter your new apartment.|First Entry]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $vapproval to 3>> <<set $vpronouns to false>> You open your mouth to thank him, but a sequence of memories flash through your mind, reminding you of what happens to people when you get too close. Your unfocused gaze returns to the present quickly, looking at the person in front of you, <<if $eyecontact is false>> his eyes <<else>> with an expression <</if>> filled with welcoming warmth. He'll be safer if he hates you. You need to be rude to him, for his sake. Your reaction may hurt his feelings, but hurt feelings are the best possible result in this situation. So, you say nothing. You don't acknowledge him at all. You just turn and unlock your door. When he speaks again behind you as you unlock the door, though, he doesn’t sound upset. There's no edge of sarcasm or irritation, no offense or indignation. He doesn't call you out or make a snarky comment or scoff and storm off. “I live just down the hall, if you need anything.” That's all he says. Simple and sounding sincere, that same warmth you'd seen in his <<if $eyecontact is false>> eyes <<else>> expression <</if>> carried by his gentle voice. Your chest aches. Everything about his demeanour tells you it's safe to let your guard down, that you're welcome to reach out to him. <<if $naturalisolationist is true>> Even for you, it's hard to resist. <<else>> It's extremely difficult to resist, but you hang onto your resolve. <</if>> You remind yourself that every reason he's giving you to try to connect to him is a reason to stay away. You have to remind yourself of this often anyway, but with him you suspect you'll have to repeat it to yourself almost every time you interact. So far, he seems like the sort who would make it so, so easy to just forget the dangers that lurk beneath his offered kindness. You don't turn to watch him go, knowing you might crack and call after him if you do. You just unlock the door, take a breath and finally, finally, [[you enter your new apartment.|First Entry]]

<<set $vapproval to 4>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $stutter +=1>> <<set $vpronouns to false>> It was very nice of him to bail you out like that. You should probably thank him. There can't be any harm in that much, right? If you being grateful to someone was enough to kill them, you'd have left a grisly trail of barista's, cashier's, and servers in your wake. Since that most certainly is not the case, thanking him should be fine. You open your mouth to do just that. You don't get very far, though. "Th—Th—" You try, and immediately you feel irritated that your tangled tongue can't even manage to get past the first syllable. Seriously, what is it even there for if it won't cooperate when you need it? At first, you keep trying, glancing at him occasionally to gauge if he's getting annoyed with you. His expression remains patient and kind, but even so, it becomes quickly obvious to you that the words you'd wanted to say aren't going to cooperate. Frustrating, but not a new thing for you. You switch the words out for something that's marginally more cooperative at the moment. "M-much app— appreciated." Not perfect, but it's something. "Think nothing of it, Uffi is sweet, but not terribly attentive to his conversational partners. He won’t take offense if you cut in, if you end up in that situation again. Though, it may take a few tries to get his attention if you're a quiet sort of person." He informs you, sympathy slipping into his smile. Whether or not you're actually a quiet person by nature, your verbal struggles force you into the role of one whenever they so please. So, regardless of whether you would consider yourself a genuinely quiet person, the tip is still applicable. You nod in acknowledgement. "I won't keep you long. As much as I'd like the chance to properly become acquainted, I'm sure you'd like to get some rest. As Uffi said, my name is Vicente. I live just down the hall if you need anything or have any questions." He seems as if he's about to say something more, hesitates for a moment, then continues: "Additionally, you may wish to be informed in advance that there is a young man with blue hair who lives in this building who can be... a bit much. If you run into him, and he behaves in a way you find disagreeable, please don't take it to heart. He's rather oblivious, socially, but not malicious. If you correct him, he'll abide by your correction." He explains with a reassuring smile, though there's a tinge of anxiousness to the expression. "I’ll leave you to your rest. We can certainly speak later, if you are so inclined." You nod again and wave goodbye, not really having the patience or energy to try to force out a verbal farewell. With a final smile, Vicente turns and leaves at a leisurely pace, though he heads towards the elevator rather than his apartment. You grip your hard-earned keys, turn to the door, and finally, finally, [[you enter your new apartment.|First Entry]]

<<set $vapproval to 4>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $nonverbal +=1>> <<set $vpronouns to false>> You appreciate his assistance, but words are a bit beyond you at the moment. You smile and nod in thanks. Thankfully, Vicente doesn't appear offended by your silence. His smile doesn't lessen, and the warmth in his <<if $eyecontact is false>> eyes <<else>> expression <</if>> doesn't chill. "It's good to meet you. I won't keep you long - as much as I'd like the chance to properly become acquainted, I'm sure you'd like to get some rest. As Uffi said, my name is Vicente. I live just down the hall if you need anything or have any questions." He seems as if he's about to say something more, hesitates for a moment, then continues: "Additionally, you may wish to be informed in advance that there is a young man with blue hair who lives in this building who can be... a bit much. If you run into him, and he behaves in a way you find disagreeable, please don't take it to heart. He's rather oblivious, socially, but not malicious." He explains with a reassuring smile, though there's a tinge of anxiousness to the expression. "I’ll leave you to your rest. We can certainly speak later, if you are so inclined." You nod again and wave goodbye. With a final smile, Vicente turns and leaves, though he heads towards the elevator rather than his apartment. You grip your hard-earned keys, turn to the door, and finally, finally, [[you enter your new apartment.|First Entry]]

<<set $touchaverse to true>> <<set $vpronouns to true>> "A pleasure to meet you, $name. May I inquire as to your pronouns?" "Oh, uh," you blink owlishly, a bit startled by the dissonance of such a modern question phrased in such an old-fashioned manner. “$subpro/$objpro. Yours?" "He/him." He replies. He seems as if he's about to say something more, hesitates for a moment, then continues: , "Additionally, you may wish to be informed in advance that there is a young man with blue hair who lives in this building who can be... a bit much. If you run into him, and he addresses you in a way you'd rather he not, please let him know. He's rather oblivious, socially, but not malicious. If you correct him, he'll abide by your correction." He explains with a reassuring smile, though there's a tinge of anxiousness to the expression. "I’ll leave you to your rest. We can certainly speak later, if you are so inclined." "Sure. I'll see you around," you wave, and with a final smile and parting nod, Vicente turns and leaves, though he heads towards the elevator rather than his apartment. You grip your hard-earned keys, turn to the door, and finally, finally, [[you enter your new apartment.|First Entry]]

Opening the door, you feel like you just opened a time capsule. Much of the last tenants furniture is all still here, the entire place looking like it hasn't been redecorated in decades. From the sheer amount of dust threatening to choke you as you step inside, it hasn't been aired out in all that time either. You’d been aware that the old tenants' things would still be here, it's one of the things that made this a perfect place for you. Much more affordable than buying all new furniture. The personal items are all gone, there are no books on the bookshelf and no pictures on the wall or anything like that. It’s… bigger than you’d expected, though. For how cheap the rent is, you'd expected it to be much smaller or more run-down. Granted, it isn't exactly spacious... It just seems that way compared to the broom closet you'd been imagining. You <<if $strength is 1>> drop your unbearably hefty bag of belongings, your aching muscles finally allowed to rest. You sigh in relief <<elseif $strength is 2>> drop your hefty bag of belongings, glad for the chance to lay down your load, <<elseif $strength is 3>> lay down your bag <</if>>and stumble towards the two large window across the room from the door, opening them both wide to air out the dust-infested apartment. There's more to be done, but that’s all you have the energy for right now. You’ll look around properly later, and you can't clean in earnest until you get to pick up some cleaning supplies anyway. Just as well. At the moment, your tunnel-vision is bringing you straight for the couch. Maybe the bed is just in the other room, but the couch is right there in plain view when you come through the front door. How are you meant to resist that? You kick off your shoes and fall face-first onto the musty couch before wearily wiggling your way into a more comfortable position. You're too tired to care about dust mites or anything like that. A dusty cushion is better than nothing. Sleep has never come so easily. That’s not necessarily a good thing. As always, for you, sleep is a double-edged sword. One you have no choice but to wield, no matter how it carves you up. [[You drift off in record time, and it isn't long before the nightmares find you.|Elevator Nightmare]]

!!!Chapter Two //“Don’t stand so close to the door, kid. If someone on it leaves in a hurry, they’ll knock you flat on your ass.” You don’t have to look to know who’s talking. It's a voice fondly familiar to you. In fact, everything about this is familiar to you. The tiled floor in desperate need of a proper cleaning, the generic, blandly modern walls of the apartment building's ground floor, the flickering light that has needed to be either changed or tightened since you started living here... And even before then, if your cousin is to be believed. Your cousin is always complaining about something or other. The dirty floors, the flickering lights, the fact that their apartment is near the top floor and the elevator is notorious for being out of order more often than not. Not to mention that the elevator has shut down with them inside before. You've heard that story plenty, and every time they tell it the amount of hours they were stuck in there somehow goes up. The event was almost two years before you moved in with them but they're still as livid at the building's management about it as they were when it happened. Knowing your cousin, you doubt they'll drop that grudge any time soon. Or ever. They'll probably be on their death bed in sixty years, still wheezing out the same rants about how if they were paying so much in rent the least management could do would be to actually keep the place functional. You think you could count on one hand the aspects of this place your cousin hasn't gone off about at least once, and even those you're sure are just a matter of time. You've learned very quickly that they are certainly not the "glass half-full" sort, and that they are not shy about making that known. In fact, they seem to actively struggle to keep such things to themself. Since moving in with them, most of your time spent in their company has consisted of listening to them grumbling and muttering under their breath, making sarcastic comments and snarky quips, or outright flipping their lid, yelling and cussing and gesturing wildly. Never at you, though, to their credit. It's actually kind of funny, in a way. Watching the aforementioned lid-flipping, which tends to be overly-dramatic and spectacular, only for them to scramble to slam that lid back down the moment you remind them of your presence. It's a new skill for them, learned from the anger-management courses they only enrolled in upon agreeing to take you in, and practiced often as they frequently risk losing their cool. Not court-ordered or anything, but according to your cousin it would have been irresponsible for them to take in a kid otherwise. From the things you learned in your brief stint living with their mother, you don't have to wonder why they'd be mindful about that. She wasn't perfect by any means, but the stories she told about your cousin's father were.... Well. Suffice to say, you understand why your cousin tries to be careful not to pay forward the experiences that left them with all this unprocessed rage. They're doing very well with it, actually. They've made progress in leaps and bounds in the mere months since you've moved in with them. Even so, their catelogue of complaint techniques remains varied and well-used. It's pretty much just background noise for you at this point. So then, why do you ache to hear them speak now? Why is your throat tight, caught by the same stranglehold of longing that grips you any time you think of your grandparents, or your aunt, or any of your previous guardians? You feel like you miss them. You miss them so much, even though they're standing right next to you. You’re so distracted thinking about that, you don’t end up heeding their warning. You don’t notice the elevator doors opening. Lo and behold, someone comes rushing out of the elevator, primed to bowl over your much smaller form without even noticing. You're as unaware that you're about to be a child-sized bowling pin as the stranger is that they're about to be an adult-sized bowling ball. A hand grabs the hood of your sweatshirt and tugs you back just in time to keep you from getting, as predicted, knocked on your ass. You…// //[[Huff and stubbornly insist that you’d been about to step back!|Elevator Huffy Impatience]]// //[[Smile in genuine gratitude.|Elevator Genuine Gratitude]]// //[[Smile in feigned gratitude.|Elevator Feigned Gratitude]]// //[[Roll your eyes and shrug them off.|Elevator Eye Roll]]// //[[Flinch away, but try to play it off.|Elevator Flinch Lowkey]]// //[[Flinch away, hard.|Elevator Flinch Highkey]]//

//You huff in exasperation at their interference. You could have gotten out of that yourself! You didn't need them to step in! ...Okay, admittedly, maybe, possibly, you were kind of cutting it a bit close there. You're definitely not going to admit that, though. What would you even say? That they were right and you should have listened? Not on their life. “What'd I tell you?” Your cousin tsks at you, sounding quite irritated indeed. The hand that had grabbed you lets go, and slides back into the pocket of their leather jacket as you both stride forward onto the now mostly-empty elevator. The moment you cross the threshold, you're glad your cousin made you put on a sweatshirt before going out. The air conditioning must be on the fritz or something. You can't imagine why else the elevator would be drastically colder than the rest of the building today when the lack of ventilation usually leaves it stiflingly warm, even in winter. Only one other person remains, aside from you two. A tall figure, dressed all in black. Everything else about them is vague. You can’t focus on them enough to process what you see. You remember... No. You don't remember. This is happening now, after all. You note, rather, that it's odd the person is remaining. If they came down on the elevator, wouldn't this be their destination? If it had been another floor, that stop would have happened before it even reached this point. Why would the black-clad stranger remain and go back up? You shrug off that question. Maybe they forgot something in their apartment. Who cares? Something far more important has captured your attention: Whining! The favourite past time of most nine year olds, such as yourself. “I was gonna!” You insist petulantly, barely refraining from stomping your foot. You can't go around stomping your feet and throwing tantrums like a little kid. You're turning ten soon! That's double digits! You might as well be a teenager already! You'll throw your tantrums in a dignified and mature manner befitting someone who is obviously practically a grown-up at this point. You cross your arms and pout. “What, next century? Somethin' you gotta learn, kid: If you drag your feet, someone’s gonna outrun you. Like I just did.” He smirks at you, and you intensify your pout in return. Stupid cousin and their stupid 'life lessons.' “Lucky for you, I was just tryin’ to help you. Not everyone’s as nice as me, though.” “Yeah, you’re a real saint.” You reply dryly, the elevator doors closing as no one else gets on. Your cousin barks out a laugh at your attempted snark, something you've certainly learned from them. From the hint of pride painting their smirk, you're pretty sure they're fully aware that you've picked this attitude up from them. “I’m like Mother freakin’ Theresa up in this bitch, I’ll have you know.” “Well, apparently she was actually a pretty nasty person, so yeah, sure. That tracks.” Your cousin smacks you upside the head with no real force behind their hand. Not hard enough to hurt, and definitely not hard enough to stop you from snickering, or to wipe the grin off your face. “Smartass.” They roll their eyes. “Now press the damn button.”// //[[You press the button.|Press the Button]]

//A warm glow radiates in your chest as you process what just happened. As always, your cousin has your back, and it feels good to know that someone is looking out for you. That you can count on them to keep you safe and take action when you need help. For a child like you, so used to losing the people you rely on, this sense of safety and support is... It's everything. So beyond precious that you don't have the words to describe it. They haven't shown up on your Friday vocabulary quizzes yet, but when they do, you know for a fact your cousin will help you practice like they do every week. You beam at them, your expression filled to the brim with trust and gratitude, which causes some of the irritation in their expression to soften. It still isn’t enough to keep them from nagging at you. That's alright, though. Nagging is a way to show caring. You learned that when you lived with your cousin's mother, and you imagine that's where they learned it from, too. Though, you don't think they're entirely conscious of how similar they are to how she was. You haven't ever pointed that out. Any time she comes up, there's a haze of sorrow and regret that shrouds your cousin's expression, a painful pinch to their brow so different from the usual furrowed frustration. They never got to reconcile before she passed, and you can't help but feel at fault. You know it's irrational. They've told you so many times that what happened wasn't your fault. Not with her, or any of the others. It just makes you feel worse, having them reassure you when you can see the grief still raw in their <<if $eyecontact is false>> eyes. <<else>> expression. <</if>> “What'd I tell you?” Your cousin tsks at you, sounding quite irritated indeed. The hand that had grabbed you lets go, and slides back into the pocket of their leather jacket as you both stride forward onto the now mostly-empty elevator. The moment you cross the threshold, you're glad your cousin made you put on a sweatshirt before going out. The air conditioning must be on the fritz or something. You can't imagine why else the elevator would be drastically colder than the rest of the building today when the lack of ventilation usually leaves it stiflingly warm, even in winter. Only one other person remains, aside from you two. A tall figure, dressed all in black. Everything else about them is vague. You can’t focus on them enough to process what you see. You remember... No. You don't remember. This is happening now, after all. You note, rather, that it's odd the person is remaining. If they came down on the elevator, wouldn't this be their destination? If it had been another floor, that stop would have happened before it even reached this point. Why would the black-clad stranger remain and go back up? You shrug off that question. Maybe they forgot something in their apartment. That’s fine, though, because something else has captured your attention: Thanking your cousin, because you are a very polite nine year old. “Thank you! I guess I spaced out..." You admit, biting your lip, abashed by your failure to heed their previous warning. “You guess?” They raise a pierced eyebrow at you and scoff. “Well, ''I guess'' you’ll have to be quicker, next time. You almost got flattened.” “Not keen on a pancaked cousin?” You tease. “Not really, no. Not keen on child protective services gettin' on my ass for it, either.” They grumble. "Would you prefer a waffle?" You ask, and are abound with a sense of victory when that makes them laugh. "You're sweet enough as it is without turnin' into any sort of breakfast pastry, kid." They shake their head in fond, exasperated amusement. The statement makes you frown in confusion, though. "Are pancakes and waffles pastries?" You ask, a chirp of childish curiosity. "What, do I look like a pastry chef? Hell if I know," they shrug. "Remind me to look it up when we get upstairs." Fair enough, but now you wonder... Can you tell someone is a pastry chef just from looking at them? "What do pastry chefs look like?" "Wh— I dunno, covered in flour, probably? Save the questions for when we get up to the computer. Now, press the damn button.”// //[[You press the button.|Press the Button]]

//As always, your cousin can’t mind their own business. It grates on you, and there's a childish impulse to insist you were fine on your own, but that won't get you what you want. So, instead, you smile gratefully at them. Trying not to make your cousin's mood turn sour is about as pointless as trying not to make a lemon turn sour, but still, there's no need to make it worse. Your cousin is easily irritated. They never take it out on you, that’s not the issue, it’s just that their resistance to puppy-dog eyes is directly linked to and rises with their annoyance level. You’re planning on asking to order in dinner tonight, once you get up to your cousin’s place— Or, well, your place, too. For now. Point is, the better of a mood they’re in, the more likely they are to say yes. They're the first guardian you've lived with who doesn't know how to cook very well. They try to learn as they go, grumbling to themselves about vitamins, calcium, calories, and other dumb things like that as they scroll through recipes. You wish they'd focus more on making something that tastes good, though. The end results might be healthy, but they aren't especially something to look forward to. You don't know what your cousin lived on before you moved in, though you could make a good guess based on the fact that they know the number of every nearby pizza place off the top of their head. You beam up at them, aiming for a look of trust and gratitude, however feigned. You aren't a perfect actor, yet, and sometimes your cousin sees right through you... This time, though, they fall for it hook, line, and sinker. It makes some of the irritation in their expression soften. It isn’t enough to keep them from nagging you, though, much to your annoyance. It's very hard not to let your carefully crafted expression drop into a scowl. “What'd I tell you?” Your cousin tsks at you, sounding quite irritated indeed. The hand that had grabbed you lets go, and slides back into the pocket of their leather jacket as you both stride forward onto the now mostly-empty elevator. The moment you cross the threshold, you're glad your cousin made you put on a sweatshirt before going out. The air conditioning must be on the fritz or something. You can't imagine why else the elevator would be drastically colder than the rest of the building today when the lack of ventilation usually leaves it stiflingly warm, even in winter. Only one other person remains, aside from you two. A tall figure, dressed all in black. Everything else about them is vague. You can’t focus on them enough to process what you see. You remember... No. You don't remember. This is happening now, after all. You note, rather, that it's odd the person is remaining. If they came down on the elevator, wouldn't this be their destination? If it had been another floor, that stop would have happened before it even reached this point. Why would the black-clad stranger remain and go back up? You shrug off that question. Maybe they forgot something in their apartment. That’s fine, though, because something else has captured your attention: Thanking your cousin, because you are a very crafty nine year old. “Thanks. I was too slow, I guess.” You admit, biting your lip to really drive home how adorable and abashed you are, how deserving of delicious take-out. “You guess?” They raise a pierced eyebrow at you and scoff. “Well ''I guess'' you’ll have to be quicker, next time. You almost got flattened.” “Not keen on a pancaked cousin?” You tease, and they roll their eyes at you. “Not really, no. Not keen on child protective services gettin' on my ass for it, either.” They grumble. "Would you prefer a waffle?" You ask, and are abound with a sense of devious victory when that makes them laugh. "You're sweet enough as it is without turnin' into any sort of breakfast pastry, kid." They shake their head in fond, exasperated amusement. The statement makes you frown in genuine confusion. "Are pancakes and waffles pastries?" You ask, a chirp of childish curiosity, momentarily distracted from your goal of priming your cousin for your imminent request. "What, do I look like a pastry chef? Hell if I know," they shrug. "Remind me to look it up when we get upstairs." Fair enough, but now you wonder... Can you tell someone is a pastry chef just from looking at them? "What do pastry chefs look like?" "Wh— I dunno, covered in flour, probably? Save the questions for when we get up to the computer. Now, press the damn button.”// //[[You press the button.|Press the Button]]

//As always, your cousin can’t mind their own business. It grates on you, and there's a childish impulse to insist you were fine on your own, but you're almost ten. That makes you a big ki— No, no, you're too old to be calling yourself a "big kid." You're a pre-teen, or you will be soon, so you're practically a teenager already. You're obviously way too old to be acting so childishly. You need to communicate your displeasure in a sensible, mature way, like you've seen teens do. You roll your eyes, immediately shrugging off the hand grasping your hood. Your cousin responds in kind, rolling their eyes so hard their entire head moves with it, a motion that leads into an exasperated shake of their head as they shove their hands back into the pockets of their leather jacket. You hate to admit it, but the eyeroll-headshake is a pretty effective combo. Clearly, you need to step up your eyerolling game if you ever want to hold your own against a seasoned pro like your cousin. “What'd I tell you?” Your cousin tsks at you, sounding about as irritated as you feel. You both stride into the mostly-empty elevator. The moment you cross the threshold, you're glad your cousin made you put on a sweatshirt before going out. The air conditioning must be on the fritz or something. You can't imagine why else the elevator would be drastically colder than the rest of the building today when the lack of ventilation usually leaves it stiflingly warm, even in winter. Only one other person remains, aside from you two. A tall figure, dressed all in black. Everything else about them is vague. You can’t focus on them enough to process what you see. You remember... No. You don't remember. This is happening now, after all. You note, rather, that it's odd the person is remaining. If they came down on the elevator, wouldn't this be their destination? If it had been another floor, that stop would have happened before it even reached this point. Why would the black-clad stranger remain and go back up? You shrug off that question as easily as you did your cousin's hand. Maybe they forgot something in their apartment. Who cares? Something far more important has captured your attention: Complaining. Which is totally, completely different from whining! Really. You'd never do something so childish as whining. Obviously. “I didn’t need your help.” You bite out, crossing your arms. You try to immitate the scowl that you see so often on your cousin's face, so much more serious-looking than a pout, but it doesn't have the intended effect. Your cousin raises a pierced eyebrow at you, smirking amusedly in a way that is incredibly frustrating. “No? Fine, Guess I’ll just letcha get flattened next time, then. Maybe you’ll have a better attitude as a pancake.” “As if you can judge anyone on their bad attitude,” you accuse, glaring at them, but it doesn't appear to have any greater effect than your attempted scowl. Your cousin has absolutely no ground to stand on here and they know it. They're a million times worse than you. If you have a bad attitude, maybe they should consider where you've learned that from. None of your previous guardians behaved like this. It's not your fault they're a terrible influence. “My attitude’s not so shitty that I bite the heads off of people who lend me a hand, at least.” They grumble. “Now press the damn button.”// //[[You press the button.|Press the Button]]

//Your cousin has never physically hurt you, or threatened to do so. They’ve never even really yelled at you. Cussed at you, sure, but your cousin cusses with every other breath so that’s not really notable. Despite that, you can’t help but flinch when you’re grabbed, even if it was by your hood. You manage to suppress the majority of your reaction quickly, but the initial flinch gets past you before you can squash it. Your cousin knows your boundaries, and no sooner do you flinch than they're drawing their hand back in a movement so abrupt and immediate it's as if your sweatshirt has scalded them. The pain that crosses their face in the aftermath almost makes you wonder if that's actually the case. They turn their face away from you slightly while they wrangle in their expression. “Sorry,” they grumble, shifting awkwardly on their feet and shoving their hands back in the pockets of their leather jacket as you both stride forward into the mostly-empty elevator. “Didn’t want you to get flattened, is all.” Your cousin isn't good at hiding how they feel unless they're disguising it behind a layer of anger, which is something they avoid when it comes to you. Without that masking layer, they're an open book. That doesn't stop them from trying to hide it anyway, though, when they think it's something that you shouldn't have to see. As quick as you were to hide your flinch, they're just as quick to hide their reaction to it, and you know that you've both done it for the same reason: To avoid hurting each other. You knew your flinch would make your cousin feel badly, and they know their guilt and pain might make you feel guilty and hurt in turn. That particular expression of guilt and pain is one they often try to hide from you. Usually, it shows up when your cousin thinks they've hurt you in some way. More often than not, the damage they think they've done is either non-existent or not nearly bad enough to warrant how hard they take it. They always end up agonizing over it long after you've moved on, or without you even knowing what specifically they think they've done, all the while trying to keep you from seeing their distress. Only one other person remains on the elevator, aside from you two. A tall figure, dressed all in black. Everything else about them is vague. You can’t focus on them enough to process what you see. You remember... No. You don't remember. This is happening now, after all. You note, rather, that it's odd the person is remaining. If they came down on the elevator, wouldn't this be their destination? If it had been another floor, that stop would have happened before it even reached this point. Why would the black-clad stranger remain and go back up? You shrug off that question. Maybe they forgot something in their apartment, but that's the least of your worries right now. You have something else to focus on right now: Reassuring your cousin, as best a nine year old can manage. “It’s fine. It beats being a pancake, anyway.” You joke, to try to get them to ease up on the self-scolding they’re clearly internally giving themself. You really are fine, and it isn't as if getting smacked into by a stranger would have gone over any better. In fact, you're certain that would have been a million times worse for you. “I dunno,” they shrug casually, and you feel triumphant when you see the hints of a smile clearing the clouds from their <<if $eyecontact is false>> eyes. <<else>> expression.<</if>> “Pancakes don’t got bills to pay, 'n no responsibilities 'cept soaking in syrup. Sounds like a pretty sweet gig.” You stare at them in silent disgust. “That was a terrible pun,” you finally manage to tell them, once the shock of such a terrible joke wears off. It just makes their head tip back as they bark out a laugh. It's hard to stay annoyed with their bad joke when you're so relieved that they're laughing. “Those are the best kinda jokes," they inform you with a snicker, then continue on as if they're imparting some secret, ancient wisdom onto you: "Terrible jokes are like coffee. Unappreciated by the young, but the lifeblood of the old.” “You’re not that old,” you remind them. They snort. “Thanks,” they reply flatly. “Now press the damn button.” //[[You press the button.|Press the Button]]

//Your cousin has never physically hurt you, or threatened to do so. They’ve never even really yelled at you. Cussed at you, sure, but your cousin cusses with every other breath so that’s not really notable. Despite that, you can’t help but flinch when you’re grabbed, even if it was by your hood. You can’t disguise the reaction in the least. You flinch away so hard you almost fall over, stumbling a bit but ultimately staying on your feet. Your cousin knows your boundaries, and no sooner do you flinch than they're drawing their hand back in a movement so abrupt and immediate it's as if your sweatshirt has scalded them. When you manage to lift your eyes to face them again, you find them looking at you with an expression of wide-eyed guilt. Their hands hover uncertainly for a moment as if to reach out, but they are very aware that would make things worse. “Shit—“ They hiss through their teeth, presumably at themself. They shove their hands back in the pockets of their leather jacket, turning their face away from you as it twists into a grimace of pain, just as saturated with guilt as the wide-eyed look from before. They remove one of their hands from their pockets to drag it over their mouth as they gather themself. You can see it shaking, just a little bit. They notice that as well, after a moment, and hurriedly return their hand to their pocket. Their eyes close for a moment as they take a breath. Your cousin isn't good at hiding how they feel unless they're disguising it behind a layer of anger, which is something they avoid when it comes to you. Without that masking layer, they're an open book. That doesn't stop them from trying to hide it anyway, though, when they think it's something that you shouldn't have to see. When they open their eyes again, though, their emotions are as obvious as ever despite their best efforts. This particular expression of guilt and pain is one they often try to hide from you. Usually, it shows up when your cousin thinks they've hurt you in some way. More often than not, the damage they think they've done is either non-existent, accidental, or not nearly bad enough to warrant how hard they take it. They always end up agonizing over it long after you've moved on, or without you even knowing what specifically they think they've done, all the while trying to keep you from seeing their distress. “I’m sorry, kid." They start, only to stop and clear their throat when it comes out ragged with everything they're feeling. When they continue, their voice is much steadier. As close to normal as they can manage in that moment, "Just didn’t want you to get flattened. You, uh... You good?” They eye you with concern, asking the question hesitantly, as if afraid of the answer. Your throat still feels tight, so you just nod. They don't seem especially convinced. Your cousin shifts awkwardly from foot to foot and keeps their face turned away from you, a troubled pinch to their brow, eyes unfocused, seeing something other than what they're looking at. They're startled out of it for a moment when the elevator doors start to close, prompting them to cuss a blue streak as they lurch to catch the doors and hold them open. This finally motivates you both to move from where you've been frozen, locked in a stalemate of mutual distress. You both shuffle onto the mostly-empty elevator. Only one other person remains, aside from you two. A tall figure, dressed all in black. Everything else about them is vague. You can’t focus on them enough to process what you see. You remember... No. You don't remember. This is happening now, after all. You note, rather, that it's odd the person is remaining. If they came down on the elevator, wouldn't this be their destination? If it had been another floor, that stop would have happened before it even reached this point. Why would the black-clad stranger remain and go back up? You shrug off that question. Maybe they forgot something in their apartment. You really can't bring yourself to ponder on it for long while you're still gathering yourself, and knowing your cousin is doing the same. Far from feeling more distressed by that, you find yourself reassured. When things like this happen at school it's beyond embarrassing that it takes you so long to put yourself back together. Here, though, seeing an adult like your cousin struggle to regain their composure, you feel less silly. If even grown-ups need time to calm down when they're distressed, then a nine year old like you has nothing to be ashamed of. You doubt the kids at school would agree with that reasoning, though. “…You wanna press the button?” Your cousin prompts, nodding at the buttons in question. The prospect of button-pushing is absolutely delightful to you, and so you perk up a bit. Your cousin’s nerves are visibly eased as you manage a small smile, though the troubled edge remains in their <<if $eyecontact is false>> eyes. <<else>> expression. <</if>> //[[You press the button.|Press the Button]]

//Your cousin always lets you press the button. You don’t even have to ask anymore, all button-pressing duties have been relegated to you and it’s a task you take on with all the enthusiasm most children have about button-pressing. It makes a satisfying click as you press in on it, watching the white light within illuminate. The contraption immediately responds to your action, the doors closing. There's just something fun about the fact that this big machine directly responds to you, even though you're just a kid. It's a small taste of control, of having a direct impact on things around you, and you relish it every time. You hold the railing as the elevator jolts into motion, starting to ascend. You watch the numbers above the door count higher and higher, well into the double digits. Your mind wanders. It's a long ride up, and your cousin doesn't seem inclined to converse while there's a stranger in the elevator with you. That's one of many things you've learned about them since they took you in, they're so much more closed off when there's strangers around. It's like they become someone else entirely, someone that you're very glad you don't have to be stuck with at home. You like that version of them more, the person they are when you're the only one around. It's a shame no one else gets to see it. You haven’t been living with your cousin long, really. Only a few months, but you already feel pretty settled. You weren't sure that would be the case, at first. You'd never even met your cousin before, and then suddenly you were going to be living with them. Even as used to being displaced as you are, it was daunting. You like it here, though. You hope you get to stay here longer than you did the other places, not least of all because you aren't sure you could handle it if anything bad happened to them. If your whole life got upended all over again. Since your parents died when you were just a baby, you’ve lived with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins other than this one. Every single one of them is dead, now. You’re so used to your caretakers dying, you find it hard to imagine some people get to grow into adulthood without losing even their parents. That train of thought makes you sad, though, so you derail it. The idea that you might lose your cousin, too, is harder to shake. The anxiety of it, the feeling of inevitability. You repeat the statements you usually go through to try to soothe yourself. Your cousin is fairly young and very unlikely to have a stroke or heart attack. Your cousin doesn't drive, and so can't be in a crash. Your cousin doesn't go out much, and always has mace on them when they do, so a fatal mugging is less of a concern. Just because you've lost everyone else doesn't mean you'll keep losing everyone forever. It'll be okay. Your cousin will be okay, you'll be okay... Everything will be okay. You turn your thoughts to more pleasant things, like the positive aspects of living with your cousin. Sure, they’re a little bit rough around the edges, but they’re never unfair or cruel to you. They keep you housed and clothed and fed, they help you with homework as best they can, and they have a very cool snake they've taught you all sorts of things about. Though, you were disappointed to find out that despite her being a "milk snake," she will not actually drink milk. Your favourite thing about them, though, is that despite the fact that they call you ‘kid’… They don’t usually treat you like one. Not in the usual, condescending way grown-ups tend to do, anyway. There's no dismissal of your feelings, no matter how silly they may seem. They actually ask for your input on things that involve you rather than just assuming they know best like your grandmother did. They let you make decisions about your clothes and hair, rather than trying to set rules about them like their mother did when you lived with her. They treat you like you’re an actual person. ''[[You love them for that.|You Love Them]]//

''//[[The elevator comes to a sudden stop with a horrible, heavy sound of screeching steel.|Screeching Steel]]

''//[[The lights flicker, and then go out.|Lights Out]]

''//[[There’s an awful groaning echo of grinding metal.|Grinding Metal]]

//You hear your cousin cussing in the dark. "Goddammit— Again?! You can't be fuckin' serious..." They sigh harshly, and the fact that they don't sound too alarmed helps set your fraying nerves at ease. That's right, your cousin got stuck in this elevator before. This is nothing to worry about. It'll be just like the story they've told you time and again, you'll have to wait an annoyingly long time, but you'll ultimately be fine. They start saying something about staying calm, but their words are cut off as a deafening crack echoes through the elevator and sends your heart racing just as it had begun to settle. The whole thing pitches hard to one side. and only your grip on the railing keeps you upright. What was that? Was that one of the cables? Did that happen the last time your cousin was stuck? They never mentioned it in the story... Your chest feels tight, like someone is trying to squeeze all the air out of your lungs,. When you try to bring more air in to replace it, you can only manage rapid, shallow breaths. You can’t see anything in the dark. You hear your cousin rush towards the console, pressing on the emergency call button frantically only to find it non-functional. So, they start trying to pry open the doors instead. Despite the terrifying chaos of the situation, what alarms you most is that they aren't cussing anymore. ''[[The doors won't budge.|Doors Won't Budge]]

''//[[The cacophony of grinding metal returns, groaning in some facsimile of agony.|Elevator Agony]]

''//[[The elevator shakes.|Shaky Elevator]]

''//[[There's no way out.|No Way Out]]

//"$name!" Your cousin calls your name, sounding more fearful than you've ever heard them. "C'mere, kid, stay close—!" Their voice is drowned out by another ''crack.'' The elevator plummets. There's no more grinding metal, because there's nothing left for the elevator to grind against, nothing left to slow or stop it. You're in a freefall from almost thirty stories up, and there's nothing any of you can do. Your stomach is in your throat, strangling the scream frantically trying to claw its way out of your lungs. You've reached a place beyond the urge to cry, beyond the roiling nausea. A place where you can't breathe, can't move, can't think— It's like nothing you've ever known. A terror so intense it goes right back around to a paralyzing mockery of peace. Arms wrap around you tightly, tucking you against the chest of their owner in some last-ditch, likely useless effort to keep you safe in the face of certain doom. You cling as tightly as you can,<<if $touchaverse gt 0>> despite your aversion to being touched, everything overridden by your all-consuming desperation for safety. <<else>> everything overridden by your all-consuming desperation for safety. <</if>> // //''[[You don't know if you ever actually managed to scream.|Don't Remember Screaming]]

//Everything had already gone black when the lights went out. There had already been nothing to see, but the nothingness is now compounded, deafened, numbed. What you had thought was nothing was in fact something, as is proven by the fact that it’s been taken away. You start to get it back, only to lose your grip on it again. Consciousness ebbs and flows like the tide, and you are helpless to the current you’re caught in. Still, you struggle against it. You try to break the surface, try to tread water, but the waves are vicious. They leave you battered and helpless, sinking down into the fathomless black. Just as earlier you had reached a point of terror beyond terror, now you've reached a point of agony beyond agony. Everything hurts, and yet somehow you can't feel a thing. You don't manage to open your eyes, or move, or even fully regain consciousness. You come close, once, and a weak whimper escapes you as your senses briefly start to process the pain you're in... But before it properly hits you, it's smothered again by the endless dark, your senses deadened once more. Except... Except, you hear something. Someone is shushing you, gently trying to soothe you. ''“Be still,”'' a voice whispers. A voice achingly familiar. It isn’t your cousin, though. Of that, you’re sure. It carries a strange echo, whispers interwoven into words spoken plainly, but you can't make out what the whispers are saying. ''“You are so brave, so strong, to keep trying at a time like this, but please... Stay under. This is the only solace I can offer you. I wish there was more that I could—"'' The voice cuts off with a sound so helpless and agonized, you think for a moment that it came from you. ''"But my wishes will not help you. All I can offer is the abyss. It will keep you from pain for the time being, but I cannot stay for long, and this shroud will leave with me. Allow yourself this respite. Harsh reality will return to you soon enough."'' The voice is heavy with regret and guilt. You find yourself captivated by its words, drawn toward it. A cold, cold hand brushes the hair from your forehead which had been stuck there with either sweat, blood, or both. ''“I will provide company and comfort for your kin, as I have every time before. Would that I could allow them to remain with you, could have allowed any of them to—"'' the voice shatters, the whispers spilling from the cracks. When it manages to repair itself enough to carry on, the words are heavy. Heavy with sorrow, heavy with inevitability. Heavy with guilt. ''“But I cannot. All I can do is ease their suffering... But you, you will languish in suffering all the same and, rather than easing it, I am bound to bring more the next we meet. Know that it is not my will. Please. Know this is not my design, know that I tried to stop this before it even began. I tried. I failed."'' It's quiet, then. For so long that you would think the voice had gone away, if not for the cocoon of whispers surrounding you. Fear and pain are so far away, now, held at bay by... Whatever this is. Then, the whispering starts to recede and, as it does, all the things it'd been protecting you from jump at the chance to resume their torment. The final words it tells you, you can barely hear at all. ''"I must go, now. I am sorry, $name. I am so, so sorry.”''// [[You gasp for air as your eyes snap open.|Elevator Wake Up]]

There's a moment, brief but horrifying, where you don't realize you've woken up from a nightmare. A moment where you’re still nine years old, waking up in a hospital bed with a sinking sense of dread barely felt through the haze of pain killers. You're sure, in this awful moment, that you can even smell the sickly clinical scent of the hospital. Disoriented, still half-caught in your nightmare, you try to regain your grip on reality. You blink up at the stoic ceiling, confused as to why it's empty, why there's no flourescent lights assaulting your eyes. Your fingers try to curl into firsts, expecting to ball up sheets of a hospital bed. Instead, your fingertips scrape against the rough fabric of the couch you fell asleep on. Right. The couch. The couch in your new apartment, where you fell asleep. You aren't nine years old. You're an adult, what happened was years ago, and the echoing ache of your injuries is just a memory. It will pass. It always does, eventually. Doesn't make it any easier to bear in the meanwhile, though. You shut your eyes again and suck in a shuddering breath. You rub your fingers back and forth against the fabric that had first grounded you, a nauseous anxiety pushing you to keep doing so, afraid that the moment you stop you'll forget where you are. That you'll lose your grip, slip back into that place. You don't want to go back there. You're desperate to never go back there. You don't always have a choice in the matter, but at the moment you're doing what you can. The phantom pain fades. The smell of the hospital does, too, though every time you swallow you'd swear you still taste it on your tongue. This isn't your first time at the rodeo by any means. Even so, it's always trying to have to process whatever you’re feeling in the aftermath. Nightmares like that, they don't give you any choice but to think of your cousin. Any of your cousins. Or uncles. Or aunts. Or grandparents. Or pets, or friends, or friendly neighbours, or— Everyone. Everyone that you've ever loved. Every single one of them, cold in the ground. The ones that had remains left to bury, anyway. There are no words to describe the situation which would suffice. Even if you knew every word in every language to ever exist, nothing would ever come close to properly explaining something that, to you, is all you've ever known. This is your life. This has always been your life. You know nothing else. It makes you wonder... If you could guarantee the pattern wouldn't repeat itself, that you could have at least one relationship in your life... would you even be capable of that at this point? There's a degree of understanding needed between people to form solid relationships, and you can't relate to a normal person's experiences in this life any more than they can relate to yours. There's a chasm between you and everyone else. A result of all you've been through, a divide so deep and wide you could fill it with saltwater and call it the eighth sea. You have no idea how you would even begin to close it. You don't even know if that's possible for you anymore. It's not as if you're the only one to lose someone they love. You know that. It's common and guaranteed, everyone loses loved ones, but rarer is the person who loses everybody. From that pool of people, you don't know of anyone else for whom it reaches [[the extreme that is your normal.]]

She lasted longer than the rest. She was the opposite of her late husband in every way. Cold, rigid, with exacting standards and seemingly no sense of humour. You had thought her to be made of stone, until the day your grandfather died. She was strict but never cruel, never unfair. Over the years, as you grew, you began to hear the things she wouldn’t say out loud as you grew accustomed to the subtle ways she showed she cared. It took time, though, and she was intimidating. You'd been a bit scared of her, honestly, before you learned to see past the severity of her demeanour. She lasted for two years raising you on her own. Three, if you count the time before your grandfather died. When you were seven, you found her cold and still in her bed. It shook you to your core, in a way the other deaths hadn't. You don't know if that's because you were older for that death, or because she'd always seemed so strong. So steady. An anchor, rigid but reliable, keeping you from drifting out to sea. Even anchors rust, though, and that was the day you learned that even the things that seem permanent never truly are. You lived with your aunt on your mother’s side, after that. You’d burned through so much of the family at that point, anyone left were the ones that didn’t want you. She wasn’t abusive, but she was disinterested, and you were a deeply traumatized and lonely child. It was a poor mix. You remember that her house always smelled like cigarettes and she'd smoke out the window of the car with you in it. You remember her hastily putting that cigarette out when police drove by. You remember that she only ever really spoke to you to tell you what to do, or to stop doing something, or to nag at you. You remember she compared you to her estranged child often, negatively, using different pronouns and a different name than the one you'd come to know your cousin by. You remember strict rules about your clothes, your hair length, the toys you played with. But she was killed during a botched robbery at a corner store on your eighth birthday, so you didn’t have to deal with it for long. You expected her child to be worse than her. You’d never seen or heard from this particular cousin before, and the only things you'd heard about them were the complaints and comparisons from their mother. The impression she gave was not a good one. Looking back now, though, you remember seeing something in her eyes, overshadowed by the harsh words. Something you are intimately familiar with. Grief. As if she'd lost them, but they were still alive. You never saw that in your cousin's eyes. Regret, certainly, but never grief. Even disregarding all you'd heard, though, they didn’t make a good first impression. They were coarse in their speech but kind in their actions. It took you time to learn that. They had no experience with kids and hadn't even known you existed, having been estranged from the family before you were born. A week before your tenth birthday, you and your cousin got into an elevator. It did not end well for either of you. With no family left, you ended up in foster care. You’ve suffered so much loss. It's defined your life, whether you like it or not. How do you reckon with that? [[You accept it. It is what it is.|Acceptance of Loss]] [[You take solace in it. Where ever they are now, they know no pain or fear.|Solace from Loss]] [[You’re furious. You wish there was someone you could punish for your pain.|Fury from Loss]] [[You’re sorrowful. The woeful weight of grief never lifts from your shoulders.|Sorrow of Loss]] [[You choke on the guilt. It’s all your fault. They’re dead because of you.|Self-Blame of Loss]] [[You barely feel the pain. You barely feel anything anymore.|Numb to Loss]] [[Easy: You don’t!|Avoidance of Loss]]

<<set $lossacceptance to true>> !!!Coping With Loss: Acceptance If there is one thing you know for certain, it’s that life happens. As does death. There’s nothing to do but to accept it. Fear it, covet it, rage against it, it remains undeterred. You appreciate the time you had with them, but it was always going to be temporary. That's not to say you don't miss them, that there's no grief to be found, or that the trauma of their deaths is lessened. Accepting the inevitable reality of loss and hurting due to the inevitable reality of loss are not mutually exclusive. You haven't been able to fully heal from the latter, but you've managed the former all the same. [[Such is the nature of being alive.|Love and Loss]]

<<set $losssolace to true>> !!!Coping With Loss: Solace They’re at peace now. You really, truly believe that. That's not to say you don't miss them, that there's no grief to be found, or that the trauma of their deaths is lessened, but... Life is a series of indignities and agonies occasionally disrupted by brief bursts of love and light. You know this quite well. No one gets through life unharmed, but in death they have nothing to fear. They’re free from the inherent suffering of existence. [[You find solace in that fact.|Love and Loss]]

<<set $lossfury to true>> !!!Coping With Loss: Anger Your hands ball up into fists so tightly your nails dig crescent indents into your palm. Your breathing picks up, not out of panic, but out of rage. You’re furious. You wish there was a proper target for that ire, that you could identify the cause of your suffering and wring your revenge from them. But there’s no one. [[All of that fury has nowhere to go.|Love and Loss]]

<<set $losssorrow to true>> !!!Coping With Loss: Sorrow You’re crushed under the weight of it all. The grief is carved into your bones in gouges that run deep into the very marrow of you. You can’t recall there ever having been a time when you weren’t heaving your sorrow everywhere you went. [[It feels like it has always been a part of you.|Love and Loss]]

<<set $lossguilt to true>> !!!Coping With Loss: Guilt You choke on a sob and press your palms hard against your eyes. You feel sick. You can’t think about any of this, about any of them, without being utterly consumed by guilt. It eats away at you. You pressed the button. You pressed the //fucking// button. You weren’t directly involved in all of their deaths— You weren’t even present for some of them. But even so, you can’t help but feel responsible. [[They were all doing fine, until you came along.|Love and Loss]]

<<set $lossnumb to true>> !!!Coping With Loss: Numbness You blink placidly at the ceiling. You search deep inside yourself, trying to identify how you feel about it all… But you can’t find anything. Or, rather, you find Nothing. The sort of Nothing that hangs heavy and hollow in your chest, resonating with a static-y hum. Everything else is drowned out. Smothered. You can’t feel anything beyond it. [[All you can feel is the Nothing.|Love and Loss]]

<<set $lossavoidance to true>> !!!Coping With Loss: Avoidance Here’s what you do when you start thinking about— Well, what you were just thinking about: Stop! Just stop! Pack those pesky thoughts away in a little box in the far back corner of your mind and leave them be. Wrap that box up in chains, tie an anvil to it, and dump it in the sea. Let it sink down, deep down, where it can't reach you. Where it can't hurt you. You can’t think of any of it. Any of them. Every memory— both treasured and terrifying— leads back to the ones you can’t bear to face. [[It's better by far to pretend none of it ever happened.|Love and Loss]]

However you cope with it, it still hurts. They always just… die. And, it seems to always happen the moment you get properly settled. The moment you start to think things might be okay this time. The moment you start to let yourself reach out and properly hold onto the ones you love. The ones who you bonded with from the start barely lasted any time at all, while the ones you struggled to bond with lasted longer. But then, even they died when you were finally beginning to understand and care for them. It isn’t exclusive to your family, either, those are just a bit more notable as they had the consequence of also uprooting your entire life every time. Friends and pets are not safe from this phenomenon. You’ve long since learned to forbid yourself from having either. <<if $selflesslyalone is true>> The less said about those events, the better. You've never wanted to hurt anybody. The fact that you essentially have blood on your hands, however unintentionally, is bad enough to begin with. The fact that it's all the blood of the ones you've loved... Is it any wonder that you now go to such lengths to stay apart from the world? You're the only one who can keep everyone else safe from you. <<elseif $selfishlyalone is true>> You instinctively shy away from the prospect of loving another living being, a Pavlovian response from such repeated deterrents. When you touch something hot and get burned, you don't touch it again. When you recognize an area is unsafe, you find another route. When you realize you're in danger of getting close to someone, you shut it down, cut them off, and retreat. You protect yourself from the threat. That's as much a part of human nature as the need for connection. <<elseif $adaptedisolationist is true>> They say it takes ten thousand hours to master something. If that's the case, you have truly mastered the art of isolation. You weren't given a choice at first, of course, but once you got the hang of it you began to choose it even when you did have another option. You stick with what you know. It runs your entire life. It decides where you live, it decides where you work, it decides what you do every second of every day. Quite frankly, you should be getting paid for it. After all, you're doing others a service by staying away. <<elseif $naturalisolationist is true>> Avoiding making friends isn't difficult for you. The situation with pets is... A bit harder to swallow. You aren't predisposed to crave social interaction, but the fact that this lethal phenomenon targets pets as well seems to you like an added layer of unnecessary cruelty on an already-brutal situation. Apparently it isn't enough that you're unable to form relationships with other people. You can't even enjoy the solace of an animal companion. Even your plants immediately wilt once you become attached to them. <</if>> Beyond those instincts, however, your thoughts on love are a bit more complex. [[Love is pain, you want no part of it.|Love is Pain]] [[Love is pain, and you treasure it.|Love is Treasured Pain]] [[Love is ephemeral, hard to find, impossible to hold onto.|Ephemeral]] [[Love is foolish, it only gets you and others hurt.|Love is Foolish]] [[Love is beautiful, it makes life worth living.|Love is Beautiful]] [[Love is beautiful, even if you can’t experience it, you like to see it.|Love is Vicariously Beautiful]]

<<set $lovepain to true>> !!!Feelings on Love: Love is Pain You have loved, and lost. And loved. And lost. Over, and over, and over again. That’s all love is, as far as you’ve seen. A precursor to loss. Love builds you up just to tear you down, and the agony stands all the starker in contrast to the succor that preceded it. Your feelings on love are the same as your feelings towards, say, being caught in a horrible, tragic roller coaster accident. The initial ride is exciting, thrilling, makes you smile so wide your cheeks hurt, makes your chest flutter and your stomach flip in equal parts elatement and anxiety. Then it all gets derailed, and you end up in a mangled heap of blood and twisted metal. The ride just isn’t worth that kind of result. Why would any sane person ever dare to get on a roller coaster again after experiencing something like that? [[Why would you ever dare to love again after experiencing what you have?|Deathly Opinion]]

<<set $lovetreasured to true>> !!!Feelings on Love: Love is Treasured Pain Even before the people you care for die, love isn’t easy. It’s actually really, very hard. As easy as it is to idealize it in the face of the tragedy that follows, that doesn’t reflect its reality. Love hurts. Loss hurts. Life hurts. But some things are worth the pain. Love, in all its agonizing glory, is something to be sought, to be held onto, to be treasured. Would we really appreciate it in full, without loss as a counterbalance? Would we really appreciate life without love and loss to show us exactly how horrifyingly beautiful and how beautifully horrifying it is to be alive? Love is what makes life worth living. That you can’t have love without loss does not change or diminish this fact. It persists. [[You persist.|Deathly Opinion]]

<<set $loveephemeral to true>> !!!Feelings on Love: Love is Ephemeral People love to talk about love like it’s something achievable. Something concrete. Like it's as formulaic as a math equation. Two plus two equals four - compatibility plus time equals love. There's an understanding that sticking things out for the time required is difficult, but there's this general sense that if you do everything right, ardour is an arduous but guaranteed result. From what you’ve experienced, though, you can’t possibly think of it that way. Love is ephemeral. Trying to grasp it is like trying to take hold of fog in your bare hands. Futile, frustrating, and likely to make you look like an idiot. Sure, you might be able to find it. To see it. To have it within reach. But reaching for it is pointless. You know better by now. Love is a tease. [[You have long since learned to stop playing its hurtful game.|Deathly Opinion]]

<<set $lovefoolish to true>> !!!Feelings on Love: Love is Foolish How absolutely, completely, totally moronic would you have to be to keep buying into love at this point? After all that’s happened, all the pain and suffering, both your own and that of others… You’d have to be well and truly brainless to keep falling for such a trick. Or just out of your mind entirely. Doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results. That’s the definition of insanity, so they say. You wouldn’t be shocked to find that your life so far has left you completely addled but, if it has, it isn’t in that particular way. You won’t be trying again. Not ever. [[It would only get you and others hurt.|Deathly Opinion]]

<<set $lovebeauty to true>> !!!Feelings on Love: Love is Beautiful What is life without love? Not a life at all, you don’t think. Humans are social creatures. The need for connection, for love, is built into your DNA. You are literally built for love. Going without it may not kill you the way going without food would, but you feel its absence the way you feel starvation. A persistent gnawing in the very core of your being, an emptiness that wears away at your insides. That’s not a feeling you’re keen to face every day. The question, for you, is not whether love hurts. Of course it does. The question is this: Does it hurt more or less than the pain of its absence? You know your answer. A life without love is not a life without pain. [[It's just a life without colour.|Deathly Opinion]]

<<set $vicariouslove to true>> !!!Feelings on Love: Love is Beautiful, Vicariously What is a life without love? Not a life at all, you don’t think… But all the same, you know it is not an option for you. Whether it’s for your own sake or the sake of others, you simply cannot justify continuing to grasp for something that is so harmful to yourself and everyone around you. It has been made abundantly clear by fate or the universe or whoever controls such things that love is not for you and you will not be allowed to have it. That doesn’t mean you can’t still enjoy it from afar. You like seeing love in life. You like overhearing friends laughing with each other, seeing a child’s face light up when they see their caregiver, watching videos of people reunited with pets after being away. [[You like being around love, even if you can’t be a part of it.|Deathly Opinion]]

So stands your views on love. But what about your views on death, as a concept? After all, you've been completely immersed in it from an early age. Death is a frequent visitor who always takes the time to loyally check in on you, but always brings misery in its wake. Most people have a complicated relationship with death, you aren't unique in that by any means, it's just that you aren't really allowed the option of distracting yourself from it the way others do. There's added layers of complexity. Over the years, crushed under the immense pressure of all you've been through, your feelings on death have been crystallized. A lump of ugly, jagged coal turned shiny and sharp, cutting away at the sinew of your heart. Depending on how you turn it or what angle you view it from, it gleams in an entirely different light, and there are definitely facets of your relationship with death that you remain unaware of. Either because you haven't been able to bear examining it too closely, or because you just can't see them past the glare of other facets. It's a difficult subject to properly summarize your feelings on. You'd never be able to properly wrap up all of your thoughts and feelings on the matter in a neat little bow, easily opened and sifted through, easily communicated and understood. Even so... If you had to, how would you try to simplify it? How would you begin to attempt explaining your thoughts on death? <<cycle "$death" autoselect>> <<option "It’s as natural as life, there’s nothing malicious about it, it simply is." 1>> <<option "It’s terrifying, whether it’s yourself or someone else, death scares you." 2>> <<option "It’s infuriating, you wish you could attack it the way it keeps attacking you." 3>> <<option "It’s tragic, it’s a deeply unfortunate reality you’ve never been able to truly come to terms with." 4>> <<option "It’s comforting, you find solace in the idea that it will one day free you from your suffering. (TW: Some suicidal ideation.)" 5>> <</cycle>> [[Simple as that, and not simple at all.|Life and Death]]

<<if $death is 1>> !!!Thoughts on Death: Natural <<elseif $death is 2>> !!!Thoughts on Death: Terrifying <<elseif $death is 3>> !!!Thoughts on Death: Infuriating <<elseif $death is 4>> !!!Thoughts on Death: Tragic <<else>> !!!Thoughts on Death: Comforting <</if>> Though, your thoughts on death as a whole don't necessarily reflect your thoughts on your own inevitable end. After all, you've seen first hand that no one is immune to it. Your turn will come, sooner or later. How do you feel about that? <<cycle "$willtolive" autoselect>> <<option "You cling to life stubbornly until the bitter end out of spite; Death won’t take you too, not if you have anything to say about it." 1>> <<option "You cling to life despite the misery of it, because you know there’s joy to be found as well." 2>> <<option "You cling to life because it’s what your loved ones would have wanted." 3>> <<option "You cling to life because you are terrified of the alternative." 4>> <<option "You are indifferent, because so is Death." 5>> <<option "You are indifferent, because you have lost the ability to care either way." 6>> <<option "You struggle to keep going, your will to live crushed under the guilt you feel for those who have died." 7>> <<option "You struggle to keep going, your will to live smothered by your fear of further pain and loss." 8>> <<option "You don’t want to be here anymore. (TW: Will lock in suicidal ideation as part of the protagonists struggles.)" 9>> <</cycle>> [[You've felt this way for some time, and you can't imagine it changing anytime soon.|Thoughts on Curses]]

<<if $willtolive is 1>> !!!Will to Live: Stubborness and Spite <<elseif $willtolive is 2>> !!!Will to Live: Seeking Joy <<elseif $willtolive is 3>> !!!Will to Live: Live for the Dead <<elseif $willtolive is 4>> !!!Will to Live: Fear of the Inevitable <<elseif $willtolive is 5>> !!!Will to Live: Indifferent as Death <<elseif $willtolive is 6>> !!!Will to Live: Adaptive Apathy <<elseif $willtolive is 7>> !!!Will to Live: Smothered by Guilt <<elseif $willtolive is 8>> !!!Will to Live: Smothered by Fear <<else>> !!!Will to Live: ... <</if>> As for the uncanniness of the pattern of death that has followed you all your life… Can it be denied that there's something strange and unique about your situation? Can you really chalk all of this up to just a roll of the cosmic dice? The consistency with which death targets your loved ones, the immediacy with which it does so... Not to mention the fact that you yourself were not killed by any of the events you were directly involved in, such as a fall in an elevator from a height that should not have been survivable under any circumstances. Do you think something more might be at work? Is it truly just a coincidence? Or is it something more unusual? Maybe something supernatural, even? [[It's just coincidence.|Coincidence]] [[There has to be something more afoot.|More Afoot]]

<<set $skeptic +=1>> Like all bad things in life, it just comes down to random chance. You’ve had a rough go of it, but there’s nothing strange or supernatural about it. Life is hard, it hurts, and bad things happen to good people all the time. There are so, so many people in the world, statistically it isn't all that shocking that at least one person in over seven billion has had such an uncanny experience as you have. In fact, you're probably not the only one. Just because this isn't common and you don't know of anyone else who has led the sort of life you have, that doesn't mean no one else like you has ever existed in the entire worldwide history of the human race. Some people are just unlucky enough to be a part of specific statistical minorities. In this case, you are one of those people. That’s all there is to it. [[Either way, that's more than enough musing for one day.|Moving On]]

<<set $skeptic -=1>> How can you possibly deny that something unnatural is at play here? It’s just way too much to be coincidence. The suddenness of their deaths, the way they seem to be struck down like clockwork just as you’re properly settling in, the way your entire family line has been burned through, the way it seems that your very presence in someone's life is enough to bring about their demise… There’s no way it's all just coincidence. It feels targeted. It feels inflicted. It feels like you're a carrier of some sort of plague. You show no symptoms and you aren't at risk of dying from it, but it hides within you to spread insidiously when you get too close to another person. Almost like you’re cursed or something. [[Either way, that's more than enough musing for one day.|Moving On]]

You sit up on the couch, shaking your head, as if you could cast off the remnants of the nightmare and your melancholy thoughts like a dog shaking water from its fur. As if it could ever be that easy. You reach up and... <<link [[Try to fix your very long, waist-length hair.|Hair]]>><<set $hairlength to "very long">><</link>> <<link [[Try to fix your long hair, which goes to your mid-back.|Hair]]>><<set $hairlength to "long">><</link>> <<link [[Try to fix your longish hair, which falls along your shoulder blades.|Hair]]>><<set $hairlength to "longish">><</link>> <<link [[Try to fix your shoulder-length hair.|Hair]]>><<set $hairlength to "shoulder-length">><</link>> <<link [[Try to fix your short hair.|Hair]]>><<set $hairlength to "short">><</link>> <<link [[Try to fix your very short hair.|A Noise]]>><<set $hairlength to "very short">><</link>> <<link [[Run a hand over your buzzcut.|A Noise]]>><<set $hairlength to "shaved">><</link>> <<link [[Run a hand over your bald head.|A Noise]]>><<set $hairlength to "non-existent">><</link>> <<link [[Fix your hijab, being careful to tuck in any stray hairs that escape while you napped.|A Noise]]>><<set $hairlength to "in a hijab">><</link>>

<<link [[Thankfully, your brief nap doesn’t seem to have disturbed your cornrows, despite how troubling your dreams were.|A Noise]]>><<set $hairtex to "in cornrows">><</link>> <<link [[Thankfully, your locks don’t seem worse for wear, so you must not have tossed and turned much despite your troubling dreams.|A Noise]]>><<set $hairtex to "locked">><</link>> <<link [[Though, having fallen asleep without pineappling or otherwise wrapping your coils, it’s a bit of a lost cause.|A Noise]]>><<set $hairtex to "coiled">><</link>> <<link [[Though, without having wrapped or braided your curls, it’s a bit of a lost cause.|A Noise]]>><<set $hairtex to "curly">><</link>> <<link [[Though, your waves don’t cooperate much when you try to comb them out with your fingers.|A Noise]]>><<set $hairtex to "wavy">><</link>> <<link [[Your straight hair falls into place with minimal issues, though you’re sure you’ll have some gnarly tangles when you try to properly brush it later.|A Noise]]>><<set $hairtex to "straight">><</link>>

As you groggily attempt to gather yourself after your impromptu nap, <<if $height is "very tall">> stiff and sore from having to curl up so tightly to fit on the couch, <<elseif $height is "tall">> a bit stiff from having to curl up to fit on the couch, <</if>> you have to wonder… What woke you? Not the nightmare, you’re sure. You’re so used to those by now they don’t wake you anymore. Honestly, having normal dreams is more jarring for you after all this time. Typically, when one nightmare is done, you just get moved on to the next. The clementine sunset straining to shine in through the window is being stifled by the dusty, grey drape moving gently with the breeze coming in, so that’s certainly not what woke you. So then— Voices drift in through the open window. Two very rambunctious, very loud voices. Yep, that would do it. <<if $isolation gt 6>> Well, you're going to have to check it out. You can't make out the exact words but something is going on and you need to scope out the situation. Make sure there's nothing you need to be worried about. You don’t think you’ll speak with anyone, except maybe to ask them to keep it down, but you’d still like to see what’s going on.<<elseif $isolation lt 6>>…Well, you can’t just not check it out! You can’t make out exact words but the voices sound excited and there’s a lot of laughter. Something is going on and you want to know what. You know you shouldn’t go speaking with your neighbours, it isn’t safe for you or them… But surely an introduction and some small talk won’t kill anyone. You’ll indulge in the brief social interaction, and then you’ll definitely, totally, absolutely never speak to them again. Really. <<else>>You don't know whether you'll talk to them or not. You'll figure that out once you're down there.<</if>> [[You heave yourself off the couch with a grunt, pull on your beat up old shoes, and slip out the door.|Out the Door]]

You don’t run into anyone on the way down, thankfully. You don't know how you'd cope if you got caught in another "conversation" with your landlord, and by the time he'd be done you'd probably have missed whatever's going on outside entirely. You can still hear the ruckus coming from outside, getting louder the closer you get to the front door. When you open the door, however, there’s no one outside of it or in front of the building. With how loud they’d sounded, you’d expected them to be practically on the doorstep— “How're you not done yet?!” A voice complains at a frankly unnecessary volume, and your head snaps in the direction it came from. Around the corner, along the side of the building. You slowly step outside. “Maybe I’d finish up quicker if the person meant to be helping me would actually be, oh, I dunno, helpful?” The voice that replies isn't quite as loud, but it carries clearly on the wind, brash and bold enough to be heard without yelling. Comparing it to the first voice would be like an ocean compared to a river. The rushing of the river and crashing of the rapids may make for a much louder sound, clear and cacophonous, but there's a power and depth to the ocean and the crashing of the waves that refuses to be ignored. “Uh, excuse you, I’m so helpful! I’m the helpfullest person you’ve ever met!” “Oh yeah? Then hand me the 8mm wrench, Your Helpfullness.” “Uhhh? Yeah sure, I can do that. I can deeeefinitely… Uh… Is that this one?” “Nope.” “This one?” “Nope again." "Okay, it has to be this one!” “...That's a screwdriver. I think that's the worst anyone has ever done at fetching a wrench. Congrats, bud." The sarcasm is so thick, the words are practically dripping with it. Even so, the reply to it is as proudly pleased as if it were taken entirely at face value, chipper and genuine. "Thanks! I try my best!" "Yep, and that's the sad part." A harsh sigh carries on the autumn breeze as you linger around the corner. "This isn't the first time you've watched me work, dude, how do you not know what a wrench is?" "It's not like you announce what all the thingies're called when you use 'em!" The louder voice whines defensively, audibly pouting. "How'm I supposed to know if you don't tell me?" "The wrench is for wrenching things. The hammer is for hammering things. The screwdriver is for screwing things. You're not stupid, you could figure it out if you stopped to think for two damn seconds." The suggestion is given harshly, and you expect the response to be hurt, or even more defensive, or to meet it with equal harshness. Instead, it sounds entirely unbothered by the tone but responds to the suggestion as if it were a sample of food that the person just can't stand the taste of. "Nnnugh, nope. Blech. No thanks. Sounds boring." "Right, sure, of course. How silly of me to suggest you put literally any amount of thought into anything you do. My bad." You hadn't thought the sarcasm of previous statements could be outdone. You are proven wrong. "Aw, it's okay. Your ideas can't all be winners, y'know." The words would seem backhanded, but the tone they're said with is sincere and guileless, sounding for all the world like a true attempt at reassurance. "You wanna get smacked in the head with a wrench? 'Cause you're on the fast track to getting smacked in the head with a wrench." "Oh, see, there! That's a //great// idea! Then I'd know which one's the wrench!" The reply to that is grumbled too quietly for you to hear, but the louder voice cackles in response to whatever was said. [[You inch closer, peeking around the corner.|Creep]]

It’s a little hard to believe that just two people could reach such a volume that they were able to wake you, considering you live on the fourth floor, but there they are. Two figures in the alley along the side of the building, one with hair that’s a bright, teal type of blue, and the other with equally bright fuschia hair. The blue-haired figure is absurdly tall, to a degree that it's actually a bit uncomfortable to look at. <<if $height is "very tall">> Definitely taller than you, which is something you're not at all accustomed to. <<elseif $height is "tall">> Definitely taller than you, which isn't something that happens often. <<else>> Even taller than Uffi, which is really saying something considering the man could hardly fit through a doorway. Unlike Uffi, though, this person doesn’t have the bulk to match his height. <</if>> He’s thin as a pole, with limbs that you can't help but stare at, unable to tear your eyes away as something in your brain insists that what you think you're seeing can't be what you're actually looking at. Something about his proportions just doesn’t sit right with you. His legs and arms... It's a bit hard to tell, exactly, with the way his baggy clothes hang off of him, but something about their length seems off. Certainly, it isn't unusual for people to have longer or shorter legs, or arms that aren't perfectly proportional, and usually you don't think twice about such things. But in this case, you can't shake the nagging sense that you're looking at something... wrong. It’s like someone stuck him in a taffy-stretcher. The more you try to make sense of what you're seeing, the more it makes your brain //itch// in the most peculiar way. He’s pacing around his pink-haired companion, who seems to have set up shop on the ground, swinging his mildly-distressing arms back and forth carelessly. Eventually, a sharp throb just behind your eyes forces you to stop looking directly at him. You chalk that up to the absurdly bright colours of his outfit. It's downright blinding, but not in the way that Uffi’s horrible, terrible, awful, no good, very bad sweater was. There are no gaudy patterns on any of his clothes. They are, however, all neon-bright with no colour coordination to be seen. A pink shirt, a yellow and orange unzipped hoodie, one leg of his pants is blue, and the other leg is green. Even his shoes are colourful, a vibrant purple with yellow accents, and every time he takes a step they light up along the sides. You didn’t even know they made light-up sneakers in adult sizes. As he orbits his friend, the contrast between them is staggering. It's hard to tell while she's sitting down, but you'd guess she's probably less than half his height, and at least twice his width. Her clothes are opposite to her friend's style as well, with not a speck of colour to be seen. While her friend is wearing layers of baggy clothing, she's wearing a tank top and shorts, all black, though you can see the bright pink fabric of her bra peeking over the neckline of her tank top. Just about everything she's wearing is ripped, some of the tears "mended" with safety-pins. Her solid-looking combat boots seem to be in better shape, but not for lack of wear. They look beat all to hell, but they're the sort of boots that are built to endure and so they remain in one piece. Despite her outfit, she doesn't seem at all bothered by the chill of the changing seasons. There’s a toolbox open beside her, and a tri-wheeled contraption unlike anything you've seen before tipped over on its side in front of her, laid out on the same ratty-looking blanket she’s sitting on, her legs folded to the side. There’s a wheelchair just beside her, the upholstery all in black and the metal, handgrips, and handrims in hot pink. It's a pink that matches her undercut, the unshaved portion short enough to expose her ears but long enough that some of it falls into her eyes as she looks down to work. Her bare arms look soft and rounded, but when she twists the wrench to tighten something you can see very impressive muscles flexing, shattering that impression entirely until she relaxes again. You would not be at all shocked if you found out she could bench-press her stick-figure-esque friend. [[She looks up from her work.|Looks Up]]

“I think we have a stalker,” she snickers and gestures vaguely in your direction before looking back to her work. You go wide-eyed as the blue-haired taffy-creature stops pacing and whips around to look your way. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a grin that wide before. You wouldn’t even have thought it physically //possible// to grin that wide, but there it is, happening right before your eyes. “A stalker?!” He exclaims with what sounds like… delight? “I haven't seen one of those yet! Hi, stalker!” He just about yells in your direction, making you cringe with embarrassment. His companion levels him with a Look, but he doesn't glance away from you to see it. "That was a joke, dumbass, $subpro<<if $subpro is "they">>'re<<else>>'s<</if>> not a fucking stalker." She huffs, and his grin drops as he considers you with a confused frown. "Oh," he sounds disappointed, bafflingly enough. It doesn't last, though, before he perks up again with another excited grin, turning to his friend. It's a relief to have that intense attention focused away from you. Even though he's stopped pacing, he's now bouncing in place. "What are they, then?" "If I had to guess? Probably the newbie Vinny mentioned. Not like anyone else is gonna come pokin' around here." As she tells him this, his eyes somehow grow wider than they already had been, and he gasps so dramatically you'd think it were sarcastic if his excitement weren't so obvious. The air around him is practically buzzing with exuberance. "Oh! Hello not-stalker!" He corrects, there's a pause, and then in a scramble of motion he starts waving vigorously, as if it's something he almost forgot to do and is rushing to correct. You aren't sure what to do, how to react. Thankfully, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, you aren't given time to do so. The blue-haired one had been some distance away from you, but between one moment and the next he’s suddenly directly in front of you. Your eyes insist they didn't see him move but your brain argues that that's impossible. Just one of a million headache-inducing aspects of this particular new neighbour. He’s way too close for comfort, <<if $height is "short">> stooping down low to bridge the very significant height difference <<elseif $height is "average">> stooping to bridge the significant height difference <<elseif $height is "tall">> leaning in to bridge a height difference that is much steeper than you're used to <<elseif $height is "very tall">> leaning in to bridge a gap in height you've never been on the shorter end of before <</if>> so he can study you with all the delighted fascination of a child discovering a strange new bug, his face barely an inch from your own. You… [[Startle backward.|Startled]] [[Calmly take a step back.|Calmly Step]] [[Hold your ground and ask him to back up.|Hold Your Ground]] [[Glare and warn him to back off.|Glare and Warn]] [[Are genuinely unbothered.|Genuinely Unbothered]] [[React as if you're unbothered|Disingenuously Unbothered]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.5>> Whether you're alarmed by his proximity or startled by the suddenness of it, the result is the same. You suck in a sharp breath and startle backwards. Luckily, you don't go sprawling on the ground. Unluckily, that's because your back slams against the wall of the building. Right up against one of the shoddy patches of brickwork. The impact is rough and jarring, but it's definitely the lesser of two evils. Still, not exactly the most comfortable sensation in an already-uncomfortable situation. You don't have long to dwell on the inevitable bruising, though. “Hm? S'wrong?” The too-close stranger tilts his head in question. At first, you're sure that he's mocking you. Surely he must realize exactly what's wrong, you can't imagine you're unique in having such a response to being abruptly loomed over by a stranger. When you <<if $eyecontact is false>>look into his eyes, <<else>>examine his expression, <</if>> though, you don't see so much as a hint of mockery or even light-hearted teasing. You see no malice on his face, no glee in response to your alarm and discomfort, and no realization of why you'd be uncomfortable to begin with. His grin has morphed back into that confused frown from before. Like you're the one acting strangely. Something else that strikes you as he studies you and you study him is how bizarre his eyes are. <<if $eyecontact is false>> His pupils are so dilated, you probably wouldn't be able to see the colours if they weren't so bright. Heterochromia isn't bizarre on its own, but the fact that one of the eyes is magenta certainly is. The other eye is green, and green is at least a colour eyes are meant to be... But not this particular shade. It's far too yellow to be natural. He must be wearing coloured contacts of some kind. There's no way his eyes are actually those colours. <<else>> You avoid looking directly at them, but the impression you get from your periphery is strange enough that you glance at them for just a moment. Only to confirm what you think you're seeing. His pupils are so dilated, you probably wouldn't be able to see the colours if they weren't so bright. Heterochromia isn't bizarre on its own, but the fact that one of the eyes is magenta certainly is. The other eye is green, and green is at least a colour eyes are meant to be... But not this particular shade. It's far too yellow to be natural. He must be wearing coloured contacts of some kind. <</if>> No matter his strange eye colours, he's still looking at you with confusion. [[He seems genuine in his bafflement.|Personal Space]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.5>> The speed with which he appeared before you is unsettling, but that’s no reason to lose your head. Panicking won't make the situation any easier to deal with. Keeping calm, you take a measured step back to put some distance between the two of you. He doesn’t step forward, but only because he doesn’t need to. He’s lanky enough that he just needs to lean forward a bit more to stay in your personal space. You take another step back, and you can see the moment something clicks for him. He leans back and tilts his head. Despite having identified that your actions indicate he should stay back, he still looks perplexed. You search his <<if $eyecontact is false>> eyes <<else>> expression <</if>> to try to gauge his intentions. From his actions, you'd think that he's trying to make you uncomfortable. That he's playing with you, or testing you, or just outright trying to harass you. Your search doesn't yield anything of the sort, though. The only thing you see is dazzled curiosity, as if enraptured by your reaction. Something else that strikes you as he studies you and you study him is how bizarre his eyes are. <<if $eyecontact is false>> His pupils are so dilated, you probably wouldn't be able to see the colours if they weren't so bright. Heterochromia isn't bizarre on its own, but the fact that one of the eyes is magenta certainly is. The other eye is green, and green is at least a colour eyes are meant to be... But not this particular shade. It's far too yellow to be natural. He must be wearing coloured contacts of some kind. There's no way his eyes are actually those colours. <<else>> You avoid looking directly at them, but the impression you get from your periphery is strange enough that you glance at them for just a moment. Only to confirm what you think you're seeing. His pupils are so dilated, you probably wouldn't be able to see the colours if they weren't so bright. Heterochromia isn't bizarre on its own, but the fact that one of the eyes is magenta certainly is. The other eye is green, and green is at least a colour eyes are meant to be... But not this particular shade. It's far too yellow to be natural. He must be wearing coloured contacts of some kind. <</if>> "You're kinda funny, y'know?" He comments as his grin returns. "S'wrong with where you were standin' before?" He tilts his head, considering you for a moment, his grin dropping as he purses his lips in thought. [[You open your mouth to tell him that he's why you moved, but someone beats you to it.|Personal Space]]

<<set $adaptable -= 0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> You don't know what he's playing at, but you refuse to be intimidated. You won’t step back, no matter how closely he leans. If he wants to play chicken with you then he’ll just have to become well-acquainted with losing. You search his <<if $eyecontact is false>>eyes<<else>>expression<</if>> to try to gauge his intentions. You expect to find malicious amusement, or maybe mockery, or any number of other unpleasant things. What you do see, though, is not what you expect. He's observing you with dazzled curiosity. Like you're a strange and wonderful new discovery. Considering that, you reign in the instinctive urge to get defensive about his proximity. Something else that strikes you as he studies you and you study him is how bizarre his eyes are. <<if $eyecontact is false>> His pupils are so dilated, you probably wouldn't be able to see the colours if they weren't so bright. Heterochromia isn't bizarre on its own, but the fact that one of the eyes is magenta certainly is. The other eye is green, and green is at least a colour eyes are meant to be... But not this particular shade. It's far too yellow to be natural. He must be wearing coloured contacts of some kind. There's no way his eyes are actually those colours. <<else>> You avoid looking directly at them, but the impression you get from your periphery is strange enough that you glance at them for just a moment. Only to confirm what you think you're seeing. His pupils are so dilated, you probably wouldn't be able to see the colours if they weren't so bright. Heterochromia isn't bizarre on its own, but the fact that one of the eyes is magenta certainly is. The other eye is green, and green is at least a colour eyes are meant to be... But not this particular shade. It's far too yellow to be natural. He must be wearing coloured contacts of some kind. <</if>> You hold yourself steady, and calmly ask: “Could you back up?” Your tone is mild and measured, carefully balanced so as to not be too aggressive while remaining uncompromising enough to convey that it isn’t really a request. Maybe it’s phrased as one, just to be polite, but you will not be taking no for an answer in this case. “Probably.” He answers with a shrug, as if it were not a request that he back up, but a theoretical query into whether he is physically capable of backing up. You’re about to reiterate the "request" as a direct order, [[but someone beats you to it.|Personal Space]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> What is this prick’s issue? Seriously, what the hell is he playing at? He has to be trying to mock you, or intimidate you, or something to that effect. Your eyes narrow in a glare, but the more indignant rage you channel into the glare, the more his <<if $eyecontact is false>> eyes sparkle <<else>> expression brightens <</if>> with dazzled curiosity. Like you’re some strange and wonderful new thing he can't get enough of, can't look away from. Something else that strikes you as he studies you and you glare at him is how bizarre his eyes are. <<if $eyecontact is false>> His pupils are so dilated, you probably wouldn't be able to see the colours if they weren't so bright. Heterochromia isn't bizarre on its own, but the fact that one of the eyes is magenta certainly is. The other eye is green, and green is at least a colour eyes are meant to be... But not this particular shade. It's far too yellow to be natural. He must be wearing coloured contacts of some kind. There's no way his eyes are actually those colours. <<else>> You avoid looking directly at them, but the impression you get from your periphery is strange enough that you glance at them for just a moment. Only to confirm what you think you're seeing. His pupils are so dilated, you probably wouldn't be able to see the colours if they weren't so bright. Heterochromia isn't bizarre on its own, but the fact that one of the eyes is magenta certainly is. The other eye is green, and green is at least a colour eyes are meant to be... But not this particular shade. It's far too yellow to be natural. He must be wearing coloured contacts of some kind. <</if>> “Oh, that’s an //interesting// look…” He breathes the words as though to himself. It only adds fuel to the fire of your indignation. “Yeah? You’ll get something //real// interesting here in a second if you don’t back off.” You threaten. It does not have the intended effect, however. You just about growl from frustration as the threat just makes his <<if $eyecontact is false>> eyes <<else>> expression <</if>> light up with enthusiasm. Just when you think this weirdo has reached the heights of how wired a person can be, he manages to outdo himself. “Oh! Oh, really? Like what? Do you promise? S'it a surprise?” The questions come from him rapid-fire, like he can hardly contain himself. "Wow, that's so nice of you! Are y'always so nice to people you look at like that? Is that your being-nice face? That's kinda funny, 'specially 'cause it doesn't look like a being-nice face. Actually kinda looks like Kaida's shut-up-and-leave-me-alone face." He giggles like an absolute idiot at that. You're not nearly so amused. You can only assume he’s mocking you. Though, in his tone you can hear only genuine excitement from his questions, like a kid asking if they can really get whatever they want from the candy store. It must be an act. [[There’s no way your threat sincerely went over his head, right?|Personal Space]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> He may be acting a bit strange, but you don’t think he means any harm? You're not seeing any malice or mockery in his <<if $eyecontact is false>> eyes. <<else>> expression. <</if>> Just a sort of dazzled curiosity. So, he's likely not intentionally harassing you. He’s just a bit… excitable. He probably got carried away in his enthusiasm and doesn’t realize how up close and personal he’s gotten. Social awareness is a skill not everyone possesses, after all. You smile patiently. “Hello,” you greet, in the hopes that might satisfy him enough that he’ll back off. Unfortunately, it's about as effective as adding fuel to a fire in an attempt to drive off moths. He comes in closer, like he's been irresistibly drawn in by that single word. You've fed his curiosity, and it's only grown more ravenous in response. More eager to hear more from you, see more from you. Something else that strikes you as he studies you and you study him is how bizarre his eyes are. <<if $eyecontact is false>> His pupils are so dilated, you probably wouldn't be able to see the colours if they weren't so bright. Heterochromia isn't bizarre on its own, but the fact that one of the eyes is magenta certainly is. The other eye is green, and green is at least a colour eyes are meant to be... But not this particular shade. It's far too yellow to be natural. He must be wearing coloured contacts of some kind. There's no way his eyes are actually those colours. <<else>> You avoid looking directly at them, but the impression you get from your periphery is strange enough that you glance at them for just a moment. Only to confirm what you think you're seeing. His pupils are so dilated, you probably wouldn't be able to see the colours if they weren't so bright. Heterochromia isn't bizarre on its own, but the fact that one of the eyes is magenta certainly is. The other eye is green, and green is at least a colour eyes are meant to be... But not this particular shade. It's far too yellow to be natural. He must be wearing coloured contacts of some kind. <</if>> “Yes, hello!" He chirps, sounding for all the world like you didn't just make his day, but his entire week. "Y'know, you're the first person I've met to start off with that. Well, first person that isn't Vincente. Marina called me all sortsa fun names when we met! 'N Thea was all like 'oh, goodness me!'" He straightens up into perfect posture and puts a hand to his chest as he speaks in a higher, breathy imitation of whoever Thea is. As soon as he's done, his posture slumps, his arms hang and swing slightly at his sides, and he switches back to his normal voice. "'N Kaida literally growled! Which, don’t get me wrong, was real freakin’ funny, but—” [[He doesn't get to finish that sentence.|Personal Space]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> This guy is really skeeving you out, but there’s no reason to let him know that. He's probably mocking you, or maliciously trying to make you uncomfortable. If that's the case, he'd get a kick out of any negative reaction. He certainly seems the sort to get a sick thrill out of upsetting people. Granted, you don't see any such nastiness when you look <<if $eyecontact is false>> into his eyes, <<else>> over his expression,<</if>> but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. The strange, dazzled curiosity you're currently seeing could be an act that's covering it. So, despite how badly you want to scowl and shove him away, you smile instead. “Hello,” you greet as mildly as you can manage. Unfortunately, it's about as effective as adding fuel to a fire in an attempt to drive off moths. He comes in closer, like he's been irresistibly drawn in by that single word. You've fed his curiosity, and it's only grown more ravenous in response. More eager to hear more from you, see more from you. Like you just handed him some sort of gift. Something else that strikes you as he studies you and you study him is how bizarre his eyes are. <<if $eyecontact is false>> His pupils are so dilated, you probably wouldn't be able to see the colours if they weren't so bright. Heterochromia isn't bizarre on its own, but the fact that one of the eyes is magenta certainly is. The other eye is green, and green is at least a colour eyes are meant to be... But not this particular shade. It's far too yellow to be natural. He must be wearing coloured contacts of some kind. There's no way his eyes are actually those colours. <<else>> You avoid looking directly at them, but the impression you get from your periphery is strange enough that you glance at them for just a moment. Only to confirm what you think you're seeing. His pupils are so dilated, you probably wouldn't be able to see the colours if they weren't so bright. Heterochromia isn't bizarre on its own, but the fact that one of the eyes is magenta certainly is. The other eye is green, and green is at least a colour eyes are meant to be... But not this particular shade. It's far too yellow to be natural. He must be wearing coloured contacts of some kind. <</if>> “Yes, hello!" He chirps, sounding for all the world like you didn't just make his day, but his entire week. "Y'know, you're the first person I've met to start off with that. Well, first person that isn't Vincente. Marina called me all sortsa fun names when we met! 'N Thea was all like 'oh, goodness me!'" He straightens up into perfect posture and puts a hand to his chest as he speaks in a higher, breathy imitation of whoever Thea is. As soon as he's done, his posture slumps, his arms hang and swing slightly at his sides, and he switches back to his normal voice. "'N Kaida literally growled! Which, don’t get me wrong, was real freakin’ funny, but—” [[He doesn't get to finish that sentence.|Personal Space]]

“Do we really need to go over the whole ‘personal space’ concept again?” The pink-haired individual heaves a long-suffering sigh. You and the taffy-creature both turn your heads to look at her. She's paused her work and is levelling her friend with a flat, unimpressed look, spinning the wrench idly in one hand. Her nails are painted, you notice. All sorts of different, bright colours with no pattern or sense to which colours are where. You think you could hazard a guess as to who painted them. You glance down. The blue-haired menace is still swinging his arms idly, but even so the black nail polish is easy to spot. “I’m not touchin’ <<if $objpro is "they" >>‘em,<<else>> $objpro,<</if>> though!” The lanky eccentric in front of you whines, but straightens up his posture as he leans back, rubbing the back of his head as his expression twists like he’s literally chewing on the concept being explained to him. He starts rocking back and forth on his heels in movements opposite to the one arm still swinging. His sneakers light up each time. “Dude, I’ve explained this. Personal bubbles. They aren’t skin-tight. You gotta give people some breathing room, or you’re gonna get yourself smacked.” She warns, ceasing her wrench-spinning to point it at him sternly. Her movements are so rough and purposeful, you think for a moment she's about to throw it at him. “And I’m telling you now, when you do eventually get smacked, you won’t have me to bail you out. If I'm not the one doing the smacking, I’ll be too busy laughing.” She declares, and her companion just… shrugs and tilts his head in concession, as if that’s a totally reasonable expectation for her to set. “Huh. Mm, still don't really get what the problem is. But, if you say so..." He looks down at his feet and, with his unreasonably long legs, takes a big step back, coming up against the wall across from you. He looks back up toward his friend. "Good?" "It's not my personal space, I'm not the one to ask!" She snaps impatiently, throwing up her hands in exasperation. She shakes her head harshly, her pink hair shaking with it. "Oh!” His <<if $eyecontact is false>> eyes<<else>> expression<</if>> lights up with realization, his grin returning in full-force. “This is a manners moment, right? Like Vicente says! Wait, lemme think a sec, uhhh...” He looks upward, still rocking back and forth on his heels. "I think for this it'd be... Sorry for getting too close. Is this far away enough?" The way he says it, and the way he waits with an expectant smile afterwards, brings to mind a child at a spelling bee. But without any hint of nervousness, self-consciousness, or embarrassment. He's bouncing up and down again. Regardless of how you feel about his first impression, all of this has just been so odd and so sudden that you fail to gather up a proper response. "Sure?" You shrug, not knowing how else to respond. He regards you quizzically. "Sure you're sure? 'Cause you sure don't sound sure." You can't formulate an answer. Because now that you aren't preoccupied with his proximity, you can actually properly take in more details about him. [[Details that demand your attention much more insistently than his questioning of your answer.|Abby Desc]]

His hair is cut asymmetrically, very short on one side but very long on the other, waves of choppy layers in an overall state of disarray. Maybe if it were tidier it would be stylish but, as it is, it just looks like someone got carried away with scissors in the kitchen at three a.m. On the side where his hair is so short his ear is visible, you see a large number of various piercings. Just about every type of piercing someone could fit onto one ear, mostly in gold, though with various brightly coloured adornments and three chains connecting from three loop earrings at the top of the shell of his ear, down to a single anchor point near the moderately sized plug in his earlobe. It's hard to tell with all that jewellery, but you could swear that his ear looks a bit pointed at the top. His ear isn't the only thing that confuses you. So much about his face is just… wrong. The teeth showing in his wide grin are shark-like in their sharpness, and his eyes…<<if $eyecontact is false>> Earlier, they'd been dilated and round. Now, they've contracted, but rather than staying round they've gone narrow like cat's eyes. Are there types of coloured contacts that can do that? <<else>> You can't bring yourself to look at them again, but you remember the unnatural colours. <</if>> His features overall have an uncanniness about them, the same sort of not-quite-right quality as his body's proportions. It would almost be better if they were even more off than they are. As it is, they leave you caught in an uncomfortable in-between. It isn't their placement that's troubling, you honestly can't quite put your finger on the problem. With his teeth, yes, it's obvious why they capture your attention. But for things like the shape of his nose, the point of his chin, his jawline... You aren't sure why looking at them makes something in your gut squirm uneasily. Something about them is off, but not so off that you can name exactly what the problem is. There's a surrealism that makes looking at him almost //hurt.// It makes you want to rub your eyes, makes your head throb to look at him, and totally steals your ability to focus on anything else. Your brain is caught in a place of "what's wrong with this picture?" It takes a real effort to shake off the haze of it, dismissing your reaction. The teeth, the ears, it's all easily explained. He must be really into body mods. [[No point dwelling on it.|Abby Intro]]

He had seemed to calm somewhat after stepping back, and you mistakenly had thought he'd settled down entirely. Or, settled down as much as he's capable of. That is apparently not the case, however, as his entire demeanour lights up once more. Typically, when you see someone light up, the impression the person gives is that of a lightbulb. Bright but not blinding. Not him, though. He lights up like fireworks. A noisy explosion of colour that can and will wreak absolute havoc if set off in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Oh! Oh!” He exclaims again, his jumping going from small, idle movement to great leaps of joy in reaction to whatever has occurred to him. “Introductions! Yes! Hello! This is name time, yeah? I’m Abby! That’s Marina! It’s ‘nice to meet you!’” He says, as if reciting a phrase he doesn’t fully understand the meaning of but is very excited to try out. You just stare at him. Does he want you to actually respond to that? Or are you supposed to just let him get this out of his system so he can move on? You glance over to Marina for some hint of what to do. She's no help at all. She's just watching, making no effort to hide the fact that she finds this whole thing terribly entertaining. She smirks when she sees you looking her way, cocking an eyebrow as if to say 'well, go on, lets see what you've got.' You've got nothing. Abby is far more merciful than she is, thankfully. He freely offers guidance in the wake of your uncertainty. “…Uh, I might be remembering wrong, but I’m preeeetty sure you’re supposed to say ‘nice to meet you too.’” Abby informs, trying to whisper despite his apparent inability to lower his volume enough to do so properly. Like you’re an actor that’s forgotten their lines. You… [[Laugh and return the sentiment.|Laugh and Intro]] [[Fake a laugh and say what he wants to hear.|Fake Laugh and Intro]] [[Scowl and burst his bubble, genuinely irritated.|Genuinely Irritated]] [[Burst his bubble for his own good.|Played-Up Irritation]] [[Respond with light-hearted sarcasm.|Sarcastic Intro Abby]] [[Are completely lost.|Completely Lost]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $aapproval to 3>> <<set $mapproval to 4>> What a silly little guy. Or, well, silly scarily tall guy. Everything about him is just so… bizarre, from his appearance to his behaviour. He's downright cartoonish. You have to wonder if this is some sort of prank, if there’s a hidden camera somewhere waiting to catch your reaction to this oddity before you. Looking at him, at his dispropotionate enthusiasm over such a simple thing as an introduction, at his constant movement setting off his light-up sneakers, at the goofy grin on his face as he anticipates your response... You can’t help but laugh. Not mockingly, of course, you aren't making fun of him. It's a sound of pure delight. He seems a bit taken aback by that. Startled, confused, like he doesn’t understand what part of what he said was funny. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” You tell him once you've finally reined in your giggles. The moment of confusion is dispelled in an instant. From the look on his face, you’ve clearly told him exactly what he wants to hear and he is just so thrilled about it. You glance at Marina again, and her previous smirk is gone. Now, she's smiling with satisfaction, looking at you like you've done her a solid. You can't imagine why, but you're talking to someone right now, so you turn your attention back to Abby. “My name is—” [[You're cut off by a sudden exclamation.|Not-Names]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $aapproval to 3>> <<set $mapproval to 2>> Well, he’s certainly… enthusiastic? Obnoxious? Both, and other things besides. But it doesn't matter how you actually feel about him and his nonsense. He's a new neighbour, and therefore a potential resource. Not to mention, his friend is as well, and she's still watching you. You glance over at her again. Her posture and smirk are both fairly relaxed, but <<if $candid lte 6>>you know full well what it looks like when someone is masking their intentions. You certainly have enough practice at it, yourself. <<else>>you get the feeling that it's not really as simple as that.<</if>> <<if $candid lte 6>> You don't miss the edge to the way she's watching you. She may look like she's just enjoying the show, but you can see there's more beneath the surface. Wary calculation hidden behind casual irreverence. Something braced and primed to strike if need be. It sends a chill through you that you easily suppress, but she sees through you the same way you see through her, and something new sparks in her <<if $eyecontact is false>>eyes.<<else>>expression.<</if>> She knows you know. You expect her to grow defensive and entirely closed off, or to double down and try to convince you that you don't know what you saw. She does neither. Instead, she meets your examination challengingly. It doesn't bother her that you know she's watching more carefully than she's letting on, but you get the sense that it's given her high expectations. Whatever standard she was planning to hold you to, the bar has been raised now that she knows you know that she'll be judging your response. Now that you know she's considering this as a test. You hold your head high, undaunted. This is a test you're more than prepared to pass. <<else>>Something about the way she's watching you... She may look like she's just enjoying the show, but you get the sense there might be more beneath the surface. Though, you aren't sure what. It makes you uneasy, and a chill travels up your spine that you don't fully manage to suppress. That hidden quality to her gaze that you can't quite pinpoint sharpens, focuses, zeroes in on the show of weakness that slipped past your act. Something in her demeanour shifts, but you can't see through her well enough to decipher exactly what has changed and by how much. What you do know for sure is that she's seeing this as a test. Your palms begin to sweat. You aren't sure this is a test you'll be able to pass, and that chill still running along your spine tells you that the results of failure will not be pleasant.<</if>> You suppress a grimace and force it to take the shape of a smooth smile, managing a small laugh at his antics. You're careful to make sure the laugh doesn't come out cynical or mocking. It's a sound of pure, albeit completely fake, delight. He seems a bit taken aback by that. Startled, confused, like he doesn’t understand what part of what he said was funny. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” You tell him. The moment of confusion is dispelled in an instant. From the look on his face, you’ve clearly told him exactly what he wants to hear and he is just so thrilled about it. You don't get the chance to glance at Marina again before you hear her scoff. You<<if $candid lte 6>> barely manage to keep yourself from visibly tensing<<else>> can't help but grow tense<</if>> at the sound. Surely she can't see through you //that// well, right? You just need to follow through. Act natural, and really sell the act. “My name is—” [[You're cut off by a sudden exclamation.|Not-Names]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> <<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $aapproval to 4>> <<set $mapproval to 3>> How obnoxious can someone be? You don’t bother hiding your scowl, glowering at him. Rather than backing off at the sight of your unfriendly expression, though, he blinks his wide eyes guilelessly and tilts his head like a confused puppy. “Well, that’s an interesting face. What’s that one mean?” Seriously? “Are you stupid? It means you’re getting on my nerves.” You snap, and his face goes entirely blank. “I’m not going to say it’s nice to meet you, because that would be a lie. It isn’t nice to meet you at all. In fact, it’s been a headache.” You expect him to be disheartened by this. To wilt or shrink back or maybe even get angry at you in return. You also expect Marina to get pissed off at you, too. Even if she'd been hard on him before, that doesn't mean she'll be fine with other people treating him that way. What you don’t expect is for Marina to bark a harsh but audibly amused laugh, and for Abby to break into a fit of snickers, which turn into giggles, which turn into outright laughter, which turns into something closer to cackling. Those cackles drag out long after Marina's burst of laughter has tapered off. You glance her way for an explanation of what the hell was so funny. She looks like she's barely restraining herself from bursting out into laughter again. "Oh, you've done it now," she teases, allowing herself a brief additional snicker. Abby's laughter finally tapers off, back into giggles, then back into snickers, and then finally fading off with a satisfied sigh. You turn your eyes back to him, your irritation stoked by both of their reactions. What the hell are they laughing at? You? You're not the one being weird here! “Aw, you’re such an angry lil' thing, aren’tcha?" He coos, and you bristle. <<if $height is "very tall">> 'Little' is not a word you've ever heard used to describe you but you have to grudgingly admit that, considering his own height, it makes sense from his perspective. <<elseif $height is "tall">> 'Little' is not a word you've ever heard used to describe you but you have to grudgingly admit that, considering his own height, it makes sense from his perspective. <<elseif $height is "average">> 'Little' is rather overstating the case, but you doubt he'll listen to your protests. <<else>> Just because it's true doesn't mean he has to say it!<</if>>"Kinda like Kaida! Just makes me wanna squish your face, but you’d probably try to bite me if I did that, huh? Though, I can’t say that doesn’t hold a certain appeal for me.” He muses, and his expression might have looked thoughtful, if not for the teasing edge it holds. “It'd be fun t'see you go a lil’ feral.” “I’m not here to entertain you!” You all but growl at him. “Nah, but you’re doin’ a pretty stellar job of it all the same.” His tone takes on a sing-songy tune, and if he was annoying enough by default, you seem to have unlocked a new, enhanced layer of annoyance now that he knows he can get a reaction from you. A reaction that is, apparently, very satisfying to him. He looks upon your ire like a dog salivating over a steak. [[Then, he seems to remember something, realization replacing his previous mischief.|Not-Names]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> <<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $aapproval to 4>> <<set $mapproval to 3>> Oh no, he’s cute. Like, properly adorable. You can’t imagine how anyone could be mean or dismissive to someone so earnest and friendly. It'd be like yelling at a puppy for wanting to play. But you have to. For his own good. The less he deserves the cold shoulder, the more vital it is that you give him exactly that. Someone like this is too easy to get close to, <<if $selflesslyalone is true>> and someone like this doesn’t deserve to be struck down like everyone else you've ever cared about.<<elseif $selfishlyalone is true>> and you can't afford to get attached.<<else>> even for you. Maybe especially for you.<</if>> A haze of pre-emptive guilt comes over you, but you push through it, wave it aside. That's not to say you don't appreciate its existence. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you could mistreat someone who has done you no harm without feeling the slightest bit bad about it. But this particular guilt is nothing compared to the maelstrom of misery that would come with the consequences if you were to let Abby get too close. So, you snuff out the smile that wants to grace your lips, forcing it to twist into some sort of scowl. You aren’t sure you manage to be very convincing, though. Rather than backing off at the sight of your unfriendly expression, he blinks his wide eyes almost guilelessly and tilts his head like a confused puppy. “Well, that’s an interesting face. What’s that one mean?” …Yeah, you guess the scowl didn’t turn out very… scowl-y. “It means that I can’t say it’s nice to meet you. That would be a lie. Meeting you has been a headache.” You tell him, <<if $candid lte 6>> convincingly cold.<<else>>your words sounding unconvincingly uncertain.<</if>> He tilts his head in the other direction, his brow furrowing a little as he considers you. “Nah.” He says simply, and now it’s your turn to be taken aback. You glance at Marina, expecting either some hint as to what Abby is on about or for her to be as confused as you. She does, indeed, appear deeply confused... But she isn't looking at Abby. She's looking at you, her pink brows furrowed and her lips frowning deeply. She looks as troubled as she does confused, but with your words rather than his. You shift uneasily in place, turning back to Abby. At least he isn't scrutinizing you the way Marina is. “…Nah?” “Yeah, nah! Y’know: Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ sound of the word, a smaller, close-lipped version of his earlier grin replacing his confusion. There's no accusation in his tone or demeanour, no hard feelings about you saying what you did. “//That’s// the lie. Not sure why you’d wanna say something like that when it ain’t true. You’re kind of a funny little weirdo, huh? I like that!” [[You open your mouth to protest, but he’s already moving on, realization replacing his little smile.|Not-Names]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $mapproval to 4>> <<set $aapproval to 3>> If there's one thing that's clear and obvious about these two it's that there's no need to take any of this, or yourself, too seriously. No, you can't allow yourself to form any true friendship with them, but they won't drop dead just because you want to indulge in the light-hearted humour that seems to come so easily to them. “Oh? Silly me, I should have rehearsed my lines more. Can we take it from the top?” You quip, and you hear a snort from Marina, but it sails right over Abby's head. “From the top? I mean, yeah, sure, I’m always up for Roof Hours. You wanna head up there the boring way or do you want me to piggy-back you up the side of the building?” He asks with enthusiasm that sounds just as earnest as it has throughout this interaction. You chuckle, knowing that despite his tone he can't possibly be honestly asking you that. It has to be a joke. “Fun as that sounds, I think I’ll keep my feet on the ground for now." “Aw, I was kinda excited to have Roof Hours with someone new…” He pouts. It’s funny, the way he sounds completely serious as he plays along. As if he isn’t playing along at all but has, in fact, taken you at face value and is genuinely offering to taxi you up the side of a four-story building to the roof. As if he's sincerely disappointed that you want to stay on the ground. ...Maybe he really is serious? …Okay, but if that’s the case, how exactly does he intend to scale the side of a building with you on his back?! No, there's no way. You look to Marina for some sort of explanation or hint as to how to take what he's said, but she just smirks ruefully at you. "Welcome to my world. The art of sarcasm is completely wasted on him," she informs you. "Don't let that stop you, though. I don't." As she explains, you turn back to Abby as you hear him gasp in realization. "Ooooh, it was the sarcasm thing! Whoops! Sorry," he giggles, not at all embarrassed or bothered by his own misunderstanding. "Yeah, uh... No problem?" You reply uncertainly, still caught on the mental image of this toothpick person trying to carry a whole other grown adult up the side of the building. "...Anyway, it’s nice to meet you. My name is—” [[You're cut off by a sudden exclamation.|Not-Names]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $aapproval to 3>> <<set $mapproval to 3>> Wait, what’s happening? You are so deeply lost. You only came out here to see what the fuss was that had woken you up. Now, you're caught up in the whirlwind of energy and activity that is apparently named Abby. You're struggling to keep up. It doesn't help matters that you can feel Marina scrutinizing you, weighing your responses and reactions. You glance at her, but she just raises an eyebrow and smirks at your confusion. Yeah, you're not getting any guidance from her. She's visibly amused by all of this, and clearly has no intention of stepping in. You open your mouth to answer, come up empty, and close it again. You repeat this a few times, looking around frantically as if something in the alleyway will suddenly inform you of how to proceed in this situation. How to react. You have no idea what’s going on, but you were told to say something that seems pretty harmless, so you just go with that. “Nice to… meet you?” You try. He bursts into a fit of giggles at your response, causing your shoulders to draw up defensively. Why is he laughing at you? He literally told you to say that! “You don’t sound so sure about that.” He teases light-heartedly, and you relax a little at the lack of mockery. Okay. Okay, he's not laughing //at// you. That's not so bad, then. “Are you asking me if you think it’s nice to meet me?” “I— No— I mean, yes? Wait, no, I—“ You flounder, and he watches you struggle with open fascination. “Not to be a buzzkill,” Marina calls towards you both. She doesn't look any less amused than before, but despite that it would seem she is indeed extending some mercy toward you. “But giving someone a crisis before even learning their name would probably count as rude in Vinny’s book, Abby. Just sayin’.” You don’t really see why that’s a big deal, but Abby looks absolutely horrified. So much so that you'd think it's being played up sarcastically if this entire interaction hadn't shown you how intensely he emotes. “Oh! Oh no! Okay, I’ll wait a bit before any crisis-making.” He decides, nodding dutifully, though you would much prefer he just never make a crisis for you, period. [[The horror gives way to his abnormally wide grin.|Not-Names]]

“Oh! Right! I knew I was forgetting something! I was supposed to ask your name, too! And your uh… Your little not-names!” He explains, gesturing vaguely. The sleeves of his sweater aren't long enough for his arms, and his hands and fingers... you can't watch them as they move. Something about them makes your skin crawl. It's the same uncaniness that you get from the length of his limbs, but intensified. “My… not-names?” “Yeah! Those little words people call you that aren’t your name!” “…A nickname?” You guess. You can't think of what else he could possibly be referring to, but he shakes his head. "Nah, nah, a nickname's still a sort of name. The not-name words aren't names at all, that's why they're not-names." He explains like it's the simplest thing in the world. You have no idea what he's talking about. "As hilarious as I'm sure it'd be to watch you two go back and forth like this all day," Marina drawls sarcastically, returning to her work and not looking at either of you as she speaks. She doesn't at all sound like she would find that hilarious, but rather immensely boring. "He’s trying to ask for your pronouns.” “Yeah! Those!" Abby tries to snap his fingers, and fails. He frowns at his own hand, tries again, fails again. He does this a few times, and you literally have to turn your head away completely to shake off the awful feeling that his attempts to maneuver his fingers bring about. It's a sensation that's disturbingly similar to motion-sickness. You don't understand it, but you know you don't like it. He doesn't seem like he's going to give up trying any time soon, though, so you give him your pronouns in the hopes that it'll distract him and make him stop trying to snap. “Well, my name is $name and my pronouns are $subpro/$objpro. Yours?” Thankfully, it works. His attention, which had been fully focused on trying to snap, completely abandons those efforts. His hand drops back to his side, and his attention is fully on you again. Overwhelming as it is, it's definitely preferable. “Oh, you can use any for me! I’m a real flexible sorta de— Er, person! Marina’s are she/her!” “Coulda just said that myself, but whatever, I guess.” Marina sighs, not looking up until she gives the wrench a final twist and nods in satisfaction at the result. When she does look up, she doesn’t look at Abby at all. She looks straight at you. Even from a distance,<<if $eyecontact is false>> the colour of her eyes is so vivid that it’s easy to make out. Almost the same as Abby’s hair, only Marina’s eyes are more green than blue, while Abby’s hair is more blue than green.<<else>> - and even though you avert your own eyes quickly to avoid direct contact - the colour of her eyes is so vivid that it’s easy to make out. Almost the same as Abby’s hair, only Marina’s eyes are more green than blue, while Abby’s hair is more blue than green.<</if>> “You seem like you have at least two braincells to rub together. You wanna gimme a hand with this? Considering my current ‘helper’ has the attention span of a goldfish and all the mechanical knowledge of a minnow, you couldn’t possibly do any worse.” “Hey, I resemble that remark!” Abby huffs and pouts, crossing his gangly arms. “You sure do, bud. You sure do.” Marina sighs again, but her eyes don’t leave you. She's smiling invitingly, trying to tempt you into accepting. “So?" [[The question brings you pause.|Marina Intro Question]]

Perhaps any other time, this question would be more stressful to answer. Any other time, you’d have to internally weigh the pros and cons, the risks and rewards, and then come up with an excuse if the answer is no. If the answer is yes, you’d end up spending the whole time justifying to yourself why you risked saying yes. Thankfully, you don’t have to do any of that this time. This time, it isn’t your call, because you don’t need an excuse. You have a previous engagement, after all. [[You wish you could, but politely decline.|Want To, Polite Decline]] [[You politely decline, glad to have an excuse.|Polite Decline, Relieved]] [[You wish you could, but brush them off.|Want To, Brush Off]] [[You brush them off, glad to have an excuse.|Brush Off, Relieved]]

<<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> You really don’t want to hang out with these two. You’re glad to have an actual excuse. Something about the way Marina is looking at you makes you think she’d see right through you if you tried to make something up. Still, no need to be rude in your refusal. Pissing off the people you have to live in the same building as probably isn’t a good idea, you remind yourself. “I’d love to,” you start, and <<if $eyecontact is false>>her turquoise eyes flash <<else>>her demeanour shifts<</if>> in a way that makes you uneasy. You resist the urge to squirm under her piercing gaze, feeling like a worm on a hook. “But I have to get ready for work soon. Wouldn’t want to be late for my first shift.” Just like that, the sharp quality that had been making you uneasy dissipates. You wonder if you were imagining things, as there's no longer any hint of anything like what you had thought you saw. “No shit? Where’d you find a job around this dump?” Marina doesn’t sound at all offended. Abby, apparently already bored with this conversation, has resumed his pacing. He approaches Marina again and stoops down to grab a wrench with his own self-made sound effect. It would seem that even when he isn't talking, he's still making noise. “There’s a bar just on the edge of this part of town. Nothing fancy, but it’ll keep my head above water.” You shrug. Marina seems oddly amused by your choice of words. “Well, have a nice swim, yeah? Look out for sharks.” She teases, smiling with her teeth, and you snort a brief laugh. “I’m not too worried. I hear that sharks are terribly misunderstood creatures.” You banter back, and her grin grows, though it’s still nowhere near the size of Abby’s more subtle grins. “You’re right. It’s the mermaids you really gotta watch out for.” That uneasy feeling from before makes itself known again. It's a bit hard to tell from this distance, but her teeth... For a moment there, they seem... No. You blink, and they're clearly normal teeth. Nowhere near as sharp as you'd thought they'd been for a second there. The jarring sight of Abby's obviously filed teeth must be playing tricks with your mind. Meanwhile, Abby has started playing catch with himself using the wrench, throwing it up in the air and catching it [[just before it can land on his upturned face.|Before You Go]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> You really wish you could accept the invitation. They seem like fun people, if perhaps a bit strange. It would be so nice to be able to just hang out and get to know them and have a few laughs, like a normal person making friends the way that everyone else is free to do. But you’re not free to do so, and your only solace in this situation is the fact that you don’t have to come up with a lie to turn them down. You do actually have things to attend to, and that takes the sting out of it. Marginally. “I’d love to, but I have to get ready for work soon. Wouldn’t want to be late for my first shift.” “Oh, no shit? Where’d you find a job around this dump?” Marina doesn’t sound at all offended. Abby, apparently already bored with this conversation, has resumed his pacing. He approaches Marina again and stoops down to grab a wrench with his own self-made sound effect. It would seem that even when he isn't talking, he's still making noise. “There’s a bar just on the edge of this part of town. Nothing fancy, but it’ll keep my head above water.” You shrug, and Marina seems oddly amused by your choice of words. “Well, have a nice swim, yeah? Look out for sharks.” She teases, smiling with her teeth, and you snort a brief laugh. “I’m not too worried. I hear that sharks are terribly misunderstood creatures.” You banter back, and her grin grows, though it’s still nowhere near the size of Abby’s more subtle grins. “You’re right. It’s the mermaids you really gotta watch out for.” That uneasy feeling from before makes itself known again. It's a bit hard to tell from this distance, but her teeth... For a moment there, they seem... No. You blink, and they're clearly normal teeth. Nowhere near as sharp as you'd thought they'd been for a second there. The jarring sight of Abby's obviously filed teeth must be playing tricks with your mind. Meanwhile, Abby has started playing catch with himself using the wrench, throwing it up in the air and catching it [[just before it can land on his upturned face.|Before You Go]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> You really wish you could accept the invitation. They seem like fun, pleasant people, if perhaps a bit strange. It would be so nice to be able to just hang out and get to know them and have a few laughs, like a normal person making friends the way that everyone else is free to do. But you’re not free to do so, and neither are you free to be nice about it. They’re safer if they hate you, you remind yourself. With how often you repeat that to yourself, you'd think the words would have lost all meaning by now. They haven't. They still weigh as heavily as ever. It's still just as hard a pill to swallow, but swallow it you do. “I’d rather not,” you shrug. Marina raises an eyebrow at you. She considers you for a long moment, and the way in which she does so makes you squirm. You feel like a worm on a hook. Far from looking discouraged, she looks intrigued, but not in the way that Abby had earlier. Abby had looked like he'd be content to just watch the thing that intrigued him. Marina looks like she wants to rip it apart and see what's inside. Abby, apparently already bored with this conversation, has resumed his pacing. He approaches Marina again and stoops down to grab a wrench with his own self-made sound effect. It would seem that even when he isn't talking, he's still making noise. “Yeah? Previous obligations?” She prompts with an edge of teasing, like she’s only asking because she knows you won’t answer properly. That's the air she gives off, at least, but the unpleasant feeling crawling along your skin warns you that's not all there is to it. “Guess so. Doesn’t really matter.” You reply vaguely. "Damn, talk my ear off about it why don'tcha?" She scoffs, studying you with bemusement for another moment before shaking her head and returning her attention to her work. Meanwhile, Abby has started playing catch with himself using the wrench, throwing it up in the air and catching it [[just before it can land on his upturned face.|Before You Go]]

<<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> You really don’t want to hang out with these two. You’re glad to have an actual excuse. Something about the way Marina is looking at you makes you think she’d see right through you if you tried to make something up. You still don’t see any need to dress up your response in layers of apology, though. They’re safer if they hate you, anyway. That's not the motivation behind your rudeness, this time, but it's certainly a comforting justification. “I’d rather not,” you shrug. Marina raises an eyebrow at you. You're not sure why she looks... almost impressed? Abby, apparently already bored with this conversation, has resumed his pacing. He approaches Marina again and stoops down to grab a wrench. Far from looking discouraged, she looks intrigued, but not in the way that Abby had earlier. “Yeah? Previous obligations?” She prompts with an edge of teasing, like she’s only asking because she knows you won’t answer properly. “Guess so. Doesn’t really matter.” You reply vaguely. "Damn, talk my ear off about it why don'tcha?" She scoffs, studying you with bemusement for another moment before shaking her head and returning her attention to her work. Meanwhile, Abby has started playing catch with himself using the wrench, throwing it up in the air and catching it [[just before it can land on his upturned face.|Before You Go]]

“Oh, right, before you go,” Marina speaks up again, causing you to pause as you’re turning to leave. “You should probably put our numbers in your phone. Y’know, in case of emergencies or some shit like that.” She has a point. Regardless of if you get close to them, you should have some way to contact the other people living in your building. You nod and approach, taking out your phone and swapping with Marina. You put your numbers in, then swap back, and she turns her attention back to the machine she’s working on while she calls out to her wrench-tossing friend. “Abby!” She grabs his attention, just as the wrench is coming back down. His head whips around to look at her, and the wrench smacks him in the side of the head near the temple. You suck in a breath through your teeth, a hissing sound of sympathy. Abby, on the other hand, doesn’t exclaim or hiss in pain. He doesn’t even flinch. The lack of reaction raises alarms in your head. Is this a sign of a concussion? A blank seizure? Marina doesn’t seem at all concerned about her friend, and in fact barks a laugh at his misfortune. You don't find it nearly as funny. Either he's hurt and needs help, or he's not hurt and... You don't know what to make of that. A blow to the head like that, in that spot, with a wrench of all things? That should have harmed him, no question. That could have done serious damage— It //should// have done serious damage! And yet he seems totally unaffected. Somehow, that's more horrifying than if he'd ended up on the ground bleeding. Is his skull made of steel? He just blinks blankly in surprise, then looks down at the wrench as if he’s perplexed by it being on the ground. “Aw, so considerate. Saving me the effort of having to throw one at you myself." Marina coos mockingly. The mockery of it is not picked up on by Abby, though. "Glad to help!" He replies as he picks the wrench back up, turning it this way and that, as if the reason it hit him is etched into the steel rather than just being because he hadn't been paying attention. "Eyes up front, dude.” Marina snaps, and Abby looks up again. “Hm? What am I doing?” “The phone thing. Trade numbers.” “Oh! Right, yes, I can do that!” He just about skips over to you to hand you his phone, dropping the wrench on the ground without another glance - something which Marina does not appear at all pleased about. You’re hesitant to trust him with yours after your brief exposure to his nonsense, but he thankfully doesn’t drop it or throw it or anything like that. Just types in his number and hands it back. “There! I didn’t see Vicente’s in there so I added his, too. He’d want you to have it.” “You have his number memorized?” You ask, because in this day and age who still memorizes phone numbers? “Heh. Yeah. I call him a whoooole lot. Marina calls him my 'social interaction cheatsheet.'” He snickers. You nod slowly, not at all confused as to why he’d need a social cheatsheet. From what you’ve seen, this guy needs all the help he can get. With two new numbers in your phone and your mind reeling from the chaos of the last few minutes, you finally head back inside. [[Time to get ready for work.|Getting Ready]]

As you close your apartment door behind you, you lean back against it and exhale heavily as you take in the sight of the place. You’d been too tired to really absorb much information about it, earlier, aside from how dusty it was. That’s been much improved since you opened the windows, at least. Walking into the apartment, the “living room,” such as it is, is right there taking up the main area. Just about all the furniture looks like it could count as antique, which you find <<if $likesvintage is 2>>incredibly disappointing.<<elseif $likesvintage is 1>>delightful.<</if>> The previous tenant left behind a television, sitting on a wooden TV stand with cabinets on the sides and empty shelves in the middle. It looks so old you’ll be surprised if it shows anything in colour. The thing even has dials on the front, you haven’t seen something like that since you lived with your grandparents. Across from the TV and its stand, there’s the couch you'd passed out on. If you had to guess, you’d say the upholstery may have been burgundy at or some sort of similar, deep red. Now, though, it’s so faded with age and use that it looks almost rosy pink, and the sewn-in patterns that may have once been gold are faded to a near-white, fraying at parts. The wooden frame isn’t fairing much better, chipped and scratched from being moved around over the years. Between the couch and the television is a coffee table so similar to the television stand, you have to assume they came as a set. It's covered in the same sort of wear as the wooden frame of the couch. There’s end tables on either side of the couch with lamps on them, and empty bookshelves lining the walls where ever there’s a lack of wall-lamps or windows. There isn’t any sort of larger ceiling light, just the ones along the wall, the same kind that line the walls in the hallways and down in the building’s main entryway. <<if $likesvintage is 2>>All in all, it's really not your sort of decor. It's like a mausoleum. You're already haunted by the past in your head, you don't need to be haunted by it in your apartment, too. The thought of updating the decor comes to your mind, but you dismiss it immediately. You barely have the budget for necessities, let alone decor. Ugly as the furniture is, it's functional.<<elseif $likesvintage is 1>>All in all, it's really very charming. It's like a museum or something. A shrine to a simpler time. You can't stop smiling as you look around, wondering if the old tenant was into the vintage aesthetic the way that you are, or if they got all this stuff when it was still new and just didn't have any interest in replacing it.<</if>> It’s a mostly open-concept floor-plan, and [[the kitchen is only separated from the living room by a half-wall.|Kitchen]]

Thankfully, the kitchen is more modern than the living room. <<if $likesvintage is "vintage.">> As much as you enjoy the aesthetic of vintage furniture, it isn't as appealing when it comes to machinery you'll be using daily. <</if>> There's a new-looking oven with a digital clock, a fridge that has one of those fancy little built-in water and ice dispensers… There’s even a dishwasher, much to your delight, so the Sisyphean task that is doing the dishes should be far more tolerable. You’ll need to get your own cookware and linens, though. You have one towel and one cloth stuffed into your single bag of belongings for showers, but that’s about it. You linger for a moment longer in the kitchen to admire the backsplash, white tile with little pink flowers decorating it. It matches the antique vibes of the rest of the apartment and building, and of the faded white paint of the cabinets with matching flowers painted on the handles, but clashes with the modern, sleek, metallic appliances. The bedroom and its en suite are the only rooms closed off from the rest of the apartment. The bed is just a wooden frame, no box spring or mattress. There’s a dresser, two nightstands with lamps, and it has the same <<if $likesvintage is "dated.">>gaudy,<</if>> patterned wallpaper as most of the rest of the apartment, coloured a faded green and gold. Whether it’s your style or not is irrelevant. Using this old furniture from the previous tenant has saved you a whole lot of money that you just don’t have. If not for what the previous tenant left behind, you’d be sleeping on the floor. As you go around taking stock of the place, you make notes in your phone as to what you need to purchase. The more items you add, the more your stomach twists with nerves. You’re operating on a tight budget. Travel is expensive, moving is expensive, setting up in a new place is expensive, and you’re broke. You won’t be able to buy everything you need in one go. It’ll be a pain in the ass, but you’ll need to prioritize and accept that you’ll need to go without some things until another payday. [[Speaking of payday…|Time to Get Ready]]

You sigh heavily and pocket your phone. Time to get ready for work. The job you’d gotten is at a bar on the edge of this part of town. Just on the border between where the buildings turn into run-down, abandoned husks, and where other buildings strive not to meet the same fate. That strip of town, from what you could find online, is lined up and down with locally-owned businesses barely keeping their heads above water, struggling not to close down. That borderline moves further their way steadily, though, as more local businesses close and more buildings are abandoned. You would think that the city would tear down and repurpose those buildings. Instead, from what you've read online, they've just declared the area "the abandoned distract" and let it all to rot. Like they'd rather pretend it doesn't exist than make use of it. So much land, so much real estate, just sitting there unused. You have no idea how or why this apartment building, so far into the abandoned district, has remained occupied while everything around it has shut down. You’re not complaining, though. It may be strange, but so is your personal situation. It’s exactly what you need. Exactly what you’ve been looking for. Unpacking your bag of belongings doesn’t take long. You don’t have much to your name. Only two sets of clothes apart from what you’re currently wearing, personal hygiene products, a towel, a cloth, little bottles of shampoo and conditioner you’d taken from a hotel you stayed at for a night while making your way to this town, and a few other necessities. You peel off your travel clothes, a ratty old hoodie and sweatpants, take a quick shower, and go about your routine for getting ready. The bar has no dress code, so you don’t need to abide by any special guidelines. You don’t exactly have many options, though. You really need to replenish your wardrobe, sooner rather than later. You doubt it will go unnoticed if you keep showing up to work in one of only two outfits every night. For now, though, you have a clean outfit to get you through tonight’s shift. It's not much, just something... [[Practical.]] [[Casual.]] [[Business casual.]] [[Professional.]] [[Edgy.]] [[Adorable.]] [[Flashy and stylish.]] [[Stylish but lowkey.]]

<<set $outfit to "practical">> The outfit was picked out strategically the last time you could afford to go shopping. If you can’t afford an entire wardrobe, then it makes sense for your only outfit to be suitable for many different situations and made to last. A very sturdy jacket, a loose shirt underneath, and pants with as many pockets as is possible to fit on the fabric. You may not be the most stylish, but you’ll be ready for just about anything thrown your way. [[Though, you don’t expect you’ll be encountering anything more daunting than a rowdy customer.|Eyes]]

<<set $outfit to "casual">> You don’t need your outfit to stand out or do anything special. It just needs to serve its purpose of preserving your modesty. You see no reason why a t-shirt and jeans shouldn’t be appropriate workplace attire. Even if the t-shirt is a bit too baggy to look tidy, and the jeans are worn and frayed at the ankles… Okay, so maybe you don’t look like the most put-together person in this outfit, but why should you care? [[It’s a dive bar that's barely keeping its doors open. You doubt their standards are any higher than yours.|Eyes]]

<<set $outfit to "business casual">> When you can’t afford an entire wardrobe, it makes sense for the outfit you can afford to be something that can suit many different situations. Business casual is basically chameleon fashion. You can make small adjustments to lean more towards business or casual, depending on the situation. It offers you flexibility, and makes sure you’re properly presentable in all situations. [[You aren’t sure a dive bar that's barely keeping its doors open will have very high standards for professionalism, but that’s no excuse to slack off in how you present yourself.|Eyes]]

<<set $outfit to "professional">> As far as you’re concerned, being broke is no excuse to slack off in your personal presentation. Especially at work. You’re planning on living here long-term, this is one of the only jobs within walking distance of your apartment, and there’s no bus-stops this far into the abandoned district. Unless you want to add cab fare to your budgeting, you need this job. So, you need to put your best foot forward. [[Maybe your effort will go unappreciated, but they can’t say you didn’t try.|Eyes]]

<<set $outfit to "edgy">> Maybe it’s the sheer amount of death and funerals in your life, but you’ve always felt more comfortable in black. There’s not a speck of colour to be seen on your outfit, and indeed if you could afford a full wardrobe the only flashes of colour would likely only be found in designs on otherwise black clothing. There’s no reason your workplace should have an issue with it, though. You’re sure the adult clientèle at this bar can handle seeing someone dressed as if for a funeral. [[Honestly, they should just count themselves lucky this particular outfit is held together by stitching and not safety pins.|Eyes]]

<<set $outfit to "adorable">> Pastels, ribbons, frills, and cute cartoon characters— Especially if those cartoon characters are adorable animals. Those are the staples of a good outfit, for you. You aim for sugarplum fairy chic, for huggable-as-a-teddybear vibes. When you live a life so surrounded by bleakness, you need to find ways to create your own joy. This sort of style makes you happy and that's the only thing that matters. It may not go very well with whatever aesthetic you’ll find within the dive bar you’ll be working in, but you don’t really care. [[You’ll up their adorableness level whether they like it or not!|Eyes]]

<<set $outfit to "flashily stylish">> You may be a broke-ass bitch, but will that stop you from serving killer looks on a shoestring budget? Absolutely not! You are a master of the ancient art of the sale, and you don’t need designer brands to put together a jaw-dropping ensemble. The people in that bar won’t know what hit them, and if they can’t appreciate your outfit, well… [[That proves they just aren’t on your level, now, doesn’t it?|Eyes]]

<<set $outfit to "lowkey stylish">> You will serve a killer look, but you’re going to keep it lowkey. Nothing too in-your-face or attention grabbing. Something subtly stylish that won’t necessarily have all eyes on you, but which will certainly impress anyone whose gaze happens to linger. You don’t want to grab the wrong kind of attention and get mugged on your way home because someone mistakenly thought your nice outfit meant you had money. Which you don’t, you’re just really good at taking advantage of sales. [[All the benefits of a stylish outfit without the drawback of a potential mugging.|Eyes]]

<<if $hairlength is "non-existent">> Outfit on, you consider yourself in the mirror. <<elseif $hairlength is "shaved">> Outfit on, you consider yourself in the mirror. <<else>> Outfit on and hair done the way you prefer it, you consider yourself in the mirror. <</if>> You’re looking pretty good, so far. Aside from the prominent dark circles under your eyes, anyway. Those don’t detract too much from the colour of them, at least, which is… (Please type eye colour in lower case.) <<textarea "$eyes" "...">> <<button "Proceed" "Eyes Confirmation">><</button>>

You have $eyes eyes, is that correct? [[Yes, I know my own eye colour.|Makeup]] [[No, colours are confusing, let me try again.|Eyes]]

What lovely $eyes eyes you have! If only you could draw more attention to them, somehow... And maybe cover up those pesky dark circles while you're at it. <<link [[This is a job for makeup!|Hair Colour]]>><<set $makeup to true>><</link>> <<link [[No makeup for me, thanks.|Hair Colour]]>><<set $makeup to false>><</link>>

Finally, you consider your look altogether. You clean up pretty nicely, actually. It's easy to forget that when you've been in scrungly-grungly travel mode for a while. <<if $hairlength is "shaved">> [[Seems like you're ready to go!|Ready to Go]] <<elseif $hairlength is "non-existent">> [[Seems like you're ready to go!|Ready to Go]] <<else>> It's been a while since you've seen your hair looking so fresh and vibrant. When it's not greasy and gross, it's actually a really nice colour... (Please enter hair colour in lower case.) <<textarea "$haircolour" "...">> <<button "Proceed" "Hair Colour Confirm">><</button>> <</if>>

You slip out of your apartment and lock the door behind you. The light of the evening’s sunset streams through the window on the far end of the hallway, opposite from the elevator. It bathes the entire hallway in shades of orange. Dust particles dance and sparkle in its shimmering glow where the light shines, but they disappear where the light is cut up by the long shadows cast by the wall lamps. Black slices through orange like tiger stripes all up and down the hall. You linger outside your apartment door, studying the hallway but not entirely sure why you’re doing so. It looks pretty, sure, but certainly you could admire it some other evening when you aren’t risking being late for work. You tell yourself that repeatedly, but still your feet don't move. You can’t pull your eyes away. They keep scanning up and down the length of the hallway, over the worn carpeting that’s practically begging to be replaced, over the patterned wall-paper that is likely older than you are, over the lamps casting the shadows… But especially over the shadows themselves. Somehow, they draw your eye more than the glittering tangerine swaths of sunset. Such mundane things, shadows. You see them every day. At least one is following you around more often than not, and all solid things cast them. There should be nothing at all notable about them, but every time you try to turn away from them you're overcome with a sense of dread. [[You feel like you should not take your eyes off of them.|Watch the Shadows]]

Most of them look solid. Normal. Most of them look how you would expect a shadow to look. You internally scold yourself for being ridiculous. One hand is still gripping the doorknob tightly, the other refusing to pocket your keys, as if you're braced to hurry back inside. You aren't, though. Not consciously, at least. Your brain keeps telling your body it's being ridiculous, but the hair on the back of your neck stands on end, your heartrate starts to pick up. You look towards the elevator and, as your eyes trace over the shadows at that end of the hallway, your body continues to react to something without your mind realizing what's going on. Except, now, you see with your eyes what your instincts had sensed from the start, One of the shadows down the hall towards the elevator, where the shadows stretch the longest… There, you swear you see one of the shadows move. Or, no, not move. That isn’t the right word, because it isn't going anywhere or changing shape or making a specific motion. It’s not dissimilar to seeing the heated waves over pavement on a hot day, or watching the surface of calm waters rippling. Your mouth has gone dry. You take a breath to try to calm yourself, but it doesn't work. What exactly is going on here? [[It's definitely just a trick of the light.|Trick of the Light]] [[Something isn't right...|Shadowy Suspicion]]

<<set $skeptic +=1>> It’s surely nothing to fret over. It looks similar to heated waves on pavement because it’s likely a similar phenomenon. Just something tricking your eyes. The temperature is far too moderate to be the culprit, but maybe it’s some sort of effect of… Of… Your mind desperately tries to gather some sort of rational explanation. Maybe it’s an effect of the light filtering through the lamp's bulbs? But… But if that’s the case, why is it only happening to a single shadow near the elevator? Why not the ones nearer to the window, also cast by the exact same sort of lamps? Maybe it’s just the angle at which the light is hitting that specific lamp? Your brow furrows as you struggle to reason with yourself about this. Just because you can’t think of a logical explanation doesn’t mean that one doesn’t exist. You need to remember that. Just because something seems unusual or unnatural doesn’t make it so. For how many centuries did people believe things like epilepsy were caused by magic or some sort of curse? Ignorance is the cradle of superstition. In the absence of an explanation, the mind will jump to conclusions that are not at all rooted in reality. You won’t allow yourself to fall for such things. There's nothing unusual happening here. Your disproportionate reaction is just the result of a lack of understanding. [[And yet… And yet, you can’t help but feel… watched.|Don't Be Ridiculous]]

<<set $skeptic -=1>> No. No, something about this… You can’t write it off. There’s a feeling stirring somewhere deep inside of you, somewhere long forgotten by most modern humans. A place they can only access through the horror genre or similar harmless thrills. Your body's reaction makes more sense to you, now. It's bracing itself to fight or flee. Preparing itself for the possibility of danger. …But that’s stupid, right? You’re not in danger. You’re standing alone in the hallway of your building, right outside your apartment. There’s nothing dangerous about shadows, even if they look weird. You repeat this to yourself, a mantra pleading with your own mind. Your mind does not heed your pleas. Something else in your head is louder, drowning out your sense, your rationality, any sense of logic. Over and over, it repeats: //You are not alone. You are not safe. Someone is here with you. Some''thing'' is here with you. You are not alone. You are not safe. There is danger here. You are not alone. You are not safe. There is danger here.// //''You are not alone. You are not safe. There is danger here.''// It catches the breath in your lungs before it even makes it to your throat. Fuels you with fear, with apprehension, with warning. This is how prey feels, you think. Not while it’s being chased, not while it’s being attacked. This is how prey feels in the moments just before. When everything seems calm and safe. When there’s no rustle from the leaves and no stirring from the brush and yet still danger lurks in the air. This is how prey feels when it’s being watched. When it's being sized up. Being //tracked.// //''[[Being hunted.|Don't Be Ridiculous]]

This is all ridiculous. Absolutely ludicrous. You are alone in a hallway, psyching yourself out. There’s no people or creatures around to prey on you. Surely your unease is only due to the fact that this is a new, strange place for you. Not to mention, as pretty as the tangerine stain of the sunset is, it does produce a very ominous effect in combination with the shadows. It gives a dramatic look to a hallway that already looks like something out of a horror movie. That’s it. That’s all there is to it. You can’t waste anymore time thinking about it, or you might drive yourself insane. Or worse, you might be late for work! You shake off the strange, uneasy hesitance that has been keeping you frozen in place in front of your apartment door. You head towards the <<if $elevatortrauma is false>> elevator<<else>>staircase<</if>>, consequently approaching the strange shadow with every forced step. The closer you get, the less strange it looks. Bafflingly, your apprehension rises with each step despite the fact that as you approach, the shadow no longer moves. Something seems a bit off about the shape. It isn’t quite the same as all the other shadows cast by the lamps, but maybe there’s some sort of defect in the lamp itself that accounts for that. Still, there’s an instinct rising within you, becoming louder the closer you get to the shadow. That instinct pleads with you to, at the very least, stay on the opposite side of the hallway from the shadow. That instinct still perceives danger, even as you confirm with your eyes that there's nothing wrong. [[Listen to your instincts.|Instincts Abided]] [[Ignore your instincts.|Instincts Ignored]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $skeptic -=0.2>> <<set $curious -=1>> Maybe nothing is wrong. Maybe there’s nothing dangerous and you’re being silly. But, maybe your instincts are right. If they are, you don’t want to risk not listening to them. You pause, unable to shake the mental image of yourself left bleeding on out on the tacky, faded carpet, thinking about how you should have listened to your gut and been more cautious. It's an image so sudden and so vivid it's as if someone just shoved a picture of it in front of you that you can't unsee. It doesn't feel like something you conjured up on your own. You know what your intrusive thoughts feel like, and it isn't like this. No matter where it came from, that image pulls you over to the far side of the hall from the shadow that had seemed so strange from a distance. Even if it looks mostly normal up close... ‘Mostly normal’ just isn’t enough to set your nerves at ease in this situation. It isn't enough to dismiss that terrifying, graphic image from your mind. If your footfalls speed up, at least no one is around to see you [[run from nothing.|Abscond]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $skeptic +=0.2>> <<set $curious +=1>> You’re not going to run away from a shadow. That would be childish and absurd and you'd die from embarrassment despite no one else being here to see it. It’s nothing. You resolve yourself to ignore it as you stride without hesitation towards the <<if $elevatortrauma is false>> elevator <<else>> stairs. <</if>> You ignore the shadow itself, despite the fact that you could swear you see movement in your periphery. You ignore the desire to turn and look to see if it truly did move. You ignore the feeling of being followed, you ignore the feeling that you should hurry. You ignore the grotesque, vivid imagery that pops into your head of yourself left bleeding on out on the <<if $likesvintage is "dated.">>tacky,<</if>> faded carpet. It's an image so sudden and so vivid it's as if someone just shoved a picture of it in front of you that you can't unsee. It doesn't feel like something you conjured up on your own. You know what your intrusive thoughts feel like, and it isn't like this. You ignore it all, or at least you try to. Despite your steady steps, though, your heart is pounding in your chest. Not all things can be ignored so easily, and the primal fear squirming within you is [[one of those things.|Abscond]]

You <<if $elevatortrauma is false>> take the elevator down <<else>> head down the stairs<</if>>, and it’s the strangest thing. The moment that floor is behind you, the moment you are no longer sharing the same space as that shadow… The stifling, all-consuming terror that had been clawing at you just… dissipates. The graphic image in your head fades until only the distant memory of it is left, as if it's something you only saw briefly years ago. It makes sense that you’d calm down when leaving the area that spooked you, but for such an intense feeling to fall away so abruptly… Was it really that intense, though? You were a bit uneasy, sure, but it's nothing to waste any more thoughts on. Just the vague, off-balance sensation of adjusting to a new location. The more seconds that tick away after you leave that hallway, the more certain you are that [[there was never anything to worry about at all.|Nothing to Worry About]]

You check the time on your phone and curse softly to yourself. You spent longer than you’d thought, frozen in the hallway. Way longer, actually. What exactly had you been doing that took so much time...? You don't remember, and you don't have the time to think about it. You really do need to hurry, now, and you’ll probably still end up being late. With a newly instilled sense of urgency, you all but run toward the front door once you reach the ground floor. You’re in such a rush, you don’t see what’s coming until you open the door and smack right into it. Or, rather, them. A person. Hurrying to leave, you’ve barreled into someone coming in. A very, very tall someone, <<if $height is "very tall">> even compared to you, and apparently pretty solid, as they weren’t pushed back even an inch by you running right into them.<<else>> and apparently pretty solid, as they weren’t pushed back even an inch by you running right into them. <</if>> You aren't so steady, though. You almost bounce backward, but delicate hands reach out, catch you by the shoulders, and steady you for a moment. Before you can react to the touch, they’ve let you go. You can still feel the echoes of long, sharp nails having dug into your flesh. Considering the high heels you can see this person is wearing, you’re extra impressed at how flawlessly they maintained their balance. You look up from the shoes, past the stocking-clad legs, up the elegant and rather expensive looking coat this person is wearing. It reaches to their knees, a long, velvet thing that looks like it costs more than anything and everything you’ve ever owned in your life. Combined. Where other coats would have fur at the collar and ends of the sleeves, though, you’re a bit surprised to find what appears to be… feathers? Feathers of gold and crimson and burgundy, glittering in the sunset, all emphasized by the lack of colour in the plain, dark velvet. [[You finally look up to the stranger’s face to see what may be the most beautiful woman you have ever laid eyes on.|Thea Intro]]

Is your hair $haircolour? [[Of course, you know what your own hair looks like.|Ready to Go]] [[No, you're mistaken.|Hair Colour]]

You could just about cringe at the cliché of that thought, and at the cliché when you proceed to think that the way the sunset lights up her scarlet hair almost makes it look like flame. It’s true, though. Before your eyes adjust to the sun’s warm lighting behind her, it really does make her look like she’s glowing. Like she’s alight. A beacon all her own. Then your eyes adjust, and the person you can now see clearly is still just as dazzling. The evening’s setting sun paints her olive skin with a golden overtone and catches on the sheen of her makeup, making her sparkle. Her features are sharp but elegant. Angled, heavy-lidded eyes with dark, silvery eyeshadow and small, white, fake feather eyelashes at the outer corner of her eyes. She has a very large, long, hooked nose, high cheekbones dusted with blush, and lips curling up coyly at the corners, painted bright red. Her clothing, her makeup, and the style of her hair—only falling just past her ear lobes in deliberate waves on one side and laying flat and combed back on the other—bring to mind vintage fashion. You almost have to wonder if you’ve gone back in time to the 1920’s. As you noted earlier, she's certainly tall, but not the same way Abby was. No, this is a more natural height, albeit enhanced by the heels. The most striking thing about her, though, is her eyes. By far. You’ve never seen iris’ so yellow <<if $eyecontact is false>> and despite your issues with eye contact, even you find it hard to break away from her gaze. <<else>> and you find yourself utterly unable to tear yourself away from her gaze. <</if>> You stand there, frozen, looking<<if $height is "very tall">> straight at her,<<else>>up at her,<</if>> gaping like a fish. You can’t imagine it’s a very attractive first impression to make on someone who may actually be a goddess come down to earth. Framed by the sun as she is this evening, it wouldn’t be hard to believe if that were the case. She doesn’t seem put-off or upset with you, though. Her previous demure smile morphs into something more genuine, more inviting. She laughs, and your breath catches at the sound. You’ve read books where a laugh will be compared to wind-chimes or some other beautiful, delicate sound. As pretty as wind-chimes sound, you feel that such a comparison would be an insult to the melody of her laugh. [[It isn’t a mocking sound, though. There’s a kindness in it that just makes it all the more lovely.|Thea Into Cont.]]

“My goodness, is the building on fire?” She asks, <<if $eyecontact is true>> her yellow eyes shining with amusement.<<else>> amusement colouring her tone.<</if>> You can’t respond right away. Something about her voice… You don’t want to say a word. You just want to listen, and listen, and listen. You can barely even process what she just said, so caught up in the voice that she had said it with. You wish she’d talk as much as Uffi had. …You also wish that you could respond coherently and maybe not look like a total doofus in this moment. Unfortunately that is not to be. Doofusdom is your destiny in this case, and all you can manage is: “Huh?” Not the most eloquent thing to ever leave your mouth, but it’s better than nothing…. Probably. She laughs again, though, which feels like a reward somehow. “You’re rushing from the building in such a hurry. I do hope it hasn’t been set ablaze?” She tilts her head in question, just slightly, like a curious bird. The next thing she says seems to be mostly an aside to herself, glancing away from you to the building behind you as if it will answer her question instead. Her lips purse and her brow furrows with mild concern. “I know Abby can be a bit brash, but surely Marina knows better than to allow him near an open flame…” “N-no fire. I’m just, uh…” …What had you been doing? Where had you been going? You can’t remember. Everything other than the person in front of you, everything before you ran into her, has entirely fled your mind. Nothing else exists, not even the capacity to feel alarmed by how her mere presence has completely consumed you. Maybe she can read minds, or maybe she’s just good at reading people, because she helps you out. “Did you perhaps have somewhere to be…?” She prompts, and you blink blankly for another second before it hits you like a freight train. A jolt of panic has you gasping sharply and fumbling for your phone, [[frantically trying to check the time.|Check the Time]]

“Oh no…” You groan as you see the time. Now that your eyes are on your phone and not her face, your thoughts return, bringing with them enough anxiety to make you taste copper. Your ability to speak also returns to you, which you take advantage of while you can. “There’s no way I’m making it in time...” “So you do have somewhere to be?” She asks, and the captivating cadence of her voice is not at all lessened by the fact that you aren’t looking at her when she speaks. You hear it, certainly, but you also feel it. Like a pull, the tug of a string, trying to urge you to look up from your phone again. Not a chance. Not now that you can finally formulate a response. It may be rude to talk to someone without looking at them, but that really seems to be the only option here. [[You tell what's going on.|Tell Thea]] [[You tell her what's going on, but you remain vague about it.|Vaguely Tell Thea]] [[You tell her it's nothing, you'll figure something out.|Tell Her Nothing]] [[You tell her it's none of her business.|Tell Her To Fuck Off]]

<<set $isolation -=0.5>> <<set $courteous +=0.5>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> You see no reason not to tell her the full truth. You're already late, the thirty seconds this will take won't make a difference. “My new job starts tonight. The shift starts in less than five minutes and it’s a ten minute walk.” You lament with another groan. You realize that whoever this woman is, she likely doesn't actually care about the mundane details of your situation. She asked, though, so you answer. “It’s not super late, I guess, but it would be just my luck to get fired before I can even get my first paycheck.” “Oh my…” She replies softly, sounding sincerely moved by your plight. Maybe she does care about the mundane details, then? Huh. “You poor dear. What a stressful start to things… Still, you’re the new tenant, yes? Surely they’ll understand that moving can be messy and things like this can happen?” Her attempts to soothe you are effective, startlingly so. Despite the fact that you'd just been on the verge of a potential panic attack, you suddenly feel much more at ease. Like the anxiety has been sapped from your system by her gentle reassurance. “I guess, but I only spoke to the owner briefly in a phone interview, I don’t really know them enough to be able to count on that…” You shake your head and huff. None of that changes the fact that you don't have time to stand here and chat, no matter how badly you want to keep listening to her talk. “Either way, [[I need to get going.”|Get Going]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> She seems to mean well in asking, but you don't have time to stand here and chat about the fact that you're late for work. You know, because you're late for work. So instead, you just give a quick, vague summary of the situation. “I have somewhere I need to be in a few minutes, and the walk there is quite a few minutes more. There’s no way I’m making it on time.” You sigh heavily. “Somewhere important, I take it?” She gently inquires. You can't help but grimace. Not at her asking, but at the reality of the answer. “Very,” you reply, tensing as you remember how screwed you are if you lose this job. “I need to get going.” If you can’t make it on time, at the very least you can [[minimize your tardiness.|Get Going]]

<<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courtesy -=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> You open your mouth to assure her that you’ll figure something out, to brush off her concern and cut this interaction short. The words stick in your throat. Every time you try to choke out the words, your brain goes a bit hazy. Something far-off and hauntingly beautiful echoes in your ears, and for a moment you worry you’re having some sort of episode. Is this what a stroke feels like? Is this the audible version of that whole "smell of burnt toast" thing? No, in fact. It’s certainly not a stroke. It passes within a second of its appearance, but not before you’ve started speaking without realizing. “My new job starts tonight. The shift starts in less than five minutes and it’s a ten minute walk.” You didn’t intend to say that. You didn’t want to say that. Why did you say that? You don’t know, but you feel a strange sense of euphoria for… some reason? You aren’t sure why, but you feel the warm glow of having done something praise-worthy. You aren’t sure what, though. “Oh my…” She replies softly, sounding sincerely moved by your plight. “You poor dear. What a stressful start to things… Still, you’re the new tenant, yes? Surely they’ll understand that moving can be messy and things like this can happen?” Her attempts to soothe you are effective, startlingly so. Despite the fact that you'd just been on the verge of a potential panic attack, you suddenly feel much more at ease. Like the anxiety has been sapped from your system by her gentle reassurance. “I don’t really know them enough to be able to count on that…” You shake your head and huff. “Either way, [[I need to get going.”|Get Going]]

Who the hell is this lady to demand information from you before so much as asking your name, or giving you hers? You want to glare at her, but you remember what happened the last time you laid eyes on her and keep them trained on your phone. You can certainly communicate your displeasure effectively with a scathing tone and a few choice words. You open your mouth to tell her in no uncertain terms that it’s absolutely none of her business— Nothing comes out. The words are gone. Just as you try to gather them up for another attempt, your mind goes hazy. You could swear you can hear some faint and far-off sound. You can’t make it out, but you can tell it’s beautiful. This addled state lasts only for a second, dissipating as quickly as it had appeared, but not before you’ve started speaking without realizing. “My new job starts tonight. The shift starts in less than five minutes and it’s a ten minute walk.” You didn’t intend to say that. You didn’t want to say that. Why did you say that? You don’t know, but you feel a strange sense of euphoria for… some reason? You aren’t sure why, but you feel the warm glow of having done something praise-worthy. You aren’t sure what, though. “Oh my…” She replies softly, sounding sincerely moved by your plight. “You poor dear. What a stressful start to things… Still, you’re the new tenant, yes? Surely they’ll understand that moving can be messy and things like this can happen?” Despite the fact that you should be terrified by your loss of verbal control, you suddenly feel much more at ease. Like the irritation has been sapped from your system by her gentle reassurance. You try to regain it, to gather it and let it strengthen your resolve. It's nowhere to be found. Again, you try to tell her to mind her own business. Again, your mind goes hazy. Again, you hear that sound. Again, you’re speaking. Again, the words are not your own. “I don’t really know them enough to be able to count on that…” You shake your head and huff. “Either way, [[I need to get going.”|Get Going]]

“Oh my… But even if you leave now, you’ll be late if you travel on foot. Would you like to get there on time?” She asks, causing you to furrow your brow, puzzled. You automatically look at her in your confusion, and while you aren’t struck and stuck the way you were last time, looking at her still makes you feel like your brain is turning into goo. “Of course. You just said it yourself, though: It’s impossible.” You point out, and you aren’t sure why she’s blinking at you with wide, startled eyes as if you’ve said something unexpected. The feather eyelash extensions enhance the expression dramatically. “Oh? I don’t recall saying that at all. I simply said that you’ll most certainly be late if you travel on foot.” “Okay? That’s my only option, though, so…” “Are you quite certain of that?” She tilts her head at you in question, the corner of her mouth quirking up in amusement, but then she catches herself with a brief expression of guilty realization. She shakes her head and gives a soft, almost awkward laugh. You don’t think she could manage being fully awkward even if she tried. “I apologize. You’re already on a time crunch, it isn’t right of me to drag this out. I’m trying to offer you a ride, dear.” You blink at her. At first you blink blankly, so caught up in trying to place her melodic accent that you didn't process the words. It turns to surprise, though, once those words finally reach you properly. “…You’d give me a ride?” Honestly, her entire aesthetic gives off the sense that she should have a limo and her own driver. “Most certainly. I think it’s quite fair to say at this point that I have directly contributed to your delays. It’s only right of me to offer a solution.” She explains, and while you can’t fault her logic, the prospect of a near-stranger driving you to work is… [[Troubling. What is she planning?|Troubling Thea]] [[Awkward. You cringe at the thought of smalltalk.|Awkward Thea]] [[Irritating. She needs to mind her own business.|Irritating Thea]] [[Tiring. You're so sick of meeting new people today.|Tiring Thea]] [[Relieving. Being on time trumps all else.|Relieving Thea]] [[Touching. How kind of her to offer.|Touching Thea]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> <<set $tapproval to 3>> She just met you. She held you up even longer, while knowing you were in a rush, pushing the situation further into the crisis zone. Did she do that intentionally to increase your desperation and make you more likely to accept her offer? That seems convoluted, but something in her <<if $eyecontact is false>>eyes<<else>>expression<</if>> makes you think she’s trying to lead this interaction in a certain direction and that sets off alarm bells for you. You don’t know why she wants you to get in her car, and you don’t want to find out. “I’m... Good, thanks. I’ll just explain what happened. Like you said, if they’re reasonable then they’ll understand that moving is hectic.” You shrug like it’s not a big deal, but your stomach twists horribly. You feel… guilty? You can’t think of why you would, though. You haven’t done anything wrong. …Have you? Disappointment overtakes her expression, and you suddenly aren’t sure about that. Knowing you’ve displeased her leaves you with a mix of very strong, unpleasant feelings. Which makes no sense. You’ve only just met her. Why should her feelings dictate yours? “I see. That’s a shame, I was looking forward to getting to know you a bit more.” She sighs softly, but quickly clears her downcast expression and brings a smile back to her face. The maelstrom of shame within you eases immediately. “Well, no matter. We can certainly speak more later.” “Yeah, sure,” you agree dismissively, just to get her out of your way. “See you around.” You start to walk past her, and make it to the bottom of the small staircase before she calls out behind you. “Oh, before you go…” Your steps come to an immediate halt and you turn back to her, regardless of whether you want to ignore her or not. “Please, allow me to put my number in your phone. You are under no obligation to call me, of course, but I would like you to have it all the same.” You’re already handing her your phone before she’s finished speaking. She puts her number in, and hands it back with a grateful smile. “I hope your first shift goes well. Feel free to give me a call if you need anything, such as a ride home if you’d rather not walk after dark, or if you just want to chat. My package doesn’t include texts, however. I can receive them, but cannot send them.” She explains. You didn’t even know they still offered cellphone plans without unlimited texting. Not to mention, she’s dressed to the nines like she’s some sort of heiress, surely she can afford a better plan? You just wave goodbye, and hurry away. Almost everything about that interaction has set you on edge, makes your teeth itch, and you’re relieved to get away. You glance at the new contact in your phone before you pocket it, not sure why you handed it to her so easily to begin with. //Thea// Huh. So, that’s her name. Whatever. You shove your phone in your pocket, and [[get a move on.|Walked to Work]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> <<set $tapproval to 3>> Smalltalk is hell on earth, and no one will ever convince you otherwise. You don’t want to be trapped in a confined space making idle, pointless conversation with a stranger, Even if only for the few minutes the drive will last. The mere thought of such a thing has you cringing. If a flash of hurt crosses her face when she sees such an expression in response to her offer, then she hides it quickly and well. It’s only there a moment, and then she’s smiling again. Still, for that second where her hurt was visible, everything within you pushes you to fix it, make things better, make her happy. It passes as the expression does. “Ah. Perhaps not, then?” She guesses, just from your expression. You nod. Her disappointment is plain despite her smile, colouring it with a subtle hue of sadness. The sight makes you immediately want to backtrack, a feeling so sudden and intense that it takes your breath away. You just barely manage to swallow down the apologies that are vying for escape. You don’t owe her an apology. You haven’t done anything wrong. …So why does it feel like you have? Knowing you’ve displeased her leaves you with a mix of very strong, unpleasant feelings. Which makes no sense. You’ve only just met her. Why should her feelings dictate yours? “I see. That’s a shame, I was looking forward to getting to know you a bit more.” She sighs softly, but quickly clears away the clouds from her countenance. The deep well of inexplicable shame and guilt within you eases immediately as she does. “Well, no matter. We can certainly speak more later.” “Yeah, sure,” you agree dismissively, just to get her out of your way. “See you around.” You start to walk past her and make it to the bottom of the small staircase before she calls out behind you. “Oh, before you go…” Your steps come to an immediate halt, and you turn back to her, regardless of whether you want to ignore her or not. “Please, allow me to put my number in your phone. You are under no obligation to call me, of course, but I would like you to have it all the same.” You’re already handing her your phone before she’s finished speaking. She puts her number in, and hands it back with a grateful smile. “I hope your first shift goes well. Feel free to give me a call if you need anything, such as a ride home if you’d rather not walk after dark, or if you just want to chat. My package doesn’t include texts, however. It can receive them, but cannot send them.” She explains. You didn’t even know they still offered cellphone plans without unlimited texting. Not to mention, she’s dressed to the nines like she’s some sort of heiress, surely she can afford a better plan? You just wave goodbye, and hurry away. Almost everything about that interaction has set you on edge, makes your teeth itch, and you’re relieved to get away. You glance at the new contact in your phone before you pocket it, not sure why you handed it to her so easily to begin with. //Thea// Huh. So, that’s her name. Whatever. You shove your phone in your pocket, and [[get a move on.|Walked to Work]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courtesy -=0.2>> <<set $candid +0.2>> <<set $tapproval to 3>> Okay, what the hell is this lady’s issue? First, she holds you hostage on a staircase and asks you questions she has absolutely no right to ask, and now she’s offering things she has no reason to offer? Does she think you can’t handle your own business? Do you really look so incompetent? You grit your teeth, supremely annoyed by being underestimated, which is obviously, clearly what she’s doing. “I can handle my own business,” you tell her flatly. She's entirely taken aback by this response. “I never meant to imply otherwise,” she responds, and you almost scoff at her. Yeah, right. Sure, lady. Your irritation is somewhat hampered by the sudden onset of guilt that hits you at the disappointment that comes over her features. You don’t allow yourself to be swayed, though. You’ve done nothing wrong, she’s the one being a weirdo. You have no reason to feel guilty. Still, knowing you’ve displeased her leaves you with a mix of very strong, unpleasant feelings. Which makes no sense. You’ve only just met her. Why should her feelings dictate yours? “I’ll be fine,” you insist, and you move to brush past her, but only make it to the bottom of the small staircase before she calls out behind you. “Oh, before you go…” Your steps come to an immediate halt, and you turn back to her, regardless of whether you want to ignore her or not. “Please, allow me to put my number in your phone. You are under no obligation to call me, of course, but I would like you to have it all the same.” You’re already handing her your phone before she’s finished speaking. She puts her number in, and hands it back with a grateful smile. “I hope your first shift goes well. Feel free to give me a call if you need anything, such as a ride home if you’d rather not walk after dark, or if you just want to chat. My package doesn’t include texts, however. It can receive them, but cannot send them.” She explains. You didn’t even know they still offered cellphone plans without unlimited texting. Not to mention, she’s dressed to the nines like she’s some sort of heiress, surely she can afford a better plan? You just wave goodbye, and hurry away. Almost everything about that interaction has set you on edge, makes your teeth itch, and you’re relieved to get away. You glance at the new contact in your phone before you pocket it, not sure why you handed it to her so easily to begin with. //Thea// Huh. So, that’s her name. Whatever. You shove your phone in your pocket, and [[get a move on.|Walked to Work]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courtesy -=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> <<set $tapproval to 3>> Ugh, another one? Uffi was one thing, he’s your landlord and meeting him was a requirement. Vicente wasn’t that bad either. He got Uffi to set you free, only took up a moment of your time, and then left promptly. Abby and Marina were a whole other kettle of fish. Meeting only those two and no one else would have been exhausting enough… But now you have to meet a fifth person? That’s already bad enough, but having to prolong the interaction by accepting a ride? Unthinkable. “I’m good, thanks,” you assure her. Disappointment tugs her red lips into a frown, and you are struck to the core with an absurd amount of guilt and shame. It throws you for a loop, nearly making your head spin with how intense it is. Like you’ve done something wrong. You haven’t, though. All you did was refuse an offer, that is entirely within your right and her feelings on the matter are not your responsibility. And yet… Your gut churns uneasily. Knowing you’ve displeased her leaves you with a mix of very strong, very unpleasant feelings. Which makes no sense. You’ve only just met her. Why should her feelings dictate yours? “I see. That’s a shame, I was looking forward to getting to know you a bit more.” She sighs softly, but quickly clears away the clouds from her countenance. The deep well of inexplicable shame and guilt within you eases immediately as she does. “Well, no matter. We can certainly speak more later.” “Yeah, sure,” you agree dismissively, just to get her out of your way. “See you around.” You start to walk past her, and make it to the bottom of the small staircase before she calls out behind you. “Oh, before you go…” Your steps come to an immediate halt, and you turn back to her, regardless of whether you want to ignore her or not. “Please, allow me to put my number in your phone. You are under no obligation to call me, of course, but I would like you to have it all the same.” You’re already handing her your phone before she’s finished speaking. She puts her number in, and hands it back with a grateful smile. “I hope your first shift goes well. Feel free to give me a call if you need anything, such as a ride home if you’d rather not walk after dark, or if you just want to chat. My package doesn’t include texts, however. It can receive them, but cannot send them.” She explains. You didn’t even know they still offered cellphone plans without unlimited texting. Not to mention, she’s dressed to the nines like she’s some sort of heiress, surely she can afford a better plan? You just wave goodbye, and hurry away. Almost everything about that interaction has set you on edge, makes your teeth itch, and you’re relieved to get away. You glance at the new contact in your phone before you pocket it, not sure why you handed it to her so easily to begin with. //Thea// Huh. So, that’s her name. Whatever. You shove your phone in your pocket, and [[get a move on.|Walked to Work]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> <<set $tapproval to 4>> Oh, thank goodness. You breathe a sigh of relief, feeling a little dizzy and light-headed from the intensity of it. The abrupt switch from stressed and anxious to relieved and relaxed makes your head spin, but you manage a grateful smile. “I would very much appreciate it, thank you.” You accept, and your heart sings when you see her perk up in response. She smiles again, and her teeth seem all the whiter contrasted with her red lipstick. “Of course, darling, it’s the least I can do.” She tells you, “One moment, I’ll bring the car around.” With that, she turns and goes, her heels tapping on the pavement. You really don’t know why she bothered with high heels. She would be plenty tall without them, definitely over six feet. Even once she’s out of sight, you still have a pleasant, fluttering sensation in your chest. It had come upon you when she reacted positively to your acceptance. A strange, warming glow taking up residence in your rib cage, cooing at you internally that you’ve done well. It isn’t until your cheeks start to hurt that you realize you’re smiling widely. You drop it, massaging your cheeks, confused about your own reaction. Why are you feeling like this? Is it simply because someone attractive is pleased with you? You hope not. You’re not sure what that would say about you, but [[you know you wouldn’t like it.|Driving With Thea]]

<<set $adaptable +=0.2>> <<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> <<set $tapproval to 4>> “A ride would be appreciated. Thank you.” You accept. This woman doesn’t even know your name, but she’s offering to take time out of her day to drive you to work, and without asking for anything in return. The kindness of strangers truly is something special. You’ll need to be careful, though. Uffi was right when he called your neighbours a nice bunch. If you were anyone else with any other situation, you’d be relieved by that. You’d be grateful to have such kind, welcoming neighbours. As it is, though, it stirs anxiety within you even as you accept the offer. Living in this building is going to be like living in a minefield, for you. You'll have to keep your wits about you if you want to get out of this intact. Still, that fact and the anxiety it provokes aren’t enough to dampen the warmth that comes to life in your chest when you see the way she brightens in response as you accept her offer. Her smile takes your breath away, and her teeth seem all the whiter contrasted with her red lipstick. “Of course, darling, it’s the least I can do.” She tells you, “One moment, I’ll bring the car around.” With a parting smile, she turns and goes, her heels tapping on the pavement. You really don’t know why she bothered with high heels. She would be plenty tall without them, definitely over six feet. Even once she’s out of sight, you still have a pleasant, fluttering sensation in your chest. It had come upon you when she reacted positively to your acceptance. A strange, warming glow taking up residence in your rib cage, cooing at you internally that you’ve done well. It isn’t until your cheeks start to hurt that you realize you’re smiling widely. You drop it, massaging your cheeks, confused about your own reaction. Why are you feeling like this? Is it simply because someone attractive is pleased with you? You hope not. You’re not sure what that would say about you, but [[you know you wouldn’t like it.|Driving With Thea]]

She doesn’t take long to bring the car around. Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised that it’s some sort of vintage car. She knows what she’s about and is very dedicated to her aesthetic, clearly. It’s got that boxy, angular shape you tend to see in old cars. The paint gleams white with gold trim and a mildly darker canvas roof over the top that, if you had to guess, could probably be pulled back entirely. Much like its owner, the car looks like it was brought here by a time machine. Shining and new despite how archaic the aesthetic is. It runs smoothly, the sound of a well-cared-for engine purring as she pulls up in front of the building. She clearly takes excellent care of the thing, you have to wonder if she does the maintenance by hand or pays someone. You can’t imagine it would be cheap to hire someone familiar with a car this old, or to get the parts that would be needed. You almost hesitate to touch the handle as you approach the passenger side door. It’s in such pristine condition, you feel like it should be on display rather than driven. You do manage to bring yourself to open the door eventually, though, and slide into the passenger seat. You close it gingerly behind you. She doesn’t start driving until your seatbelt clicks. There isn’t much to see as the car moves through the abandoned district. Just the same derelict structures lining the road on either side like lines of tombstones in a graveyard, and like a graveyard, the entire area has a solemn atmosphere of the past laid to rest. Your driving companion doesn’t seem bothered at all by the fact that you’re surrounded by remnants and reminders of the town’s decline. If she’s lived here for some time, maybe she’s just used to it. She’s humming to herself as she drives, and loathe as you are to interrupt the beautiful sound, [[something is eating at you…|Didn't Expect]]

As you walk, the dilapidated homes and apartment buildings slowly give way to equally dilapidated storefronts. Husks of shops, cafés… Most of them have echoes of their old selves. Outlines of the lettering for their signs on the front of the buildings, differences in the stain and wear where something was once covering a part of the building but is now gone. Some of them even have their signs, still, but their boarded windows give them away for what they are. A few are stripped so bare that you can only guess at what they used to be. You sincerely hope this bar that’s hired you isn’t primed to plummet like that. It’s immediately obvious when you’re approaching the bar. Unlike the entire trip there, the street you turn down has not a husk to be seen. The buildings are quaint, and some are poorly-kept, but they’re open for business and you can see activity through the windows. You see what the owner meant when you spoke to him on the phone and he referred to this as “The Survivor’s Strip.” It really is just a strip of land, a single road, lined on either side with local businesses. The only ones still open in this city, if your new boss and your internet research is to be believed. You recognize the bar from its pictures online. A brick building with a large sign above the door that just says “Rick’s Place.” Not a very creative name, considering your new boss, the owner, is literally named Rick. You check the time on your phone before you enter and wince. You’re five minutes late and counting. Not a great start to your new job. You take a steadying breath, exhale slowly, shape up your explanation for your boss in your head, and enter. It isn’t a fancy place at all. Pretty much the exact opposite of fancy, actually. Brick walls, simple wooden furniture, bare light-bulbs bathing all of it in dim light. It isn’t very big, just a few tables with chairs and then the bar itself. There’s a single chalkboard on the wall behind the bar between the shelves of liquor, where one might expect prices or specials to be written. Instead, there’s a drawing. There's no room for anything else, because the chalkboard is entirely taken up by an image of a zombie-hand bursting up from dirt clutching a beer. The text across the top says “HAVE A COLD ONE.” It’s a pretty impressive piece of art, especially considering it’s entirely in chalk. “Well, look who decided to actually show up.” A voice comments, the words absolutely soaked in contempt. You look to the speaker, a young woman stepping out from a door behind the counter. “Late, sure, but that’s a step up from the last wastrel we hired. Lucky for you he set the bar so low.” [[Oops. Well, time to try to salvage this first impression.|Placeholder]]

“I didn’t really expect to be offered a ride by someone I just met. You don’t even know my name.” You point out, and her eyes go wide, her humming coming to a stop as she sucks in a sharp breath. Something inside of you wails at the loss of that lovely music, yearns to have it back. It’s a conscious effort to keep from asking her to ignore your words and just start humming again. Thankfully, that impulse lessens when you hear her speak to reply. “Oh goodness, I’ve completely foregone introductions, haven’t I? I’m terribly sorry. I actually do know your name, Uffi had mentioned you in his ramblings when you applied to the building. I suppose, because of that, it slipped my mind that you don’t know my own name in return.” That makes a sort of sense, though you aren’t sure how you feel about your landlord talking about you to your neighbours like that… “I’m Thea. Charmed, truly.” She sounds like she means it. “Sure, nice to meet you,” you reply, because you don’t think you could pull off saying something like ‘charmed’ or ‘the pleasure is all mine’ without sounding ridiculous. And anyway, something else seems more pressing to you. “Uffi talked about me? Did he do that with others, too?” “Oh, I wouldn’t fret about that.” Thea chuckles, though she doesn’t come across as dismissive of your concerns. “He likely has, the man has absolutely no filter and no off-switch, but the others don’t listen. The only ones who pay attention to and retain anything he says would be Vicente and myself. Vicente would consider anything else to be terribly rude. I don't think he could bring himself to tune someone out even if his life depended on it.” Well, that seems a bit extreme. Thinking back, though... Vicente //had// been awfully polite, and Abby said something about Vicente and manners, didn't he...? Now that you live in the same building, you'll have plenty of time to figure out if Thea is exaggerating or not. “And you? Why do you listen?” “Because he’s speaking.” She tells you simply. “I always listen when someone is speaking.” [[“To be polite?”|Thea's Monologue]]

“That’s part of it, I suppose.” She concedes, but then thinks for a moment, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “But more than that… It’s simply my way. Words are so commonplace, people take them for granted. They’re available in excess, after all. Everyone has something to say, always. It can so easily turn into white noise for most, but for me, words are…” “Words are truly something special. Something to treasure. Being able to communicate with others, to share thoughts and feelings with someone who otherwise would never be able to truly understand our thoughts and feelings. Being able to connect with others, share ourselves with others, take aspects of others into ourselves… Without words of some sort as a bedrock of connection, we are all so utterly isolated. They’re important. So, even if what is being said won’t have a real impact on me and my life, I still like to listen, take the words in , and appreciate their existence. I appreciate the glimpse into the thoughts of another, the moment of connection and the tools that facilitate that connection. I suppose it just feels… sacred to me, in a way. Not listening wouldn’t feel right, and wouldn’t even occur to me. Even unintentionally missing something that was said leaves me feeling off for quite some time after, or sooner if someone can tell me what I missed.” You haven’t taken your eyes off of her as she’s been speaking, and she hasn’t taken her eyes off the road. You watch as the blush she’s wearing as makeup slowly becomes redundant as colour rises to her cheeks. It's a long speech, and if it were coming from anyone else it might even be annoying, or boring, or something you'd tune out. In that voice, though, you hang on every word. You drink in every vowel and consonant greedily, and crave more. Not for the substance of what she says, but for the fact that she's saying it. “That must sound entirely inane, mustn’t it?” She laughs nervously, bashfully. There’s a dissonance to seeing someone so elegant who holds herself with such confidence become shy about something. There's an awkwardness to it that disproves your earlier assumption that she'd be incapable of such a thing. You have to think back and try to remember what she'd actually said. It's overshadowed by the memory of the sound of it and all the feelings that invoked in you. You think you got the gist, though. You think… [[That you should stay on her good side by saying it’s a beautiful sentiment.|Sly Beautiful Sentiment]] [[It doesn’t sound inane. It’s a beautiful sentiment.|Beautiful Sentiment]] [[It doesn’t sound inane. It sounds completely insane.|Sounds Insane]] [[It does sound inane, actually.|Sounds Inane]] [[It doesn’t sound inane, just ridiculously pretentious.|Sounds Pretentious]] [[Nothing of it, because you tuned her out.|Tuned Thea Out]] [[Her way of seeing things is valid, even if you don't understand.|Thea is Valid]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid -=0.2>> <<set $tapproval to 4>> It sounds… Well. Does it matter how it sounds? You aren’t here to form genuine connections and bond with people, or to honestly connect with the things they say. Socialization is only useful for what you get out of it, and what you’d like to get out of this is simple: You want her to like you. You want her to think well of you, so that she’s more willing to lend you a hand if you need her help in future. She certainly seems like a useful resource, especially if she’s truly as loaded as her clothes and car would imply. Whatever your honest opinion on her little speech, you’re going to tell her what she wants to hear. You’re going to tell her whatever will get you what you want. “Not at all,” you assure her with a carefully constructed smile, and her own, which had become momentarily-awkward in the wake of her ramblings, turns relieved. “I think it’s a beautiful sentiment, actually.” “A beautiful sentiment? My goodness, you’re a charmer, aren’t you? But I don’t know about that…” She denies, her olive complexion moderately darkened by a genuine blush beneath her makeup. “Most tend to chalk it up to a quirk of mine, myself included.” “Those two things aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. It can be a personal quirk that still involves a beautiful sentiment.” “I suppose you’re right.” She considers for a moment. Then, very softly: “…Thank you.” “Just giving my honest opinion.” You play off slyly. You’ve done something right, clearly, as her pleased smile doesn’t dim. When she starts humming again, you can hear her joy in the tune. Mission accomplished. You don’t expect to feel anything other than a sense of victory, so you’re quite surprised at the tender warmth that blooms in your chest as [[the tune meets your ears.|Driven Entry]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> <<set $candid +=0.2>> <<set $tapproval to 4>> Inane? How could she possibly suggest such a thing? Your mouth is hanging open in shock or awe or both. In a modern age so saturated with people screaming into the void of the Internet, or throwing words at the social media wall to see what sticks, you appreciate the reminder of how something so commonplace can be so beautiful. “Not at all,” you assure her with a smile, and her own, which had become momentarily-awkward in the wake of her musings, turns relieved. “I think it’s a beautiful sentiment, actually.” “A beautiful sentiment? My goodness, you’re a charmer, aren’t you? But I don’t know about that…” She denies, her olive complexion moderately darkened by a genuine blush beneath her makeup. “Most tend to chalk it up to a quirk of mine, myself included.” “Those two things aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. It can be a personal quirk that still involves a beautiful sentiment.” “I suppose you’re right.” She considers for a moment. Then, very softly: “…Thank you.” You think your heart actually, truly just skipped a beat. You swallow hard, clearing your throat and trying to keep your cool “Just giving my honest opinion.” You shrug, but her pleased smile doesn’t dim. When she starts humming again, you can hear her joy in the tune. [[It fills your chest with a strange warmth.|Driven Entry]]

<<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> Inane? She wishes. No, it doesn’t sound inane. It sounds completely and utterly insane. Is this lady out of her mind? Has she been online lately? You can think of quite a few absolutely cursed posts that you’re certain would make her reconsider exactly how ‘sacred’ words are. You’re tempted to tell her to pull over so you can make her scroll through some specific sites on your phone and see how quickly she backtracks. <<if $courteous gt 5>><<set $tapproval to 4>> “It doesn’t sound inane. It sounds…” You don’t want to be rude about this, or cruel. She told you straight up that this is something important to her. You chew on your words, and proceed carefully. You settle on: “Peculiar.” You don’t expect the laugh that bursts from her, sudden and lacking any of the grace she’s shown in her mannerisms and speech so far. She catches herself quickly, though the sound still rings in your ears as she clears her throat and composes herself. “Peculiar. What a diplomatic choice of words,” she sounds tickled pink by it, which you suppose is preferable to having offended her. She resumes her humming as the conversation dies down, and you can hear joy in the tune. [[It fills your chest with a strange warmth.|Driven Entry]] <<else>><<set $tapproval to 2>> “It doesn’t sound inane,” you start, and as you see her previously-awkward smile turn relieved, it occurs to you that maybe it’s a bit cruel of you to get her hopes up with the way you’ve structured your response. Oh well. “It sounds completely insane.” “Ah,” is all she says, at first. Her smile doesn’t drop, but it does become much more hollow. She’s quiet for a long, long moment, until she eventually speaks so quietly you almost don’t hear her: “Yes, I suppose it does.” Guilt twists in your stomach, though you aren’t sure why. She’s the one who brought this up and asked for your thoughts. If she just wanted you to talk her up, that’s her problem. The rest of the drive is silent, with [[no humming to be heard.|Driven Entry]] <</if>>

<<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $tapproval to 3>> Yeah, she’s right on the money. It sounds like inane nonsense. If she’d kept going on much longer, you may have fallen asleep. You know how words work, pretty much everyone does. Her being weird and fixating on them doesn’t magically make any of it more interesting or actually important. “Yeah, kinda.” You agree, and she laughs again, a quiet, nervous sound that wavers so subtly you almost wonder if you imagined it. “Yes, I know. I apologize. I suppose, at times, I’m as bad as Uffi.” “I wouldn’t go that far.” You counter. Her laugh this time sounds more like an actual expression of humor, and less like an attempt to play off a negative reaction. [[She doesn’t start humming again, though.|Driven Entry]]

<<set $isolation +=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> <<set $tapproval to 3>> She needs to get over herself. There’s literally an entire profession dedicated to the study of words. There’s writers and poets and linguists and anthropologists— does she think she’s the only person in the world who realizes their importance? Seriously? How self-involved is she? Besides, it’s really not that deep. Words are a tool like any other. They serve a purpose, like anything else. They aren’t special. “Not inane, just pretentious.” You tell her flat out. You glance side-long at her and see her eyes widen in surprise. “Pretentious?” “All that stuff about people taking words for granted… Makes it out like you’re the only person who appreciates them. People are varied. Yeah, people post a bunch online now, we’re bombarded with words daily. That doesn’t mean no one understands their value.” “No, of course not, I wasn’t—” Her brow furrows, and you raise an eyebrow at her as she cuts herself off and tries again. “That wasn’t what I was trying to say. I was simply trying to answer your question and express why listening is important to me. You asked, and that was the answer. That’s all.” …Well, she kind of has a point there. You asked. It’s not her fault you don’t like the answer. Feeling a bit chastened, you shift awkwardly in your seat. The conversation dies out, and [[she doesn’t resume her humming.|Driven Entry]]

<<set $adaptable -=0.2>> <<set $courteous -=0.2>> Yeah, you weren’t listening. That was a pretty long-winded speech, you’ve had a tiring day, and you don’t really have the presence of mind at the moment to pay attention to the ramblings of a near-total stranger. You blink back to the present from where ever your mind had wandered, blinking at her as your brain buffers and tries to catch up. She just asked you a question, right? What was the question? <<if $courteous gt 5>><<set $tapproval to 4>> “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and I spaced out for a moment, what was the question?” You ask, hoping she won’t be terribly hurt by your inattention. She doesn’t seem hurt, her previously-awkward smile turns sympathetic. “Nothing important, dear, don’t you worry.” She assures you, and you don’t know if that’s true, but… Well, you were the one not listening. If she doesn’t want to repeat herself, you won’t insist. At least she doesn’t seem upset about it. <<else>><<set $tapproval to 3>> You can probably just fake it, right? “Uh, yeah! Sure!” You try, but your stomach drops as her smile falters. “I mean, uh— No?” “You don’t need to lie to make me feel better. Your honest opinion is appreciated.” She tells you, but there’s a strain in her voice that makes you itch to fix this mess you’re making. “No, no, really! Sorry, I misspoke, it’s been a long day.” You explain, and that seems to soothe her somewhat. <</if>> It isn’t until her shoulders relax that you realize how tense she’d gotten. Seems your thoughts on this were somewhat important to her. That realization makes you inwardly wince. She resumes her idle humming, [[just the same as before.|Driven Entry]]

<<set $isolation -=0.2>> <<set $courteous +=0.2>> You don’t really share her view on everything she said, but that doesn’t mean her thoughts and feelings on the matter are inane. It doesn’t mean they’re invalid. Her perception of the world doesn’t need to abide by your own personal beliefs. You don’t think it’d be right to be so judgmental about something that’s clearly a deeply-held and important ethos for her, which doesn’t hurt anyone, and which you are not expected to abide by. “It isn’t inane if it’s important to you,” you tell her. You see her eyes go wide, and a twitch of movement as if she’d been going to turn her head to look at you but then remembered to watch the road. “I don’t know that I necessarily understand all of what you said on a personal level, myself, but that doesn’t really matter. You’re the one abiding by that philosophy, and if it works for you, it works for you. If it’s inane to someone else, that doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t mean the philosophy is actually inane. Their perception is not reality, and it certainly isn’t your reality.” You may be rambling a bit in your attempt to explain your thoughts on the matter. You don’t want her to think you’re judging her, but you also don’t want to be dishonest and say you totally get it. You watch her reaction out of the corner of your eye, and you relax a little when you see her shock morph into a relieved and grateful smile. “You make a very good point,” she concedes with a soft sigh. “And it’s a much-needed reminder. Thank you, for that.” The conversation peters out after that, and Thea resumes her previous humming. You can hear joy in the tune, and it [[makes your chest feel oddly warm.|Driven Entry]]

At this point, the dilapidated homes and apartment buildings have given way to equally dilapidated storefronts. Husks of shops, cafés… Most of them have echoes of their old selves, outlines of the lettering for their signs on the front of the buildings, differences in the stain and wear, where something was once covering a part of the building but is now gone. Some of them even have their signs still, but their boarded windows give them away for what they are. A few are stripped so bare that you can only guess at what they used to be. You sincerely hope this bar that’s hired you isn’t primed to plummet like that. It’s immediately obvious when you’re approaching the bar. Thea turns down a particular street, and not a husk to be seen. The buildings are quaint, and some are poorly-kept, but they’re open for business and you can see activity through the windows. You see what the owner meant when you spoke to him on the phone and he referred to this as “The Survivor’s Strip.” It really is just a strip of land, a single road, lined on either side with local businesses. The only one’s still open in this city, if your new boss is to be believed. “Have you been in the city before?” Thea asks. “The actual city, I mean, not out this way. The more… metropolitan parts.” “I’d never even heard of this city before moving here, so… Not really? The cab driver had to drive through it, the airport is on the opposite end of it all, but I don’t think that counts— Oh, I think it’s that building.” You point out one that looks like what you had seen online. A brick building with a large sign above the door that just says “Rick’s Place.” [[Not a very creative name, considering your new boss, the owner, is literally named Rick.|Driven Entry Cont]]

“I’m inclined to agree. Well, that just gives us an excuse for an outing, doesn’t it?” She suggests, pulling up in front of the building you’re pointing out.“We’ll need to work out the details later, of course. For now, please allow me to put my number in your phone. That way, you can reach out if you need anything.” You’re handing her your phone automatically before you even process the request, looking at your outstretched hand with a furrowed brow as she takes your phone and enters her number. She places it back in your hand, while you’re still baffled as to why or how your hand shot out like that without your permission. “Though, unfortunately, texting is not included in my package. I can receive them, but I can’t send them. If I wish to reply, I’ll need to call you, but if you just need to let me know about something or ask me to call you, a text will work fine.” She explains, and your confusion only grows. You didn’t realize it was possible to get a cellphone plan without some form of texting these days. “Would you like me to come drive you home after your shift?” “I couldn’t ask that of you,” you start to decline. “You aren’t asking, I’m offering.” She has a point. But, still… You bite your lip and think. You don’t have much time to deliberate, though, and she knows that. So, she adds: “Think about it as much as you need. You have my number, simply call or text me if you’d like me to pick you up after all.” That works out fine for you. “Alright. Thanks for the ride,” you tell her as you open the door and exit the vehicle. “Anytime, dear.” She doesn’t drive away immediately when you close the door. She waits until you head inside, and only then do you see her drive off, watching her through the front windows as she goes. What a strange woman. Then again, all of your neighbours so far have been bizarre. Well, except Vicente, but you only spoke to him for a moment. For all you know, he’s the weirdest one of all and you just haven’t gotten to see it yet. Though, from what you’ve seen so far, he’d have to really be something else to out-weird Abby. [[You shake off these thoughts and turn to look at your new workplace.|Workplace Examination]]

It isn’t a fancy place at all. Pretty much the exact opposite of fancy, actually. Brick walls, simple wooden furniture, bare light-bulbs bathing all of it in dim light. It isn’t very big at all, just a few tables with chairs and then the bar itself. There’s a single chalkboard on the wall behind the bar between the shelves of liquor, where one might expect prices or specials to be written. Instead, there’s a drawing. There's no room for anything else, because the chalkboard is entirely taken up by an image of a zombie-hand bursting up from dirt clutching a beer. The text across the top says “HAVE A COLD ONE.” It’s a pretty impressive piece of art, especially considering it’s entirely in chalk. “You gonna just stand there ‘til you fuse to the floorboards, or what?” A harsh voice pulls you from your observations to look towards the speaker, a young woman behind the bar. [[Well, time to make a good impression. Or at least try to.|Placeholder]]

You have reached the end of the currently available content. Keep an eye out for updates on itch.io, or on my blog thecorvidcurio.tumblr.com. Thank you so much for playing and I hope you have a lovely day ♥

Your parents were killed in a car accident when you were eighteen months old. You remember nothing about them. Your maternal grandfather, a retired widower, had a heart attack in the living room shortly after taking you in. You have vague memories of a gentle voice, a piano, and the scent of wood shavings. You know you're the one who found his body, but you don't remember any details of that. Just the memory of powder blue eyes, vacant and unclosing... Though, you genuinely aren't sure if that's an actual memory or something your brain has conjured up to fill in the blanks. Your aunt on your father’s side died just before you turned three. Her husband died the same year. As did their adult daughter who had taken you in afterwards, though she lasted past your third birthday. An aneurysm, a mugging with a lethal end, and a hit and run, respectively. One after the other, your caretakers died the very same year they took you in. You consider your uncle to be a "lucky" death. Lucky by comparison, in the sense that you didn't have to see it or find his body. With your aunt, you remember little other than the panic of your cousin and uncle when she collapsed, sudden and unexpected, and the confused fear that you felt as you watched. When it comes to your cousin, your memories are best avoided. It was your first time seeing a messy death. Well, a messy death that you can remember. From what you understand, your parents' crash was pretty brutal. You don't remember it, though. Not like this one. Despite how young you were the images haunt you even now, decades later. Your paternal grandfather, a warm and friendly family man who found the humor in everything, had a stroke when you were four. You remember he told stories that you found wonderful at the time. You can't remember how any of them went. You remember watching him do a crossword, and then the hand holding the pencil going limp even as his other one still held you steady in his lap. The stroke itself didn’t kill him, technically. But brain death is as good as, and your grandmother made the call to pull the plug. [[It was the one and only time you ever saw her cry.|Relative Musings]]