>>28236653
Go to dad. Try to control your dream meanwhile.

Go to Catherine at all costs.

>>28236805

Agree. Try to go to Catherine.

>>28236720
>>28236805
>>28236829

For some moments you find yourself unable to move in any direction, towards or away from anyone, held in place by something - fear, maybe, maybe desire. Simply held there, staring at Catherine's back.

She is as thin here as she always was, as you always remembered her to be - thin enough that, with her back half bared, you can see the little nodes of her spine pushing under the skin. She's a little tanned. Dark blonde hair in a rough updo.

'Stanley! Hey Stan!'

The voice comes to you a little garbled and you look up. It's your father, still sitting at the pier; he's noticed you, and is waving, but slowly, like trying to get your attention rather than getting you to go to him. Typical. He'd rather continue fishing than get up and come over.

You're *here*, damn it. *Catherine* is here, damn it! You... you have to go to her. Your legs feel terribly heavy when you will them in her direction, and as you take one step, another wave of ice water runs through your veins. Oh god. Do you really want to see her, Stan? Really?

> Roll d100.
> Alternatively, go elsewhere.

Rolled 75

>>28236924

Rolled 48

>>28236924

Rolled 62

Let's go to her.

If this isn't a nightmare, as it seems fro OPs image, I see dream incest hapenning soon

>>28236952
>>28237022
>>28237045

Stan, why are you afraid of Catherine? It wasn't something she did, it was something that happened to her. Why are you so afraid?

Stan. STAN. Go towards her. She's just there! She's less than twenty feet away!

These thoughts and voices, some of which are Catherine's and some of which are your own, run through you, and strangely enough they manage to numb somewhat the fatigue and coldness that holds you back. You feel like turning back to look at Mom, to get a little support, but then you know better than to try that. Neither will your sister help you. You'll have to go up alone.

Step. Right foot in front. Okay, now the left foot...

You step on something which makes your whole left foot go stiff like ice, but at the same time Catherine finally takes off one of her earphones, her hand then reaching to scratch her head. She must know you're here, even if her back is turned.

'Stan, what're you doing?' She says. 'Come up.'

At those six words, a final jolt of lead and ice squeezes your body, bringing tears to your eyes before it fades finally to be replaced by the sun. Your left foot is now hurting, but even that feels like a relief as you stumble to her.

> Say something to Catherine. (Write-in.)
> Touch her.
> Hold her from behind.
> Other.

>>28237185
>> Touch her.

>>28237185
Hold her from behind.

>>28237185

Touch her.

>>28237220
>>28237382
>>28237421

Standing just behind her, you are close enough to smell the scents wafting from your sister - nice scents from your memory, and others that are... more confusing. Sunscreen, the gentle hint of that citrusy perfume which she loved, and her body lotion which smells of avocados and caramel.

Also kerosene. And something dark and fleshy in the background. You reach out to touch her arm, still bent over her head, but she moves it away.

'What are you trying to do?'

There's nothing to say, nothing you can think of saying. Instead you lower your hand and, very gingerly, place it on her tanned, smooth shoulder. Catherine shudders, and you watch her fists ball up as what must be a powerful sensation assails her.

'I... don't touch, it hurts...'

> Take your hand away.
> Press on.
> Other.

>>28237574

Take hand away.

Then hug her.

>>28237574
>> Press on.

>>28237574
Take hand away, ask "What's wrong?"

>>28237840

'Catherine? It hurts?'

'It hurts!' Her voice rises in pitch. 'Take your hand off me!'

You... attempt to, but as you try to pull, your hand seems stuck to her skin. Cath gives a gasp as you yank, and then squeaks in pain.

'I'm... I'm stuck!' you say, glancing out at Dad fishing on the pier, Mom reading her magazine. Neither of them seems to have seen your predicament. And yet the feeling of touching your sister is still somehow... pleasant, and the noises she makes as you try to extricate yourself could easily be sounds of pleasure instead of pain. Shit, what are you thinking about, Stan?!

Finally, seeing there's no way you can remove it, you decide you have to get out of this dream somehow. Perhaps if you stuck close to Catherine, stuck to her completely, your mind would let you wake up. Leaning in, you press your cheek to hers, feeling a warmth spread through and over your skin, and then wrap your free arm around Cath's midriff just as she shrieks.

'What are you doing, Stan? IT HURTS! IT HURTS STOP IT! Please Stan, stop it!'

Your face isn't sticking, though your arms are. You're now embracing your sister, almost like a boyfriend would, except even tighter. And then you notice - there's... there's blood welling out from around where you touched her. Around her belly, blood is trickling, as well as in long, almost black streams, down her smooth shoulder, into the fabric of her top.

'Stan! Help me!' She wriggles in panic, and tears of blood run down her beautiful, young face. 'Help!'

> cont'd.

File: 1384219847969.jpg-(75 KB, 640x480, 1-Bathroom-Stalls.jpg)

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>>28238058

There's nothing you can do to help Catherine. There never was. You've fucked up, Stan, you've done it again, you're making her bleed while trying to hug her, you fucking idiot, you can't take your hands off her, she's your *sister* you sick little fuck-

All of a sudden, without any of the niceties of waking up gradually, you slam into reality like a dropped egg into a concrete pavement. Your body jolts, your head bangs loudly against the floor, and then you stare upwards directly into a fluorescent light which blinds you.

Shielding eyes with hands until the light becomes bearable, it doesn't take much looking to figure out where you are. It's happened again. They - three of your classmates, and another guy from the year above you - they've 'loo-dropped' you again. You're now in your underwear, lying on your back on the damp floor, and everything smells of piss.

Crawling into a seated position, you realise they've at least left your watch on you. Wow... it's 4.45PM now. Everything hurts, arms, chest, stomach. Maybe that's what you were dreaming of. You hope it is. Then at least Cath isn't hurting...

Your clothes must be in the classroom as usual.

> Go to the library. You think you've got library duties to be getting on with.
> Go have some dinner. Screw the library.
> Go home.

>>28238243
>> Go to the library. You think you've got library duties to be getting on with.

>>28238243

>Go home.

Fuck school, fuck getting bullied. They may be waiting in the library.

>>28238002
>>28238000

> Damn, didn't see your votes, sorry about that.

>>28238243
>Dinner
We can go to the library after we've calmed down over food.

>>28238427
>>28238322

These. Dinner, then home.

>>28238419
That's okay. I'll always wonder what would have happened...

>>28238468
>>28238427
>>28238322
>>28238310

The toilet stall's door is unlocked, which is a bad sign - it means they could be waiting for you outside, waiting for you to do the normal thing and rush upstairs to get your uniform. Waiting with their thick, padded towels so they could tie you up before beating the shit out of you again.

It almost makes you nostalgic for the beatings you used to get in middle school, really. Those guys hadn't learned about the towel trick. You press a thick towel against someone, and no matter how hard you whack them, there won't be any bruises. The guy looks perfectly intact outside, and properly fucked up inside, like an inside-out steak. Then, if you squealed, people paid attention; teachers start asking about the enormous bruises on your chest, belly, neck.

But now you're in high school. The teachers wonder why you're squealing, and in any case they've done it properly and you have nothing to show for your beating.

Don't hit anywhere near the bone. Always aim for the muscle. And always keep it padded.

You heard that, squirming on the floor, a few months ago when you just moved here and changed into this school. Mom thought it might be a bit better. Well, she thought wrong. Nothing she does makes things better. The same is probably true for you as well, come think of it.

Still. You have to get your clothes, somehow. That's another clever trick. Torn clothes are a tell-tale sign. But beat a stripped down man, and what's he going to do, run around flashing his abs? There's no tracing them. All this - all of this is a secret between you.

> Roll d100 for encounter.

Rolled 67

>>28238625

Rolled 14

>>28238625

Rolled 38

>>28238625

>>28238645

> 67: Survival.

Tip-toeing to the toilet entrance, you glance out, half expecting to see the familiar crew before your eyes, ready to taunt you. But there's nothing - instead, just the diffuse afternoon sunlight, filtered through layers of clouds that have covered the entire sky.

Looks like your sleepiness has saved you. It's the only thing that works - pretend to sleep or go unconscious, curl up, and don't wake up until they've gone. Even they know it. They call you Snail these days. Stan the Snail, Sluggy Stan.

Well, if it keeps you from a beating...

It being a Wednesday afternoon, the school building is mostly deserted, and the only activity is far off on the sports fields. Still, you can hear them doing their sports - the yelling of the footballers and softballers, the occasional SLAP of someone doing a high jump and landing on the cushion. All the fit guys and girls are out there now.

It's a relief to know there's no one in the classroom as well, so you can hastily put on your uniform. Only when you've put on the shirt do you see what they've done - the whole shirt is smeared with ketchup and mustard, and soy sauce as well. It'd take a whole fucking day to wash that shit off. The classroom window looks over the high school's garden, and you look out to see two people there among the lettuce leaves, searching for something.

Dinner. You need dinner. Also, if they're not here, they'll be at the library. You can't go there now. There's a toilet in the back of the library, very quiet and almost soundproof, and they could always do it to you again.

> Ask someone to take over, buy food, go home.
> Ask someone to take over, go home and cook.
> Buy food, go to library anyway.
> Other.

>>28238938
>> Buy food, go to library anyway.

>>28238949

What's with you and the library? Which part of don't get beaten up do you not get?

> Go home and cook.

>>28238938
>>28238949
But eat the food first. Don't want them mashing it into the hair and face, right?

>>28238938
>> Other
Watch the people among the lettuce leaves. Then,
>> Ask someone to take over, go home and cook.

>>28238949
>>28238979
>>28239006
>>28239036

> Oh yeah, you'll be eating the food first. That would make sense.

For a while you stand there, watching the people searching among the lettuce leaves, and then you suddenly recognise one of them. The man, that's Jake, one of your class seniors and the leader of the Gardening Club.

The other one is a woman, but you can't be sure who that is. They're really looking for something and seem quite perplexed about it, and then you spot what is probably the reason for their panic, behind them. The chicken coop - a long wooden house they put in just a short while ago - is open, but you don't see any chickens wandering about as they used to.

... wait, so someone *stole* the chickens? Is that what's happened...?

While you continue to watch them try and find the school's new, rather stinky pets, you call one of your only friends in school. Jeremy is a big guy, but completely pacifist, like an elephant. The bullies sometimes pick on him as well, but unlike with you they never dared to do too much to him. He's also in the library club, which is handy. 'Stan?'

You make up some excuse about not feeling well, but then Jeremy isn't easily fooled. He knows you, after all. 'Right. Okay. I'll take over at the library.'

'Thanks, mate.'

'Seriously, you ought to get someone to help, you know that?'

'Yeah. Yeah sure...' you hang up, glance once more at the chicken-searchers, and then get out of the classroom. Your legs ache painfully with every step, and you're visibly limping.

> cont'd.

File: 1384224569375.jpg-(289 KB, 1600x1062, colville old.jpg)

289 KB JPG

>>28239318

Your mom told you she moved to Mackelmore High School because it's a pretty good school, but you know very well the real reason she's moved. It's because the school is not bad, and its neighbourhood is shitty enough for the rent to be cheap.

And when you say shitty, you mean it. The buildings even *look* like shit. Everything is built in seven shades of brown, towers full of brown bricks and brown doors and brown elevators. Nature gives a little hand too, with yellowing neglected grass, and rust flowing down all the walls and parapets.

Not to mention the real dog shit that's all over the pavements.

Still, you feel a little safe here; no one bothers you, since you're a resident and therefore just as shit-poor as the rest of them. Your ground-floor apartment has its perks; you get a yard of yellow grass, which maybe you could plant with something though you don't know what. As you walk past, though, you notice something strange.

There used to be a FOR RENT sign, representing one of the basement apartments - a cellar in a shithole.

It isn't there anymore.

> Huh. Investigate the downstairs.
> Focus, mate. Let's just go home, make a TV dinner and lie down.
> Other.

>>28239422
>investigate downstairs
Take our mind off things.

>>28239422
Well, I thought we were gonna buy food. Let's invite the new neighbor for eats. Either out or at our place, doesn't matter, not like mother is home anyway.

>>28239422
> Huh. Investigate the downstairs.

>>28239422
How much money do we have?

> Votes seen. Was getting food.
> Typing.

>>28239445
>>28239485
>>28239520
>>28239535

Money is not really an issue unless you're eating very expensive stuff - which you won't find in town. You've currently got $30 in your pocket, which will be fine.

But as for downstairs... entering the lobby and trying not to retch from the stink of urine left behind by age after age of chavs pissing on the steps, you eventually manage to stumble and limp downstairs. God, if you live in a bad place...

A little light filters in from the window on the far end of the corridor, but the rest of them have to fumble about in darkness, or rely on the two fluorescent lights. One of which is dying. You're sure something flew into your arm as you walked up to the nearest flat...

... oh, it's open. You peer into a bare, concrete space, with no windows or openings, and a bare fluorescent light set in the ceiling. 'Anyone in?'

Nothing.

'Uh... hello?'

Nothing.

> Wait outside.
> Let yourself in. You think you can hear something inside. Might be rats, might be human, who knows?
> Other.

>>28239953
>> Let yourself in. You think you can hear something inside. Might be rats, might be human, who knows?

>>28239953

Go in. We could... help with moving?

>>28239953
>Investigate rats.
>Gain level in Fighter.

>>28239953
Money can be spent on other things. Like weapons.

>>28240054
>>28240040
>>28239982

You wait, counting silently to five, and when there is still no response - save for a scraping sound from the room that might be rats or a human - you decide to go in. The layout of the place is the same as yours, directly upstairs - an open plan kitchen, a square living room and then two sleeping rooms and a toilet.

Except it's even worse than upstairs. Instead of just some peeling on the wall paint, here there's a full-blown mould cloud splashed all over the walls, and the ceiling is stained brown. The bare concrete floor is rough.

You walk towards the kitchen, looking at the slightly rusty fridge, when suddenly you hear someone come out and turn around. Uh... it's a balding, portly man, his eyes round with surprise behind thick-framed glasses, wearing a shirt and trousers despite the hot weather. He's holding a stick in his hands. Oh fuck. You're an intruder now...

'Who are you? What the hell do you want?'

Well, that's a nice way to meet a neighbour...

> What do/say, Stan?

>>28240211
"I knocked, but there was no answer. Came in to make sure my new neighbor wasn't dying under a dresser or something. Sorry, I'm Stan, kindly don't bludgeon me, I've had quite enough of that today."

>>28240211
Uuuh, I noticed the rent sign was gone and the door was open....

>>28240272
>>28240270

'Uh, I-I'm Stan.' You back up against the kitchen counter, as the man takes a step forward, and then your instinct takes over and you do the only thing you know how to do - which is to babble. You useless, rubbish prick. 'I saw that the rent sign was gone, and the door was open, but no one responded when I asked so I just wanted to check on you and make sure you're fine.'

You try not to beg for your life, but in the end that slips out too. 'Please don't hit me, put that stick down.'

The man rubs his scalp with his free hand, looks you over one more time, and then throws the stick on the ground with a loud series of clangs. Fuck, it was metal! 'Well. I'm Kelvin. And I'm fine. Do you want anything?'

You... well, damn, you didn't think this through properly! If you wanted to make nice, maybe you should've brought something as a gift...

> Say something to stay and talk. Kelvin looks... well you wouldn't say *nice*, but it could be worse.
> Say something and bugger off. Eat and wait for Mum to come back.
> Other.

>>28240472
Say something and bugger off. Feel silly.

>>28240472
Ask him if he wants help moving anything. That's what people do when someone's just moved in, right? If so, we can play good neighbors and talk less awkwardly. If not, oh well, time for food.

> Looks like a tie...

>>28240495
>>28240616
I'll change mine to the other one.

>>28240472
"I was going to offer to help you eat before I move...erm, I mean, you move, me eat." Wince at continuing to sound like a prick.

>>28240518

Agree with this.

>>28240691
>>28240678
>>28240634
>>28240518
>>28240495

> Nice line!

'Uh... well, I was going to eat, and you were going to move, so I was going to offer to help you eat, before I move. Uh, help to offer... you to move... and then I eat. Sorry.' Well done, Stan! Well done as usual! 'I'll be off-'

'No, no, that's fine,' Kelvin says, moving to cut off your exit route, which only sets off another tremor in your mind. Exit routes are important. You have to know how you can get out. And if you can't get out, then... but of course you're not going to curl up and go to sleep, not right now. 'So do you live nearby?'

'Upstairs.' Ought you have said that? But you just compound it more. 'And you? Uh, I mean...'

'Yeah, well, we live here.' He looks around the room, then at you. 'Look. I've got nothing here that needs help. But, well, it's nice you offered.'

'Oh. That's all right...?'

For once it seems to be the right response. Well, he nods. 'But I'd just like to say, don't come here and disturb us next time, all right?'

Why does he keep saying 'us' and 'we'...?

> Roll d100 for perception.

Rolled 17

>>28240773

Rolled 7

>>28240773

Rolled 44

>>28240773

Let's perceive

Rolled 58

>>28240773

Rolled 69

>>28240863
Ok that was awful me

Rolled 58

>>28240773

>>28240926
>>28240869
>>28240864
>>28240863
>>28240814

> 69 against many low rolls: barest of successes.

What with Kelvin in the way and still looking rather threatening, your mind isn't too focused on glancing around the place. These days the merest sign of a threat or of aggression - someone blocking the way, someone yelling at another person in the canteen - makes you want to do your curl-up or run away drill; your mind is constantly screaming at you that someone is out to get you, and that they're just waiting for a chance.

Crazy? Yeah, well, it's crazy outside of school. But then you spend about half your day inside of school - including the times you don't mean to, such as this entire afternoon stuffed into a toilet stall.

'All right, I'll keep that in mind. Sorry about that. I'm off...' you bow and nod, smiling and just managing not to whimper. But on the way out you do see something - there's a chest of drawers next to the door, probably a shoe rack of some sort, and on it there is a single framed photo.

It's a girl. Dark hair rolling in little curls, framing a rather gaunt face. Honey coloured eyes gazing out, directly at you, it seems...

> Take a risk and ask about the picture.
> Look, just get out. Your aunt might be back anytime soon, for her daily flying visit.

>>28241040
>> Take a risk and ask about the picture.

>>28241040
my roll was best roll yay
going on this good luck, ask about picture

>>28241040
>Ask
"What's her name?"
Also, how old does she look?

>>28241040
>> Take a risk and ask about the picture.

>>28241115
>>28241089
>>28241066
>>28241056

You would say the girl looks... about your age, actually. A teenager, though a rather unadorned one. No earrings, no piercings. If she's related to Kelvin, she's probably a daughter, or maybe a niece, like with your aunt who's coming.

Of course, the fact that you stopped there is not lost on Kelvin, who's tracing your exit with his gaze. You muster what little courage you do have, and gesture at the photo.

'So... what's her name?'

It's just a simple question, and you don't expect the reaction. Turning around, you have just enough time to spot the anger flashing in his eyes - anger, but also fear - before he advances on you.

'Wha-'

'It's none of your business. Get out of the house. Get out!' He lays a hand on your shoulder and pushes you physically out the door, where you nearly slip on a slick of algae fed by the permanently dripping rainwater. Regaining your footing, you manage to turn back just as the door slams in your face, the WHAM reverberating down the hallway and seeming to make the fluorescent lights flicker.

... well, fuck. Back home it is, then...

> cont'd.

Well, after seeing what the basement flat looks like, you suddenly feel a little better about your own living room and open plan kitchen. I mean, holy shit, a floor that's got tiles on it! And a fridge that isn't leaking rust all over the counter! It's like you're living in a fecking mansion, eh, Stan?

But the reality hits you pretty quick, once you open the cupboard. Great. Mom's forgot to stock up or to give you the money to stock up, again.

You're almost out of Pot Noodles, and there's just one Ready Meal left. Seeing as Aunt Serena likes to eat Ready Meals, you wonder if you should let her have that one. Maybe she'll be better inclined towards you.

Ever since... Catherine, your family has been like a pond with a meteorite dropped in. Even after four years, nothing's really settled. Closing the door, you throw your backpack on the sofa and slump beside it, thinking about Aunt Serena. What's it about your family and pretty girls? You know - much to your detriment - that your mom is well regarded as a yummy mummy by your classmates. Serena's even better looking; she's in her early forties but still trim and always well-dressed.

Then there's... there's Cath. Oh god, let's not think about it.

> Eat the Pot Noodle.
> Eat the Ready Meal. Serena will take care of herself.
> Go shower first. Serena might be here any moment.
> Other.

>>28241355
>> Eat the Pot Noodle.

>>28241355
pot noodle

>>28241355
> Shower, we reek of piss. Don't want questions we can't answer.

>>28241461

Good point, this. Let's shower.

Rolled 4

>>28241518
>>28241461
>>28241392
>>28241371

>>28241596

> Well, shower it is then...

You reek - not only of the piss in the classroom toilet, but also from those strange odours in the underground walkway. Dear god, who would ever want to live there? Also, come think of it, you walked into Kelvin's flat with a uniform shirt that's splattered all over with ketchup and mustard. Forgot all about that.

The day something goes right for you, Stanley, that would be quite a day. Quite a day.

You soak your shirt and then stare at yourself in the chipped mirror for a few moments, scrawny and thin and bony as you are, before sighing and hopping into the shower. The warm water sluicing over you feels good, even though every internal injury it touches responds with a little yelp of burning agony, and your body has to force its way through the stiffness of the tight, injured muscles. One day one of them is going to kick a dent in your liver and you'll bleed to death, you're sure of it.

Well, that would just fucking teach them then, wouldn't it? Except it might not. Maybe you would be considered as having died in an accident? Why would anyone care, even? Well, maybe Jeremy would. Mom... maybe. You can't be sure.

> cont'd.

'Hey Stan honey!' The muffled voice, which can only be Serena, comes from the door. 'I'm here!'

Ignoring it for the moment, you finish showering and drying yourself out before shuffling to the door. Right. If Serena saw you injured, she'd tell Mom, and mom would kick up a fuss. Be careful not to give anything away. But then when you open the bathroom door, it becomes clear you needn't have bothered. Your aunt, wearing denim shorts and a short-sleeved top, is curled up on the sofa with the last ready meal, nibbling at fried rice.

'Hey, how're you doing?' She looks up at you. Why does Serena bother with full make up when she's visiting you? But between her smoky eyes, and her taut, well-maintained features, she is a looker. Still.

> Say something.
> Ignore, go into room.
> Other.

> Take note that the choices here are quite general, and are meant as a sort of guide. Do write in more specific options if you want to say something, for instance.

>>28241755
hi auntie
how r u

>>28241755
>> Say something.
"I got beat up at school today. On an unrelated note can you spare me any weapons that may be in your possession?"

>>28242030
>>28241785

'Hey, Aunt. How're you?'

You try to keep your eyes from wandering over her. Stop it, bloody hell, Stan, she's your aunt. Serena sits up.

'I'm good, I'm good. Want to watch TV with me, or do you have homework to do?'

You have homework. You wouldn't mind watching TV with her, but you do have homework. Well, there was that one time when you sat down to watch TV with Aunt Serena, and she... 'yeah, uh, I've got a bit of work to do. Got back a little late.'

'You haven't been bullied again, have you? You poor dear.' She leans over and reaches out to touch you, but reflexively you flinch. She looks a little offended at that. 'Well. If you've got work, better get to doing it. I'm going to make a cake later and leave it here, all right?'

'Huh... why?' She's pretty good at baking, but it's not something she's done for you in some time. That last time - that was the occasion with the TV watching, come think of it. Two or three months ago, perhaps? Certainly it was since she separated from her husband, a man with a huge moustache you always sensed was evil...

'For the people downstairs!' Serena grins. 'Your mum told me. New family. Why would anyone live in the basement? But oh well. You bring it down to them this evening, okay?'

> What do/say?
> Or you can just keep quiet and go to room, in which case, what do you do? You haven't actually got much homework.

>>28242030

In terms of weapons, your dad once gave you a little folding knife which you do keep with you in your bag. You don't want to keep it *on* you, in case they find it while roughing you up.

But if it's in your bag, then how do you... well, you've never figured that out. How is it they manage to do things without having to think of the consequences? Everything you think of doing stretches into some dreadful outcome in the future. But they just kick you around.

Fuck. It's just strength, isn't it? The strength to not care...

>>28242078
"Sorry. It's been a bad day."

>>28242078
>> What do/say?
Tell her that you met the guy in the basement.

>>28242130
I doubt a little knife will be useful against them. I was thinking buy a crossbow, go medieval on their asses.

>>28242130

Tell her we met the guy already.

Then go to room, do homework, have a wank.

>>28242300
This

>>28242300
>>28242219
>>28242144

'It's... not bullying. Just had a long day. Also, I met the guy in the basement.'

'Oh, it's a guy?' Serena sits up, poking at the egg fried rice and spring roll. Fuck! You were saving that one up, you'd been craving some Chinese all week! Oh well... 'what sort? Nice, married, single, creepy?'

'Well... single. Creepy, I suppose.' You're not sure if you should mention the girl. Maybe not. Kelvin became really aggressive once you even noticed the presence of another person... oh great, what if he's a pedo or something?

'Meh, that explains the basement dwelling. Well. I'll make the cake anyway. It's going to be chocolate and lemon. Hope he doesn't get too creepy after you give it to him, eh?' She laughs at her own little joke for some moments. 'Fine, you go do your own thing. Have you had food?'

'I'll handle it.'

Another day, another noodle pot in your rubbish dump of a room. The bookshelf overflows with books, clothes lie all around on the bed, clean and dirty ones all mixed up. Not that it matters. If no one cares, why should you?

The only nice thing is that the desk faces the window, from which you can watch the rain fall while doing homework. It falls when you start; when you're done, it's still falling. Drizzle, drizzle, drizzle. It's like the sky is laying siege to the city.

One thing left to do; you pull your pants off and settle back in your chair.

> Try to wank from imagination.
> Watch a little porn.
> Actually, let's not. Just relax (write-in for other activities).
> Other.

>>28242389
>> Watch a little porn.
We have a computer?

>>28242389
wank to auntie
actually, this is getting weird
maybe do the little homework we have?

>>28242470

Yeah let's do this.

Did she molest us before while we were watching TV?

>>28242389
Pull up our pants and clean up the room instead?

>>28242448

Oh yes, you do have a computer. Well, it's not the best model, not even the eighth best, but it works. And you can watch porn on it if you want.

>>28242515
>>28242470

We've already done our homework.

Let's try to clean up our room.

>>28242470
>>28242504
Seconding. I feel bad for Stanley, but we need to see how deep the rabbit hole goes.

>>28242389
>>28242470
Reverse whyboner works for me.

>>28242663
>>28242504
>>28242470
So are we wanking to our aunt or doing our homework? If we have a computer we could try to stalk Catherine on Facebook instead.

>>28242663
>>28242575
>>28242515
>>28242504
>>28242470
>>28242448

Since you've already done your homework, and you don't quite feel like wanking for the moment, the next best thing is probably to clean your room. Thankfully you've got a roll of rubbish bags in your cupboard, into which you can sweep just about everything - and do.

You lose track of time in between doing everything - wiping down your computer and table, sorting out the clothes and socks and pants and putting them into piles, and then piling all sorts of shit into the big black bag. During a quiet moment, as you are just looking around to see where you could put a pair of shoes, you hear a little yelp from outside. It's from Serena.

> cont'd.

Leaning close to the door, you hear your aunt's laboured breathing, and freeze up. Oh, *god*. Almost every time she's around, she does this, playing with herself while sitting in the couch and watching TV. You've managed to dodge out of doing that with her for more than a month now, after the last time. You were sitting next to her and she had just flipped the channel to one you had been hiding from your parents, and your eyes widen as you watch the start of a porn film.

'What... how did you...'

Serena sat back, took your hand and put it on her bare thigh. It was a very hot afternoon and she just wore a miniskirt with a G-string underneath...

Thinking about that, your hand reaches unbidden for your own pants now, and despite yourself - despite feeling a little disgusted at what Serena coaxed you into doing - you can't help admitting that... in a way... it was nice. Images of your own aunt, guiding your hand into her skirt and then gasping, flicker through your mind as you work on yourself, listening out for Serena in the present schlicking outside.

It doesn't take long before she comes, and a few seconds later, you do too - quickly catching everything in one hand before grabbing some tissues. Thank goodness for rubbish bags...

You hear footsteps towards the kitchen. She's going to make her cake now, presumably. Maybe you ought to take out the trash...

> Take out the trash.
> Go and help Aunt with her cake.
> Relax and wait for her to call you.
> Other.

>>28242776
>> Take out the trash.

>>28242776
Take out the trash and then help her bake the cake

>>28242776
>take out the trash
must remove evidence of our dirty deed
then we can help with the cake

>>28242731

Is Catherine not at home too? And that dream was weird. Is this incest quest?

>>28242855
I thought Catherine was dead.

>>28242776
Thirding take out the trash, then help bake cake.

>>28242883
It seems like it, but we don't know for sure.

>>28242883
Horribly burned, at the very least, but probably dead. Four years ago.
>>28242776
> Trash, then cake.

>>28242883
yea pretty sure she ded

>>28242855
>Is this incest quest?
I think it's more like Guilt Quest: No Fun Allowed Boogaloo.

>>28242790
>>28242796
>>28242812
>>28242921

Taking some moments to steady yourself, you haul the rubbish out, but then Serena stops you.

'Wash your hands, Stan, and help me cut some stuff for the cake. Do you think I should add candied ginger in it, or just make it a nice little carrot cake?'

You put the bag by the front door, watch your aunt cutting stuff, her back turned to you and moving subtly. Fuck it, Stan, have some fucking respect. You clear your throat.

'I think... carrot should do?'

'Good! Help me grate it then.' She points to the carrot. 'I'm almost ready.'

> Talk to Serena. (Write in topics.)
> Just grate the carrots and hope she lets you go. This is really uncomfortable.

>>28243010
>> Talk to Serena. (Write in topics.)

I heard some interesting things coming from the TV...

>>28243010
She's ready for the carrot, Stan.

Ready.
For the.
Carrot.

>>28243034
Seconded
>>28243057
Wave the carrot around suggestively

>>28243010
>talk to her
About the man downstairs, and the picture, and how he said we/us.

>>28243057
We don't like her that way, remember!

>>28243057
>>28243076
Don't be weird you freaks


Just grate the carrots, maybe bring up how weird man downstairs was.

Fuck this place. It's time to start a new life.

Pack up your things, grab as much money as you can, and find a bus/train to a town that isn't literally shit.

>>28243118
Compromise: grate the carrots suggestively.

>>28243118
This

incest is wrong guys
we're an innocent child here

>>28243082

Second this. She made us schlick her. That's abuse, man.

>>28243010
> Talk.
About the guy downstairs and his maybe daughter? She's our age and cute in an anorexic-hippy way. Cut fingers on grater, because of subtle movement distraction.

>>28243082
>>28243076
>>28243057
>>28243034

As you grip the carrot - and its shape and significance does not escape you, of course - a tumble of strange thoughts appear in your mind, each a disturbing image - you saying something suggestive to Serena; she taking you up on your offer; the two of you teasing each other. Some of these thoughts are real, though you have never said those words, just sat there and moved your hand and tried not to get really, really hard as you watched your own aunt writhing.

'Ow, Fuck!' It takes a burst of pain from your fingers to bring you out of the bad reverie, and Serena turns and gasps as you hold your fingers. Well done, you little prick, you managed to grate a little bit of two fingers off! You reach for the sink, but then Serena grabs your hand and sticks it into her mouth, and you can feel her tongue and lips as she sucks on the blood for a moment.

Luckily, it's just a moment. You withdraw your hand; it's still bleeding, lazily. 'Oh man, Stan, be more careful!'

> Withdraw hand, wash it, take out trash.
> Just... just tune out. You know what she's trying to do.
> Other.

>>28243159
Only talk if it gets really awkward though
or she brings up stuff like what she was watching
then is the time for tasteful diversions

> Damn, didn't see all those votes! Gah.

>>28243198
see
>>28243136

>>28243198
Tune out

>>28243216
You can make threads automatically update, and if that's taking too long, just click [Update]. If it's not automatically updating, look for [Settings] at the top and bottom of the page.

Some quest runners post when they start writing, so people know the decision has been "locked in" and there's no point in further voting.

>>28243198
>> Withdraw hand, wash it, take out trash.

Remember to put a bandaid on it.

>>28243265

This.

Then later we can maybe come back and talk about all the votes you missed, OP

>>28243198
>> Withdraw hand, wash it, take out trash.
And apply a fucking bandage, so she can't use our hand for...whatever.
>>28243225
Bad plan, our family is balanced on a knife's edge. Us leaving would wreck them.

>>28243305
It's not like we're making any money. It's time to start a new life, or at least look for another school.

>>28243305
Seconded. Besides, we haven't even seen our parents yet, if they're still alive. And who's Jeremy anyway?

>>28243159
>>28243136
>>28243118
>>28243082
>>28243265
>>28243280

Normally you'd just tune out, since you know what Serena's up to. Why does she even do this? It's not like she can't find someone else who's young and good looking and isn't her fucking *nephew*... you wrench your hand away from her, and for a moment she looks shocked.

'S-Stan?'

'It's fine! It's fine.' You run it under a tap, washing blood and saliva away, and then get a bandage. 'Get the cake in the oven and I'll go and take out the rubbish and then maybe we can talk a little while the cake bakes?'

Not waiting for her to answer you properly, you then smile a little and wrap each finger up. Thankfully, the rubbish point is just a short walk from your door, short enough that on hot days you can smell exactly where the rotting food is. Walking through the drizzle to the little shed, you look out past the estate's waist-high wall...

... and see Kelvin.

You do a tentative wave, but he doesn't see it, though he's looking at you. His eyes are wide open, but it seems as if the glasses have made you invisible somehow. A moment later he turns around, seemingly not minding the drizzle at all, and then crosses the road, splashing in one puddle after another, wetting the bottom of his pants.

... why's he going out at... seven in the evening? And why is he carrying something that looks like a knife case?

> cont'd.

>>28243374

Lobbing the bag into a big bin, you walk back, unable to keep your eyes off Kelvin as he walks down the opposite side of the road away from you, towards the main junction. He seems to really be in a hurry. But it is the look on his face - the look of a man who has a job, a very important task, that needs doing.

Back inside, Serena's put the cake into the oven already, and you sit down and tell her a little more about the people downstairs. 'Wait, people? I thought you said just one guy.'

'Oh, there was just one guy,' you shrug, recalling Kelvin's look. 'But he had a photo of a girl on his drawers.'

'Cute girl?' She gives you a slightly sly look. While Serena has... weird inclinations towards you, on a good day she can give some good advice. Because of her, you managed to get with your first girlfriend a year ago. Didn't last over three months, but hey...

'I suppose? Black hair. A little... thin. A bit like a hippy?'

'If you notice that much in a glance, she's cute to you,' Serena says, and punches you lightly - flirtatiously? - on your arm. 'Well, this cake will be just the ticket for the two of them, then. It's strange though. Father and daughter maybe, you reckon?'

'It has to be...'

'Or Humbert and Lolita,' she says, oblivious to what she's actually done to you before. God, your family... 'Anyway, I've got to go. So once the cake is done, take it out, let it sit for 30 minutes, and box it. Then you have your first date present. Okay?'

'Uh, yeah, sure.' You let her kiss your cheeks and forehead, the last one a little too lingering, before she gets up and leaves with a smile.

> Timeskip until cake? It's about... 30 minutes, probably.
> Or do something? (Write-in)

>>28243452
>> Or do something? (Write-in)
Browse your computer.

Where is this set OP?

>>28243452
>>28243509
Seconding the computer, hitting local news-feeds first.

>>28243509
>Go to /k/
>Look up how to make a gun

>>28243509
>>28243544

These.

>>28243509
He mentioned chavs earlier, so UK I'd assume.

>>28243452
Go to the flat downstairs with the cake (now, not in 30 minutes). If the door's unlocked, look around, starting with the photo and the stand it's on. If caught, say were were told to bring the cake. If the door's locked, take cake back upstairs (and either try again later or have it ourselves, since he did tell us not to come again).

>>28243586
He also said $30 not £.

>>28243586
>>28243583
>>28243553
>>28243544
>>28243509

> Let's just say it's a story that could happen anywhere which drizzles perpetually...
> typing.

Well, at least this bit of the cake making process you can handle. Gloves, open door, take thing out, put on the nearby rack. It does look like a very nice carrot cake, though it might do with some icing.

... that bit is beyond your powers, unfortunately.

You go online, and read the local news feeds first, knowing what it is you're looking out for even though you don't want to admit it. It's been four years since Catherine, your beautiful, feisty older sister, was last seen getting into a car with a man and getting driven off.

It's been three years and ten months since they found her right foot, neatly severed at the ankle. Somehow it even looked attractive, even though there was nothing above it. A foot by itself is such a strange thing - why is it? Everything it's designed for suddenly does not exist anymore.

Everything that foot was designed for, everything your sister was, and which was taken away from you...

Something stops you in your searching, and you feel your heart harden and get heavier, its beats loud in your ears. SERIAL KILLER SUSPECTED IN NEW MURDER CASE. DISMEMBERED LIMBS. HORROR OF WATCHMAN WHO FOUND A PART OF CORPSE...

Oh god. Just like Catherine. Oh god. Oh god...

It takes a long while before you recover, and manage to close the window. Fuck! You've let the cake sit for an hour! Boxing it, you rush downstairs, listening to the slow, maddening drips of water coming from above ground. The door looks... immensely unwelcoming.

> Knock on the door. (Is anyone even in?)
> Wait outside.
> Other.

>>28243723
Go back to your room and get your knife and hide it in your clothes. Then go back down and knock on the door of the weird potential serial killer in the basement to give him the cake.

>>28243723
>> Knock on the door. (Is anyone even in?)

Oh shit the serial killer lives in the basement.

Knock.

>>28243844

Yes bring the knife as well.

>>28243723
Knock. Wait 1 minute, then knock again. Wait 3 minutes, then try the door. If no responses and locked, leave the cake.

>>28243844
>>28243849

Maybe if we ask him nicely he'll kill our bullies.

>>28243868
If he doesn't answer eat the cake.

He's ready for the carrot, Stanley.

Ready.
For the.
Carrot.

>>28243844
>>28243849
>>28243860
>>28243868
>>28243889

The fear of what you had just read, as you stand in the dank coldness, makes you head back upstairs to your room, where you take your knife. You check that it flicks. Then flick it back. Then flick it out again. The blade is clean; you keep it very well maintained, in case you need to use it.

It's a good thing home is nearby, but even the stairs might be too far away.

Heading back down, you keep the knife carefully, and then knock gingerly on the door. Kok, Kok, Kok. 'Hello?'

.... Counting internally to 60, you make 50 before sighing and knocking again. Kok, kok, kok. 'Is anyone in?' Then, a little tug at the doorknob - which turns. When you let go it snaps back in place with a loud sound.

You stand there, shivering - this place is *cold*, what with all the humidity and cool air trapped in here - for a minute, then flatten yourself against the door to listen for any sounds. Did Kelvin even come back? You didn't see him. You would have- wait, are those footste-

'Woah!' You spring back, just as the door opens, and then slip on the slick floor and nearly sprawl on your back. Only a timely right hand breaks the fall, and you look up to see - it's the girl.

'Who are you?' She says, with an accent you can't place. 'Why're you here?'

You scramble to your feet. Thankfully the cake is okay! If the picture you saw was pretty, it doesn't do any justice to the person herself. Her hair is longer, and even more voluminous, and against it her pale face seems almost to glow, as do her eyes.

> What do/say, Stanley? You don't think Kelvin's in...

>>28244038
I met Kelvin earlier. I brought this cake as a housewarming present.

>>28244038
>spill our spaghetti
My aunt made this cake for you! Welcome to the building!

>>28244092
Open the box first to show her the cake, so as to not scare her off. Then ask where Kelvin is.

>>28244038
"Cake. Stan. You?" Choke.

>>28244038
>>28244112
Ojama shimasu!

>>28244092
>>28244119
Voting for these two.

>>28244092
>>28244112
>>28244119
>>28244149
>>28244170

> Oh god. Is there pasta to be upended?

Her eyes - her eyes! For a horrible moment, the only thing you can think of to describe their colour is piss - rich, morning- no, Stan, that is not it.

'Honey,' you mutter under your breath as the word suddenly comes to you in a rush of relieved inspiration. That is quickly swept aside by existential horror when you realise when you just said and she must have heard.

'What?'

'I mean, uh, I'm Stan. This is cake. My aunt made it. You just moved in and Serena thought, she's my aunt, she thought, it'd be nice, so-'

'Stop,' she whispers, but the simple sound feels like a slap upside the head, and you obey immediately like a child. 'You're Stan. This is cake.'

'Yep.' You open the box and show her the cake. Should have done that *first*, you damn fool! Stan, you're useless, you're a bag of shite, that's what you are, this is why you get bullied, this is why you can't even-

The girl brushes hair to one side of her face and leans in, gazing at the cake intensely. Then she gives a deep sniff. Oh yes you remembered.

'Uh, where's Kelvin?'

'He's out.' She straightens again, frowning. 'I don't eat cake. And you're very badly injured.'

Uh... you... we... what?

> What say, Stan?

>>28244264
How can you tell? They use towels so I don't get bruises.

>>28244296
She likely has experience from being beaten up by her father

>>28244264
"Who doesn't eat cake?" Utterly baffled. Also, try to downplay the hand.
I expect she's not talking about that kind of wound.

>>28244309
Seconded

>>28244264
Tell the truth: we got beat up at school.

Also ask why she doesn't eat cake.

She smells it. She smells everything.

Our shame-jism is flooding her nostrils and there's nothing either of us can do about it.

>>28244369
>>28244318
>>28244317
>>28244309
>>28244306
>>28244296

Wait... how the hell is she able to tell? You look over the rest of her. She's quite petite, about half a head shorter than you and slightly slouched. Cute in a slender way, totally unlike what most of the girls at school aim for.

'You don't what?' You manage a chuckle. 'Who doesn't eat cake? Do you have some sort of allergy?'

'I don't eat cake,' she repeats. 'I can't eat cake.'

Riiight. Allergy then, probably. Gluten intolerance or something, maybe? But then you know yourself, and that you're skirting the question that really needed asking. 'I see. So... how did you know I was beaten up? I mean, I *was* beaten up. But they use towels, and pad the blows, so I don't get bruises...'

'You're not standing properly, that's why,' she says. 'You stand like a half-chopped tree. There. And there, and there.'

As you stand in the doorway, she points out the bits of you that got pummelled, one by one. Your hip. Your right side, your chest, shoulder, then back down to your left leg. Okay, this is a little bit creepy. 'Well, that's accurate-'

'You need help for your chest. You've got a cracked rib. You're breathing funny.'

She still hasn't told you her name, this beautiful weirdling.

> Ask to go in.
> Ask for name.
> Give cake, run for it.
> Other.

>>28244469
>> Give cake, run for it.

>>28244469
Compliment her perception, then ask her name.

>>28244469

>Ask to go in.

Let's investigate.

>>28244469
Ask her name first, then ask how she's so perceptive because she sees people get beaten

>>28244469
>> Ask for name.

>>28244469
> Other
"Well, unless you can do something about it, I'm just going to have to deal. You want to keep this for your... Kelvin is your dad, right?" If it comes to it, ask her name before she can shut the door on our face.

>>28244511
>Let's investigate
Someone is treating us with a modicum of kindness without molesting us in the process. Let's not blow it by turning into Detective Sperglord.

>>28244469
Ask her name

>>28244495
>>28244508
>>28244511
>>28244518
>>28244519
>>28244532
>>28244543

'Am I breathing funny, really?' You give an awkward chuckle, which is good proof that she's right - your rib suddenly begins to burn, a fire that makes you bend over slightly and wince. 'Oh, damn.'

'It hurts, doesn't it?' She looks at your chest, calmly, almost coldly.

'Well. I'll just have to deal. Happens to me a lot.' Just smile this time, Stan. Good. Good. 'Right, so I'm Stan, and I don't think I got-'

'Elina.' She doesn't extend a hand, she doesn't smile, she just gives you a gaze as if to burn that name into your mind. 'I'm Elina.'

Elina. The name rolls off your tongue, it sounds... quite nice, actually. 'That's nice. Um... so should I just give you the cake? Maybe for your dad?'

'Dad?' Momentary confusion. 'Oh, you mean... Kelvin? Okay.'

She takes the cake, and her fingers brush past yours momentarily, feeling oddly... hard, or maybe strong is a better word. Then she reaches for the door. 'Is there anything else?'

She's about to slam it if you don't come up with something quick.

> What do/say, Stan?

>>28244606
>> What do/say, Stan?
Say goodbye and go back to your room.

>>28244606

Now or never!

'May I come in?'

>>28244606
Seconding "May I come in?"

Then show off your perception by asking what's wrong with her hands.

Then ask her actual relationship to Kelvin.

>>28244606
"Know anything about bracing ribs?"

>>28244636
>>28244644
I don't think getting caught in a potential serial killer's house is a good idea.

>>28244632
>>28244636
>>28244644
>>28244657

> Last post. Thanks everyone for playing, hope it was enjoyable for you as for me.
> I'll be on tomorrow as well.

'Um... may I come in?'

Her grip on the door loosens for a moment, and one of Elina's eyebrows arch up. 'Why do you need to come in?'

Shit, you kinda figured she might ask that question. But right now there are many other concerns in your mind. Kelvin is... weird, no doubt about it. But why is Elina here? Who's she to him? Is it the right time to ask?

'Well... you saw I was injured. So maybe I was thinking you might know how to brace ribs. Though your fingers... might be a bit too strong.'

Elina frowns, and then shakes her head. 'I don't know how to brace ribs. And my fingers are fine.' But even as she says that, she slots her hands into her pockets. 'Well. If there's nothing...'

There is another thing, about Kelvin. But is this the right time to ask? You shrug instead. 'Yeah, well, bye, I suppose,' you mutter, resigning yourself to ending the first chat with a new person in quite a bloody long while.

'Bye. See you around.'

The door closes gently, and that - along with the implication of seeing her around - makes you somehow excited. Come think of it, if she's moved here... she must be going to Mackelmore, mustn't she? You'll soon have a new schoolmate...

> cont'd.

>>28244737

You go back, and with nothing much left to do, you go to sleep. Wrapped up in your blankets, you have... strange dreams.

You have dreams of a forest which you're sure is imagined, or at least you've never been here before. Something crunches and *shroks* underfoot, and you look down to see you're... you're stepping in snow?

The sky peels open to reveal a snowscape, pine trees weighed down with the white stuff. You scrunch your way along, and then notice little pits here and there. Each one tinged with red around the edges. It takes you a little while to realise what it is.

Hot blood.

Following the trail, you eventually reach what looks like a little pool or spring, the surface roiling despite the frigid weather. But then it, too, is issuing red over its rim, and when you approach there is a rumble. The earth itself seems to loosen underfoot.

And then blood begins washing out of the spring. A trickle, then a stream, then a glut, melting the hapless snow as it goes, heading in every direction. Fuck! Fuck! But you don't run - you can't run. It washes over your boots, then your feet, like warm, soothing water.

You jerk awake, sensing some sort of presence, and sit up. But there is no snow, no pines, no blood. Just drizzling, for 14 straight hours, under a purple sky. Except.

There's a note at your windowsill. You stumble over, open the window and take it. There's people who put handbills here, and people who put random insulting notes. But this one is different. It too washes over you like warm water, written on old paper into which the ink has soaked, outlining the little wooden fibres.

'Thanks for Cake. It sMellD Nice.'
'Elina.'

> Questions, etc. welcome.

>Elina
FFfffff-

>>28244813

?

>>28244825
Alien.

>>28244810
So, will the story be continued?

>>28244850

Tomorrow.

>>28244813
>>28244836

> I honestly did not think of that at all.

>>28244810
Is this a one-shot?

>>28244859
These shadowruns of mine are a curse.

>>28244810
Is there supernatural stuff going on or is this a real life like setting?

Also your writing style seems familiar.

>>28244810
Does the basement have windows? Do we take our laundry to a laundromat, or is there a washer/dryer in our apt? You said we couldn't place the accent, but can we tell if english is not Elina's first language?

You should probably archive this OP.

>>28245180

Yeah, will do.

>>28244898

Take an educated guess.

It's going to be quite real life, but yes, supernatural elements do exist.

>>28244902

The basement apartment has almost no windows, except for a single one on the kitchen end. The bedroom might have windows. But the place must be hideously dark without lighting, at night.

You do the laundromat option; there is a washer in your place, but it makes such a racket and constantly trembles as if it's about to explode. Not really worth the risk. But from force of habit, you like to soak particularly dirty clothes anyway first. Thankfully, the laundromat is not far down the road, past the grocery store and butcher's.

You are... reasonably sure Elina's first language is not English. You have no idea what it might be though. She speaks with a slight, strange lilt in some of her syllables, and a distinct drop in others, almost like she speaks a tonal language. But she's not Chinese, that's for sure...

> More questions welcome!

What's with all the incest?