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This success has not only increased the power of your demons, but also boosted their morale and appreciation of you in an unexpected, but not unwelcome manner…

>All of your demons gain a +30% increase to their Loyalty rating!

There are three demons that bring gifts to bear for the auspicious occasion. Three allies that you’ve held onto for the longest time, including the first demon that proved to you that humanity was not alone.

“A token of my appreciation, master!” High Pixie zips around your head, giggling as she presses a small marble-shaped object into your hands. It is warm, smooth to the touch, and just by holding it, you can sense an immense magical energy stored within it. “A Bead! Crush it, and if you’re injured or on the brink of death, it will heal all of your wounds!”

>You put a Bead into your inventory.

“Master, master!” Gryphon seems to pause, then shudders violently and claws the earth. Before you can move to help, the bird rears back…and promptly vomits a gigantic hairball onto the forest floor. You try not to look too sick as it paws through the gunk, before finding what it was searching for. “Take this, Master! Three life stones from demons I ate! Tasty, they were, master!”

>You put three (x3) Life Stones into your inventory.

“Child of Adam, present thy hands to me.” You obey Angel, who takes them into her own. Her lips are pulled back into a warm and friendly smile, and you have little doubt that behind that blindfold, her eyes are smiling as well. “Take this as a symbol of our friendship. May this Magic Mirror protect you and our allies should I depart from this physical realm…”

>You put one Magic Mirror into your inventory.

>High Pixie forgot Paraldi and learned Mazio!
>Angel forgot Patra and learned Mahama!

Between training your demons and running favors for Miss K and the health depot, it isn’t a lie to say that your free time isn’t as much diminished as much as it is almost non-existent. That being said…you do manage to set time aside for a certain member of your team…

“Hey!” Fitz hollers from the other end of the ring. In spite of the mouthguard between her teeth, and the velcro of her helmet strapped tight around her jaw, you can still hear the taunt as clear as any other day. “Ya better get your head outta the clouds, Sawbones! When I kick your ass, I don’t want ya complainin’ that you weren’t in the zone…”

You make a show of rolling your eyes as you walk forward to the center of the pad. “Don’t worry about it. It’s the winner’s duty to let the former champion have a shot for their title back.”

The sharp bark of laughter that erupts from her throat echoes throughout the room. “Thanks! I’ll be sure to extend the same courtesy after I wipe the floor with your ass.”

(cont.)

FUGGING FITZ WHEN?

>>2238566
This rematch between the two of you is one that’s been a long time coming. You figured that she wasn’t the kind of person to sit on a loss for too long. That sparring session the two of you had after that first mission? Fitz isn’t gonna easily let you rule for too long on the throne with just one win between the two of you.

It was towards the end of one of your less hectic days when she approached you, just lazing around after a day of filing papers for the squad. The plans you had for a nice, peaceful evening had been shot to hell when she declared that it was time for the inevitable grudge match, and promptly dragged you over to the gym to rectify that.

The stage is set. The two of you, fisticuffs at twilight. High Pixie and Lham Dearg are your referees, and there’s one else to catcall from the peanut gallery.

Adrian Brown versus Sarah Fitzgerald. Five rounds, final destination, items off. Truly, a match for the ages.

The two of you bump gloves, fall back and take up your stances. Considering the fact that she taught you a significant portion of what you know, this isn’t going to be easy. It’s gonna take more than a fluke for you to win again. Not that you’re about to let that fact show on your face.

Snorting, you bring your fists up and flash your opponent a wide grin. “May the best man win.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer…” She returns. “So try not to cry when I rip yer mancard-”

“Are you going to fight sometime this millennia?” High Pixie cuts in irritably, arms crossed and face set in an angry pout. “Or are you going to keep up this pissing contest?”

Lham Dearg’s chuckle of laughter causes the ground to tremble. “The little girl has a point, lad, lass! Dinnae try to delay any further now, alright? So on the count of three…”

Only when the world slows down, and the echo of your heart pounds in your ears do you notice it.

“One…”

There’s a glint of something in her eyes…something wild and exuberant.

“Two…”

...it isn’t just competitive spirit. But…something else entirely…something…wilder?

“THREE!”

And the match is on!

>>Pick a strategy.
>Aggressive. Press forward unrelentingly with your attacks.
>Fishing. Move in and try to bait her for a counter attack.
>Defensive. Play it safe and strike only when she’s open.
>Takedown. Rush in and try to throw her to the ground.

>>2238613
>Aggressive. Press forward unrelentingly with your attacks.
Lets set the pace for the start.

>>2238613
>Aggressive
Time for some foreplay

>>2238613
>>Aggressive. Press forward unrelentingly with your attacks.

>>2238613
>Fishing. Move in and try to bait her for a counter attack.

Welcome back.

>>2238613
>>Aggressive. Press forward unrelentingly with your attacks.

Fitz will appreciate the foreplay

>>2238613
>>Fishing. Move in and try to bait her for a counter attack.

>>2238630
>>2238634
>>2238640
>>2238662
The last time you threw down with her, you played it safe, waiting for her to close in on you before you made an attack. You know damn well that since she’s more of a fighter than you are, she isn’t soon about to forget that. The worst thing you could possibly be in any fight, practice or otherwise, is to be predictable. Don’t constantly try the same thing, and for the love of God, don’t choreograph your moves.

Seriously. There’s a reason why haymakers only work in the movies. You’d have to be blind to not see one of those coming a mile away.

The echo of Lham Dearg’s voice hasn’t even begun to fade away before you make your move. You push off the ball of your back foot, closing the distance as fast as you can. Left jab. Right hook. Back roundhouse kick. Make her concentrate on blocking and don’t give her any time to attack.

Fitz takes these in stride. Her eyes narrow as you make your attacks. She dodges what she can, and blocks what she can’t. More often than not, your blows miss as she tries circling around. But for the blows that do connect, she’s forced to take a step back, exhaling and rolling with the point of impact.

She catches one of your strikes, deflecting it off the back of her wrist with a simple application of force and torque. The counter attack that follows is a straight shot at the space between your eyes.

You force her back at the last second, shoving her back with a fierce thrust of your leg. Physics kicks in, and the pushback sends you on a hasty retreat back to the middle of the pad. But you manage a quick recovery, regaining your balance and pressing the assault once more.

The two of you meet once more, matching each other’s attacks in an almost artistically violent dance. Hands, legs, elbows, knees. There isn’t a single part of your body that you aren’t using to try and win…within reason, of course. Even with High Pixie as the official medic, you aren’t about to injure each other with debilitating attacks.

(cont.)

Fitz has got years of experience, and the speed and flexibility that come natural to woman combatants. But you’ve got at least half of a head on her height, more than enough reach to keep her at a distance, and enough standing power to take a few hits without breaking your poise. It’s still far from an even match. The slightest mistake or slip in concentration would spell ruin for you.

>Roll 1d100 + 40 Combat (+20 Stat, +20 Aggressive)
>Best of three.

Rolled 100 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>2238752

Rolled 93 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>2238752

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>>2238756
>>2238758

IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN!

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>>2238756

Rolled 35 + 40 (1d100 + 40)

>>2238752
rollan

>>2238756
>>2238758
holy shit! Someone carried on the 100 against Fritz I started.

>>2238756
OH YEAH
TIME TO POUND FITZ HARD
ALL NIGHT LONG

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>>2238756

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Goddamnit

>>2238756
>Another 100 against Fitz
I swear to god if we crit her on our sex roll

>>2238769
Just accept that we're never gonna lose against our hot cop wife.

>>2238880
I feel a karmic Nat 1 in our future.

Is Fitz going to get back up and unleash the beast?

>>2238756
>>2238758
>>2238770
But it seems that your reign as the king of the hill is going to last another night.

You’re not sure how it happens, really. A burst of inspiration, power, whatever it could be called. It flares up in you like a font of energy, begging to be released. And just like the time before, it manifests in glorious victory.

You knock away her hands, wrenching her defenses and leaving her wide open for an attack. Her eyes widen as she realizes what you’re trying to do. But it’s too late for her to recover.

Jab to the head to disorient her. Elbow to the gut to knock the breath out of her. And as Fitz staggers back with a deep gasp for air, you close in for the finishing move. Left foot to her right, kick to knock it off-balance. Apply force to trip her along her center of gravity. And simple physics takes care of the rest.

But she isn’t about to give up just yet. That wild look flares in her eyes once more, just like last time. There’s a visible shift in her eyes, a paradigm shift as the methodology of her fighting changes on a dime.

As you try to pin her down, her legs wrap around your waist. They pull you in tight, almost too tight, and she lashes out with a hand towards your shoulder. She grabs on, and with a fierce snarl, pulls you even further down before coming up herself.

The noise your heads make when they collide echoes throughout the gym, and it hurts like a bitch, even with your helmets on. Instinct causes you to reel back from the blow. She tries to regain the advantage, twisting her legs in an attempt of reversal. Against your weight, she’s got no chance of victory. There’s only a small window for her to try and turn this situation before she loses.

But you don’t resist. To her surprise, you roll with it, and she puts too much power into the motion and overextends. An incoherent noise comes out of her throat as the two of you flip, limbs tangled together in an awkward, grappling mess. As Fitz comes up, and you feel your back hit the pad, you go for the finishing blow.

You return her headbutt with one of your own, mimicking her earlier attack. Once more, the sound of your faceplates sends a resounding CRACK throughout the room. She visibly shudders, trying as fast as she can to recover and orient herself.

Gripping the lapel of her chest guard, and the shirt underneath, you force her off you, up into the air, and back onto the ground with a resounding CRASH. Even through your helmet, you can feel the shockwave she makes as she bounces hard against the pad, and the wheeze of air that’s expelled out of her lungs.

(cont.)

>>2238898
Ok four concerns

1. We ripped some of her clothes in that maneuver. Which could cause issues

2. She's about to go full berserker regardless

3. That random energy surge, what is it?

4. Is kaz dead?

>>2239112
Kaz went to go eat dinner two hours ago, he's almost finished hunting that deer by now.

I don't know why he didn;t finish this fucking post tho

>>2239112
>4
Kaz@TaskForceKaz
2h hours ago
Gonna take a moment to eat dinner. Will be back in an hour or two.

>>2239112
>1. We ripped some of her clothes in that maneuver. Which could cause issues
It'll be fine~

>2. She's about to go full berserker regardless
Maybe. I don't mind an even fight, but she might be down for the count.

>3. That random energy surge, what is it?
Adrenaline. Desperation. Might've gotten turned on a little.


>4. Is kaz dead?
Kaz is in a perpetual state of dead. The posts we see are the rare occurrences of life. In all seriousness he is getting dinner right now so it'll be another couple hours.

Rolled 78 (1d100)

>>2239112
I had to look up the proper term for the maneuver Adrian put her in. I can describe it well enough, but if push comes to shove, I wanna be able to provide a proper term so anyone could look it up if I didn't deliver properly.

As for her clothes...good question. Rolling for integrity...

>>2239122
I'm finishing up now. I couldn't complete the post since my family is really anal about having everyone at the table, and I was only halfway done.

>>2239137
>I'm finishing up now. I couldn't complete the post since my family is really anal about having everyone at the table, and I was only halfway done.

I can't blame ya then, my grandmother is the same way

>>2239137
>As for her clothes...good question. Rolling for integrity...


Shouldn't they take a malus because we grabbed them specifically and they are not rated for a full grown woman's body weight? I mean even if she's not that heavy (muscle weighing more than fat) it's still torsion and a lot of mass behind it. If we're being realistic.

Also yay not dead!

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>>2238898
In an instant, you’re back up, scrambling onto your feet and rolling over to pin her down. Only this time, for good. You pull her arm back, holding it tight against your chest as you leverage your left leg on her neck, and your other knee on her chest. With your weight, and the fact that she’s winded, nothing short of a miracle would get her out of the straight arm bar you’ve got her trapped in.

And to think your mother once said that nothing productive ever came out of watching the WWE SmackDown. Granted, the jūji-gatame is a judo technique, but still. Credit is due where it’s due.

“Tap out…” You exhale. She struggles against you, teeth clenched in a fierce snarl as she writhes against your body. You apply pressure to her arm, not enough to hyperrotate the elbow joint, but just enough for her to wince at the discomfort. “Tap out, Fitz, come on…”

There’s a tense moment of silence, punctuated only by the harsh pants that come out between the two of you. But before Lham or Pixie can make the call, the woman underneath you makes an incoherent noise of resignation before tapping the pad with her free hand.

“…fuckin’ hell, Sawbones…” Fitz manages between deep breaths. “…where the fuck do you keep pulling this bullshit out of?”

You chortle as you relax the grip on her arm, slowly letting her out of the grappling hold. “Honestly? I blame my old man, and too many Friday nights of Wrestlemania and the UFC.”

Her attempt at a snort of laughter comes out as a strangled wheeze. “The fuckin’ WWE, huh? Damn…that shouldn’t hurt my pride that much…”

“In all fairness, you did kick my ass several times before I managed to get that first win on you. So you’ve got just as much yourself to blame for tonight’s success as much as Hulk Hogan.”

“…I dunno if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”

“Me neither,” you admit. “But hey…a win’s a win, right? First round goes to me.”

Her reply is harsh, but her tone and crooked smirk are anything but challenging. “…you’re a real goddamn piece of work, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

Ever so slowly, the two of you untangle yourselves out of the mess of limbs and sparring gear. The last thing both of you want is to pull something by rushing the process. It takes a solid minute, but eventually, the two of you manage to separate from both each other and your equipment, and stand back up on your feet…

“Wow…ya really don’t hold back, do ya, Sawbones?”

Fitz offers a wry grin as she gestures to the front of her clothes. At the lapels where you gripped her, the front of her gi is almost completely torn away. The pieces of cloth droop limply at her waist, revealing the grey sports bra across her chest, and the toned midriff placed gracefully between the sway of her hips.

(cont.)

Heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks, and you turn away quickly. “…uh…sorry about that,” you offer lamely. “…I, ah…didn’t mean to…”

The fuck are you stuttering for? Didn’t the entire squad spend a night at one of Titania’s hot springs? But that was different. That was actually five people, not just two. And as opposed to a two piece, Vicky and Fitz had one pieces and t-shirts, and…and…

Is it the fact that there are only two people here, barring the demons in the room? Or is it the person whose clothes you’ve accidentally ripped open-

She laughs at the look on your face. “…look, shit happens. Ya think I’m gonna go apeshit, or somethin’? It ain’t your fault that I’m good enough that ya gotta pull some mystic martial arts bullshit outta your ass.”
To be honest, the thought of a sexual harassment lawsuit is the last thing from your mind.

“Still…” Fitz pauses, considering. “The chivalry is appreciated…so don’t worry about it. And if we’re bein’ fair, I’ve also seen you without a shirt on, too. So we’re even.”

Somehow, you manage to regain enough of your composure to turn back to face her and not have your cheeks flush a deep shade of scarlet. It still takes you a few attempts of clearing your throat before you can speak.

>“Are you ready to continue the match?” (Friendly)
>“Don’t think a bit of skin is gonna distract me.” (Taunt)
>“Maybe I should take my gi off as well.” (Flirt)
>Custom option.

>>2239324
>>“Maybe I should take my gi off as well.” (Flirt)

YES

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>>2239324
>“Don’t think a bit of skin is gonna distract me.” (Taunt)

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>>2239324
>“Maybe I should take my gi off as well.” (Flirt)

>>2239324
>>“Are you ready to continue the match?” (Friendly)

>>2239324
>>“Maybe I should take my gi off as well.” (Flirt)

>>2239324
>>“Don’t think a bit of skin is gonna distract me.” (Taunt)

>>2239324
>>“Don’t think a bit of skin is gonna distract me.” (Taunt)

>>2239324
>>“Don’t think a bit of skin is gonna distract me.” (Taunt)

>>2239324
>“Don’t think a bit of skin is gonna distract me.” (Taunt)

let's try for a hat trick.

>>2239330
>>2239349
>>2239354
>>2239355
>>2239388
She seems to be surprised at the grin you flash her, and the motion you make towards the rest of your fallen gear. “Don’t think that a little bit of skin is gonna distract me. There’s still four rounds left to go.”

>Fitz disapproves -15

But she recovers quickly enough, matching your grin with a crooked one of her own. “Yeah…don’t think I haven’t forgot, Sawbones. But you’re gonna have to give me a second to change. Last thing I want is the pads to chafe. God knows this is gonna suck even with the new duds.”

Even before you finish nodding in understanding, she’s already on the move. As quick as a flash, she slides underneath the ropes and down onto the gym floor proper. It doesn’t take too long for her to disappear into the locker rooms and emerge back out with a replacement uniform.

“Still, I gotta be grateful,” she mutters. The noise of her flexing and cracking the joints of her fingers bounces along the walls. “Brady and Vicky aren’t nearly experienced enough and fightin’ MacKay…”

“I get the feeling,” You sympathize. “Who wants to fight a priest?”

“Which leaves you as the only one who I can beat up without getting too worried about my soul,” she finishes, before crooking a finger at you. “So toss me my sparrin’ gear! I ain’t lettin’ ya leave until I figure out how to counter your mystic voodoo bullshit.”

“Then best of luck to you,” you tease, “Because you’re gonna need it.”

The two of you spend the rest of the night in the ring, trying your best to pound the living crap out of each other. Even as you managed to score another win, it took two losses to her before you could pull it off again. But before you could begin that fifth match to crown the next king of the hill, Lham and Pixie interrupted the match. Both cited exhaustion and extreme fatigue, forcing you to put the match off for a different day.

That being said…how else did you spend your down time with Fitz? Other than sharing in the team exercises and combat drills, there were plenty of moments to have to yourselves.

>Pick two:
>Give a tutorial on advanced first aid. (Knowledge) [Medium DC]
>Have her train your marksmanship. (Combat) [High DC]
>Take a few days off and head into D.C. (Social) [??? DC]

>>2239464
>Take a few days off and head into D.C. (Social) [??? DC]

>-15
damniiiiiiit

>>2239464
>Have her train your marksmanship. (Combat) [High DC]
>Take a few days off and head into D.C. (Social) [??? DC]

>>2239464
>Have her train your marksmanship. (Combat) [High DC]
>Take a few days off and head into D.C. (Social) [??? DC]

>>2239464
>>2239471
Forgot second pick
>Give a tutorial on advanced first aid. (Knowledge) [Medium DC]

>>2239464
>>Give a tutorial on advanced first aid. (Knowledge) [Medium DC]
>>Have her train your marksmanship. (Combat) [High DC]

>>2239464
>>Give a tutorial on advanced first aid. (Knowledge) [Medium DC]
>>Take a few days off and head into D.C. (Social) [??? DC]

>>2239464
>-15
FUGGING FITZ NEVER EVER
>Take a few days off and head into D.C. (Social) [??? DC]
>Give a tutorial on advanced first aid. (Knowledge) [Medium DC]

>>2239474
Tbh wouldn't the insinuation that she was resorting to her looks to get a win be pretty insulting?

>Have her train your marksmanship. (Combat) [High DC]

>>2239464
>>Give a tutorial on advanced first aid. (Knowledge) [Medium DC]
>>Have her train your marksmanship. (Combat) [High DC]
Knowledge trade.

>Oh boy Kaz is running I wonder wh- -15 fitz
Anon you want to dick her, not be a dick to her.

>>2239696
Hey man, I voted for flirt but all these tards outvoted me

>>2238527
/TASKFORCETEEEGEEEE/

Even odds it'll be dead before I catch up, but what the hell. It exists!

>Kaz @TaskForceKaz · 2h2 hours ago

>Aaaaaah. Dammit. I...fuck. I can’t do it now. I just feel too much like a piece of shit to write. Just...gimme a second and lemme see if I can’t get my head back on my shoulders.

Welp Quest dead.

>>2240873
The dip in Fitz points has broken him.

>>2240897
I think Kaz breaks Kaz on a semi regular basis.

farewell again.
sorry to see it come and go like this, kaz.

Each member of the team has their own specialization. MacKay and Fitz are the point(wo)men, the hard-hitters with high-caliber munitions and demons specializing in hard-hitting physical attacks. Team support goes to Victoria and Brady, dealing in tech and covering fire, respectively. Their demons primarily revolve around both elemental attacks and (de)buffs.

You on the other hand? Other than the team leader and primary medic, it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that you’re a jack-of-all-trades in terms of combat. Master of none, dabbler in a little bit of everything. And your own demons reflect this, covering the entire arsenal of spell repertoire.

In light of this, perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad to try and nail down some extra training. Problem is, the guy who taught you how to fire a gun is nowhere to be seen. No one’s been able to give you a concrete answer on the location of Commander Alger. The most elaborate answer you were able to wring out of the higher ups was a non-committal answer of “on mission”.

On the plus side, the absence of the ex-marine is a pretty good excuse to approach a certain someone for pointers on how to shoot.

Fitz takes your polite request with no small amount of smug. If you were anybody else, you might’ve taken offense at the way she took your deference to her skills.

“Glad to see that ya know who to call for tips, Sawbones,” she crows, grinning from ear-to-ear as she loads bullets into a magazine. The two of you have a private section of the shooting gallery while the rest of the team practices in the general area. “Shows that bein’ the team leader hasn’t gone to your head.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Please. I’m not nearly that arrogant to claim that I can outshoot a former (and absent) marine or a cop.”

“Still, I heard Miss K sayin’ that you managed to score high on a little competition between the two of you.”

“More luck than anything else,” you admit. “And I’m not about to just rely on luck outside of a controlled environment.”

She grunts in approval. “Alright. Then I’ll try and teach ya what I know. But don’t expect to be Billy the Kid overnight.”

“Of course.”

“Good…but I’m gonna need ya to do somethin’ for me also.”

A favor? Eh, it’s only fair, you suppose. “Alright, shoot.”

Suddenly, Fitz meets your eyes with a serious gaze. The way the brevity suddenly shifts into something more intense nearly catches you off-guard.

(cont.)

“I want ya to teach me first aid. Not that basic shit that we learned in boot camp, but…” she pauses, and you can see the gears turning in her head as she tries to find the right words. “…I wanna learn as much as I can without becomin’ a shrink or one of them first responders. Think you can do that, Adrian?”

She didn’t use your nickname. The fact that she’s being that serious sends a huge flag up in your mind.

>Accept her offer, no questions asked. (Straightforward)
>Ask why since you’re the team medic. (Social, High DC)
>Custom option.

>>2241505
>>Accept her offer, no questions asked. (Straightforward)
If we get taken down, at least we can have someone to get us back up.

>>2241505
>>Accept her offer, no questions asked. (Straightforward)

>>2241505
>Accept her offer, no questions asked. (Straightforward)

>>2241505
>>Accept her offer, no questions asked. (Straightforward)
>Don't expect to be House Overnight either.

>>2241505
>Accept her offer, no questions asked. (Straightforward)

>>2241505
>Accept her offer, no questions asked. (Straightforward)

>>2241505
>Accept her offer, no questions asked. (Straightforward)

>>2241508
>>2241510
>>2241517
>>2241519
>>2241528
>>2241546
>>2241571
Your gut is telling you that there’s more to this than just having a backup medic on the team. And you’d be lying if you said that you had no interest in asking why she’s interested in this.

Still, like with her telling you her name…time. You believe that it’s probably for the best to just let it be until she’s ready to talk. You’re not in a rush. You shouldn’t be in one. It’s just Fitz, right? Your foul-mouthed, unladylike, headstrong ex-cop of a teammate.

That’s all there is to her. At least, what she’s willing to reveal about herself, other than her name.

...it suddenly occurs to you that between all of you, she’s the one that’s been the most private about her life prior to joining the Task Force. “Skeletons in the closet”, the commander had said. Everyone seems to have them.

But as much as you’d like to think about why she’s so tight-lipped…

“Of course,” you assure her fervently, “I’d be more than happy to teach you, Fitz-”

“Sarah,” she cuts you off with a wave of her hand. Her mouth twists nervously before she manages an uncertain grin. “You’ve…more than earned the right to call me that. So when it’s only the two of us…I ain’t gonna mind if ya ditch the nickname.”

A slow smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “Okay, then. I think I can do that. But…just to give you a warning in advance…” The worried look on her face is almost too much. “…don’t expect to be House overnight either, alright?”

It takes her a solid moment for her to comprehend that you were making a joke. And then…

“Ow!”

“Yer such an ass,” she deadpans, pulling back her fist.

The arm she punched you doesn’t hurt that much, but you make a show of pretending to nurse it with more drama than necessary. “If I’m an ass, then what does that say about you and me?”

“Huh! The fact that my best friend is an ass?” She ponders the question before the grin on her face returns in full force. “Then I’m an idiot. So our enemies better run the fuck away…‘cause there ain’t nothin’ more dangerous than an idiot and an ass workin’ together to raise our own little hell.”

“Amen to that…Sarah.”

Her smile is a little more genuine.

>Fitz approves +30!

>>What type of firearm do you want to focus on?
>Pistol.
>Assault rifle.
>Shotgun.
>Sniper rife.

>>2241613
>>Assault rifle.
Brady is already our sniper and Fitz normally has the shotgun on lock. This will give us a mid spot on the team, able to support the front lines and giving us a mostly good sight of the battle.

>>2241613
>>Assault rifle.
and if possible
>Pistol

The good at most all ranges guns that compliment our JoaT play style.

>>2241613
>Assault rifle.

>>2241613
>>Assault rifle.

>>2241613
>Pistol
Our job isnt stopping power or even flat damage. So lets go for quickshot whenever and wherever, and a damn accurate one.

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I think I'm gonna hit the sack now. Got a double shift tomorrow, and I know that the lunch rush is gonna be hell. I'll see if I can get off somewhat early tomorrow so I can churn out an update before I completely crash. If you have any questions, go ahead and ask. Hopefully I can hide my phone behind the cash register.

Night, all!

>>2241624
>>2241644
>>2241659
>>2241636
You’re proficient enough with your guns to at least be able hit a vital point four times out of five. That being said, it isn’t inaccurate to say that you aren’t exactly a master at any of them. Everyone on the team has their preferences. Brady has his sniper rifle, and Fitz has her shotgun. You neither have advanced proficiency nor a preference. But perhaps it’s now time to change that.

Fitz makes for a surprisingly effective teacher. Even as she admits to having a preference for the shotgun, she’s still more than willing to go over the finer points of wielding an assault rifle. Time passes and files, and there are many hours that find the two of you either in the obstacle course, or in the shooting range. Drilling, and drilling, and drilling until she’s completely satisfied with your results.

“Half of the shit I did in SWAT can’t ever see the light of day,” she says during one of your drills, an exercise in three-round burst, “But what I can tell ya just might save your ass in the field. Never forget the basics, either. ‘cause that just might spell the difference between life and death.”

Breathing exercises. Calculating windage. Snap reflexes. What you’ve always taken as instinctive, or otherwise basic, is suddenly exposed in an entirely new light. In your gut, you know how to execute these things in the act of drawing, aiming and firing. But spitting out the process of how to do it, or going through each step and elaborating on it? That’s a whole different beast.

But you’re patient. You’re thorough. You don’t curse and rant whenever you cock up a drill. And your teacher, foul-mouthed as she is, offers the carrot for more times than you might expect the stick.

Honestly? If you’re being honest, it’s actually…pretty nice to lapse back into the perception that the most dangerous weapon in your arsenal is the gun in your hands…and not the demons in your COMP.

Disregarding what Miss K said about updating the statement...God did make men, and Samuel Colt indeed made them equal.

You’ve got this.

>>How well did the lessons stick?
>Roll 1d100 + 20 Combat.
>Best of three.

Rolled 48 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>2243900

Rolled 86 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>2243900

Rolled 56 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>2243900

>>2243922
My Nigga

>>2243900
>>2243922
Samuel, we hath done thee well

>>2243919
>>2243922
>>2243926
Fitz whistles, low and impressed. “You ain’t givin’ yourself enough credit. That’s some pretty good shootin’, Adrian. Maybe you’ve got a talent for this thing after all…”

>Trait gained: Assault Rifle Affinity
>When wielding assault rifles, you gain a +10 bonus to Combat Rolls.

But even as you’ve been training your own marksmanship skills, you’ve also been playing your own role as a teacher. These lessons more often than not happen after your drills, when the two of you crash in the barracks after a long day’s hard work. At least one hour, two if you can help it, for medicinal education.

Every now and again, as you teach Fitz the basics of advanced first aid, one of the others will come by. They’ll stay for a while, observing the medical diagrams, and the scenarios you present to her. Sometimes they ask questions, sometimes they remain silent. But save for MacKay, who departs with a friendly wave and an amicable “good night”, Brady and Vicky share what you can only describe as “conspiratorial glances” at each other, then at the two of you.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin the studious atmosphere,” He commented one night. “

Vicky nodded solemnly. “Yeah. We’re only distractions. Perhaps it’s best to just leave the two of them alone…”

Glaring at them does nothing. If anything, it only encourages them, sending both into fits of barely-suppressed amusement. Seriously…how old are those knuckleheads?

Peanut gallery aside…it doesn’t look like Fitz is as nearly as fast of a learner as you are.

But that isn’t really her fault. Teaching someone medicine is a whole different monster than showing someone how to fire a gun. One of those subjects is easier to have practical application than the other. And one involves just brute-forcing your mind to memorize a whole bevy of medicinal concepts.

Even if you discount the more mundane and/or otherwise “peaceful” injuries you’d be treating, the list of potential injuries incurred by combat are too many to count. And that’s not even taking into account the bullshit that is magical status ailments. The fact of the matter is that application of medicine in open combat places can change nuances on a fucking dime. And if you aren't fast enough...well, there are some who argue that gangrene is worse than death.

(cont.)

And you can’t just magic it away. Preparing for the worst involves the possibility that you might just find yourselves without any magic items, or your demons out of commission. Relying too much on demons to just take care of the problem is lazy and careless. Fuck, carelessness is what causes at least almost all medical accidents.

At the best, you can show Fitz…or Sarah, as she’s been responding to during your lessons, knowledge, and scenarios for her to try and address. At the more basic ones, she seems to display an instinctive knowledge of how to stop bleeding, or otherwise address trauma to the body. But anything further…

"...the fuck is this?”

Hemorrhage control is fairly straightforward. Wounds that are bleeding can be addressed by applying direct pressure, indirect pressure, or the use of a tourniquet. Elevate the offending extremity above the heart will control the bleeding. Target the pressure points to decrease the flow of blood. Only use a tourniquet as a last resort and never cover it. Significantly large foreign bodies and objects should not be removed to prevent further loss of blood.

Airway management and circulatory control. A tracheostomy should only be applied in the case of an obstruction in the throat and all other clearing methods have failed. Make a half-inch incision one-and-a-half inches deep between the Adam’s apple and Cricoid cartilage. Sufficient blood loss and rapid breathing are symptoms of shock. Elevate the casualty’s body higher than their heart, and prevent chilling or overheating.

Chest trauma. Lungs collapse due to gas or air in the pleural space, result of penetrating trauma as the result of a physical impact or gunshot wound. Cover the wound with an occlusive dressing, seal from four sides to allow the space to retain air. Lung expands and increases in pressure due to penetrating chest trauma, air enters but cannot escape the pleural space. Perform needle thoracentesis, insert a needle and catheter through an incision made through the chest wall and into the lungs, allowing for the release of pressure.

Burn trauma. Four categories of thermal burn with increasing severity and temperature: napalm, thermite, magnesium, white phosphorous. Electrical burns go deeper than skin, penetrates and burns along the path it travels through the body. Water gel isolates and protects burn from infection. Use sterile dressings for all burns, flush chemical burn sites with large quantities of water-

“…dammit, dammit, dammit…god-fucking-dammit…”

(cont.)

One day, you return from the kitchen with drinks for the two of you when you find your student with her face directly planted into one of your medical textbooks.

“…you said I wasn’t gonna be House overnight…” Sarah mutters at your approach. Apparently, she's in a really bad mood. Hell, she doesn’t even bother looking up from her prone position. “…well, it’s been a few days…I thought at least somethin’ would stick...”

Concerned, you take a seat right next to her. “What’s wrong?” you ask gently.

“What’s wrong?” she repeats, finally lifting her head up to glare at you with a frustration in her eyes. “What’s wrong is that no matter how hard I stare at this…I’m used to making snap decisions, but this is…different…and I don't have the smarts to figure it out.”

>You can detect that Fitz is frustrated, and angry with herself.
>Choose your next words with exceptional care.

>“Learning all of this wasn’t easy for me either.” [Reference your shortcomings.]
>“Maybe we just need a real demonstration.” [Stab yourself in the hand]
>“You’re just being too hard on yourself.” [Gently lift her spirits up]
>Custom option.

>>2244245
actually you seal occlusive dressings on three sides

>>2244256
>“Learning all of this wasn’t easy for me either.” [Reference your shortcomings.]

>>2244263
Hmmmm. That's weird. The marines field medical guide I'm referencing says you've gotta do four sides. What makes you say three?

>>2244256
>>“Learning all of this wasn’t easy for me either.” [Reference your shortcomings.]

I having that feeling we're gonna fuck this up

>>2244256
>“Learning all of this wasn’t easy for me either.” [Reference your shortcomings.]
and if we can heal it before the mission starts?
>“Maybe we just need a real demonstration.” [Stab yourself in the hand]

>>2244269
Vaseline gauze doesn't stick on to a bleeding patient on it's own. You have to have the packaging open with the gauze still stuck to it and place it gauze side down on the wound. Then you tape it on three sides to let air leave the pleural space when there's positive pressure inside the chest and when they inhale the negative pressure pulls the bandaged wound tighter against the wound, keeping any more air from entering. Sometimes you have to "burp" the dressing to let more air out to give more space to the lung to expand when it's taped on 4 sides so leaving one side open helps prevent that.
t. inner city paramedic

>>2244256
>>“Maybe we just need a real demonstration.” [Stab yourself in the hand]
she learned how to act under pressure in firearm drills, she can learn how to act under pressure in similarly controlled environments.

Besides, with how fast magic medicine works, I think we need to depart a bit more from common sense.

>>2244256

>"Maybe we just need a real demonstration" [Stab yourself in the hand]

>>2244256
>>“Maybe we just need a real demonstration.” [Stab yourself in the hand]

>>2244256
>“Learning all of this wasn’t easy for me either.” [Reference your shortcomings.]
>>“Maybe we just need a real demonstration.” [Stab yourself in the hand]
she seems to work well under pressure, and we've got demons around to fix us up if she has trouble.

>>2241677
What do you do

>>2244256
>“Learning all of this wasn’t easy for me either.” [Reference your shortcomings.]

I'm pretty sure fitz will not approve of self mutilation

>>2244256
>“Maybe we just need a real demonstration.” [Stab yourself in the hand]

>>2244256
>“Learning all of this wasn’t easy for me either.” [Reference your shortcomings.]
>>“Maybe we just need a real demonstration.” [Stab yourself in the hand]

Sometimes the only way to learn is to do.

>>2244256
>“Maybe we just need a real demonstration.” [Stab yourself in the hand]
Ready to fuck this up

>>2244256
>>“Learning all of this wasn’t easy for me either.” [Reference your shortcomings.]
Remember how she felt when she shot us in the shoulder. I doubt she'll like us stabbing ourselves for her to do medicine.

>>2244256
>“Learning all of this wasn’t easy for me either.” [Reference your shortcomings.]

Hoping Kaz comes back soon

seems work killed the Kaz.

>>2250434
Nah, I'm here. Just got bogged down with taking care of my sick imouto

Writing...

>>2250464
What a good onii-chan you are, Kaz. Good man.

>>2250470
...it was actually pretty bad. Migraine, nausea, puking all over the place. God help me, I can still smell it. She's on the mend now, but I hope she doesn't have the flu.

>>2250494
I had something similar and it was a stomach bug. Make sure she can get to the toilet if need be.

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>>2244275
>>2244322
>>2244345
>>2244493
>>2244563
>>2244742
>>2244818
>>2246844
You mull it over, going over the nuances and finer points before coming to a decision. “…maybe we just need…a real demonstration. Something just a little more practical and in line with a live-fire exercise than just sitting around.”

That finally gets her out of the book. Sarah looks up, squinting at you in an almost irritated confusion. “Adrian, what the hell are you talking about-” Her words fade away as, with a single motion, you unsheathe your combat knife. The bored disinterest is quickly replaced by wide-eyed surprise, giving way to incredulity, then panic as she realizes what you’re about to do. “Wait, don’t-!”

The rational part of your mind is in absolute pandemonium. It goes into explicit detail of what an idiotic move this is, all the while screaming at how this is gonna suck. Nerve damage, bone damage, possible muscle impairment…and the risk of infection via a knife that’s been stabbed into God knows what. This is clearly a bad idea.

Demon magic or not, this little stunt of yours is gonna hurt like a bitch.

And for what? What in the ever-loving fuck are you hoping to accomplish with this stunt? All of this risk to your own person…just for the sake of galvanizing a trigger-happy ex-cop into learning first aid?

Still, it isn’t enough to completely drown out the feeling in your gut and the side of your mind that knows that similar to you, she learns best with hands-on demonstrations and the stress of simulated danger.

All these questions and more pass through both sides of your brain within the instant that it takes for you to take your knife and drive it through the palm of your left hand.

The first thing that registers is “she’d better be damn grateful”. The next is the explosion of pain, every single neuron in your hand screaming from the sudden penetration through skin, muscle bone. The third is a belated thought to not make much of a mess in the common room, or to get blood all over your textbooks.

The last thought? Compared to the incident…it doesn’t even hurt nearly as much.

There is a violent noise as Sarah pushes off from the table. Books and chairs go flying as she practically launches herself at you, equal mixes of panicked and furious at what you just did. A study stream of profanities and expletives fly out of her mouth as she grabs you by the shoulders, and meeting your gaze with a wild-eyed expression.

“ADRIAN, WHAT THE FUCK-”

“Five minutes,” you calmly intone, grimacing past the lance of pain that races up your arm. Even without your hand on the blade, every violent motion the two of you make sends another wave of agony coursing through your body. "You have five minutes to analyze and dress my wound before I lose too much blood and pass out onto the floor."

(cont.)

A blatant lie. Painful as it is, a wound of this size, especially with the foreign body still lodged inside, would take longer than that before the loss of blood would cause you to pass out. The average male has approximately about 4.7 to 5.5 liters of blood within his body. Even with your elevated heart rate…you still wouldn’t be down for the count for a long time.

She laughs, and it’s a strangled, hysterical thing. “You’re fucking insane.”

…you can’t exactly deny that after this particular course of action.

Still, she manages to get some semblance of control over herself. It takes two deep breaths before the harder aspect of her personality comes out, shifting into the steel-eyed, no-nonsense attitude that reprimanded Goodwin.

“Okay, wise guy,” she snarls, shaking you for emphasis, “So what the fuck is stoppin’ me from just calling someone to fix your hand? Better yet, I can just summon a demon to magic the wound away before I beat the shit out of you for scarin’ me.”

“Because I know what kind of person you are,” you counter as smooth as you can through gritted teeth. “And I know for a fact that you don’t take shortcuts or the easy way out.”

“The easy way out? You’ve gotta be…are you blind?! You just stabbed yourself through the fucking hand."

>“Because I know and believe that you can do it on your own.” (Pathos)
>“Practicing with a real wound is the only way for you to learn.” (Logos)
>“You can’t ignore a problem in front of you that you can fix yourself.” (Ethos)
>Custom option.

>>2250700
>"Because if you can't do it now, you'll always doubt when it happens in the field." (Ethos)

>>2250700
I second >>2250707 but soften the statement with

>"Because I know and believe that you can do it on your own" (Pathos)

>>2250700
Because I know you’re a hell of a lot smarter than you let yourself be, and I know you know this. If you can’t do it now, you’ll always doubt yourself. (Pathos).

>>2250700
>>“You can’t ignore a problem in front of you that you can fix yourself.” (Ethos)

>>2250700
>“You can’t ignore a problem in front of you that you can fix yourself.” (Ethos)
"I still remember you charging Kelpie to save those swimmers. It's not a sight I'll soon forget."

Logos = logical appeal
Ethos = Appealing to her Ethics
Pathos = Appealinf to her Emotions for anyone unaware.
Pathos is regarded as the most moving usually.

>>2250707
Supporting

>>2250700
>“You can’t ignore a problem in front of you that you can fix yourself.” (Ethos)

>>2250700


>“Because I know and believe that you can do it on your own.” (Pathos)
Appeal to emotion. Fitz might regard it a cheap and knock-off.
>“Practicing with a real wound is the only way for you to learn.” (Logos)
Appeal to rationality. In this case, a pretty damn chilling one. Not a fan of this one either. It invalidates all the scholastic studying we've done with her so far.
>“You can’t ignore a problem in front of you that you can fix yourself.” (Ethos)
Appeal to her higher self. Now this I like.
(Ethos) gets my vote.

>>2250765
Supporting

>>2250765
Supporting this; the ethos option while bringing up the Kelpie as an example, then tempered with the pathos option by saying we believe in her.

Test

Test2

Test3

Test4

test

test 2

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣯⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⡀⠤⢀⠒⠈⠉⢀⢀⣀⠠⢀⢀⠒⠛⣝⡢⣄⣈⡁⠚⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢀⢀⢀⣀⠠⠄⠂⠉⠁⢀⢀⣀⡠⠄⢀⣈⠡⠄⢀⢀⢀⠉⠁⠕⠹⡻⣷⣌⡐⠠⣀⠈⠉⠉⠛⠙⠛⠛⠉⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣌⢦⡀⢀⢀⠙⣿⡏⠛⠻⠿⠟⠓⢀⠐⠉⠁⢀⢀⣀⠤⠐⢀⡉⠄⠒⠈⠁⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠪⠐⠅⠉⠁⢀⠈⠉⠄⣐⣀⣀⣀⡒⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠻⣥⠤⠤⠜⠻⣷⣖⠠⠤⠤⠤⠄⠐⣂⡨⠅⠐⠂⢀⠁⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠈⢅⠍⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢹
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡙⣆⢀⢀⢀⠈⢻⣄⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢸
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣜⢧⡀⢀⢀⢀⠙⢷⣄⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠸
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡹⣄⢀⢀⢀⢀⠙⢷⣄⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⣠⢞
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣜⢷⣄⢀⢀⢀⢀⠙⠳⢄⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⣀⠔⠋⣴⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡙⢧⡄⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠑⠄⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⣀⠤⠤⠒⠒⠒⠚⠓⠒⠒⠲⣶⣦⣄⡠⠔⠋⠁⢀⢀⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡝⠶⣤⠤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⠴⠒⠋⠉⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⣿⡇⠸⡄⢀⢀⣠⠔⣱⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢲⣇⣀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢨⢍⠉⠁⢀⠈⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⣀⣤⣶⣦⣤⡤⢄⢀⣠⣴⠟⢀⢀⣷⠞⣻⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⠻⣿⣷⣤⡀⢀⢀⢀⠁⠁⢀⢀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠋⠁⢸⣿⡇⢀⢀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢀⢀⢀⣾⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢀⢀⣰⡯⢿⡇⢀⢀⣼⡃⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⡇⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠃⢀⢀⢀⡿⠘⠉⠛⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠟⢀⢀⣰⡟⢀⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⡇⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠁⢀⢀⢀⣀⣀⣀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢠⡟⢀⣾⡟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡝⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡹⣶⣿⠟⢀⢀⢀⢠⣦⡄⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠉⠹⣿⣿⣶⣴⣴⡟⢀⢀⢹⡇⠈⡏⠻⣿⣿⡏⢹⡘⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣬⢙⡇⢀⢀⢀⢸⣿⠿⡄⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠈⡻⣿⣿⡿⠏⢀⢀⢀⢻⡀⢀⢀⣻⡟⢀⠊⢷⣂⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⡸⣷⡄⢀⡀⠈⣀⢀⣁⢠⠠⣠⠔⢦⠚⠒⢀⣿⣿⣿⡟⢀⢀⢀⢀⣿⢀⣴⠟⢁⠄⢤⠘⣏⣿⣿⣋
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⣛⡋⢉⠥⢀⠒⠂⠉⢇⣿⣿⣇⠘⠇⠈⠋⢀⢹⢀⢈⣀⣠⣀⣴⠼⣿⣿⠟⠁⢀⢀⣠⣾⡷⠋⡁⠐⢡⢀⡠⡾⠛⠋⠉⠉
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡣⡖⠊⠉⠁⢠⠠⢧⡽⠠⡀⢀⢀⠘⡼⣿⣿⠟⠻⡗⠻⡟⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠛⡏⢀⣿⠏⢀⢀⣠⣾⠟⡉⢀⢈⡀⢀⢸⠊⢔⢁⢀⢀⢀⡀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣋⡔⠱⢀⢄⢀⢀⢀⠉⠁⠈⠂⠁⢀⢀⢀⢽⡙⣿⡆⠄⠣⠤⠃⠠⠂⢀⢀⠒⠐⠭⠅⢀⢀⢀⡴⣿⢃⠈⢀⢀⠈⢃⢀⢁⠮⡺⡖⡅⢀⠈⠁
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⡮⠴⢠⠗⢑⡞⣐⢀⢀⠠⠶⢀⢀⢀⢀⠘⠠⢲⡆⣿⣧⡀⢀⠄⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠉⠁⢀⢠⡞⢡⢃⠎⢀⢠⠂⢀⢀⣩⡎⢀⠁⠉⢀⢀⡀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⢀⡆⡆⢀⠁⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⡀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢹⢰⣿⡿⠃⠈⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⣠⡶⠋⢀⡏⠎⢀⢀⢀⢀⢄⢀⣷⠁⢀⢀⢀⢀⠈⠁
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠗⠁⢀⢀⠃⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⡈⡁⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢘⢸⣿⡿⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⠿⠋⢀⢀⠹⡄⡇⢀⢀⠑⡄⠘⢺⣂⢀⢀⢀⠰⢲⣧⠤⠄
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⠆⢀⢀⠤⠴⡄⠐⠄⡀⢀⢀⠢⠈⠷⠋⡂⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠈⢧⠹⣿⡌⢏⢀⠈⢳⣀⡚⠁⢀⣀⠔⠈⢀⢀⢀⠐⠙⢀⢀⢀⠡⠒⡺⡹⠳⢀⢀⢀⠸⠇⠁⠁
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠳⡅⣉⡉⠡⠈⢩⠓⠦⡀⢀⠁⠢⢄⡀⢀⢀⣀⠠⠄⠒⠉⢀⢀⡀⢀⣿⠟⣄⡀⣠⡏⡏⠛⣆⡀⠔⠊⢀⢀⢀⠠⢊⠃⢀⠠⡊⢚⡒⡇⠛⣄⢠⠵⡄⡀⡀⣀⣠
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠸⠃⠂⠁⢀⠁⢀⢀⠗⠉⠑⠤⢀⢀⠈⠉⢀⢀⡀⠤⠒⡏⠛⢖⣳⡞⢃⠎⠁⢀⠿⠅⢀⢀⣟⠠⠄⡀⠠⠐⢀⢀⠃⡌⢀⢸⠉⣙⣁⡈⠉⢀⡉⢀⢁⢀⢀⡐⠸
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢋⠌⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢨⡽⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠈⠑⢀⠒⠁⠸⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⢩⠸⢸⢸⢀⢀⢀⠲⠤⢼⠁⢀⢀⠰⢀⢀⢀⡎⡰⢀⢀⣀⢀⣀⡀⢀⡀⢀⠃⢀⠉⠢⠄⠒⠂
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠈⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠇⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⡈⠉⡉⠉⠉⠉⡉⢀⡆⢀⢀⢀⢀⢠⢀⢸⢀⢀⢀⢀⢆⢀⠰⢀⠃⢀⢀⡇⢀⡆⢀⢀⢀⢸
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⡄⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⣠⡾⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠏⢉⡏⠉⠩⠭⠃⢀⠃⢀⢀⢀⢀⢘⢀⢰⢀⢀⢀⢀⠈⡄⢀⠸⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠁⠒⠒⢀⠒
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣜⣀⣀⣀⡀⠄⣀⠶⠙⠁⠇⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠐⠒⠃⢀⢀⢰⢀⠱⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢸⢀⢸⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢧⡆⠇⢀⢀⢀⣀⢄
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⡐⢀⢀⠰⢒⣊⠕⢀⢀⠄⣰⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⡄⢀⢀⢀⢸⢀⡆⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢸⢀⡆⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢘⣷⢀⢀⢀⣀⠔⠲⢴⣈⠡
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠂⠁⠈⡨⠘⠁⠈⢀⢀⢀⢀⠠⠥⣤⡀⢀⢀⣄⢴⣀⢀⠉⠁⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⢀⠉⠉⠉⢁⣐⣢⠬⣄⡇⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠘⠁⢀⢀⠥⠼⢀⢀⢀⡅⢄
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠃⡀⠐⠉⢀⢀⢀⣀⣀⡀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠈⠉⠒⢬⡑⢥⠄⢀⣖⣒⡚⠛⠛⠛⢛⣛⡓⠒⢀⠉⠉⣉⢀⢈⡀⢸⡇⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⡇⢀⢀⢀⢀⠰⠩⠜⠈⠃⠚
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢣⢖⢀⢀⠠⠒⠉⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠐⢄⡀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠏⠛⠤⠊⠳⠞⢃⢀⢀⢀⡥⠃⠈⠲⢇⣁⠅⠈⠘⠯⡟⢹⢃⢀⢀⢀⢀⢠⢀⠆
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡱⡏⢠⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠐⠠⡸⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠉⠉⠁⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⡎⢸⢀⢀⢀⢀⢸
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢯⠁⠁⡄⢀⠒⠈⠋⢀⢀⠈⠐⠂⠄⢀⢀⠤⠤⠤⠄⢀⢀⢸⠗⡀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⠠⠚⢀⢀⡆⢀⡂⠒⠬⠤⠠⠤⢀⢀⢀⠠⡄⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢀⢰

Fuck Gookmoot

“Well, that’s easy enough,” you answer, forcing your grimace into as confident a smile as you can muster, “Because I know for a fact that you can’t ignore a problem that you can fix yourself.”

Some might call it stubbornness, a fatal flaw in an otherwise extraordinary woman. You’re no stranger to her reckless antics, the drive that compels her to rush into a dangerous situation. The kelpie attack in Delaware…the lair of the kidnapped children…hell, even back in the abandoned hospital that served as your initiation into the Task Force.

Even if she’s no longer a police officer, that instinct to dive head-first into a problem still remains. Old habits die hard. And in some cases…they don’t at all. What Sarah has goes beyond her prior calling.

It seems that she wasn’t expecting that. But her confusion is quick to be replaced by a volatile irritation, only seconds away on the brink before transforming into violent action. She pulls you even closer, close enough that you can feel every tense breath washing along your neck, trace the faint little scars and gentle slope of her neck.

She shakes you one more time, and her eyes are nowhere near the sardonic humor they normally are. “You have ten seconds to explain before I knock you out and drag-”

“The beach, Sarah,” you cut her off before she can finish, “Remember when the Each-uisge attacked those sorority girls at Rehoboth? Out of all of us, you were the first one to rush in when all the other civilians were either screaming or running away. You didn’t know its strength, you didn’t know its capabilities, but you weren’t about to let that stop you if it meant saving the lives of those girls.”

This close to, there was no possible way for you to miss it. That recognition in her eyes as all the circuits connected, and your appeal pierced through her defenses. From the way her body tenses, she knows that you saw it, and is more than ready to make a counter-argument. But you know that she knows, and are more than ready to beat her to the punch.

You continue, “We’ve been working together for the last…god, how long has it been? It’s only been four months, but these have been some really intense four months. And in that time, we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well, don’t you think?”

“Pretty well?” She repeats back to you, before snorting derisively. “Ya think so? Clearly, not for me since I didn’t expect for you to, ya know, stab yourself in the fucking hand-”

“It was only to make a point.”

“And what in the goddamn hell is that fucking point?”

(cont.)

>Tell a woman you have five minutes before you pass out
>She argues with you for four.

>>2252083
Even though I write fiction, I have a duty to include realism in my stories to allow for suspension of disbelief.

>>2252085
you alive man?

>>2252091
On his Twitter, Kaz mentioned that he's having troubles with 4chan not letting him post

>>2252092
Same.

If he cuts out pics it helps a little.

>>2252091
On his Twitter, Kaz mentioned that he's having troubles with 4chan not letting him post

>>2252092
Update on his Twitter, he's gonna hit the hay tonight, he'll try to push an update out before his class tomorrow

Bork test

File: tarnation.jpg (93 KB, 750x687)

93 KB JPG

Image Bork test

File: Sugar Key.png (408 KB, 853x462)

408 KB PNG

Testing...

>>2252966
holy fuck is that real?

>>2253024
It happens in the first Avatar Tuner game.

“That I know you better than you give me credit for,” you answer quietly. The tone of your voice is as solemn as the grave, but you make an attempt to lighten the atmosphere with a warm smile. “Even though you keep yourself more private than the rest of us, a right that we’re more than willing to respect completely…the five of us have been through so much that I’ve picked up more than enough hints that you’re more than capable of doing this.”

Sarah seems to be taken aback by your words. To say that she is embarrassed would be the wrong word. Perhaps…unsettled, but not necessarily out of anxiety or fear. If anything, you can at least read enough into her that she’s equal parts dubious and reluctantly accepting of your words.

“…whatever faith you’ve got in me aside…” she eventually drawls out, a fierce scowl still on her face, “…you keep forgettin’ one thing.”

You frown. “What’s that?”

She hisses, “I ain’t a proper medic, you fuckhead. Two and a half weeks of hittin’ the books just…it ain’t gonna be enough. There’s gonna be…” She can’t finish her sentence. Her eyes close, and her breath goes hard before they flare open again with an accusatory glare. “…there’s gonna be too many mistakes-”

“And I’ll be there to correct you if you make any. And set you back on the right course.” At the look on her face, you offer a wry smile in return. “It’s only fair, right? Back in the firing range, I also had my fair share of fuckups with the carbine…I figure the least I can do is give some pointers during a practical demonstration.”

First, a disbelieving stare. Then, another peal of laughter equal parts derisive and hysterical. “…I don’t know what the fuck is worse: the fact that you’ve stabbed yourself and expect me to patch you up…or the fact that I’m startin’ to see the merits of your argument.”

A good sign, you suppose. But as much as you’d like to continue the conversation, it’s time to begin the lesson. Gesturing to her with your free hand, you say, “Get the first aid kit from my room. It’s under the bed, just left of the duffel bag where I keep my clothes…”

>Time passes…

(cont.)

“…brace yourself. This is gonna fuckin’ hurt.”

“…alright…just gimme a count…you made sure to disinfect, right?”

“…next time think twice before ya stick yourself.”

“I’ll make a note of it. But you didn’t answer the question.”

“Smartass…and I did, for your information.”

“Good. From way I stabbed my hand, I should’ve been able to avoid the ulnar and radial arteries and veins. If anything goes south, we’ve got High Pixie on standby.”

“You ain’t exactly helpin’ my nerves, Nightengale. And ‘should have’ and did are completely different things.”

“…I’ll judge it for myself. But either way, there shouldn’t be any severe internal bleeding.”

“…you’ve been givin’ a disturbin’ amount of thought to this, haven’t you?”

“When you have a mother who’s not only extremely devout but also a nurse practitioner, the subject of Jesus’ possible medical record are a frequent topic at the dinner table.”

“Sure…but on the count of three…I pull it out. Sounds good?”

“Perfect. But make sure you do it as smoothly as-”

“Three.”

“[This content has been deemed inappropriate for pretty much everyone.]”

“…pussy.”

>More time passes…

“…you fucking liar…” Sarah emphasizes the words with a particularly violent tug of the hemostat. You can’t help but wince as the suture clamped between its teeth tugs particularly hard at a flap of skin and its accompanying tissue. “That was more than five minutes.”

With one of your arms pinned down to the table as she attempts an amateurish stitching, the best you can do is give a half-shrug and innocent look. “It’s also the first time I stabbed myself in the hand.”

“Nah, really? I couldn’t tell…” she drawls in an acerbic tone. “Ya just seemed so damn nonchalant about drivin’ a knife through your fuckin’ hand.”

"Trust me when I say that I've had worse in the past."

In the end, Pixie ended up coming out, but it was through no fault of your erstwhile student. Sarah convinced (read: threatened to shoot you) you that having a bum hand during standby was no good. Bleeding and torn ligaments aside, the possibility of nerve damage was too much of a risk for you to attempt treatment here without magical intervention. Central could deploy you to the field at any given moment, and the leader of Squad Carina couldn’t afford to have a bad hand.

There’s no small amount of guilt that’s churning in your gut. High Pixie nearly had kittens when she saw blood all over the table, and that was before she saw the bloody knife in Sarah’s hands and the gaping hole through your hand. At least two minutes were devoted to convincing your demon that, no, Sarah had not gone rogue and had decided to eliminate the leader to sow discord in the team, and she needed to be taken out by nothing short of repeated Megido spells.

(cont.)

File: angry_pixie__request___by(...).jpg (56 KB, 1024x683)

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>>2253080
Pixie a best.

File: LimpingCaringGrosbeak-siz(...).gif (977 KB, 500x375)

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>>2253218
agreed.

File: 1446883588410.gif (1.21 MB, 512x384)

1.21 MB GIF

>>2253241

>>2253080
>High Pixie nearly had kittens
I'm not sure what this is SUPPOSED to mean, but given the last few pics and her size...

>>2253544
You know the saying have a cow? Like that but smaller

Kaz is dead

>>2253904
Kaz said on his Twitter that he'll post later, after 11 his time. He's having some troubles due to keeping up with school, work, and this thread

>>2253915
Kaz is dead.

>>2253080
“Shit, I didn’t mean…” You fumble for the right words, desperately trying to address the huge wound you opened up between yourselves. “I wasn’t talking about-”

“How I shot you way back when,” she finishes blithely. A humorless smile graces her lips as she makes the last stitch. But her composure doesn’t last. The grim visage cracks, and she starts cackling to herself. “Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with ya. Should’ve seen the look on your face. Priceless.”

This damn woman…

Sarah makes a noise in the back of her throat as she finishes her work. With the last stitch tied up and snipped free, she grabs a tube of disinfecting cream and a roll of bandages. All that’s left for her to do is leave the site of the wound sterile before applying gauze.

A silence sets in between you, punctuated only by the noise of her ministrations. Neither of you are in any hurry to break it, but perhaps that’s because you aren’t able to pick up the thread of conversation. Not that you can exactly blame her or yourself. This isn’t the best environment to socialize in.

But eventually, she breaks it, asking as she unravels the bandage, “You said you’ve felt worse, huh? Define ‘worse’. Because I have a hard time thinkin’ you can one-up stabbin’ yourself in the hand.”

The overwhelming smell of smoke and ash...

...that's right. You have felt worse, haven't you?

Desperately clawing at your throat, raw and bloody...

...the incident that made you become a medical student in the first place.

Lost and adrift in a sea of burning agony...

>Decline her offer and leave the skeleton in the closet. [Refuse]
>Offer one of your stories in exchange for one of hers. [Trade]
>Tell her about the incident without any strings attached. [Straight]
>Custom option.

>>2254070
>>Tell her about the incident without any strings attached. [Straight]

>>2254070
>>Offer one of your stories in exchange for one of hers. [Trade]

>>2254070
>>Tell her about the incident without any strings attached. [Straight]

>>2254070
>Offer one of your stories in exchange for one of hers. [Trade]

Great we are Shirou aren't we?

[I am the bone of my scalpel]

>>2254070
>>Tell her about the incident without any strings attached. [Straight]

>>2254070
>>Tell her about the incident without any strings attached. [Straight]

>>2254070
>>Offer one of your stories in exchange for one of hers. [Trade]

>>2254070
>>Offer one of your stories in exchange for one of hers. [Trade]

>>2254072
>>2254078
>>2254089
>>2254097
She seems to be taken aback by the smile you offer her. There isn’t a mirror or otherwise reflective surface near you, but you have little doubt that the face you’re making is far from pleasant. God, how long has it been…you were eight? Nine? You haven’t gone back to those years for a very long time, and for a damn good reason.

Nothing but unpleasant memories.

“...I’d be more than willing to share it,” you quietly answer, “But it isn’t a pleasant story.”

The brevity leaves her in an instant, and for a good minute, all she can do is work on dressing your hand. Eventually, she answers just as seriously, “I used to be a cop. I ain’t no stranger to horror stories.”

“My genre isn’t ‘horror’ as much as it is…tragedy, I suppose?” You shake your head. “I guess I’m just stalling for time. These aren’t exactly the kind of memories I like to reflect back on.”

Back at Cocytus, when you were returning back from your field recruitment, you gave MacKay a watered-down version of your story. You got into an accident, and a doctor saved your life. That’s what made you want to become a practitioner in the first place. An otherwise straightforward, utterly generic and cliché backstory devoid of any personal details or strange exceptions.

But now, with your time in the Task Force, you aren’t so sure anymore. Because the more you think about it…there’s more than a sliver of a possibility that something isn’t right. A gut feeling, but a familiar one that hasn’t failed you yet.

You exhale deeply. “Still, I think it’s good if I just…let it air out in the open. No use in letting it fester…”
You’ve never told anyone this before. Sure, there are people who know. It’s probably on your file in some database in the Task Force. And your old man and mom were directly involved in it. But you’ve never actually told anyone, actually spoken the words yourself. Not even to your best friends across your academic life or any of your ex-girlfriends.

Yet you can already feel some sort of relief. Relief at the fact that you’re letting it out into the open, even if it is to your trigger-happy, active-aggressive subordinate and fellow Devil Summoner.

“I was nine at the time.” You almost don’t recognize your own voice. “Nine when God was looking everywhere else but the local neighborhood playground.”

The fog of time has only aided the trauma you sustained. Certain memories are hazier than most. Others are just vivid flashes of light and pain, with significant gaps in time between one memory to the next. But combined with the hospital report and your parents’ testimony, they are enough to paint a picture of what had happened.

(cont.)

“I was nowhere near the person I am right now. Me, at nine years old?” A self-depreciating smile pulls at the corner of your mouth. “Adrian Brown is a snaggle-toothed little shit, doped up on too much apple juice and skittles, bouncing all over the place like a damn pinball.”

She remains silent. The only noise in the room is the gentle noise of scissors slicing through bandages, one click at a time, and the whisper of gauze as it wraps around your arm. Even as her hands work on one thing, her eyes do not leave yours.

“I think we’d all gathered around to fuck around,” you continue, “A bunch of kids from the Sunday school, messing around on a community playground while their parents got coffee and doughnuts with the pastor. I think one of the altar boys was volunteering to look after us.

“…I can’t even remember some of their names,” you admit. “There’s Jenny, smartest girl in the grade. Ralph, who’d lost two teeth after an accident at gym class. I think we might’ve been planning a surprise birthday party for Simon, the resident crybaby. And that’s just only three out of…twenty four, not including myself.”

You pause to take a shuddering breath. The strain on your mind is starting, again, that pressure on your temples that comes whenever you recall these memories. “That’s twenty four kids about to finish third grade, one each for twenty four little coffins that the pastor needs to send to heaven.”

There’s a noise as Sarah visibly recoils in her seat. The intense look hasn’t left her face. And it hasn’t been replaced by one of horror either. It continues to evaluate you, taking you with nothing more than the utmost seriousness your story requires

“I honestly don’t know what happened. One second, I’m just…" A sharp lance of pain stabs into your head. The only sign of discomfort you show is a twitch of your shoulder. But you fight through it, and continue, "I think I was showing a girl where our parents are. But the next thing is just…”

You need to take a moment to compose yourself. But by the time you do, your voice is almost a flat monotone, merely reciting facts without any sort of emotional inflection.

“I heard from the doctor that the cause of the explosion was a gas leak. Or maybe it was an eighteen-wheeler hauling a load of propane. But regardless of the cause…one moment, I’m just an ordinary nine year old…and in the next…I could feel the flesh melting off my arm and body.”

THAT finally gets something out of her. “Jesus Christ…” she whispers.

You give a dry laugh, one completely devoid of any sort of humor other than cynicism. “Wasn’t there that day. I honestly don’t know how long it took for the fire fighters to get the flames under control. I think at least a good hour or two...I think that altar boy got out, but...the rest of the kids…”

Fast-tracked to heaven, if there’s any justice in the world.

(cont.)

This time, the silence between the two of you is a very palpable and physical weight. Only this time, you’re the one to break it. You gently move your good hand towards your shirt, and pop the first three buttons open. Just enough so that you pull at the collar and slide it down until you’re in an undershirt and exposed upper arms.

“The doctors in the burn ward did a good job of hiding the skin grafts and patching my head back together,” you remark offhandedly, patting the sides of your face. “But if you take a close look at where my right shoulder meets my bicep…”

Tentatively, and with all the deliberate care in the world, Sarah approaches the aforementioned location. She has to squint to see it, see what only comes visible under intense scrutiny and the right lighting conditions: a faint ring of discolored flesh that completely encircles around your shoulder and underneath your armpit.

“There’s even a little bit of scar tissue leftover,” you note, flexing the offending area. “Not stiff enough to hinder any sort of fine motor control, but just enough to serve as a constant reminder of that day when everything literally went to hell-”

A pair of hands envelops you, a sudden force that pulls you closer to a source of warmth. You blink, and you only now realize that Sarah’s pulled you into an embrace. Arms wrapped around your back, your head on her shoulder, and the sensation of her breath washing against the side of your neck…

>Keep talking. [???]
>Return the gesture. [???]

>>2254278
>>Return the gesture. [???]

>>2254278
>Return the gesture. [???]
and
>Keep talking. [???]

Let's get this all out in the open while we're in the right place, but the hug is good.

>>2254278
>Return the gesture. [???]
>Keep talking. [???]

>>2254278
>>Keep talking. [???]

>>2254294
If Kaz is ok with both, I'll second this.

>>2254283
>>2254294
>>2254313
>>2254323
>>2254376
There are no words. All you can do is simply lean back into her and return the gesture as best you can. Tentative hands reach up to return the gesture, and pull the warmth of her body ever-closer to yours. Are your hands shaking? They might be, or maybe they aren’t. From the way both of you are positioned, the source of the tremors could be coming from either one of you.

“…I’m really sorry to hear that, Adrian,” Sarah mutters, low and rough. “That’s…that’s a pretty raw deal ya got cut.”

You’re not sure if the noise that comes out of your throat is more of a sob than a laugh. “No kidding…and to think my mother asks why I’m not as nearly religious as I used to be…”

That gets a muffled chortle out of her. “Yeah…that’ll do it.”

Eventually, and with great reluctance, the two of you extricate yourselves out of each other’s arms. There’s no cause for embarrassment. The wan smile you offer in gratitude is matched by the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen grace her lips.

“…thanks for that,” you eventually say, rubbing the back of your head. “That’s…not a side I like to show to other people.”

She makes a small noise, musing to herself, “So that means you’ve told someone else?”

“MacKay. He got an abridged version, but Brady and Vicky…they don’t know. It’s just you…and probably the Task Force that know about my past.”

“Makes enough sense…” She pauses, regarding you in a curious light before continuing, “So is that why you wanted to be a sawbones?”

…it’s not nearly that simple. The reason why you want to become a doctor…

>>Choose one:
>“So I can save and heal other people.”
>“So I’ll never be helpless or weak.”

Sarah shifts in her seat. “…thought that might’ve been it…but I’m just a tad bit curious. Ya tossed around God and Jesus a whole lot when you were…talkin’.”

You frown. “I did. What of it?”

She holds up her hands in a peaceful gesture. “I ain’t meanin’ anythin’ by it. I’m just curious…from the way you were talkin’, it sounded like the two of you had a fallin’ out.”

That’s putting it mildly, you think to yourself.

“I remember sayin’ that you’re a lapsed Christian. But given the fact that there’s angels, devils…” she gestures towards your COMP, then to the entirety of the complex in reference to the Task Force. “A whole bevy of nasty demons that’re rompin’ around the world…does that do anythin’ for ya?”

Where’s this line of questioning going? “You’re starting to sound a whole lot like MacKay,” you note.

“It ain’t that,” she refutes, “As much as it is just…eye-openin’. With the down time and lack of battles…ya get to thinkin’ about things ya used to take for granted…but I’m a little curious. Does workin’ with an Angel and all this other crazy change your views on God?”

(cont.)

>>2254426
The Judeo-Christian God. An all-powerful, benevolent deity said to have created the world in seven days and fashioned man from the dirt of the earth. The same God who cast Adam and Eve from the Garden just because they desired to know about good and evil. This is the God who sent a Messiah to redeem the sins of man. But this is the God who deigned it necessary to spare you… but not twenty four other children that would never experience the joys and tribulations of growing up.

>>Choose one:
>“…I guess it does for the better, but only just a little bit…”
>“…I keep to myself, He keeps to Himself…that’s fine with me…”
>“… I haven’t changed…God can take His mercy and shove it…”

>>2254426
>>“So I can save and heal other people.”

>>2254427
>>“…I keep to myself, He keeps to Himself…that’s fine with me…”
No law fags here.

>>2254427
>“So I can save and heal other people.”
>“…I keep to myself, He keeps to Himself…that’s fine with me…”

>>2254426
>>“So I can save and heal other people.”
>>2254427
>>“… I haven’t changed…God can take His mercy and shove it…”

>>2254426
>>“So I can save and heal other people.”
>>2254427
>>“…I keep to myself, He keeps to Himself…that’s fine with me…”

>>2254426
>“So I can save and heal other people.”
>“…I keep to myself, He keeps to Himself…that’s fine with me…”

>>2254426
>“So I can save and heal other people.”

>>2254427
>“…I guess it does for the better, but only just a little bit…”

>>2254427
>“So I can save and heal other people.”
>“…I keep to myself, He keeps to Himself…that’s fine with me…”

>>2254426
>“So I’ll never be helpless or weak.”

>>2254427
>“…I keep to myself, He keeps to Himself…that’s fine with me…”

>>2254427
>>“… I haven’t changed…God can take His mercy and shove it…”

>>2254426
>“So I can save and heal other people.”

>>2254426
>“So I can save and heal other people.”


>>2254427
>“…I keep to myself, He keeps to Himself…that’s fine with me…”
By the sounds of it this is our super natural contact point, where we got hit by a demon, mind blanked and tagged as a potential future agent. Also probably where we lost our guardian angel it and 25 others dying to try yet fail to save their kids.


I wonder when someone will make the connection given we’ve been told explicitly that we contacted the supernatural prior to recruitment.

>>2254735
Yeah I'm thinking that gas explosion was a Agidyne.

>>2254735
If I remember right, there was a pencil shaped/sized bit of shrapnel that got embedded close to our heart. To me that sounds like a demon's quill shot or whatever, like what the manticore can do.

>>2254735
>>2254767
>>2255030
>implying it wasn't alice making new friends

>+2 to Light

“The way I see it…” You muse, gently flexing the fingers of your bandaged hand, “Except for holidays with the family that drag me into church…I keep to myself, and He keeps to Himself. I think that’s the best way I can describe my relationship with God.”

Your view of the world isn’t as much agnostic or lapsed as it’s an odd mixture of both. Denying the existence of God would be an exercise in futility, a senseless rage against the heavens. The angel in your COMP is more than enough proof to validate the existence of the divine. But acknowledging the existence of God and worshiping Him are two very different things.

There’s no malice. Only a sense of apathetic disinterest, with an undercurrent of bitterness. You’re not going go out of your way to call others foolish for having faith, or take your entire upbringing and throw it out the window. Because that would go against the relationship you’ve established with the creator: a relationship of mutual avoidance as best you can.

“You’re fine for havin’ your share of beliefs…,” Sarah drawls in reply. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t be talkin’ like that in front of the good father. For obvious reasons.”

Yeah. “No kidding. I appreciate MacKay’s input and advice as a member of the team, but my spiritual life…or the lack of one, is none of his business.”

Her lips purse together in what appears to be a sour gesture. “I’d still be careful about how you’d go about phrasin’ it if he ever comes askin’.”

“I will. But I don’t exactly see him as the type to go Bible-thumping, not on the team or anyone else…except for enemy,” you add. “They’re fair game for him to proselytize to.”

The image of MacKay taking a page from Games Workshop and screaming about heretics in the raiment of a Catholic Space Nazi is almost too much. It's almost enough to get you back into a good mood.

“Speakin’ of the team…” she says, casting a side glance towards the empty barracks, “What’re you gonna say?”

“About what?” you ask.

She gives you a withering look. “About the incident. Your incident. Sure, MacKay knows a little bit about it, but what about Vicky, or Brady? Don’t you think you should tell them? Or at least fill in the blanks for MacKay?”

>Choose one:
>“I’ll tell them when they’re ready.”
>“I don’t need to tell them right now.”
>Custom option.

At your answer, she seems surprised, before slumping in resignation. “If that’s what ya think is for the best…but since we’re talkin’ about the incident and all…I got a question.”

You hesitate momentarily, before giving your affirmation. Therapist or not, it feels at least somewhat cathartic to get some of this off your chest. But if she asks the wrong question...it ain’t gonna be pretty.

“Sure, go ahead,” you say.

(cont.)

She frowns, running a hand through her hair. “I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said…are you sure it was a gas explosion?”

“…what?”

“A gas explosion,” she repeats, a little more forcefully. “Are you sure it was a gas explosion that burned you and killed all those kids?”

The puzzled look on your face quickly turns into a scowl. “I know what I saw…and felt, Sarah.”

She waves off your irritation, completely oblivious to your ire. “I never made it past a patrol officer, but every detective’s instinct is screamin’ at me that what happened to you wasn’t ordinary. Hell, I’d stake my stipend for the next few months that it wasn’t a gas leak.”

“Then what do you think it is?”

The sigh that she expels from her lips is accompanied by an exasperated eye roll. “I get that you’ve been tellin’ yourself that it was a gas leak for the last…ten, fifteen…sixteen years. But we’re soldiers in an anti-demon Task Force…an agency that requires its recruits to have contact with the supernatural.”

The cold pit of dread slowly begins to build up in your stomach. It seems that she’s reached a conclusion that you desperately didn’t want to reach before, or even think about. “Are you trying to suggest that it was-”

“A demon that was responsible for the playground explosion,” she finishes with an intense gleam in her eyes. “It’s Occam’s fuckin’ razor, Adrian! Sure, there’s some details of your life that I ain’t privy too, but I can’t think of anything you’ve told me that could indicate contact with demons.”

Contact with demons. Initiation into the Task Force is dependent of having a meeting with a demonic entity.

“Revive me…” a child pleaded.

But after the trail in the abandoned hospital...

“…truly commendable…” a mother remarked.

...and in your dreams throughout your travels...

“…there are two ways of serving…” a crone threatened.

But if that were to be the case…then that would mean…

“…oi. Oi! Adrian!”

It takes you a moment to realize that Sarah’s pulled herself up close to you, snapping her fingers in front of your face. You almost recoil at a particularly loud SNAP, and shoot an irritated glare at the offender, who bears no guilt on her face as she sits back down.

“You were spacin’ out there," she remarks with a concerned look. "Halfway to Mars, or some shit. But...it looked like you got somethin’ on your mind?”

>>Choose one:
>Focus only on the gas explosion.
>Tell her about the Triple Goddess.
>Custom option.

>>2256253
>“I’ll tell them when they’re ready.”
>>2256260
>Tell her about the Triple Goddess.

>>2256253
>If it comes up I'll talk about it, but it's the past and if it's not relevant I'd rather not relive it.

>>2256260
>Tell her about the Triple Goddess.
>Also muse on how a Guaridan angel should have stopped or saved more kids. There woulda been 25 of em on the playground that day give or take. One would think they would be more on the ball.

reading this dumb accent makes me wanna die

>>2256253
>>“I’ll tell them when they’re ready.”
>>2256260
>>Tell her about the Triple Goddess.

>>2256253
>>“I’ll tell them when they’re ready.”
>>2256260
>>Tell her about the Triple Goddess.

>>2256260
>“I’ll tell them when they’re ready.”
>Tell her about the Triple Goddess.

>>2256253
>“I’ll tell them when I'm ready.”


>Focus only on the gas explosion.
I think the goddess shit is.. a bit trippy to cover atm

>>2256282
Kill yourself. Fitz a best.

>>2256253
>"I'll tell them when they're ready."

>>2256260
>Tell her about the Triple Goddess.

>>2256253
>At the same time that we discuss....Baykok. And our team as a whole, I guess.

>>2256260
>>Tell her about the Triple Goddess.

>>2256353
That might be too much heavy shit in one night.

>>2256358
go big or go home

>>2256253
>>“I’ll tell them when they’re ready.”
>Focus only on the gas explosion.

You quietly stand up, much to the bewilderment of your friend, and walk briskly to the entrance of the common room. A quick look outside confirms that there are no unwanted listeners hanging on the doorstep. Similarly, you quickly check the barracks proper, to make sure that everyone’s still out, and hasn’t suddenly made an appearance in the last couple of minutes.

“Hey!” Sarah calls. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking your head, you return back to your seat, feeling more tired than you’ve ever felt in years. “…I just wanted to make sure-”

“Make sure of what?” She frowns, squinting at you with equal parts suspicion and worry. “Adrian, what the fuck is goin’ on?”

It’s funny, honestly. Five minutes is all it takes, five minutes for the bedrock that you’ve established as the foundation of our life to simply crumble away into nothing. Left on the precipice of uncertainty and doubt…what else about your life can you really be sure about?

The breath you exhale is the resignation of a condemned man, and Sarah shifts uncomfortably at the look in your eyes. “…I…I’ve got something to share…”

>You tell her about the Triple Goddess – Maiden, Mother, Crone.
>You tell her about your myriad encounters in the world between worlds.
>You tell her their desires, their dreams of escape and whatever role you have in them.

“You have got to be shittin’ me.”

Her voice isn’t nearly as incredulous as much as it is bordering on a volatile annoyance. The look on her face is far from friendly, equal parts concern and irritation both directed at you.
You raise your hands, palms facing towards her. “In my defense-”

“Ya know somethin’, Sawbones? I oughtta be angrier,” she cuts you off, running a hand through her face in a gesture of irritation. As she continues, her voice continues to rise. “But I ain’t. I don’t really have the right to be because it only took ya almost four fuckin’ months to spit out the fact that you’ve got a goddamn set of demonic triplets livin’ in your skull!”

…there’s the active-aggressive.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell any of us?!” she almost shouts. “I think somethin’ like that would be important to share with the class!”

“I had the situation under control-”

From the tone of her voice, it’s more than obviously clear that she doesn’t believe you. “Yeah…ya think so? Because given your track record with demonic women so far-”

“Watch it, Fitz,” You warn her, and you allow the cold iron of authority to seep into your voice even as the phantom touch of Titania plays havoc with your nerves. “I’d say that the fairy queen had her hands over all of us, yourself included-”

(cont.)

“The blonde bimbo is an entire dimension away. Don’t try to steer the conversation away from the fact that demon women are bad news for all of us. And you especially!” She slams her fist on the table, sending medical supplies flying across the common room. “You’re the leader, which paints a bigger target on your ass than the rest of the team!”

Whatever point she’s trying to make is lost in the fact that she’s been really getting under your skin. What the fuck is her goddamned problem? You had the situation under control. There wasn’t any need to contact anyone else, or even Alger? That brief battle you had with the Mother proved that you were more than capable of handling them.

"I swear to God..." she mutters, before continuing, "Look. I honestly couldn't care less about which head you're thinking with, or the harem of demons trying to jump your bones. But could you at least take the team into consideration whenever it involves demons? Because a lack of communication between commander and subordinate is what gets people killed down the line!"

>“I’m sorry. I should’ve said something sooner.” (Apologize)
>“What, are you jealous of them or something?” (Sarcastic)
>“You are too far out of line…Specialist Fitzgerald.” (Command)
>Custom option.

>>2259561
>You tell her about your myriad encounters in the world between worlds.
>>2259581
>“I’m sorry. I should’ve said something sooner.” (Apologize)

>>2259581
>“You are too far out of line…Specialist Fitzgerald.” (Command)

>>2259581
>“I’m sorry. I should’ve said something sooner.” (Apologize)
"But shit this isn't something just easily brought up. I don't know what'll happen if or when the Task Force finds out."

>>2259581
I’ve done what little research I can and frankly this is as hard to bring up as what happened when I was a kid if for other reasons. Like what the task force would do? They might throw me into a cell and throw away the key, or worse, if they deem them and by proxy me a threat.

>>2259760
Supporting

>>2259760
Supporting this

>>2259581
>>2259760
This

>>2259581
First and fore most >You are too far out of line…Specialist Fitzgerald. But you’re >I’m sorry. I should’ve said something sooner. But this isn't something just easily brought up. I don't know what'll happen if or when the Task Force finds out.

>>2259581
>>“You are too far out of line. If-WHEN I talk about it with Alger, if he gives me crap about my actions, then I'll take it."
>"As a friend, though, you're right. I'm sorry."

>>2259581
>>2259760

“…I’m sorry. I should’ve said something sooner.”

The will to fight evaporates like dew on a hot summer morning. That energy you had, rearing and chaffing at the bit, simply vanishes, restoring the physical and emotional fatigue that it had done its best to replace. What would be the goddamn point of wasting your energy on something that has the onus of fault lying on your shoulders?

>Fitz approves +10.

“Oh…well…” Sarah seems to be more than surprised at how you suddenly backed down. Scratching the back of her head, she confesses, “I was honestly expectin’ ya to yell at me.”

Sighing, you make a non-committal gesture with your bandaged hand. “It wouldn’t accomplish anything except tearing a rift between the two of us, not to mention the team. Waste of time and energy spent elsewhere other than interteam drama.”

She’s more than out of line with her words. Before anything else, you are the team leader, and she is your subordinate, prior combat experience be damned. But there’s a bit of hypocrisy in finding irritation at her when she’s always been the one to shit-talk Alger, or the higher-ups in general. You suddenly have a sympathy for the commander, but no one higher than that.

“That said…” She perks up at the wry tone in your voice. “…try not to step out of line too much. I really don’t want to use the authority card, but this case…it’s just a reminder. Please don’t forget that I’m still the team leader...”

You cut yourself off before the words “before I am your friend” make it past your lips.

>Fitz disapproves -5.

Rolling her eyes, she kicks back in her chair, arms crossed in a standoffish posture. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about that. I only cuss and shout out of concern for your ass, and everyone else’s’.”

“I can believe that…” You offer a tired smile, before it shifts into something a little more serious. “But this mess…goddess, explosion demons…this collective pile shit I’m knee deep in? All of this isn’t something I can just...easily bring up at the drop of a hat.”

“And I ain’t expectin’ ya to either. Shit, between the trio and your incident, I ain’t exactly blamin’ ya for keepin’ a lid on the subject.”

“No kidding. The Task Force might know more about…whatever the fuck happened on that playground, but in regards to my…ah…headmates, I have no goddamn idea what’ll happen if they find out about them.”
The wound in your hand throbs as you clench your fist tight enough for the knuckles to turn white. “I’ve done what little research I can. And honestly? This is just as bitter of a pill as my legacy of a misspent youth, and swallowing this just raises more questions.”

“Like?” she prompts you.

(cont.)

“Like how severe the response is gonna be if I tell someone.“I’ve seen enough spy movies to know what happens to the…ah…’potentially dangerous’ targets of shadowy government organizations. They aren’t gonna throw away the key to my cell or operating room as much as melt it into slag.”

You offer her a bitter smile. “And I don’t even wanna think about what’s gonna happen if they deem the goddesses, and me by proxy, as threats to peace. Prolly won’t be enough of me to put in a nutella jar.”

For a moment, she looks like she was on the cusp of snorting in laughter, before it gave way to a more sober reaction. Emotions war on her face, a conflicting storm of unreadable expressions before you can see iron determination flash in her eyes.

A sudden warmth and pressure on your injured hand, a comforting presence even as the wound continues to ache and throb. It is accompanied by as solemn as a look you’ve ever seen her make. There’s no more wry cynicism, or sardonic humor. This is Sarah Fitzgerald as serious as she’s ever been.

“Then they’ll have to go through me first,” she says through gritted teeth. “Me, and every single fucking one of my bullets and demons before they can even think about hurtin’ you!”

For a moment, you are at a loss for words, taken aback at the intensity of her declaration. “Sarah…”

“Come hell or high water, I ain’t about to throw ya to the dogs if the dice don’t land your way,” she swears, squeezing all the more tighter. And for a moment, you could’ve sworn that her eyes were glistening and moist. “Because I’ve lost more than my fair share of people, so I ain’t about to lose you too if I can help it, Adrian!”

>You have reached enough approval with Fitz to gain a bonus!
>Once per battle, she can take a lethal blow for you!

>>Choose one:
>“I don’t want to see you hurt for my sake!”
>“So what exactly am I to you?”
>“Thank you…Sarah.”
>Custom option.

>>2262093
>>Thank you...Sarah.

Insert wry smile here.

>>2262093
>Kiss her

>>2262093
>"Thank you...Sarah"

>>2262093
>“Thank you…Sarah.”

>>2262093
>>“Thank you…Sarah.”
Give hug.

>>2262093
>“Thank you…Sarah.”

>>2262093
>“Thank you…Sarah.” But I don’t want to see you get hurt for my sake.

It almost makes you want to cry, really. The fact that you’ve got someone in your corner, who isn’t afraid to go above and beyond putting her life on the line for your sake. It speaks volumes of the depth of your relationship, the intensity of the bond that the two of you share. It’s a mystery, though. What does she think of you, what drove her to make that declaration?

That question burns a hole in your pocket, but it will have to burn a little longer. Now isn’t the time to pick apart an emotional moment. Now is the time to simply accept it as it is, without any caveats or second thoughts attached.

“I…” The word comes out thick and heavy. You swallow, clearing your throat as best you can before continuing, “…thank you…Sarah. I can’t…I can’t even begin to say how much that means to me.”

She gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “Then don’t. Just accept it for what it is, because I mean every single word.”

Sarah pauses, directing a look up and down your person before offering a grin. “Batshit insane as you are and questionable taste in seafood aside…you’re a damn good person, Sawbones. And that ain’t about to change just because you’ve got three goddesses taking up space in your head.”

The corner of your mouth tugs upward in a rueful smile. “Technically, I’m serving as a conduit between the material world and the space they’re trapped in-”

“Bah, semantics…” She cuts you off with a dismissive wave, before she turns serious once more. “But I ain’t fuckin’ with you when I say that I mean it. I’ve got your back, and there isn’t anythin’ that’ll change that.”

And that’s what worries you. It isn’t a question of whether or not the revelation of your forays as much as it is a question of when they will come to light. If the Task Force had half a brain in them, quarantining you would be an absolute priority, by whatever means necessary. And fast-tracked as you are for rookies, there are other agents that have years of training and experience fighting demons.

There’s a part of you that wants to tell her to abandon you when the time comes, and save herself and the others from the fallout of the goddesses. You aren’t about to let someone else get hurt just because of your own problem. If you had a choice in how it ends, you have little desire for her or anyone else to be the Sundance Kid to your Butch Cassidy when Bolivian army comes knocking.

But you’ll burn that bridge when the time comes. Right now, you’re more than content to just pass the time, bantering, joking and sharing in the warmth that is the presence of Sarah Fitzgerald.

However, there are still three other teammates of Squad Carina. And you figure that they have just as much of a right to know about the goddesses, if not your incident. It’s still too sore for you to go poking around demons on the playground, but the goddesses are an "easier" subject to talk about.

(cont.)

…providing it is you do spill the beans. Because God only knows how the others would take it, or how they'd react.

>>Choose one:
>Don’t tell the others.
>Tell the others.
>Custom option.

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>>2264386
>Tell the others.

>>2264387
>"Tell the others"
No good's gonna come from keeping secrets from the squad. We'd best do this while we're in a guts-spilling mood, not when it's high-tension.

>>2264387
>Don’t tell the others.

>>2264387
>>Tell the others.
>One at a time with Fitz, and work our way through.

>>2264387
>tell the others.

>>2264413
Supporting this. I want to say we should probably start with McKay. Always good to have a priest in your corner.

>>2264413
I'm also supporting this

>>2264387
>>Don’t tell the others.
>One at a time, WITHOUT Fitz. Specifically leave out what other members' reactions are out of respect for everyone's choices.

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>>2264399
>>2264404
>>2264411
>>2264413
>>2264435
>>2264511
>>2264521
>>2264876

“…oh, Adrian! I didn’t expect to see you here. If you could just give me a minute to clean up, I’d be more than willing to talk. And I hope you’ll forgive me in advance. The Eucharistic Adoration has left my clothes smelling a little strongly of incense. I hope you don’t mind…”

“…ACK! Sorry, sorry I didn’t hear you! You should’ve tried paging me on my COMP. Between the music and the noise of the shop, you’d need at least a bullhorn to get my attention. Gimme a moment to put away my tools and mop the grease off my hands…”

“…’sup bossman? Sorry about the mess. Demons got carried away during their snack time, and I was just testing a bunch of new shite I got for – what the bloody fuck happened to your hand?”

Your sleep the prior night was mercifully dreamless. Perhaps your worries about experiencing either a lapse back to the playground or a visitation from the goddesses were unfounded, but it gnawed at you to no end. For a good hour, you just lay there when you woke up, staring at the ceiling as you tried to sort out your thoughts before you could get on with your morning.

One by one, you approach your friends at various points during the next day, seeking them out as they go about their down time. In the end, you told Sarah that you would seek out the rest of the team to talk about the goddesses. You’ll work your way through them, individually and personally informing them about the nature of your problem. It would be easier to simply gather them and call for a meeting, but…you have a gut feeling that it wouldn’t turn to be so good.

Maybe you’ll have one later just to touch base and see how everyone stands. That said, it’s probably best to give them time to mull it over before you make the call. And actually go out and spill your guts while you’re in the mood for it.

>You first seek out MacKay.

The priest is more than happy to talk, and even more willing to acquiesce to the privacy of a confessional booth. He seems to understand that even though you’re not exactly about to confess and return to the arms of God, your privacy is something he will treat with the utmost respect.

“That machine underneath your chair?” He says with an accompanying gesture, “If you could just turn that on, and then we can begin…”

The machine hums to life, filling the small room with the ambience of white noise. It’s loud, just enough to prevent your words from being decipherable to any listeners on the outside, but quiet enough to have a comfortable discussion.

“Take as much time as you need,” he assures you. “I can tell that this something that weighs heavily on your mind.”

You offer a tired smile. “That bad, huh? Well…alright…”

>You tell MacKay everything you told Sarah about the Triple Goddess.

(cont.)

He does his best to maintain that open, friendly atmosphere that priests innately have, but you can tell that your story has deeply affected him. More than once, you heard a sharp intake of breath at the more harrowing parts of your misadventures. His brow is knit tight in a pensive gesture, and his amicable smile is now a tense line of worry.

“…so that was it, then,” he mutters after a long silence. “When we had just arrived to Delaware, and how you violently woke up from your sleep. I remembered how conflicted you looked when we started unpacking…”

You scratch the back of your head. “Yeah. That was the…Mother. The Mother didn’t take too kindly to…well, she said my soul smelled? I don’t remember, but she said I was…marked, or otherwise claimed by something that just pissed her off.”

“And that is extremely worrying. I can think no other interaction save for that of this Maiden that could have left this claim on you. Regardless, I think we can both agree that anything having a claim on your soul…” He pauses, considering something before he continues, “Do you think the Mother might have been lying?”

The answer comes without hesitation. “Her anger was real enough…the broad was hell-bent on strangling me.”

MacKay purses his lips, exhaling heavily though the hand at his mouth. “Still, the fact that you were able to fight her off is no small relief or feat that can be ignored. And you say she’s calmed down?”

“Even to the point of admitting her mistake and trying once more to seduce me.”

His eyes narrow in a surprisingly stern gesture. “And I do believe it goes without saying-”

“Yeah, yeah…we both read the handbook, didn’t we? And even though there isn’t a caveat for disembodied pagan goddesses, you can trust me when I say that I’m not about to succumb to my lizard brain and break the first rule.”

“Good. Now, when do you plan to tell Alger?”

Huh?

At the surprise on your face, he frowns. “This is an issue that just cannot be solved between the five of us. Even as accomplished as we are as rookie Devil Summoners, I strongly feel that we’re going to need more if we are to deal with this problem.”

You shift in your seat. “…I’m not too keen on risking the dissection table-”

“And what is the alternative?” He demands. “These are not demons in the woods that can be recruited or persuaded to go away. From what you’ve said, these are heathen goddesses, powerful entities that have somehow survived the absence of pagan worship. I believe you when you say that you don’t be swayed by their charms, but I dread what might happen if they become more violent.”

He pauses, taking a moment to gather his breath. “I’m telling you as both your friend and your secondary. For both your sake and the team's, the commander needs to know about this.”

>Refuse, assert that you can handle this.
>You’ll inform Alger when he gets back.
>Custom option.

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>>2267781
>You’ll inform Alger when he gets back.

>>2267781
>>You’ll inform Alger when he gets back.

>>2267781
>>Refuse, assert that you can handle this.

>>2267781
>>You’ll inform Alger when he gets back.

>>2267781
>>You’ll inform Alger when he gets back.

>>2267781
Inform alger

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>>2267792
>>2267842
>>2267857
>>2267867
>>2268266
>>2269072
The uneasy feeling in your stomach is somewhat mollified by the fact that Alger seems to value the lives of his subordinates. Case in point when he warned you about getting involved with Commander Sparda, given the First Division’s high casualty rate. If he’s that willing to at least stand in the way of Sparda’s aggressive recruiting…maybe he’d be sympathetic to your plight.

“I honestly don’t know when he’s going to get back,” you admit with a shrug, “But I’ll definitely be telling him tell him.”

>MacKay approves +10

Relief breaks out across his face. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that….but you will be sure to let us know if they contact you again, right?”

“Sure…I guess I can do that. Wouldn’t hurt to keep you in the loop.”

“And from what you’ve been telling me, the next one to approach you is the Crone…the most hostile of the trio thus far.”

“Hey, don’t forget,” you point out, holding up your fists in a boxer’s stance. “Push comes to shove, I can always just sock her one in the kisser. I ain’t above punching old women who mean to do me harm.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “I suppose you very well could. And I would not blame you in the slightest. But if I may offer one last bit of advice…”

“Fire away.”

He extends a hand out, clapping you on the shoulder in a cautionary, but supportive gesture. “My instincts are telling me that the Mother is the most dangerous one out of them. The Maiden seems innocent, and the Crone is in possession of a one-track mind. Those two are perhaps easier to sense lies or deceit, but from the way you describe the Mother, and how she easily can switch from one mood to the next without any sort of predictability…I would watch out for her the most.”

You nod. “I’ll definitely keep an eye out. Thanks a bunch, MacKay.”

“You are very welcome,” he answers with a smile and polite nod. “My door is always open to those who need advice. Don’t ever hesitate to come if you need a second opinion.”

>Later

From MacKay, you move to find Victoria. The resident mechanic is in one of the workshops, working underneath the hood of the squad’s car. With her hair pulled back, a sprocket wrench clenched between her teeth, and a fist full of nuts and bolts, it seems that she’s been keeping herself busy.

That being said, she’s more than happy to switch her power tools off and take a breather from working on the car. One fresh towel and two bottles of root beer find the two of you sprawled out on a grungy couch set to the side of the shop. God knows what’s been on or done to this thing. You’re fairly sure that dark puce isn’t a natural color for upholstery.

After taking a particularly long swing from her bottle, she lets out a satisfied “PAH!” before giving you a knowing grin and asking, “So how’s Sarah doing?”

(cont.)

It takes you a moment to process that statement. The first thing is that comes to mind is that Victoria is close enough with Fitz to know her real name. That comes as a surprise, but not an entirely unwelcome one. Far be it for you to be privy to what the girls get up to in their own time.

The second thing that comes to your mind…for whatever reason, it seems that she’s lax enough to talk to you about Fitz without using her nickname. That’s definitely a little more than odd…but maybe the woman in question is opening herself up to the team. But you still make a note to be careful around Brady and MacKay.

“She’s doing well,” you eventually answer, frowning. “I don’t see why you just won’t call her up and ask her yourself.”

“Given how hard she’s been studying, I really didn’t want to interrupt the two of you,” she replies without missing a beat. “It must have been some very intense medicine.”

As if on cue, the wound in your hand throbs.

She pulls the tie from her ponytail, shaking her hair free with a relieved sigh. “So what’s up? If you’re looking for Brady, you just missed him. We were working on upgrading the software for the car’s systems…”

The chipper tone in her voice gradually fades away at the look on your face. And soon to follow is the cheerful disposition, soon replaced by one of worry. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are…are you okay?”

Honestly, you aren’t. But you answer, “Yeah, I’m…I’m fine.”

She leans in close, whispering urgently, “Did something happen?”

You stabbed yourself in the hand. You forced yourself to relieve the memories of the playground explosion. You spilled your guts to your friend about how three goddesses are using you as a conduit between worlds.

“…you could say that…”

To say that she takes your story well would be…an overstatement. There are several times when something in your tale prompts a response in Japanese, and she doesn’t even realize she's changing her language on a dime. Poor girl.

“I’m sorry…so gimme a moment to get this straight…” Victoria makes a show of straightening out her overalls and taking a series of deep breaths. “From day one since we’ve been enrolled in the Task Force…you have three demon goddesses living inside your head. And for the last four months, they’ve been trying to demand that you give them freedom. Did I get any of that wrong?”

You shift in your seat. “Technically, they’re summoning me to wherever they’re trapped-”

“Mattaku…” She cuts you off with a heavy sigh, and a stream of muttered Japanese phrases as she plants her face straight into the palm of her hand. “And here I thought that Alyssa girl was the tip of the iceberg.”

You suppress the image of said girl and the visceral response at said image your mind conjures. “Oi,” you grunt with no small amount of annoyance. “I’m being serious.”

(cont.)

“I know, I know!” Victoria holds her hands in a halting gesture. “Just…aren’t we still rookies? Not counting that training defense…we’ve only got two missions under our belt. Honestly? This situation seems to be waaaaay far above for what we should be capable of handling.”
“That would imply that the demons give a damn about our own convenience,” you point out.

“Right,” she bemoans. “Demons don’t play fair, no matter how cute they are.”

“Nailed that one on the head.”

“And no offense, but…” she gives you a look of sympathy. “Better you than me. I’d be a mess if I was in your shoes. You seem to have it under…well, not exactly a real and orderly control, but as close as you get to it, I guess.”

The noise that comes out of your throat is neither one of affirmation or denial.

She winces. “Yikes. So…you’re gonna talk to Alger about this, right? You’re not just gonna…ask me alone for my input, are you? Oh my God, you are. Adrian, I’m a Japanese car mechanic from Burke! I solve practical problems, not-”

“I spoke with MacKay about it,” you reply, cutting her off before she can work herself up, “As soon as the commander gets back, I’m letting him know immediately.”

>Victoria approves +12!

“Thank God!” she exclaims, slumping back into the puce cushions with relief. “Honestly, I thought you were gonna pull a Brady. For a computer geek, he can be surprisingly bullheaded when he wants to be.”

…you’re not sure how to take that, so you keep quiet and let her compose herself before she continues, “Okay…so you’re gonna tell Alger? Good! That’s good. If anyone should be able to help you with that, it’s definitely him.”

“You know,” you say, eyeing her suspiciously, “I could’ve sworn you were part of the shit-talking collective that took place behind his back.”

“Nope. That was all you, Brady and Sarah. MacKay and I are the absolute images of good and obedient agents.”

…not gonna lie, that’s a little worrying. A good agent, huh? A good and obedient agent who obeys the rules of the Task Force to the letter…

>Give her a direct order to not to tell anyone outside the squad.
>Tell her you have absolute trust in her to keep your secret safe.
>Custom option.

>>2269265
>>Tell her you have absolute trust in her to keep your secret safe.