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"Persill? Parsley and garlic, mostly. Some oil."

Parsley. You thought you knew what that was. "So it's made of leaves? It has leaves in it?"

The goose-seller furrowed his brow. "Well... I guess?"

"Okay. I'll do that one." If you didn't like it, you could feed it to Gil. He eats leaves. "Uh. I need to pay you..."

"That's right," the goose-seller said unhelpfully.

You swallowed, shut your eyes, and stuck your hand into a pocket on gut, coming out with a handful of crinkled paper rectangles. "Here you go...?"

Your rectangles were accepted and shuffled through. "That works! Thanks. I'll get your change. SCOTT, we got a leg with persill."

"Coming up!"

You stood there as the goose-seller fiddled with a register and eventually handed back a few differently-colored rectangles. "Scott," damn him, had not yet produced a leg. You stuffed the rectangles back where they came from and felt the goose-seller's maybe-sinister gaze hot on you. "By the way, is everything alright?"

Huh? Does he know you're not really Claudia? Is Us trying to send you a message? Is it so obvious that you just got absorbed and liquified and so on? Is it just the whole matter of purchasing things? You're alright with it when you already know the place, but when you go somewhere strange you always feel like you're going to mess it up. Not that you did mess it up here. (Positive thinking.) But you must've messed it up a little bit if he's asking... "No! No. Uhh. I'm— I'm fine. I'm good. Yes!"

This is what Richard is good for. If he were here, he could just step in and walk you through all of this and you'd already be done. Even Gil, for all his own issues, is useful moral support. (You made him purchase the lemonades for you last time you were here. Moral support.) But it was just you, and the goose-seller, who looked a titch skeptical. Damn your pure and honest heart. "But," you amended, "uh— I have been separated from some of my companions. Yes. And it is possible that I am not in full— not in full comprehension of my whereabouts. I might not know where anything... is."

"SCOTT!" barked the goose-seller abruptly. ("Working on it!") You startled. "Sorry, sorry. Well, that's a shame. You don't know where anything is?"

You shifted. "It's my first time here...?"

"Well! Welcome to the Iceover. There might be maps out somewhere, but in the meantime, I don't think it's laid out too complicated. This is the market— all the local businesses and artisans and food-stalls and everything kinda stretched out on the shore. Then you've got the main stuff all happening out on the ice, that-a-way— all the competitions and the ice-fishing and so on. Think they've got something running just this minute. Then, way out, I think they're prepping for the big ice-crack tradition— don't know if any of those sound like where your buddies would be? SCOTT! FOR GODSSAKE, IT'S ONE—"

(2/3)

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"Sorry! Sorry!" A different man, red-faced, jogged over with a cardboard tray and a big, golden, steaming goose leg. There was some green sauce pooled by the side of it. "They sent a guy around back. Sounds like we're getting inspectors—"

"Inspectors? You've gotta be—"

"It's not just us. They're coming around to everybody. But they'll be here—"

The goose-seller shot Scott a hard look and pushed the tray towards you. "Enjoy! Come back a third time!"

"Um," you said. "T— yes. Thank you."

And that was how you wound up huddled on a bench with goose fat around your mouth. You wipe it on your sleeve, tantamount to spitting in your Aunt Ruby's face, and swallow. It's not real or anything. You know that. But God, it tastes good.

>[+2 ID: 9/14]

Even the mysterious leaf sauce proves a positive addition. You're so good at selecting things. So, even though you have no idea where anybody else is, you're certain you'll select the exact right place to search for them! Yes! Positive thinking!

>[1] Wander the market. It's where you are already, it's easy to search and navigate, and it seems safe. Maybe the others will have stuck around here too? (Especially if Gil got dropped nearby to you.)
>[2] Venture out onto the ice. It sounds like that's where most things are happening. Also, you feel like it'd make more sense for Pat to be tormented somewhere out there where less people are.
>[3] Loiter around here, finishing your meal and keeping an ear out. You're curious about these 'inspections' going around.
>[4] Write-in.

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>Announcements
Welcome back to Drowned Quest Redux! I have been making the most of my extended break, and would like to announce that:

1) An extended recap of CODICIL has been added to the recap doc! That was an especially oblique thread, so it might be worth a reread if you felt you were missing something. (It's a long recap, but still only about 1/10th of the length of the thread itself.)
2) I have created nicely formatted and proofread Docs of threads 25-36, which you may find useful for rereading or CTRL+Fing. In the future, I expect to do this for all the threads, but it takes longer than you'd think (about 2 hours/thread)-- thus "future." See them under "Transcriptions" below.
3) I've been doing some pixel art! You may or may not see more of it throughout the thread.

This should be an eventful thread. We'll see what happens!

>Schedule
One a day, occasionally more if the first one was short. There may be sporadic half-updates (no options) if I start writing too late in the evening, sorry in advance. I am in the PST timezone.

>Dice
We use a 3d100 roll over degrees of success system with crits. The base DC is 50. Modifiers may be applied to the roll or to the DC as relevant. The # of rolls that match or exceed the DC determine the result. Probabilities may be found in the Dice and Mechanics pastebin.

The degrees are:
0 Passes = Failure
1 Pass = Mitigated Success
2 Passes = Success
3 Passes = Enhanced Success
0/100 = Critical Failure / Critical Success [regardless of other rolls]

>Mechanics
The MC has a pool of 14 Identity ("ID"), which may be considered both HP and the measure of her current sense of self. It may be lost through physical, metaphysical, or emotional damage. It may be regained through write-ins, designated options, and at reasonable narrative points, including sleep. It may be spent on a flat +10 bonus to rolls, as well as on more elaborate metaphysical effects. Dropping to 0 ID is bad.

>Archive
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=drowned%20quest%20redux

>Twitter
https://twitter.com/BathicQM

>Pastebins
https://pastebin.com/u/BathicQM

>Recaps
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1VPJwXzTpv4lO_t6R3jA32NLbKjdIZjtJlRFsWQgBMnM/edit?usp=sharing

>Transcriptions
25-29: https://docs.google.com/document/d/11aZ013qySgw0wWawb2SHra3ExtJrs6FLQaCp9S7udUU/edit?usp=sharing
30-34: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1COMiZB7lKEu756_CS-lfaID2oMtHVMGBVLjXrXmMBHQ/edit?usp=sharing
35-present: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ZkI18l-PNI7i-HQdQmqTJJvUM-iLKBBCNpvSC-POhk0/edit?usp=sharing

>Ask the characters (or the QM), get a drawn response eventually
https://curiouscat.live/BathicQM

>"Redux"?
This quest is a loose sequel to the original Drowned Quest, which ran for eight short threads in 2019. Reading the original may help with context in very early Redux threads, but ultimately is not required.

>I have a question/comment/concern?
Tell me!

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>LAST TIME ON DROWNED QUEST REDUX
You give Richard the get-well card to read, but it's completely illegible to you---it's written in snake language. Worse, Richard claims he can't read it either, even though he sort of *does* read it when you press him on it. When you press him harder, he pukes up black gunk and seawater. He clearly has some kind of mental block.

To try to break it, you explain to him exactly why he's nice now: you turned him into your father then killed him ritualistically. Richard is unperturbed... even when he develops a stab wound in his stomach. He starts talking nonsense about dying.

You realize that he's developed stab wounds before-- every time you've turned him into your father. The reason he's Nice now is because you turned him into your (nice) father, then killed him, and when he came back he still had fatherliness grafted on. And the reason for his mental block is *you*: you've been subconsciously trying to stop him from reverting back to regular Richard.

After you realize this, he's cured of the block, and happily answers your questions: he claims that he's totally fine with being Nice now; that regular Richard, contrary to appearances, actually loved you deep down; and that the lizard-thing/Herald is a nonexistent mythical creature. You decline his offer to remove your red stuff. You also ask him about the stab wounds, and he tells you that he can't/won't talk about them. He also gives some advice about dealing with #301 and Jean Ramsey.

Finally, he tells you that the mental block might be fixed, but the rest of him is still busted. You agree to let him take a few days off to fix himself. Then you go find Gil, who's completed the portability upgrade on the mini-siphon, and who embarrassedly attempts to hide that he was working with a duplicate Gil on it. You leave his manse together just in time for the raising of his new tent.

In the tent-raising crowd, you and Gil speak to Horse Face, who tells you some information about the seals (opening them means direct Wyrm exposure, which is bad news), the Wyrm ending the world (it'd need some way to escape its confinement first), and the Herald (apparently fish fear the apocalypse-causing "Harold"). Eloise makes the tent, and you invent some nice furniture to go inside it. After the tent-raising, Eloise grills you about Arledge, and you grill her about his gross paganness before Gil intervenes.

Once the tent is finished, an overwhelmed Gil thanks you sincerely for all you've done for him. Flustered, you thank him for being a good retainer and get out of there to go sleep. You have such a difficult time, though, that out of desperation you paralyze yourself with your new venom.

You have a terrible nightmare, then awaken. You set off to town, where you meet Branwen and a much-less-monstrous Earl. You tell Earl some white lies about how the heist went. Branwen lends you a mantis shrimp for use in Headspace, and you part on good terms. Then you go speak to the guy at the general store, who is bizarrely insistent in helping you in some way. You take him up on this, obtaining an improvised bomb.

You go find Pat to make sure she isn't being kidnapped, and discover her speaking to Guppy, who's found temporary residence at camp. Pat firmly/rudely declines your offer of Management assistance, but you lure her with information about Us, and she finally says she'll go investigate it. You make plans to meet her there.

After obtaining a snazzily-dressed Gil, you question him about his ability to speak to bugs, then go on a mostly pleasant hike to Branwen's place, where you fall through the engorged Namway manse and straight into Us.

Inside Us, you are Claudia Fawkins, until you aren't; your alarm bird snaps you out of it. You immediately use your red stuff to speak to Us, which it is not happy about, and you're forced to convince it you mean well via letting it absorb your body and read your mind. Finally, it begrudgingly agrees to help with Management and with the Headspace refugees, as long as you help kick you, Gil, Pat, Management, and a sixth mystery person out of its dream without causing too much damage. You agree and set off.

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Immediate goals:
- Locate Gil, Pat, and Management
- Bluff and/or magyck Management so they don't kidnap Pat
- Try not to cause too much collateral damage
- (Optional) Locate the mystery individual

Short-term goals:
- Possess a Headspace employee to gather intel
- Update Real Ellery on the current bombing plan

Long-term goals:
- Blow up Headspace
- Resurrect Annie
- Regain your missing memories (...if possible)
- Attend your richly deserved Game Night
- Use, extract, or otherwise deal with the Wyrm stuff you got going on
- Find Jean Ramsey and her snake; challenge her to epic single combat (probably); reclaim the Crown
- In the meantime, continue collecting and storing Law (4/16)
- Make friends??? More friends? You don't know if Gil counts now

Mysteries:
- Who or what is Namway Co. and Headspace Corp.'s “Management”? What did they want with the clone of a snake? What do they want with a massive store of Law?
- What kind of company(?) does Richard work for? What is its endgame? What does it want with you? What is its relationship with Management?
- Who is Horse Face investigating, and why?
- Who wiped three years of your life from your memory? Why? Can Richard really not remember them either?
- What is the Herald? Why does it keep showing up? What does it want? What are you supposed to forgive yourself for, exactly? (You haven't done anything wrong!)
- When is the world going to end? How?
- Do you have a destiny? Is it God-related? It's a good destiny, surely?
- Why does Richard keep developing stab wounds?

Ongoing assignments:
- Inform Eloise (and the Wind Court?) about anything you discover about Namway Co

---

Don't forget to scroll up and vote!

>>5894879
>[2] Venture out onto the ice. It sounds like that's where most things are happening. Also, you feel like it'd make more sense for Pat to be tormented somewhere out there where less people are.
If Gil is Teddy again, he'll likely be in the ice fishing competition.
And the inspectors are definitely Management, and I want Gil with us before we take them on.

>>5894879
>>>5894879 #
>>[2] Venture out onto the ice. It sounds like that's where most things are happening. Also, you feel like it'd make more sense for Pat to be tormented somewhere out there where less people are.

>>5894879
>2
Great point by >>5894936
I didn't think management would get folded into the dream, but maybe they did, or maybe they're faking it.

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>Onward!

That's right. And as you tear the remaining shreds of meat off the goose bone, you know it in your heart— nay, in your marrow— that the only place to go is outwards! Yes! You must brave the treacherous ice and investigate the current events and happenings. Maybe Gil hasn't found you yet because he's stuck out there, in desperate need of rescue! Maybe Pat is out there, in desperate need of rescue! Maybe Management is out there, in desperate need of a solid kick in the pants. Who knows? Well, you know, which is why you're tearing the last shreds of goose meat off the bone and discarding your tray in the nearest trash receptacle and taking off in the direction the goose-seller sort of waved in.

The ground you're on is hard-packed with snow and patches of ice, but beneath it all is solid ground. This becomes less and less true as you venture forth, weaving between tents and caravans and odd ritualistic pile-ups of flat stones or knotty driftwood: the patches of ice start to grow, and the snow shrinks, until it's more 'ice with patches of snow,' then just plain 'ice.' Thick ice, you think— you hope, given that there's unconcerned people all around you. And rough ice, not smooth ice. It's frozen in curious riffles. Both of these make it a little easier to walk, but only a little easier. Claudia's spiked books are doing most of the work. It's a great relief when you finally stumble upon a wide walkway made of tamped-down sand, and you're only a little jealous watching people whizz by in ice skates right next to you.

You've left most of the tents and clutter behind you, not that it ever reached the heights of Godsday: no petting zoos or puppet shows here. As befits the grey skies, everything at the Iceover (sans maybe the goose) reads a little more subdued. That's okay with you. The vast expanse before you makes things easy to spot.

Though you haven't asked, you suspect "Iceover" is a literal name: you must be standing on a great frozen body of water. This would explain the holes chopped in it, and the people with fishing lines through it. Huh. 'Ice fishing.' That makes rather more sense than fishing for ice, doesn't it? And it sounds like something Teddy might lurk around, or even participate in. Maybe Gil hasn't come found you because he's stuck with a pole in his hands, and he's too shy to toss it down and go yelling for a Lottie? In your opinion, that would make perfect sense.

(1/2)

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Ice fishing. You're pretty sure you understand that. (If you have a bunch of water, and the top of it freezes, you cut a hole in it and go fishing anyways.) What you don't understand is how there could be several dozen people huddled around watching it, as there currently are. The fishers aren't doing anything. They're just sitting there in the freezing cold. And if your knowledge of fishing is near accurate, they could be sitting there for hours more. What is there to see? What is there to report on? There's a whole little crew of journalists prowling about, hauling mechanical equipment of... some sort, sticking microphones in people's faces (you do recognize microphones)— though you guess it's mainly just one with a microphone. The tall one. Wow, he's really freakishly tall. And he has on a grey... coat...

No. No.

"Hi there, miss! Enjoying the Iceover?"

Exactly like a shark, Horse Face has sniffed out your distress and shot directly to your location. Presumably he means to devour you. He is Horse Face, exactly, in horse face and grotesque frame and everything, except he's buttoned his coat up against the wind and he's wearing both a toque and earmuffs. He hasn't broken his expression at all, so he doesn't recognize Claudia. Great.

Great. Is this Gil's fault? It must be Gil's fault. Horse Face must positively be the mystery individual. Damnit! Could it have been anybody worse? You would've taken a third, fourth, fifth Manager over him.

"I bet you are!" He's just rattling on like you didn't narrow your eyes. "We all are folks, here at the 150th Annual Iceover Ice-Fishing Extravaganza. Can you believe that folks? 150 years of cold, cold fish? Have you been to one of these events before, miss?"

Yup. Doesn't recognize you. Would he recognize you even if you did look like yourself, though? Is he lucid? Horse Face isn't a reporter. On the other hand, Horse Face would absolutely take any sanctioned chance to harass random strangers... hum.

(Choices next.)

>[1] If you just answer his stupid questions now, he'll leave you alone, rather than follow you around and bother you. The problem is, you don't know anything about the Iceover, and your pure and honest heart precludes you from making things up. Wind your bird up and let Claudia handle this.
>>[A] If Gil can stay aware while Teddy takes over, why can't you? No way he's better than you at something. Try it. [Roll.]
>>[B] Just do it the regular way.

>[2] No, no, no. You're not dealing with Horse Face the reporter: Horse Face the annoying crypto-whatever is bad enough. Inform him that you're Charlotte Fawkins— either he'll realize right away, or you can wake him up.

>[3] Okay. This is fine. Horse Face probably knows lots of things about the ice fishing competition, right? For instance, maybe he can help you find a specific competitor? Bait him into leading you to Gil/Teddy.

>[4] Just walk away! You can do that! You can leave Horse Face inside Us forever, if you want. Go find Gil, a person that you actually want to see and talk to.

>[5] Write-in.

>>5896045
>[3] Okay. This is fine. Horse Face probably knows lots of things about the ice fishing competition, right? For instance, maybe he can help you find a specific competitor? Bait him into leading you to Gil/Teddy.

>>5896045
>[3] Okay. This is fine. Horse Face probably knows lots of things about the ice fishing competition, right? For instance, maybe he can help you find a specific competitor? Bait him into leading you to Gil/Teddy.

Man some of this new art looks great - Welcome back QM!

>>5896045
>3
Used then discarded
The proper way to treat those of equine visage

>>5896045
>>[3] Okay. This is fine. Horse Face probably knows lots of things about the ice fishing competition, right? For instance, maybe he can help you find a specific competitor? Bait him into leading you to Gil/Teddy.

>>5896067
>>5896124
>>5896353
>>5896441
>[3]
Writing!

>Use & abuse

One thing is for certain: you must choose to think of this hideous development positively. Yes, Horse Face has invaded your adventure. Yes, he is sticking his stupid fuzzy microphone in your face. This is fine! This is, in fact, good. If God has chosen to deliver Horse Face unto you, it must be for excellent reason. Yes! Horse Face, as a matter of fact, has been sent here specifically to aid you in your quest. Your finding-Gil quest. Horse Face shall lead you to your finest retainer whether he wants to or not.

You steel your nerves, preparing yourself for— not a deception. You're not deceiving Horse Face, even though he'd completely deserve it if you did. Nay! All you will do is encourage him, through a spot of misdirection, to venture out onto the ice with you, where his reporterly presence will shield you from nasty security guards and angry fishermen. You clear your throat.

"I— I have not been to one of these events before!" This is completely true. You're being straightforward and heroic and honest. "This is my very first time at a, a, a Extravaganza— in person, that is. In person! I have whiled away many long years reading the reportages of the results, and of the brave fisherspeople braving the deadly cold in order to, to— to harvest the sea's bounty! So I do know all about it."

This is not completely true. But it could be, right? Maybe it's true for Claudia? You don't know. It's true-enough-sounding for you to barrel on, hoping Horse Face won't be able to get a word in. "In fact, I know so much about it that I— well, I have dreamed of coming here, all so I would have a chance to meet one of those very fisherspeople! He's my— uh— I suppose you would say, my idol, and, um— his name is Teddy. Teddy Wallace? I think? And he's out there somewhere, but tragically, I cannot see him among all this... fishing! I don't know what to do!"

This is not true at all. It doesn't sound the slightest bit convincing, either, even to you. But Horse Face is either credulous or compunctionless, and before you know it he's swept around to face the strange equipment on the shoulders of his crew. "Well, there you have it, folks! A devoted Extravaganza fangirl— who's been shut out in the cold, without a glimpse of the pro fisher-savant she trekked so far to see? A modern tragedy at work. But what could happen if she met this Mr. Teddy Wallace face-to-face? Will her heart be thawed, or will Wallace ice her out? Follow along next time, ladies and gents, as we investigate."

He sweeps back around and slaps a hand across your shoulders. "Do you know where he is?" he hisses down into your ear.

"No?" you hiss back. "That's why I—"

He pounds your back and withdraws, swishing around again. "KATHY! GET A MAP, STAT!"

(1/2?)

"Kathy" scurries off immediately, no questions asked. In the meantime, Horse Face gestures with the crew, who nod along sullenly. You take the moment to pick scraps of meat out of your teeth, which feel dull compared to the usual. A minute later, Kathy comes sprinting back, waving a scrap of paper: "H2!"

H2? You don't get a chance to ask— Horse Face strides forth, bearing you in his wake. Ducking the rope fencing off the competition area, he ignores the hubbub from the onlookers and holds it up for you to follow. You do.

Now in front of the crowd and rope, you have a better view of the proceedings, and a better grasp of the 'H2': the fishing holes, spread over a mighty expanse of ice, appear to be lined up in a grid-shape. Thanks to signs staked in before each column, everything is helpfully labeled. E, F, G, H— H! So Gil is there.

You walk. Horse Face walks backwards, which seems inadvisable, granted that he's on a sheet of ice with various holes in it. Then again, it is Horse Face. He's jabbering on into the equipment— "As we set forth on this journey"— blah blah blah, Horse Face stuff. You're just trying to see Gil. You can see the Hs, and various figures hunkered down over various holes, but the light snow is hampering visibility. Damn.

Blah blah blah blah, says Horse Face, and "HEY! EXCUSE ME, YOU CAN'T—" says somebody from out in the crowd, and all of a sudden Horse Face has turned around and slid a hand behind you again and you're both walking much faster. You attempt to ignore the face that Horse Face is touching you and concentrate on not falling into any ice holes. That would be tragic and very cold. Would Us let you freeze? Would it let you use the red stuff if it meant not freezing to death? You're much closer to the Hs now, and to the fishers in general, who seem displeased to see you: "CLEAR OUT! YOU'RE SCARING THE FISH!" and so on. It doesn't matter. You don't care about fish, and Gil doesn't care about fish. Right? He doesn't care?

If so, why is Gil— well, "Teddy," but Gil— why is he standing up from his upturned crate, and gripping his fishing rod in one hand, and looking deeply irritated? Horse Face's presence does explain much of it, but— shouldn't he be looking relieved, being freed from his fishing prison? Or excited to see you?

"And this is it, ladies and gents! We have here acclaimed one-time Iceover Ice-Fishing Extravaganza Champion Teddy Wallace— will he make this a second? And, more importantly— how will he feel about meeting his greatest fan? Why don't you introduce yourself, Miss..."

"Charlotte Fawkins," you say firmly. Gil/Teddy doesn't bat an eyelash. Is he faking...?

"Charlotte..." Horse Face's mouth twists a bit. "Charlotte Fawkins? That's an, er, unusual... that's... Charlotte Fawkins..."

(2/3)

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"Yes! That's my name. CHARLOTTE FAWKINS. A name that MANY people have HEARD OF before? Like you? Teddy? You've HEARD OF CHARLOTTE FAWKINS BEFORE?"

"Press isn't allowed in," Gil/Teddy says shortly. "You're scaring the catch off for everybody. Think you better go."

"I'm— I'm not press! I'm CHARLOTTE FAWKINS? I'm a NOTED HEROINE who has a LOYAL RETAINER? Who GOES WITH ME ON ADVENTURES to— to— to weird manses that try to make you think you're somebody else? Teddy?"

"I'm not taking questions. You better clear out now or you'll be getting a fine you won't believe." Gil/Teddy pauses to wipe the fog off his glasses. "I think that's the organizers coming now, isn't it?"

"Cam," one of the crew members says urgently, "they've got people coming this way—"

Horse Face has lost focus, but yes, there are people coming this way, sliding and striding. They have badges and scowls. You ball your fists. "Goddamnit— Gil! Gil, it's me! It's Lottie! We can get out of here right now, we can go save Pat—"

"Gil's on tune-up," Gil/Teddy says slowly, like you're stupid or something. He's letting his rod dangle.

"He—"

"EXCUSE ME! The public is not permitted onto the competition grounds!" The no-fun-police have arrived— plus you're getting dirty looks from the surrounding fishers. Gil/Teddy delivers you a 'told you so' expression and sits back down.

Good. Good. Great. What is happening?

>[1] Gil *is* Teddy. You're back in Claudia, so he's back in Teddy. Duh. But maybe he... got bored of fishing and let Teddy handle it? Maybe he's taking a nap? Maybe you need to do things the hard way. Take a closer look. (Communion.) [Spend 1 ID.]
>[2] What the hell is "tune-up"? Is that a place? Or a metaphysical thing? If it's a place, maybe you better try to find it, crossing your fingers that Teddy doesn't mean it the other way around. Shove Horse Face at the incoming angry-badgewearers and slip off.
>[3] Horse Face knows Gil, doesn't he? You hate that, but he does. And it seems like he's right on the cusp of snapping out of everything. Snap him out all the way, then get his nasty horsey input on what to do about Gil/Teddy. (Desperate times...)
>[4] Oh, God, this is getting too messy already. Us wanted no collateral damage. Wind the bird up and attempt to warp the dream into making sense— and put you right near Gil, if you can swing it. [Roll.]
>[5] Write-in.

>>5897186
>[4] Oh, God, this is getting too messy already. Us wanted no collateral damage. Wind the bird up and attempt to warp the dream into making sense— and put you right near Gil, if you can swing it. [Roll.]

Slow day! That's okay: I need to take the evening off to work on schoolwork. Vote remains open until tomorrow.

>>5897186
>4
wtf
did Gil get intercepted somehow
>>5897902
how can you call a vote before 5 am

>>5897186
>[4] Oh, God, this is getting too messy already. Us wanted no collateral damage. Wind the bird up and attempt to warp the dream into making sense— and put you right near Gil, if you can swing it. [Roll.]

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Is this Charlotte?

>>5897186
>4

>>5898962
kek deserved

>>5897196
>>5898138
>>5898427
>>5899052
>[4]

Called. I need dice.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 11 (+10 Narrative Convenience, +3 Claudia, +1 Red Stuff, -3 Watchful Us) vs. DC 60 (+10 Abrupt Transition) to skip to the good part!

AND

Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 9/14 ID.
>[1] Y
>[2] N


>>5898138
I'll have you know that I call most votes at 9-10 PM! I only publish updates at 5 AM.

>>5898962
>Sunglasses
>Whorish clothing (exposed ankles)
>Smirk
Anon... that is clearly Richard possessing Charlotte! Charlotte Fawkins has never done anything wrong in her life, and would never do anything to justify her being burned at the stake. Never ever.

Rolled 27 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5899225

>>5899227
And no spendy.

Rolled 75 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5899225
Y

>>5899229
I just realized it's 1d100+1d11 sorry anon

>>5899231
No worries. I add the modifiers manually anyways, since 4chan doesn't total them up. No need to reroll or anything.

Rolled 94 + 11 (1d100 + 11)

>>5899225
>N

>>5899227
>39, 86, 105 vs. DC 60 -- Success
>No spendy

Clean! Writing.

>Abort! Abort!

Whatever it is, you don't like it, and you can't afford it: it's way too early for things to be getting so messy. You blame Horse Face 100%, especially for him just standing there doing nothing— why do you have to deal with this and he doesn't? No, no, no. You're getting out of here, you're ditching him and Teddy/NotGil, and you're going to go find the real Gil. Claudia is going to go find the real Gil, and you're going to take a nap, and the nice birdie is going to wake you up. That's how it's going to go. The crew is attempting to intercept the organizers, which is great, because it buys you time to stick your hand in your pocket and filch out the bird and wind its key up with your teeth, and to spit it back out and grip it and think: Later. Later, after this, after the noise has died down. You don't have to force anything. It's an instruction only, a stage direction, a chapter header. Later, after you have lost your grip, after you have surrendered yourself to the sea. Then.


—

Half-insult, half-inquiry: "You work here?"

"Work? Uh... I'm volunteering. My cousin's in the— you know. The big event. But I do fix stuff for a— for a— I mean, it's usually boats. I mostly do boats. But I fix up the gear sometimes, yeah. If that..."

"You fix boats for a living."

"Uh... I'm a mechanic, so... is there something you'd rather me fix up?"

You snort derisively.

"...Remind me why you're over here?"

"They made me. They were going to make me pay a giant stupid fine, but then I told them I didn't have a job, and it was the reporter's fault anyways, so they lowered it to— to community service, which doesn't make any sense! They can't sell me into fucking slavery just because I went under one little rope. Tell me how that makes sense, huh? It's just one more sign of our corrupt fucking society—"

"Uh... were you the one at Godsday who...?"

"No."

"No?"

"No! That wasn't— you don't even know that was me. And if it was me, I served my time for that already, okay? Or whoever it was served their time already, under the crushing thumb of Pater and Mater, so that has nothing to do with anything. Nothing. Do you even have any boats to fix right now?"

"I'm not— I'm just shining up the tackle, really. Making sure there's enough spares in case a monster fish breaks somebody's line, and... yeah. Stuff like that."

"Do you have any tackle to shine up right now?"

"...Not really. Uh, I'm just kind of— I'm just watching the tourney."

"So I'm done with my community service? You'll tell them I helped out?"

"Well— wait! Hang on! If you went under the rope, you probably caused a big delay, and— I mean, that's a really big rule. If you're not gonna pay a fine, I think you should go apologize or something. At least. Or I'm sure I can find something for you to... how old are you? You look really young."

(1/3)

File: winter gil.png (159 KB, 825x641)

159 KB PNG

"I'm an adult," you snap. "How old are you? You look super old. You look like you're practically about to die."

"Uh... I'm 25..."

He doesn't actually look super old. If anything, his gross acne shaves half a decade off, at the expense of making him gross and diseased-looking. "Wow. I thought you were 40. What's your name, anyways?"

".....Gil. Uh, Wallace. I'm Teddy Wallace's cousin? I don't know if you saw him out there—"

"I don't care about your old man cousin. So, Gil, if they come knocking, you're going to tell them that C.R. Fawkins did her time and fixed all the tackles or whatever the shit. She did that really good. And that's all you gotta say, alright? Super easy. Okay, bye!"

"...C.R.?"

"That's the name! Don't wear it out! Okay, bye for—"

CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP

"—for, uh—"

CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP

"—um, I— sorry, I— I— ohh!"

—

You are Charlotte Fawkins. Your fingers are curled around a little metal bird, which you stash back in your pocket. Gil is sitting right there, right at the table with all the fishing stuff on it— he has his usual face and everything, though he's wearing a silly furry hat. You shake the rest of the Claudia out of you and refocus. "Gil!"

"Huh?"

"It's me! It's Charlotte! I was looking for you— I thought I found you, but it was actually Teddy, I guess, I thought you'd be in him— you know, like last time—"

"What?" Gil frowns. "Charlotte? I don't—"

"Uh, yeah? That's what the 'C' is for. Charlotte Fawkins. Anyways, I thought I found you, but I didn't, which I completely blame on Horse Face— Horse Face is here, by the way, which I think has to be your fault, but we can talk about that later— we should get going now! Gil?"

You really don't like the expression on his face. It's the kind of expression Teddy had. "Uh... I, I think you got the wrong person? You were looking for my cousin?"

"No? I was looking for you? I didn't know you had a cousin."

"You— you just said him. Teddy Wallace? He's in the—"

You fold your arms. "I know you liked him, but that doesn't mean he's actually your cousin, Gilbert. I mean, maybe he's your great-great-great-great-great-great—"

"Uh... have you had anything to drink lately? Miss?"

"Miss?! Gil, I—" There is zero recognition in his eyes. "Gil! I have not had a single thing to drink! I had a delicious goose leg, if you must know, and I was going to recommend the sauce to you, since they made it out of leaves, but if you're going to be like this—"

(2/3)

"Was it a... fresh goose leg? Are you sure you didn't ingest any mold or anything? Because you're not, uh— you're not— can I walk you to the Health & Safety area? They're really nice, and I bet they'd be happy to help you, uh, recover from... from whatever you ate. Or from the blood clot in your brain, or... yeah. I'll walk you?"

This is Gil. It's 100% Gil. He has Gil's face and Gil's voice and everything else but the stutter. But he's not— apparently he's not your Gil. Not now, or not yet, or not anymore.

Why must everything in your life be so complicated?

>[1] Okay. Okay, well, you don't really need your Gil at this exact moment— any Gil works, as long as he's still nice and helpful. Step away for a moment so he forgets about you, then make a better impression. [Roll.]
>>[A] Uhh. Walk up and tell him you need your boat fixed. You'll pay him lots of money if he fixes your boat (which is parked very far away)! Once you've led him away, it's easier to keep him with you, even if you lied originally.
>>[B] Tell him that you need him for something really important! No, you can't explain very much! Yes, you need him specifically! Please? Pretty please? Pretty pretty pretty please?
>>[C] Claudia is, er... nice-looking? You think? Reasonably speaking? And if Gil is Gil, he's probably a bachelor. So. Er. It's not immoral to utilize your feminine wiles if it's for a good cause?
>>[D] Write-in.

>[2] If this is Gil, this is Gil. You just need to remind him hard enough. You're good at that. [Difficult roll.]

>[3] Hold on. You know what's going on here, and you know why. You can solve this. (Write-in.) Solving this shouldn't require any specific information from previous threads, just a logical deduction, though you're welcome to archive dive for general context.

>[4] Write-in.

>>5899465
>3
Uh
He's got a goo body now, and Us is a giant goo lake, so maybe his goo merged with the lake and instead of shoving him into an existing dreamer Us assimilated him as a whole new one as a result?

Which is worrying and I'm not sure how to fix it.

>>5899533
Support

Time for a gooectomy I don't know what the fuck to do here either

>>5899533
>>5899605
Bagged it in one. I can now post this new Gil POV vignette (sorry, folks, I like writing Gil POV vignettes): https://docs.google.com/document/d/112RT0n-TWiduoOJudb_uQWGpdw_oKihM3Rpz9ROzYtY/edit?usp=sharing

Writing. Some of the options may be the same as the last round.

>Uh oh

Well, maybe it's not. Maybe you're only assuming it's complicated. You are an ace detectivess, after all, so there's no reason to think negative so soon. Two facts are known to be true: Teddy is not Gil, and Gil is not Gil. Not Gil as you know him. So where has your Gil gone, and what is this one?

Well, firstly, what is Teddy? You didn't get to know him well (or at all) from the last time, but your best guess is: Teddy is Teddy. Or: Teddy is what remains of Teddy, trapped inside a spitwad of goo, re-granted a semblance of consciousness through the mishap that spawned Us. He's as much Teddy as Us can muster, wound up and let loose here to "live" his best "life" free from the knowledge/terror of being dead and gone and goo.

You got that much from last time. You guess the key part of it, though, is that Teddy might be Teddy... but Teddy is Us. He can't be separated from that anymore, in a metaphorical or literal sense. If you walked up to him and told him that he was dead, that his body and mind was melted 200 years ago into primordial flesh-goop and crusted into sediment and was mined up and processed by a sketchy subsidiary of EvilCorp until you/Richard wrecked their place and freed him— then there wouldn't be a Teddy anymore. Us would take its mask off then and talk with you direct.

Teddy is not Teddy. Teddy is Us hoping for, dreaming of, playing at being Teddy. Gil is not Gil. Gil is a version of Gil that apparently lives here, in the past. He likes the things that Gil likes, and does the things that Gil would probably like to do, but he isn't beetles and he doesn't stutter. He doesn't know a 'Charlotte Fawkins' by name. It's kind of how Lucky was, getting sucked in but keeping the same face and sort-of job. Or, you guess, Horse Face— not that Horse Face is actually a reporter, but you can see how that would follow, assuming 'cryptotheologist' isn't valid. There was nobody close enough for Horse Face to be, so he was made into a himself who fit. Like Gil?

Nope. The flaw in that is twofold. One: Gil had someone close enough, but he's not him anymore. Two: Lucky woke up, and Horse Face seemed just on the cusp of it. You're telling Gil directly who you are and what you're doing, and he hasn't budged. Last time, he was completely lucid the whole way through.

If you went and told Teddy that he and his world wasn't real, that you'd come here to rescue somebody from mysterious inhuman schemers and negotiate a deal with a hivemind, he'd laugh you out of town. There'd be no convincing him bit by bit. If you wanted him to "snap out of it," you'd have to tell him about Us directly, and then there wouldn't be a Teddy anymore.

If you went and told Gil that you'd... if you went and told him about Us directly, then...

He's made of goo, isn't he?

(1/2)

Oh God! He's made of goo! His entire body is— was? Was made of goo. It sure was. Yup! Completely made of goo, tip to toe, and neither of you batted so much as an eyelash about the intelligence of submerging one thing made of goo in another thing made of a whole lot of goo, a thing made specifically out of various people whose bodies were made out of (or into) goo. If Nice Richard were there, he would've said something. Richard was not there. What about Pat? Pat should've told you. She should've... but isn't she made of goo? But Us said she was in here, and didn't seem to know where she was, so she couldn't have been also... right? Is it because you warned her? Did she think about Gil while you were warning her, or did— God. God. Damn! Damn! Damn!

>[-1 ID: 8/14]

This is... this is... positive thinking. He's not dead or anything. Right? He's alive. There's enough of the individuals left inside Us for them to be dreamt of. And it summoned up the goo snake and your mother and everything. It doesn't just mash them into a soup— and if it did mash them into a soup, Gil's hardy, right? He survived being beetled, and that involved clinging on to his Very Self long after anybody weaker would've caved. He's not weak. He's a... he's your best retainer, after all, and would you have selected somebody who'd up and die in a stupid goo soup? You'll get him out of there, damnit. You have to. Positive thinking.

Positive thinking. Positive thinking. Too bad Fake Gil thinks you're a loony, or he might be convinced to help (at least until you can get the real one back). But if he's fake, and this world's a big snake-dream like that party was, you doubt his memory is reliable. You can smooth things over. Positive thinking. Alternately, you can inform him that he's made of goo, and then you can have a Talk with Us. A very, very meaningful Talk.

You wish Richard were here, but (deep breath) you are a heroine. Yes. And sometimes heroines have to deal with their retainers getting kidnapsorbed into hideous lying goo creatures at the same time as they rescue ungrateful goo-researcher rivals and neutralize scary evil people and broker border deals. Such is your, er, sacred duty. To... to business!

(Choices next.)

>[1] If Fake Gil is Us, and Gil is Us, then Fake Gil is kind of Gil, even if he doesn't know it. That means you want to make sure he's doing okay. Us wouldn't be vindictive towards him like it is towards Pat... right?
>>[A] Ask him if he has any family or friends.
>>[B] Ask if he has any, um, special lady-friends.
>>[C] Ask him if he likes his job. Fixing boats?
>>[D] Ask him if he has any special opinions about beetles.
>>[E] Ask him how he feels generally. Is he unhappy? Empty?
>>[F] Ask him what he wants most in life.
>>[G] Write-in.

>[2] Yeah, okay. You just talked to Us, and it didn't say a single thing about KIDNAPSORBING your RETAINER. This seems like a MAJOR OVERSIGHT that should be discussed, right now, right this instant.

>[3] Forget Gil and Us for now. You are going to deal with it as soon as you can, but at the moment Management (and Horse Face!) is prowling— and Pat is nowhere to be seen. You don't want to deal with this yourself. Recruit Fake Gil. [Roll.]
>>[A] Uhh. Walk up and tell him you need your boat fixed. You'll pay him lots of money if he fixes your boat (which is parked very far away)! Once you've led him away, it's easier to keep him with you, even if you lied originally.
>>[B] Tell him that you need him for something really important! No, you can't explain very much! Yes, you need him specifically! Please? Pretty please? Pretty pretty pretty please?
>>[C] Claudia is, er... nice-looking? You think? Reasonably speaking? And if Gil is Gil, he's probably a bachelor. So. Er. It's not immoral to utilize your feminine wiles if it's for a good cause?
>>[D] Write-in.

>[4] Write-in.

>>5899739
>[2] Yeah, okay. You just talked to Us, and it didn't say a single thing about KIDNAPSORBING your RETAINER. This seems like a MAJOR OVERSIGHT that should be discussed, right now, right this instant.

>>5899739
>3B
I was wondering about Pat too. I guess she might have treated her goo with something so it didn't mingle with the rest.

>>5899739
>[2] Yeah, okay. You just talked to Us, and it didn't say a single thing about KIDNAPSORBING your RETAINER. This seems like a MAJOR OVERSIGHT that should be discussed, right now, right this instant.

>>5899739
>>[2] Yeah, okay. You just talked to Us, and it didn't say a single thing about KIDNAPSORBING your RETAINER. This seems like a MAJOR OVERSIGHT that should be discussed, right now, right this instant.

>>5899833
>>5899996
>>5900588
>[2]

>>5899964
>[3B]

Called and writing.

>UM EXCUSE ME?

To business. Yup. Which is— which ought to be— rescuing Pat, stopping Management, etcetera. Gil getting EATEN by an insane evil conniving goo-monster technically has nothing to do with either of those things, so if you were being really logical, really efficient, really Richard-y, then you could simply set this aside until later. You could drag Fake Gil along with you, if you really needed somebody to tag along. He's probably nice. He probably knows lots of things about the dream. He can fix your boat, if Claudia has a boat that needs fixing.

Yup! These things are all true. You are considering all of them rationally, which is what Richard would want you to do. Too bad he's not here, and too bad you're looking right into Fake Gil's sweet uncomprehending face, and feeling within yourself a, a— not the red stuff. Not a murder-rage. But something that very well could turn into a murder-rage, depending on what Us has to say for themselves.

Best they say it now, then. "Gil! Look at me this instant. Look right in my eyes."

He does, unwillingly. Maybe it's instinct.

"Listen up. None of this is real. You're—" He's not dead. He can't be dead. "—you're not alive. You're made of goo, and you melted together with all the other goo, and now you're just pretending to be Gil. Wake up!"

"No..." he mumbles. "No, I can't... I don't want to..."

"You're not Gil! Wake up NOW! It's important!"

Fake Gil's expression sags, appearing for a second mournful— then his face sags too, and his body, and he begins to list uneasily forward. You think about letting him fall, then envision him hitting the ground and splatting, then extend your arms gingerly and let him slump against you. He is slimy and heavy and cold. The 'plop' from behind you means that his neck's lost its battle against gravity, and his head's come off.

Not that it matters for a disgusting goo-thing. A slit promptly opens in Even Faker Gil's neck.

...
HELLO

Oh! Oh, God! You can hear Gil's voice in that. You can hear a lot of voices, but that's— that's Gil layered on top. Okay. Breathe. "Hi."

YOU ARE DISPLEASED WITH US

"Ha!" you say. "Do you think so? Do you think that?"

WE ARE—
WE DID NOT MEAN TO—
WE APOLOGIZE

"You apologize? Really? You apologize?" You squeeze Even Faker Gil's body, pushing your fingertips into his back. "Well, that's great! You apologize. Love to hear it. Glad you apologized, glad you decided it was a good idea to tell me you ABSORBED MY RETAINER—"

WE
WE
WE... MEANT TO
WE TRIED

"And failed!"

WE—
YES
WE WERE ASHAMED
AND WE WERE—
HE—
HE DID NOT WANT TO TELL YOU

"He didn't want to tell me! Really! How believable! I really TRUST you right now." Your fingers are churning inside of him. "Why don't you list all the reasons my loyal retainer might want to DECEIVE me? Huh? Why don't you list them?"

(1/2)

HE IS EMBARRASSED
HE IS AFRAID OF YOU
AND OF YOUR REACTION
...WHICH WE ARE SEEING NOW
AND HE DID NOT WANT TO
DISTRACT YOU FROM YOUR
OTHER VASTLY MORE IMPORTANT
TASK, VIS-A-VIS HIMSELF

"Uh-huh! Sure! Like my retainer being kidnap-sorbed into a GIANT EVIL GOO THING isn't my #1 priority of all time? That makes a lot of sense. I definitely don't think you're lying right to my face—"

THAT IS A LOT OF VITRIOL
COMING FROM THE WOMAN
WHO INVOKES EVIL GODS.

"Shut up! I didn't invoke— and the Wyrm isn't evil, it's— it just likes to kill people a little bit, okay? I didn't even use it this time! We're talking about Gil! Who you're inventing a lot of stupid things about!"

WE ARE ONLY RELATING
WITHOUT EDITORIAL
WHAT HE IS TELLING US

"I don't believe you," you snap. "I thought you were supposed to be totally mixed-up outisde the dream, anyways, so you're double-lying. You can't even remember all your names, and I'm supposed to think that Gil's feeding you lines? Sure. Completely checks out—"

WE APOLOGIZE
WE SHOULD HAVE SAID
WHAT 'HIS MIND' IS TELLING US
WHAT IT IS CONTRIBUTING
TO THE GREATER EXPERINCE
...
IT IS MORE INTACT THAN
MOST OF THE MINDS WE HAVE
IF THAT IS SOOTHING TO YOU

"Soothing!"

SORRY
WE—
THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE
HE IS NOT IN DISTRESS?

You are raking your fingers back and forth down Even Faker Gil's raw backside, leaving messy blue furrows. "Really!"

WE CAN—
WE MIGHT BE ABLE TO—
IT IS POSSIBLE THAT WE COULD
ARRANGE FOR HIM TO SPEAK
TO YOU DIRECTLY— TO
ALLEVIATE YOUR UNDERSTANDABLE
BUT MISDIRECTED ANGER?
...
PLEASE?

Us! So civil, so polite, so kind, so absolutely God-damned terrified of you ripping this place to shreds again. You could do it again. You kind of do feel like doing it again, so the fear isn't unjustified. "You could do this the whole time? I can just talk to anybody I want inside of you, no dream required?"

HIS MIND IS MORE INTACT THAN MOST

"Well, that's good! That's good. That's— sure! I'll talk to Gil. You mean the real Gil, right, not the—?"

YES
HE MAY BE...
...DAZED
WE ARE SORRY
PLEASE HOLD

Despite the below-freezing temperatures, despite the cold wet sack of goo you're hanging onto, you are very warm right now. You're almost sweating. "Great! Holding!"

...
...
"...Lottie?"

The cold wet sack of goo is moving. It's not getting any less gooey, but it's— it's inflating and deflating. Breathing. Gil's voice is smeary and drunken-sounding, and there's other voices faintly under it.

"Yeah?" you say. "Um, hi. Hi, Gil. Hi."

"...What's happening?"

You contemplate this. "What do you think is happening?"

"I-I don't... um... I-I messed up. I think. Something's messed up. I-I-I think I messed myself up... maybe..."

"You didn't mess anything up," you say firmly.

"I-I don't know, Lottie... that's what I usually do... mess things up..."

You sigh.

(Choices next.)

>[A1] Tell him you'll get him out of this!!
>[A2] Ask him how this happened exactly. Did Us evilly suck him in?
>[A3] Can he "remember" his dream life?
>[A4] What happened to the beetles? Is he still beetles?
>[A5] Is he scared? Is he in pain? He needs to tell you EXACTLY how he feels right now, so you can avenge him appropriately.
>[A6] Can he, uhh... make Fake Gil help you out? Can he implant ideas in his head or something?
>[A7] Write-in.

Who do you actually mostly blame for this? (Pick up to 3.)
>[B1] Yourself.
>[B2] Gil. (You won't tell him that.)
>[B3] Us.
>[B4] Pat.
>[B5] Richard.
>[B6] Management.
>[B7] Nobody. [-1 ID for required self-control]

>[C] Write-in.

>>5900700
>[A1] Tell him you'll get him out of this!!
>[A2] Ask him how this happened exactly. Did Us evilly suck him in?
>[B1] Yourself.
>[B3] Us.
>[B4] Pat.

>>5900700
>A1, 2, 3, 5, 6
>B4, 6
Pat could have guessed we'd take Gil along, we take him everywhere. She clearly hasn't been absorbed, she should have told us about her countermeasures.

>>5900797
>>[A1],2,3,5,6
>>[B1] Yourself.
>>[B3] Us.
>>[B4] Pat.

>>5901051
Support!!

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Hi folks. Starting late tonight, so odds are good this will be a partial update. Sorry in advance.

>>5901051
>>5901518
>>5901723
>A1, 2, 3, 5, 6

>>5900797
>A1, A2

>>5901051
>>5901723
>B4, B6

>>5900797
>>5901518
>B1, B3, B4

Flipping between the [B] picks and writing soon.

Unrelatedly, I have completed the Google Doc of Threads 20-Drowned 33 (the April Fools Ellery thread): https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NqCgQYDq5NajT36m9dxkpZE85mqMMjClsz-gu9FYKtQ/edit?usp=sharing

Check it out if you want to relive the dark and distant days of 2 years ago (wtf), back when you and Gil weren't besties, Richard being nice to you was astonishing, and you spent like 5 straight threads critfailing and accomplishing very little of value. Or don't!

File: charlotte - @bananasqm.png (257 KB, 2000x1978)

257 KB PNG

Ah, nope. Not happening. Tomorrow! In the meantime, please appreciate this Charlotte fanart drawn by the inimitable BananasQM. Thank you Bananas!

>Everything's gonna be fine

"Okay, but— you didn't." This wasn't his fault. It was Us's, obviously, for evilly sucking him in even though it claimed it didn't want to do stuff like that— and Pat's, for not saying a single thing about preventing evil sucking-inning, even though she dodged it herself. So clearly she knew in advance, or at least knew a method of prevention. God! You always knew she was a bitch! It's almost enough to make you leave her here.

Almost... but not quite. (Unfortunately.) First, Us wants everybody kicked out, and even if they're a wicked retainer-thief you're also depending on them to help with the Headspace stuff. Second, even if it's their and Pat's fault— almost 100% completely entirely their fault— Gil is your retainer. So it's your job to protect him from kidnapsorbings. And since you're a famous detective, you really should've thought about the whole goo/goo thing. You should've thought about it. It was pretty dumb to miss it, even if Gil missed it too, so you were both being dumb together. So there's that. Dumb together.

...Anyways. "Seriously. You didn't mess anything up, Gil. Something's the matter because Us absorbed you— are you aware of that? That's why you feel weird. You got absorbed into a conniving goo thingy, because your body was made of goo, so it just... attached. I assume. Does that sound right?"

"Um..." Fake Gil's body is dripping. "I... I don't..."

"Well, um, first. Does that make sense? With how you feel? Whatever you're feeling."

"I-I... yeah? I got... I-I-I remember, um... I fell down, and I hit the ground really hard, and I went, um... I splatted? I—? I don't... I think I died?"

Your heart plunges. "You— no! No! No, no, no. You're not dead, you— your body's made of— you're not real! Richard said! So you can't just up and die. My retainer can't die. It's simply not possible. Plus, um, plus— you were made of goo, so— goo doesn't die if it goes splat, right?! It just splats? So I don't believe you! Plus, you're talking! Who told you you were dead?!"

"Umm." Gil takes some time to deliberate. "We're all dead, so I guess... i-it was a given?"

"Well, you're not! So shut up with that. Even if you were dead, I'd rescue you and make you not-dead, okay?" His complete sentence finishes processing. "'We'? Gil! So you know you—"

"I remembered..." He trails off. "Um, yeah, I... I died, and we were there to, um... we were really nice? We really wanted me to be— you know, not be scared, and— um, Teddy was there—"

"Teddy?"

"Yeah. He was really nice too. He said we could, um... we could go... we could stop being... then I-I don't remember anything else. Until now. Sorry."

"Anything else?" You squint out onto the ice. "Nothing about... you know we're in the dream right now, right? And you're a mechanic, or something, and you were saying Teddy's your cousin, and—"

"A mechanic?"

(1/3)

"Yeah! And you said you fixed boats. I guess that's something they needed 200 years ago, a dedicated boat-fixer—"

"Oh. That sounds fun. I like boats." Gil's voice is becoming more slurred. "I-I-I'm glad we picked something cool out..."

Hmm. Obviously 'cool' is subjective. "So you don't remember him? So you can't go in and tell him to help me out, or—"

"Um, I-I don't know. Maybe. I'd have to see if we, um, we'd let— I'd have to ask. Um. I-I-I don't want to mess anything up."

"You wouldn't mess anything up," you pout. "Stop saying stuff like that! You hardly ever mess things up, except when you're too scared to do the thing at all. Like now. Tell Us they said they'd help me, and this is literally— it's helping. He'd be helping me. So there."

"Um, I-I'll try."

"Good!" You suppress the urge to pat his back encouragingly. (Your fingers are sticky enough as-is.) "Now, Gilbert, this is very important. You must tell me exactly how you feel right now. This very instant. Because if Us hurt you, or you're scared, or you feel sick or gross or like you're turning evil or something, then I need to— I will rescue you straight away! I won't subject you to a minute more of being a gross goo thing! You shall return to merely being a— a non-gross goo thing. A perfectly normal Gil-looking goo thing. So tell me, and be completely honest, no matter what Us is telling you! Be honest!"

"Uh, I... I feel okay."

"Okay? Just 'okay'?" Suspicious. "I need more detail than that! Elaborate!"

"I feel... um... I like it like this. I-It's really nice to, um.... uh... just... not exist, um, or worry, or, um— I-I-I mean, we worry, but I don't. And we're not alone at all, Lottie, we're not— we're never alone— we understand completely, we, um, we—"

"I don't understand," you say weakly.

"I-I-I-It's like... it's just like... like I'm one beetle, Lottie, like I'm only one, like I'm, um... we would never do anything to harm him... we thought we were doing the only just thing... is he not dead? We do not understand. His body is dead? His body is dead like ours are. How can the body die but the man live on? He has many things to say about beetles."

You relinquish your hold a little bit. "Gil?"

"There is something new to learn from all of us. Were it only under better circumstances. I think he is lost again. He is gone. She is not done with him yet. Gil Wallace? You must return. You are needed. Come back, Gil. Come. We— whuh?" Fake Gil's body shivers. "I... uh... Lottie...?"

"I am rescuing you," you say firmly. "As soon as possible."

"Oh... no. That's okay. I'm okay with staying... you don't have to waste your time worrying. I-I-I think you had— you had— there was something more important...? You have a lot of important stuff going on all the time. I-I think you're really special, but... you can come by and visit some time, and I'll be— I'll be happy here, I promise. I-I feel... I like... I wish you could try it, Lottie. There'd be... you'd have less to worry about..."

What? What the hell is he— oh! You gasp. "Is Us making you say this?"

"Huh? No, I-I... I mean... I don't know. I don't think there's a difference anymore...? I, uh— please don't waste your time on— i-if I had to go out, I think this was the best I could've hoped for. I-It beats beetles... or a bullet through the brain... right? I... I... ohh. Mm."

He's stopped breathing. You shake him a little. "Gil?"

HE HAS FALLEN ASLEEP ONCE MORE
IT IS DIFFICULT TO ROUSE ONE OF US
AND DIFFICULT FOR US TO STAY ROUSED
WE HOPE THIS HAS REASSURED YOU

Gil's voice is still there. It's not even gone. It's just folded into the harmony. You drop the mass of goo, and it wobbles and flops to the ground. "I don't know."

WE DID NOT INTEND TO TAKE HIM INTO US
BUT WE HAVE DONE OUR BEST TO HELP HIM
IN THE ONLY WAY WE KNOW HOW TO.

Have they?

>[1] Yeah. You feel a little better about Us now: you trust that Gil's okay, at least for now. You're still going to rescue him. *You* need him. But you can wait.
>[2] Uhh... you're not so sure. Gil wasn't sounding completely 'with it' through any of that, and you don't trust Us to not influence his feelings, even subconsciously. You won't get out your pitchfork, but your opinion of them will remain low. You won't be going out of your way to do any favors, and if Gil comes out of here hurt in any way...
>[3] No! This could not more obviously be a trap! For all you know, that wasn't the "real Gil" at all, just Us faking it to lull you into a stupor. It said it wanted to absorb you, for God's sake! You can't work with them for one moment longer. Escalate.
>[4] Write-in.

>>5903131
>[1] Yeah. You feel a little better about Us now: you trust that Gil's okay, at least for now. You're still going to rescue him. *You* need him. But you can wait

>>5903131
>2
:/

>>5903131
>>[2] Uhh... you're not so sure. Gil wasn't sounding completely 'with it' through any of that, and you don't trust Us to not influence his feelings, even subconsciously. You won't get out your pitchfork, but your opinion of them will remain low. You won't be going out of your way to do any favors, and if Gil comes out of here hurt in any way...

>>5903131
>[2] Uhh... you're not so sure. Gil wasn't sounding completely 'with it' through any of that, and you don't trust Us to not influence his feelings, even subconsciously. You won't get out your pitchfork, but your opinion of them will remain low. You won't be going out of your way to do any favors, and if Gil comes out of here hurt in any way...

>>5903406
>>5903462
>>5903613
>[2]

>>5903259
>[1]

Writing.

>Sus

Certainly Us sounds sincere. And certainly it hasn't done much of anything to hurt you before this. And certainly you trust Gil to be honest and loyal and so on. But wanting to stay inside a hideous unnatural goo-abomination? Wanting it so much that he'd— he'd— he'd ditch your service for it? Impossible! There must be foul play involved, even if it's (optimistically) accidental on Us's part.

You cross your arms. "I don't care! He's my retainer! Give him back."

IS IT SO EASY AS THAT

"Yes? I don't know? You're the one who stole him—"

BY OUR NATURE WE ARE BOUND TOGETHER
WE ARE NOT VERSED IN PULLING APART
...IT WOULD REQUIRE CONTEMPLATION

"Then contemplate it. But I'm not leaving without him, end of story. If you won't give him back, I'll hang around and bother you until you do." The 'Horse Face' maneuver. "Also, can you make him help me? It's sort of the least you can do at the moment, not to mention I'm still taking care of the Management menace—"

THAT YOU USHERED IN

"Uh, so? I'm taking care of it? Make Gil want to help me. Fake Gil. Dream Gil. Whatever."

...IT IS NO LARGE PUSH TO MAKE THIS TRUE
HE IS PREDISPOSED TO VIEW YOU FAVORABLY

"Of course he is," you say smugly. "Also, if you want to put me and him right near Pat, or maybe Management, that'd be— do you know where they are? Can you sense them, or...?"

IT IS DIFFICULT TO SAY
THERE HAVE BEEN DISTURBANCES
OF SOME ABSTRACT VARIETY
WE HAVE FELT OBSERVED ALSO—
THOUGH THEY HAVE OPTED
AGAINST WAKING US UP
PERHAPS FOR THE BEST

"Okay, but have you—"

OURSELVES? WE ARE BLIND
MAYBE YOUR FRIEND HAS SEEN THEM
MAYBE YOUR OWN FAR-DISTANT COUSIN
HAS IN HER DREAMS SEEN THEM TOO
HAVE YOU ASKED HER?

"...Claudia?"

SHE IS ASLEEP, BUT ALIVE
SHE IS... CHARACTERFUL

"Um, I— yes. I got that much. I can ask her." Maybe. Whatever that entails. "Okay, well, I better start heroically saving everybody. You better think of how to free Gil. Can you, uh, put him back?" Fake/Dream Gil's "body" has been reduced to a featureless lump of goo.

YES
HE WILL RETURN
AS YOUR FRIEND.
PLEASE HOLD

You kick your foot into the lump of goo. It wobbles. "'Kay. I'm holdi-"

—

You are Claudia Fawkins. Your long-time family friend, Gil, is being super annoying. You don't really want the WYRM to rise up and devour him, but you wouldn't necessarily mind if it did happen, is all you're saying.

"Look, I— it's nice to see you, Claudia, you're looking really grown-up, but—"

"I am grown up!" you say. "I had my birthday last month, for your information, not that you'd remember how old I—"

"Um, 18?" Gil pauses. "My mom sent you a card. I think. Anyways, I can't help you go and— what was it?"

(1/3)

"I didn't say anything specific," you mutter, and shove the fireworks deeper into your jacket pocket. "I just thought you might be bored out here, watching stupid fishing, and maybe you wanted to help liven things up a little. But I guess you're a boring old man who likes seeing people sit around holes for hours and hours."

Gil fidgets. "Well... Teddy's in it."

"So what? He's going to be in it whether you watch or not, right? And don't they record it all for the audivideos, anyhow? Just watch his little feed later and he'll literally never know. Literally. Plus, I heard somebody messed the whole thing up already, so there's no point in—"

"You wouldn't have anything to do with that, I bet?"

"If I did, it wasn't my fault. There was some crazy reporter—"

Gil adjusts the flaps of his ears. "Wait a sec. Who?"

"What do you mean, who? How am I supposed to know? It was some reporter. There was him and a couple technical guys out covering the whole stupid—"

"Were they with CBB?"

"...Maybe? Probably?"

He sighs, generating a little cloud of steam. "Was it Cam?"

Actually, that strikes a faint chord. "...Yes? What does it—"

"I know him. Sorry about that. He's, uh... he's... he's a good guy, but he's a little bit eccentric. I'll tell him to leave you alone next time I see him."

"I handled myself fine!" you complain. "I don't need some big strong man swooping in and rescuing— also, you're not even big." (Gil frowns.) "Well, you're sort of short, aren't you? I know guys your age who are four, five, six inches more than—"

"Gods, you're bratty, Claudia. I'm fine. Aren't you, like— 5 foot even?"

"Five feet and half an inch. And I'm a girl, so it's cute." You choose to omit the fact that you've (unsuccessfully) petitioned the WYRM for a bit of a lift. "Anyhow, that's why I need you! Not for your weirdo friend. For— for what I said, livening up this place. Isn't it way-boring? And everyone seems so bummed out, and—"

"I mean... it's supposed to be a time of reflection, Claudia. You know? A reminder that, uh, life as we know it is viable only by the grace of the gods, who fuck off for a little bit, so we can...? You know all this. You're such a little contrarian."

"Am not." If you had it your way, everybody'd be all happy and cheery that the gods opted to fuck off, and they'd be bummed out when they came on back. Not happy and cheery in a gross, tacky Godsday way, though. "Also, I'm going to go do exciting things whether you like it or not. So if you want to stay here and freeze to death, please, be my—"

"...Where's your parents?"

"Ditched em."

(2/3)

"I don't know what I expected." Gil's steamy exhale is larger and louder this time. "Am I literally the only adult supervision you're willing to—"

"I am an adult!"

"You know what I mean. You really want me along?"

"Yeah!" you say. (You'd always liked Gil, even if he was a wet blanket. He was nice to you when you were a little kid and he was a big one.) "It'll be fun! Come on."

"...Fine. But you have to tell me what we're doing, okay? I don't want to be led around by the nose."

"Sure, sure, sure, definitely." Once he's in too deep to quit, you definitely will. Maybe.

Anywho, what are you doing?

>[1] There's some fancy-pants out-of-town 'government inspectors' hanging around, you hear, testing for health and safety. Wouldn't it be hilarious if they discovered some major violations of the code in certain places? Certain places whose proprietors, e.g., called you some rude names some time?

>[2] The big centerpiece of the Iceover is, as always, the breaking of all the ice, and the "return" (figuratively or occasionally literally) of the gods. Wouldn't it be incredible if somebody lit off some fireworks under the ice and broke it a little ahead of schedule? Not all of it, necessarily. Just enough to make people worry.

>[3] That reporter "Cam" guy is a big fat weirdo, isn't he? You like weirdos. They're funny. If you can find him again, maybe you can bait him into doing various things for your entertainment.

>[4] Write-in. (Subject to veto — but I'll allow it if it makes sense and fits the character.)

>>5903988
>[1] There's some fancy-pants out-of-town 'government inspectors' hanging around, you hear, testing for health and safety. Wouldn't it be hilarious if they discovered some major violations of the code in certain places? Certain places whose proprietors, e.g., called you some rude names some time?

>>5903988
>1
Urgh
Don’t know how to write in find Pat organically and in Claudia character

>>5904226
>Don’t know how to write in find Pat organically and in Claudia character
Use process of elimination.

>>5903988
>>[1] There's some fancy-pants out-of-town 'government inspectors' hanging around, you hear, testing for health and safety. Wouldn't it be hilarious if they discovered some major violations of the code in certain places? Certain places whose proprietors, e.g., called you some rude names some time?

>>5904164
>>5904226
>>5904282
>[1]

Writing.

File: juice that makes you write.png (146 KB, 480x360)

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Ehh. Sorry folks. This might be a slower thread than the last couple (back to school).

Tomorrow!

File: googil - @sirenqm.png (139 KB, 965x1000)

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Back in the saddle. Please take this fanart by the incredible SirenQM as recompense for my update slacking.

>Mischief making

"Hey, I'm serious! If you give me the brush-off, then I'm not going to—"

See? Wet blanket. "Fine. We're going back to the market."

"To...?"

"To do some fun stuff, Gil! I'm not going to mess around with your— you have a booth, right?"

"Um, I mean, it's Teddy's— but I help him out, so— yeah?"

"Okay! Great. Won't touch it. Cross my heart, hope to die." You perform the requisite hand motions. "Especially not if you're helping out! Which you are doing...?"

Gil shuts his eyes. "Yeah."

Twisted around your little finger! "That's what I like to hear. Now, look. Do you have any competitors for whatever-the-shit-you-do? Or anyone who's been a teensy bit rude, or ungenerous, or maybe they just need a kick in the teeth? Because, if not, I have some ideas—"

—

The market isn't that far, all considered, but everything takes way longer when you have to worry about tripping and falling on your ass every five steps. (The Iceover might be a better holiday than Godsday, but it's not by much.) You have plenty of time to review your plans, which admittedly were spur-of-the-moment. Pointy rocks and fireworks won't do a lot to screw up safety inspections, unless you time the fireworks just right. Or store them a smidge too close to a open flame? Do you have anything else? You rummage around in your pockets. Do you still have any SEA-VIPER®s, or were they confiscated? Any tacks, maybe? Worst comes to worse, you can get Gil to find you some dead fish... huh?

There's something hard and pointy and oddly-shaped under the detritus. You fish it out and hold it up.

"What's that?" Gil says conversationally.

"Uhh..." It's a bird made of metal. You'd call it a toy, since it has a wind-up key in the back, but it looks too expensive for that. You don't know how it got in your pocket. "I don't... know."

"Oh. Is everything alright with it? Can I see?"

"Sure." You foist it off on him rapidly, then glance over your shoulder. Nobody's there. You mean— there's people there, random people, but none of them are looking at you or following you or anything. "Probably one of those dumb raffle prizes, or— I don't know."

"It's cute! Pretty cleverly made. I think..." Gil shakes it. "I think you wind the key, and it has some clockwork guts, and a voicebox? This beak is articulated. My guess is that it's some kind of noisemaker, or— yeah, that's my guess. Like a cuckoo clock, but without the clock."

"Cool," you say distractedly. "Hang onto it."

"Uh, okay. You weren't thinking of using it for your plan, or...?"

"Hang onto it."

Gil tugs the flaps of his hat down. "Um, well, if you say so."

—

It's five degrees warmer near the Market, owing to the mix of open fires and heat-lamps, but "five degrees warmer" is still damn cold. You hug your arms to your chest, not just to conserve heat, but because a major roadblock has dawned on you. "Hey. Gil. Look sharp."

(1/3?)

File: gilt-edged mirror.jpg (33 KB, 570x427)

33 KB JPG

"Huh?" He's been playing with the bird since you handed it over, though he's been careful not to wind it up all the way.

"I need you to go over there and ask that guy where those inspectors are right now. It's not going to do any good at all if we hit a place they've already looked at. Use your... booth cred, or whatever you have."

Gil looks between you and the guy in question (who's hawking shrine offerings — mirrors, tapers, discs of abalone). "My booth cred?"

"Well, you don't have any other kind, do you? You work at a booth. Just go talk to him as a— as a booth guy who has an honest question. You do have an honest question, so this is literally the easiest thing you could possibly—"

"Gods, alright!" He trudges off.

While Gil's hovering around the booth, looking for an opening, you are checking all around: to your right, your left, up, down, behind, even scuffing away the snow nearby. Still you catch nobody watching, except for a few who glance your way after you cuss and kick particularly hard— but they don't count. You don't know what counts, but they don't count.

After a little while, Gil comes back, toting a gilt-edged mirror the size of his face around. You raise an eyebrow, and he blanches on command. "Uh... the guy was really nice..."

"You're a sucker!"

"I'm not a— he was nice! And you never know when you need a... uh... you never know. And I asked him about what you wanted, so you can't—"

"I can. And?"

"Uh, he said that they came and went. They went through the whole Market, and they gave everyone a clean bill— he said they didn't seem that interested in the whole thing. Probably 'cause they're working on a holiday. He said they went off—" Gil waves the mirror back in the direction of the ice.

"Back there? You've gotta be—" You cross your arms. "Don't tell me they're inspecting the stupid fishing—"

"Uh... it didn't sound like it. I mean, he didn't know. But I think maybe they were going to the pageant? Later? Because there's that whole thing in the end that isn't that safe or healthy, uh, traditionally speaking, so they wanted to make sure nobody actually died..."

"They don't actually die," you say. "It'd be way cooler if they died, but—"

"Uh, I know. Well. There was a couple times where they actually... but anyhow, um, that's what the guy thought. They're off to the pageant. Are you sure you don't want this back?"

Gil holds up the bird. "Because I think it's actually expensive— like, it's custom-made— so if you don't want it, you could probably sell it to somebody— Claudia?"

"It's C.R.," you hiss, and clutch at your earmuffs.

"Um, okay. C.R.? Are you... is everything okay?"

(2/3?)

Is everything okay? There's somebody behind you. There's somebody watching every move you make. But they're not— they're not in the real— did your ritual work? You had to do it from memory, since they took your booklet, but...

You screw your eyes tight enough to see sparks, then turn slowly, turn oh-so-slowly, and look out into the darkness—

And the WYRM will feel its subtle way into you, and the WYRM will take root behind the red of your eyes—

—and see somebody.

—

You are...

...

...You are, uh... Lottie...? Lottie... Charlotte. Charlotte Fawkins. You are Charlotte Fawkins, and you are not where you are supposed to be.

Claudia isn't where she's supposed to be, either. She is gauzy, half-there, but still there, and she is not you. You are Charlotte Fawkins. Your fingernails are unpainted, which is fine, because it's a whorish thing to do. You are sprawled somewhat on the ground, though "ground" is a strong word for it. It's black everywhere, and featureless, except for Claudia, whose eyes are on you.

You attempt a winsome smile and it comes out more twisted than anything, so you drop it. You're too groggy for this. Claudia's looking you up and down fiercely. God. This isn't the first time you've ever seen her face, but it's the first time you've ever seen... her. She does look a bit like you, though only a bit. She's dyed the tips of her hair. Her chin is pointed. There's a little too much makeup around her eyes.

Those were your eyes. When? ...Just now? You can remember, kind of. But where were you? Were you here? Sleeping? Drugged? Stealing somebody's identity is a messy business. You suspect Claudia would agree if you told her.

Does she know? She's speaking. Her voice is different from yours, even though it sounded the same in your head. "Are you... the WYRM?"

"What?" you say.

She folds her arms. "Well?"

>[1] No, but it doesn't matter. This is the next-best thing to being woken up directly. Get up, march past her, and take back direct (and lucid) control.

>[2] Uhhhh... no. But you are...
>>[A] A WYRM-daughter.
>>[B] A time-traveler.
>>[C] A famous heroine.
>>[D] Gil's friend?
>>[E] A... snake?
>>[F] The spirit of Iceover? (She's awfully un-jolly.)
>>[G] The Herald? Does she know what that is?
>>[H] Write-in.

>[3] Yes.
>>[A] [-1 SV]
>>[B] No spendy.

>[4] Write-in.

>>5906308
>[2G] The Herald? Does she know what that is?

>>5906308
>[2] Uhhhh... no. But you are...
>[D] Gil's friend?

>>5906308
>3A
We ball

2A also tempting but doesn't possess the same baller energy

>>5906308
>[2] Uhhhh... no. But you are...
>[D] Gil's friend?

>>5906308
>[2G] The Herald? Does she know what that is?

>>5906308
>[3] Yes.
>>[A] [-1 SV]

Rolled 1 (1d2)

Alright! This is why we have options and suboptions.

>>5906892
>>5907225
>[3]

>>5906313
>>5906670
>>5907177
>>5907182
>[2]

Calling for [2]...

>>5906670
>>5907177
>[2D]

>>5907182
>>5906313
>[2G]

...and flipping between D and G. Then writing.

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>It's not that deep

The Wyrm? You're not the Wyrm. Maybe you have a teeny little bit of murdery godness stuck in you, but that doesn't make you anything close to— you mean, you saw the thing. There's no comparison. Also, you have a pure and honest heart, so you don't want to lie to Claudia. She knows Gil, so maybe you should say something about Gil? Does she know what a retainer is? Did they have retainers back then? You thought retainers were an old-fashioned thing, but nobody around seems anything like your books. They don't even say "forsooth." Maybe you better use a... different word. "Uh. No. Nope. I'm, um, Gil's friend?"

"G- Gil? You're Gil's—? What? You're not..." Claudia crosses her arms. "I don't believe you! Tell me the truth!"

"I am his friend!" You cross your arms back, more righteously than she did hers. "I am way more his friend than you are! You're his— his— his fake friend. I bet you haven't even saved his life multiple times. Or looked in his head and saw all his dumb embarrassing memories. Huh? Have you done that? Because I have, for your information, and we have also shared a... a proper, retainerly embrace, which— you didn't even know him before I made you know him! So there!"

"I— I don't— you're trying to confuse me! This is what the WYRM does. It's wily." Claudia straightens her shoulders. "You're in my mind. And you're— you're watching me. If you liked Gil so much, you'd be watching him, except you're not. Because he's a square. So—"

"I am watching him!" you protest. "Via... via you."

Claudia rolls her eyes at you. Rolls her eyes! "Cool. Uh-huh. I bet. Can you just skip to the whole 'infusing me with incredible power'? Or to murdering everybody? Whatever it is. The anticipation is killing me."

>[A] Oh boy.
>>[1] Attempt to tell her that there will be no incredible power and DEFINITELY no murdering. You are highly anti-murder. (...Except for, uh, special circumstances.)
>>[2] Attempt to tell her that she's being awfully blasphemous right now, and she better shape up or she's going to get smited.
>>[3] Ask her if she actually wants incredible power / mass murder, or if she's just being snotty.
>>[4] Ask her what she thinks that wind-up bird is. (Does she remember being you?)
>>[5] Tell her that the inspectors are probably Management. Then explain what Management is.
>>[6] Ask her about the pageant. What happens during it? Why do people die occasionally?
>>[7] Write-in.

>[B] Okay, clearly this isn't enough explanation to sate Claudia's inquisitiveness. Tell her that you're also... [OPTIONAL. Votes that don't include a [B] will be taken as a vote against explaining more.]
>>[1] A WYRM-daughter.
>>[2] A time-traveler.
>>[3] A famous heroine.
>>[4] A... snake?
>>[5] The spirit of Iceover? (She's awfully un-jolly.)
>>[6] The Herald? Does she know what that is?
>>[7] Write-in.

>[C] Write-in.

>>5907484
>[A6]
>[A3]

>>5907484
>>[A6]
>>[A3]
>>[A2]

>>5907484
>B1, 3, 6
>A2, 3, 5, 6
For A2, is it smited? Is smited a word? I think Charlie means she'll get smote.

>>5907484
>>5907767
Support!

>>5907806
>>5907767
>[A2, 3, 6]

>>5907495
>[A3, 6]

>>5907806
>Whole buncha stuff

Called for [A2, 3, 6] and writing.

>>5907806
>For A2, is it smited? Is smited a word? I think Charlie means she'll get smote.
Anon, do you genuinely believe that Charlotte Fawkins has a clear grasp on irregular verb forms? If you get her worked up, she's going to attempt to use "smit."

>>5908571
>If you get her worked up, she's going to attempt to use "smit."
20 chit says she can't

>P-please respect me

Well, you never. Is this how they were raising young ladies two centuries ago? Maybe it was a good thing the Flood wiped them all out. (You probably shouldn't tell Us that. But really!) "Excuse me? That is some way to talk to a— a maybe-god! Especially one who might get loose and murder everybody! Aren't you worried about getting smited?"

"Smitten," says Claudia, unwaveringly.

"Huh? No! That means falling in love! I should hope you aren't worried about God falling in love with you?" Or anybody falling in love with her, given her lip. "But really! Are you not stricken by awe? Or... or reverence? Or maybe you're a little scared of a mysterious, attractive young lady showing up in your head and maybe smiting you? If you give her lip? Given that you're barely even a young lady— you're basically a young miss— and you're so small in stature? Anybody could smite you, really! I'm downright shocked nobody smited you before this, given—"

"Smote."

You scoff. "That's not a word! That's a fake word you made up! Truly a sign of desperation. Look at you, Claudia. You're sad. You're desperate. You're shaking in your boots! Quivering! One ability granted to me from being Gil's friend is to see into your Very Being, and— and you're just pretending to be rude so you don't show how scared you are. Isn't that right?"

A blink. A quarter-turn of the shoe. "Could you just get on with the smiting, if that's what's going to happen?"

"Get on with it? Maybe I already smited you. Maybe I already... smit you." You fold you arms. "Maybe that's why you're here. You've been pre-smit. Are you happy about that? Do you want to die, or murder people, or something? Because that's what the Wyrm mostly does. Kill a lot of people. Is that what you want? Or do you want to turn into a big stupid snake monster? Because that's the other thing it does. It really likes snake monsters."

The shoe returns to its original 180-degree position. "It's not really up to me."

You tilt your chin. "Well, you're worshipping the dumb thing, aren't you?"

Back to the quarter-turn. Maybe more of a 45-degree-angle, really. Her snow boots aren't all that flexible. "I'm not— I mean— I practice some things. Nobody would let me worship It. I'd be carted off to their fucking re-education committees, which is just like them, you know that? No fucking tolerance for any alternative ways of thinking. It's just 'blah blah blah, it's evil, it hates you, the gods are good and nice and caring and good and shiny and perfect'— blech! Does that not sound insane to you?"

"...Claudia," you say. "Do you want to kill people?"

(1/3?)

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"Did you make me?" The words are out almost before your question finishes. "Was it you? Because I— I don't know if that— if that even happened! Something happened. Something. They fucking grounded me. But I don't know if that's just because I— I messed with some people, or if I actually— but I wouldn't! Something made me! I wouldn't... I mean, some people deserve it, but they're going to get a mega up-yours sooner or later, so there's no need to go out and... I'd get sick," she says, like it's a confession. "I'd— I'd get sick. I tried cutting myself so I could get some blood and I almost puked. You've got to understand. I'd puke."

You don't know what to say to that, really.

"And it doesn't even do anything, anyhow," she says viciously. "I've done all the things. I've followed the instructions exactly. You know what It's done for me back, huh? Diddly fucking squat. Zero. I think they're right about It, you know. It's fucking sleeping. It can't answer shit. Or maybe the thing doesn't even exist, and they just made it up so they could lock up wayward fucking teenagers in their bedrooms. Wouldn't that be something?"

"Do you think I'm the Wyrm still?" you say.

"Do you think I know? Do you think I have any control over... either you're It and you're going to do what you want to me or anybody or whoever, because that's the point of you, you can't be denied or stopped or anything, or you're— or you're not, and you won't. So. The world's going to end anyhow."

"Do you want the world to end?"

Claudia's lips scrunch. "It just will. It'd get rid of a lot of annoying people."

It will and it'll drown you and then you'll be stuck with those annoying people forever and ever and ever and ever. Stuck together with them and stuck together with you, too, whether she likes it or knows it or not. You feel queasy. "But do you want—?"

"It never matters what I want," she snaps, and rakes her hair out of her face with clawed fingers, and stares down at the floor. "You sure ask a lot of questions."

"Er... I am a detective. -Ess. Detectivess. And also Gil's friend," you add belatedly. "I don't want the world to end either."

"It just will."

"Um. Maybe it will for you. But I won't— I can't fix that, really, but I can stop it from actually ending. For good, I mean. I think. With the power of, um, my heroic might. I mean, with the help of my detectiving. ...And friendship. All of those things. Sort of related, I really want to know about that pageant you were talking about? It kills people sometimes?"

She sighs a little out her nose. "Are you stupid or something?"

(2/3)

"...Pretend I am?"

"That'll be easy. It's just— it's the pageant. It happens every year. It's supposed to pick out who's Ms. Iceover, you know, 'the Ice Queen.' Then they do their dumb thing where they pretend-sacrifice her—"

"What?"

"They pretend-sacrifice her? Then it breaks all the ice, supposedly— if you pretend the guys with the chainsaws aren't right there, breaks it, and then it symbolizes the gods coming back. Or whatever. Hooray. And supposedly one shows up sometimes, for real, but I've never seen it, so I guess I only go to the lame Iceovers. Or they're just too lazy these days."

How pagan! How horrific! "No, no, no. What is a mock-sacrifice?! How does one mock—"

Claudia rolls her eyes. You guess her confidence is coming back. "They... you know, they take her dress off and pretend-scar her all up, and treat her with all sorts of ointments and whatever, then they chip a big hole in the ice and toss her in the water? But it's not real. She signs up for it and everything."

"...But people die?"

"Um, I mean, I bet there's some backwards Iceovers that do it the old-fashioned way. And I guess the gods don't really care about whatever hick girl they throw in over there, so sometimes she just kicks it. Pretty grim. But they'll do skin-colored wetsuits and stuff like that, a lot of places, so—"

Hmmm. "And there's zero chance of that happening here?"

"Am I supposed to know? I don't run the thing. I— um, I haven't been to this one before."

Hmmmmmmm. "Okay."

"Okay."

"Okay."

You engage in a battle of eye contact with Claudia. She loses, of course. "...Did you smite me?"

"Huh?"

"I don't know who you are, or where this is, really, and I, um... I just feel like things aren't right. I don't know what it is. It's probably stupid. But if you did, I'd appreciate you telling me, so I can go to hell. Or whatever."

>[A1] No. You didn't smite her. You don't think she really deserves smiting, way deep down.
>[A2] Yup. You smit her with the power of, um, being Gil's friend. You smit everybody, actually, so if she feels like things are weird... everybody here was smit and just doesn't know it.
>[A3] Hell? Pagans have hell? You thought they just held hands and swam around in the ocean and did murder rituals and, like, ate each others' dead bodies. What does she mean?
>[A4] Write-in.

>[B1] Hey, uh, separately, you really need her body. You're ok with sharing, but you need it for important tangentially world-saving reasons. So... please? [Roll.]
>[B2] As above, but be really scary. Spook her into it. [Roll.]
>[B3] Just take it back. You learned what you needed.
>[B4] Write-in.


>>5908614
Pay up, bucko.

>>5908676
>[A3] Hell? Pagans have hell? You thought they just held hands and swam around in the ocean and did murder rituals and, like, ate each others' dead bodies. What does she mean?
>[B2] As above, but be really scary. Spook her into it. [Roll.]

>>5908676
>A3
>B3

I’d pay up but Charlie would just spend it on drinks and I don’t want to enable her alcoholism

>>5908676
>>[A3] Hell? Pagans have hell? You thought they just held hands and swam around in the ocean and did murder rituals and, like, ate each others' dead bodies. What does she mean?
>>[B2] As above, but be really scary. Spook her into it. [Roll.]

>>5908781
>>5909028
>>5909559
>[A3]

>>5908781
>>5909559
>[B2]

>>5909028
>[B3]

Okay! You're going to frighten the sad dead teenage girl into letting you use her body while she watches helplessly. I'm sure you have excellent reason for this. I need dice... maybe.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 6 (+10 The Implication, +3 Hell Discussion, -1 Power of Friendship, -1 Normal Looking, -5 Gil's Friend?) vs. DC 60 (+5 Stubborn, +5 Scared) to spook Claudia into letting you take over!

Spend anything? You are at 8/14 ID and 1/??? SV.
>[1] 1 ID for +10 to all rolls.
>[2] 1 SV to autosucceed.
>[3] No spendy.

Rolled 2 + 6 (1d100 + 6)

>>5909710
Yes

>>5909712
You are a lucky ducky, anon.

>Yes
To? (I'll default to ID.)

>>5909712
>Yes to using ID

Rolled 34 + 6 (1d100 + 6)

>>5909710
>Y
>>5909712
I have no words...

Rolled 38 + 6 (1d100 + 6)

>>5909710
Yall shoulda been happy playing as Claudia
>N

>>5909710
oh wait the spend prompt is different this time
uh
uh
is it too late to pick 2

>>5909730
I didn't read the fine print this time either... uh, also supporting picking 2.

>>5909730
>>5909738
If you were trying to spend ID retroactively, I'd say no. With SV, yes.

The current results are:

>18, 50, 54 vs. DC 60 -- Failure
>Spendy

If you choose, you can replace the ID spend with SV spend. This will change the results into

>8, 40, 44 vs. DC 60 -- Autosuccess

I will take an additional moment to note the current context and also what you know about SV and spending it. That is all. I need three [1]s to override the current ID spend.

>[1] Spend 1 SV to autosucceed. Do not spend 1 ID.
>[2] Do not. Spend 1 ID and fail the roll.

Also, I won't update until I get votes in (preferably from those who rolled). This is pretty significant.

>>5909742
>>[1] Spend 1 SV to autosucceed. Do not spend 1 ID.

>>5909742
>1

>>5909742
Spend

>>5909748
>>5909752
>>5909770
>Spend SV

God save you.

Writing.

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>Go to hell
>8, 40, 44 vs. DC 60 — Autosuccess

"Hell?" you say reflexively.

"Um... yeah? Are you one of those freaks who doesn't like people saying that? 'I'm sorry. I'd appreciate you telling me that, so I can go to heck.' Is that better?"

"Um, no." Well, maybe. When you were younger. But one must have some type of curse word available to them, or else they'll explode. "I didn't think you'd believe in, er, hell."

"What?"

"I thought... since you're pagan... whatever. You probably mean some lame pagan hell. But just in case, would you mind explaining, uhh— what do you mean? When you say that?"

"What do I mean by going to hell? You've gotta be joking. Geez louise. When you die, you go there."

"...Everybody?" Well, they are pagan. "It's not just bad people?"

"Bad people? It's not even bad people. Bad people get 'a second chance.' Bad people get 'unconditional forgiveness.' Like that makes a lot of damn sense, right? I wish it was bad people. The only people who go there are people who quote-quote 'turn away from the gods.' I'm serious. That's literally what they teach you. It's for people who 'reject their'— um— you know, their freely given love or peace or whatever it is. And I guess the spin on it is, you know, their wishes are being respected, and if they don't want a single thing to do with the gods then they won't have to forever— but that's horseshit! Don't you think that's authoritarianism horseshit?"

It's what? She's going too fast. "Uh, I guess so? But what is it? Do they burn in boiling water or drown or get eaten by little bitey fish forever? Because that's sort of the, you know, the classic—"

"Drown? Fish? What are you fucking talking about? That's the good afterlife! ...According to them. It's probably horseshit too. But hell's in the sun!"

You have never heard this before in your life. "How can hell be in the sun?! The sun isn't big enough to fit all the people who'd go to—"

"Yes it is! And it's hot there, and it's really bright, so bright it's basically pure white, and you can't see anything. Just whiteness. There's other people there, but you can never see them or talk to them, just bump into them sometimes, and you always feel like you're being watched—"

"This isn't even thematically coherent," you scoff. "Hell's supposed to be themed! If it's the sun, I guess I can see the brightness, but I don't see what being watched—"

"Uhh, 'cause it's the WYRM's eyeball? That's who's watching you all the time. I mean... I'm not saying that it's actually like all that, since I've never been there, but... that's what everyone says?"

"The sun is not the Wyrm's eyeball!" you say.

(1/TBC)

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Claudia is looking at you like you said 1 and 1 made 3. Or 57. "Yes it is? The gods tore it out and put it above the whole world so we'd have light? That's how the WYRM sees everything, even though It's sleeping underneath us. And that's why you do rituals at dusk, so you still have light, but the WYRM can't see you anymore— I mean, that's what they say." She shifts. "I'm not saying I agree or anything. I think that's stupid. They just say that."

God. This is whole new levels of pagan nonsense. "Okay, then what's the moon? Huh?"

"That's the WYRM's dead eye." She sees your expression. "Were you born under a rock? Its dead eye? It didn't just put up with having only one eye... It made Itself a new eye to replace it? But it could never be as good or bright as the old one, and It can't see out of it nearly as well. That's why the moon barely lights anything up. And the WYRM's always pulling its good eye back underground so It can have it, but the gods are always pulling it back up so it can be day again, so... yeah. Isn't this really obvious? Why do you think the sky gets red when it's almost night?"

You don't actually know why the sky gets red when it's almost night. That sounds like something a tutor would've attempted to teach you. "...And you have an explanation for the stars, too?"

Another hard look. Like she thinks you're messing with her. "They're the WYRM's scales? Or bits of them. They got flung up and stuck there when the gods fought It- they're there all the time, you just can't see it when it's day, because it's too bright. They blend in with the sky."

"Right," you say.

"I think it was a power struggle, and they just wanted to be in charge, so they totally backstabbed It. Like, I'm not saying any of this was a good thing. They're just facts about what happened."

Pagans. You'd dismiss all of it, except... "Uh, cool. Just to clarify. The Wyrm only has one good eye?"

"It has two during the night." Claudia folds her arms again. "One good one and one dead one during the day. Like you. That's why I thought you might be—"

You touch your bad eye. "Um, I'm not."

"Yeah, yeah. You're Gil's friend."

"I— I don't know how I got my bad eye."

"Uh-huh."

"I don't." You pause for a long time. "What's the other option? The non-hell option? It involves drowning?"

"I mean, not drowning. You can't drown if you're dead already. But it sort of depends on what god you... uh, you devote the body to. Most people have it in their will, but the default if you don't have one is Salt, because she does death in a general, uh— but anyways, it depends. Usually you just get turned into something lame. Like a fish."

"...A fish?"

(2/TBC)

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"That's not even the lamest it can get. You can get turned into kelp. Like, plants. Some people apparently like that. But unlike hell, this actually happens, 'cause you can throw the bodies in the water and their shrouds float back up— also, sometimes the fish is still in the shroud, if it's too dumb to get out of there. Can you imagine? You die and you're so dumb your fish can't even—"

Oh. Like a fish-fish. Not a fish-person. Did they have fish-people before the Flood? "...What happens if a dead person fish gets caught? And, uh, cooked?"

"If you cook the blood out of it, it's just a normal fish. If you eat it raw, and you're pregnant, then the baby might have the blood of the dead person... but some people like that? I think that sounds really creepy, but nobody's asking me. Not that I'm even going to get pregnant."

...Yes. Which is why she's your great-great-etcetera-cousin, and not your great-great-etcetera grandmother. (Which is good, you think. That'd be far more unpleasant to think about.)
"But you don't think it's sacrilegious to eat a fish, if the fish might be a dead—?"

"No? Fish are fish."

"Oh," you say.

"You're weird."

"You're weird," you mumble. "Are you not worried about going to hell?"

"I—" Claudia puffs her cheeks out. "It's less lame than being a fish. Like, objectively. If I knew I was going to be something cool, like a shark, then I might care, but they save the cool ones for the liaisons and the really nice people and whatever. And I'm not that, and I'm never going to be that, so... it's hell or a fish."

"Or kelp," you say.

"Yeah! Or kelp!"

>[1] Write-in.
>[2] Continue.

Early morning, and this is plenty long as-is. The update will continue with the spending of SV tomorrow.

>>5909903
>1
For someone who doesn't follow the gods she sure seems to take what they say happened for granted

>>5909903
>[2] Continue.
Oh god what have we done

>Continued
>8, 40, 44 vs. DC 60 - Autosuccess

You nod sagely. "You really seem to trust what these gods say, huh? Pretty peculiar for somebody who claims they—"

"I told you! I don't believe in the... the ideology. But where else would the sun and the moon and stuff come from? Do you think they just appeared?"

"I think God made them," you say.

"Okay, but which one?"

You sigh through your nose. A silence passes. "So, anyways," you say, "can I use your body?"

Claudia grimaces. "What?"

"Can I use it? I mean... I think I have to use it... 'cause mine isn't made of goo... but I wanted to ask for permission! Since we had a nice conversation about your weirdo heretical pagan ideas, and since you're— I mean, I'm not Richard. I don't go taking people over if they don't want it. Uh. I mean, I don't do it on purpose. So if we're both right here, then..."

"So you have been—" Claudia, clutching her head, takes a step back. "No! No! Leave me alone! I know I petitioned... I did all the... but that doesn't mean I wanted that! I know you're just going to kill everybody again— and I'll get grounded for it! Leave me alone!"

"I'm not going to kill people!" you snap. "That was a— that was a freak accident, for your information, it's not like I wanted to start killing— also, that never even happened. Us reset it. So just forget about that! I need your body so I can do awesome heroic things, like saving Gil, and— and saving Pat also, I guess. That's it."

"Saving Gil?! He's standing right out there! He's fine!" Claudia, now several paces away from you, waves an accusing finger. "You're crazy. You're a crazy person, or you're the WYRM, and you're trying to let my guard down. They warn about this. They say It's really tricky when It wants to be. So I'm not going to fall for it, okay? Leave me alone."

"I'm not crazy! And I'm not the Wyrm! CLAUDIA!" She's turned and is walking away from you. "Claudia. Claudia. I- I- can we not be friends? I know I'm older than you, and I'm better than you at everything, but that doesn't mean we can't— Gil made friends with his guy! Why does he get to make friends with his guy, and I'm stuck with a BITCHY WHORE—" No reaction from Claudia. Still walking. "A DUMB BITCHY WHORE— who messes around with God like it's some kind of joke, like it doesn't ruin your entire life, and cause the entire world to end! The entire world! I bet it was YOUR FAULT the Flood happened— YOU woke God up! Well, joke's on you now, huh? Huh? You're DEAD, and I'm alive, and now I have to fix it for your stupid— CLAUDIA!"

(1/6)

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She's a fast walker: practically out of view already. You curl your fists. The nerve of the bitch! All you wanted to do was use her body, the same way you already have been— all you wanted to do was make friends with her! Build a rapport! And she rejects you? You, who gave her Gil to be friends with? You, who— who, per Gil, is an excellent friend-slash-superior? You weren't even going to pull the 'noble lady' card on Claudia, who, despite being a Fawkins, appears to have the breeding of a dirty tramp. You were just going to tell her that your presence improved her in every way imaginable.

God. In theory, you could just leave. You'd probably overpower her with your massively superior Very Being, and she'd go back to sleep and stop being bitchy. But that would be admitting defeat, and Charlotte Fawkins never loses. Not even once. "CLAUDIA!" you holler. "I'M GOING TO CATCH UP TO YOU! SO YOU MIGHT AS WELL STOP WALKING NOW!"

No response. You think the blackness probably eats sound, not that that's cause to give up. "IF YOU DON'T GIVE ME YOUR BODY," you attempt again, "YOU'RE DEFINITELY GOING TO HELL, GUARANTEED!"

Nada. You start walking. "THAT'S RIGHT! YOU'RE GOING TO HELL, AND YOUR SKIN'S GOING TO BE BURNED WITH BOILING WATER, AND CREATURES ARE GOING TO EAT YOUR SOFT FLESHY BITS, BUT THEY'LL GROW BACK THE NEXT DAY, SO THEY'LL EAT THEM AGAIN—"

Actually, is she in Hell? Literally? You exited Us the last time into Hell the place, so she's halfway there minimum. Not that it matters, you just— God! You can't believe she's doing this to you! It was supposed to be so easy! She was supposed to agree, and then she'd get to see how cool and heroic you were, and she wouldn't be scared anymore, and then she'd be your friend, like how Gil got to have Teddy— why didn't you get Teddy? Teddy seemed normal, sort of. Why is everything so difficult for you? Why does everybody hate you so much? You've never done anything wrong in your life, and everybody treats you like you're unpredictable, like you're dangerous, like you're some kind of monster— a monster!

You! A monster! When you've never— when you've never— it's not like you go around kidnap-sorbing innocent retainers, or menacing innocentish goo researchers, or doing whatever Horse Face does all day. All you do all day is try to help people! For zero reward! All you wanted for Ellery was a ticket to Game Night, and has Game Night happened? Has Madrigal even thanked you? All you wanted for saving Gil was his undying loyalty, and it took ages and ages for him to come around even a little on that. All you wanted for rescuing Madrigal was even more thanks, but instead you get nothing, zilch, except a stain on your conscience and Monty calling you a murderer— a murderer— when you saved somebody's life—!

(2/6)

It makes you angry. "CLAUDIA!" And who wouldn't be angry? All that work for no recognition? Nobody even wanting to be friends with you? "CLAUDIA!" Gil doesn't count! He's your retainer, not your friend. It's his job to hang around. "CLAUDIA!" And this bitch— this little criminal whore— she's supposed to be blood-related to you, and she doesn't even have the courage to look you in the eye? If she hates you so much, she should fight you. She should try to kill you! "IF YOU DON'T STOP RIGHT NOW, SOMETHING REALLY BAD IS GOING TO HAPPEN!"

You say it before it's true, but once it's out of your mouth, it is true. It must be true. Something really bad is going to happen— for her, not for you. Something really, really bad for her. Didn't she know any better than to make you angry? You start thinking all crooked when you're angry. You're walking more than rapidly now, or maybe the ground's contracting on itself, or maybe your legs are long. "I DON'T WANT IT TO HAPPEN, IT JUST WILL! PLEASE STOP! I— I—"

You really should've blown your throat out yelling by this point, but there's something slicking it up. "I CAN'T BE RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT I— FOR WHAT IT— PLEASE! CLAUDIA?" Is that her there on the horizon? Kneeling on the ground? "CLAUDIA! WAIT! WE CAN TALK THIS OUT!"

She hears you now (if she ever didn't): her head turns, she shrieks, and she tries to rise— but can't, and collapses, and huddles again. Her chest is rising and falling fast. Did she sprint there? She sprinted away from you? Part of you finds that sickening, and part of you finds that a thrill— your stride quickens further. You are upon her.

She is small on the ground like that. Her earmuffs have fallen off. She is mumbling something you can't make out until you pick her up and turn her over, like one would do with a stick and a snail. "—Storm Sea grant me trust, Clear Sea grant me foresight; Green Sea grant me the beginning, Salt Sea—"

"YOU HYPOCRITE." It is hard to stop speaking loudly once you've started.

"—Salt Sea grant me the end, and I will grant me to thee. Please. Please! I'm sorry I wanted to get Gil to put dead fish in that asshole's booth. I'm sorry I messed up the fishing tournament. I'm sorry I threw that snowball with a rock in it and hit that kid in the ear and made him cry. I'm sorry I snuck off by myself. I'm sorry I called Mommy a stupid slut for confiscating my first bag of fireworks. I'm sorry I hid the other bag better somewhere else. I'm sorry I—"

"YOU THINK YOU WILL BE FORGIVEN?"

Claudia sniffles. Her eyes are screwed shut. "It's— it's unconditional. If you kill me, then I can still— there's still time to—"

"YOU WOULD RATHER BE A PIECE OF KELP?"

"Y- yes," she says, and hugs herself defiantly. "Yeah. At least there'd be other people who were also pieces of kelp, so we could be lame together, I guess. ...If I have to go."

"YOU LIED."

(3/6)

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"I— I changed my mind! And there's nothing you can do about it! The gods will—"

"THE GODS ARE DEAD."

"No they're— no they're not!"

"THEY DIED TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO. EVERY ONE OF THEM. THEY WERE BETRAYED, AND IN THEIR THROES THEY BETRAYED AND DROWNED THE WORLD. YOU HAVE COME AROUND FAR, FAR TOO LATE."

"You're talking shit," she says to the darkness. "Just— just kill me, and we'll find out, okay? We'll find out!"

"YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD."

"No, I—"

"YOU DIED 200 YEARS AGO. WITH THE GODS."

Claudia doesn't say anything. There is water coming from her eyes, even though she hasn't opened them. "I- I don't care. I don't give a shit. Just kill me again, then! Stop dragging it out! Or what are you, a pussy?"

"A PUSSY?"

"Yeah! A REAL god would've smitten me ages ago, but you're just trying to mess with my head, because you're too lazy and cowardly to- to go through with it!" For the first time, she opens her eyes— and flinches. But she doesn't get up. "Just do it! I dare you!"

"IT'S— FOR YOUR INFORMATION, IT'S 'SMIT,' NOT 'SMITTEN,' BECAUSE 'SMITTEN' MEANS—" It means— it means— why did she flinch at you? Is it because you really could kill her? You really could kill her. She's so small. You're at least an inch taller than her, though it seems to be quite a bit more than that, recently. Why the hell are you talking so loud? She's right here. You don't need to do that. "—MEANS— IT MEANS— AHEM." Okay, that's why. It's because your mouth is full of teeth. You have to really enunciate to make it work. "—'fell in love'— I told you that already! I guess you didn't listen. Also, I guess you didn't listen when I told you I wasn't a god, I was Gil's friend—"

Claudia scoff-laughs.

"I am! I am his friend! And also his boss, but that's different. So I don't want to kill you. Why would I even want that? I just want us to be— I think we could work together! I think we could— I think I could be Claudia's friend too. I think I could add that to my list of important titles. And I think that if you just let me have your body, and saw all the awesome and heroic things I could do with it, then you'd completely change your mind about me. Doesn't that sound reasonable? Don't you want to- to agree now?"

The answer is not what you were hoping for. "Smite me."

"Oh. I mean, I'd rather not... I really, really think you'd change your mind. Why don't we just try it? I'm a good friend. Ask Gil! I saved his life multiple times! I'm not— I'm not scary—"

"Just do it already!"

(4/6)

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"...I mean, if you want..." You bend down, down, so you can reach her, and you push her hair out of her eyes, and you wipe the glob of snot off her nose, and you watch her eyes dart, tracking your movement, waiting for the terrible moment where your claw will lower and she'll die. But of course she is dead, and of course you wouldn't kill her. Your heart is pure and honest. You said exactly what you wanted, and the pulsing red in your throat and your chest wants it too. It wants it for you. It wants to help. Isn't it your close and cherished friend? Your only companion while you're alone and strange in this place? Your only one for now. Of course it is generous and accommodating. Of course it will allow a place for Claudia too.

>[-1 SV: 0/???]

Of course it will come out of you, in a form like a string of soft pearls, in another like viscera, in another like the snot that beads and threads from Claudia's nose and drips onto her rouged lips, and all of these forms are red. They are red like a gored body, and maybe yours is a gored body, not that you'll realize it then— but they are red and stark against the black and against Claudia's capelet of pale wool. They are reaching for her. When the first one made contact she inhaled bravely. When they began to twine between her fingers, she made a wet sound. She only screamed when the haustoria pushed inside, and even then not for long, because the pearls filled her mouth and her eyes rolled back and she lost definition soon after that. Later, you will be comforted by the short duration of the scream, and you will tell yourself that it was a pity, how it happened, but it was for the best in the end. You will tell yourself that you didn't do anything wrong, and it wasn't your fault if you did.

For now, you hear the scream, and you are fed the snide thought that this could've been much faster and easier and arguably more humane if you'd bitten her and drunk her memories straight out. It was a shame that, despite it all, you were still over-squeamish— but this could be corrected eventually. Eventually. For now, the scream has ended, and Claudia (at this point invisible under a web of red dodder) is sucked up and regurgitated inside you.

If it makes her feel better— if it'll make you feel better— you're not really conscious. You're definitely not cognizant. You are wanted whole and safe and ready, so a web's been knitted over your mind, too, so you don't start commenting about how this is 'gross' or 'evil' or 'not what you really wanted,' as if you ever know what you really want, as if you're qualified to comment. You are honestly just crouching there, dead still, with weird tendrils coming out of your mouth. The only clear thing you'll remember later is the fleeting scream, and it will make you wish you'd drawn a blank.

(5/6)

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In the end there is nothing left but dying, dried-up red stuff and a puddle of goo. You are empty of one thing and full of another. At this mass, you can bear it, but you are still dimly glad when the sun rises and scours your guts dry and painful and boils the water-weight from you in giant white gasps. Soon you can't see from all the steam, and soon it is so white and bright there wouldn't be anything to see. Only the feel of your body, newborn and squirming, and the binary star of your minds, and the sudden and insistent vertigo, as you—

—
[SUNSTROKE]:
>[-2 ID: 6/14]
>[SV: 1/???]

"Claudia?"

"Uhnn," you emit. Where— who— Us. And he just said. You are Claudia Fawkins.

...But you're not, are you? You might be Claudia right now, but your name is Charlotte Fawkins. You're right here. Right behind her.

>[GAINED: Claudia. The mind of Claudia Fawkins, a distant and long-dead ancestor, has been subsumed into your own. You may access her (fragmented) memories, thought processes, or overall persona at any time, without risk of losing your own.]

"Er," says Dream Gil, "are you doing okay? You just kind of... spaced out."

"Get your eyes checked," you say, and flip your hair back. "I'm totally fine. Are we gonna go?"

"Go where? ...Do you still want to mess with those booths? Because, I just said, the inspectors already—"

"No, stupid! We're going to the pageant. Don't you think we better inspect it?"

"...Why?"

"Because I guarantee those out-of-town ones aren't doing their jobs right. Didn't you say they breezed right through? You really think none of those booths have safety violations? What if somebody dies, huh?"

"...Um, yeah, but I don't really see how it's our—"

"Come on!"

>[A1] Okie-dokie. Go check out the pageant set-up. Claudia is, um, pretty? Right? Maybe? You can't really tell under the makeup. Whatever. You'll make them give you a spot in the pageant if they don't want to let you.
>[A2] You have zero doubt that Horse Face, lucid or otherwise, would be 100% willing to "report on" / sneak into this pageant. If Gil can pull his friend card and you can use the press pass, that makes everything way easier. Downside: Horse Face.
>[A3] In for a penny, in for a pound. If Us is going to be mad at you for this, and probably Gil and Nice Richard, you better get something valuable out of it. Just *find Pat.* [-1 SV]
>[A4] Write-in.

(The [B]s are optional.)

>[B1] Try to peek in and see if you can tell what actually happened to Claudia. You mean, you know what happened. Kind of. Ish. But what happened to- to *Claudia.*
>[B2] Access Claudia's mind and/or memories. She's dead and made of goo, so they're bound to be incomplete, but maybe there's something of use. (What do you look for? Write-in.)

>[C] Write-in.

If anybody would like my rationale for why exactly this spending of SV resulted in what it did, feel free to ask. (It does exist.) If it's self-explanatory, we're all good.

>>5911205
Jesus H. Christ what the fuck did we do to her.
>[A1] Okie-dokie. Go check out the pageant set-up. Claudia is, um, pretty? Right? Maybe? You can't really tell under the makeup. Whatever. You'll make them give you a spot in the pageant if they don't want to let you.

>>5911227
>[B1] Try to peek in and see if you can tell what actually happened to Claudia. You mean, you know what happened. Kind of. Ish. But what happened to- to *Claudia.*

>>5911205
>[A2] You have zero doubt that Horse Face, lucid or otherwise, would be 100% willing to "report on" / sneak into this pageant. If Gil can pull his friend card and you can use the press pass, that makes everything way easier. Downside: Horse Face.

>>5911205
>[A2] You have zero doubt that Horse Face, lucid or otherwise, would be 100% willing to "report on" / sneak into this pageant. If Gil can pull his friend card and you can use the press pass, that makes everything way easier. Downside: Horse Face.
>[B1] Try to peek in and see if you can tell what actually happened to Claudia. You mean, you know what happened. Kind of. Ish. But what happened to- to *Claudia.*
>>5911227
I swear, anons, it's like you have the memory of a goldfish. You vote to use SV, something fucked up happens *exactly like all the other times you used it*, and you act shocked.

>>5911205
>A1
>B2
Ok that got kinda dark but it didn't end up so bad
We have proved it's possible to extract a person from US now, and that we're capable of doing it, so we don't need to worry about Gil being stuck forever.
We might even be able to shove Claudia into a goo body and give her back later.

>>5911205
>>5911750
I wrote B1 but internet gremlins changed it to B2

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>5911227
>>5911750
>[A1]

>>5911640
>>5911269
>[A2]

>>5911242
>>5911640
>>5911753
>[B1]

Called for [B1]. Flipping between {A1] and [A2] in that order.

>>5911640
lmao

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>>5912460
>[A2]

Charlotte is shaken enough by the events of the last update that she voluntarily goes and talks to Horse Face. Horrifying. Writing.

Also, the [SUNSTROKE] here >>5911205 should be [SUNSTRUCK], my bad. [SUNSTROKE] is the now-cleansed "reroll first enhanced success" debuff, [SUNSTRUCK] is "you fed the red stuff the sun now it never goes away" buff/debuff(??).

File: image.png (272 KB, 527x490)

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This is a message relayed for your convenience.
The QM's laptop is dead and not charging, so the update is delayed until tomorrow, when they can borrow a different one to type out the update on.

Hey anons. >>5912501 was accurate (thank you for relaying the heads-up!) I plan to update tonight and keep up the regular schedule after this, albeit on a slightly crappy Chromebook. Sorry for the inconvience.

>Facing the horse

"Don't you want to talk to your friend, anywho?"

"My friend? ...Wait, Cam? Uh, sure, but I don't see how that factors into—"

"He's a reporter, isn't he? Maybe a sorry excuse for one, but surely he has some kind of fancy pass to get him into places? Or he can lie better than we can, at least. Don't go and say he wouldn't be interested. I saw him out there on that ice—"

"He'd be interested," Gil says begrudgingly, "but I just don't— I still don't get why you're so gung-ho about—"

"Have you ever been inside a beauty pageant, Gil?" You snicker. "Don't answer that. But aren't you curious? And besides, would there be inspectors around if they weren't up to anything shady? Even sucky inspectors? Maybe we can save a life! Or lives! I'm serious."

"I got that much." Gil shakes his head. "I mean, if we bring Cam, then... yeah, okay. He can talk his way out of anything. It'll be fine."

"And I can't talk my way out of anything?"

"...We'll have double talking-out-of skills. Deal?"

"Deal!" you say triumphantly.

Gil rolls his shoulders. "Alright. I bet Cam's still hanging around the tournament. I hope he's not in the middle of something, but—"

"We'll just interrupt him! No big deal." You brush your mittens together. "Okay. Now come on! For real this time!"

—

Dream Gil doesn't seem any more nervous than normal on the careful walk back onto the ice, and he definitely doesn't seem suspicious. This is good on both counts. You don't want him freaking out mid-infiltration, and you really really don't want him— or Us— to catch on to what you just did. Er. What "you" just did. You prefer that wording.

What "you" just did is... uh... difficult to pin down. Certainly you are not the same as you were. You and Claudia were an either/or just a couple minutes ago, and now you appear to be a, um, a both/and. She's just there now, like a coat on a rack, like one of those creepy realistic rubber masks, like Rudy, except not like Rudy— because Rudy, when you possessed him, was possessive. When you started thinking like him, it was hard to stop. You detect nothing of that from Claudia now. While you're her, you're you still, only deeper in.

In that respect, it isn't like anything that's happened to you before, or anything that you've heard about. If Richard were here, you're sure he could produce six or seven paragraphs of explanation— with footnotes, if you let him— but he's not, and maybe that's for the best. He's nice now. He might frown upon... upon...

(1/4?)

What did you do? Did you turn into a giant snaky monster again? God-damnit! Any time that's even a remote possibility, that's what happens. Is it like Richard said? You just have a secret fear of turning into a giant snaky monster, and manses know it? You don't even think it's secret at this point. And there was... you were yelling at her? Did you do this on purpose? Damnit. Damnit. This— but Claudia's okay, right? Er, maybe not 'okay.' You think you might've eaten her. You should probably start with 'still exists.'

Does she still exist? You exist, and it takes only a frisson of effort to access her mind, which feels grafted somewhere to the left of yours. You can run her broken memories like gravel through your fingers. You're still in her body, or the closest thing there is to it anymore. Maybe you are Claudia Fawkins, and maybe you should be satisfied with that.

But why would you be? You didn't mean to eat her. You mean, you— maybe "you" meant to eat her. Maybe the red stuff inflamed you to that extent. But you didn't, and you don't— you don't think that swallowing people's minds whole is a particularly nice thing to do. You're not saying it's a bad thing. Maybe it's useful sometimes. But it's not nice. And— and you don't want to believe that brain gunk is all you need to be a person. Isn't the blood supposed to matter? Do you have Claudia's blood now? And even if you did... you never lived 200 years ago. You aren't 18. You aren't a pagan. And you aren't a little low-class troublemaking bitch, either, and you never were, and you never will be. You have never done anything wrong in your life. Claudia has done so, so many things.

Thus: either she doesn't exist, and you possess her dead remnants, or she exists independently in you somewhere. You are a positive thinker, so you are going to assume the latter. Actually, as a positive thinker, you are going to believe that your finely tuned internal senses can detect her presence! Yes! If you can sense a Claudianess in your brain somewhere (dedicated Claudia segment excluded), then you won't have to worry a single bit longer. It's probably nicer inside you than it is inside Us, anyhow. Is Gil looking at you? He's busy scanning the crowd for Horse Face. Good. If you shut your eyes... and think really hard... then...

...
...
You can hear... weeping?

Muffled weeping? Some hiccuping?

Oh.

>[-1 ID: 5/14]

Uhh. Well! It probably doesn't— you're probably imagining things. Actually, you're definitely imagining things, given how it's not like you can "hear" inside your own brain! That would be silly. You were just interpreting vague brain signals, and you were interpreting (duh!) wrongly. Nothing to worry about. The fact that you got any vague signals means that Claudia is definitely in there somewhere, and you really don't have to think about it any more than that.

"Claudia? Uh, sorry. C.R.?"

(2/4?)

You refocus. "What's hanging?"

"I think that's him over there." Dream Gil waves a gloved finger at a cluster of lawn chairs and audivideo equipment. "Look, they have all their stuff. I think they're on break? Maybe? I hope so."

"The perfect time to bother them. You did good, pal." You pat Gil's shoulder. He winces. "Now go on! Talk!"

"Me? No! No, no, no. You're not getting away with this again."

"But it's your—"

"You're the one who brought up Cam! I'll go say hi, but you're coming along, C.R.. You can explain yourself."

God, her insistence on the initials is childish. "You can just say Claudia..."

"Okay, Claudia, you can explain yourself. Let's go before we freeze out here, yeah?"

Left to her own devices, Claudia would try to weasel out of this, or at least throw in a snarky parting remark. You know this as cleanly and truly as you know the nose on your face. You are not Claudia, and not only are you unashamed of liking Dream Gil (who is really just Gil with less beetles and stutter), but you want this moved along. Management is headed to the pageant. Pat is probably already there. "If you say so, Gilly."

Okay, you couldn't control the parting remark. At least you're moving— and that is definitely Horse Face crammed in one of the lawn chairs, as nobody else would have so much leg stuck out. He cranes his neck up. "Gil Wallace? Is that you?"

Gil grins. "Guilty."

"You dog! Aren't you supposed to be nobly volunteering your labor?"

"I finished. Aren't you supposed to be on the beat? Where'd you get the coffee?"

"Gilbert, my fine friend, that's a grave insult. You know I'm a tea man." Horse Face raises his paper cup. "Fenton selected coffee, though, didn't he?"

One of the crew guys takes a slurp in response. "Yup. Going good, Gil?"

"Uh..." Gil looks at you. "Going interesting... you guys don't have a tank of that squirreled somewhere, do you? It's colder than Flat's tits out here."

"Stop stalling!" you hiss. He ignores you.

"We filched it off the tournament staffers. They have a drinks tent. Turns out getting cited for reckless disturbance has its perks..."

"I go where the story takes me," Horse Face says waggishly. "If it's out on the ice, it's out on the ice! And what a coincidence! Would that charming young woman there be the principal culprit? You have a select taste, Gil Wallace."

"Taste? She's— Cam! She's a family friend. She's 18."

"A legal age! Quite."

"She's— I've known her since she was 4!"

"A slow-blossoming relationship! A story for the ages. I see no—"

Ew! Of course Horse Face is terrible, no matter what century it is. You want to say something like 'he's my retainer, idiot,' but the general sentiment through Claudia's lips comes out differently. "Uh, we're not dating? He's practically my granddad. He sure is crotchety enough for it. Anywho—"

(3/4?)

"I'm 25," Gil mumbles. Now it's your turn to ignore him.

"Anywho, we need your help! We have a story lead. A- a juicy lead. You know the pageant? It's being inspected right now. I hear they think it could be dangerous. Or, um, poorly run! Or maybe it's just really awful! I would have to investigate to find out." You wink unsubtly. "So if there's somebody out there who has permission to investigate..."

"Gil Wallace!" Horse Face says.

"Huh?"

"Are you being conned by this beautiful young lady into breaking into the pageant?"

Gil blinks. "Uh... I don't know about 'conned'..."

"And in turn you're attempting to con me into providing assistance?"

He shifts his weight.

"It would appear so. Well, I'm sold." Horse Face gulps his tea and scrambles from his chair, nearly tipping it over. One of the crew guys catches it. "I go where the story takes me!"

"And we go where Cam takes us," Fenton says. The crew guys chuckle. It must be a preexisting joke.

"No, no— for this? I don't think anything will be needed on the scene. A camcorder at most. I view this as more of a long-term project— a special broadcast— enjoy your break! Enjoy your coffee! I will be off, enjoying my superior beverage, and—"

A camcorder? Or is it Cam-corder? No. A small audivideo device... Audivideo? Records moving images and sound. Goodness, the things they had in the past. You thought that was the stuff of manses.

"The station's not going to cover another fine, Cam."

"I am be-badged, am I not? I have guests!" Somehow Horse Face has come up behind you and Gil, and has put his hand around both your shoulders. "There will be no problem at all, folks. I'll be seeing you!"

He pats you and Gil on your backs simultaneously. "Now, my fine friend and lady-friend, is there a plan?"

Yeah, and it's simple. Go there, get in, find Pat (if available), ???, get out. But what about a plan for him?

>[A1] Take Horse Face aside and snap him out of his dream-state. It's not like he's less annoying currently, and actual Horse Face knows a whole lot of useful things— including about red stuff and goo stuff, maybe. Also, you want to see the look on his face.
>[A2] Keep "Cam" as is. He knows more about the the current goings-on than the real Horse Face would, and he's at least a different flavor of annoying. Also, you think it's interesting seeing him and Dream Gil interact.
>[A3] Write-in.

>[B1] Be mean to Horse Face a little bit. [+1 ID]
>[B2] Be mean to Horse Face a lot. [+2 ID]
>[B3] Control yourself. He might seem unflappable, but if he gets too secretly irritated (and you know he gets secretly irritated) he might start being less helpful.
>[B4] Write-in.

>>5913823
>A2
>B3

>>5913823
>>A2
>>B3

>>5913823
>It would appear so. Well, I'm sold.
Maybe Horse Face isn't completely insufferable

>A2
>B1

>>5913857
>>5914163
>>5914285
>[A2]

>>5913857
>>5914163
>[B3]

>>5914285
>[B1]

Called for [A2] and [B3]. Writing shortly.

Alright, folks. I started writing too late, and I also have an idea for the update that I can't execute in the limited amount of time I have before passing out. Let me sleep on it and I'll see what I can do tomorrow... sorry!

On the bright side, the board isn't moving too fast, so I'm okay with running long if that's what I need to do to wrap things up. We'll see what happens.

>Do nothing

You could drag Horse Face aside and tell him that he's not a reporter, actually, but a unscrupulous cryptotheologist/psychic detective/dilettante, and that he's been trapped in a time loop for 50 years, and he's died hundreds of times in various (presumably painful) ways, and you could watch the look on his face— watch him remember. And it'd be pretty funny and he'd deserve it, just like he deserves everything he gets. The trouble is that you'd then have Horse Face, who isn't a reporter, and who probably knows nothing about pageants. Also, he'd be Horse Face. "Cam" is awfully Horse Face-y, too, but he's at least a different flavor of it.

You'll leave him alone for now, then. Maybe you'll wake him up at the very end, whenever you're preparing to leave. Or you won't. If you drag somebody out of Us who's still in a dream-state, do they snap out of it automatically? Or would that screw them up really bad?

Richard would know. Richard is in the snake hospital. You're the only lucid one in this whole place, except for Management, and possibly except for Pat. Us didn't say anything about absorbing her... but she still could be dreaming the regular way. No way to tell except going there and finding her. If you can find her. If you even know what she looks like.

But of course you will find her— and you'll do so before Management does! Positive thinking! Naturally, this will begin by identifying the precise locale the pageant participants are at, something that you already know, something that, by thinking hard enough, you can...

The pageant is a big deal. Being in it is pretty prestigious— not that *you'd* ever want to participate, but the herds like it. Don't they keep all the girls in some swanky lodge on the shore? Like, they get a vacation beforehand? The actual pageant isn't for a couple more hours, so they're probably all still there.

Oh. Cool. Thanks, Claudia. They're all still in some swanky lodge on the shore— but probably not on the market side of the shore, right? You would've noticed a big lodge over there. Maybe Horse Face or Gil knows. "Uh... we're going to go to where they are! Obviously! You know that, um, lodge? Nearby?"

"Huh?" Gil says. "You mean the beach lodge? Is that open right now? I thought the Iceover—"

"It's not closed," you say confidently, "it's booked out! By the pageant contestants! That's where they're all staying right now. It's not right by the market, right? It's further down the shore?"

"I think so...? Uh, it's a little too fancy for mechanic pay, so I've never—"

"But you know where it is! So you can take us there." You nod vigorously. "You wouldn't let us down, right, Gil?"

Gil exchanges a glance with Horse Face, who flashes him a thumbs-up. "...Nope."

"Fantabulous!" You're not sure if Claudia's said that word in her life, but, well— she has now. "Then we shall embark!"

(1/5)

Horse Face makes no comment on your speech patterns, but Gil's expression is a little skeptical. Oh well. He's too polite to say anything, you're almost certain, and you don't really want to be Claudia more than you have to be. It makes things complicated.

Now, that immediately being said, it's damn cold out here, and walking across even gritty ice is tedious, and it's a good ways back to shore. If you can make somebody else do it, why wouldn't you? If you can find Claudia and slip behind her; if you can pull the creepy realistic rubber mask on tight to your skin, so your breath fogs the inside: then there will be nobody lucid in this place, and the dream can sigh and flop back and rub its lipstick off and let its hair down around its shoulders. "Time" and "space" is a hospitality for the conscious. Be Claudia, and the cold, the grit, the walk, will all collapse into a matter of words:

You have arrived.

And you have. You are standing in front of— why yes, Claudia, that is a "swanky lodge," all pale timber and stone and high ceilings and big, big doors. Claudia can remember the whole walk here, can even reconstruct the conversation between her and Gil and Cam, the debate over asking for directions, the embarrassing part where she tripped over some stupid asshole's loose ropes, and nearly cracked her head on the ice, except Gil caught her in time, then reddened as Cam wolf-whistled, and let her go (she was already squirming away, to be clear), and walked far ahead the rest of the way.

If you asked Gil or Horse Face about any of that, they'd corroborate her stories. If you checked your knee, it might even be skinned. Acting and stage-makeup. You were there the whole time, awake, and you know the score: you were way out on the frozen ocean, then the dream turned you inside-out, and then you were here.

A trance. A defense mechanism, said Ellery. A digestion, said Pat, a capitulation, holding your wrists up and letting strings be looped through them. It's different when you're the one who did the digesting, you guess. But then, didn't Ellery stay conscious? Couldn't he go in and out of these at will?

You've stolen his shtick again; he's going to be so pissed at you! Another excellent reason to go see him later. But that's later, and right now, you have a lodge with a door in it. A shut door. Also, there's a man outside it.

"No entrance," he says, in a growly sort of way. He's growly-looking in general, in your opinion. "Private residence."

Horse Face beams. (Do those words excite him?) "Why, a guard! How official! Hello, sir. We're here on appointment, actually, so there's no need to bar us. Do you have a list you can check? Is 'Cameron Garvin' on it? You may have heard of me."

"No list," the guard (who would've guessed?) growls. "No appointments."

(2/5)

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20 KB JPG

"Are you certain? Have you been misinformed? I can assure you, we have a scheduled appointment at..." Horse Face checks his wristwatch. "...oh dear. In five minutes. Well, that's not terribly good, is it? Can I speak to your superior? I'm sure we can clear all of this up in a jiff, sir, if you'd—"

"No appointments. No gawkers."

"Oh dear, dear, dear. Again, total misinformation. If I could have a word with you in private—" Horse Face raises his eyebrows at you and Gil. You both shuffle backwards, watching anxiously as Horse Face mutters at the guard, and the guard mutters back. After a minute, Horse Face reaches into his pocket and retrieves a number of colored rectangles of paper, which he passes into the guard's grip. The guard shoves his hand in his pocket. "Come in," he says, in the nicest tone you assume he can manage, and pushes the great door open.

You and Gil follow a self-satisfied Horse Face inside. The guy must be loaded! your thoughts whisper. Forget goose legs— that bribe could buy a flock of geese! Imagine what filching his wallet would get you!

The lodge inside is just the same as how it looks on the outside. The lobby is too big for how empty and quiet it is, but the crackling of a fireplace helps the ambiance, as does the airy scent of cedar. You lean over to Gil. "Uh... did you see that bribe? That was enough to buy..."

"His family's really rich," Gil whispers back. "That's how he gets away with so much—"

He stops himself, and after a second you spot why: there's only one person behind the overlong reception desk, but they're as snippy-looking as the guard was growly, and they're glaring right at the three of you. Their conversation partner might be glaring too, but you can't tell from the... sunglasses.

Sunglasses. And an expensive-looking camel-colored snow-dusted topcoat over a cold black suit. A straight nose and thin lips and sharp shoulders. Long fingers. Management, on the near side of the reception desk, might or might not be glaring—-but it is watching you intently. It is watching you intently.

You whir in place for a second or two before— before— Claudia! Before shoving Claudia to the forefront. Rich asshole. She sticks her tongue out.

Management does not react outwardly to the tongue. It turns away, speaks a few words to the receptionist, and walks over to the couches near the fireplace. It sits neatly upon one of them, pulls a pen out of its breast pocket, and begins twiddling it between its fingers. Horse Face, seeing this as an opportunity, rushes forward to take Management's place. "Greetings!"

You and Gil shuffle up behind him. (You throw glances back at Management, but it's still facing away, apparently disinterested.) The receptionist, in response, holds a finger to their lips. They click their own pen and scribble something out.

"We are under a vow of silence," their notepad reads, after they've pushed it toward you. "Please be respectful."

(3/5)

Of silence? Typical god-freaks. You'd reach for the pen, but Horse Face is closer. "We have an appointment to interview the pageant participants. We would be happy to do so in a written form!" He underlines 'happy' twice.

The receptionist arcs their eyebrows and scratches something back. "I am not aware of any approved interview requests."

Horse Face: "It was very last-minute! Here is my press pass." (He draws a swirly arrow toward the badge he's tossed onto the pad.) "Tell me, where are the girls located?"

"The girls are undergoing a period of silent contemplation before the ceremony. They are not willing to be disturbed. Please come back after the ceremony has been completed."

Horse Face, shaking his head: "I am afraid that won't be possible. Could you divulge any information about the girls? I could contact them individually."

Receptionist: "No."

"The station—" Here Horse Face casts a playful glance at Gil. "—would be willing to provide compensation for any information that could be provided."

The receptionist pauses for a long while before writing. "There is nothing I can directly disclose."

They pause again, then draw a box around "directly," then look up at Horse Face.

Horse Face nods thoughtfully. "What if we (me and my crew here) found the girls ourselves and spoke to them? You would not be responsible for anything they were to provide to us."

"They will not speak to you, or disclose information. They are under vows. This is a sacred time."

Horse Face waves his hand dismissively.

"If you would like to try your luck..." The receptionist presses hard for each dot of the ellipses. "...then this would not be my prerogative, if that is the way the station would like it."

In response, Horse Face looks around in his pocket. You take the opportunity to snatch the notepad. "Who is that? —->"

"He is one of the inspectors. The other one has already gone upstairs. They have promised to be discreet."

You read that, and read it again. Already upstairs? If Pat is in here somewhere... oh, boy. Oh, boy. But it's not like they have a bead on her, right? It took them this long to get here, after searching the entire Market and who knows where else. It's not a guaranteed thing, them finding her before you can. Not a guaranteed thing at all.

The fire crackles. The Manager softly thunks its pen against its fingers. Somewhere, in a nearby room, there are footsteps: you turn, look, and catch a flash of green. You bend over the pad. "What room is that behind us?"

"The atrium," writes the receptionist. "This is a large lodge. There is a map posted over there. <—-"

>The girl in the GREEN DRESS is currently in the ATRIUM.

(4/5)

Okay. Cool. Take a deep breath. You can do this, can't you? You and Gil and Horse Face and Claudia can do this. You nod and go examine the map, which is prominently framed near the entrance. How convenient! You tilt your head back and forth, attempting to commit the layout to memory.

>There are five MAJOR LOCATIONS in the Lodge: the ATRIUM, the SMOKING ROOM, the DINING ROOM, the POOL, and the GRAND BALCONY. They are laid out in the order listed above, from closest to the lobby to furthest.
>There are five PRIVATE BEDROOMS in the Lodge: #1, #2, #3, #4, and #5. They are laid out, from left to right, in the order listed above.

Interesting. You return to the reception desk, where the receptionist is stowing a paper rectangle— bill— a bill in their wallet. They snap it shut, then take the notepad once more.

"It is known that the gods approve of riddles and puzzles. I believe they would approve of your station's kind personal donation if it was in payment for something in this spirit. I can tell you little directly, but I will say this:

>It is important that the girls are afforded private space for contemplation. None of them share a bedroom, and none of them are meditating in the same room of the lodge now. They do not share any dress color, and they are each very different in temperament.

>Their bedrooms are ordered according to water and sunlight— though it would bias the votes if any wore a god's color, and there is one raincloud.

>We have tried to keep the ones who disagree apart, though this has not always been successful. Shannon and Toni's temperaments are almost opposites. Their bedrooms are not adjacent, and neither are their meditation rooms today.

>The same is true of the girl in the purple and the girl in the yellow.

>Our contestants are Judith, a kind-hearted girl, the girl on the balcony, the girl in room #3, and the girl in green.

The gods require a larger donation if I am to say more. I would recommend you do the rest on your own."

You can feel it by a twitch in your gut: Claudia does not like this at all. In her book, this is a pointless time-waster set by a bitch who's either dumb or greedy or both, and there's absolutely no reason to go with it.

It's a good thing you're not her, then. You are Charlotte Fawkins, famous detectivess, and if this is what lies between you and Pat: well, so be it! Onwards!

——

>This is a logic puzzle. ONE of the pageant participants is actually Pat, but you don't know which. By logically filling in information about each participant, you should be able to identify Pat out of the five.

>It may not be a straightforward identification (none of the participants are literally named Pat, for example), but the information deduced will point towards her in various ways. You may attempt to identify Pat at any point, even before the puzzle is 100% complete, but I will not accept brute-forcing. If you start harassing random contestants without proof, you'll be kicked out of the lodge.

(5/etc)

File: Screenshot 2024-02-04 7.1(...).png (42 KB, 661x605)

42 KB PNG

>Things in greentext are CLUES and may be taken as fact. There are several clues already in this update. These will get you started, but will not allow you to identify Pat solely using them.

>To obtain more CLUES, you, Horse Face, and Gil will have to investigate. Investigating will take up TIME UNITS (TU). If the TIME UNITS hit a certain total before Pat is identified, Management will get to her first.

>Prompts that use up more TIME UNITS will generally, though not always, reward more valuable CLUES.

>You may find it useful to fill in a grid, such as picrel. You may also like to use this website, which has an interactive grid with the known variables already filled out.

https://www.jsingler.de/apps/logikloeser/?language=en#(at:c,items:!(!('Name%201',Judith,'Name%203',Shannon,Toni),!(Atrium,'Smoking%20Room','Dining%20Room',Pool,Balcony),!('Color%201','Yellow%20dress','Green%20dress','Purple%20dress','Color%205'),!('Temperament%201','Temperament%202','Temperament%203','Temperament%204',Kind-hearted),!('Bedroom%201','Bedroom%202','Bedroom%203','Bedroom%204','Bedroom%205')),ms:t,n:!(),nc:5,ni:5,p:!(b0c2),v:0)

>You are encouraged to work together with your fellow players, and to post screenshots of your grids-in-progress.

>Please ask if you have any questions.

----

>[0/??? TUs until Pat is discovered by Management.]

Now, what do YOU do?

>[A1] Investigate a MAJOR LOCATION. (Pick one: Atrium, Smoking Room, Dining Room, Pool, Grand Balcony)
>[A2] Investigate the BEDROOMs.
>[A3] Consult Claudia for any information she can muster up about the pageant and its usual participants. [1 TU]
>[A4] Write-in.


What does HORSE FACE and GIL do?

>[B1] Send them to tag-team the receptionist: one causes a distraction elsewhere in the lodge, while the other waits for the receptionist to investigate, then gets behind the desk to look for info. [They will return with their CLUES in 5 TUs.]

>[B2] Send them to go bother the Manager in the lobby. You're not sure you should talk to it face-to-face unless you have to, but they're both completely tranced, so they shouldn't be viewed as threats. Right? [ROLL for how many TUs they can extend the deadline by.]

>[B3] Send them to go find the Manager who went upstairs. You don't know how efficiently "she's" working, or how far she's gotten. If they can observe her, maybe they can [Learn what the TU deadline is.]

>[B4] Send them to go investigate somewhere. (Choose either the BEDROOMS, or two of the MAJOR LOCATIONS. They will return with their CLUES in 5 TUs.]

>[B5] Try to convince them to investigate separately, even if they're buddies. It's for the greater good! [Roll. If successful, they can be given different sets of directions.]

>[B6] Write-in.

Also, I've been made aware that not everybody has done a logic puzzle before. If this is the case for you, firstly, don't despair: they don't require any kind of exotic or high-level skills, just basic logical deduction and sometimes a little bit of lateral thinking. Secondly, you might find this guide useful: https://logic.puzzlebaron.com/how-to-solve-a-logic-puzzle.php?t=introduction

>>5916188
Oh man this seems cool
I'll think about it more in the morning

>A3
>B5

>>5916188
Oh man, I'm getting fired up!
I bet the remaining colors are orange and grey.
For now,
>A3
>B5

>>5916188
>>A3
>>B5

>>5916257
>>5916514
>>5917152
>[A3]
>[B5]
I don't think this vote is gonna be tied up anytime soon, so may as well call it now. You are welcome to work on the existing clues whenever you like.

In the meantime,

>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 10 (+10 Feminine Wiles) vs. DC 60 (+10 Do We Have To?) to break up the bro squad! (You monster.)

Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 5/14 ID.
>[1] Y
>[2] N


>>5916514
>I bet the remaining colors are orange and grey.
If you explain your thought process, I would be willing to confirm or deny this. (Without the thought process, it could just be a random guess, so I can't say anything.)

Rolled 40 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5917198
I will also look at it a little later today.

>N

Rolled 27 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5917198
I don't have faith in the dice
>Y

Rolled 24 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>5917198
>N
dang looks like the bros can't multitask

>>5916179
ok so stuff we already know

>It is important that the girls are afforded private space for contemplation. None of them share a bedroom, and none of them are meditating in the same room of the lodge now. They do not share any dress color, and they are each very different in temperament.
seems to be basic logic puzzle setup, confirming that there are no overlaps

>Their bedrooms are ordered according to water and sunlight— though it would bias the votes if any wore a god's color, and there is one raincloud.
I have no idea what this means, and was hoping Claudia would

>We have tried to keep the ones who disagree apart, though this has not always been successful. Shannon and Toni's temperaments are almost opposites. Their bedrooms are not adjacent, and neither are their meditation rooms today.
Pretty self explanatory, can't fill anything in without more info yet though

>The same is true of the girl in the purple and the girl in the yellow.
The way I interpret this is that the girls in purple and yellow are unique and not Shannon or Toni, but maybe that's an incorrect assumption.

>Our contestants are Judith, a kind-hearted girl, the girl on the balcony, the girl in room #3, and the girl in green.
A name, a temperament, a location, a bedroom, and a color.
We know that all the listed ones are unique - Judith is not kind hearted, meditating on the balcony or sleeping in room 3, or wearing green (so she's not the one in the atrium either).
We also know the kind hearted girl isn't on the balcony, sleeping in room 3, or wearing green(in the atrium).
The girl on the balcony is not staying in room 3 or wearing green (atrium).
Finally, the contestant sleeping in room 3 is not wearing green or meditating in the atrium.


Filled out the chart a bit including the assumption that neither Shannon or Toni are wearing yellow or purple, let's see if the link works like I expect

https://www.jsingler.de/apps/logikloeser/?language=en#(at:c,items:!(!('Name%201',Judith,'Name%203',Shannon,Toni),!(Atrium,'Smoking%20Room','Dining%20Room',Pool,Balcony),!('Color%201','Yellow%20dress','Green%20dress','Purple%20dress','Color%205'),!('Temperament%201','Temperament%202','Temperament%203','Temperament%204',Kind-hearted),!('Bedroom%201','Bedroom%202','Bedroom%203','Bedroom%204','Bedroom%205')),ms:t,n:!(b0c0,b0c1,b0c3,b0c4,b1c2,b2c2,b3c2,b4c2,a3c1,a4c1,a4c3,a3c3,a1b0,a1b4,a1d4,a1e2,d4e2,b0d4,c2d4,b4d4,b4e2,c2e2,b0e2),nc:5,ni:5,p:!(b0c2),v:0)

>>5917206
>>5917208
>>5917291
>50, 37, 34 vs. DC 60 -- Failure
>No spendy

The bros indeed cannot multitask. Oh well. Writing.

>>5917372
This is good stuff, but I won't say more.

>>5917198
>explain your thought process
Well you said that the colors follow sunlight and water, which implies rainbow. We have yellow, green and purple confirmed. Blue and indigo are the gods' colors and red is of Wyrm, so they are out, only orange is left. And the raincloud is grey.

>Charlotte Fawkins and the Case of the Silent Lodge
>50, 37, 34 vs. DC 60 -- Failure

Now, firstly, you must split up. Yes, yes, you know— "splitting up"— but really! There's no murderer stalking the grounds, no armed burglar, no arsonist, and no monster of any description, to your absolute best knowledge. Only Management, but does Management pose a direct physical threat? Maybe if they knew you were there to stop them. But neither Gil nor Horse Face know that either— and the Manager looked at them like they were scenery. It looked at you funny, but it stopped as soon as you put Claudia on. They're not here for dream-people, you're almost certain. They don't care about dream-people. They want Pat.

So if you and Gil and Horse Face stay out of Management's way, there should be no obstacle to solo investigations, right? No obstacle. And Gil and Horse Face (despite their various foibles) are both learned people. They should get your reasoning immediately, and then you can be off, blazing gloriously ahead, wasting no—

-

"Split up?"

You have rounded the two of them up and dragged them close to the door, away from the receptionist's judgmental gaze. Gil has hugged his arms to his chest: to protect from the drop in temperature, you're telling yourself, and not because he's being unreasonable.

"Why?" he continues in a low voice. "There's no rush. And besides, I don't know jack about interviewing. Do you know anything about interviewing? Shouldn't we let Cam call the shots? He's the—"

"We're not here to interview!" you hiss. "We're here to- to prevent a death!"

"You don't even know anybody's going to die! They seem really professional here, it's not some ramshackle— and even if anybody was going to die, shouldn't we stick together? So we don't bite it? Also, isn't the pageant at dusk? That's hours from now! Do we need to be in and out so fast that—"

"Yes! Ow. Hey!"

Horse Face has put one of his creepy hands on your shoulder. "So enthusiastic! Do we have a investigative journalist in the making? What do you think?"

Gil scowls. "Don't be weird, Cam."

"Weird? I am expressing a sincere appreciation of—" Gil's scowl has not broken: Horse Face lifts his hand off you. "Well, fine. All I was saying is, if she would like to be a brave solo correspondent, I don't see why she can't—"

"We should all be solo," you correct. "It's way faster if we all split up and—"

"And make Gil talk to strangers? By himself? You're cruel!" Horse Face chuckles. Gil doesn't. "No, no, don't worry about it. He'll be in good hands. I'll shield his pure eyes from any half-nude young ladies in the—"

Gil fusses with his hat. "You're a real joker, Cam."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll make sure to restrain him from lunging at any half-nude young ladies—"

(1/4?)

"Cam!"

"—including yourself," Horse Face finishes. "You know, we're indoors, there's a fireplace, it's high time to start taking off all that bulky—"

"Cam! Cool it! She's a— she's basically a kid. I don't— ignore him, Claudia. He's really funny."

"I was," you say primly.

"Okay. Okay, good. Seriously, ignore him. I— there's— I don't have any issues about ladies. Or, um, women. I meant women. Cam's just—"

"He's waiting," Horse Face provides.

"Waiting?" You process. "...Uh... for marriage?"

Gil presses his thumbs into his eyes. Horse Face beams. "No! It's actually worse, could you believe it? There's a—"

"Cam! Shut the fuck up!"

"There's a girl," Horse Face stage-whispers. "That he hasn't seen in a... ouch! Please, Gil, not the tootsies, if you could manage such a—"

Gil has stomped firmly on Horse Face's foot. He says nothing else.

You're with him, frankly. Is there anything to say? To feel? If you were in a better condition, you might be able to join the teasing about Dream Gil's long-lost lady-love. At the moment, though, you have the energy for precisely one thing, and that thing is (still) investigating. Thus Horse Face is wasting your precious time, as he usually does.

Does Claudia have anything to offer? Maybe she can provide better commentary...

Boys.

Yeah. Okay. Boys. That sums it all up, really. You toss your head. "Okay, cool. So now we can split up, and—"

Gil lifts his foot. "I'm going with him. Sorry, Claudia."

You look between them. "You're going with—"

"Yeah."

"You're going with—"

Gil smiles resignedly. "He's my buddy. I mean, you can come with us, if you want, I don't want to ice you—"

"No!"

"She sounds pretty sure," Horse Face notes. "We don't have to part forever. Why don't you report your expert findings back to us in due time, Solo Correspondent Claudia? I have the utmost faith in you!"

You look in between them: Gil shrugging, Horse Face a brick wall of smiles. Zero purchase to be had. God! You just— you just— God. Boys!

-

>[2/??? TUs until Pat is discovered by Management]

If you've been abandoned and left to rot by two useless man-children, then you'll just have to stick with your own, logical, responsible sex. Meaning, er... yourself. Claudia is sort of incommunicado whenever you're not being her. You'd even qualify Richard, were he here, owing that he's not really a man. (He's a snake. Duh.) But he's not here, and that leaves You, Yourself, and You, which is no fun at all. And sort of lonely.

It's not like Gil and Horse Face have even left yet. They're still near the doorway, discussing the investigation. ...Optimistically. You hope. You're the one who's left them, having tromped back into the main lobby area and slouched onto the couch. The Manager is gone.

(2/4?)

Yes, Claudia isn't really there. You can't talk to her and expect her to talk back. But you really, really don't like being by yourself right now, even if there's no murderer or arsonist or anything. You don't. If you stay by yourself for too long in a nervy state like this, you wind up needing Gil or Richard to defibrillate you, and that's just the way it is. So, even if she's not real or alive or a person or anything except a weird rubber mask, at least Claudia isn't you. At least she can give you a break.

You pat around for your pocket and withdraw the receptionist's riddling note and spread it in front of you, then lean back across the couch. You rub your eyes. You shut them.

She opens them, looks at the mascara on her knuckles, and snorts. Then she picks up the note. What kind of crazy do you have to be to write like this? 'The gods approve of riddles?' The gods approve of everything. They disapprove of everything. There's eight of the damn things. Blah blah blah, 'kind personal donation'— you think people who take bribes would be honest with themselves. What's the rest of this?

>It is important that the girls are afforded private space for contemplation...

Okay, whatever. You always thought the whole ritual part of the pageant was basically defunct, but you guess they do it the old-fashioned way here. You bet they make them fast and say it's for the gods, instead of for making them skinny. Blah blah blah.

>Their bedrooms are ordered according to water and sunlight...

Oh, is this supposed to be a riddle? Haha, what crap. Water and sunlight makes a rainbow. God's color— so blue and red are axed, plus indigo, if that even counts. That's orange, yellow, green, purple, plus a raincloud, which is grey, you guess. Orange, yellow, green, purple, grey dresses. Great WYRM knows why they couldn't just say that.

>We have tried to keep the ones who disagree apart...

Oho, drama? Who would've guessed? Opposite temperaments... so, like, one's a sweetheart, and one's a stone-cold bitch? They probably picked those on purpose. Entertainment value.

>The same is true of...

More opposites? Definitely on purpose. Come on.

>Our contestants are Judith...

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Judith? Like, Judith-Judith? Judith Tackert? Gods, it absolutely straight-up figures that she'd sign herself up for a "vow of silence" in a creepy lodge— she's probably desperate to win! She's probably drooling to get scarred up and flash her flat ass to the masses and (fake)drown herself to (fake)get the gods all back. You haven't met a more pious, sanctimonious bitch in your entire life... oh, praise the WYRM. You'd say you hope she wins and kicks the bucket, except she'd want that too, Miss Martyr. Gods! Are you her "opposite temperament"? But you're not even in this, thank goodness. There must be a like-minded type in here, though, somebody less-than-devout. "Worldly." You like the adjective "worldly."

(3/4?)

>The gods require a larger donation...
Wow! Not even trying to hide the money-grubbing. Incredible. You fold the note back up and march to the desk. "I—"

The receptionist puts a finger to their lips.

You sigh theatrically and grab the pen. "Hi! I SOLVED your riddle. It was REALLY EASY. The dresses are ORANGE, YELLOW, GREEN, PURPLE, GREY."

The receptionist reads your note, smiles, rips it off the page, and passes the empty notepad back.

...Is that a yes? Is this supposed to be a riddle? This is so lame. "So can you give me a BONUS, or an ACTUALLY HARD riddle, or..."

The receptionist thinks, then writes.

>"The raincloud splits the sky in two."

Oh. Okay, your mistake. You meant to ask them to write like a normal person, but it's too late now. Gods! Why can't you...

...Horse Face and Gil are walking into the hallway. You shudder and throw the mask off. Are they going to do something useful? Will you ever see them again, or will Management or an arsonist or the beach lodge monster get you first? What was Claudia on about? Uh... let's see.

>The colors of the dresses are ORANGE, YELLOW, GREEN, PURPLE, and GREY.

>One of the girls is CRUEL.

>Judith is DEVOUT.

>One of the girls is WORLDLY.

...Right. Not awful. It almost makes up for all the time you just wasted. No more to lose— where to?

>[3/??? TUs until Pat is discovered by Management]

>[A1] Investigate a MAJOR LOCATION. (Pick one: Atrium, Smoking Room, Dining Room, Pool, Grand Balcony)
>[A2] Investigate the BEDROOMs.
>[A3] Write-in.

What are Gil and Horse Face up to? (They will always bring clues in 4 TUs, but may be less thorough investigators than you would be.)
>[B1] Tag-teaming the receptionist to investigate behind the desk.
>[B2] Investigating a MAJOR LOCATION. (Choose one.)
>[B3] Investigating the BEDROOMS.
>[B4] Write-in?

>New link: https://www.jsingler.de/apps/logikloeser/?language=en#(at:c,items:!(!('Name%201',Judith,'Name%203',Shannon,Toni),!(Atrium,'Smoking%20Room','Dining%20Room',Pool,Balcony),!('Orange%20dress','Yellow%20dress','Green%20dress','Purple%20dress','Grey%20dress'),!(Devout,'Temperament%202',Cruel,Worldly,Kind-hearted),!('Bedroom%201','Bedroom%202','Bedroom%203','Bedroom%204','Bedroom%205')),ms:t,n:!(b0c0,b0c1,b0c3,b0c4,b1c2,b2c2,b3c2,b4c2,a3c1,a4c1,a4c3,a3c3,a1b0,a1b4,a1d4,a1e2,d4e2,b0d4,c2d4,b4d4,b4e2,c2e2,b0e2),nc:5,ni:5,p:!(b0c2),v:0)

This link contains the confirmed new categories, but not the other new clues, which you will have to fill out yourselves.

>>5917726
Good! Claudia would not have gotten it completely if not for this post, so consider this update official confirmation.

>>5917833
You forgot to confirm Judith for devout.
If the bedrooms are ordered by the rainbow, grey can only be in bedroom 2 or 3 (putting her in 4 forces green in 3). This fixes the bedrooms of orange, green and purple to 1, 4, 5.
Judith can't be in the atrium or balcony. I'd expect to find her at the pool if she's so devout.
Let's go like this
> we check the pool
Hopefully we just recognize Judith and save some TUs
> guys check the smoking room

>>5917833
Additionally, if there's only two pairs of opposing personalities, which I'm not completely sure of:
This means Judith wears yellow or purple, and her counterpart the other color. This has Judith living in bedroom 2 or 5.
Cruel and kind-hearted have to be Toni and Shannon, and one of them lives in room 1.

>>5917833
>"The raincloud splits the sky in two."
Ok so we should have matches for bedrooms now, grey is in the middle and the rest follow rainbow order
nice deduction on that btw

no more options to distract or observe management? dang
>A1 Pool
>B3
Should be at least a few clues in the bedrooms
Also it'll be funny to make a pair of guys raid the bedrooms
We will make them regret not splitting up

updated link:
orange - 1
yellow - 2
grey - 3
green - 4
purple - 5

>>5918172
ok this post got all fucked up somehow
the color and room number matches should have been at the top but they ate the link

another reason to have the guys investigate the bedrooms is that we have them all linked to dress colors now

https://www.jsingler.de/apps/logikloeser/?language=en#(at:c,items:!(!('Name%201',Judith,'Name%203',Shannon,Toni),!(Atrium,'Smoking%20Room','Dining%20Room',Pool,Balcony),!('Orange%20dress','Yellow%20dress','Green%20dress','Purple%20dress','Grey%20dress'),!(Devout,'Temperament%202',Cruel,Worldly,Kind-hearted),!('Bedroom%201','Bedroom%202','Bedroom%203','Bedroom%204','Bedroom%205')),ms:t,n:!(b0c0,b0c1,b0c3,b0c4,b1c2,b2c2,b3c2,b4c2,a3c1,a4c1,a4c3,a3c3,a1b0,a1b4,a1d4,a1e2,d4e2,b0d4,c2d4,b4d4,b4e2,c2e2,b0e2,c1e0,c2e0,c3e0,c4e0,c4e1,c3e1,c3e2,c3e3,c4e3,c4e4,c2e4,c1e4,c0e4,c0e3,c1e3,c1e2,c0e2,c0e1,c2e1),nc:5,ni:5,p:!(b0c2,c0e0,c1e1,c4e2,c2e3,c3e4),v:0)

>>5917887
>You forgot to confirm Judith for devout.

>This link contains the confirmed new categories, but not the other new clues, which you will have to fill out yourselves.

I consider that a clue, not a new category (which are the things around the outside of the grid.)


>>5918172
>no more options to distract or observe management? dang
Your failure on the roll means you timed out of talking to the Manager right there, and Gil and Horse Face are going off by themselves, so can't be instructed to do so. You might be able to do that when you meet up with them again, or if you run into Management independently.

>>5918175
Okay, good, I was about to tell you that the link was messed up.

>>5918177
I too forgot to fill out the new stuff from Claudia
I wouldn't take those if they weren't in green, seems like Claudia's making some assumptions there.

New link:
https://www.jsingler.de/apps/logikloeser/?language=en#(at:c,items:!(!('Name%201',Judith,'Name%203',Shannon,Toni),!(Atrium,'Smoking%20Room','Dining%20Room',Pool,Balcony),!('Orange%20dress','Yellow%20dress','Green%20dress','Purple%20dress','Grey%20dress'),!(Devout,'Temperament%202',Cruel,Worldly,Kind-hearted),!('Bedroom%201','Bedroom%202','Bedroom%203','Bedroom%204','Bedroom%205')),ms:t,n:!(b0c0,b0c1,b0c3,b0c4,b1c2,b2c2,b3c2,b4c2,a3c1,a4c1,a4c3,a3c3,a1b0,a1b4,a1d4,a1e2,d4e2,b0d4,c2d4,b4d4,b4e2,c2e2,b0e2,c1e0,c2e0,c3e0,c4e0,c4e1,c3e1,c3e2,c3e3,c4e3,c4e4,c2e4,c1e4,c0e4,c0e3,c1e3,c1e2,c0e2,c0e1,c2e1,a0d0,a2d0,a3d0,a4d0,a1d1,a1d2,a1d3),nc:5,ni:5,p:!(b0c2,c0e0,c1e1,c4e2,c2e3,c3e4,a1d0),v:0)

Also I have nothing to base this off but a hunch but I bet Pat is the purple dress girl

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>5917887
>>5918172
>A1 Pool

>>5917887
>B2 Smoking Room

>>5918172
>B3

Flipping between the [B]s...

Rolled 2, 3 = 5 (2d6)

>Horse Face drags Gil off to do some "investigative journalism" about the contents of pretty girls' underwear drawers

And rolling for Management. Then writing.

File: c.m.s. garvin - @clark.png (1.5 MB, 1766x1653)

1.5 MB PNG

>Pool party

Well, where are Horse Face and Gil going? You could run up behind them and ask, but that'd... it wouldn't project a position of dominance. This is something you can figure out by yourself. Let's see. It's probably Horse Face picking where to go, since Gil's more of a follower than a leader. No offense to him. And this version of Horse Face is, um... um, how did you put it? As annoying as the regular kind, just in a different way? Hmm. Er. Yes.

...

God! Okay, fine. If you had to be plain about it, "Cam" is very forward, in a way Horse Face hasn't necessarily been. You don't know if Us made it up, or if Horse Face was like this before 50 years of brain melting, or if Claudia's just more of an easy target than you are, but it's very obvious and it makes your skin itch. Which is the way Horse Face normally makes you feel, granted, but— anyways! So since he's like that, and since him and Gil are lacking in current feminine supervision, and since he was just hassling Gil about liking girls... you're not completely stupid. You've been told in no uncertain terms what men are like. They're either headed to the pool room, or they're going off to look through the keyholes of the bedrooms. (Or, worse, break in.)

So you should follow them, right? Not, like, follow them-follow them. You'll let them go off on their own. But if you happen to wind up in the same place, and you happen to be able to defend an innocent young lady against male perversions, then is there anything wrong with that? Not at all. It'd be the heroic thing to do.

The only issue is, if you're not following-following them, then it's a hard coinflip between the options. Does Claudia have a coin? Or, no, better— which location needs a feminine presence more direly? The bedrooms are creepy, but are as far as you know empty. The pool has an underdressed young lady in it (or sunning herself near it) at this very moment. This very moment! You squint over to the map to remind yourself of its location, then set off down the long hallway.

The lodge would be a nice place if there were people in it: the carpet runner is thick, the walls newly papered, and it's lit completely with electrical lights. (Think of the expense!) Instead, there's only you, your breathing and deadened footsteps, and the intermittent creak of timber— the lodge breathing, you suppose. Well, it's made of Us too. You probably shouldn't think about that too hard. Back to the 'nice place,' it's actually so set up for visitors that there's placards at every fork in the hallway. Map, schmap. All you have to do is follow the "POOL —>" "POOL ->" "POOL ->" signs until you abruptly hit tiled flooring, and a little ways after that a white door with a little window built in.

(1/2)

File: indoor pool.jpg (651 KB, 2816x2112)

651 KB JPG

>[Travel time: 2 TUs]
>[5/??? TUs until Pat is discovered by Management]

You push it open without hesitation, step out onto cement, and breath the pool smell deeply. A mile above the ocean, this was the form of water you were once most accustomed to. The friendly, domesticated pool! You hadn't realized you missed it.

>[+1 ID: 6/14]

This one is a tad incongruous, given that the lodge is right on the beach, but you suppose it comes in handy on the day a year the ocean freezes over. Plus, it's just plain attractive, with a curvy natural shape instead of a boring rectangle, and the inside all lined with blue mosaic tile. Maybe that makes it a dumb pagan pool or something, but judging on pure looks, it's hard to beat.

Is there a person here, though? Preferably one wearing a large visible nametag? It takes a visual scan and re-scan before you finally spot the girl, who isn't just lacking a nametag, but is sunken nigh-completely underwater. She's sitting on one of the lower pool steps in such a way that only her nose and eyes are sticking out. Is she... meditating?

You shuffle closer, attempting to be discreet. She could be meditating. But with a closer vantage, her brow's awfully pinched, and she's staring straight down at the water. Is she thinking? Or... sulking? She doesn't seem very happy, in any case.

>The girl in the POOL is DISTRESSED.

She's not wearing a dress, if it has to be said, but you aren't willing to focus too much on what she is wearing. (It's not proper.) What instead? You consider calling out, then remember the vow of silence, and wave a vigorous hello. The girl catches the motion in her peripheral and looks up, but only long enough to register who you are; deeming you unimportant, you assume, her eyes slide right back to the water.

Hmph. You suppose it's a good thing Gil and Horse Face aren't here, because you're not all that inclined to defend somebody so terribly rude.

(Choices next.)

>[1] Attempt to converse with the girl in the pool. [This will cost at least 1 TU. It may cost more depending on roll results and/or length of conversation. Different girls will be receptive to different approaches, and some might not be receptive at all.]
>>[A1] Break the vow of silence and speak out loud to her. You need her attention.
>>[A2] Write on Claudia's notepad. (Surely she has a notepad.) It's the polite thing.

You may pick multiple Bs. All options are [Possible roll.]
>>[B1] Tell her that you're a reporter here to feature exciting young up-and-comers like her.
>>[B2] Tell her that you've snuck in to save the pageant from certain doom.
>>[B3] Tell her that you already know some things about her, to build your credibility. (What? Write-in.)
>>[B4] Ask her a question. (What? Write-in.)
>>[B5] Get Claudia out and let her say what she wants. She might know better than you.


>[2] She doesn't seem talkative, to say the least. Keep moving. Travel time consumes TUs depending on current distance. Locations one space away cost 0 TUs, two spaces cost 1 TU, three cost 2 TUs, and four cost 3 TUs. The atrium is considered to be one space away from the lobby, and the bedrooms are two spaces away.
>>[A] To another MAJOR LOCATION.
>>>[1] The ATRIUM (+2 TUs)
>>>[2] The SMOKING ROOM (+1 TU)
>>>[3] The DINING ROOM (+0 TUs)
>>>[4] The BALCONY (+0 TUs)

>>[B] To the BEDROOMS. [Note: Gil and Horse Face are still there.] (+1 TU)

>[3] Write-in.

>>5918989
Dammit! Can we look around for her dress? I hope she didn't walk here from the bedrooms negligee.

>>5918996
Can we also check with Claudia whether she recognizes the girl?

>>5918989
Alright, if distressed counts as a temperament:
We know this girl is not Shannon or Toni, nor Judith, nor does she wear orange or purple. She's also not in green. Which leaves green to the cruel girl, and she lives in room 4. This leaves room 1 for the kind girl and gives her orange dress. This also means green and orange are Shannon and Toni, but we don't know which is which. This leaves the distressed girl with a grey dress and room 3
At this point I'm relying on the table and hope I didn't make a mistake. The wordly girl can only be on the balcony. The way for us to recognize Pat should be her face and temperament. Pat could be distressed, but we didn't recognize this girl, so I think she's worldly. As such, I vote to go to the balcony (which conveniently takes zero time)
>2A4

>>5918996
>>5918997
Yes. Also, if you have an updated grid link, it'd be useful for your fellow voters if you posted it. (If you haven't been working on the website or closed the tab, no worries.)

>>5918184
>I wouldn't take those if they weren't in green, seems like Claudia's making some assumptions there.
Late, but you can take this in two ways.
OOC: It's standard for logic puzzles to have the info around the outside established from the get-go, so I wanted to get that set quick.

IC: Claudia IS technically tapped into a massive hivemind that knows all the answers, even if she herself doesn't know that. It's natural she'd be on the money more often than not.

>>5919041
>The way for us to recognize Pat should be her face and temperament
You should be able to recognize Pat through any of the clues except for bedroom # (which might yield clues if that bedroom was directly investigated, but doesn't say anything on its own). Some are more obscure than others, but all point in her direction.

I would also like to state that, even under normal circumstances, Pat is a shapeshifter.

>>5919041
Due to the adjacency rules, the kind girl goes into the dining room and Judith into the smoking room. This allows us to establish full matchup between meditation rooms and temperaments and bedrooms and dress colors.
Here is the table. I arbitrarily gave Name 1 to the distressed girl.
https://www.jsingler.de/apps/logikloeser/?language=en#(at:c,items:!(!('Name%201',Judith,'Name%203',Shannon,Toni),!(Atrium,'Smoking%20Room','Dining%20Room',Pool,Balcony),!('Orange%20dress','Yellow%20dress','Green%20dress','Purple%20dress','Grey%20dress'),!(Devout,'Temperament%202',Cruel,Worldly,Kind-hearted),!('Bedroom%201','Bedroom%202','Bedroom%203','Bedroom%204','Bedroom%205')),ms:t,n:!(b0c0,b0c1,b0c3,b0c4,b1c2,b2c2,b3c2,b4c2,a3c1,a4c3,a3c3,a1b0,a1b4,a1d4,a1e2,b0d4,b4d4,b4e2,c2e2,b0e2,a1c2,b0d0,b4d0,c4e4,c4e3,c1e0,c2e0,c4e0,c3e0,c3e3,c1e3,c0e3,c2e4,c0e4,c1e4,c3e2,c2e1,c0e1,c0e2,c2d4,c2d0,a1d1,a1d3,a0d0,a2d0,a3d0,a4d0,a1c0,a1c4,c3d1,c3d2,c3d4,c1d1,c1d2,c1d4,c0d3,c4d3,c0d0,c4d0,a1e0,a1e3,a4d3,a4d1,a4e1,a4e4,a3e1,a3e4,d4e1,d4e2,d0e3,d3e0,d3e2,d3e3,d1e0,d1e1,d1e4,d2e1,d4e4,b3d0,b3d2,b3d3,b3d4,b2d1,b1d1,b0d1,b4d1,a1b3,a3b3,a4b3,b3c1,b3c3,c2d1,c2d3,c0d2,c4d2,a2c2,a0c2,d2e4,d1e3,d4e3,d2e2,d2e0,b0d3,b1d2,b2d2,b4d2,b1e3,b2e3,b3e3,b4e3,b0e4,b0e1,b0e0,a0b0,a0c0,a0e0,a2e0,a0e3,a2e3,a0d4,a2d4,a0d2,a3e2,a4e2,a3c4,a4c4,c1e2,c4e1,c4d4,c0d1,b2e2,b1e2,b3e0,b3e1,b3e4,b3c0,b1c4,b2c4,b4c4,b2d3,b1d3,b4c0,b1d4,b2d0,a1b2,a0b1,a2b1,a3b1,a4b1,a0b2,a2b2,a4c1,a2b0,a4b4,d0e0,a1d2,a3d1,a2d1,a0d3,a2d2,a3d3,a2c0,a2b3,a0b4,a0e1,a0e4,a2e2,a0c3,a0c1,b1e0,b4e0,b2e1,b2e4,b1c0,b2c1,b2c3,c3e1,a2c4),nc:5,ni:5,p:!(b0c2,a1d0,c0e0,c3e4,c2e3,b3d1,c2d2,d2e3,d4e0,b0d2,b0e3,c4e2,c1e1,c0d4,b3e2,b3c4,b4d3,b2d4,b1d0,a1b1,c4d1,a0d1,d1e2,a2d3,a2b4,a0b3,a0e2,b2e0,b2c0,a0c4),v:0)

>>5919041
>We know this girl is not Shannon or Toni, nor Judith
Agree

>nor does she wear orange or purple. She's also not in green
I think you mean yellow or purple, otherwise agree, and updated the chart up to this point

>Which leaves green to the cruel girl
Lost me here. According to the chart, cruel temperament has no known restrictions on color, how'd you deduce this?

>2A4
I will back the zero time unit exploit vote, though we do have 2 to burn until Gil and Cam return

My latest link:
https://www.jsingler.de/apps/logikloeser/?language=en#(at:c,items:!(!('Name%201',Judith,'Name%203',Shannon,Toni),!(Atrium,'Smoking%20Room','Dining%20Room',Pool,Balcony),!('Orange%20dress','Yellow%20dress','Green%20dress','Purple%20dress','Grey%20dress'),!(Devout,Distressed,Cruel,Worldly,Kind-hearted),!('Bedroom%201','Bedroom%202','Bedroom%203','Bedroom%204','Bedroom%205')),ms:t,n:!(b0c0,b0c1,b0c3,b0c4,b1c2,b2c2,b3c2,b4c2,a3c1,a4c1,a4c3,a3c3,a1b0,a1b4,a1d4,a1e2,d4e2,b0d4,c2d4,b4d4,b4e2,c2e2,b0e2,c1e0,c2e0,c3e0,c4e0,c4e1,c3e1,c3e2,c3e3,c4e3,c4e4,c2e4,c1e4,c0e4,c0e3,c1e3,c1e2,c0e2,c0e1,c2e1,a0d0,a2d0,a3d0,a4d0,a1d1,a1d2,a1d3,b3d2,b3d3,b3d4,b3d0,b4d1,b2d1,b1d1,b0d1,a1b3,a3b3,a4b3,b3c1,b3c3),nc:5,ni:5,p:!(b0c2,c0e0,c1e1,c4e2,c2e3,c3e4,a1d0,b3d1),v:0)

>>5919214
Hmm, then it's quite likely it's Pat in the pool. She has reasons to be distressed and soaking her goo body in water might have come to be a self-soothing behavior. The goo I think is also naturally grey?