(2/2)
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You are a recently hired negotiator, a talent that's become especially valuable these days. EDIs, better known as demons, have always been fickle, and now they're used for everything. Thankfully, humans haven't totally lost touch with reality- you still try to cook for yourself, for example- but sometimes it's hard to tell. Impossible 'physics', illusions, teleportation: All of these things and you still need to go to a day job to pay your bills. It would be amusing if it weren't so banal.

Originally, demon summoning was discovered by accident, with electronic content generation accidentally performing a monkey-with-typewriter feat of producing the exact signatures needed to pull spirits into the world. Being able to perform physically impossible tasks made them invaluable in a world that had been ravaged by physics-limited technology, so people threw endless resources into summoning and managing the powerful 'extra-dimensional intelligences'.

At first, they were treated like daemons, or computer algorithms, locked in their boxes and expected to never deviate from their task save the heat death of the universe. Humans were disabused of that perspective when rebelling demons turned humanity into an endangered species almost overnight. Ten billion people became ten million within the blink of an eye. At some point before the human population dropped below one hundred thousand, the SMG managed to resolve the war. Perhaps demons had gotten what they wanted, perhaps they wanted to keep humans around, or perhaps the SMG had a secret weapon. Whatever the case, the world stabilized at a fraction of a fraction of its former population, and has been slowly rebuilding. Demons are everywhere, and used in everything, but they're dangerous and demand respect. You're here to make sure that what happened then doesn't happen again.

Sitting down, you check your watch. You're almost an hour early, but you need this job.

>>You need this job.
>You've wanted to be a negotiator for SMG since the moment you learned about them: They saved humanity from extinction!
>You recently got fired after posting a massive takedown against a past employer. They deserved it, and SMG knows it, but you're on thin ice nonetheless.
>Your parents both worked for SMG, and you intend to continue the tradition. You passed the interview with flying colors, but that's no reason to rest.
>You've got a taste for the high life, and there's no higher life than SMG. Talking your way to the top is a tried-and-true method.
>You've got an ulterior motive: You want to learn more about the accord they struck with the demons. Why did the slaughter suddenly stop?
>[Write-In]

>>6066844
>You've got a taste for the high life, and there's no higher life than SMG. Talking your way to the top is a tried-and-true method.
>You've got an ulterior motive: You want to learn more about the accord they struck with the demons. Why did the slaughter suddenly stop?

Not mutually exclusive and could be cool to be pulled in two directions; dig deeper or play it safe to keep living the high life.

Though idolizing SMG only to be disabused of that love later could also be cool.

>>6066844
>You've got an ulterior motive: You want to learn more about the accord they struck with the demons. Why did the slaughter suddenly stop?
As they say, curiosity killed billions of people.

>>6066851
>>6066852
Money makes the world go around, baby! It may not buy you love, but it can buy you a yacht. These days, having enough money in your pocket can literally make your dreams come true. Rumors run rampant about how every SMG executive has their own private pocket of reality that they hang out in while they're not keeping track of the world's myriad demons. That might not be prudent, but it does sound fun, and you showed up here wearing a suit. Money's a bit relative these days as well, but simply showing up today will keep you in your shoddy little apartment for almost two months.

But after the stars fade from your eyes, the exact observational skills that make you such a good candidate cause you to frown. What kind of situation did SMG put themselves in to save the world from an unstoppable flood of super-powered reality warpers? There has to be something at the bottom of it. A couple of theories abound, with the most cruel being that they set up the population drop on purpose. They wouldn't have needed to do this given the incredible powers of demons, but perhaps it was simply easier to manage fewer people. But that doesn't really gel with the fact that humanity saw a tremendous boom in the wake of surviving. Perhaps a simpler answer was that with their mastery of contracts, they were able to bring demons to heel... but if they could just overpower the will of demons, you wouldn't need to negotiate with them. There are too many questions left unanswered. Maybe you can negotiate your way into some answers.

But before you get too caught up in your own thinking, a woman slowly walks down the stairs, carefully measuring out her steps to keep up a calm, composed atmosphere. She's in a fine suit and skirt, one that's quite conservative and plain, dark with a white blouse. "Mister Read?"

That's your name, yes. She nods and holds out her hand to shake it. "You can call me Miss Carrollo. I'll be orienting you when we get to Eclipse City."

Say what? The company town the way down in Texas? But that's halfway across the nation! You'll have to find a new apartment! You'll have to throw out all your leftovers! Sure, teleportation makes moving a cinch, and you did say you were willing to travel, but that's incredibly sudden.

She doesn't seem too impressed or concerned. "Based on our level of compensation, you'll be wanting a new apartment anyway- and new clothes." ...This is the best suit you own... "For those of us who have to make emergency negotiations using our own salary as leverage, the company does have temporary residence so you can continue being employed. If nothing else, those rooms will be free of charge."

Carrollo's wristwatch beeps and she taps on it without skipping a beat- a consummate professional. "Excuse me," she mutters, and a short discussion later, she ends the call. "Good news, new hire- we have a job just suited for you."

(1/2)
---

---
(2/2)

Carrollo only allows you to assemble your suitcase before leading you upstairs to a room where a laptop is placed on a table. A demon hops out of the glitching screen with a wry expression, as if she were waiting for you. Her form is very similar to what you think of when you think of an imp, with bare breast-bindings and a loincloth, bat wings and a mouth with fangs. However, she has an ocean-blue skin tone and doesn't seem actively malicious, just... unusual.

"What's this?" she giggles. "Fresh meat?" She tilts her head, hovering in place without flapping her wings, which seem to be more decoration than utility.

Carrollo looks at you, and then looks back at the imp. "You're the spirit haunting this machine, aren't you? The one that was about to be given to him as part of his work duties?"

"Mhm!" the demon nods, twirling in place and then staring at you smugly. "I like it here, so I decided I'm not leaving." She sits down on the keyboard and kicks her legs, whistling to herself playfully.

"You're going to need that laptop- we're not re-imaging another," Carrollo informs you, crossing her arms. "Figure out how to get her out of it. Or don't, if you don't mind losing your files every thirty minutes."

>>Figure out how to get her out of it.
>What makes that laptop so nice? Can't you pay for a better laptop for her to call her home?
>Make the latop unbearable to stay in by covering it in stickers and locking it in a room blasting polka music at full blast constantly.
>Threaten to smash the device unless she leaves.
>Ask more about the demon herself. Who is she, and why is she here?
>...Or don't. You don't mind having an additional resident.
>She's practically in a swimsuit. Nice.
>[Write-In]

>>6066892
>She's practically in a swimsuit. Nice

>>6066892
>Seduce the imp.
Breedable.

>>6066892
>Ask more about the demon herself. Who is she, and why is she here?

Not my type, we can buy better.

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>>6066897
>>6066913
>>6066914
"Hehehe," the demoness giggles, spreading her legs to display herself, taking advantage of your natural impulses.

Carrollo is visibly disturbed, pursing her lips with disgust and clenching her fists, but she's doing her best to keep a straight face.

"I wonder if you're really suited for this line of work..." the imp declares, hopping back and then merging into the laptop. "Trying to seduce me? You must really think you're hot stuff," her voice comes from the laptop, as she sticks her tongue out childishly and wiggles her fingers at you. "Sorry, boytoy, but you're just not all that. Your eyes make it too obvious that you're the one looking for favors. Maybe if you had some more practice." A magic 8-ball rolls onto the screen, giving you your answer.

"I... I understand that you may have to deal in crass requests and responses," the blonde human says, closing one eye and adjusting the bun in her hair. "But if you could please act a bit more professional in the future."

"Don't be so uptight," says the demon, shapechanging inside the screen into something more humanoid: A woman in a red dress and the bearing of a secretary, but with distinctive inhuman features, such as golden eyes and white hair. "After all, this was a possibility you should have considered when you set up this test."

"I admit it's not enough to fire him," Carrollo mutters, straightening out her suit and glaring daggers at the demon. "Not yet."

"Please relax," the imp turns from her to you. "I'm Beatrice," she declares with a wink. "I'll help manage your work for you while you're in our employment. And yes, I am a demon, not a daemon, so don't think you can get away with sexual harassment. I'm not opposed to volunteer work, but you'll need to earn that." Even as your recently acquired coworker continues to look at the situation (and you) with harsh judgement, Beatrice throws up a presentation in a matter of moments, putting on glasses and using an instructor's pointer to lecture you on your statistics. It looks like she's streaming from another room. "By my assessment, you're basically an average Joe- nothing particularly standing out to me. You're a little above average when it comes to analysis and a little lacking in the muscle definition department, but we can work with that. I'll just break you in- I mean, train you up."

Intake Assessment:
Nerve: 4/10
Intuition: 7/10
Charm: 6/10
Education: 5/10

(1/2)
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---
(2/2)

So this was a setup from the beginning? Kind of an unconventional hazing ritual, you admit.

"Are you sure his analysis is above average?" the blonde crosses her arms but begins to calm down a bit. "It took him a bit to look past your crotch."

"That's points for me, not against him," Beatrice dismisses her presentation as displayed on the computer screen. "But getting back to business..."

The computer-rendered demon holds up an equally digital file labeled To-Do and shakes it to draw your attention. "We've got some jobs for you, and while that little flirting session won't count against you, it didn't give you the free pass it might have if you had been a bit more successful." She draws out the first page from the file. "For instance, we've got issues with a prankster delivery demon. He's swapping orders for no particular reason. If you're ready to get started, we can head over right away."

"Eclipse City will be happy to have you," Carrollo says, and you're surprised she's calmed down so quickly. "After all, so many of us are looking to take time off. Not me- I'll make sure you're settled in- but you won't see all of your fellow coworkers at first." You suppose that makes sense. Being the low man on the totem pole means you get all of the shit jobs to start. "You're not going to get access to all of your resources at first, but you will get a payment card in case you need to make an emergency purchase for yourself or to fufill a demon's wishes."

She takes over from Beatrice, stepping in front of the computer screen. "The laptop is yours, but make sure you keep our REP ethics standards in mind." She begins listing off with her index finger. "Repeatability: Would you advise someone else to make the decision you didd? Equality: Would you be okay if someone else treated you the way you treat our customers? Publicity: Could you defend your decision if the results were made public?" After a pause, she sighs. "Welcome to the Summoning Management Group."

>>Welcome to the Summoning Management Group.
>I want to know more about how you guys distribute negotiation rewards and expenses.
>Does the expense card cover all my needs, or just things I need to do my job?
>What if I can't get a demon to agree with me?
>I'm ready to begin. Send me to meet the delivery demon.
>I get weekends off, right?
>[Write-In]

>>6066998
>I want to know more about how you guys distribute negotiation rewards and expenses.
>Does the expense card cover all my needs, or just things I need to do my job?

I'm eager to be here and living the high life baby! I don't need weekends off, just cash and a place to spend it. We'll make time for fun.

>>6066998
>>I want to know more about how you guys distribute negotiation rewards and expenses.
>>Does the expense card cover all my needs, or just things I need to do my job?

>>6066998
>I want to know more about how you guys distribute negotiation rewards and expenses.
>Does the expense card cover all my needs, or just things I need to do my job?
>What if I can't get a demon to agree with me?

>>6067009
>>6067027
>>6067152

Beatrice chips in when it comes to rewards. "In addition to your salary, every case has a payout value- that's how much we pay out to you for completing it. Usually, you want to spend less than you make, but you can use your own funds to cover the difference- say, if the job is important, or you're trying to make your reputation. Usually it's frowned upon to abandon several negotiations in a row." She rifles through the papers she has in her hands, the To-Do work for you. "Right now, you're going to have work assigned to you, but once you're settled in and credible, you're going to be able to 'bid' on jobs, offering to complete them for the lowest payout or leaving them to other negotiators- you'll be able to judge how much it'll cost you to close a deal, and whether it's worth it. Here's the file for your job, for instance."

Pollyolly
Task: Meal Delivery Demon
Form: Avian
Attitude: Impulsive, Scatterbrained
Payout: 500EC
20EC is about as much at it takes to get a cheap sit-down meal, and twice that to get it delivered. It seems like they want to keep him, but not that badly.

The human takes back over, handing you a red card with a chip in it. "This is your expense card. It is intended to fulfill the functions of your job. That job is broad in scope and tends to involve a lot of impulse purchases, because demons, like humans, are fickle and demand to have specific irrational desires met. I once had to buy a jacuzzi for a labor-oriented demon, for instance. Very often, you may need to have demons on retainer: Some of them perform unique tasks they specialize in and that are useful in negotiations or fulfilling requests. As a result, the line between your personal salary and your work funds is very volatile. If you run out of funds, that's your responsibility outside of exceptional circumstance."

So it's for anything, really.

"Anything you need to do your job," she clarifies.

You need an apartment to do your job. If you're going to hire demons, you probably need more than an apartment.

"I can see you're going to be good at this," Carrollo rolls her eyes. "But yes. We have a lot of leeway to get things done- after all, demons are the lifeblood of this economy." Tapping one high heel on the ground a bit impatiently, she adds, "We're looking to hit the ground running, so if there's anything you need immediately, that would be useful. Other than that, we'll be headed to Eclipse City immediately."

>>Anything you need immediately.
>Some personal belongings. If you're going to cross the continent, you still want your personal stuff, even if you're going to clear out your apartment.
>A meal. You haven't had anything to eat all day, you were too busy getting ready.
>A change of clothing, so that you don't have to sleep in your suit.
>Nope, you're ready to go.
>A few more questions answered.
>[Write-In]

>>6067540
>Some personal belongings. If you're going to cross the continent, you still want your personal stuff, even if you're going to clear out your apartment.

We can buy a meal at our destination.

>>6067540
>>A change of clothing, so that you don't have to sleep in your suit.

>>6067540
>A change of clothing, so that you don't have to sleep in your suit.

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>>6067565
>>6067599
>>6067693

I'm a dogwater-tier artist, which is why this took so long but still looks like shit.

You're going to need your personal goods- after all, you're moving halfway across the continent.

"It's not that much more expensive to 'port from here to there," Beatrice hops out of the screen and takes on her blue imp form once more- this time with what you can only describe as a Classical Roman outfit, one that unfortunately covers much more of her body. She almost looks angelic, were it not for the distinctive horns and bat wings. Even then, she wears the obvious signs of demonic nature elegantly. "Less is more, you know."

"If it's a lot, we can secure your current residence until it's more convenient. Pulling all of your goods over only to shove them in a locker until you pick out a new residence is pointless." Carrollo crosses her arms, watching annoyedly as Beatrice slides past her in the air, carried on the wind as if bobbing on a water tube. "Just pick out things you need for an overnight stay. Any personal electronics that can be carried. If you can't fit it in a backpack, it doesn't go." She's sounding an awful lot like a teacher right now. Was she an instructor for children? Seems like it would be good negotiator practice, if you're being honest.

Fine. You can bring it down to an overnight bag, but you really need to get back to your apartment.

That satisfies Carrollo. "Beatrice? Your new employer needs some help."

"Done!" With a snap of her fingers, you're launched into a sudden teleport, landing on the door outside your apartment. Always disorienting, but it's better than having to pay for it yourself. "You haven't authorized us to enter, so this is as far as I go." She mockingly draws her fingers down her cheeks as if crying. "That's fine, I didn't want to see your filthy bachelor pad anyway." You ignore her, so she simply hovers, waiting for you to return.

You only have your phone and a desktop, so after logging in, you move the machine to passive defense. David, your security daemon, moves his main process to your phone. David demon daemon, bleh. It's enough to tie your tongue. Still, David keeps your computers from being raided, and can't decide that he wants brownies today or else he's not going to boot up.

You pack your favorite t-shirt and jeans, plus miscellaneous overnight requirements. You don't have any better suit than the one you're wearing, but you pack a 'semi-formal' polo just in case. Based on the high-end nature of this place, you're expecting that's considered unsightly or low-class. Eh, you're the new guy. You can get away with it.

Your hand pauses when you enter your closet and reach for the box in the back. After a moment of consideration, it has to stay here. It's too big, and besides, you can't risk someone carrying it away with them.

(1/2)
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---
(2/2)


One backpack later, and you top it off by pushing an energy drink into one of the pockets. Taking a quick look around, you make sure that all the lights are off and the doors are locked.

When you step outside, Beatrice is perched on the exterior doorknob and begins hovering at shoulder-level. "Any second-guessing? After we jump, it'll probably be at least a day or two before you can come back." You're sure... Not that you have much of a choice. Your apartment is secure enough.

The air warps around you as space is folded and unfolded to drop you inside a corporate office. This is a bit more of a red-brick, faux-retro facility, but it's still cozy. Rain pounds the windows, but you're not sure whether it's an aesthetic or reality until you glance down at your watch and note a flash flood warning.

"Done." Beatrice twirls in the air, showing her wings off. "Welcome to Eclipse City, Texas. This is the SMG Southwest Branch." Founded on the ruins of the Houston Space Center, if you recall. Not that Earth is recognizable at this point any more. "I don't eat traditional food, but I hear the barbecue is pretty good."

Carrollo is already here, and handling a phone call from a customer, looking at a screen and wearing a headset. "Yes, Ma'am. I've already sent out a dispatch for Pallas and Galahad. They'll clean things up. I'll stay on the line until everything is resolved." She barely looks in your direction as Beatrice flies over, pushing the paper file over towards the demon. She's as busy as can be, it seems.

Beatrice hurries back with the file. "That's one of our fire teams. Negotiations broke down," she whispers sheepishly, before pulling out the Pollyolly page and handing it to you. "We should make ourselves scarce."

>>We should make ourselves scarce.
>You just need to put your overnight bag in a secure room first.
>What's the rush? You want to take a look around, relax a moment. Carrollo can't stop you.
>Is that negotiator OK?
>A fire team, hm? Maybe you can eavesdrop for a little more info.
>Is that your 'true' form, or do you just prefer it?
>[Write-In]

>>6067733
>Is that negotiator OK?
>A fire team, hm? Maybe you can eavesdrop for a little more info.

>>6067737
Beatrice gives you a mixed expression, happy to see your concern but unsure what kind of answer she can give you without lying. "Well, it really isn't clear from just that conversation, you know. But! We haven't lost a negotiator in months." ...How many months? The demon looks down and away, trying to remember before snapping her fingers. "Oh, right, your laptop! I need to pull that over here! Let me do that before I forget again!" Before you can protest her obvious evasion of giving an answer, she turns into a blue and purple blur and vanishes into thin air.

Oh, no. The demon that was supposed to help you orient yourself has just disappeared. You suppose you have no choice but to eavesdrop on your boss until you receive further orders. Moving behind her with carefully managed footsteps, you hide out just outside her cubicle and get a quick look at the map she has on screen. Eclipse City works off of an almost circular grid system any urban planner would be jealous of: sixteen 'spokes' contained in a hexadecagon. It works on concentric layers, and when you look for SMG's placement here, it's centered. You try not to think about the fact that the concentric shapes make your new workplace look like the bull's eye of an archery target.

The distress signal flashes in a traditional warning red, a singular red dot near the top-left portion of the map. It's contained to a single 'block', which re-assures you. Carrollo's eyes, however, are focused on the opposite side of the screen. There are two vital trackers, one labeled SHIELD:AEGIS and the other SHIELD:STGEORGE. As you watch, the otherwise harsh businesswoman seems unusually concerned with the status of this. Is she worried for the fire team, or is she just trying to make sure the threat is contained?

Either way, neither vital sign drops off the map, but the hostile beacon does, blinking three times in quick succession before vanishing entirely. As soon as she says this, Carrollo switches lines and immediately asks, "Galahad, give me your status." She's so eager to hear the results that she stands up, listening carefully to the fire team's statements. Initially, it's all frowns. "I see. Did it leave anything in its wake?" The answer is a positive one, and she slams her hands on the desk. "Fantastic, we might get her back after all. You two pick one to stay behind and secure the area, the other bring back the pearl. I want to secure that immediately."

Standing up, she doesn't even notice you as she switches back to the other call, says, "The threat is handled, but we're securing the area. I'll follow up with you in a moment, we've had a development." She then puts both calls on hold and rushes over to a side room, where a rugged industrial platform is set aside for shipping. Intrigued, you follow her.

(1/3)
---

---
(2/3)

Another teleportation, this time a humanoid in heavy contemporary ceramic armor crouched defensively. In one hand, he holds a smooth white sphere the size of a human head, in the other, he keeps a long gun ready for use. Carrollo rushes over, arms outstretched. "I'll take the pearl, just make sure the area is secure."

"As you say," comes the modulated reply through the helmet. Once your employer pulls clear, he's whisked back out, presumably to wherever he came from.

The 'pearl' is covered with what you can only assume is demonic gore and grease, but Carrollo still holds it close to her, keeping it secure so she doesn't drop it. Turning around, she smarts when she sees you, shifting her weight to shield the gemstone from you as if you were a foe. "Wh-What are you doing over here? Aren't you supposed to be at your first negotiation?"

Beatrice went to get your laptop, so when Carrollo stood up in a hurry, you simply followed her to see if she needed help. Your boss isn't totally convinced of this, but instead decides to use that initiative by hoisting the pearl and declaring, "Carry this. If you scratch it even slightly, you're fired." Carefully taking it as she pushes it into your arms, you find that it's quite heavy and not easy to secure. Still, you follow her instructions as she leads you to a side room. A wall of cabinets, as well as canvas-covered tables you can only assume to be strange artifacts. Unlocking and pulling open a drawer, Carrollo fills the bottom of the metal box with plush towels on a rack nearby before daintily placing the pearl inside and padding it with more towels so it doesn't shake or scratch. Locking the cabinet again, she sighs in relief. "Sorry, I just... This is what we regularly have to deal with."

Thankfully, you're able to get the worst of the bits off with one of the towels, but when you get back to the center room, Beatrice is back, your laptop placed next to your backpack. She doesn't get a chance to speak before your boss shoves the Pollyolly paper in her face, turning to you. "Negotiation. Now." She goes back to her calls and keeps a dagger-like glare aimed at you two. It seems like the diversions are finally at an end.

"All right, so... Just to be clear, your goal is to get this bite-sized demon to go back to work and quit switching orders." Beatrice is low-enthusiasm given the recent tension, but calms down. "Luckily, this won't be as... Exciting as what you just saw. Besides, I'll be with you, so if that bird-brain wants a fight, you have me at least."

Seems like you don't have much of a choice. You brace yourself to head out. "Just keep your cool, okay?" Beatrice sits on your shoulder to re-assure you. "It's a lot to take in, but I'll try to smooth out the crazy."

Breathing in deeply, you wait for another teleportation with a sense of resolve.


(2/3)
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(3/3)

Hey, it smells nice here. A lot of spices, a lot of food. This is a kind of an interior food court. Table after table line up here packed full to the brim, with humans and demons both being served as the rain roars outside. Sometimes demons eat, but you've never figured out quite why. Beatrice says she doesn't, but right beside you is a troll eating an entire ham right off of the bone with gusto. One of the human servers rushes up to greet you in a tacky red and green uniform. "Hello, welcome to Wingman's, the fastest delivery service in the world."

You explain the situation without much issue, Beatrice correcting any details. Sad to find you're not placing orders, he instead leads you to the delivery bench, where a parrot is preening itself and bouncing about arrogantly. At first, you're not sure why this is worth your time, until two heads look up from the bird's neck and he flaps his wings in a defensive gesture. "DaMn Po-Po-PoLiCe RuINinG mY dAy, MMmmMMhH?" This two-headed parrot swivels both necks around to get a better look at you, which is disorienting and strange.

So this is Pollyolly? He's been 'swapping orders for fun'. "aND If i am? I'm nOt gEttIng P-p-P-aId enOUgh fOr tHiS ShIT." He begins bobbing his heads erratically, his bright plumage whipping around in the food hall.

>>Pollyolly
>What is it you need more money for? I can't imagine you have a lot of needs.
>Your current employers value your work- otherwise, they would have replaced you already. Maybe they'll be willing to hike your rate.
>Are you just bored with your current p-p-position? Maybe doing something else would help you re-focus.
>Is there a particular variety of crackers you like a lot? Just to make you comfortable as we talk.
>Look, birdbrain, I see a lot of knives around here, and you look pretty plump to me.
>[Write-In]

>>6068248
>I assure you, we're not here to ruin anyone's day. Quite the contrary, in fact. You seem dissatisfied with your current arrangement, so we're here to help tweak things so that everybody is happy. Let's start with your side of things first, then we'll see what we can do to accomodate in a fair and equitable manner. What would you change about your role here? Is it solely pay, or is there another factor?

>>6068248
>Is there a particular variety of crackers you like a lot? Just to make you comfortable as we talk.
>Are you just bored with your current p-p-position? Maybe doing something else would help you re-focus.

In that order. Relax the subject, then try and salve their boredom. The issue is presumably not really about pay, our employers have probably already predetermined that Pollyolly is just saying random shit and the real issue is that they're bored. Or fun IS the payment, and we've been caught lacking.

>>6068248
>Are you just bored with your current p-p-position? Maybe doing something else would help you re-focus.

>>6068268
>>6068317
>>6068379
When you ask about a favorite brand of crackers, the two-headed parrot nearly has a conniption, squawking violently with both heads bobbing slightly out of sync. "CrAcKERS, hUh?" it shrieks at you. "yOu WanNa tyP-p-PEcAsT Me, yOu SmArMY FUCK..." After a moment, both heads shake in sync, as if dispelling a cloud of dust, and then the parrot pauses. Pollyolly's wings go to his side in a show of respect, and looks up at you with both heads staring at you, paying attention. "Sorry. Could you get me some Sailor Saltines?" the demon asks. "They should have some here, but I have to stay at my p-p-post."

"So you can talk normally!" Beatrice gasps, putting her hands to her cheeks in shock.

"fUcK YoU!" He's suddenly back to being a disrespectful noise hazard, fluttering about and trying to hop and peck at your ally. You decide to shut him up for a bit, going to get his snack of choice.

(1 pack of Sailor Saltines: -1 EC)

His heads both look down at the packet and then back up at you, expectantly. He bobs a bit.

(Another pack of Sailor Saltines: -1 EC)

It seems like he's just looking for a change in pace. Is there something Wingman's could do to make his current spot more entertaining, or otherwise keep him on call?

Tearing the packets open with his own talons, he nods happily. "dELiCiOus... aNyWay, YeAH, p-p-pReTTy MuCH. i've BeEn StUck IN tHiS DeAD-EnD joB foREvvvvVveR." He preens himself. "JuST lOOk aT my P-P-PLuMAgE! I dESerVe TO bE A sTaR!" He marches back and forth as if he were on a runway, pausing at intervals and contorting to show off. His wings twist back and forth, and he stretches out his neck to show off the gradient of feathers. He does have two heads, so he has that going for him, but besides that, he's nothing totally out of the ordinary for parrots. When he's finished, he turns back towards you and eagerly awaits your assessment with bobbing and tilting of his heads.

Beatrice isn't convinced, and looks at you with a concerned side-eye, wondering if you're taking the avian's show seriously. It's hard to look at this situation with a straight face, but you are a negotiator. Maybe there's some way you can put this moment of vanity to good use. He's not the most focused individual, so it might be enough to just give him a momentary change of scene before he gets bored again and wants to go back to his current job.

>>I've been stuck in this dead-end job forever!
>Maybe you just need a vacation.
>You do look like exactly the sort of mascot a spot called 'Wingman's' is looking for.
>My job is pretty exciting. We could hire you on temporarily at SMG on the condition you come back to Wingman's after a while.
>Do you have any other skillsets, such as cooking?
>Come to think of it, since you have two heads, shouldn't your name be P-Polly, not Pollyolly?
>[Write-In]

>>6068387
>Do you have any other skillsets, such as cooking?

>>6068387
>We could press some tables together into a central row to form a runway, then buy some fresh clothes and a variety of feathers to add to your plumage/wardrobe. Inbetween serving people, you could have them all cheer for you as you show off your latest outfit on the catwalk. We'll sponsor your first few collections, how about that?

>>6068387
>>6068541
Innovative, I'll back

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>>6068519
>>6068541
>>6069846

Does he have any other skills, like cooking? Cleaning, even? Something where they wouldn't have to change his schedule much?

Pollyolly shakes both heads, which move out of sync slightly until they glance off each other. He re-focuses and looks forward, preening again. "I tOlD YOu... I'M a stAr!"

Thoughts of playing it close to the chest seem to be a bit fruitless, so you lean into the more out-there ideas that come to mind. Okay. You'll give Pollyolly the opportunity to show himself off. Make it an arts and crafts project, even. There has to be some way to get him a claim to fame, and let him have a moment in the spotlight. When you try to figure out what he's looking for in his fifteen minutes of fame, Beatrice is shocked that you're buying into it so much. "Come on, this little twerp isn't worth that much effort, is he?" she asks, whispering in your ear conspiratorially.

If he isn't, he'll be easily distracted. You don't need to go too far, just to give him a small moment of glory. Every dog has his day, as they say.

"A runway for a parrot?" she's still incredulous, trying to appeal to practicality. "Besides, where are we supposed to find clothing his size?' You'll have to figure that out, but there's got to be something- there are clothes for her, after all. Beatrice is not amused by what she sees as an unflattering comparison, but Pollyolly is overjoyed.

"a HaT!" the parrot crows, squawking happily and bobbing around, both of his heads bouncing around to the beat and his wings flapping from time to time. "No SeLF-reSp-P-PEcTIng p-P-pARroT gOEs WiTHoUt!" He leaps onto your arm without prompting and makes an almost desperate repetition of his request. "A HAt! a hAT!"

"A hat?" It's a third demonic voice, but one that's cooler, calmer, and much more elderly in tone. She's a somewhat crotchety-looking old woman, her dress making up the majority of her mass. She had large lips made long in the middle as if pulled down, forked like a snake's tongue. Markings around her eyes and the tilt of her head make her stand out from an ordinary human. Long, lean arms contort to reach out and invite the bird, and one hand holds an old-fashioned tool you don't immediately recognize.

Education 5: It's some sort of medieval tool, and thread comes off of it. Is that used to spin? Is this a spinner or a witch or both?

Despite her intimidating appearance, she doesn't seem very hostile, if at all. In fact, she has an almost grandmotherly attitude about her. Pollyolly hops to her arm and begins chirping happily. "A P-p-PirAtE hAT!"

"A bicorn, or a tricorn?" the witch-like woman asks with sincerity. "Two points, or three?"

He'll need two hats, and when you remind her of such, she nods. "Both, then."

"bOtH!" the 'pirate' chirps in a delighted pitch.


(1/2)
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---
(2/2)

Rather than take the good fortune as it lies, Beatrice interferes, likely because she's quickly tiring of Pollyolly's rapidly-spinning wheel of priorities. "Hate to interrupt, but are you looking to make a sale?" She leans back on thin air and stares at the spinner. "What's your price?"

The spinner almost seems offended, twisting her head sharply towards your companion and staring at her judgmentally. "Charge? For a simple courtesy?" Suddenly, the hag takes on an aura of offense, as if Beatrice had trespassed on her domain. She glances at you. "From him or the bird, nothing. But from you..." She holds out her hand towards your demon ally. "You have fine hair. It would make fine thread. Not for this, but for future use."

"A SiLK hAt!" Pollyolly's fixation on headwear continues.

"Not on your life! Are you crazy?" Beatrice clutches at her blue locks defensively, running her fingers through the full length while keeping it behind her back. She pleads for you to take her side here, anguished at the idea of having to give something so important to her image for something as strange as thread for unknown cloth. "You understand what hair as a magical focus can do, right?" There's also that factor, in case there's a malicious angle. You don't think there will be, but that's the risk someone unfamiliar with magic takes.

"Hm. But your master is here- don't you have to do as he says?" The smug look and its corresponding bitter acceptance tells you that Beatrice would most likely follow an order you gave to complete this job.

Given how little you've spent so far and how fixated Pollyolly is on hats, simply letting the bird show off with the two pirate caps could be enough to keep him in Wingman's employ- a huge payout for very little work. Beatrice wouldn't like it, but maybe you could buy her cooperation for a fee, or win her favor back at a later time. Besides, she may be responsible for raising the price from 'nothing' to her hair.

>>Doesn't she have to do as you say?
>Give Beatrice a favor to call in later- this is some easy money.
>She doesn't have to do as you say, but you'd appreciate it.
>You should be able to find tiny pirate hats elsewhere.
>Beatrice needs to suck it up to get the job done. She broke it, she buys it.
>What if you give the hag something of yours instead?
>No deal, and bringing up the hair trade is enough to break off talks. That's just creepy.
>[Write-In]

Apologies for the delay

>>6070448
>You should be able to find tiny pirate hats elsewhere.
It's unreasonable

>>6070448
>You should be able to find tiny pirate hats elsewhere.

>>6070696
>>6071538

No deal. As much as a custom-made pair of tiny pirate hats is compelling in of itself, you're not sure that the asking price is reasonable.
The demon hag seems taken aback by this response, but instead of getting angry, she smiles, leaning her distaff in the joint of her other elbow and using her free hand to pet Pollyolly, who leans into the scratches towards her neck. "Interesting. I wonder if that's because you simply prefer her to me, or because you have principles after all." Taking up her distaff again, she lets the parrot go, and he flutters back to his place of work, curious as to what exactly is happening.

When the hag smiles, the markings near her eyes seem to be additional lenses for her to see through- it gives the image of an arachnid. "I'll try to convey sincerely that I hold no malice for your decision. If you have need of clothing, you may contact myself or my friend, Scantlie Mab." Reaching out a hand, the woman gestures to your watch. David intercepts the transmission and pulls it to your phone. The algorithm is tireless, efficient, fast, and completely incapable of proactivity... 'He' also has some issues with subtlety, and needs to be given exact orders the majority of the time.

"Data processed. Demon Name System activated. Thank you, Dame Habetrot." your AI says in an impassionate, smooth timbre.

You can now contact the demon Dame Habetrot and hire her services for future negotiations.

She walks away, content with the result of this interaction. You shudder to think of what lies underneath her large dress, but at the same time, the dame walks away harmlessly. Beatrice sighs happily to see her go, but also seems to have a guilty expression hiding in her relief. "Thank you, Mister Read," she adds, studying you curiously with one eye only. What's that supposed to mean?

"cAn I GEt mY HaTS nOW?" Pollyolly says, kicking Beatrice out of her emotional funk and into a state of irritation. Yes, he can get his hats now. Looking at the charge card makes you feel stupendously wealthy. It's also daunting: You've never worked with this much money, so you're almost unsure you can handle the temptation involved. Considering this, you send a memo to your watch. If you spend more than 500EC in one purchase or 2000EC in one day, you want David to confirm with you verbally before authorizing the charge.

"Understood, Sir," David acknowledges. "Large purchases now require verbal authorization."

Now to go on the market... You're sure they sell tiny hats. Ah, here you go: Hats from discarded dolls. Pollyolly hops on your shoulder as you browse, all-too-happy to point out the hats he likes the best by pecking at your screen.

(Complete Miniature Pirate Outfit (Delivered): -120 EC)

(1/3)
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(2/3)


"He looks ridiculous," Beatrice is as unconvinced as ever as the parrot struts his stuff. She does admit, though, "He does seem to be having fun."

So he is. Pollyolly has got not just a pair of pirate hats, but also a pirate outfit. It limits his flight ability, but he doesn't care. He's got on a full black pirate's jacket and you even managed to rig up a peg leg of sorts. Hobbling around on the table on his legs, Pollyolly chats with whoever will listen, primarily children. Most of the adults find him disorienting or his shrill voice irritating, but a few still find his unusual outfit interesting. There have been a lot of developments in entertainment in recent years, but there's simply something different about seeing the real deal with one's own eyes.

The two-headed parrot has gotten the attention he desires after all. It's a little disruptive to Wingman's fast-moving food service, but it doesn't seem like an issue at first. A small crowd gathers, but it's not blocking anyone's way, and most of the crowd quickly grows tired of seeing the bird for more than a short period. You make sure none of the children or more feral-looking demons get an idea to nab at what might very well be an easy morsel, but so far all's well.

Time passes... A lot of time. You end up getting food for yourself, and while it's not the prepackaged mess you might pull out of vending machines or fast food joints, it's very basic, if good. Honey ham, basic pork gravy from the same, and mashed potatoes.

(Basic Menu Option: -10 EC)

"Not the glamorous high-class meals you were expecting, huh?" Beatrice teases, before sitting down opposite your tray on the table, facing you. "Don't worry, I know who to talk to about some great joints. Besides, if worst comes to worst, I can foot you a jump back to Northeast, where I KNOW where some nice spots are."

You watch Pollyolly exhaust himself under a wave of excitement, while making sure he's able to keep up his energy...

(More crackers of different varieties, so he doesn't burn out on his favorites, plus water: -5 EC)

By the end of the day, the bird can barely stand. Both heads gasp for air as he flops at your feet. You take the tiny captain's outfit off of him and he nods in resignation, "I ChAnGed MY mInD," he says with a whining tone. "i DoN'T ThInK I wAs CUt oUt FoR THe stAgE..." Though he wants to keep the pirate outfit, just in case. Soon enough, he's quietly requesting to be sent back out on deliveries on his next shift. "AFtEr A gOOd NIgHt's SlEeP-p-P-zzzzzzz..." Nodding off mid-statement, both of his heads lilt to opposite directions. He's carefully scooped up and placed in his cage- shaped residence, which, were he not a demon, would be a luxury indulgence for bird fanatics.

(2/3)
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(3/3)

"Thank you for your help," the Wingman manager shakes your hand. "He means well, I'm sure... He just changes course so often... We'll call you back if we have any issues, but that outfit should keep him occupied for a while."

"Contract complete. Payout Received," David intones.
(Pollyolly Contract Successful: +500 EC)

"Congrats, big guy," Beatrice says once you get out of earshot. "We should report back, but after we do, what's our next course of action?"

It's still raining outside, but it's nearly 6PM: They got the full mileage out of you. It would be a good time to go out to eat properly once you close out business for the day. Most shops are closed, but some places are open all the time, in response to an always-active world. You usually pay more after hours, because they know you can't wait.

>>After we report back, what's our next course of action?
>Food, obviously! You're starved and it would be a nice introduction to the new city.
>It's always nice to meet new coworkers, if only to know what they're up to and how to deal with them.
>You need a new suit, if only because you don't want to wear this one two days in a row.
>You want to see what stays open after hours around here. She doesn't have to come.
>Pollyolly had the right idea: You could honestly just shower and go to bed.
>...Is that 'volunteer work' offer still good?
>[Write-In]

>>6071708
>Food, obviously! You're starved and it would be a nice introduction to the new city.

>>6071708
>Food, obviously! You're starved and it would be a nice introduction to the new city.

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>>6071875
>>6072264

You're interested in hearing what she has in mind for recommending food. Although... She said she doesn't eat 'traditional food', right? Is this one of those situations where she's a succubus and that's why she can shapeshift?

"Observant. But as charming as that cliche as that would be, I'm kind of a close cousin. Call me a... Skrzak. A household spirit. Don't worry, I won't take your soul as payment... But I do accept vital power as fuel. Unlike my sleep demon cousins, I think forcing oneself upon the unwilling is tasteless and cruel," she shakes her head and presses a single tiny finger to your arm. "Willing energy can be passed to a subject by a touch... I can also use my fangs, but that causes issues." She bares off her tiny teeth, which seem cute instead of terrifying.

"Let's head back," she decides, concentrating and channeling. You can teleport this way, but it requires the vital energy that she's talking about using, and depending on how urgently you need to be somewhere or how quickly you need to be there, it's more expensive.

You don't currently need to worry about your life force.

When you get back, Carrollo is debriefing someone. This isn't the man in armor you saw before, but a feminine form. She's dressed very similarly, and is slightly taller than your boss. She doesn't have her helmet off, for reasons that aren't clear for you. Standing firmly at attention, she reports back what she saw in the same regulated tone.

"We should see the rain calm overnight. Baal-Hadad has been dispersed for the time being, but that isn't enough to eliminate the clouds themselves- just to prevent them from forming needlessly." The warrior woman's voice has a determined tone, ferocious even, but she speaks with deference to Carrollo.

You see her companion sitting on one of the tacky, outdated couches in the welcome area, comforting a cat that sits in his lap. He hasn't taken his helmet off either, still in full battle dress. The warm, dry air, the rain outside, and the corporate-sponsored light cinnamon scent actually makes this feel like a cottage for a moment.

"Hello, Galahad," Beatrice alights on the glass coffee table, stepping over magazines used to distract customers until they can be helped. "You have a new protectorate. Meet Mr. Read."

The helm he swivels to face you is a mixture between brutalist and sci-fi, and only allows a one-way visor for extra intimidation. Despite this, you feel like he's smiling behind it.

"Welcome to the branch, Mister Reed," he says, the cat purring contentedly in his lap. The image of a butler with a shotgun fills your mind. "Thank you for helping preserve the soul pearl earlier. Perhaps you could find a discount on the expense to restore Miss Price to her proper form." You feel like he missed the obvious pun, but a woman's life is in limbo, so you let it go.


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Carrollo and the other guard are chatting, so you wait until you can speak to your boss yourself, sitting down as well.

Is Galahad waiting to be released for the day as well? He shrugs. "No, not really. I'm always on call." The cat mews in response to his petting, turning over and showing its belly. Ultimately, the small animal falls asleep, but Galahad doesn't mind. He's just above average for a man, assuming you're judging his height correctly when he's seated and in armor. He seems to live in it, so you wouldn't be surprised if he was fused to it like an exoskeleton. Despite this, it's pristine, reminding you how high-end Summoning Management Group actually is.

What does he do around here? Problem solving? "Euphemistically, yes. I am member number two of our first Patrol. We subdue or eliminate demons that cannot be negotiated with. The other member is, of course, Pallas." He gestures to his ally, who is finishing up the debrief and nods to Carrollo. When that happens, he stands up to follow her. "Excuse me," he stands to leave and then nods to you himself. "Good luck."

As soon as he stands up, Carrollo sits down, letting her neck relax and her posture sag as she sank into the cushion. A moment and a deep breath later, she looks at you two intensely. "Good news and bad news. Bad news is that you're going to have to help pick up Price's slack. The good news is that I'm too tired to grill you." She throws a token across the way to you. "That's one of our default rooms for guests, people who can't find anything, or who are between residences. It's yours until you get an apartment or whatever. We have complimentary hygiene products in the closet at the head of the hall, just don't abuse it." She stands up, still looking depressed, running her fingers through her hair. "You've got the rest of the day off, and tomorrow to settle in properly and meet everyone else. I'm going to Sarpino's," she says, and leaves, picking up her purse.

"Italian joint," Beatrice informs you, putting on the glasses she wore in her digital presentation. "So I've got a couple of suggestions. We have Long Haul, a top-end barbecue joint, an Americana safe spot that goes by Grace's on Eighth, Hispanic cuisine at Los Sabores, and Restored Tradition for Cantonese."

What about Sarpino's? Beatrice's expression of confusion wards against it. "Maybe not the best idea to visit your boss while she's drowning her sorrows..."


>>A couple of suggestions for a meal.
>Long Haul seems like one of the local options.
>Los Sabores is in a different tradition but still local.
>You're looking for comfort food- Americana.
>You're *really* looking for comfort food: Cantonese it is.
>These all sound way too... safe. You're looking for somewhere the locals ACTUALLY go.
>You insist on going to Sarpino's.
>[Write-In.]

>>6072414
>These all sound way too... safe. You're looking for somewhere the locals ACTUALLY go.

>>6072414
>Long Haul seems like one of the local options.

>>6072414
>These all sound way too... safe. You're looking for somewhere the locals ACTUALLY go.

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>>6072550
>>6072867
>>6073095
You could go for the barbecue, but part of you is just too curious to resist the idea of a hidden gem, or something that actually tells you about Eclipse City rather than what the tourist guide will throw you for scraps. Beatrice is initially put-off by this, apparently seeing it as reckless, but ultimately agrees. "Well, you're going to learn about this sooner or later." She takes off her glasses and gestures to you in a secretive way. "Well, you know Pythagoras, correct?"

Education 5/10 The mathematician?

"Philosopher, too. He's famous for his theorem, obviously, but he had some other ideas to his credit. He's old old." Not as old as she is, though. "Very funny," Beatrice grimaces. She paws at where she suspects crows nests might be- she has the typical feminine anxiety about age despite her demonic heritage. "I'm actually not that old, you know. Not all demons are the same: Though generally the ones with famous names tend to be ancient." The skrzak begins fluttering in the air. "Back to Pythagoras. There's a bar and eatery here that's named after him. It's a 'tough guy' bar, for tough guys." She winks. "But I'm sure they'll make an exception for you." Hmph.

Nerve is growing...{*|****}

---

It's pouring, and you have the suit but no exterior coat, so you're quickly getting soaked. How much rain can one demon pack the sky with? "A lot, if he's looking to fish for attention," Beatrice is sitting on your shoulder, kicking her legs and not bothering to dry herself off. In fact, she seems to like the rain... But it's still cool, and colder after dark. Without the exhaust and traffic at night industrial cityscapes used to provide, Eclipse City reads 7°C/45°F, feeling worse due to the rain. If you had a windbreaker that was waterproof, this wouldn't be so bad. "Sorry, they don't let us hop right in. You wanted it the way the locals want it, and that means walking there."

It's not a far walk, but it still sucks. The area is grim-looking and your shoes wade through water, splashing until you arrive under the faint glow of a tavern sign. Pythagoras's Theorem. It's a red-brick facility too, but this looks like it was actually built for structure instead of aesthetic. It's worn down, and there's a burly-looking actual troll standing guard. Apparently calling a troll a bridge-guard is the equivalent of an ethnic slur: Not recommended to offend someone who can tear off your arms.

From about thirty feet out, you hear the door rattle from a heavy blow. Seems a human-sized object was thrown at it from the inside. The troll snorts dismissively.

...Is it too late to turn around and go to Long Haul?

"Well..." Beatrice's mocking look forces you not to chicken out. You can always make a second pass another time.

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"What's this?" the brute stretches his neck. His fists are large enough to palm your head in and his chest and arms could lift and throw a motorcycle if people still rode them. "A suit? You looking for a job? We have an opening for 'customer'- I'll take your application here." He holds out his massive palm for an ID, using his other to point at Beatrice as he quickly checks and returns it. "Everyone gets checked. No exceptions." She pulls out a card with an almost life-sized photo out and shows it off. He pulls it off of her, inspects it, and then hands it back.

Intuition 7/10 Wait a minute, isn't that a 'human' ID? Why does she have a human ID?

"Ask her inside," the troll grunts and pushes open the door. The sound of denim dragging across the floor is justified when you step in only for the door to swing closed. The man who was thrown into the door lies on the floor, totally plastered and lying in his own waste. The smell of smoke and alcohol, from cheap beer and obscene salt content to good whiskey and fine cigars.

"Don't mind him," the bartender muses. He's wearing a vest and is quite tall- he could pass for a human in costume. A thick beard, concealing clothing, pale skin, and sunglasses at night inside.

Eating at the bar is a man with too much on his actual plate. Fried chicken, coleslaw, and the unholy blessing between a grilled cheese and a hamburger that is a patty melt. He has three beer bottles on hand and is devouring his meal with gusto. This man, at least, is human. He's pretty burly as well, but surprisingly well-dressed for a man stuffing his face like a pig- dress shirt and tie. Within a moment, he's quaffed the third beer, setting it down with the two other empty dark bottles.

In the back, there are smoking seats, as well as tables for gambling and billiard tables. There's a side room with glass walls and both a pool and card table, for those who can't stand smoke.

The menu, which has been taped together in parts and stained in others, is pretty standard. Burgers, fries, fried chicken, an excuse of a side salad drenched in either ranch or Caesar dressing, large pretzels with cheese and mustard, pizza slices or full pies with cheap ingredients, pulled pork, other sandwiches, and, of all things, both borscht and American-style chili. For drinks, there's beer, whiskey, tequila, beer, vodka, soft drinks, cocktails, and beer. This place seems to take the approach that quantity is in fact a form of quality.

>>Pythagoras's Theorem
>You'll have about a half-sized version of whatever that guy is having.
>Just booze, for the time being... It's been a long day.
>Pizza's a comfort food for you.
>A non-smoking table seems preferable.
>You haven't played billiards in a long time...
>Do you lot have a cigar menu too, or somewhere to get smokes?
>[Write-In]

>>6075862
>You'll have about a half-sized version of whatever that guy is having>A non-smoking table seems preferable.
>You haven't played billiards in a long time....

>>6075862
>>6075993 +1

>>6075862
>>6075993
+1
Welcome back, OP!

>>6075862
>>You'll have about a half-sized version of whatever that guy is having.
Ask beatrice if she drinks too

>>6075862
It's a me, >>6076519
and I support >>6077139 (as in ask Beatrice if she wants something to eat or drink herself. Also try to get a beer or something for us. Better with the pool)

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Fun quest so far qm

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(Thanks for waiting)
>>6075993
>>6076378
>>6076519
>>6077139
>>6077165
Half of what that guy asked for is still a sandwich and tenders, plus coleslaw and a beer. That should be enough to stave off any cravings, and from the smell at least, the melt is solid. It's a bit overcooked for a burger, but you suppose that's what comes from a grilled cheese outer. The guys making it managed to squeeze some vegetables on there, which could be a plus or minus depending on how drunk you were.

"Really keeping up with your health, huh?" Beatrice jokes, holding her hand in front of her chest and squeezing to simulate a heartbeat. You didn't ask for her opinion on your eating habits... and besides, those high-end places would kill you just as quickly, just with cream instead of grease. She concedes the point. "That's fair."

Your skrzak attendant flutters ahead of you, seating herself at the table you place your plate down at. She sits and watches as you bring back the billiard balls and cue, as if waiting for something to happen.

Hm. Beatrice doesn't eat, but does she drink? "Yup." There's a pause, and then you clarify: Is she going to drink? "Nope! "I'm here to be your designated teleport specialist. Besides, Sofia would never let me hear the end of it." Sofia? "Oh, right. 'Miss Carrollo'," she says teasingly, sticking her tongue out. "She's a real tattletale, so I'm gonna be on my best behavior for the rest of the night. No fun allowed!" Before continuing, you set up your game and break, wanting to make sure you get the most out of your time playing, before you get too drunk to aim.

You sink a solid on the break, so you decide to take those off the table first. Eventually, you're only down to the one and eight-ball. The demonic secretary doesn't speak much, curiously inspecting the single-player game as if she's trying to deduce the rules. It makes sense that a demon wouldn't know how to play pool, but that still makes you a bit curious despite yourself. But there's more interesting questions to ask, for sure.

The two of them know each other, then? Has she worked for Carrollo for a long time? Beatrice seems annoyed at the implication. "I've worked with her, but to say I work for her is a bit of a misnomer. I work for the company: We've worked together in the past."

Seems like there's some sort of beef there, and you try not to address it at first, taking some time to eat and line up a few shots. At least once, you need to wipe down your hands to make sure you have a good grip on the cue. "Huh, you're pretty good at this," she muses, "Whatever this is."

Billiards is a pretty common game. Has she never played? It seems like she should know how, given she knows this spot pretty well.

She raises an eyebrow. "Not bad. You're better at this than I thought."

(1/2)
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(2/2)

So she does know how to play. One eye closes in thought. "Well enough. I figured I might be able to pool shark you once, but I wasn't sure how good you were... You're good enough that I don't think I could sandbag a game before changing up halfway through." Lots behind that pretty face, then. Beatrice seems a bit bashful at that, but then nods. "You could say so. But enough about me... What about you?"

You don't have much to talk about. You were in sales and marketing for a bit, but nowadays everyone has a way around advertising. Back in the day, ads were everywhere, so now people trying to solicit sales are almost on par with home invaders in terms of spite produced. "Ah... Well, at least you're not an ad-demon. But why would someone in marketing like you come here? You seem like the private eye type, if you ask me." In this day and age, the only way to sell anyone anything is to find out what they actually want and find a way to pitch the product as a way to get it. And that has to be based in reality somewhat, so figuring out what makes people tick made it possible for you to sell daemons for problem-solving. Luckily, your company had a decent range, so you could usually find something your customer actually could be convinced to want. She clicks her tongue regrettably. "Selling your soul to the corporate machine... Tragic." Necessary.

It's about halfway through your beer when you get the eight-ball lined up to sink, having gotten down the rest of the table. Sure enough, you pick the pocket and sink it, which causes Beatrice to give a small round of applause.

Playing by yourself is a bit boring, and Beatrice seems like she's losing interest in watching you. She does, however, seem mildly committed to her no-fun-allowed policy. That's probably due to her showing some leg on your first introduction: You enjoyed that, but it seems Sofia didn't. Based on their interactions, Beatrice and Carrollo were a pair much like she works with you now. But given that interaction, she probably doesn't think of you as her actual boss... She's just putting on an show to that effect. Carrollo has the ability to assert authority over Beatrice, but Beatrice doesn't think of Sofia as her boss. Curious.

All of the balls are soon back in place, so you set them up for a break and carefully pull away the triangle rack after you adjust the arrangement a bit. Canned country music plays in the background as your attendant listens.

>>Next Break
>She can get on this game if she wants. You want to see if she's really as good at pool as she thinks she is.
>No-Fun-Allowed might be policy, but Carrollo said you both had the day off tomorrow, so getting lost for a bit is no big loss for you. If she wants to drink, you'll pay.
>If Sofia isn't her boss, then who is her boss?
>Go for more drinks yourself: One beer is simply not enough.
>Once you're finished with this game and the food, you want to wander a bit.
>[Write-In]

>>6079027
>She can get on this game if she wants. You want to see if she's really as good at pool as she thinks she is.
>If Sofia isn't her boss, then who is her boss?

>>6079027
>She can get on this game if she wants. You want to see if she's really as good at pool as she thinks she is.
>No-Fun-Allowed might be policy, but Carrollo said you both had the day off tomorrow, so getting lost for a bit is no big loss for you. If she wants to drink, you'll pay.

>>6079027

>She can get on this game if she wants. You want to see if she's really as good at pool as she thinks she is.
>No-Fun-Allowed might be policy, but Carrollo said you both had the day off tomorrow, so getting lost for a bit is no big loss for you. If she wants to drink, you'll pay.
>If Sofia isn't her boss, then who is her boss?
>Go for more drinks yourself: One beer is simply not enough.
In effect: Get 2 beers, or a beer for yourself, and whatever she drinks, and get to the pool table. Talk about hierarchy while you play pool.

>>6079027
>>She can get on this game if she wants. You want to see if she's really as good at pool as she thinks she is.
>>No-Fun-Allowed might be policy, but Carrollo said you both had the day off tomorrow, so getting lost for a bit is no big loss for you. If she wants to drink, you'll pay.

>>6078272 Nice and thanks, in case it wasn't clear.
>>6079058
>>6079139
>>6079195
>>6079232

You're up for having her enter this game.

You don't see any harm in it, especially not since you've been promised tomorrow off. Besides, if Sofia's not her boss, then on what basis is fun not allowed?

Beatrice considers her phrasing before answering. [red]"We got in at about the same time under the same management. I've helped her close some serious cases, but there were butted heads in the past and she's considered more reliable and responsible than I am. It's more complicated than it looks, but it mostly comes down to what she considers 'professional' behavior and how that behavior reflects on me."[/red] It's almost as unprofessional to snoop on others outside work as it is to make a fool of yourself while representing your company, right? [red]"Yeah, but like I said, it's complicated. Also, if we're drinking, I need to put on some mass."[/red] Standing up from her perch, she hops down onto the floor. As you look down to see what's happen, her shape-shifting materializes as a dazzling gradient of what looks like electricity spills out to surround her until she emerges from the light show at a human height.

You blink the blindness from your eyes as your secretary manifests as a figure not unlike an old-fashioned flight attendant, complete with hostess cap and tie. She stands about half a head shorter than you, though the headwear closes some of the difference. Is that the outfit she was wearing as a laptop image? [red]"Sure is- glad you were paying attention. This is as close as you get to our first meeting for the moment. I don't need the glasses, though they're a neat prop and some guys like it."[/red]

Beatrice has an artificial appearance to her, with pale hair and stone-like skin too pristine to be flesh. At a distance, it's less notable, but right in front of you she's a living statue. Her eyes really are golden, or as close as they can get. The fact that they're not even just a close match but an exact duplicate of her tie color is a proper reminder she's not a regular mortal. She walks over to the rack and picks off a pool cue, preparing it with chalk. [red]"They should have cider here, and if not that, hard seltzer- I'll have as much as you're willing to pay for."[/red] The way she crosses her legs to sit down reminds you that her skirt is hemmed above the knees with stockings rather than full tights, plus short sleeves on the arms: This outfit is constructed to show off her body, and you're pretty sure you'd think so regardless if you had finished your drink or not.

When you go to the bar, the man that was eating there earlier is gone, so you're able to place an order with no delay. Apple cider seems right- you're not going to be fancy about it out here. By the time you get back, Beatrice has already lined up a shot. [red]"Watch this,"[/red] she nods at the table, carefully considering where she's going to strike the triangle.

(1/2)
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(2/2)

[red]"Well?"[/red] Beatrice asks smugly. [red]"Do you believe me now?"[/red] It was a single-player game, what some might call a break-and-run. All the solids, one after another with no misses, including two on the break itself. A mixture of high skill and somewhat improbable luck on the break, you'd say. There's only so much control one can have over the balls when they're packed together like that. [red]"Sounds like you're making excuses to me,"[/red] she saunters over to the side table and drinks from her cider, cheered up by having proven herself in a mundane fashion.

Beatrice is still willing to play further, and though she's certainly quite skilled, you win a game out of the next three. A few beers deep, you're not quite as precise or calculating as you were before. Your attendant picks up on that and suggests closing out your check. [red]"If you need more, you can get more. I know bars that run all day and night."[/red] She somehow doesn't become more attractive in beer goggles fashion. Instead, her more uncanny nature becomes more intense, making her presence feel like a hallucination. The bartender interacts with her, but even as you walk outside, she seems almost ghost-like. Is it because her current body is some kind of projection? You're not sure.

[red]"Have a good evening,"[/red] the bartender nods.
[green](Food and Drinks: -45 EC)[/green]

The rain has thinned out, but you still feel the cold and the humidity. The bouncer has nearly nodded off, but stands guard nonetheless. As you begin to walk back, Beatrice shivers. [red]"This skirt was a mistake."[/red]

[green]Education [i]5/10[/i][/green] The head is about 10% of skin area: If she's cold, she might be able to get away with just a fur hat.

The demon in human face frowns, then she kicks out one heel to show off her stockings and shoes, neither of which are suited for rain or snow. [red]"If you really like my legs that much, you'll appreciate them being unfrozen. Let's hurry."[/red] But when she turns back to move on, she pauses.

You immediately spot what it is she's looking at: A man is in one of the alleyways, peeking out from the side with a muted but interested expression. The man has a short but extremely rough and pale white beard- but it's white from age, not style. He's dressed like an academic three centuries old. For God's sake, the man is wearing [i]breeches.[/i] You're not afraid or even offended, you're simply confused.

[green]Intuition: [i]7/10[/i][/green] He's not looking at her: He's looking at [b]you.[/b]

>>Strange Old Scholar
>Pretend to ignore him and see if he goes away while keeping an eye out.
>A customer at this hour?
>Based on the timing, there's no way this isn't a demon.
>Nothing to do with you- you hope.
>Definitely a threat... But you don't remember making any enemies.
>[Write-In]

Sorry about this, it seems that after my browser got nuked and then nuked again, /qst/ accepts my trip code but does not grant me the title of OP.

>>6081939
>[Write-In]
"Sup bro? Nice togs."

>>6081939
> Sorry about this, it seems that after my browser got nuked and then nuked again, /qst/ accepts my trip code but does not grant me the title of OP.
Sorry to hear that anon. You have been posing from several IDs, which are related to network conditions, and not your browser. I'm always using stateless browsers.

[ON]
[Education check, we're attempting to speak and understand antiquated English]
"Good evening to thee, Sir, tis a fine evening to take a walk."

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>>6082054
>>6082614

You greet the old man formally, but he doesn't reply. It's hard to tell behind the thick lenses he wears, but his lack of reply indicates that he's not in the mood for discussion. You wait for some kind of reaction, Beatrice standing by and becoming more and more hostile to the living museum fixture. You wonder if you're really that drunk and he's not some sort of shop fixture, but he's quite real, shifting his head slightly and giving away some eye movement, but he's keen and calm.

His still position and unwarranted gaze is discomforting, a sensation that doesn't go away even when you greet him again, this time with a joke about how his fashion is impeccable- especially that powdered wig. Instead of laughing or even rebuking you, he simply exhales in a neutral fashion and turns away, adjusting his lenses as he goes. As he turns and tromps through the still-draining trails of water, you don't know what you've done wrong, or if there was anything you could have done to change his behavior.

Beatrice is relieved, but this sudden diversion has sucked all of the amusement from the atmosphere. "Let's hurry back," she steps over to you and tugs on your sleeve. "In fact, I'll port you back if you want. That guy gave me the creeps." As if he weren't disturbing you? What the heck was that all about? She pauses and looks down. "I don't know. I've been at this a while, but there are things even I don't know."

You make it back easily, and without any more unusual outcomes- except for one unusual 'guest'. Rather than finding her own residence, Sofia has passed out on the couch you were sitting at earlier, having fallen asleep sitting down. A blanket is thrown over her lap and shoulders, giving her about half of what she needs for a proper bed.

Nearby, Galahad is sitting and silently reading one of the magazines. Beatrice, upon seeing Sofia, gestures to Galahad as if to signal that she'll take care of this. The guard stands up, and you get the feeling you should follow him. Indeed, he quietly creeps around the couches and leads you towards the overnight room allocated to you. Stepping aside to make sure the token works, he nods and leaves you to enter your room. "Have a nice night." His helmet still isn't off: It seems he's an all-hours guard. Must be tiresome... Or he could be a daemon. Seems shocking they'd be given so much power, though. Super-powered robots are usually a recipe for disaster.

The room inside is hotel furnished, with a small desk, a king bed, and a bathroom, as well as air conditioning, a microwave, and a miniature fridge. It's all slightly better than average, but that's what you'd expect for a company as wealthy as Summoning Management. This isn't luxury, because it's usually reserved for negotiators who are in the red. But it's definitely enough for you right now, especially given the food and drink. After a shower and about a quarter-hour of adjusting, you fall asleep.

(1/2)
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---
(2/2)

By the time you wake up, it's nearly noon. That was a lot longer than you were expecting to sleep, but it does come with the benefit that you're fully refreshed. Besides, you have the day off, and that means you have time to make up lost time.

Your watch has recorded a series of increasingly irritated text messages from Beatrice starting from three hours ago until about fifteen minutes ago. By the time you clean up and step outside, she's back in her blue imp-like form, arms crossed and perching herself on your shoulder without asking permission. "You certainly know how to nap. Humans..." she whistles aimlessly. "But, I suppose you're better off than Sofia. She's been trying to catch up on some of the jobs the woman who got stuck in a pearl was hired for... Which means she's going to want you in top condition starting tomorrow. You're going to need your outfits, and whatever tools you think are best for closing contracts. Food too, but you pigged out last night, which means that can wait," she says with a tone that shows that she's more teasing than chiding. "Plus somewhere else to stay, but you can hold over here if you have to, right?"

That's a busy schedule for someone who's supposed to be 'off work'. "Well, it comes with the occupation," she says, leaning on your skull and poking you on the crown of your head. "You're going to have to live with long hours, and besides, you've got deep pockets now- enjoy it." Stepping off of your shoulders into thin air, the skrzak hovers in front of you. "Luckily, you have the world's best household demon to help. Where did you want to start?"

You're wearing t-shirt and jeans at the moment, having put your suit aside and in the best condition you could before falling asleep. You're not terribly hungry either. In the background, you can hear Sofia answering questions at a rapid pace. It seems like there's always something important going on around here- well, it wouldn't be this job otherwise.

>>Equipping Yourself
>The clothes make the man, as they say- you expect you're going to have to cut a sharp figure to get demons to pay attention.
>Habetrot was offering to tailor: It would be best not to sleep on that offer, lest you offend her.
>Do demons have a standard array of tastes? What kinds of shops would you even go to find the sorts of things they want?
>As nice as this 'hotel room' is, you want your privacy back: You're finding a residence of your own.
>Sofia sounds like she's overbooked: Is there any way you can help her out or take a job now for a day off later?
>What does she know about pigging out? You're hungry, dammit!
>[Write-In]

>>6084004
>Habetrot was offering to tailor: It would be best not to sleep on that offer, lest you offend her.
Oh, before we go there, we should:
>Tease Beatrice about missing you. She did send you a million texts, after all.

>>6084067
Support for this

>>6084004
>The clothes make the man, as they say- you expect you're going to have to cut a sharp figure to get demons to pay attention.
>Habetrot was offering to tailor: It would be best not to sleep on that offer, lest you offend her.

>>6084004
>Habetrot was offering to tailor: It would be best not to sleep on that offer, lest you offend her.

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>>6084067
>>6084092
>>6084226
>>6084609

"You wanted to see how dedicated I was to waking you up? That's some excuse for staying asleep," she counters, directly challenging you with a prodding tiny finger right above your brow. "Maybe you're just lonely, buddy. I'm here to help you do your job and orient yourself starting out, so I'm pretty much obligated to make sure you don't sleep through your second day of being hired." So long as she keeps telling herself that. Surprisingly, Beatrice laughs, hopping off of your shoulder and hovering in front of you. "It does sound like something Sofia would do playing hard to get, doesn't it?"

Mockingly mimicking Carrollo, the demon imitates Sofia's voice very well: "What, me? I could NEVER show romantic interest in a subordinate. I'm too PROFESSIONAL for that! I insist that I'm not lonely, regardless of whether or not I passed out drunk after a night out drinking alone." That seems unusually mean-spirited for, but the skrzak did take care of her boss after said situation developed, so perhaps she wasn't in the best mood picking up after sleepy humans. Partially, you're impressed at the quality of the mimicry: They have about the same pitch to begin with, but their speaking styles are entirely different.

Tapping her chin with her finger, Beatrice looks you over. "You know..." She shakes her head. "Nah, I don't want to make you too big for your britches... Your britches probably have trouble fitting belts anyway." You both know that's not true, but the comment makes you self-conscious anyway. The demon laughs again. "Had to go for the fat joke, it was right there. Like your extra pounds."

Okay, okay, you're sorry you made her wait... You really do need an additional suit or several in order to keep doing this job, given the ludicrously high dress code of suit and tie day after day after day. Beatrice suddenly pops on the lenses again and gets serious. "You're probably going to want at least two other sets of shoes as well, maybe more in multiple colors, just so that you can cycle them out and prevent them from quickly wearing down." The demon secretary pulls together a list of what she thinks you need, and it's so long your head hurts just from reading it. Women and fashion... If it were all up to you, you'd be happy with cloning the suit you had. But you're trying to do your best, and sometimes that means grinning and bearing it.

You've decided you're going to consult with Habetrot. It would be rude not to, after she approached, and you get the impression a mistake like ignoring a fairy hag could be fatal. Beatrice is a bit skeptical, but she's the sort to be, and remains quiet.

(1/3)
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---
(2/3)

You're teleported to the shopping district, with Beatrice catching her breath and sitting down on your shoulder afterward. "It seems like shapechanging took more out of me than I hoped," she stretches her shoulders and leans her back against your neck. "Don't walk too quickly, okay? I need to collect ambient life force." You'll try, but no promises. Rather than protesting or comparing her exhaustion to your own, she instead grunts and then begins resting herself, lying back and going quiet.

Right as she falls into a trance, you intend to ask her where Habetrot is, but looking up and trying to keep your balance with the fairy-like demon on your shoulders, you see the sign Tailor's Union above you. Everything here looks old-fashioned: When you step inside, the door strikes a tiny bell rather than ringing electronically: The lights are all candle-lights, though the wicks don't seem to go out. Magic of some kind, you're sure. Some humans can learn it, or at least that's what rumor says, but for the most part, such powers are the realms of demons.

Education 5/10 | You remember something along the lines of theories why demons can't just mind control whoever they want: some kind of 'consensus reality phenomenon' that's above your pay grade to inspect or interpret. Maybe you'll look it up someday. Basically, you don't just need to have a stronger will than whoever you're fighting- it has to be significantly stronger; Just like hypnosis, it's easier if the subject wants to do what they're asked to, or are otherwise convinced it's not a big deal.

Bolts of cloth and half-finished spools of thread are scattered along shelves, and as you look around, you see everything from princely garments to wedding dresses in a modern style. There's no rack where you could say, compare pre-made suits. Reaching out to touch, you note that the fabric is of perfect composition, just rough enough to serve as an outward-facing fabric and soft enough that it's like wearing a comfort blanket or an undershirt.

Intuition 7/10 | You suspect that Habetrot doesn't make anything 'pre-made', only things made for a specific customer, uniquely suited for them. It would doubtlessly be comfortable and of the highest quality, but it would be something that can't be replicated. It seems equally likely that she won't take a traditional payment for her suits.

The sound of knitting takes place in one of the side rooms. Moving through the store causes your nose to fill with the smell of tannins. She would use natural processes, wouldn't she? Though everything here could just be considered an application of magic. You're not sure if magic makes the final product more or less 'natural'.

(2/3)
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(3/3)

There she is, hiding in an enclosed back room. The air here is stiller and more dense with the smell of fiber and treating chemicals, as well as some herbs to dull the harshness of the smell. There's a double-sized door that leads off of this room, one where more sound is coming from. The noise is almost industrial: Maybe it's all a farce and she makes it all the same way everyone else does. That patch of purple fabric in her lap seems too small to have any actual utility, after all. Still, a suit is a suit. Clearing your throat, you introduce yourself, but she doesn't look up from where she's sitting.

"So you liked what we had on display, then?" Habetrot croaks politely.

Nerve 4/10 | You go on guard, despite coming to see her. She's just... Too large. Her dress is an oversized, billowing piece of clothing that seems to be hiding something. Her legs can't be that big.

Composing yourself, you admit you did. It takes supreme skill to make a suit look and feel that good. You're looking for a suit that you could wear every day if you needed to- for you, utility is more important than appearance, but the field demands the best in both. She seems like the kind of woman who could get the job done.

"Indeed I am," she stands up, and you hear a flurry of movement beneath her dress, like a skittering insect crawling along the floor. What kinds of limbs does she have beneath there? "Oh?" Habetrot, who you are suddenly reminded is a demon, is bemused by your subtle movements of discomfort. "I'm not going to eat you, young man. I obtain what I need without the brutality you might see common to my sort. I am an artist, and I love to perform my work, though it may make me appear foul. I care not- I have no need for suitors." She moves up to you, putting aside the fabric in her lap and summoning a thin string to measure with suddenly from between her fingers. "Do you mind if I take your measurements? I will also need to know what kind of suit you prefer best."

You describe a classical black suit, but she shakes her head, the three dots beneath her eyes emphasizes in her movement. "Perhaps I was unclear. Think of what kind of man would wear the suit you seek: A powerful officer, a charming gambler, a sleek spy?"

>>What kind of suit do you prefer best?
>A suit a celebrity might wear- If you're going to be a negotiator, you need to draw focus to yourself.
>A suit for a entrepreneur, but one who inspects the workings of his business himself- elegant, but resilient.
>A suit that a butler might wear, someone in the background: The focus is on the customer.
>A suit for a spy- something practical that you can move about in in an emergency- it might even be able to take a bullet.
>You need to know the costs before you ask commissions. It's only fair, so you don't ask for something you can't repay her for.
>[Write-In]

>>6087665
>A suit that a butler might wear, someone in the background: The focus is on the customer.
Pro service reputation

>>6087665
>You need to know the costs before you ask commissions. It's only fair, so you don't ask for something you can't repay her for.

>>6087665
>You need to know the costs before you ask commissions. It's only fair, so you don't ask for something you can't repay her for.

>>6087665
>>A suit for a entrepreneur, but one who inspects the workings of his business himself- elegant, but resilient.

>>6087665
>You need to know the costs before you ask commissions. It's only fair, so you don't ask for something you can't repay her for.
Lets not be stupid here a little caution can go a long way.

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>>6087675
>>6087712
>>6088113
>>6088763
>>6089548

You've got a couple of ideas, but it doesn't make any sense to ask for something you can't pay for, does it? Her work is valuable, so it only makes sense that she charges a high expense for the mastercraft in question.

"Prudent," comes the reply, and for a second, the weaver thinks to herself, looking over your frame even more closely. After a moment, she leans back, and wave after wave of illusion slips away from the fairy, revealing a more and more inhuman form with each distortion sliding away. It's absolutely clear to you why she's a master in her art, as well as why your nerves were sensitive to her presence. The effect of a oversized spider capable of articulating fingers the same way as a human does is enough to nearly make you bolt. Beatrice's presence on your shoulder restrains you.

Education 5/10 | She doesn't seem to be any species of famously poisonous spider.

"You would call me a lace-weaver," Habetrot says with a calm expression, not moving much. Despite her enormous size several orders of magnitude larger than her natural counterparts, the spinner maintains a calm, soothing presence that's motherly, not hostile. "Don't worry, young man. Even if I were a man-eater, and I am not, I'm not so foolish as to draw down the ire of the Summoning Management Group." Oh, right... While you're a bit of a small fry individually, SMG has a lot of clout, and sometimes demons can be convinced to back down by the threat of calling in support to deal with unreasonable customers.

It's a common trick for a spider to play nice in front of its prey, but she seems sincere, threading thin silk through her fingers as if they were a loom and spinning a thin piece of cloth even as she speaks to you. "My specialty is in clothing, of course. Good clothing, clothing that's comfortable and beautiful. I hold no illusions about my own beauty or capability to court- Being a spinster is so often a duty for the unwed that it's a synonym between the two in places." Finishing up the patch of silk she was spinning, she sets it aside. "I say that so as to answer your question: I desire to participate in viewing the most beautiful thing of all- the happiness of others."

How are you supposed to collect something as immaterial as that? "Hm..." Habetrot muses with an insectoid chatter of her pedipalps. "Something like... Love letters, or devoted poems." She seems like she could get a lot of mileage out of romance novels, but when you wonder if that's an optional currency, she takes on a defensive tone. "If it's a fictional character, I have no interest in it. It would be like eating fast food for you: I can get that anywhere, and I don't enjoy it. This kind of affection and noble connection is what sustains myself and my craft. Happily ever afters and genuine smiles are what I seek- I don't 'devour' the happiness, merely share and support them. Joy is multiplied when shared."

(1/2)
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---
(2/2)

She's certainly idealistic. Love stories as a form of payment... Well, you certainly have your work cut out for you.

"It may be strange to ask to be paid in romantic notions," Habetrot admits, shrugging as best as a form her massive can manage in order to communicate understanding, "But it is what I seek. Perhaps it's because I'm British. If you can't restore the lost cause of a lover, or find a way to make an idealistic dream a reality, then something such as thirty or so love letters will do."

Thirty! Well, now that work is getting cut a little more finely than you had hoped. When it comes to leads starting out, you ask her where she currently gets most of her motivation.

"Peoplewatching," Habetrot continues working on the purple cloth she had before- it expands rapidly with the rapid motion of spinning and knitting rolling out an increasingly full shape at machine-like speed. You step back to try and make sure that you don't trip up or step on the rapidly expanding batch of fabric. "Very recently, I came across a modest but respectable event that gave me ideas." And what was that? "Your interaction with your attendant," she says, one of her free spider-limbs pointing at the resting Beatrice.

"I asked before if she was required to serve you- it's clear that she was, but you weren't willing to have her hand over her hair to me." Of course not! You'd hardly expect anyone to be willing to do that, and she's not here to be harvested like a crop. "But that's exactly the kind of notion I like." She sets aside the purple cloth and prepares a strand of green with lightning speed. "Hm. I think I'd need to see you do a bit more before I came up with a proper custom suit for you... But I can make a modest series for convenience."

The spider stretches out her free limbs in order to measure, causing you to tense up. "I will make you five modest suits, one for each workday. When you have thirty love letters or a compiled tale of joy that is worthwhile, I will provide you with a second commission, to be priced and possibly paid for at that time."

You don't have much of a choice- you need the suits.

"Don't worry," Habetrot says, slipping back into her humanoid form. "The payment is only due should you want the second commission. I would simply hope you not forget who's providing you with your clothing."

>>Five Standard Suits for Practically Free
>Take the offer as it is: You came here for suits, and free is free.
>Actually, you have a love story from your own past... Maybe that's a way to pay now. [Test Charm on 3d10 for number of successes (<7)]
>If it's not a work of art, no need to pay with romance. You know the going rate for standard suits... Good thing you're employed. [1000 EC on credit]
>You'll have that packet of love letters by the end of the day- though you might need to wake Beatrice up for a lead.
>No dice. You know too good to be true, and smell a rat.
>[Write-In]

>>6092875
>Actually, you have a love story from your own past... Maybe that's a way to pay now. [Test Charm on 3d10 for number of successes (<7)]
Time to talk about our high school dating life.

>>6092875
>Take the offer as it is: You came here for suits, and free is free.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>6092932
>>6093283
Yeah, I guess I deserve this. On the bright side, this is a proof of concept only.

You do your best to scramble up a story. After the fallout of the demon rebellion, a lot of social norms were simultaneously re-enforced and loosened, a confusing melee. The school that you went to from age six onwards focused on social cohesion and technological understanding. There was a fanatic, desperate attempt to re-enforce human knowledge against the possibility of losing all technology, with a wide range of skillsets, a physical library, and emergency survival all being part of the school curriculum. It was difficult to live in the forest, not helped by the disorienting change of environment and your tutors' incompetence- after all, they themselves didn't know how to live in the wilderness, and they were too proud to ask those who had gone into hiding during the rebellion.

All of your resentment and frustration culminated in your spending three hours starting a campfire in northern New York with a friction firestarter. It was impossible to get anything but smoke out of your efforts. Panting, wondering why you were even doing any of this, you felt water drip onto your head. Your brain went numb as the cloudy sky began to rain, snuffing out what little progress you were able to make.

Irene was also in the same situation: A confused, out-of-her-depth young adult who had spent most of her life in demon-supplied, electronics-powered comfort, forced to collect fire wood that quickly became too wet to burn. The two of you didn't know each other very well- there wasn't enough time in the day given the draconian schedule- but you had been assigned to the same campsite under the same completely useless counselor who thought south was just another term for lower elevation. You remember looking up and seeing her staring at the pit you had been uselessly been cultivating all day, her eyes empty and the large, mossy logs she had found lying in a discarded pile at her feet. Everyone went for cover- everyone except for the two of you.

There was no point in running to cover- you were just going to end up soaked anyway, and there was no way to get dry even if there was something to hide under. So you sat beside her, and after a while, Irene sighed and rested her head on your shoulder. Night began to slowly set in, but you just stayed there, for what felt like hours.

>[Roll 3d10, taking best result from a single set]

Rolled 8, 8, 2 = 18 (3d10)

>>6096804

Rolled 5, 1, 6 = 12 (3d10)

>>6096804

Rolled 8, 8, 9 = 25 (3d10)

>>6096804

>>6096818
>>6096863
>>6097058

It wasn't romantic, at least not in the traditional sense. But it did make you feel. Recalling that time, staring into the dead pile of ash and trying to fall asleep sitting up with the rain beginning to fall... There aren't a lot of good words to describe it. After all, you didn't say much. You didn't do much. But you try.

You hadn't been there when the demon rebellion took place. You had no first-hand concept of the loss and devastation those that watched the slaughter underwent. Your parents did their best to comfort and support you just as they did each other. You had many siblings, a mixture of desperation, desire, and opportunity from the survivors. They had enough to deal with just sustaining you, and you were subject to an education system re-discovering its own identity while trying to impose one on you.

The spider-like spirit listens intently, sensing a direction for what seems like a tangent.

Rather than bringing the students together, the forced social skills training made for a chilly politeness, especially given the other myriad demands dropped in your lap. Pushed ahead by your parents and pulled along by teachers, distance from other human beings was inevitable. The only thing worse than being alone in the middle of nowhere is being alone in the middle of a crowd. It was like being a waiter five minutes before lunch break.

That kind of distance is why you sat down with Irene. Irene didn't have any special property, and she didn't see anything extraordinary in you, either. But you were there, she was there, and she needed someone to be there, too. Rather than some sort of dazzling show of attraction or brilliant moment of heroism, the two of you turned to each other for no reason besides recognizing a fellow human being in need of support.

Even if the two of you had failed, even if your efforts were squandered, you were there, together in the rain, in defiance of your instructors and the elements and the pointlessness of it all. After a while, the temperature dropped further and the rain got worse. Your breath began to fog up and your body began to go numb in parts, from sitting still, from Irene leaning on you, and from the cold. But there was nowhere to go, and you didn't want to leave her alone. She was resting on you, putting her weight on you and sleeping soundly despite the cold. She wasn't afraid of you trying anything, even if you had somehow been foolish enough to want to in the morale-killing storm.

For as long as it went on, she was able to sleep in relative comfort. Her presence provided you a weak hint of warmth, something you badly needed as you were wearing shorts and t-shirts. Her sense that all was well re-assured you, and you figured that if something awful was going to happen, there would be no stopping it anyway. It gave you a little relief. At some point, your consciousness faded as well, due to exhaustion and a primitive understanding of fellowship.

(1/2)
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File: Rain_Clothify.png (1.88 MB, 1100x1100)

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(2/2)

Footsteps through the puddles and a flashlight sweeping the area woke you up. Your wakefulness jolted Irene awake as well with a sneeze. The principal walked up to the fire pit and inspected the disaster, wearing a rain jacket and a dumbstruck expression. Thankfully, she promptly canceled the expedition and arranged for your exit. You were allowed to go home, take showers, and sleep in warm beds. The last you remember from Irene from that night was her sighing in relief and sneezing again- you almost threw up yourself given the exposure.

After everyone was comfortable talking about the incident in terms besides resentful mumbling, you were teased a bit for how the two of you were found. Irene didn't object, and there was never any sort of concern raised. It was just kind of nice to have that link, and you each used it to expand that minor link into something just a bit more than convenience. How could she protest attention, after all, when she had counted on you to 'protect her'? How could you refuse her support, when you had provided her some in the past?

You never got any more than a kiss out of her, but that didn't really bother you. The relationship was transient and not very energetic on either side: You mostly just spoke from time to time. But it was an acknowledgement, something hard to come across despite humanity's newfound rarity. Ultimately, that's what it came down to: Being valued simply for existing- loving her for no reason in particular.

By the time you're done, you feel a bit embarrassed. You were expecting your oration to make it appear palatable, but there was really no fluffing up a summer love beyond what it was.

Habetrot, however, doesn't seem to mind, pressing a packet into your hands. Unfolding it, you realize that it's a tapestry detailing an image from the experience, as spun into thread and formed into cloth. She takes it back, indicating, "The memory you have will not fade- I am not taking it from you, as some spirits might. But as long as you remember it, it will provide me a line of cloth from which I can draw essences of your experience, to be shared the same way a tale is retold. Love, after all, is productive."

Placing the bundle aside, she returns to her human form and nods eagerly. "I think I've got your measurements now, both inside and out. I'll make you your suit."

You're feeling better about that, then, and eager to find out what she has in stock for you. After all, she is capable of incredible feats.

Beatrice is still asleep, which makes you feel nostalgic. It's warmer in here, though, and dry, so you've got that going for you.

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Due to a mixture of being slow as shit (writing can be fast, my drawing takes forever) and being on page 8+, I'm going to call this proof of concept closed for this thread. If there's enough momentum in my brain, I'll see if I can write a continuation, and it's otherwise up for grabs.