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...but it's quickly squashed. If anything, your commitment to the mission has redoubled: you can't leave empty-handed after all that, can you? Remember what leaving the kidnapping mission empty-handed felt like? You're here for the long run: either you'll win or it'll kill you. Two options. It killed Virginia. Somebody killed her, in any case, on purpose. Crossbow bolts don't just grow from bone— or on trees. In a manse, given a chance, everybody'd just pack a gun. Unless they happen to be some kind of stupid, smarmy, self-righteous, better-and-smarter-than-you-and-everybody lame sad gangly coward. Right?

Ellery was here. Is here, you'd imagine, close by. Was here, with Virginia, minutes ago, no longer. (You didn't walk back: Casey yanked the corridor and it bent back on itself.) You told him not to come, but you should've known he wouldn't listen. Couldn't listen. Too much of a stupid horrible asshole to listen. God-damnit! At least you know who the other intruder is— one of them. God knows who the other one is. Knowing your luck it's Horse Face.

Ellery was here, and you haven't told Casey, though maybe he knows already. He knew Ellery at some point. He's currently looking at the body, same as you, lips taut against his teeth, the picture of a man who'd throw an unholy tantrum if it wasn't for his important honored guest right there. That's you. You feel special. Gil is blank, blank, blank, like there was never anybody in there at all, like you imagined him. You regret the Headspace tee-shirt. You get sad any time you look.

That's why you don't look. That's why you missed it, almost, except for the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. Isn't that hackneyed? You thought it was a Josey Hatchcock thing, except you felt it: a disturbance, a frisson, the hairs, and an ineffable sense of... of... a familiar sense of...

You don't have time to put your finger on it. If you did, maybe you would've looked past Everard's eyes and seen it for real, Gil's body standing hollow, the skeins outside, and you would've expected what was coming. Instead, you watch dumbly as Gil's dead face flexes and resets, as his body twists, as he jolts and kapows his fist straight into Casey's chin— and jams his other one down, grabbing the talkie, and yanks it and shoves you hard and takes off like his life depends on it. Which you suppose it does, given Casey.

(2/3)

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Then you're here and he's gone, footsteps banging away, until all of a sudden those are gone too. Did he fall? Jump? Fly. Beetles. Aha. Ahaha! Suck it, Casey! Of course some stupid brainwashing wouldn't stick! Not to your retainer— your best one. Casey has gone maroon, which is funny, but maybe a bad sign overall. Now that you're thinking about it.

Were Gil's eyes blue?

No. No time. He's getting away! Can you even track beetles? Uh... yes! Of course! The bigger issue is not letting Casey come along. Or maybe you should trust Gil's plan and stay here? To really solidify Casey's belief in you? Think fast!

>You are at 2/14 ID.

>[1] You need Gil back. No question.
>>[A] Say something fast and incoherent about "apprehending" Gil, then take off ASAP. It might be suspicious, but by the time Casey thinks of anything, you'll be gone. If you want to catch up with Gil, there's no time to waste.
>>[B] Or maybe you can take your time, since you have an easier way to contact Gil? (How? Write-in.) There is an answer, but I'll take alternatives if they're plausible.
>>[C] Write-in.

>[2] Hey. Hey. Deep breath. Positive thinking. Rushing after Gil once led to... uh, Virginia. Let him go and see where this takes you.
>>[A] Play it casual. Tell Casey that you're more interested in Virginia's murder. Does he know anything about the bolt? Have there been other deaths? Where exactly is the security team in all this? Or, uh, Management? You've hardly seen either.
>>[B] Play it exasperated. You're sick and tired of all these interruptions. You want to get to the finale of the tour already. You know, where Casey shows you the (explodable) center of Headspace operations?
>>[C] Write-in.

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>Announcements
Welcome back to Drowned Quest Redux! Despite the extended break, I got almost nothing quest-related done. Too busy. But we're back now, and this thread will surely go smoother than the last two... right?

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

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

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

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

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

>Archive (nicer)
1-4: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-IhGrvvy5DAGXpk1VWBeSLN19IIDjP4YnUjroUEplDo/edit?usp=sharing
5-9: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1BFsue8klDevUAuCvVb2V3ktsBvdvYmAhGIDhhscKHDE/edit?usp=sharing
10-14: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NFrr6hT9Ho8ThW-n86zqzf9SxTzya65c2XRBSaWZIhU/edit?usp=sharing
15-19: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XE8ygoN6nWucvZEqmBeoQ9jKNdc6V_FOvrrIitRi3dU/edit?usp=sharing
20-April Fools: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NqCgQYDq5NajT36m9dxkpZE85mqMMjClsz-gu9FYKtQ/edit?usp=sharing
25-29: https://docs.google.com/document/d/11aZ013qySgw0wWawb2SHra3ExtJrs6FLQaCp9S7udUU/edit?usp=sharing
30-34: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1COMiZB7lKEu756_CS-lfaID2oMtHVMGBVLjXrXmMBHQ/edit?usp=sharing
35-38: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ZkI18l-PNI7i-HQdQmqTJJvUM-iLKBBCNpvSC-POhk0/edit?usp=sharing
39-40: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1asjG0cNqn1nlyqoxHxr5nV6BiIHu2YAFS6LhZR5zjkw/edit?usp=sharing

>Twitter
https://twitter.com/BathicQM

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

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

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

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

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

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>LAST TIME ON DROWNED QUEST REDUX
Anthea Aves, the woman in the diving suit, tells Gil that she's chasing down Real Ellery-- who apparently has intentions to blow Headspace up and himself with it. She erroneously concludes that Charlotte must also be there to stop Ellery, but Gil sheepishly tells her that they're there to blow Headspace up themselves... but safely! And with an evacuation plan! Anthea is skeptical, but a sudden power outage encourages her to bring Gil along-- except Anthea would like to rescue the prisoners of the "Thinking Machine" first, while Gil would like to steal Casey's walkie-talkie. His daring attempt to do so is quickly aborted: Casey grabs him and threatens him with Friendification. Gil's effort to shoot an unsuspecting Casey in the face fails, and Casey does with him what he will.

Elsewhere, you are still under the powerful, Law-enhanced sway of the red stuff-- but Teddy intervenes, and you awaken mostly nude inside a blood-filled container. (While you were mucking around with the mystery sphere, Headspace claimed your abandoned body.) After escaping, you finangle your way onto an invisible roof, from which you can see Headspace's ever-shifting layout... including where Casey, Everard Kurz, and the still AWOL-Gil are. You leap at the chance to find your retainer and descend from the roof, only for a tour guide-ish Gil to open the door to your darkened room.

Hastily, you assume the persona of Claudia, who claims to Casey, Everard, and Gil that she saw Virginia's body melt. All of them accept this pretty blithely, including Gil, who is evidently under Casey's influence. Pissed, you ditch Claudia, let the red stuff overtake you again, and chase the trio down. Your attempt to physically reclaim Gil is halted when Casey electrocutes and Everard pins you, but you sneakily possess Everard to escape. Virginia's limp, mutated body is hauled off by Management, and you pick Everard's brain, learning that he doesn't know much about you, that he's heard all about Headspace's depravities (though not their motive for them), that Headspace is partnering with Ramsey to "back a winner," and that Ramsey and co. are located to the west of you, near the town Thatsall. Casey begins to give you the side-eye, but you threaten Everard into deflecting his suspicion. Safe in your disguise, you head off on the tour.

Meanwhile, Gil, trapped in his own mind, is aware, awake, and deeply guilty about "fucking things up" for Lottie. In his attempt to escape, he finds himself face-to-face with... himself. Other Gil is an abrasive prick who, confident that Gil will only make things worse, refuses to let him leave or wake up. After their confrontation gets personal-- and physical-- Gil concludes that "Other Gil" isn't another Gil at all, but actually, literally just himself, a manifestation of all the doubt, fear, and self-loathing that plagues his mind. It's a little embarrassing, but it does mean that Gil can just walk out, and he does.

(1/2)

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Outside is a swamp polluted with Headspace merchandise. Gil flies up to get a better vantage and spots Teddy, who's going fishing, and who asks Gil to join him. Teddy's idle conversation starters turn pointed, and he tells Gil that maybe he wanted Casey to brainwash him, that he self-sabotaged his attempts at bravery. Gil gets offended, but Teddy clarifies that he means it subconsciously: that Gil's primitive 'fish brain,' committed to preserving his life and (deeply negative) self-image, kicked in. Gil isn't sure what to do with this idea, or with the bite on his line. Teddy has vanished.

Gil struggles to reel in the heavy fish, but manages to tap into Teddy's fisherman knowledge and hauls it up successfully. His catch is huge, nasty, covered in Headspace trash, and has human eyes. They're Gil's eyes, and the fish is evidently a metaphor for the fish-brain Teddy was just talking about. Despite his irritation with the clunky symbolism, Gil pities the fish, and tries to help it the best way he knows how: by tricking it into swallowing the blessed idol he got from Horse Face earlier.

This wildly succeeds in healing the fish, which is blasted free of mud, pain, and Headspace influence... as is Gil, shortly thereafter. He's suffused by divine water and light, feels (in retrospect, humiliating levels of) infinite love for everybody he knows, and is spat out into the hand of a god. A real god? Probably not-- it doesn't talk-- but it does show him an inscrutable red-and-white wasteland, lit by a sun and a dark moon, populated only by a two-legged lizard-thing.

Then it's back for the spin cycle, as all the muggy love-stuff is rendered sharp, clear, and clean, and Gil is spat out a few feet outside his vacant body. He takes a few moments to evaluate. Then he reclaims his body, punches Casey in the face, steals his walkie-talkie, and sprints off down the hallway.

-----

>TO-DO

Immediate goals:
- Find Gil (again)
- Navigate "Below"
- Find a way to harvest your memories of Annie
- Get the siphons back from Casey, then put them up (12 remaining)
- Optionally, do something permanent about Jean Ramsey's vile lackey (whose body you are inside)

Short-term goals:
- Punish Casey for his cruel brainwashing of YOUR retainer
- Blow up Headspace

Long-term goals:
- Resurrect Annie
- Return Claudia
- Regain your missing memories (...if possible)
- Attend your richly deserved Game Night
- Use, extract, or otherwise deal with the Wyrm stuff you got going on
- Find Jean Ramsey and her snake; challenge her to epic single combat (probably); reclaim the Crown
- In the meantime, continue collecting and storing Law (4/16)
- Make friends (who are not named Gil)

File: whuh oh (with help from @(...).gif (1.31 MB, 651x860)

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

>Don't forget to scroll up and vote!

>>6110457
>2A
No quest work done but a bunch of sweet new art

I especially like Ellery in >>6110456

>>6110457
>[2] Hey. Hey. Deep breath. Positive thinking. Rushing after Gil once led to... uh, Virginia. Let him go and see where this takes you.
>>[A] Play it casual. Tell Casey that you're more interested in Virginia's murder. Does he know anything about the bolt? Have there been other deaths? Where exactly is the security team in all this? Or, uh, Management? You've hardly seen either.

Seems like a slightly smarter option.

>>6110457
>[2] Hey. Hey. Deep breath. Positive thinking. Rushing after Gil once led to... uh, Virginia. Let him go and see where this takes you.
>[B] Play it exasperated. You're sick and tired of all these interruptions. You want to get to the finale of the tour already. You know, where Casey shows you the (explodable) center of Headspace operations?

>>6110457
>[2] Hey. Hey. Deep breath. Positive thinking. Rushing after Gil once led to... uh, Virginia. Let him go and see where this takes you.
>[B] Play it exasperated. You're sick and tired of all these interruptions. You want to get to the finale of the tour already. You know, where Casey shows you the (explodable) center of Headspace operations?


>Who or what is Namway Co. and Headspace Corp.'s “Management”? What did they want with the clone of a snake? What do they want with a massive store of Law? If they're snakes... what does that mean?
They want to use the Law to end and remake the world they want it remade, they know Snakes have the mechanism/knowledge to do that, so they want to collect Snakes and force them to end the world.

>What kind of company(?) does Richard work for? What is its endgame? What does it want with you? What is its relationship with Management?
Snakes want to end the world but they want to do it the right way, unlike Namway.

>Who is Horse Face investigating, and why?
What, not who.

>Who wiped three years of your life from your memory? Why? Can Richard really not remember them either?
Richard. To keep Charlotte pliant. No, because he wants to keep Charlotte's memory double-blind.

>What is the Herald? Why does it keep showing up? What does it want? What are you supposed to forgive yourself for, exactly? (You haven't done anything wrong!)
It's Charlotte's delusional image of herself from the future from when her ego got too big right before the world ended trying to stop the world from ending.

>When is the world going to end? How?
Soon. Too much Law in one place.

>Do you have a destiny? Is it God-related? It's a good destiny, surely?
Yes. Probably. Yes.

>Why does Richard keep developing stab wounds?
Snake HQ is in London.

You can end the quest now, your mysteries have been solved.

>>6110457
>>6110901
+1

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>6110655
>>6110853
>[2A]

>>6110901
>>6111056
>[2B]

Flipping for it.

>>6110655
Two of them are actually older pieces, but it's possible I haven't posted them before (or at least recently). I'm a big fan of the Ellery one too-- it reminds me of something from a contemporary art museum. tfw all my art is outdated since Charlotte literally stole his sun motif

>>6110901
Now this is some detectiving Charlotte would be proud of. You got one of these nearly right and four of these half-right. I will not tell you which.

>>6111062
>[2A]

Writing.

By the way, since anon >>6110901 started the trend, I'd be interested in seeing other people's takes on the current Mysteries list. No pressure-- I'm not over here assigning homework-- but it's great information for me on the QM side, so I can laugh at how terribly wrong you guys are... just kidding. It's a good way for me to gauge how well I'm doling out info, as well as how clued-in I should be writing Charlotte (since I try to keep her roughly on par with player knowledge). Post if you feel up to it.

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Always a rough start getting back into writing after a while off, and you guys picked the longest and most complex option on my end (I'd expect no less). I spent a lot of time brainstorming and less time writing, so I'll have to get back to this tomorrow. At least it's a weekend.

In the meantime, consider >>6111064. For science! Maybe I'll even tell you how right you are.

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Alright. This is the absolute worst way to start a new thread, but I'm at the end of my rope. After two straight days of picking away at this update, I've concluded that I don't know how to write it in an interesting way. I think I need to try something new.

Quick FAQ first.

>What do you mean, it can't be written interestingly? It doesn't seem that bad.
The problem is less with the option itself and more with all the context and previous choices surrounding it. As anyone who read the last thread knows, it was a bitch to write and got more painful as it went, chiefly because almost no forward progress was being made. (Lots of sideways progress -- but you got no closer to your actual goal.) The Gil interlude was a fun change of pace and relieved some of my writing stress, but did nothing to solve the underlying issue of nothing happening. Similarly, sticking with Casey without guiding him to the goal... is still nothing happening. We're still in the mud, going nowhere.

>Can't you just make something happen?
I mean, yes. But throwing stuff in randomly doesn't necessarily benefit the narrative. It could just make things worse (more chaotic, move moving parts, even more difficult to write).

>Why did you offer the option if it's such a big issue?
I'm not psychic. If I'd known I'd have such a tough time, I wouldn't have offered it.

>skill issue lmao
I'm sure that a better QM could've made this work. Unfortunately, you're stuck with me!

>This seems like it's your problem, not ours.
I mean, yeah. You guys didn't do anything wrong individually. I'd also argue that I didn't do much wrong individually (except in hindsight): It was an unpredictable sequence of events that led to this, not anybody's "fault." Such is questing. That being said, since I'm writing this thing, my problem is everybody's problem (assuming we all want the story to continue).

>Is this railroading?
I mean... yes? Maybe? For a good cause? I'm not sure what you want me to say. Trains are best when they have scenic routes to many different destinations, not when they're derailed in a ditch, if you catch my strained extended metaphor. That being said, I do intend to offer some choices about how to proceed. See next post.

(1/2)

YOUR CHOICES ON HOW TO PROCEED ARE:

>[1] Soft reset. Pick this option if you'd like to keep your current position (in Everard's body, Casey on goodish terms, Gil AWOL), but with a more obvious path forward. This option may feature temporary embarrassment for Charlotte, but no long-lasting consequences.

>[2] Backtrack and pick one of the [A]s instead. I unfortunately had more planned for these than I did the [B]s, so they lead to more interesting immediate outcomes. Pick this if you want the Gil and Charlotte brosquad back together as soon as possible, because otherwise it could be a while still.
>>[A] Pick [A1]-- sprinting after Gil. Casey may be a problem later, but you'll have time to regroup first.
>>[B] Pick [A2]-- a better method of contacting Gil. (Write-in.) Casey will be less of a problem.

>[3] Write what I voted for you hack: I will do my best to write [B1]. The result may be either boring or random-feeling, depending on what I end up with. Sorry.

Please vote. No, you can't pick [B2]-- it's better than [B1], but only marginally, and I'd rather either pivot completely or honor the winning vote. Thank you!

>>6111805
>3
Bathing trying to pull a Sojourner on us here

>>6111805
>>[1] Soft reset. Pick this option if you'd like to keep your current position (in Everard's body, Casey on goodish terms, Gil AWOL), but with a more obvious path forward. This option may feature temporary embarrassment for Charlotte, but no long-lasting consequences.

No shame in doing what works.

>>6111805
>>2[A] Pick [A1]-- sprinting after Gil. Casey may be a problem later, but you'll have time to regroup first.

I was debating picking this anyways, so I'll go with this option though am also very OK with 1.

>>6111805
>[3] Write what I voted for you hack: I will do my best to write [B1]. The result may be either boring or random-feeling, depending on what I end up with. Sorry.

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>>6112025
>>6112095 ("very ok with")
>[1]

>>6112095
>[2]

>>6111880
>>6112165
>[3]

You guys aren't making this easy for me, are you? Let's compromise. You'll get all the info you would've gotten from [B1], then we'll soft reset and go from there. (And I do mean "soft" reset -- you won't be losing any progress, just time. Everything you've done will still have happened.)

Writing shortly.


>>6111880
>Bathing
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1c2OfAzDTI

> trying to pull a Sojourner
"Pulling a Sojourner" would be flaking due to a perceived lack of (you)s, no?

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>Priorities

Last time you left Gil on his own, he wound up blabbing your whole secret plan to Casey. This is true. Last time you chased Gil down, Virginia wound up with a bolt through her eyesocket. This is also true. Can Gil take care of himself? He did shake off the brainwashing without your help— or you think he did. You're not sure why he would've bolted otherwise. And it's dim out, and beetles are sneaky, and there's no way he'd get brainwashed twice... positive thinking, right? Positive thinking. Just be happy he's safe.

>[+2 ID: 4/14]

Be happy, but don't look happy: Everard wouldn't. He'd be annoyed, you think. Disgusted. Things were already down the tubes, and now there's this? Is it even worthwhile to do business with these people? It appears they'd benefit more from the Hero-Queen than the Hero-Queen could possibly benefit from them. One asset killed and another on the loose, shambolic security, nonexistent management, and where is all the time and effort going? Frivolous human experiments? How are those part of the two-year strategy, again? Unless Mr. Kemper means to tell you that stretching a person to such great widths is critical to the Headspace mission? Look at him now, gone purple, practically vibrating, and yet— impotent. What is there for him to do?

You wait for him to say something, but he doesn't. You suppose it comes down to you. Er, to Everard: he's better at acting unhappy. "Vermin," he sniffs. "Good riddance."

Casey says nothing. He's not exactly scowling. Looking at him draws out memories of Richard, old Richard, bad Richard, mad Richard. Richard made sure you knew when he was mad, before, during, and after. He was smug, after. He was cruel, during. Before? Before he got mad, he had the face— all blank, flat, and his voice flat and calm, and if you didn't look in his eyes you wouldn't know clouds were darkening. Casey has the storm-warning face. Which isn't like him, you thought, considering all the, um... you thought he just got mad the regular way. Maybe this is different. He's still not responding.

"I wish it wouldn't have touched me," you have Everard continue. "I would've gotten out of the way. For what it's worth, I did think installing it in a guide role was a dubious—"

"Why don't you watch your mouth, Mr. Kurz?"

You're so surprised you stop talking.

"Fantastic. I didn't remember asking for your opinion. You know, this tour is a— it's an exclusive opportunity. This is a VIP experience. It could turn into something else, just as soon as I—" He mimes snapping his fingers. "Do remember that!"

Oh. You didn't think he was mad enough to threaten Everard. He probably doesn't mean it, right? You're just the convenient target. (He really is like Richard.) "Yes. It could turn into a fiasco. Or, let's see— it already has, hasn't it? Who shot this woman?"

(1/3?)

"Nobody relevant to you, Everard."

"Wasn't she surrounded by two of your... your colleagues? They allowed this to happen? For that matter, the security—"

"The Management," Casey says, "is busy."

"There's a crossbow-wielding maniac afoot, and there's something more important than—?!"

"There was a targeted attack on the Brain."

"The Brain," Everard says.

"Headspace's. And as you might imagine, having it go kablooey at a critical moment could cause the tragic deaths of more than just one—"

"I was under the impression that the bomb threat had been averted? Was this woman—" You point down at Virginia. "—not the responsible party? You mean to say somebody else conducted a separate attack on the—"

"The perp is being identified. What does busy mean to you, Everard? Because it seems to mean something different than it does to—"

"How many intruders are there?"

It's not exactly that you're saying all this, or that you're making Everard say it. He's wanted to say it, and you're helping. Is it a wise idea to press Casey while he's in a state? Does it matter? Positive thinking. You want to see where you're going with this.

Casey hesitates. "Four. Three alive."

You scoff. "Four! In one day! Were they invited to a party? Is this typical for you? I have to imagine, with the kind of security system you have—"

"The security system was fried."

"And that's a point in your favor?" You probably didn't need to laugh in his face— you don't think Everard would do that, unless he were drunk— but you're having fun. Plus, you like the way the laugh sounds. Nice and weighty. You can't usually laugh like this, only titter. "You're incompetent. Your business is a joke. You let saboteurs run around with impunity—"

"Impunity, Kurz?" Casey leans down and yanks the bolt out of Virginia's face. It splurches. He holds it up to you. "Like this? Impunity?"

"So now you're taking credit for someone else's work? That wasn't you." You know it wasn't. Does he know who? "Who did this?"

"An ex-employee. A kook. Nobody of note. Are you having a good time on this tour, Mr. Kurz? Do you think you'll report back favorably?"

You laugh again, just to hear it. "Will I?"

"I'm sensing that you didn't have a good time, Mr. Kurz, and that just breaks my heart. I feel we really— we took a bad turn, somewhere. What you've seen isn't representative of what we do here, and it's as simple as that. Can we try again?"

"What?" you say.

Casey doesn't respond: he's too busy taking off his sunglasses, polishing them on his sleeve, and tucking them into his pocket. He looks up and his eyes (have gone? were always?) are yellow. "I think we better try again, Mr. Kurz. No hard feelings! Hold still, won't you?"

(2/3?)

Sometimes, when Richard gets scary calm, he's getting all ready to explode. Sometimes, when he gets scary calm, it's when he's thought of something. Casey has thought of something, has, in fact, gripped the top of your head in one hand— and you could yell, but who'd come for you? You could fight the probe he's sinking into you, but you're sure he'd know— and then you'd be caught, and it'd be the tubes and the box and the red water for you again, or even worse. All you can do is ball yourself up, as small as you can, and let him do what he wants to Everard. Not to you. You'll be safe, for a certain measure of safe.

Why is it always snakes?

—

>[-1 ID: 3/14]

You are...

...Charlotte Fawkins. Yes, definitely. This isn't your body, but it's you in here. (Still no Richard, though.) Whose body is it? Last you checked, you possessed Virginia, but Virginia wasn't wearing gloves. You don't remember putting on gloves. You don't remember a lot, actually. You were falling? You jumped out a window, and you were falling, and you lost Gil. Is he still missing? He must've been spat out somewhere else, while you got spat out into... a different body? Does it work like that?

"How are you holding up, Mr. Kurz?"

Wait, you know that name. That's, um, the— that's Jean Ramsey's vile lackey! Who Casey was talking to! You're him?! Oh, God. You're not sure how you're holding up: you have a killer headache. Maybe from your vileness. Also, Casey Kemper is touching your shoulder. Gross! You wrench away.

"Sorry! Sorry. My bad. I know how you feel about the..." Casey waggles his fingers. Why is his chin bruised? "Regardless, it's been one hell of a tour, so if you're flagging— energy-wise, I mean— there's no shame in that! No shame at all. In fact, at Headspace, we have something for that. I'd be happy to share if you—"

"Where are we?" you say.

Casey closes his fist around a little baggie. "Right! Yes! Welcome, Mr. Kurz, to Headspace's Edutainment Facility!"

He thrusts his arms out, like he's showing you something really awesome, but truthfully it's hard to see what you're looking at at all. You're up on some kind of balcony, you think, above a maze-like complex of rooms, except you can't really see what's in them: the lighting everywhere is uncomfortably dim, and for some God-forsaken reason it's cycling between all different colors. Admittedly, you've never seen lights that do that before, but isn't it obvious why nobody's bothered?

Also: "...Edutainment?" Entertainment and edu— oh. Education? Is that right? You better be right.

(3/4)

"Short for Education-Containment, Mr. Kurz. Here at Headspace, we're in a privileged position— a very privileged position— to really explore the depths of the human mind. It's our duty, I think, to expand the common knowledge on what people are—"

"That's the education part," you say. (Stupid Casey and his stupid fake words.) "What about the containment?"

"Ah! Yes. Well, sometimes, the results of this exploration... we need to keep them somewhere, don't we? In luxurious accommodations, I assure you. We'll be touring the best of the best, Mr. Kurz, no shoddy back rooms, no temporary containment spaces, no incidents—"

"What?" you say.

"And, of course, I'd be thrilled to serve as your personal guide— as I have been doing, naturally. You're far too important to be pawned off! Ha-ha! Would you come right this way?" Casey beckons you toward a moving staircase.

As you approach, he dangles the baggie. "Oh— and if you are tired, I have a pick-me-up! Phenomenal at pumping your energy up. Simple. Works instantly. Ask anybody— we all use it. Stimmies, they call 'em. Not my name! But if you're interested, Mr. Kurz, please let me know."

>[A1] Yes, actually. The headache's only getting worse. This could be what you need to keep yourself going. (Gain ID.)
>[A2] No! No way! You're not taking creepy Headspace drugs from creepy Casey Kemper. You'll power through using positive thinking, like you always do.

>[B1] You're sorry, you're still confused. Whose minds are getting explored here? (...Surely not nonconsenting Headspace employees? You probably know, but you want to hear it from Casey.)
>[B2] Are the lights like that on purpose? And if so, can they, um, be put on a normal setting? They're not helping your head.
>[B3] Has Casey happened to hear about any escaped beetles? For no reason, of course.
>[B4] Was this Edutainment thing Casey's idea, or Management's? For that matter, does Casey work for Management, or does Management work for Casey? You still don't understand the relationship.
>[B5] You're sure this facility is cool, or whatever, but why exactly is it on the tour route? Is it important for Everard, and thus Jean Ramsey, to know about? If it got exploded, would that be bad?
>[B6] Is his chin okay? It looks kind of messed up.
>[B7] Write-in.

>>6112454
Fucking Casey and his memory wipes. Is this the "soft reset"?
>[A1] Yes, actually. The headache's only getting worse. This could be what you need to keep yourself going. (Gain ID.)
>[B5] You're sure this facility is cool, or whatever, but why exactly is it on the tour route? Is it important for Everard, and thus Jean Ramsey, to know about? If it got exploded, would that be bad?

>>6112454
>A1
>B6
Yes drugs please all the drugs

>>6112454
>[A1] Yes, actually. The headache's only getting worse. This could be what you need to keep yourself going. (Gain ID.)
>[B6] Is his chin okay? It looks kind of messed up.

>>6112871
>>6112987
>>6112469
>[A1]
>[B5] + [B6]

Writing.

>>6112469
>Fucking Casey and his memory wipes. Is this the "soft reset"?
Yes.

>Yes, I would love some drugs

He's not trying to poison you, right? Probably? You're Everard Kurz, his honored guest, and you have no reason to believe he suspects otherwise. Plus, you know he's not lying about stimmies being common— you heard all about them during your first Headspace tour. (Poor Casey, always stuck giving tours.) Double-plus, it's not like it's that different from Richard's "pick-me-up," right? You don't know what he puts in your blood, and you're still alive and kicking. This can't be worse. It could even be better.

"Er," you say, "I am interested, yes."

"Fabulous!" Casey shakes out the baggie and deposits two pills into your hand. His bruise is fresh-looking— all red.

You look down at the pills, then up at him. "Did something happen to your chin?"

"Nope! Gave it a little bump. Occupational hazard. Thanks for asking, Mr. Kurz. Now, do you need water—" Mysteriously, Casey taps his throat. "—or are you man enough to swallow them dry?"

The pills aren't very big. "Dry? Yes. Dry. Because I'm very manly, and, um... you know." You work up your spit, then choke down both pills at once. Their aftertaste is sweeter than you expected. You don't drop dead, which you consider a good sign. "There."

"Excellent! Do tell me how you take to them. Now, we're just down this way, so please— after you."

It's not that you were feeling bad, exactly. Nothing bad had happened yet, unless you count losing Gil, but you know you'll find him again. You were just beat-down for no good reason at all. Did you get enough sleep last night? Did the fall rattle you more than you thought? Whatever the reason for the malaise, it's gone now. Yup. You take one step onto the moving staircase and the fog lifts, the birds sing, the sun shines, and your hands shake. You're taking to them, all right. You could take to this more often.

>[+3 ID: 6/14]
>[TEMPORARILY GAINED: Twitchy -- -5 to rolls involving fine motor skills]

You march in place as the staircase inches downward, in one case jogging down a few steps then jogging back up: you'd rush all the way down, except Casey's doing a thing, and you don't want to be rude. You don't think Everard would be rude. Still, you wish Casey would do his thing faster. What happened was, you stepped on, then a jaunty tune started playing, and there was a puff of smoke— you thought it was the staircase malfunctioning, the smoke. But then, off the side of the staircase, there was a gout of flame. This actually scared you more. But then there were confetti, and butterflies, and you looked down and saw the rainbow lighting cycling in time with the music, and you looked back and saw Casey doing something with his hands. So it's a dramatic entrance sort of thing, is what you've concluded. Does this happen every time somebody heads down to the Edutorium? That must get really annoying.

https://youtu.be/_kZDScT9wz0?si=MexTSG6nbDdUYGMx

(1/3)

The music swells, water jets overhead, flames gout once more (you guess Casey is running out of ideas), and you are deposited in a dimly, obnoxiously lit chamber. All around you are shiny tinted-glass walls and shiny chrome fixtures and barred doors and numbers: 021, 022, 023...

The music's still playing, though more quietly. Casey steps off behind and skirts around you. "Welcome to the Edutainment Facility! How did you enjoy that? Better than rushing around in some dingy backrooms, no?"

"What?" you say.

Casey's grin fades a little.

"Oh. Uh, this is a cool... place." Are you talking how Everard would talk? Maybe you should bring him back. Casey doesn't seem suspicious, though. "Yes. Why are we here? I mean, is this relevant to Jean— to the Hero-Queen? Or is it a critical part of Headspace infrastructure? I am interested in seeing all the most critical parts of your infrastructure, because I'm interested in— I like infrastructure." Uhhh. Damnit. "It's actually sort of a hobby of mine, infra—"

"A critical part of the infrastructure? No, no. Edutainment was a later addition, Mr. Kurz, highly recommended by our esteemed Management. It operates separately from Headspace's typical business plan. Call it our private research wing, if you like. In addition to being conceived by our Management, it's also primarily operated by... dammit! Where'd they go?"

You watch, bouncing your ankle, as Casey turns in a perfect circle and sets off directly forward. Finally, action! You hurry to keep pace. "What's happening?"

"Oh! Nothing! I just thought that you should meet—" Casey checks his wristwatch. "—thought you should meet the Management, since they play such an important role in the operations, and it'd be odd if you didn't, wouldn't it? Very odd, very dissatisfying, and I want the best tour possible for you, Mr. Kurz, and— hey! Wait up!" Ahead of you, a dark figure has swiped open one of the doors. Blessed white light pours out. "We had this agreed on!"

The figure stops and turns slowly. (Perhaps resignedly.) "Yes."

"Yes! So don't try to get out of it, or I'll have you— there'll be a note on your profile. Ahem. Hello! This is Mr. Everard Kurz."

The Manager in front of the door is sleek and black-suited and must be blind: there's no way he sees anything in this kind of light with those kind of sunglasses. Unlike the other Managers you've seen, he has a neat pencil mustache and a spiral-shaped lapel pin. "Hello," he says. "Mr. Everard Kurz."

"You know me. And, Mr. Kurz, this is..." Casey doesn't just trail off: he stops completely, frowns, and pushes up his sunglasses. "...One sec!"

(2/3)

You bounce the other ankle and watch with interest as Casey whispers to the Manager. It's not exactly a conversation— he's saying most of it, and the Manager hardly anything— and, despite your noted eavesdropping skills, you can't make out a single word. You can't even lip-read. Either Casey is good at obscuring his speech, or he's not saying words you know. Still, he withdraws and clears his throat. "This is Jerry."

That can't possibly be right, but it's not like Everard would know better. You can't press it. "Hello... Jerry."

The Manager inclines his head. "How may I serve as assistance?"

"'Be of' assistance, Jerry. 'Be of.' This is— they gotta upgrade— listen, you're going to answer this young man's questions, got it? For the tour."

"Any question?"

"Well, you're going to use your best judgement, aren't you? It's not rocket surgery, Jerry. I'm standing right here. You're going to help us out—"

"I'm busy," Jerry says warningly.

"We're all fucking busy, Jerry. You were the least busy. That's why you're here. Now go on." Casey elbows you. "Ask away!"

>You may pick multiple, but Jerry's already antsy. Choose with discretion.

>[1] ...So how are things going, Jerry? How does he like the job?
>[2] Headspace's Management are big fans of Jean Ramsey's. You, being Everard Kurz and nobody else, appreciate this. But, um, why? Do they like big axes? Do they condone stealing? What gives?
>[3] Where was Jerry going just now? What's through the door? Why can't they light the whole place that way? If you weren't stimmied up, you might've graduated to a migraine by now.
>[4] So, uh, what prompted Management to construct the Edutainment Facility? It's very impressive-looking, though you haven't seen much edutainment yet.
>[5] Could he clarify Management's role in all this? You've gotten the impression that they run the show, but... did Casey strike a deal from the start?
>[6] If you could see one awesome thing in the Edutainment Facility, what would he recommend?
>[7] Tell Jerry that you like his sunglasses.
>[8] Write-in.

>>6113184
>[4] So, uh, what prompted Management to construct the Edutainment Facility? It's very impressive-looking, though you haven't seen much edutainment yet.
>[5] Could he clarify Management's role in all this? You've gotten the impression that they run the show, but... did Casey strike a deal from the start?
>[6] If you could see one awesome thing in the Edutainment Facility, what would he recommend?
>[7] Tell Jerry that you like his sunglasses.

>>6112933
Out of the hole where the doctors head was a massive cock arises. The detective is too stunned to react as the cock doctor launches it down her throat.
As he pulls out she has a pained expression, quivering. Suddenly her head explodes. Anoth cock rises. The cock zombie apocalypse has begun.

>>6113184
>5, 4, 6, 3
In that order
Jerry is the weakest link among Managers for sure, all the others were intimidating and in control but Jerry can't even talk right.

>>6113184
>>[3] Where was Jerry going just now? What's through the door? Why can't they light the whole place that way? If you weren't stimmied up, you might've graduated to a migraine by now.
>>[4] So, uh, what prompted Management to construct the Edutainment Facility? It's very impressive-looking, though you haven't seen much edutainment yet.
>>[5] Could he clarify Management's role in all this? You've gotten the impression that they run the show, but... did Casey strike a deal from the start?
>>[6] If you could see one awesome thing in the Edutainment Facility, what would he recommend?

>>6113199
>>6113568
>>6113197
>[4]
>[5]
>[6]

>>6113199
>>6113568
>[3]

>>6113197
>[7]

Called for >>6113199's ordering of [5], [4], [6], [3] and writing.

>>6113199
>Jerry is the weakest link among Managers for sure, all the others were intimidating and in control but Jerry can't even talk right.
The very first Managers you saw in person, way back in Thread 25, were also a tad ESL. How they compare to Jerry is an open question.

>Gimme the skinny

Wow! A chance to ask a Manager questions without them trying to kill you? Not that Jerry won't still try to kill you, but at least you have a shot at learning something useful. You clear your throat. "Yes. Er, it's nice to— it's a pleasure to meet you. I was wondering, actually, about the Management. What jurisdiction do you have over Headspace? Were you there from its founding, or..."

"Headspace Corporation is Mr. Kemper's brainchild," Jerry says stolidly. "The Management does not claim ownership of its intellectual property. Mr. Kemper founded the business and brought on several employees before it came to our attention."

"What brought it to your attention?"

Jerry pauses. You can't see his eyes, but you feel sure he's looking at Casey. "We were acquainted with one of the early hires. Regardless, we made an offer, which Mr. Kemper accepted."

"To buy Headspace?" Does Management use money?

"To assist in its development. It was decided that Mr. Kemper would retain his status as founder and director, and we would serve in a supervisory and advisory capacity—"

You stick your hands in your pockets. "A managerial one, you mean?"

Jerry looks blankly at you.

"Um... never mind." Weirdos. "Officially speaking, are you Mr. Kemper's boss?"

"We are hierarchically neutral," he says.

"Equals!" Casey corrects. "Equals. I consider myself very fortunate to have so many fine people pitching in on—"

He keeps going, but you get the idea. They're on level ground, allegedly. So why does Casey get to boss Jerry around? No way a Manager would be doing a Q&A unless he was made to. For that matter, why would Management respect an equal deal at all? Everything you know about them suggests they'd want total control. Is there something special about Casey? Or... do they think Casey will do what they want him to do, no matter what? Maybe he's blackmailed, like Ellery was. Or maybe he—

"Is that all?" Jerry is pointedly checking his wristwatch. You didn't think Management would have watches, but if they did, you guess it'd be this kind: rather than a clock, it has little numbers telling the time. It's at too odd of an angle for you to read them, though.

"No," you say. "Uh, hang on. So you signed on to assist in Headspace's development. Does that mean you helped with the manse? Did Management build the Edu-center?"

"The Edutainment Facility," Jerry says, a touch irritated. "And yes. We directed this initiative."

You figured as much: that's what Casey said. See, you were listening, kind of. "What caused you to direct it? I ask because it's... it's not exactly like the rest of Headspace." Even architecturally, it isn't. The only bright colors in here come from the lighting. "It's weird to— it's unusual to spend so much time and effort on something so separate from the rest of Headspace's agenda. Is there a good justification for it?"

"It is not separate," Jerry says.

(1/3?)

"Oh." Maybe you should've expected that. "How so?"

"We wish to achieve a brighter future. The data gathered here is valuable for that purpose."

A brighter future. Have you heard that before? It rings a bell, but only a little tinkly jingly one. Still... "Is that why you all wear sunglasses?"

Zero reaction from Jerry. You press on. "Because you're looking for a brighter future? And it's bright? And it hurts your eyes, because it's bright, so you're..."

"Haw-haw!" That's Casey, and that's Casey slapping your back (you flinch). The laugh sounds a tad forced. "Look at you, Kurz! Sense of humor way down in there somewhere. I'm sorry to say that Jerry has none."

Jerry, checking his watch again, doesn't react to the sound of his name.

"It's congenital, you see. He could have one if he really worked at it, but it's not so easy, coming from..." Casey wobbles his hand back and forth, but doesn't elaborate. "I suggest a different line of questioning. Try straightforward. They appreciate that, being straightforward."

You can imagine. "Okay. Jerry. Jerry?" (Jerry finally looks up.) "What's your favorite place in the Edutainery? Or favorite test subject, or whatever. Imagine that I can't see everything. What shouldn't I miss? What's the most awesome—"

During your spiel, Jerry's expression has been shifting— from indifference, through bemusement, all the way to... you have to be getting this wrong. You're not that good at reading faces. Dread? He turns to look at Casey, who shrugs. "He wants the inside baseball, Jerry."

The inside what? Whatever. Jerry wets his lips. "Is the intention to seek objective rankings?"

"Your opinion, Jerry."

Jerry glances back at you. "I have no—"

"Dammit, man, make one up! Is it your first day out of the office?"

"No." There's a long silence. Jerry pushes up his sunglasses. "...I have found interest in the display of the human carcass. I trust it is Segment Three. It showcases the decomposition of the carcass into its gross constituent matter. I believe it took skill on the part of the display-maker to isolate the pure components, rather than allowing them into a stew, as is typical for the decomposition. It is worth admiring this."

"Jerry," Casey says. "That's not— that's not suitable for a guest, let alone a—"

"What pure components?" you say.

"Blood and mud. Blood is further divisible into water and crystal."

"Thanks," you say.

Jerry nods.

"...Would you recommend anything else?"

Casey is starting to look exasperated, which you consider a win. Jerry's lips purse slightly. "The most awesome location?"

"Or thing, or..."

"Inside the Edutainment Facility?"

"Yes?" That's what you intended. "But if you have a different idea, that's okay too."

"To inspire awe," Jerry says seriously, "look upon the glorious mechanisms of the BrainWyrm."

Huh? Wait. "The Wyrm?"

(2/3?)

"No. The BrainWyrm." With one hand, Jerry points straight up: you follow his finger past the staircase, past the twisting pipes, past the undersides of floating office-spheres, all the way up to the moon. Not the moon. Another sphere, same as the rest, but pulsing irregular white.

At the same time, he points to the floor. You're not sure why.

Casey steps forward. "How about we keep it inside the facility! The Brain's a little— that's a different stop! If we make it that far. Quite a jaunt, Jerry, if you haven't forgotten, and it's hardly in the condition to... ahem. I'll be sure to take you around to the best we have to offer, Mr. Kurz, as I said, and if Jerry isn't that busy—"

"I'm busy," Jerry says.

"He's not that busy. He could at least show us inside here, couldn't he? It's not too sensitive?"

Casey's tone doesn't brook much argument. Jerry pushes open the door, and you file inside after the two of them. Inside the door is a— it must be a manse of its own, right? A mini-manse? You stand in the middle of a wide-open plain, the sun high and hot upon you. There's no landmarks anywhere, not even the door you came from.

"Remind me, Jerry, which—?"

"The subject is agoraphobic," Jerry says, and picks a burr off his slacks.

"Right! Yes. Agoraphobic. I'm sure you can see how this'd impact them, then, Mr. Kurz what you see is infinite in all directions. How are they holding up, by the by? What was the last time this one was inspected?"

"I was just about to."

"Don't lie, Jerry. If I remember right, it's about time to cycle out the conditions, no? Wouldn't want to extinguish the fear! Ha-ha. Nothing to learn that way. Can you locate...?"

Jerry sticks two fingers into the wind, then sets off. How far do you walk? Infinitely far, you guess. But then you're there, or actually Casey is there, stopped so short you nearly tripped on him. You can't see his face, but his posture has changed completely.

"-----!"

He says a word you don't know. You think it's probably a curse word, by the context. Jerry, who lagged behind, hustles over. (It's funny to think of a Manager hustling. The perks of hanging around Casey?) Whatever word he says is under his breath, but you assume it's the same one.

On the ground is a dead man. He's been shot through the forehead by a crossbow bolt. In between the bolt and the head is a blood-spattered note.

Casey is breathing kind of hard. "Mr. Kurz," he says.

Huh? Oh, God, that's you. "...Yes?"

"Jerry will escort you outside and wait with you. I'll be back in a moment."

>[1] Write-in. (Optional).

Real options when I'm capable of it (ETA ~8 hours from now). If you have ideas before then, please feel free to write them in, and I'll take them into consideration when writing the slate.

>>6113813
>Try and sneak a peek at the note
I wanna see how Ellery talks shit to Casey

>>6113813
>>6113865

Back in a moment? What is Casey hiding? Or, no, wrong question. There's one person who'd use a crossbow over a gun, one person who'd assassinate a prisoner, one person who knows your plan, one person who'd ignore you, no matter how emphatically you told him not to come. Ellery was here. Is here? How recent was the shooting? There's nowhere for him to hide, unless...

The grass rustles in the wind, unless it isn't the wind. Casey gestures sharply to Jerry. "Go on."

>[1] No. Everard might not know anything about Ellery, but you do, and you need to read that note. You need to know what he's planning.
>>[A] Play it straight. Argue that, as an honored guest, you should be privy to anything that might affect the tour schedule. You expect your business partners to be honest with you, after all. [Roll.]
>>[B] Play it tough. If your life might be in danger, you refuse to be pushed around— Casey can treat Jerry like that, but he can't treat *you* like that. You won't be going anywhere. [Roll.]
>>[C] Play it smart. If you can prove your worth to Casey, he might treat you as less irrelevant. Is there a way you can tell if Ellery's still here? (Write-in.)
>>[D] Write-in.

>[2] Fine. You can't risk blowing your cover arguing about this, not when you can eavesdrop about it later. Leave and wait briefly with Jerry.

>[3] Write-in.

>>6114080
>1A
It’s our responsibility to get the full picture of events here for the Hero Queen, and we pretend to take that very seriously

>>6114080
>[1] No. Everard might not know anything about Ellery, but you do, and you need to read that note. You need to know what he's planning.
>[B] Play it tough. If your life might be in danger, you refuse to be pushed around— Casey can treat Jerry like that, but he can't treat *you* like that. You won't be going anywhere. [Roll.]

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>6114138
>>6114225
Flipping between the [1]s.

>>6114239
>[1A]

Alright. I need dice.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s (+10 In Character, +5 Extracommunion) vs. DC 68 (+10 Not Again, +5 Minor Suspicions, +3 Jerry) to convince Casey to spill the beans!

&

Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 6/14 ID.
>[1] Y
>[2] N

Rolled 41 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6114245
>No spendy

Rolled 90 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6114245
y

Rolled 72 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6114245
>y

>>6114252
>>6114280
>>6114344
>66, 115, 97 vs. DC 68 -- Success
>Spendy

Nice. Writing.

File: make me feel safe tweetvers.png (206 KB, 1452x838)

206 KB PNG

Ugh. I pushed myself to obscene levels of sleep deprivation all weekend to make up for that double-skipped update, but something's gotta give. I'll be back tomorrow.

In the meantime, take a noncanon (or is it...?) doodle comic.

>>6114379
Cute...

File: ellery - @nitroszczur.png (2.1 MB, 1070x928)

2.1 MB PNG

>Excuse me
>66, 115, 97 vs. DC 68 - Success
>Spendy

No chance you're leaving, not when Ellery's involved. Damnit! Of course he has to mess everything up, just like usual. You bet he wrote something stupid on the stupid note, and he probably spelled it wrong— but you won't know until for sure you get to look, and you won't get to look until Casey lets you.

Which he will. Positive thinking. You have to do it right, though, because pushing too hard might blow your cover. You're not exactly sure how aggressive Everard is, but from what you remember he seems kind of prissy. Which... is a point against him wanting to see a bloodstained note, but it's fine. It's fine! You'll make him talk, so you don't look suspicious— but he won't get a choice in what he's saying, if you wrangle it correctly.

When you wrangle it correctly, you mean. It's not that hard. Why did Richard get so upset about this possession stuff being hard? You've practiced with Claudia and everything: all you have to do is shrug Everard on, like a thick overcoat, and let him have your mouth. His mouth? Whatever. You're going ahead with it.

>[-1 ID: 5/14]

It's bad weather for overcoats. Oof. You're stifling inside here, and Everard is irritated, disgusted (the dust! the blood!), and distracted by your incessant leg-bouncing. The dead body is also a major concern, chiefly because it speaks to a total failure by the security team. You don't have to do much coaxing to get him to speak up. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kemper, but this is unacceptable. What's happened here?"

Casey acquires a tight grin. "If it was something relevant to the tour, I would—"

"Mr. Kemper, this is a dead body. Are dead bodies common here at Headspace?"

Casey looks at Jerry. "Well..."

"You wouldn't want to be concealing any negatives to your operations here, would you? I am bound to give a complete and honest report to my employer. Her agreement to your terms is not a given. I will gladly inform her that you attempted to conceal a murder, if that's the route you intend to go down."

Wow! Everard has more guts then you expected. You guess he got hired (sworn in?) for a good reason. Casey's grin calcifies. "Mr. Kurz, I don't think you understand—"

"I don't think you understand. Why don't you tell me who did this, since you seem to recognize it so strongly? Or am I mistaken, and you have zero intel on who was—"

"We have intel, Mr. Kurz."

"And?"

In response, Casey bends down and rips the note off the bolt. He grips it in two fingers. "...Former employee. He had a disagreement with some business decisions. We took measures to prevent him from leaking anything, and he's been taking out his petty frustrations for— how long, Jerry? A few years?"

"Petty frustrations like murder, Mr. Kemper?"

(1/3)

"Don't be melodramatic, Kurz. If it was serious, we would've put him down. Better to allow a little venting so he doesn't do anything stupid, no?" Casey cocks his head. "What can I say— kid has a screw loose. Worked for a long time, too! No skin off our back! But somebody got to him."

You. You got to him. "Who?"

"...We're working on it. What matters is, he's off the rocker. Total nutcase. Broke in, has been causing a couple issues— we've been tracking him, but sightings are spotty. Uh, he's a bit of a freak. Goes invisible. Thus the difficulty. Jerry, we have a map, right?"

Jerry passes Casey a rolled-up piece of paper. Casey stashes the note in his pocket (damnit!) and unfurls the map. The structures on it are esoteric, and the writing illegible, but it's marked with a spatter of red X's— and a dotted line between them. The line zigzags to the right, then doubles back briefly, then vanishes.

You tap the end of the line. "Is that near where we are?"

"Not even close. We, ah..." Casey rubs his thumb against the map's edge. "We're having a couple challenges with the CCTV, but we have our best people on it, Mr. Kurz! This whole thing is a kerfuffle, that's for certain, but it's nothing you have to worry about. Two shakes of a lamb's tail, and it'll be—"

"But he was here," you say. "Recently. Right?"

"..." The corner's of Casey's mouth go down. "Jerry, add 025 to the map. Thanks."

Your detective wheels are starting to turn. Does that make sense? Does one have detective wheels? "Wait, but how'd he get in here?"

"Mr. Kurz, there's no need for you to—"

"The doors are all super-locked, right? You'd need a passcode. And why kill somebody here specifically? It's just a dumb field. It's not even real torturing." You're bouncing your leg even faster. "Wait a minute."

Casey sighs.

"Jerry had the door held open. While we were talking. It was making the white light. Does time go faster in here?"

Jerry nearly drops the pen, he turns on his heel so fast. Casey is a little slower on the uptake. "If it does," you say, "and if, for example, we were being followed, and if he slipped in while the door was open, he'd have plenty of time to write a note and shoot the guy."

"Very funny, Kurz." Casey doesn't think you're funny. "I assure you, we'd know if we were—"

You're not the one to cut him off. Jerry, who's been wheeling around, freezes suddenly and points with two fingers. Casey stops and turns and whips off his sunglasses.

(2/3)

File: charlotte & ellery - @gob(...).jpg (164 KB, 1080x1851)

164 KB JPG

The grass rustles. It's been rustling the whole time. But now, where Jerry points, it parts— and keeps parting, further and further away, as if (to use a random example!) somebody invisible were sprinting away from you. You go for The Sword. Then you think better of it: you clap your sword hand over your eye. Everard Kurz has two good eyes, except when he's you. When he's you, and you're thinking about it, you can see the sparse flat lines of the manse— and an awkward bright tangle, half triangular, lined up exactly with the parting grass.

The nerve of the bastard!

>[1] Goddamn Ellery! First he hides all his stupid secrets, then he flips out on you for no reason, then he crashes *your* bombing plan?! You don't care what Casey wants to do with him— you just want to see the look on his face when he's caught. Pitch in.
>>[A] Everard can't plausibly do most of the things you can do— but you can't plausibly do some of what he can do, either. What Laws does he know, again? (Choose which Law to direct at Ellery: [SINK], [SEAL], or [ARM].)
>>[B] A long time ago, you won a direct fight against Ellery. He acts all tough, like he can't get hurt, but that's just his dumb fake body— his strings are vulnerable, aren't they? And you can see them? Surely you can do something with them? (Wyrm's Dead Eye) [Roll.]
>>[C] Ellery isn't that special in the grand scheme of things. *You're* special. And if you say he can't escape, he can't: it's as simple as that. (Advanced Advanced Gaslighting.) [Roll.]
>>[D] Write-in.

>[2] You really do hate Real Ellery, and you're going to blow up Headspace in his face and laugh. Trouble is, you can't blow up Headspace in his face if Casey shreds him first, so you don't feel like stopping him. Purposefully do nothing.

>[3] As above, but you really, really don't want to see him caught right now. If he spends time annoying Casey, it's actually a win for you: he's not blowing up Headspace, and he's stopping Casey from tracking down Gil (or catching onto you). You need to make sure he gets out of here
>>[A] Using a specific method? (Write-in.) [Possible roll.]
>>[B} You'll figure something out. [Roll.]

>[4] Write-in.

I know! You were supposed to look at the note! Unfortunately, the structure of the update didn't work out that way, and I ran out of time to go back and rework. You have my sacred pledge as a QM that 1) you will get to see it soon and 2) you didn't lose any options or miss anything relevant by not seeing it immediately. On the bright side, here's me cashing in my promise to have you look at Ellery's strings IC. Only took 3 threads...?

>>6115078
>1A
Hit him with the SINKer

3 is pretty appealing but if we let him run free and wild he might actually blow himself up which we don’t want

>On the bright side, here's me cashing in my promise to have you look at Ellery's strings IC.
Finally, and he’s just a weird triangle

File: strings visualized.png (1.24 MB, 1946x1959)

1.24 MB PNG

>>6115127
>Finally, and he’s just a weird triangle
You knew that already :^)

>>6115078
>[3B]

>>6115188
Not only did I forget, I think I made a very similar comment when we first saw that image

>>6115078
>1A
>SINK

>>6115078
>[3] As above, but you really, really don't want to see him caught right now. If he spends time annoying Casey, it's actually a win for you: he's not blowing up Headspace, and he's stopping Casey from tracking down Gil (or catching onto you). You need to make sure he gets out of here
>[B] You'll figure something out. [Roll.]

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>6115127
>>6115386
>[1A] (SINK)

>>6115447
>>6115198
>[3B]

A tie! And for polar opposites! Let's see what the dice say.

Rolled 77, 11, 86, 40, 63, 85, 92, 32, 87 = 573 (9d100)

>>6115492
>[1A]

Alright. You're going all in. You don't need a roll for this (though [SINK] is a one-time use)... but everybody else does. Please hold.

Dice for Ellery: 3d100 + 40 (+20 Head Start, +10 Half-Real, +10 Slippery) vs. DC 85 (+30 [SUNK],+5 Outnumbered)
Dice for Casey: 3d100 + 22 (+20 ???, +7 BFG, -5 Slow On The Uptake) vs. DC 85 (+20 Distance, +20 Small Moving Target, -5 Home Turf)
Dice for Jerry: 3d100 + 15 (+20 Management, +5 Got the Jump, -10 Boss Is Watching) vs. DC 85 (+20 Distance, +20 Small Moving Target, -5 Home Turf)

>>6115318
Probably. The idea behind it is that like Real Ellery, it's a weird amalgam of real (organic-looking) and unreal (rigid straight lines) strings.

>>6115554
>Ellery: Success
>Casey: Success
>Jerry: Success

We have an even playing field. Ellery narrowly wins the tiebreak by virtue of a higher modifier (+40 vs. +22 or +15). Writing shortly.

File: ZAP.jpg (34 KB, 280x392)

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>Show hole
>Ellery: Success
>Casey: Success
>Jerry: Success

You don't have time to stew. All of a sudden Casey has a gun, but not a normal gun, a too-big two-handed thing, blue and purple and fat-gripped, and you wouldn't know it was a gun except for the trigger on it. When he pulls it, lightning snaps out in all directions, turning the field all white grass and black shadow— then it goes, and it's black grass and black smoke, but Ellery's still moving. It didn't reach him.

You blink bruised spots from your eyes as Casey pumps the gun and Jerry reaches and grabs thin air. You unwillingly slide an inch toward him. Casey slides an inch toward him, then steps back like nothing happened. There's a tremble in the distant grass: Ellery must've stumbled, but he recovers quick. Just a stumble, he might've thought. A root, a rock, a caught toe. Not Jerry, stone-faced, sunglasses reflecting cold sky, twisting the world around his hand and yanking it up above his head and back, so the flat ground rears up wavelike and makes a wall. Ahead of you was grass and open air and Ellery somewhere; now it is grass and grass and grass and Ellery, there in the real world, a pale shape falling. You see his arms flail and feel bad, but only a tiny bit. You told him not to come.

Casey has recharged the lightning gun. He doesn't seem to be enjoying himself: his face is set at narrow angles. He doesn't thank Jerry. Against your will, you also feel a tiny bit bad for Jerry, even though he helps run a torture prison. By the time you quash it, Ellery has vanished. He's not where he landed. Bodiless again? Except, no: Casey's gun is pointed up.

Ellery is there, clinging to the grass wall, feet dug into the dirt. Maybe he's used foul alchemy to achieve this; maybe it's good enough to have limbs like climbing spikes. It's too far to tell. Where does he plan to go from here, though? There's nowhere to climb up to, and down leads to Casey and Jerry and your fine self. At the moment, he's just clinging. You're searching for plausible escape routes— he has to go somewhere— and miss the moment he twists and points the crossbow. You only become aware when Casey ducks.

He didn't need to. The bolt has sailed implausibly far already, and it continues on its merry way far over your heads. It's hard to gauge the angle from his distance, you suppose, to say nothing of when you're trying not to fall off a cliff. Alternatively, Ellery is incompetent.

Either way, he dangles there a moment longer— then Casey aims and fires, not a fat blast, but a fast screaming bolt of lightning. It hits Ellery bang on and flowers black, and then he's falling again, smoking and flaking, and there's a burnt kind of leathery kind of smell. You think it's those two things that do it. The pinwheeling fall— his evident weakness— and then the smell like something cooking. Prey. You will find where he lands, you will leap upon him, you will—

(1/2)

File: about this speed of water.jpg (67 KB, 450x450)

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There's heat on your back. Why did you think the smoke-smell was Ellery? It's too close! You pivot as Casey pivots and Jerry pivots and you see what they see: encroaching flames. A grass fire. The hunger dies stillborn: will it hurt you? Can you flee? You can't stop it. You start fires; you don't stop them. That's how it's always been.

That's ringing false. Why is it ringing false? You don't stop... you don't... you. You, Charlotte Fawkins, start fires. You channel the glorious power of The Sword, and you righteously purge the tainted world of its tainted...ness, and stuff. That's what you do, with The Sword, when you have it. In your own body.

You, Everard Kurz, aren't generally of much use. You've been crammed down deep in there, too deep to see, too deep to think, but your self-preservation runs deeper still. You put out fires. That's what you were hired for. Scouring the world clean is a bonus. You have Law carved into you, as deep as it gets, and the one that stands above all is:

"[SINK.]" You say it without knowing. You say it at Ellery, and the ground where he landed drops out: not crumbling, just sagging hard, like a rock in a blanket. He's in a hole now, a deep one. You're not sure how deep. You're not sure if manses have floors. You can't discuss this with Jerry or Casey, because you've unstuck something down in you, and now you can't stop the water coming out of your mouth. It tastes cold and fresh, for whatever it's worth, but it's pouring from your throat like a faucet on full, with no discernable source or end in sight. If you try to close your mouth, it fills your cheeks, starts backing up into your nose— when you start dribbling water from your nostrils, you relent, and spew it at the ground. You are getting your nice shoes wet. Damnit!

The thing is, Everard is unconcerned. Not like you're asking him, exactly. It just feels that way. There's no urgency here, not like the fire— which is maybe ten seconds away, though it's bound to avoid your new damp patch. Is this normal for him? How... your throat? You feel it. It's turtlenecked. Underneath that— you grasp it— is a valve.

Turn the valve and the water ceases. Your front is soaked. Five seconds before the fire hits.

>[1] Okay... fine. Whatever. Buy time for Jerry and Casey to do what they're doing: you'll turn the valve back and put the grass fire out with your mouth. It may be the stupidest sentence you've thought of this week, but you don't have time to quibble.

>[2] Come on. You're not doing that. Rush away from the fire, toward Ellery's new pit, and see what's going on (quickly).
>>[A] If you see Ellery in there, keep him in there until Casey arrives. You're sorry, but you can't let him blow up Headspace. That's for you. You called dibs.
>>[B] If you see Ellery in there, jump in after him. You're not letting *Casey* deal with your sworn nemesis, not when you can give him a talking-to (or a whooping) all by yourself.
>>[C] Write-in.

>[3] Write-in.

>>6115686
>2B
“What the hell bro? Trying to steal our headspace explosion plan? Not cool”

>>6115686
>[2B]

Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>6115756
>>6115881
>[2B]

Called and rolling for something. Then writing.

File: tunnel.jpg (81 KB, 564x697)

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>View hole

You're only human. You run.

Jerry isn't: out of the corner of your eye, you catch him moving toward the flames. On the other side of you, Casey is following. Fine. You're happy to let them take care of it. Behind you, your puddle sizzles— that's where you were standing. Ahead of you is the pit, and past it, the wall. The wall's all flammable. No luck there. Ellery's in the pit...

Ellery's in the pit. He might be dead, but he probably isn't. If you can get down there, not only will you escape the grass fire, but you can give Ellery a solid kick on the shin— which he deserves. (You bet he started the fire somehow.) Maybe you can talk him into going home, even, and then you'll be free and clear to bomb Headspace. Assuming you find Gil, of course, but of course you'll do that. Positive thinking!

Getting down there is harder than it sounds, of course. You lack a rope or a parachute or anything that'd break your fall. Then again, you're sure you can think of something. Dashing heroines always do. You've already made it there, to the edge— your forehead beading with sweat, your eyes stinging with smoke, crouching down and peering in. It's dark inside the pit, which is as deep as the wall is tall or deeper. You can't see whether it's deeper. You can't see Ellery at all, or hear anything from down there— only occasional exclamations from Casey or Jerry above. Maybe he already escaped? He'd do that. But you remember, and squeeze your eye shut, and see— faintly— a zigzag array of strings.

That's him. No use, then: you've jumped from higher places into less-certain futures. The fire is a useful motivator, too. By the time you tip yourself forward, there's heat on your back again. You can still feel it, even as you fall.

The sides of the pit are all grass. Maybe you could've climbed down, if you had time, but it's too late now. When you land, the mouth of the pit is the size of a coin.

You land in grass, and on Ellery, who crunches and disintegrates under you. He was all charcoal. You're not sure where you are, exactly— obviously the bottom of the pit, but the space is wider than the pit was, and velvety black. If this were real, landing like that would've broken your back, but as it is you feel nothing.

He can't be dead for real, right? He's Ellery. His whole stupid thing is not dying. You pick yourself up— damnit, now your back's all wet, too, from the grass, not to mention charcoal-y— and turn around, and turn some more. You saw his strings. Is he hiding?

One more turn, just to be sure. You can't hear Casey or Jerry from all the way down here. In a way it's peaceful. Gil would like all the grass, even if it's sort of dry and crunchy. If only he were here. You don't like being alone very much. Not that you're actually alone, since there's no way Ellery's—

(1/2)

"Hey!"

You're grabbed from behind. He was just over your shoulder. One bony hand goes over your mouth, and one pointy metal thing goes into your throat. You can guess what that is. "If you struggle, I'll kill you," Ellery says into your ear.

He won't, you think. He's told you that before, and he's never had the guts. Blah, blah, blah, bluff, bluff, bluff, except... you're not you, are you? You're Everard Kurz. Maybe he would kill Everard Kurz, the same way he killed the guy in the field. He didn't seem well when you saw him last. Somebody got to him, Casey said. You did. You got all the way to his head.

You better tread carefully.

>[1] It's fine. He might kill Everard, but he won't kill you. He knows you. He hates you, but he knows you, right? Tell Ellery that you're actually Charlotte Fawkins, heroine extraordinaire, and he needs to stop ruining your bombing plan.

>[2] If you give up the game to Ellery, it could make things even worse— for all you know, he'd spill it to Casey out of spite. Or shoot you anyways. Stay in character for now.
>>[A] Demand that he release you immediately, lest he face the wrath of Casey and/or the Hero-Queen. Bargain. Bluster. Generally do whatever Everard would do here. [Roll.]
>>[B] Thrust Ellery backward into the wall, then threaten him back with... whatever weapon Everard usually uses. If he wants a hostage, you might as well make it mutual. [Roll.]
>>[C] Ellery doesn't really want to kill you. You know that. He knows that. So why can't it be true? (Advanced Gaslighting.) [Roll.]
>>[D] Write-in.

>[3] Write-in.

>>6116366
>1
If we keep getting in each other’s way then neither of us will get to blow up headspace!

>>6116366
>[1] It's fine. He might kill Everard, but he won't kill you. He knows you. He hates you, but he knows you, right? Tell Ellery that you're actually Charlotte Fawkins, heroine extraordinaire, and he needs to stop ruining your bombing plan.

>>6116366
>>[1] It's fine. He might kill Everard, but he won't kill you. He knows you. He hates you, but he knows you, right? Tell Ellery that you're actually Charlotte Fawkins, heroine extraordinaire, and he needs to stop ruining your bombing plan.

Rolled 8 (1d10)

>>6116451
>>6116473
>>6116525
>[1]

Giving the game away. I'll see if I can get a quick early update out. Writing shortly.

Rolling for reaction:
1 = Final Straw
2-10 = Safe (For Now)

File: the Sword 1 - @observerQM.png (2.3 MB, 1920x1080)

2.3 MB PNG

>Hey it's me

At the very least, if he knew it was you, it'd buy you some time. You don't think he'd leap straight to murdering somebody he knows, even if he knows you mostly for being a thorn in his side. Well, he's a thorn in your side, so there.

If he didn't have his hand over your mouth, you could just say who you are. Of course he has to mess that up. Damnit! You are going to have to struggle a bit, even if he gets tetchy. You raise your arm to grab his off, and he recoils, clamping harder. Fine! You lick his palm.

That does it. Ellery keeps the crossbow to your throat, but he wipes his saliva-y hand on his slacks, leaving your mouth free. You make the most of it. "You stupid ass! I'm Charlotte Fawkins!"

"Ha-ha. Funny joke. Did some oppo research, huh?" Ellery yanks you backward. "Why don't you go ahead and prove it, then. Quick. Should be easy, since she's such a colossal—"

"A colossally... impressive... hey!" He's going to rip a hole in your turtleneck, jabbing like that. "Okay, geez. Here."

It doesn't matter who you are, or where you are: The Sword is there when you want it, and right now you want it flaming gloriously in your hand. You point it straight out, illuminating the space around you— wide, short-ceilinged, and tiled with familiar linoleum. You didn't break out of the manse, did you? You don't think so. The pit and sky are still above you. Everything down here is beaded with water.

Ellery lets go immediately, backing several steps away. You turn to face him, illuminating him too: that's Ellery, all right, except he doesn't have a face. There's a ripped-in hole where the face should go. His voice comes out of it. "What the fuck?!"

"I told you so," you say.

"You stole that guy's fucking BODY?! I know you weren't him from the start!" He hasn't lowered the crossbow. "Is he still in there?!"

"Yes? I'm not letting him out, though, or he'll be really mad. Also, he's evil, so who cares? Also, can you stop pointing that at me? I don't want to stab you."

You do, a little, but you won't say that. You're not sure if Ellery believes you. He hasn't moved. "You're not human."

God, again? "We talked about this already, Ellery. Multiple times. I'm sorry you're jealous of my—"

"You're in a guy's fucking BODY."

"So? It's not like it was hard. Maybe you're just lame. If you bothered stealing some guy's body, Casey wouldn't be chasing you around, and you wouldn't be stuck in a hole."

"You—" Ellery clenches his free hand. "You STUCK me in the hole, you—"

"And would I have stuck you there if you stole some guy's body? I bet not! I don't see how that changes my point at all." You wave The Sword at him. "Also, you wouldn't be chased around if you stayed home, which is exactly what we agreed on doing, so this is entirely your—"

There's a breeze and a thunk. You blink, then swing around to double-check. Yes, there's a bolt embedded in the wall behind you, an inch higher than your head.

"Shut up," Ellery says.

(1/5?)

File: real ellery (sun mode) - (...).png (1.3 MB, 1063x1315)

1.3 MB PNG

You straighten. "You're not a very good—"

"SHUT UP!" he screams, and it bounces up and down the walls, and The Sword casts his face in sharp light and harsh shadow. "SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU LITTLE SHIT! THIS IS FUNNY TO YOU?! THIS IS A GAME?!"

When you've already been through it multiple times, it's hard to take him seriously. "I mean, you never—"

"It's ALWAYS been a game, hasn't it?! NONE of it matters. NONE of it has any stakes. ANYTHING could happen to you, and you wouldn't care, because you're—"

"The heroine?" you say helpfully.

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I— yes! Thank you! Good use of the 'the,' too. You're not 'a' heroine. You're 'the' heroine. You're the only person who matters! It sure isn't me who matters, is it? I—"

Talking to Real Ellery is sort of like talking to your mother, now that you think of it. You have to be very patient. "Well, maybe if you tried to be a hero, then you—"

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK THIS IS?!" He grasps his face and rips it downward, hard, so a paper strip of it comes off in his hand. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I'VE BEEN DOING?! DO YOU THINK I'M HERE FOR FUN?! I DID THIS TO ME FOR FUN?!"

"Well, I told you that I didn't need you here, so I guess—"

He crumples the strip and pitches it at your feet. "I have only EVER tried to do the right thing. I am trying to do the right thing RIGHT NOW. And you only ever shit on me for it, and the universe—"

"You're not trying to do the right thing." You put a hand on your hip. "You're trying to kill yourself."

"IT'S THE SAME THING!"

Also, sometimes the best thing to do is not to say anything. You let the hand-on-hip deal speak for itself.

"It's the same thing, and still, I'm only shit on for it. I have gone through HELL for—"

"So have I," you say. "I think it was two... three days ago? Two?"

"This is funny to you," Ellery says.

Not a lot funny, but it is sort of— you mean— you'd way rather have Ellery yelling at you than Casey. Or Richard. Or Gil, even (if he were yelling at you, you must've really messed up). Most people, really. "Kind of?"

"It's allowed to be funny for you. It's not funny if you're in real danger. You're never in real danger, are you? You're the heroine."

You've lost where he's going with this. "Um, I mean, I am in danger, but my quick thinking and heroic virtues always—"

"OF WHOSE STORY?!"

"Huh?" You guess at least he's listening, finally. You've told him you were a heroine the whole time. (Slash detectivess.) "Mine?"

"Ha!"

Okay, that is a little offensive; you'll admit it. "I mean, if I'm the heroine, it's my story by—"

"Hahahahaha! You think that? No godsdamn wonder!" He's pointed the crossbow at the sky. Is that good? Or does it mean he thinks he's winning? "Your story! Ha!"

"...Well, whose else would it be?"

"Theirs," Ellery says matter-of-factly.

(2/5?)

File: charlotte - @yourstrulypr(...).png (1.36 MB, 990x705)

1.36 MB PNG

"...Um, whose, though?"

"THEIRS." And he raises his arm and stretches the crossbow as high as it'll go, straight up to the sky above, where... Casey and Jerry are?

God, Ellery's so stupid. "Management's?! I don't— it's not like I work for— you're the stupid hero of their story, probably. Or, like, the comic relief. Or the sidekick everyone hates. Not me. I didn't even know who they were before before I started investigating—"

"You didn't?"

"Um, no, I didn't? Because they're some secret evil organization? It's not like I automatically—"

"Why do you act like them, then, Charlotte?"

You frown. "I act literally nothing like—"

"Really?" Ellery spreads his hands. "Nothing like them, except for the gullshit. I'm sure you mean to tell me it's normal to read minds."

"Well—"

"It's normal to get into minds. It's normal to tell people what to think and have them think it. The fangs are normal."

"I don't have fangs right now," you say uncomfortably. "And I wouldn't say I—"

"Right! Yes. You don't have them right now, because it's normal to steal some guy's FUCKING body. Is that right?"

"Um," you say. "I mean, I never said it was... obviously I'm special. Because I'm a heroine, and... you know."

"You're special because you're the heroine, and you're the heroine because you're special. Is that right?"

You liked it better when he was yelling. "I thought you were mad because I was a god, or whatever. Or queen. So it's probably that. I don't care."

"No, Charlotte, I thought about it." Ellery retreats, finding the far wall and leaning casually against it. He rests the crossbow over his lap. "That's what you wanted me to do, right? You thought I was crazy."

"You are crazy," you say.

"I am crazy. But I thought about it. You're still fucked-up, but things have reasons, don't they? And, you know, I believe you."

Trap statement. You've learned these from Richard. You scootch your foot against the smooth floor.

"That's also what I thought about. I believe you. I think you honestly— I think you've told me what you know, or have been telling me that. So, thanks. Don't know if I've said that. Thanks for the honesty."

You hesitate. Maybe he does mean it? "You're welcome?"

"Yeah. I don't think you're a liar. I think you're a fucking idiot, Charlotte." The face-hole is staring right through you. "Or maybe you're blind? Dense? Because most people, if they're normal, if they start off normal, they'd notice when things got weird. When did things get weird for you, Charlotte?"

Richard would know what to say. Maybe he's never coming back. Maybe he died in the snake hospital and left you all alone. "I— I don't— I can't remember a lot of things—"

"When did you lose that eye?"

You touch the bad eye, even though you don't have one, even though Everard's are perfectly normal. "I can't remember. It's extremely rude to make fun of somebody's—"

(3/5?)

File: the herald's already here.png (2.73 MB, 1048x1374)

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"I'm not making fun of it. You can't remember. Do you know what else people can't remember?"

You're so cold. It's all the water— down your front, your back, everywhere here. You bring The Sword closer to warm yourself.

"Locitis. That's interesting. You know what else you can't remember?"

"Uh... I don't think I can... by definition, uh, I mean, I can't..."

"What Casey did to your boyfriend."

"What?" you say. "...Gil? He's not my— I keep telling everybody! He's my retainer! And we just got separated. He's fine."

"He is fine," Ellery says. "Now. You don't remember before. Do you know who wiped it?"

"Richard isn't here." You touch the valve at your neck. Does it do warm water? "There's no way he—"

"Who the fuck is Richard?"

You don't say anything.

"Wait, that's... the guy. The Dread and Awful..."

"Dread and Terrible Beast," you mumble. "But he's not really dread and, um... he's nice now. And he's not really a beast. He's my father. Sort of. It's complicated."

"Your father—" Ellery stands straight up. "Your dad is Management?"

"I just said he wasn't exactly my— Richard isn't Management. What are you talking about?!" You stand up even straighter. "You are crazy! You're a crazy person! He's never once said anything about—"

"He's never walked up and told you he was Management?"

"No! He— no! Why would he?! I—" You slow yourself down. "Um, he, well— he never even seemed like he knew—"

"And he's never hidden anything from you before? This Dread and Terrible Beast?"

"Shut up," you say. "He's not— he's not Management. That's stupid. He's a snake."

"Not when I saw him," Ellery says. "When I saw him, he was dressed exactly like—"

"He just likes sunglasses! Lots of people like sunglasses. And he—"

"He gave you the fangs."

You clamp your mouth shut.

"That's what you said. The Dread and Terrible Beast gave you the fangs. Let me guess; the eye, too?"

"I told you I didn't know where—"

"Do you think it was him?"

How did it turn into this? How did he turn it around? "Maybe? I... I don't want to talk about my..."

"How about the rest of it? Please share. Did you forget where that all came from, too?"

No, you haven't forgotten all of it. A little bit was from when you fell through that seal and saw God. You don't think you should tell Ellery that. You'd prefer not to tell him anything. "I— I don't know."

"You don't know. Because you're an idiot, Charlotte. You're a stupid kid. You're getting played. I've been there; it happens. I got played, and now I'm this, you see? Nothing left. They dip you full of water, then they wring you dry. They're good at it. Have they wrung you yet?"

(4/5?)

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"I don't know what you're..."

"I don't think they have. You're the heroine. You get the whole story to yourself, and you get to go along it, all the ups and downs, fucking up as much as you want, and it doesn't matter, right? They're not going to let you fail. They're not going to let you die. Not yet."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say quietly.

"Me neither," Ellery says. "But it's the best I've been able to come up with. I think that, if I shot you, you wouldn't die."

"Don't shoot me."

"It wouldn't matter if I did or didn't. Maybe it'd hurt for a second. But would you die? That's not part of the story. Be realistic." He twiddles a bolt between his fingers. "We can try it if you want."

"Um," you say. "Please don't—"

"If you don't want, then I'll get going. I want to mean something too." He tosses the bolt in the air, then catches it. "You can come if you don't stop me."

"And what if I don't?"

"Then say hi to your patrons. I'm sure they'd be happy to have you back. Bad optics to lose your tourist, huh? Hope they haven't been listening." Ellery gestures upward; Casey and Jerry are up there now, peering down. "Though we are down pretty deep. Who knows? Anyways, you can try to stop me. You might succeed. But they've been trying."

"Okay," you say.

"Okay." The hole in Ellery's face is dark. "Well, go ahead."

>[A1] You have to stop him. It's *your* plan. But you don't have to tell him that. Come along.
>[A2] Sorry, Ellery, but you have a cushy set-up— and you just proved your bonafides with the whole pit thing. You don't want him to get tortured, so he can "accidentally" escape if he wants, but then you're coming after him. And you're going to win.
>[A3] Sorry, Ellery, but he's just too much of a threat. Prevent him from leaving now, turn him in to Casey, and stroll your way to the bombing. You won't feel guilty hardly at all. [Roll.]

>[B1] No, you don't want Ellery to shoot you point-blank with a crossbow bolt. No part of you wants that. You already declined. Moving along now.
>[B2] What would it mean if he were right? Probably nothing. If you did survive, it would be because of your heroic spirit. (You have it because you're a heroine. You're a heroine because you have it.) And you do have heroic spirit, so if you put it like that, there's nothing to worry about. And wouldn't it be the ultimate show of dominance? To survive? And it's a manse, so you... you... you just want to know. You want to know. [???]

>[C] Write-in? (You can get in a couple additional questions with Ellery if you want.)


Sorry about the delay— for obvious reasons, this will be the one update for tonight.

>>6117017
Are you trying to subtly suggest we stop playing Charlie as a fuckup? Or being meta and suggesting we are the Management?
Could you please clarify what exactly does A2 entail?

>>6117017
>B2
Let’s do it
We know it wouldn’t kill us, we already acknowledged that with Pat
Good cover for rejoining Casey and Jeff too

>>6117090
>Are you trying to subtly suggest we stop playing Charlie as a fuckup? Or being meta and suggesting we are the Management?
Neither, anon. I can see where you're coming from, but you're overthinking it. While there are minor meta overtones in how Charlotte operates as a "protagonist" even inside the world of the quest, and how Ellery (a quest ex-protagonist) is most clearly able to recognize this, this isn't a "meta plot," and major story elements aren't epic clever references-- they're major story elements. Management isn't a metaphor for anything, and it's definitely not a metaphor for the players, which I think would be confusing. (Do you guys metaphorically operate a conglomerate of underwater businesses?)

Similarly, Ellery's opinions here are his own, and they're a fairly straightforward evolution of his previous stance on the matter (knowing something was "wrong" with you, but being unable to pin down what). Always try to assume that IC warnings, declarations, advice, or anything "definitive-sounding" are first and foremost from the character who gives them's perspective, not mine-- even if I agree OOC with what the warning/etc. is for, there's no telling if the character is unbiased, honest, or fully informed. Two examples: Richard is usually reliable about worldbuilding details, but is (was) frequently and deliberately dishonest about everything else, even things he states as fact, and when you were picking people to come along on the kidnapping rescue mission, Eloise warned you point-blank about picking Monty... who would've likely been fine; Eloise just doesn't trust him. In this instance, not only have you guys not been fucking up much this thread so far, but I don't think Charlotte would be Charlotte if she were some kind of uber-competent badass; it's core to her character that she's a little bit dumb. Don't deliberately take bad options because they're bad, please, but it's okay to fuck up sometimes. If you're thinking about my frustrations earlier in the thread, that wasn't because of fucking up-- it was due to a long string of fuck-ups writing me into a corner. Mix a few successes in there and we're just fine.

>Could you please clarify what exactly does A2 entail?
It entails that Ellery will consensually shoot Charlotte point-blank with a crossbow bolt, likely in a region that ought to grievously injure or kill her. This will have unknown effects. I will tell you that it won't involve a roll; the outcome is fixed. If you're nervous about it, don't take it!

>>6117109
Don't forget to take an [A] (if you don't, I'll default to [A2], since you're talking about cover for Casey).

>>6117315
Are you sure you didn't mix up A2 and B2?

>>6117382
Oh, I'm sorry, you're right. [A2] goes like this:

>You let Ellery escape
>You escape and/or let Casey "rescue" you
>You tell Casey (& Jerry) that you narrowly survived an encounter with the intruder, but you weren't able to capture him
>You set off with Casey (& Jerry) on the rest of the tour, but probably actually to capture Ellery for real
>???
>Profit

.[A2] preserves your disguise/spot in the "tour" without needing to turn around and totally backstab Ellery, as you would in [A3]. That being said, [A3] gets rid of him as an obstacle (if you succeed...), while [A2] means he's going to be out there pestering you later. You're just making it a fair fight, rather than sacrificing him straight to Management.

Notably, I mixed it up there, but not in my note to >>6117109, who genuinely is missing an [A] option. That might be the reason for my confusion.

>>6117109
>>6117315
Yes I'd like A2 as well, good default choice

>>6117017
>[A1] You have to stop him. It's *your* plan. But you don't have to tell him that. Come along.
Our setup is not actually that cushy. We need to break off from Casey if we want to do anything.
>[B2] What would it mean if he were right? Probably nothing. If you did survive, it would be because of your heroic spirit. (You have it because you're a heroine. You're a heroine because you have it.) And you do have heroic spirit, so if you put it like that, there's nothing to worry about. And wouldn't it be the ultimate show of dominance? To survive? And it's a manse, so you... you... you just want to know. You want to know. [???]

>>6117315
>>[A1] You have to stop him. It's *your* plan. But you don't have to tell him that. Come along.
>>[B2] What would it mean if he were right? Probably nothing. If you did survive, it would be because of your heroic spirit. (You have it because you're a heroine. You're a heroine because you have it.) And you do have heroic spirit, so if you put it like that, there's nothing to worry about. And wouldn't it be the ultimate show of dominance? To survive? And it's a manse, so you... you... you just want to know. You want to know. [???]

>>6117017
>[A2] Sorry, Ellery, but you have a cushy set-up— and you just proved your bonafides with the whole pit thing. You don't want him to get tortured, so he can "accidentally" escape if he wants, but then you're coming after him. And you're going to win.
>[B2] What would it mean if he were right? Probably nothing. If you did survive, it would be because of your heroic spirit. (You have it because you're a heroine. You're a heroine because you have it.) And you do have heroic spirit, so if you put it like that, there's nothing to worry about. And wouldn't it be the ultimate show of dominance? To survive? And it's a manse, so you... you... you just want to know. You want to know. [???]

>>6117493
I support this option.

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>>6117411
>>6117493
>>6117566
>[A2]

>>6117487
>>6117421
>[A1]

Drowned Quest Redux: where the players unanimously vote to get fatally shot for no clear benefit. Love you guys. Called for [B2] + narrowly called for [A2] and writing.

>Shoot me

You can't let him blow up Headspace. You made the plan. You did all the work. If he does it, he'll mess it up, and he'll also die, and you don't care if he wants to die. It's not noble to die like that, not when there's other options. It's not a heroic sacrifice if Headspace would blow up just fine without him. And if he won't realize that, it won't matter— you're getting there first. You are. If you have to drag Casey along, so be it.

"How are you getting out of here?" you say.

"I'm not telling you that. But you're welcome to watch." Real Ellery sticks his hand in his pocket. "I take it you're not coming along?"

"No."

"I wouldn't expect anything else, really. Might be easier this way. Do you know where you're going?"

You hesitate.

"Aw, that's a shame. I'll be headed straight there. Wasted enough time already. See you—"

"Wait," you say.

"Yeah? What?"

You don't know what. You don't know. He's dangling the crossbow by his side. It's not very fancy-looking— just wood and string, really, the kind of thing he'd use. The bolts are metal, though. It's hard to remember that they wind up in people's heads.

Ellery, seeing the direction of your gaze, lifts the crossbow. "Are you actually thinking about it?"

"About what?" you say, but you know what. You don't know why you are. You declined, wisely, because you're not insane. Entrusting your life to Ellery? Didn't he stab you in the heart once? Yes, you lived that... but if you lived this now, would that mean anything? Would that do anything? Richard would say that you can't prove a negative— living this doesn't mean you live everything forever. That's nonsense! It's not as though you waltz through things unscathed, either— maybe you come out alive, but you come out alive and bruised, burned, broken, in tears. Very often in tears.

But alive.

But that doesn't mean anything, except that you're good. You're successful. You're courageous. Spunky. Sparky. Witty. Graceful and elegant, yet brash. Bold and daring, yet ladylike. Dashing. Famous. Heroic. Why would you die? What would make you die? You don't die. You're a heroine.

You don't die because you're a heroine; you're a heroine because you don't die. It eats itself. It spirals in and in, around and around, and never ends. Regular spirals end, don't they? You trace one on your bouncing leg, around, around, and around; around, around, and around, until there's no more room, and you dig your nail into your thigh to mark where it died. Your death spiral.

The digging doesn't hurt much. Everard keeps his nails neatly clipped.

"About me shooting you," Ellery says, because he's stupid. "In the head. Or the heart, maybe. I guess you could pick. Not that you have to— I mean, you were pretty clear, so— I don't shoot people who aren't asking for it."

"Not the heart," you say. Unless he wants to open a hole straight to the red stuff. You might hate Ellery, but not like that. "The stomach?"

(1/TBC)

"The stomach? Are you joking? Do you know how painful that'd— and it might not even kill you, you realize? If you're worried about being shot, I'm not fucking shooting you. I'm speculating. You don't have to believe me. I'm happy to get out of here, and we can take our business to go, you know, and—"

A lot of the Elleryness got flattened out of Real Ellery, but not all of it. You trace a spiral on your thigh, starting small and ending very big. "I didn't say I was worried."

"So why the—"

Richard. Eight times. Blood all over your hands. "Doesn't matter. I guess the head is fine."

"It's fine?"

"It's like Gil." You pause. "And you, I guess. Didn't she get you in the head? Pat?"

"Uh... yeah. It didn't really stick, I mean—" He gestures loosely at the face-hole. "Nothing in there. So, wait, you are—?"

"I don't know. I guess."

"Charlotte, I am not shooting you in the fucking head on a 'I guess.'"

You trace a spiral again, but like this: first you sweep around in a big circle, then spiral inward like normal, then, right before it gets too small, you draw a little circle. If you trace that little circle, and you don't stop tracing, the spiral never ends. "I want you to."

"You want me to shoot you in the head with a crossbow."

"Yes."

"Why?"

You swish the words around in your mouth before you say them. "Because I— I don't want to die. And I don't think I should. I don't deserve it. So if I do die, then I was... then the world isn't fair, and I— I didn't want to live there anyways. And if I don't die, then the world is fair, maybe, and I can... I'd like to know that. I'd feel better knowing that for sure."

You're still tracing the circle. Ellery straightens. "I guess that's one way to go about it. Do you think the world is fair?"

"Yes," you say.

"I used to think that." He lifts the crossbow. "Maybe it still is, but only for some people. I don't know. For the record, I hope I won't kill you."

"Thanks," you say.

"Are you nervous?" he says. The crossbow's still lifted. You wonder if he's nervous, actually, what with all the questions. Maybe it's starting to seem like a dumb idea to him.

Not to you. "No. I can't be. If I've nervous, I will die."

"Oh."

"That's what positive thinking is about."

"Oh, I see. I get it." He clearly doesn't, but it doesn't matter. You get it. If you believe you won't die, you won't. If you believe you will, even a little tiny bit, you will. "Uh," he continues. "Anyways, I don't know if you wanted to—"

"Just do it," you say. "Coward."

"Hey. Okay. No need to get feisty. Do you have a plan in mind, or do you...?"

You stare stonily at him.

(2/TBC)

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"Okay, okay. Here." He approaches. He looks less freakishly tall than usual, even up close. (How tall is Everard? You don't want to know.) Anyways, Ellery's still freakishly bony and all that, so it's not like everything has changed. He puts the— what is it, the muzzle of the crossbow? That can't be right. He puts the equivalent of the crossbow's muzzle right against your forehead, between your eyes. You wish you could see his eyes at all. You think they'd be scared eyes, and you would've liked to have seen that. As it is, he's dark inside. The muzzle or whatever is cold, but not icy.

You take a deep breath. You are a smidge jittery, but you think it's from the pill. You think of Gil shards all over the floor. You think of a shotgun to Ellery's stomach. You think of your hands around Ellery's neck. You think of Ellery's knife in your heart. You think of your knife in Richard, again and again. He loved you even while you were stabbing him.

You think that, no matter what happens, you'll be seeing your father again. So there's that.

You trace a closed spiral on your thigh.

"Do you have any last words?" Ellery says. "Um, I mean— not last, necessarily, and I don't really think— I mean, I only brought this up because I really think you won't be allowed to die, it won't happen, so that was bad— do you have anything to say? Not last. Just anything?"

"If I die, I'm going to haunt you so bad," you say.

"Oh. Ah. Ahaha." You can perfectly envision the fear-grimace to match the fear-chuckle. "Yup. Okay. Well, I— I can't say it was that nice knowing you, but I'm glad I met you. If that makes any sense."

"I guess."

"Okay." He tenses. "Do you want me to count down, or...?"

"Just do it."

"Okay," he says.

Then he does it. For real. You weren't totally sure he'd go through with it— maybe he wasn't totally sure he'd go through with it. Maybe he slipped. Does it matter? At least it was humane. Even though the bolt rips through hair, skin, flesh, bone, brain, you feel nothing. He's done it before. He's practiced. He's always tried to do the right thing. And so, exactly like the all other ones, you fall to the ground and lay there.

>[-5 ID: 0/14]

[TO BE CONTINUED]

We'll be back at it tomorrow. Please reserve any vitriol until you have the full picture of things. Thanks!

>>6117747
Reeeeeeee

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>Continued

—

"You have to stop doing this to yourself, Charlie."

You are sitting on the front stoop of your porch, one leg curled up to your chest, one leg stretched out all the way. The stretched-out leg is the one with all the blood. "I didn't do anything! All I did was—"

"Run around where all the rocks were? Where your aunt told you not to run? I know you don't like to listen to her, but she's not wrong about everything, primrose. And now look at you."

You sneak a peek at your leg: your father initially described it as having a "real nasty laceration," but backpedaled to "big ouchie" after you started tearing up. You don't know what a laceration is, but your wounded knee, all oozing blood and yellow bruising and tattered skin and bits of black gravel, is definitely a big ouchie. You glance away before you start feeling sick and meet your father's eyes. He smiles at you. "Do you feel sorry at all?"

You bite your cheek. "I'm sorry I fell."

"And?"

"I'm sorry I hurt my knee. 'Cause it really hurts."

"Are you going to go run around in the rocks again?"

"If I go run around in the rocks again," you say, "I won't fall. 'Cause I'll be more careful."

Your father's smile widens. "That's my girl. Now let's get this cleaned up, alright? We wouldn't want to get blood on your nice new dress. Your mother and Ruby would have my head."

"Okay," you say, and swing your leg a little bit. Your father is unscrewing the lid of the cleaner solution. He sniffs it, then dips a rag in it. "Will it hurt?"

"I don't know. Did it hurt all the other times?"

"It hurts when Aunt Ruby does it," you say.

"It... well... I believe she believes that discomfort is part and parcel of a proper childhood."

"Is it? Part and parcel?"

"Maybe a little, but I don't like to see you in pain, primrose. Even if you are handling this well."

"I'm brave," you say.

Your father laughs. "Yes, you are. It may still hurt a little. Keep being brave, please."

He takes the rag to your knee, and you hiss and wriggle. The solution stings nearly as much as the fall did, and it makes the blood foam up all scary pink, but at least your father is gentle with it. When your aunt does it, it's like she's scouring a pot. "Ow!"

"You have a lot of grit stuck in here, Charlie. You're going to have to be patient." Your father lifts the rag and peers down at your knee. "Huh."

You sneak another peek, but you can't see anything through the foam. "What?"

"You must've fallen pretty hard. There's something... er... don't worry. I think there's tweezers in here." He turns around and re-opens the medicine kit. You keep your eyes safely to the horizon. "There we go. Hold still, please. Do you want to hold my hand?"

Uh-oh. You grab his hand and squeeze it. He squeezes it back, leans forward, and starts to poke around. "Wow," he says. "Oh dear." And: "Maybe that's why it's so..."

(1/6?)

You squeeze harder and harder as he digs deeper and deeper, but you're brave, so you don't yell. Or cry, even if your eyes well up. After an entire eternity, your father lifts the tweezers. There's a weird shape pinched inside.

"You must've fallen just so," he says, in a curious tone of voice. "Let's clean this off and see what it is. Does your knee feel better?"

It still stings, but it throbs less. "Yeah."

"I'd hope so. I wouldn't want this wedged in my knee, personally speaking. One moment." He takes the rag to the weird shape, then holds it up again. It's a small iron key. "..."

His expression has changed— it's not new, exactly, you've seen it on him before, but not while he knew you were watching. He stands from his squat and paces a few steps back. He has fixed his attention entirely on it, and not on you. Your leg still stings. He hasn't bandaged it. You sniffle, but he doesn't look. "Ow," you say, but he doesn't look either.

Is something wrong with him? Did you trip and fall on a cursed key, and now he's all cursed? You stand and wobble fiercely down the steps. "What is that? Can I see? You're holding it up too high! I can't—" You clutch at his arm, but he jerks backward, hiding the key in his fist. "Daddy? Tell me what the—"

He pushes you away harshly, but not violently, and turns and bends at the waist and pukes out pitch black gunk, which solidifies in your mind that he's cursed. When he wipes his mouth and straightens, it isn't your father anymore. You're positive. He's flexing his hands inquisitively.

"You're not my daddy," you say straight away, so he knows you mean business.

"Mngh." He stretches his face with his fingers. "We both know that, Charlotte. No need to get technical."

"You have the wrong voice," you say. "That's not his voice."

"It's not. Consider yourself lucky there, hm? How old is this?" He gestures to all of you. "Seven? Eight?"

"I'm 7 and three months," you say uncertainly, "but—"

"7 and three months. Of course. Very charming. I'd love to leave you like this, but have rather more urgent things to take care of. Would you come here?"

"No."

"Very well." Your not-father approaches, then crouches down to eye level. "This may hurt. Consider that a positive, Charlotte; nothing hurts if you're dead. Hold very still."

You could dash now, should dash now, but he's placed one hand square on the back of your head, and with the other he's digging something out of your forehead. It's cold and heavy and every time he wriggles it a quarter-inch it scrapes against the bone of your skull. You can feel it in your teeth. By the second wriggle, you shriek and try to pull away, but he's much taller and much stronger and simply holds you fast. "Really, primrose, relax. It'll be over in a moment."

(2/6?)

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And it is, but what a moment— he pulls hard, your vision goes white, and your head splits clean open. You gasp and nearly collapse, but are caught and lowered carefully onto the stoop. Your not-father crouches once more. "Recognize this?"

It's a bolt from a crossbow. It's covered in blood. You reach for it, then reach for your forehead. There's a warm finger-sized hole in it.

"Ah," you say.

"I'll take that as a yes?"

You squint. "...Richard?"

"Yes."

"I got shot..."

"I assure you, I'm well aware." He pinches the bolt between his fingers. "We will discuss that shortly. I'm glad to see you again, Charlie."

"You are?"

"Should I not be?" he says.

No. Yes. You don't know. He's still nice. Did he say he'd still be nice? You thought he might come back fixed, or he'd snap out of it, or... but no. He's Nice Richard. He's just Richard. You guess you're happy about that. "Um, I'm glad to see you too. I... it's been a... I didn't know when you were going to come back."

"I said it'd be a few days, Charlie. Has it not been a few days?"

"No, it has, I just— I don't— I didn't know if you'd be delayed, or if it went wrong, or—" You didn't plan out what to say when he got back. Why didn't you plan it? Damnit! "I missed you! I really missed you, and there were so many things I didn't know, and I had a hangover, and I— and I— I just—"

Is it because you're 7? Is that why you're crying? He was only gone for a few days. He spent the last three years tormenting you. He just pulled a crossbow bolt out of your brain, and now your brain's probably all over his hands, to say nothing of whatever else he's touched. If you planned this, you'd be blasé. Richard coming back? Pssh. No big deal. You were better off without him. And maybe you were— you survived without him, at least, which is more than he said you'd do. But you missed him, straight to your core, and you're glad he's back, and you are crying (softly) and you are clutching him (hard).

Richard, nice now, hugs you back. If he wasn't crouching, you'd come up to his waist. Don't think about that. His hands are twice the size of yours. Don't think about that. Or do think about it. You don't know. You have no memory of being 7 and being hugged. You have few memories of being hugged ever, to be honest. Did it use to be like this, before you forgot? Don't think about that. Think about right now. Right now, it feels like Richard actually loves you.

>[+2 ID: 2/14]

You pull away first, not him, and examine his face. He's younger, which is scary. Not exactly young, but younger. Ellery's age? "Richard?"

"Charlie?"

"Why am I, um..." You look down at yourself. You do remember the new dress. "Why am I 7?"

"7 and three months. It's a memory, Charlie. I can dispel it whenever you'd like."

(3/6?)

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"Now? It's really... I can't stay like this."

"Very mature of you. I recommend you sit down for this, for the vertigo." He gestures to the stoop. You sit, and he pushes his sleeve up. "Allow me."

What does he do? You think it went like this— he grabbed the air, twisted it, and pulled it away, like that trick with the tablecloth. Everything wobbles a bit, but remains where it is. You look at your hands. You look down. "Oh!"

"See? Not difficult." Richard offers you a hand up. He hasn't changed. "Don't look at me like that, Charlotte; it's novel. You must understand that I have no special tie to the age I appear as. You're the one who—" You're glaring. "Goodness. At least allow me the period of this conversation. I believe it'll become clear you're the one who owes a favor."

"Because I killed you?" you say.

"I'm well over that, primrose. No. You got killed. We'll discuss that inside— it's not pleasant out here."

"Really? I thought it was a nice..." Your voice dies. The lawn outside was nice, and the sky was blue— you're sure of those. Now the lawn is brown and the sky is grey. Red-tinted, you'd say, but you don't want to go there. "Okay."

You go inside. (You walk easily: your knee-wound has vanished.) The entry is as you remember, as is the parlor, and you heat-seek out the settee. Richard chooses a perpendicular armchair and lights a cigarette.

"You better use an ashtray," you say. "Aunt... er..."

"Your aunt would disapprove? I doubt she'd know, but I'm happy to respect her wishes." Richard reaches over to the end table and twiddles the ashtray there. "Now we better talk about you. Why did you shoot yourself in the head, Charlotte?"

"Um," you say. "I... I didn't actually... Ellery did."

"Because you asked him to."

"He offered."

"And you accepted this offer? And goaded him to go through with it? You shot yourself in the head. Please explain your reasoning to me."

"I... um..." You curl your legs up under yourself. "I don't want to die."

"Which is why you shot yourself in the—"

"No. I'm just saying, I— I wouldn't have agreed if I thought it'd— I wasn't trying to die. I didn't think I'd die. And," you venture, "it looks like I was right, so..."

"Charlotte, that's a justification, not an impetus. If I were to go to the market, I would assume I wouldn't die at the market, but I don't go there because I won't die. I go there to purchase grains, or whatever it is you eat. Fill in the blank. What advantage did you see in being shot in the head?"

"Um," you say. "I just... I was talking to Ellery, and he was saying a lot of things about how it was weird that I... that I did a lot of weird things. And he said that he thought I was special. Kind of. And that I couldn't die, because I... it wasn't the right time yet. And something wouldn't let me. Or something."

Richard taps his ash into the ashtray. "And you wanted to see if he was correct?"

"I guess," you say. "Yeah."

(4/6?)

"Well, Charlotte, you never do things by half-measures. Did Ellery provide any examples of instances where you miraculously survived?"

"Um, not really. But I know I've been in a lot of really close shaves, like... well, I mean, he did stab me in the heart one time."

"Yes, he did. Do you remember how you survived that?"

"...You?"

"Yes. Do you remember how long it took me to patch you up?"

"...A week?"

"Five days, but essentially, yes. Were there other examples?"

You try to remember times when Ellery's seen you do things. "I don't know. He turned into a big stupid beetle and tried to eat me, I guess."

"I'd call that ordinary survival, Charlie, not miraculous survival. Nevertheless, do you remember how you gained the strength for that battle?"

Your memories of the whole thing are already fuzzy. You remember the beetle. Something about your neck? Your neck got really long? Wait. "Um, the— there was that— I went all weird. And then that Thing started bothering me. With the yellow eyes."

"Yes. Do you recall where we determined it originated?"

"...You?"

"Yes. I believe you drew upon my conception of the Wyrm for that. I was unfortunately absent, or I would have assisted more directly. Any others?"

You stare up at the ceiling for ideas. "I... I saw God a couple days ago. And I didn't get evaporated or anything. I think normally you get evaporated?"

Richard drags on his cigarette a beat too long. "...Yes."

"And you weren't there for that, so I don't see how you would've..."

"Yes."

"So you can't be responsible for everything."

"No. I suppose not. Though I'd like to believe that the Wyrm approved of my handiwork." He looks contemplative. "You do have a talent for getting out of scrapes, Charlie. I don't mean to undercut that. But when you say that something out there won't let you die, did you consider even one time that it might be me?"

You sink into the cushions.

"It's my job, Charlie. Really. You can imagine how I felt when I got the notice."

"The notice?"

Richard taps in between his eyes. "I told you I'd be there if you needed it. Here I am. I don't know whether I'm more disappointed or delighted that it's— frankly— astonishingly trivial. If I didn't know better, I'd say you did it for attention."

You frown.

"At least you had the good sense to wait until I was cooked through. I am feeling much better now, not that you asked."

"I'm glad you're better now," you mumble.

"Thank you, Charlie. I am as well."

Richard smokes. He's not being mean, really, but you still feel awful. You guess that's his special talent. "But— I mean— what about God? And you weren't here at all, for days, and I still— I stopped Management! All by myself! You don't think that makes me—"

(5/7??)

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"Firstly, consider that none of the danger you were in met the criteria for 'life-threatening.' Frightening, yes. Risky, yes. But if you were at imminent risk of death, I would have intervened, Charlie. Secondly, I have no counterpoint for the WYRM. It takes unkindly to visitors. You're lucky to have escaped intact."

Richard doesn't continue. "And?" you prompt.

"And, you're lucky. I see no need for some grandiose metaphysical explanation. You're a lucky young woman, you have some natural talent, and, most importantly, you have somebody who dedicated his life to saving yours. That ought to account for everything."

It ought to, you guess. Maybe that's it. Stupid son-of-a-whore Ellery, leading you on a wild goose chase. You hate that he made you get shot. You hate that a little bit of you still wants to believe him. "But what if— what if there was something? Pretend there was something."

"Okay, Charlie, I'll pretend. There is an unknown force out there, not named Richard, that metaphysically intervenes to keep you well. What would we know about this force? I would say that it'd have to be extremely subtle."

"Why?"

"Because I would've detected it if it wasn't. It's that simple. If such a thing were to exist, it'd be the equivalent of— I don't know, blowing on dice as they settle. Stacking a deck with one card out of place. An effect, yes, but really more of a... I don't know, a tiebreaker. It would only make itself known on the razor's edge of probability. Not in general. You would never notice."

"Oh," you say.

"Furthermore, if this were the case, it would have no impact on shooting yourself in the head with a crossbow. That's not the razor's edge, Charlotte. That's just fatal. Please don't test your fate again like that."

You sigh. "Okay."

"Thank you."

"...Do you work for Management?"

"What?" Richard looks bemused, not surprised or offended. "Of course not, Charlotte. What would that even entail? Where are you getting this from?"

You work your mouth.

"Him again? Really? Charlotte, I thought you didn't trust this man."

"He sounded like he knew what he was..." You trail off. "Um, so, am I dead? Like, actually?"

(6/7 lol)

"I thought you wouldn't ask. The answer is complicated." Richard stubs out his cigarette and lights a new one. "Are you dead metaphysically? Is your self-concept dead? Is Charlotte Fawkins dead? The answer should transparently be 'no.' I stepped in and brought you to a safe location before you expired. We are here, now. Are you dead physically? Have you stopped breathing? Has your heart stopped pumping blood? Is Everard Kurz dead? Nearly. I believe he may retain some viability, but it won't last long. He'd require a swift and strong intervention to survive."

"But it's a manse," you say. "None of the bodies are real. They don't need to breathe, or—"

"Are they real? It gets complex when they have a direct entrance. Regardless, in Mr. Kurz's case, you may be correct. It hardly matters, though. Typical people are very much attached to the concept of breathing. As long as they feel like they ought to die, they will. I'm afraid that Mr. Kurz is typical."

He probably told you that before, but it's not like you remember these things. "Wait, is he back in control of—?"

"For now, not that it matters. I'm led to believe we didn't care much about his mortality. We care more about requisitioning conveyance for yourself."

"What?"

"You need a body to walk around in, Charlie, whether it's him or not. I've taken the liberty to draft some options. Which will it be?"

>[A1] Option #1: You let Everard die and possess his dead body, like how Gil possessed Ellery's dead body. Pros: You mostly preseve the status quo. You look like a badass for surviving a shot to the head. Everard dies. Cons: Kind of weird. Casey could notice.

>[A2] Option #2: Richard pulls some metaphysical stuff he refuses to explain ("you don't really care, Charlie") and drains Everard of his realness, instantly making physical wounds irrelevant. Pros: No more physical risk to you. You might be able to go invisible, like Ellery. You can stay on the tour. Cons: You'd have to BS this to Casey, who'd definitely notice. All the Managers would notice. It'd be much harder to deal with Everard later.

>[A3] Option #3: You ditch Everard's body entirely and form a temporary "body" that looks like you. (Richard says he'll help.) After Ellery escapes, you escape too, and go find somebody else to possess. Pros: You ditch Ellery *and* Casey. You ditch any baggage Everard has. Nobody is expecting it. Cons: Ellery might think you died for real. You'd be very fragile until you found a real body.

>[A4] Write-in? (Subject to veto. You can suggest a combination of options if you think it'd make sense.)


>[B] Remaining questions for Richard? (Write-in. Optional.)

>[C] Write-in.

No update tomorrow. Hopefully you understand why. Have a good night!

>>6118499
>A3
Time for ghost Charlie

>B
If he’s not Management or something similar what is he? What are they? Why does Ellery say they’re so similar?

>>6118499
>[A3]
>>6118610
He's definitely Management, he just lies.

>>6118499
>[A2] Option #2: Richard pulls some metaphysical stuff he refuses to explain ("you don't really care, Charlie") and drains Everard of his realness, instantly making physical wounds irrelevant. Pros: No more physical risk to you. You might be able to go invisible, like Ellery. You can stay on the tour. Cons: You'd have to BS this to Casey, who'd definitely notice. All the Managers would notice. It'd be much harder to deal with Everard later.

>>6118499
>>[A1] Option #1: You let Everard die and possess his dead body, like how Gil possessed Ellery's dead body. Pros: You mostly preseve the status quo. You look like a badass for surviving a shot to the head. Everard dies. Cons: Kind of weird. Casey could notice

>>6118610
>>6118652
>[A3]

>>6118752
>[A2]

>>6118770
>[A1]

Writing.

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Ehh. Not happening. I'd push it, but I have an early morning tomorrow, so let's call it tomorrow instead. I should be more consistent about updates during the next few days, since I'm on break.

>Going ghost

Richard reviews the options: stay in the dead body, do something weird to it, or—

"I can just leave?" you say. "...Can I always do that?"

"Not remotely, Charlotte. It's tenable in a manse, only really at this depth, and only barely. You'd have more of a fragile 'skin' than a body, and little recourse if you damaged it. It'd strictly a stopgap before you found an alternative. Quash your big ideas now."

You pout. "Would the skin look like me?"

"Yes."

"So I couldn't keep going with Casey and—"

"No," Richard says, "but if you intend to explode his company, you would've had to have split off regardless. You would likely be hunted down if they discovered you were still alive, but the same would go for remaining in the body. It's an occupational hazard with infiltrations."

You consider this. "Okay. Thanks. I guess I'll do that, then. Richard?"

"Yes?"

"If you're not Management..." You gauge his reaction. Almost none. "...what are you?"

He clicks his tongue. "Quite a swerve. How do you think I'll answer that?"

"...A snake?"

"Smart girl, Charlie."

You scuff the rug with your foot. "I thought you said the snake was a cage, or something. So you can't just be a snake. You'd have to be something stuck inside a snake. And don't try and tell me that you can't stick things in snakes, because Madrigal—"

"I wouldn't dream of telling you that."

"Good! But I bet you were thinking about it." You narrow your eyes, to make your point, and he smiles placidly. "So what's stuck in there?"

"Well, Charlie, I believe I am. I do prefer being a 'who,' not a 'what,' for what that's worth."

He's playing games again. He always does this. He knows that's not what you mean, and you know that's not what you mean, but until you find the perfect phrasing he won't budge. You were hoping that this were one of the things he'd gotten over, but no. Fine! You'll just find the perfect phrasing. Think hard about it. "Richard!"

"Yes. Do go on."

"What... what kind of..." You have it in your mind, but you're not sure you know the word. Damnit! "...what kind of creature are you? Like, a beetle, or a bird, or a fish, or a person, or—"

"What species am I?"

"Yes!" you say, relieved. "And don't say snake! We just talked about that! And don't say person, because— because even if you were my father, at some point, you— I mean— you're different now. A person wouldn't know how to do all that. And you're not a beetle, or a bird, or a fish...?" You watch his expression. "Not a fish. Or a crab. Or, um..."

"It appears you've ruled out all the viable options, Charlie."

That's what you were afraid of. "But you have to be something!"

"One might imagine so, yes."

"So you're..." You squint. Can you see anything in his eyes? No, they're as blue as always. "...you're something, but not any of those? Could I guess it?"

Richard turns his head to exhale, so he doesn't get it in your face. Or maybe so you can't see his. "Do you think you could?"

(1/5?)

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"Um," you say. "Yes, but... whenever you ask things like that, the answer is 'no,' so no. Wait, so it's not— so I wouldn't know what you were, really? At all?"

"Don't feel bad about it, primrose. Nobody would. We're... before your time." He shifts back in his chair. Is he uncomfortable? "That's too much to say already, I expect. I suggest you keep on with 'snake.' It's much simpler, and not untrue."

"But—"

"That's the last I'll speak on it."

You scowl and slump back to match him. "Fine. You're a 'snake.'" (You make the quotation marks with your fingers.) "And you're also 'not Management,' right?"

"Charlie, I'm not sure what to tell you there. I'm not affiliated with this Management. I have my hands full managing you, frankly, especially when you go off and do silly things like—" He indicates your forehead again. "Is there a reason why you're so dogged about this?"

"No reason. Just that there's some kind of mysterious group of people, and they all dress like you, and they talk kind of funny, and they go around meddling in... affairs, and experimenting on people, and they wanted to steal a snake— but they have no relation to you at all?"

"Not to me personally, no. If I asked you if you knew Mary Ann, what would you say?"

What? "Who's that?"

"Well, I wouldn't know, Charlie. I'm sure there's a female person out there named Mary Ann, and you ought to know her, yes? As you are also a female person?"

"What are you talking about? Do you know how many pe..." Richard is smirking. God-damnit! "So they are snakes?!"

"Who said anything about snakes? I've never met these individuals, Charlie. There's very little I can tell you about them."

"But you're telling me they're snakes," you say. "Or... or 'snakes'? Maybe? But you don't know them, because it's not like you know every single snake in the world. Right?"

"Did I say any of that?"

Hold firm. "No... but you meant it! So don't try to mess with me! I know you meant it."

Richard holds firm, too, but then his smirk cracks into a real (if modest) smile. "I have you trained well, don't I?"

Yes!

>[+1 ID: 3/14]

"There's not much I can provide, though, without ever having encountered them. I don't think it's my place to speculate."

"That's okay," you say. "When I get out of here, you can come along and see—"

"I'm afraid not."

"What? Be serious." He looks serious. Damnit. "I thought you were fixed!"

"No amount of 'fixing' could help. It's metaphysics. I trust you vividly remember previous spelunking trips? Specifically, my whereabouts during them?"

His whereabouts? He went missing, mostly. He... oh. It's coming back to you. The demonstration with the balls made of clay. "You get squished?"

"That's not the technical term, but yes, effectively. The pressure of the manse's layers collapses us together. Temporarily, or I wouldn't be here, but I... I find it unpleasant. No offense, primrose, though I believe your feelings are similar?"

(2/5?)

"Yeah," you say. Now that you're thinking about it. Especially if he is sort of your father. "But I haven't... it hasn't been that weird. Are you sure it's actually the second layer?"

"It's in active use, isn't it? I would assume they have it very well-regulated. I can't imagine it's fully pressurized, though, because it's not an issue if you're not in my delicate circumstances. And because it's not pressurized, I can't leave."

"Unless you want to be squished," you clarify.

"Unless I want to be squished. Yes. I don't. I love you, Charlie, but I would rather not be you. Too many questions raised." He taps his ash off. "I plan to remain here, as it's strongly proofed from the exterior world. I will remain in verbal contact, though I may be delayed by several seconds. I will be unable to see outside. I will in general be unable to have any tangible presence, though if your straits are truly dire, I will weigh my options. Ensure said straits are out of your control. Is this amenable to you?"

You look at him.

"Acceptable, Charlie. Is it acceptable?"

"Um..." You'd rather have Richard there like usual, but if it's between this and having Richard-brain, you'll take this. You're just glad he's back. "Yeah. Sorry. Yes."

"Excellent. I will of course—" He stands, dropping the cigarette into the ashtray, and stretches. "—assist with the initial maneuver. It being rendered simpler doesn't make it simple. Stand, please."

You stand, and he walks toward you, stopping within touching distance. Hugging distance? Slapping distance? You could kind of forget about the age thing when he was sitting across from you, but it's very apparent here. You're not sure why it bothers you so much. Maybe it's a good thing you'll only have him on radio.

"Going into the details would be pointless," Richard's saying, "so I'll say only that this is perfectly safe, but may be disconcerting. Please refrain from panicking. Do you trust me?"

Do you? He lured you underwater under false pretenses, and he spent years yelling at you, and misleading you, and doing weird things to your teeth. And eye, maybe. But he's not asking about any of that. He's asking if you trust him to keep you safe, and there's only one answer: "Yes."

"Of course you do." Does he sound disappointed? You must be making things up. "Good. Please close your eyes."

You do. He reaches out then, cradling your face with his fingertips, pressing softly— then sharply, as each of the fingertips punch through your skin. Ten in all, one or two at a time. It's painless, but you flinch, and Richard "shhh"s you in return.

(3/5?)

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Then he's in your head. You don't know when he started doing this; you can't remember. Probably years ago. You don't know when you started liking it. That's not the word, but you can't remember the right one. It's not that it's pleasurable having him in there, or fun, but there's a certain kind of... of comfort, you guess, in it, in knowing that you're being so thoroughly known. And you don't feel misused after— maybe you used to, but you don't now. He's not egregious about it. He doesn't go around knocking stuff over and leaving a mess, not like that Manager. Even before he was nice, he was brusque about it, but rarely malicious. Maybe he liked feeling efficient. You like him being efficient, so you're not complaining.

Maybe he can hear you thinking this. You're still not sure how it works, exactly. If he is hearing it, he's not showing any sign: he went straight to picking away at whatever he's doing. Unhooking, you think. There's a definite feeling of unhooking. Also, coldness. Also, numbness. Okay, you can see what he meant. It does feel a little bit like you're dying, especially when you try to open your eyes but can't.

«Almost there, primrose.»

Especially when you try to wriggle your fingers, but can't. Especially when you try to wriggle your nose, but can't. Especially when you can't feel anything but a claustrophobic airlessness. You may be laying on the ground. If there's a crossbow bolt in your forehead, you can't feel it.

«You don't want to. That's a sign that it's complete.»
«You are effectively severed from the body. It is no longer yours.»

Whose? And you don't feel severed. You feel the opposite of severed.

«Nobody's. It's dead.»
«And you're still inside of it. Physically. The next step is removing yourself. This ought to be trivial, as you're minimally corporeal.»
«I recommend identifying 'up,' then attempting to move in that direction.»

That admittedly doesn't sound difficult. If Richard can handle not being real, can't you?

«I didn't say 'not real,' Charlie. I said 'minimally corporeal.'»

Whatever. Same thing. Though you can't sense much, you visualize your standing position, visualize how Everard must've fallen (face-up, right?), and extrapolate from there. It's like wading through mud, at least at first, but like mud it sucks at you then releases suddenly. You're free!

You still can't see anything, though. Well, kind of. Not really. You don't seem to have eyes.

«You've emerged raw. You have yet to form the skin we discussed. I recommend you—»

You will, but he needs to hold on. You said you could kind of see, and you can: you can fuzzily make out strings, like you can with your bad eye, and atop them an even fuzzier impression of shape and color. You can only piece together what you're seeing because you've seen it before recently— it's Ellery in the bottom of the pit. Oh, crud. Ellery. Is looking at Everard Kurz's vacant very dead body. If he looked at you, could he see you?

(4/5)

«With eyes? No.»

He doesn't have eyes. His face is missing.

«Oh, how unusual. In that case, possibly, but I doubt it'd be immediate. You should be fine if you stay far enough away.»

That's good, if you don't want to be seen. Do you want to be seen?

>[1] Stay completely hidden, so Ellery thinks he killed you for real. He was getting a little too smug back there, in your opinion, so you're happy to knock him down a few pegs. Also, you'll have a funny surprise for him later.
>[2] Stay right on the threshold of his vision, so Ellery can suspect you're still around, but can't prove it. It'll keep him out of your hair, and from totally losing it, without strictly proving him right. If you prove him right, you'll never hear the end of it.
>[3] Manifest a body (it can't be that hard) right away, so Ellery knows you survived. You're sure he'll have all sorts of questions about that, but you don't have to answer them, technically. And you'd rather have a smug Ellery than a deranged one.
>[4] Write-in?

>>6120103
>3
He’s already jonesing to self detonate, we don’t need to give him further motivation

Also who would have thought there were so many “snakes”? I get that Richard might not know individual Managers, but he really doesn’t know their organization when he seemingly works for one that also mainly interacts with underwater humans? Similar business areas? Maybe it’s locitis or something else and he’s mind wiped?

>>6120103
>[3] Manifest a body (it can't be that hard) right away, so Ellery knows you survived. You're sure he'll have all sorts of questions about that, but you don't have to answer them, technically. And you'd rather have a smug Ellery than a deranged one.

>>6120103
>>[3] Manifest a body (it can't be that hard) right away, so Ellery knows you survived. You're sure he'll have all sorts of questions about that, but you don't have to answer them, technically. And you'd rather have a smug Ellery than a deranged one.

>>6120133
>>6120207
>>6120208
>[3]

Straightforward enough. Writing.

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Sorry, bros, I'm an incorrigible flake. I'm going to see if I can bang something out during the day to compensate-- TBD.

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>Grand reveal

On one hand, you hate proving Ellery right. On the other hand, if you don't prove him right, he might lose it (again)— and when he's already trying to get himself killed, that's something you don't need. You better make sure he has nothing to feel guilty about.

How do you make a body again? Richard, don't answer that. He said it was easy, so it's probably easy: do you just imagine it really hard? You imagine it really hard. Real eyes and fingers and everything. None of this halfway stuff. You should be able to breathe in and mean it. Oh!

It's like stepping into a sheet of wet gauze. It doesn't feel anything like having a body. At least you can see properly, enough to catch Ellery startling, then relaxing. He dangles the crossbow at his side. "There we go. You had me worried for a second."

Damnit. You knew he'd be smug. "Well, of course I wouldn't— I wouldn't have let you do it if I was really going to die! That'd be so stupid! Also, for your information, Richard isn't Management, so you don't know anything. Can you let me do it now?"

"Did he tell you that? They like to lie."

"No— well, yes, but— he said he was something else! Not Management. Not all snakes are Management, Ellery; that's a stereotype." You fold your arms. "Are you going to blow up Headspace or not?"

"I am."

"Okay. Well, that's still really dumb, since I could do it and save you the—"

"I don't want you to," Ellery says coolly, and steps right to the edge of the puddle. The puddle? Oh, dear: Everard's faucet has been running. You suppress an urge to shut it off. "Here, hold this."

"Huh? Oh." He's shoving a glorb into your hands. "Uh..."

"And, uh, take care of yourself." He clicks his tongue and holds a keycard up between two fingers.

"Wait, where'd you—"

"Bye, Charlotte." Ellery looks straight down into the puddle— admiring his reflection?— then tilts forward, falls through it, and vanishes. "Hey!" you say, and splash your foot in the puddle. Nothing happens. "HEY! COME BA—"

«Charlie, if you're yelling, don't. I believe you have people looking for you.»

Casey and Jerry are— Casey and Jerry are not way above you. They've vanished.

«They aren't fools. Get moving.»

You will, you just... where to? Maybe you should've gone with Ellery after all. You don't know where anything is. You barely know what you're going to blow up.

«You never know anything, and still you scrape through. The time for reconnaissance is past. Get moving.»

Okay. Okay. Maybe you can explore the weird underground hallway, or whatever it is. You're great at underground hallways. You're an expert. Why are they always underground hallways?

(1/2)

«Why is it called spelunking.»

What?

«Manse-diving. Delving. It is called spelunking. Always down, into darkness.»
«If you don't know where to go, go down.»

Okay, Richard, but you're already down, so you— oh, God, what is that? There's a light in the distance. Not from the glorb. Not from above you. From your right. An orange light, too, not a green glorb-light.

"Everard..." Casey! In a sing-song voice. Uh-oh. "That wouldn't be you down there, would it?"

You drop the glorb, which splashes into the puddle. The orange light jerks toward you. "Everard, I'm sure nothing bad happened, yes? You've been down here for quite a while."

You take a step backward.

"You're always welcome to rejoin our tour, if you haven't violated any of our policies. I'm afraid we strictly ban collaborations with the enemy. You can understand this, yes? If you haven't been doing any such thing, I'd love for you to come on over."

>Obviously you can't. Obviously Everard is dead, and and obviously you don't look like him anymore, and obviously Casey would kill you on sight if he knew. So where are you going?

>[1] If Ellery can travel through puddles(?), so can you. Maybe you don't know how, but does it matter? He isn't better than you. (Write-in your rough theory for how he did it to get a bonus... if you're right. Optional.) [Roll.]

>[2] It's dark down here. Dark-dark. Which, when it comes to travel, is excellent news. Who's to say this place doesn't connect to wherever you're trying to go? Which is...
>>[A] Out. Just out of here. Away from Casey. You don't care where. [Easier roll.]
>>[B] Back. Wherever you came from. At least you'll recognize it. [Roll.]
>>[C] Where you need to go. You don't know where that is, but maybe the manse does. You trust it. [Harder roll.]
>>[D] Write-in.

>[3] Write-in?

>>6120908
>[1] If Ellery can travel through puddles(?), so can you. Maybe you don't know how, but does it matter? He isn't better than you. (Write-in your rough theory for how he did it to get a bonus... if you're right. Optional.) [Roll.]
We're deep in a manse, things are malleable here. He convinced himself the puddle is actually very deep and dove in, using it as an improvised way downwards.
And even if we can't travel through the puddle, we can travel through the ground under the puddle, which is a talent we have, so isn't it basically the same?

>>6120908
>[2] It's dark down here. Dark-dark. Which, when it comes to travel, is excellent news. Who's to say this place doesn't connect to wherever you're trying to go? Which is...
>[A] Out. Just out of here. Away from Casey. You don't care where. [Easier roll.]

>>6120908
>>6120932
Makes some good points, even if the puddle trickery doesn't work out we have our earth magyck

>>6120932
>>6121039
>[1]

>>6121036
>[2A]

Called. >>6120932 has a good guess, but it's not the specific tie-in I'm looking for. That being said, "use your 'earth powers' to travel deeper underground" is a completely viable write-in that doesn't require a roll, so I'll go with that. Writing in a few hours.

>>6121063
Dang, I knew I should have guessed something with the reflection, especially after fake Ellery was mirrored

>>6121081
Good call, even if belated. This is correct.

Other possible hints:
>Ellery travels through mirrors in his manse (thread 2)
>Ellery's anchor is a pocket mirror (I forget which thread, but I'm sure it was mentioned somewhere)
>He hands you a glorb, even though the darkness is conducive to bending reality (so his reflection is illuminated)
>He "tilts forward" instead of just stepping in (so his reflection is preserved)

Since we have a while until I write, I'll offer a quick revote. I'll default to earth powers if we're tied/there's not enough people in the thread, since that is what I called for.

>[1] Attempt to travel through the earth
>[2] Attempt to follow Ellery through the puddle

>>6121102
>[2] Attempt to follow Ellery through the puddle

>>6121102
>2
Better for ID if we manage to copy his trick
I hope

>>6121104
>>6121112
>[2]

Writing.

>Puddle jumping

Maybe you should've gone with Ellery. Where did Ellery go? Into the puddle? Why the puddle? It's down, you guess. Kind of. Why did he give you a glorb? Just to give you away to Casey? Why did you drop it? Damnit! You're just giving the game away. Pick it up. Pick it up and kill the light, or chuck it away, or—

You freeze, half-bent-over, one hand around the glorb. Your green-lit face wobbles in the puddle. Nothing's wrong with it. It's not snake-eyed or grinning evilly or anything. Ellery was looking at his reflection, too, wasn't he? Just before he fell in.

"Everard, this is time-sensitive! We wouldn't want to be delayed, would we? Not when things are going so well."

He has a thing about reflections. Ellery does. Fake Ellery is made of mirrors. He writes mirrored. His manse was full of mirrors, at least before he blew it up, and he... and you... went through them. Right? You definitely did, because then you wound up in the mirror version of his manse. Is there a mirror version of Headspace?

You probe the puddle with your foot, but nothing special happens. How do you go through? Is there a trick? He didn't use a device or say a password. It wouldn't be some kind of fancy half-real thing... right? Richard?

«I wouldn't imagine so.»

He just went for it. Maybe that's what you need to do, go for it. The worst that'll happen is that you... er... you fall on your face, then Casey finds you fallen on your face next to Everard's dead body... but you're a positive thinker. And that's still a better worst-case scenario than the one where Ellery shot you in the face and you died, isn't it? What did he do again? He looked at his reflection, first. You look at yours. Still you. Still nothing weird about it. If you dredged it out of there, would it be a Fake Charlotte? Would she forget things all the time? You already forget things all the time.

"Everard!" Casey's light bobs in time with his footsteps. "Last call! I'll remind you that I'm still in possession of our friend's little trinket, yes? I believe it belonged to you? I'd be thrilled to give it back, Everard, but I do need you to come here. Otherwise, I'm afraid it's finders keepers..."

Little trinket? Our friend's? What is he talking about? Something that originally belonged to Everard... no, you have nothing. You wish you were still in his body, so you could pick his brain. Why didn't you pick his brain more? You'd have to—

«I can't see what you're seeing. I need a status report.»

Oh. Casey is hunting you down. You're still trying to figure out how to get through the puddle.

«Yes. I can hear you dithering, primrose. Stop trying and start doing it.»

(1/2)

File: inside a mirror.jpg (174 KB, 564x853)

174 KB JPG

Killing him didn't improve the quality of his advice much, but fine! You're doing it. You just feel like you're going to fall on your face. Like you're missing something important. Before he fell, Ellery looked. You look. It's still you. It's always you. It has your eyes— eye. If you close your bad eye, you can see Casey's strings, approaching fast. They're seriously weird-looking: an organic-ish tangle, but a hollow one, with something brighter coiled inside. To your side, Everard's strings have dulled and untwisted. Yours are normal, as far as 'normal' can be applied to them. A little sun, and a twin sun below, right at your feet.

Wait, what? It's in the puddle. Your strings are being reflected, same as you are. Is it an illusion? Surely it is, unless your reflection is you already. Or could be you, or will be you, or... um... look, this isn't your area. It seems meaningful, is what you mean. Could Ellery see something like this? Richard?

«You said he had no eyes.»

Yes.

«Then yes, I'd believe so.»

Right. Okay. If your strings are in there, you're in there. If you're in there, there's nothing impeding you from joining you. Or something. You're not quite sure. But you don't need to be, you think, you hope, and Casey's footsteps are loud, and his light looms large, and you look into the spiral of your own eye and hold your breath and tilt forward.

*

You don't fall on your face. So that's good. That's a win. Your standards aren't high right now.

>[+1 ID: 4/14]

Otherwise, there's mirrors here. What were you expecting? Actually, you know what you were expecting: the underground hallway, but all backwards, and with Ellery instead of Casey. And you could've gone right up to Ellery and surprised him, and then you would've... um... alright, your plan ended there. But still! It would've been easy to deal with. Instead, there's mirrors. Mirrors and mirrors and mirrors and mirrors, everywhere, at all angles, floor and ceiling and walls, and you're in all of them— your reflection is. Or maybe just you. You're worried about looking at the strings, since you don't want your eyes to explode. You stretch back, into infinity, everywhere.

You already feel lost, and you haven't moved an inch. Where's Ellery? Is Ellery reflected infinitely anywhere? Of course he isn't. Just Charlottes upon Charlottes. Not all the same, either. Almost the same. Mostly the same. But as you look (and they look), you begin to spot oddities. There's one in your old peacoat, the one the gooplicate stole and wrecked. There's one with her hair up. There's one with two good eyes. There's one that's a giant white lizard-thing.

Wait, that's not— that's not you. That's a lizard-thing. Your dream-crasher. The grand high Herald of the whosit-whatsit. It's here? In real life? Okay, not real life, but... not a dream? Maybe you're inventing it. You blink. Your reflections blink. The Herald does not. As you watch, it turns and plods away.

(Choices next.)

File: the herald - @eggsaladed.png (1.71 MB, 1844x2269)

1.71 MB PNG

>[1] Oh, come on. You know where this leads— you get distracted, and Richard gets annoyed that you get distracted, while Ellery waltzes off and gets a massive head start. As portentous as this is, you're just passing through. Go find where he went. [Roll.]
>[2] Finding Ellery in *this*? You're brilliant at many things, but you're not notably distinguished at hunting people down. But you could become much better... [-1 SV. You are currently at 3/? SV.]
>[3] Follow it.
>[4] Write-in.

>>6121081
Good job, anon

>>6121322

>[1] Oh, come on. You know where this leads— you get distracted, and Richard gets annoyed that you get distracted, while Ellery waltzes off and gets a massive head start. As portentous as this is, you're just passing through. Go find where he went. [Roll.]

>>6121322
>3
Distractions yes

>1 :(

>>6121322
>[1] Oh, come on. You know where this leads— you get distracted, and Richard gets annoyed that you get distracted, while Ellery waltzes off and gets a massive head start. As portentous as this is, you're just passing through. Go find where he went. [Roll.]

>>6121322
>>[3] Follow it.

>>6121344
>>6121841
>>6121851
>[1]

>>6121710
>>6121854
>[3]

Charlotte's better angels win out. Let's see if it pays off.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s + 10 (+10 Detectivess) vs. DC 65 (+15 Headache-Inducing) to navigate your way through the mirror dimension!

&

Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 4/14 ID.
>[1] Y
>[2] N

Rolled 57 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6121956
>[2] N

Rolled 9 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6121956
Y

Rolled 27 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6121956
>Y
At least lock in the mitigated

>>6121958
>>6121960
>>6121970
>77, 29, 47 vs. DC 65 -- Mitigated Success
>Spendy

Writing shortly.

>Self-control
>77, 29, 47 vs. DC 65 — Mitigated Success
>Spendy

If this were a dream, you'd follow it, or be following it. You're not sure you'd have a say in the matter. Too bad it's not a dream: you're in full possession of your faculties right now, and your faculties have places to be. If some lizard-thing wants to tell you something, it can do it on your schedule. Moving on. Ellery has been here— you're sure Ellery has been here, recently, and he has to have left some kind of trail. As a certified detectivess, you can track down trails. Right? Easy-peasy...

—

Richard, how long has it been?

«Difficult to say. I can't get a bead on the spanner. Are you looking for a subjective estimate?»

Yeah.

«Fifteen minutes.»

Fifteen minutes. The good news is: you haven't starved to death. You haven't succumbed to mirror-madness. Richard hasn't yelled at you much. You're proud of yourself for staying on-task. The bad news is: the infinite Charlottes are starting to look haggard. You're damp from the puddle. The Herald hasn't shown back up. It has been fifteen minutes, and you're at a total loss.

Which isn't to say you're failing at detectiving, of course. You'd never think that, even if you're pacing in circles, poring over the same mirrors over and over, watching yourself pace and pore, catching yourself at odd unattractive angles, catching yourself in strange outfits, at different ages: you crouch to check for fingerprints and look up and see yourself, big-eyed, tangle-haired, bloody-kneed, and you admit you yell and scramble backwards. Your reflection (age seven and three months) does too. Only then do you remember to look down— you're you. Still you. Thank God! A memory is one thing, but you couldn't stand to be four foot even.

«Are you not already?»

Richard! He's supposed to be nice to you!

«I jest, Charlie. You're a perfectly reasonable height.»

Thank you. Geez. Is he going to help at all, or is he going to make fun of you while Ellery gets away?

«I've been doing what I can, which is extremely little. I assure you, I'm as frustrated as you are. I am not accustomed to such a lack of...»
«...»
«Well, I may be, but it's no less frustrating experiencing it now. If you have questions I can verbally answer, I can field them. That's effectively all I'm capable of.»

Okay. You have a question. (Don't look at your own face when you talk to Richard. It's too embarrassing. Look anywhere else.) What if he could, like, improve your eyesight? He used to do things like that all the time. It could be your bad eye that's the issue, you're thinking, since it isn't so good at seeing sharply, or seeing little tiny Ellery clues, but if he could—

«Charlie, I'm not sure what part of 'all I'm capable of' is ambiguous to you. If you like, please imagine me trapped inside an airtight container. I can't reach you.»

Unless you were in the container too? Duh.

(1/4)

File: pupil.gif (468 KB, 500x277)

468 KB GIF

«Yes, but you—»
«But, er—»
«...»
«Yes. That's true.»
«Such a thing wouldn't be typically feasible, since I would imagine you'd be on the move, but you do appear to have stalled out. And you're not in immediate danger, as far as I've been made aware.»

Nope. It's just a million yous in here.

«Alright. I'll grab you back this once.»
«Don't bank on this in the future. You should be able to take care of yourself.»

Yeah, yeah. It's not your fault Ellery uses the stupid spooky mirror dimension to go places. Can he just... oh. Ooh. Eugh. Good thing you're already kneeling. In the mirror, you whiten, sag, and deflate.

>[-1 ID: 3/14]

*

You are Lottie Fawkins, and you—

"Mphff!" A glass of water's been dumped over your head. "I— whuh? Richard!" He's in front of you. He's acquired a dressing gown. "What was that for?! There's no need to—"

"Of course there's a need to. This is an in-and-out thing, not a nostalgia trip, Charlie. No use in idling."

"I wasn't going to idle! I just—" You peer behind Richard. There's a half-full glass of wine on the side table, a coaster underneath. "Have you been drinking?!"

"Charlie, I'm having a drink. It's very different. I'm not inebriated, if that's what you're asking. Do I sound inebriated?"

You frown. (He doesn't.)

"I assure you, if I were drinking merely to intoxicate myself, I would not be drinking wine. It's hardly relevant. Here's a towel for your hair." He offers you a hand towel. It's from your water closet. "I do apologize for that, but I figured it was more humane than a slap. You are quite used to being wet. What are you looking at now?"

There's cards laid out, too.

"I need something to do with my hands, don't I? It's not as though I'm not devoting attention to you. Speaking of, look here. Tilt your head back, too."

"For what?" you say suspiciously.

"For what you asked for, primrose. Greater acuity of vision? Time-limited, I'm afraid, but you may prefer it that way. Tilt your head back and I'll drip it in your eyes."

You fight the reflexive urge to refuse— this is what you asked for— and clamp your fingers around your thumbs as Richard holds your lids open. One drop, a sting, and your gut twisting. Two drops, a sting, and your gut twisting. What's he doing with his fingers, just out of view? No matter. He releases, and you blink violently, and then...

Oh. That's... that's nasty. It's like you took a magnifying glass to everything, only it's still the same size. You can see all the hairs on the armchair. All the hairs on your hand, too. No hairs on Richard: his skin is all smooth and hairless and poreless and very slightly taut, as if stretched over his skull, or over something else. His eyes are pale blue and have rings around them. There's no yellow. You search and search but see no yellow.

"Primrose? Are you alright?"

"Uhh," you say.

(2/4)

"We better get you back," says Richard, says the thing inside the snake that ate your father. "Time does not stop in here, incidentally. And I have solitaire to attend to."

He's joking. He sounds like he's joking. His eyes are twinkling. Can he do that? Make them twinkle? His teeth are normal. Human. One of them is a teeny bit chipped. "Uhh. Okay."

"Don't let this distract you more. I'll be checking in."

"Okay."

"Alright." He leans in, sheepishly, and before you know what's happening he's hugged you. "Stay safe out there. Again. I love you."

Do you love him back? Can you? Do you want to? You're all of a sudden not so sure. Not that it matters, because you're all of a sudden going limp again, and then...

*

Back with the mirrors and the Charlottes, only worse, because now you're looking at your own pores. Or lack thereof. Your own skin is poreless, hairless, veinless, fingerprintless. Light filters through it when you hold it up. Your pupils are ginormous. God, you don't like that at all. You could fool yourself with fuzzy vision, but your new clarity sheds an uncomfortable light on—

«Have you gotten moving, Charlie?»

Uhh. Yes. You're moving. You're detectiving. Clues, clues, clues. All the mirrors are seamless and flawless and fingerprintless. (Ellery probably doesn't have any either. You should've thought of that.) You can tell where you started from, because you've left a cluster of soggy footprints there. Damn puddle. If it's going to serve as a portal to the spooky mirror dimension, it shouldn't also get you wet. Richard, do all mirrors have a dimension in them?

«Not one I know of.»

So what's this, then?

«Your own invention. It's a manse; it's pliable. Full of nooks and crannies, too. Subspaces. Possibility-spaces. Underexplored field. It's easy to fill in the blanks with them.»

Did Ellery see this, then? Or establish it?

«I find it likely. It does seem his style, don't you think?»

A chaotic, impenetrable, nightmarish mirror-maze? Yeah, you guess so. Now that you're looking around (and studiously avoiding paying any attention to yourself, your porelessness, etcetera), there's traces of dampness all over the place, especially the floor. Streaks and droplets and misty outlines where you kneeled. All because of the puddle? Didn't Ellery go through the puddle too? Yes! Surely he was also damp! And thank goodness you haven't roamed very far, so any trail he left should be relatively undisturbed. You turn and turn, looking toward the middle distance, and— there. Bingo. A few drops of water, somewhere you haven't been. Probably haven't been. Definitely haven't been. Positive thinking.

(3/4)

Once you've approached, the trail continues: a few droplets here, a smudge or two there. Was Ellery going somewhere specific? Did he see a reflection that spooked him, or did he actually know which mirror he wanted to come out of? You guess he knows more about mirrors than you do. Whatever. You think you've found it: the mirror he left through. It has more damp-marks around it than the others do, like he paced around a bit before diving through it. You think. You hope. You're not getting much more than that, so you narrow your eyes confidently at your reflection— she narrows them back— and pace back, and gear up, and dive through.

—

Okay, skid through. It was more of a skid, on account of the dampness, and also an inbuilt reticence to send your head through a thick pane of mirror. Neither mirror nor skull shatter, however, and you instead fall partway out of a wall, catch yourself, and lower yourself the rest of the way down. You're good! You're good. All good. The wall is all chrome-y— mirrored— so that explains that. Your hand looks normal, not scary, so that's good too. It wore off. That's good.

«I did say so.»

Yes, he did. You're back where you were, outside the containment room/mini-manse thing, or else outside an identical one. They're all identical. You're in the vicinity, if nothing else. Has Ellery been here? Yes, he's been here. The doors are all open.

The doors are all open. All of them, everywhere you see them. He had a keycard. He must've swiped it from— from Casey, or from Jerry, if Managers have keycards. You thought they would've just waved their hands to open things, but you don't actually know. He has a keycard, and opened all the doors containing the things Headspace wants to keep inside, to delay them— or you. Not that you needed delaying; damn mirror dimension! Where is he now? You don't know. Closer to your goal than you are. Where are the things formerly in the rooms? Some of them might still be in there, maybe. Some of them might not be. For instance, that right up there, directly blocking the corridor, looks like a big pile of alligators. They may or may not be welded together. You can't tell yet.

Is somebody playing a practical joke on you?

>[1] Write-in. (Optional. Real slate incoming tomorrow.)

>>6122100
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pe3h62MrlPE

You are currently FIFTEEN MINUTES behind Ellery. (You're not sure how that translates into total progress yet, since you don't have a good idea of where you're going. Maybe eventually. ) Options that "lose time" will INCREASE the distance between you and Ellery. Options that "gain time" will DECREASE the distance between you and Ellery. I regret that this terminology is confusing. If you can think of a better option, please let me know.


>[1] God damnit. You already dealt with alligators. You don't need more alligators. Simply go the opposite direction until you find a corridor forward not populated by alligators (Lose time.)
>[2] Uh... it's fine! They're just alligators, not monsters. They're not going to chase you and eat you, unless they're starving, and Headspace wouldn't starve them... right? Sidle very carefully around. [Roll.]
>[3] Sidling?! You don't have time for sidling! Sprint around the alligators. They won't know what hit them. [Roll.]
>[4] Last time there were a lot of alligators, you sort of... um... you came to an agreement with them, right? Who's to say you can't do that again? You can always benefit from having allies, especially allies with lots of teeth. (Lose time.) [Roll.]
>[5] You will come to an agreement. You must come to an agreement. You won't give another option. [-1 SV.]
>[6] Write-in?

>>6122369
>[3] Sidling?! You don't have time for sidling! Sprint around the alligators. They won't know what hit them. [Roll.]

>>6122369
>[5] You will come to an agreement. You must come to an agreement. You won't give another option. [-1 SV.]

Do it.

>>6122369
>[3] Sidling?! You don't have time for sidling! Sprint around the alligators. They won't know what hit them. [Roll.]
If they're not hungry like option 2 suggests, they won't eat us if we do this and also it doesn't lose time.

The terminology is fine imo.

>>6122374
>>6122430
>[3]

>>6122380
>[5]

Called. Let's see how well this goes.

>Please roll me 3 1d100s (+10 Desperate Desire To Not Be Eaten, +5 Element of Surprise, -10 You're Not That Fast, -5 Heels) vs. DC 70 (+20 Of Course They're Hungry What Were You Expecting) to hurdle over a giant pile of alligators!


Spend 1 ID for +10 to all rolls? You are at 3/14 ID.
>[1] Y
>[2] N


>>6122430
>The terminology is fine imo.
Great!

Rolled 74 (1d100)

>>6122672
>N

Rolled 40 (1d100)

>>6122672
Spendy for critfail

Rolled 6 (1d100)

>>6122672
>N

>>6122675
>>6122677
>>6122683
>74, 40, 6 vs. DC 70 -- Mitigated Success
>No spendy

You probably don't get eaten by an alligator. Writing.

Rolled 7 (1d12)

Also, doing some tracking. You're at 0 units of progress. Ellery is at 15 units of progress. (These roughly equate to minutes, but time gets complicated in manses, so it's easier to abstract it.) You're unsure where your ultimate goal is, so your current goal is to surpass Ellery... or at least get him within view, so you can follow him. Because he'll continue gaining progress as you do, you'll need some kind of edge to close the gap.

Alternately, you can hope he gets really unlucky, since I'm rolling dice to see how he's doing. Table in spoilers below.

1: Big fuck-up: Ellery loses 5 units of progress.
2: Little fuck-up: Ellery loses 2 units of progress.
3: Roadblock: Ellery makes zero progress.
4: Slow and steady: Ellery gains 3 units of progress.
5: Risky ploy: Ellery gains 5 units of progress, but will flip a coin next update to determine whether he makes progress.
6: Hobbled: Ellery gains 5 units of progress, but rolls twice and takes the lower next update.
7: Business as usual: Ellery gains 5 units of progress.
8: Distraction: Ellery gains 5 units of progress. He adds a bad encounter to your encounter table.
9: Leap of faith: Ellery gains 12 units of progress this update, but zero units next update.
10: Hustling: Ellery gains 7 units of progress.
11: Shortcut: Ellery gains 10 units of progress. (If you can find the shortcut, you can take it as well.)
12: Locked in: Ellery gains 5 units of progress. He gains two additional units of progress every update.

Rolled 9 + 1 (1d10 + 1)

>>6122784
>Literally the most boring option.

Ellery is currently at 20 units of progress, and 20 units ahead of you. I'll roll for you at the moment; I may or may not ask one of you to roll this in the future. Charlotte rolls a 1d10 for progress, with a current +1 for semi-successfully sprinting past the alligators.

>>6122786
Have you already decided what you'll write when Ellery reaches the goal and Charlie is still 30 units behind?

Rolled 8, 7 = 15 (2d8)

>>6122799
Anon, am I sensing some... negative thinking?

>>6122786
I had a whole other post with a whole other fancy table mostly written up, and then my computer froze. Seriously. I'm just going to roll some dice, and I'm going to throw a janky unformatted table down there, and you're going to have to deal with that. These dice are for what Charlotte's encountering next.

1: Terrible
2-3: Threatening
4-5: Odd
6-7: Useful
8: Great

1-2: Antagonistic
3-4: Confused
5-6: Hungry
7: You're looking for them
8: They're looking for you

>>6122810
>Great
>You're looking for them

Well, that's straight up the best possible result on the table. Everybody say thank you to RNGesus. Writing for real now.

File: a load of alligators stac(...).jpg (341 KB, 1024x768)

341 KB JPG

>See you later, alligators

You already dealt with this, a long time ago. You frankly thought you were done with alligators, maybe for the rest of your life. God knows you saw enough already. Are these different alligators? Worse, are they the same alligators? Did Management steal your alligators? You're already spending way too much thought on the alligators. Stupid alligators. The faster you never see them again, the better.

«Charlotte. Status report.»

Oh. Uh, there's alligators. Lots. But it's okay, because you're just going to sprint past them. Maybe over them a little bit.

«You're going to—»
«Are you joking?»

No. You're already sprinting. You're also remembering how it is to sprint in heeled boots— Everard's lame loafers made you complacent. Uh, positive thinking. If you step on an alligator's face, your heels will stab its eye out. Yeah! That's the spirit! You can't have any other spirit, because you're there amidst the alligators this very second, careening around tails and jaws, slaloming through stacks of thick green scutes, stepping on— yes, stepping on— poor bruised snouts and sensitive eyeballs, as the alligators groan and hiss and snap at your toes. Several of them scoot forward faster than you thought alligators could go. In retrospect you might describe them as "slavering." But you, Charlotte Fawkins, Reptile Queen, you make it through without a single leg bitten off at the knee, because what was the alternative? Was there any alternative? Did Richard actually doubt you?

>[+1 ID: 4/14]

«We just talked about this. Just because something <succeeded> in no way makes it retroactively a good or sensible—»

It was good and sensible to sprint past/through a hoard of alligators, which is why you're continuing to sprint: for the love of it, the joy and thrill of success, and not because the alligators are chasing you now. They wouldn't do that. You're sure Headspace feeds them properly.

«They don't even feed their employees properly, from what I'm understanding.»

You're sure they get fed properly, because the alternative is that the pitter-patter of claws behind you is from over twenty hungry, angry alligators, and you're not willing to confront that right now. You're just enjoying your jog— and also gaining on Ellery, right? You bet he isn't jogging. You belt he's skulking around like a total creep. Richard would happen to know any alligator countermeasures, would he?

«...»

Okay, you're just going to jog. You're fine with that. Alligators aren't that fast, except for the ones that lunged at you, but you were probably imagining it. You're not in real danger. You're not even tired. The last one is nearly even true— it must be the fake-body thing. Suck it, Ellery! You can have a stupid fake body too! If you did get your leg bitten off, you probably wouldn't even feel it.

«No. Don't test that. Your state is inherently fragile. You would not be able to reconstruct yourself nearly as easily as he can.»

(1/3)

File: faceless individuals.jpg (27 KB, 480x720)

27 KB JPG

Okay, Richard. Geez. You're not getting your leg bit— that's the whole point of you running, not getting your leg bit. And so far it's un-bit, so he doesn't need to get all persnickety. Ahead of you is more hallways. The floor here is slanted slightly downhill, which is weird. Only slightly. Alligators are clattering behind you. Wouldn't it be great if Gil were here? You wish Gil were here.

«If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, Charlie. I recommend you stay focused.»

What? That saying makes no sense. If wishes were horses, beggars would all get eaten. Also, you're fine. Running away from alligators doesn't take much thinking. If Gil were here, he could go all beetly to distract them. You hope he's okay.

«I would imagine he's better off than you are right now.»

Would he? What if he got kidnapped? Kidnapped-tortured? Well, Ellery would be freeing him, you guess. So maybe he is better off. You're going to hope he is. Positive thinking.

«Less positive thinking and more focus, please.»

So grouchy. Fine. You squint down the dim hall ahead. It's hard to see much with the stupid lighting everywhere, but you don't need light to see strings, and there's definitely strings down there. People-strings. One knot, all frayed on the side, and one geometric web-thing. Wait. No way! No way. You don't know that that's— there's no way. No way. Don't get your hopes up, Lottie, it's probably a freaky Headspace guy, one of those unpeople, or Friends, or whatever, and you'll be sprinting right into their arms. And look! Now that you're close enough to see for real, it's two people in creepy lime-green suits, their faces all hooded. One of them's got a weird device.

Fine. Richard can't even say you got distracted. You'll sprint past them too and see how they like it. You lower your head, redouble and angle your shoulder— for battering, in case they try to stop you. Richard can't stop you, Ellery can't stop you, Casey can't stop you, and two shmucks are certainly not going to—

"Wait," says one of the shmucks. "No way. Lot— Lottie?!"

You screech to a complete halt. It's him. Of course! You never thought otherwise! "Well, of course, my fair retainer. Ahem." You cough. You've been running a lot. "Who else would it—"

"Are those GATORS?" It's the other schmuck, the one with the device. It's a woman's voice.

"Oh. Um—" You whip your head back. Yes, those are alligators. Noticeably fewer, to be sure, but still more alligators than any one person would want to be dealing with. "Yes? I think they're mad that I stepped on their—"

(2/3)

"Move, please!" The woman pushes you aside and hurries past you, straight toward the alligators. Is she audacious, or is she stupid? («Mind the pot and kettle, primrose.») She's fiddling with the device, pivoting it around, aligning its metal rings and mirrors and whatnot, paying no attention to the weary, now-even-more-starving, lunging-distance alligators, until she finally slams a button, creating a— a what? A square? A black square with a white glowing rim, hallway-wide, and the alligators all scrabble and fall through it. You feel a bit sorry for them. She slams the button again, and the square vanishes, leaving no sign any alligators ever existed.

Meanwhile, Gil has pulled off his hood. He looks exactly how you remember him. Bright-faced. Untortured. His hair is a little mussed, probably from the hood. He grins when he sees you watching. "I knew we'd find you somewhere! I told her, we'd— I knew we'd stumble upon— I knew— wow! You know, I told Anthea we'd—"

"Anthea?" you say. The hooded woman waves.

"Aw. Yeah. Sorry! She's here for Ellery too. She's pretty cool. She doesn't want Ellery to blow it up either. She has a— I have to tell Garvin— she has a handheld subspace generator, a handheld one, and it's the coolest thing I've ever goddamn—"

"Gil?" you say.

"Huh?"

Maybe he's not exactly how you remember him. He's in a good mood, clearly, but it's not that. Not just that. He seems a little more alive, or present, or something. Or it's something about his eyes. You can't look long enough at them to tell, because he'd notice, and he'd think you were unladylike. Even if it's entirely innocent. You're glad that he's back. You like that he's happy.

What were you going to say? You say something else. "Ellery is, uh— he's— he's on his way to blow things up. Right now, I mean. Headed there."

"Oh. Uh, that's— shit. Did you hear that, Anthea?" She flashes a thumbs-up. "I guess we better, uh... get moving. That's more important."

"Than?"

"Oh— nothing. I thought we could talk, but if it's a bad time, it's a bad time. No sweat."

>[A1] Yeah, it is a bad time, unfortunately. You'll have plenty of time to talk once Ellery is apprehended. Get moving.
>[A2] Well, you could... walk and talk? You do need to keep moving, but he's been gone for a long time, and he should tell you what all happened. You'll be more distracted than you would be otherwise, but it might be worth it.
>[A3] Damnit. Now you feel bad. You should stop and debrief here, emphasis on the 'brief,' and hear Gil out. You made up a lot of ground already, and if you don't give him your full attention, you could miss something really important. (Lose time.)

>[B1] Hug Gil briefly. You're glad he's back.
>[B2] No, you can't. You need to get moving. (And you have another woman watching you, for God's sake.)

(A2 or A3 only.)
>[C] Specific questions for Gil? (Write-in. Optional.)

>>6122855
>A2
>B1
>C
Did Gil also get some stimmies? He’s looking sharp

>>6122855
>[A2] Well, you could... walk and talk? You do need to keep moving, but he's been gone for a long time, and he should tell you what all happened. You'll be more distracted than you would be otherwise, but it might be worth it.
>[B1] Hug Gil briefly. You're glad he's back.

File: no write.jpg (28 KB, 640x640)

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Hi folks. Didn't get enough sleep last night, so I'm totally cooked. Vote stays open until tomorrow.

>>6122934
>>6122979
>[A2]
>[B1]
>[C]

Writing. This may be a shorter one.

File: enlightenedmidtone.png (2.21 MB, 997x1123)

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>Surely the hug will go normal this time

Gil's hands are in his pockets and his eyebrows are raised. He doesn't sound disappointed by your response, but he doesn't sound totally impassive either, as if he didn't care about talking to you. He cares about you, but not too much. Not to a weird extent, an extent that'd bother you: not like Richard, who's always too much or too little. Gil sounds like a sensible person. He sounds mature. He sounds normal.

You had missed him before— of course you had— but you look at him now and fiercely, fervently miss him in retrospect. Would you have opened up a stupid pit and fallen down it and got shot in the head and let Ellery escape if Gil were there? Would you have been eaten by alligators if he wasn't? Look at him, not a scratch on him, because he makes good decisions, and he can handle himself, and—

You want to hear what he has to say. It's not that you don't. You screw your mouth up. "I— I mean— we can— if you can talk, um, quick, and quiet, while we're going, then you can— I mean, maybe if you could stick to the most important, um—"

"Sure," Gil says. "If you don't think that'd cause too much trouble. I don't want to get us caught, or—"

"Or let him get away," Anthea says.

"Or that. Yeah. It's up to you, Lottie. I trust you."

It's up to you. He trusts you. Who else trusts you? Richard has never trusted you, and still doesn't. Maybe he loves you (he thinks he loves you), but he doesn't trust you. Ellery sure doesn't. Teddy doesn't. Pat didn't. Madrigal, barely. Eloise, as a joke. Earl doesn't count. The dead pagan god you never talked to said you were headed toward your own doom, which was a real jerk thing to say, plus not very trusting. God took you to little pieces and spat you out again without a how-do-you-do, so you don't think there's much trust there, either. Also, it keeps trying to get you to murder people. It's really just Gil. It's only Gil.

You don't have a good name for what you're feeling. You're not good at that kind of thing. All you know is that you clench your hands and curl your toes and strain and it doesn't go away, not even a little. Gil is frowning. "Um, are you alright?"

Yes. Maybe. Yes. Now that he's here, yes. You can't say that; it sounds so dumb. And needy. You don't need him, same as how you didn't need Richard, but you really, really like him here, and isn't that almost the same? You feel like you want to give him a hug. Is that its own feeling? Should you ask him? No, that's dumb too. He liked it the other times. Positive thinking. You should just go for it.

You step forward and reach out your arms and Gil's eyes go big, big enough for you to see what is wrong with them— they're blue. They have big blue rings in them. And he recoils a bit and says something like "Wait, Lottie, I—"

(1/2)

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But it's too late then. Hugging is not an extended process. You have your arms shoved under his arms, and you have your nose in his shoulder, and you have your ear by his mouth, so you can hear him clearly and loudly say: "Fuck!"

ID: 3/14
SV: 3/??

Then he explodes. Shrapnel flies through you. He's all light, blue light, white light, not dim or pulsing or strobing— solid light, sea-bright, salt-cold, Gil-shaped, and it all slices directly through your weak non-skin. It doesn't hurt you. It wouldn't hurt you. But your flesh, your blood, your heart: they scream.

You scream, or make a noise: you can't tell which. Inside your body, the red stuff melts where it's cut, but it's sun-fed and reforms elsewhere just as fast and twice as thick. It's shooting up and down your limbs, bubbling your skin, curling your fingers into Gil's back. He still has a back. The light's all coming from inside. Your eyes are glazed. Your teeth are sharp and wet. You should bite him. You should bite him on his neck and open his arteries and kill him. You should kill him. You will kill him. He is trying to kill YOU. HE IS TRYING TO KILL YOU. HE IS A TRAITOR! HE IS YOUR ENEMY! HE HATES YOU! HE IS ONE OF THEM! YOU NEED TO KILL HIM. YOU NEED TO KILL HIM. YOU NEED TO KILL HIM. YOU NEED TO KILL HIM. YOU NEED TO

You need to let go. You need to let go and get out. He isn't holding you at all. You're the one gripping. Why are you gripping? TO KILL HIM. There's nothing inside of you. That's the problem with the fake body. It's all empty space and now it's all red. If you were cut open you could probably see it all. You have to get out of here. You're not strong enough to get out of here. You have to KILL HIM. YOU HAVE TO KILL HIM. YOU HAVE TO KILL HIM. YOU HAVE TO

>[1] Write-in. (Optional. Choices tomorrow.)

>>6124002
Welp, probably should have seen that coming

>Start by letting go

>>6124002
Motherfucker

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>[1] RUN! YOU HAVE TO RUN! GET OUT OF HERE! (Gain time. Lose Gil and Anthea again.)
>[2] THINK POSITIVE! YOU'RE BETTER THAN SOME STUPID GOD MURDER THOUGHTS! YOU CAN DEFEAT THIS THROUGH SHEER WILLPOWER! [Difficult roll.]
>[3] SEE THROUGH HIM! IF YOU COULD TALK TO HIM-- IF YOU COULD TELL HIM WHAT'S WRONG-- HE'D HELP YOU. And he'll be fine with you getting into his head, and he won't resist, because he... he has to not. He's your retainer. (Communion. -1 ID.)
>[4] KILL HIM! YOU HAVE TO KILL HIM! YOU'LL FEEL *SO MUCH BETTER* IF YOU KILL HIM. BITE HIM -- REND HIM -- and he won't get hurt, right? He's goo. Right? He won't get hurt. He won't get hurt. He won't even be scared. Right? (Gain ID. Gain SV.)
>[5] WRITE-IN.

>>6124135
>>[3] SEE THROUGH HIM! IF YOU COULD TALK TO HIM-- IF YOU COULD TELL HIM WHAT'S WRONG-- HE'D HELP YOU. And he'll be fine with you getting into his head, and he won't resist, because he... he has to not. He's your retainer. (Communion. -1 ID.)

>>6124135
>1
I’m sure we’ll find them again

>>6124135
>[4] KILL HIM! YOU HAVE TO KILL HIM! YOU'LL FEEL *SO MUCH BETTER* IF YOU KILL HIM. BITE HIM -- REND HIM -- and he won't get hurt, right? He's goo. Right? He won't get hurt. He won't get hurt. He won't even be scared. Right? (Gain ID. Gain SV.)

>>6124002
>[1] RUN! YOU HAVE TO RUN! GET OUT OF HERE! (Gain time. Lose Gil and Anthea again.)

:( Here we go again.

Rolled 6 + 3 (1d10 + 3)

>>6124405
>>6124259
>[1]

>>6124139
>[3]

>>6124362
>[4]

Called for [1]. Rolling for how far you make it before something happens. You get a flat +3 units of progress for WYRM-powered sprinting.

Rolled 3 (1d12)

>>6124510
>9 units of progress

You are currently at 19 units of progress. Ellery is currently at 20 units of progress, at least before this roll. Let's see where he winds up. Same table as >>6122784.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>6124511
>Roadblock: 0 progress

You are currently 1(!) unit of progress behind Ellery. That's about a minute. You can almost certainly spot him, and you'll be stalled by whatever he's stalled by.

Rolling to see if Ellery notices you, 1=yes 2=no and writing.

File: redness 4.jpg (29 KB, 500x359)

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>Go time

RUN! You have to run, because the alternative is killing him— KILLING HIM. Even if he's goo, he's beetles, he's blessed, even if he's survived everything before, even if it's a chance in a hundred, a chance in a thousand: no risk is small enough, no excuse large enough. If you killed him it'd kill you. But you're not strong enough to let go, or back away, or speak— your throat is choked totally shut— so you have to run. That's the option. Run.

You shove him down first. Not to kill him. KILL HIM. Only because you can't unclamp yourself otherwise. You ram forward and he stumbles and you ram again and he falls to the floor still blazing all starlike and thuds against it and dims briefly, enough to see his face with its wide-open eyes and open mouth, a vulnerable face, a preylike face, and you have him pinned. YOU NEED TO KILL HIM NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT NOW. DO IT

You're doing it! You're killing him! You are inching your hands out from under his back and under his arms, and after that you'll kill him with them. You will. Definitely. You're inching— his heart is beating fast— are inching, are inching—

Are gone! NO! Are sprung to your feet, are barreling off, as if alligators were snapping at your heels— and feel straight away absurdly better. Namely, your insides aren't boiling. The red stuff settles into a clinging inner layer. The traitor can't touch you at this distance— and you can't touch him either, which makes you ANGRY, but he can't touch you. He's calling out to you. "Lottie! Wait! I— I didn't mean to—"

You know Gil didn't mean to. He can't have meant to, surely. He better not have. You'd like to go back— and YOU'd like to go back, and that's the problem, isn't it? It's not safe anymore. You can't pretend this never happened. And Anthea— God! Anthea was watching! She's nice, isn't she? (You don't know very much about her.) She's nice, which makes everything so much worse. You can't confront this now. Not now. You keep running.

If either of them follow, you don't hear them. You don't know whether you want them to follow. You guess you do, but you don't want them to catch you. Thank God it's easy to run, even if you don't know where you're going. Follow the open doors. You glance down one hallway and see open doors and see a great big muddy green snake-lizard thing, with four legs, with stubby wings, and keep running. You glance down the next and see open doors and busted pipes and a surging outflow of black gunk, ankle-high, and keep running. The next might or might not have open doors, but it has at least one decapitated head, and you skid past before you look further. No way Ellery needed to open all of these, right? It was spite. Or he thought it was the right thing to do, but if he's going to blow it all up anyways, who cares? God.

(1/3)

At least your embarrassing scream won't give you (or Gil) away: there's screaming everywhere, not to mention howling, growling, babbling, burbling, and the endless crackle-pop of talkies. And music. Is the music new? Did they put it on to drown out the din, or to try to calm it? Or did Ellery push a button? It isn't good music, from what you can hear of it. But it does lend a certain rhythm to your steps, which are long and uncannily loping— the red stuff has trickled downward. You're not thinking about it. You're looking up at the last hallway, the only hallway before you hit a high curved chrome-and-white wall. Your reflection looms up all funhouse in it: Ellery could've slipped through here and come out anywhere. But he didn't, because the doors in the last hallway are all open too.

It's to your great fortune that it's otherwise empty, though there is a puddle of blood on the floor. Fine. Good enough. You hurtle down it, hurdle the puddle, and keep going. The stupid music throbs with your pulse. This hallway curves with the wall, but it also slants notably downward, and your momentum sends you blowing through a pair of double doors and ricocheting between the wall and the new inner window. You're past all the testing chambers, or whatever they were, and into a crummy yellow-painted transitional bit. There must be a new area... below you? You're still downhill, and still turning. The hallway must be corkscrew-shaped. Which is good! You want to go down! That's what Richard said. Where is Richard? Richard?

«««»Ch—«a—r-»—l«»««—! Wh«—»»

Uh... garbled. Damnit. Dumb stupid red stuff must be gumming up the works. Outside the window is the inner part of the corkscrew— you can actually see the other side of the hallway all the way across, plus a weird hovering cylindrical building in the middle, linked up above and below by pipes. It's windowless, so you can't see inside. All the way below you— you've come to a halt, really quick, since you need to know where you're going— all the way below you is a grid of white cubes, plus something big that glows red. You can't see any more detail from here.

Still, those seem important, so you feel justified in carrying onward. You tilt your head to find the music— it's louder in the hallway, though still not very good— and launch yourself back into a run on the beat. Down you go, until you hit another set of double doors and burst through unthinkingly.

Oh, God, there's a lot of people in here. Not people, you mean. Un-people. Friends? Is that what Headspace calls them? They can't be real people, because they all have faces like animals, even though their bodies look human. They're all dressed in uniform. When you said 'a lot', you mean wall-to-wall, shoulder-to-shoulder neat rows— except for the row in the front, which is broken up in the center. Four Friends are out of formation, surrounding a man in a—

(2/3)

File: real ellery - @perpetualpeep.gif (2.41 MB, 1200x798)

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Surrounding Ellery, who is talking. "—completely understand, but you can just check the ID, which is completely— it's entirely legitimate. I am Mr. Kemper, and—"

He pauses. He processes. Before you can duck back through the doors, he's whipped around, is pointing directly at you. "—that is clearly the intruder, ladies and gents, so you're all going to do your jobs, right? Arrest her? Thanks!"

Hundreds of eyes turn on you— and away from Ellery, who skitters backwards, raises his arm, and fires his crossbow into the ceiling. This time, the bolt trails rope. Ellery clutches on and jerks upward, not enough to swing onto the rafters, but enough to lift himself over the heads of the Friends. He dangles there for a moment, eyes locked on you, thinking. His conclusion is twofold. First, he makes a rude gesture at you. Second, he drops back onto the Friends, who don't break their regimented columns, and he scampers away atop their heads and shoulders.

Meanwhile, you're about five seconds away from being detained. Wat do?

>Rolls may gain or lose time depending on the results.

>[1] Friends are dumb, right? You talked to that one receptionist, and it was definitely dumb. All you need to do is convince them that you belong here, and they'll let you pass without fuss. Easy. [Roll.]
>[2] Convincing them is one thing. *Convincing* them is another. You need to *convince* them if you want to see real results here. (Advanced Gaslighting.) [Harder roll.]
>[3] You haven't got to use The Sword very much yet, which is disappointing, but this seems like a good occasion to set things on fire! It wouldn't be an adventure if you didn't set things on fire. [Roll.]
>[4] FODDER. MEAT. WORTHLESS. MOW THEM DOWN. [-1 SV]
>[5] Write-in.