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Ellery is closer than he used to be. You can't touch him. If you reached out, maybe you could— you can't actually tell how space is here, except it seems to be on the fritz. He's off the stairs, at least, and is surrounded-ish with Managers, except that they're all conspicuously out of arm's reach. Lazy jerks. Do you have to do all the work?
You step forward, except every step is half its length. You stop and fold your arms. "Go away! I have it taken care of!"
"YOU FUCKING <span class="mu-i">WISH,</span> YOU FUCKING BITCH!" Ellery extends his arm long, too long, so his fist is in your face. He's clutching something. It's clearish. It's pointy. It glows faintly. It—
"Give that back!" you cry, and lunge, but it's too late— he's retracted his arm, or else it was never really there, and only looked it. The faraway tine of the Crown is safely in Ellery's bony grip. How did he get it from you? Did he steal it? You stole it from Wayne, sure, but it's <span class="mu-i">yours!</span> He's getting it filthy! And, more to the point, can you become Queen with 15/16ths of a Crown?
That's not rhetorical, Richard.
«No.»
«You can't.»
You can't. Meaning Ellery now lies directly between you and your destiny. And four hapless Managers lie between you and Ellery— what are they <span class="mu-i">doing?</span>
«They can't be near it.»
What?
«They can't be near it. It is antithetical. It'll—»
It'll 'poof' them. You remember now. Richard waving his hand over a crystal and the hand disappearing smoothly. He isn't real, and the Managers aren't real, and a crystal is real— <span class="mu-i">emits</span> realness.
«And that crystal more than any other.»
Yeah. But what about Casey? He's just behind Ellery— hostage, somehow. You can't tell more with the Managers in the way. What's the matter with him? Shouldn't he be yelling? Pleading? Talking in any way? Casey Kemper isn't supposed to stop talking.
God. And you were so close!
>[A1] You hate Ellery, but you don't want to kill him.
>[A2] You don't care anymore. You're fine if he dies.
>[A3] Write-in.
>[B1] He wants attention. Fine! Give him attention! Let him do whatever stupid little monologue he has cooked up. Maybe he'll let his guard down enough to let you snatch your crystal back.
>[B2] He wants a fight. Fine! You'll fight! Draw The Sword. [Roll.]
>[B3] He thinks you're special. Fine! You are! And you'll show him first-hand exactly what that means. (Advanced Advanced Gaslighting. What, exactly, would you like to accomplish? Write-in.) [Roll.]
>[B4] He thinks Management likes you. Fine! They do. You're the Herald of the Bright Epoch, according to them, and the Herald isn't going to let her loyal worshippers stand around *uselessly.* Help them out. [Roll.]
>[B5] He thinks something's wrong with you. Fine! You'll show him what's wrong with you. [-1 SV.]
>[B6] Write-in.
