>>5300942Hugging the snarling woodland critter close to your chest like a homicidal teddy bear, you end your speech with unceremonious shrug. So uh, you mutter, yea. That’s the team. Thanks for playing.
“I’ll be an officer.” Gus grunts as he raises his mammoth hand in the air. <span class="mu-i">FINE</span>, you groan, now can you move on, please?
“<span class="mu-i">W-we didn’t really vote for him, thou-</span>”
The rest of the group cuts her off with a synchronized ‘Shut up, nerd!’
<span class="mu-i">Besides</span>, you add as you watch disappointment ferment in the rest of the gang’s eyes, the guys you <span class="mu-i">didn’t</span> choose have an even more important job while you’re gone!
“What’s that, Stan?” Eddie asks in a forced, but still cheery tone!
Why, tracking down some booze and whipping up some <span class="mu-g">COCKTAILS WITH CUTE LITTLE UMBRELLAS</span> in ‘em, you reply in an equally-chipper voice!
“Wait, <span class="mu-i">really</span>?” Talbot asks, disappointment slowly creeping into his voice. “Because if that’s what they’re doing, I ca-”
No, <span class="mu-s">MORON,</span> you snarl, they’ll be <span class="mu-g">REPAIRING AND GUARDING THE DAMN SHIP!</span> But, like, if they <span class="mu-i">do</span> find some booze… and they <span class="mu-i">DO</span> find some umbrellas…
“<span class="mu-s">WE GOT COMPANY!</span>”
Whirling around at your skeleton’s panicked voice, you follow Ly’s <span class="mu-g">ASTRAL FORM</span> to the edge of the yacht to find…
“Uh… what’s <span class="mu-i">that?</span>”
Eager to answer his own question, Tucker makes his way over to the side of the boat with Gus, Mitz, and Kiki in tow. Peering over the rail too, you find yourself staring at a peculiar sight–a <span class="mu-r">BOBBING CORPSE!</span>
“Woah…” Eddie whispers as Kiki immediately begins poking it with her gun, “Where’d <span class="mu-i">he</span> come from?”
“Dunno,” Art frowns as he examines it closer, “Looks like one of those <span class="mu-b">VOLUNTEER SCOUTS</span> they kept mentioning at <span class="mu-g">THE LODGE,</span> doesn’t he?”
He ain’t wrong. Clad in a mismatch of tactical gear and loungewear, the corpse is nigh unrecognizable thanks to the <span class="mu-g">TACTICAL BALACLAVA AND KAISER HELMET</span> covering John Doe’s head. All that remains, you notice, are a few faded letters stenciled on the back of his <span class="mu-g">SCORPION JACKET:</span> <span class="mu-s">jwm-</span>
“Whoever he is, he’s done for.” Sybil shrugs, prompting the gang to shove the corpse back out to sea. “Anyways, where were we?”
Weeeeell….
>CONTD. 