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She plucks something out of the shoebox and drops it off the cliff. You and Lucky snap out of your trances simultaneously, and Lucky reaches to shake Arledge, who whirls around, watches the thing fall, and immediately busies himself with something under his robes. You look frantically at Lucky, who is drawing his— goddammit, is that a gun? Why does he get a gun? What the hell? You get the impulse, though, because the thing has washed down the cliff, slid down the canal, and is currently <span class="mu-i">rapidly</span> absorbing blood. It's her worm. Because of course it's her worm. And of course it's swelling to the fucking ceiling. You are— you are going to have a <span class="mu-i">talk.</span> About worms. And murdering people. And drinking goddamn blood water.
But that is later. Right now there is a giant goddamn murder worm, and Lottie is extremely not in her right mind, and you've got to—
"Gil," Arledge says urgently. He's got a fat-needled syringe in his hand, filled brimming with green stuff. "I need you to spot me."
"What?" You glance at Lucky, who's edging up the stairs. "Now? Can it—"
"No. I can take care of the worm with this. It might not be a fair fight, since I got this before it was corrupted, but it'll help enormously."
"You got that..." You glance back at the still-growing worm. "I-is that— that's not <span class="mu-i">blood.</span> Say that's not—"
"It didn't miss it." He doesn't even smirk. "I'm a magician. I've done this before. All I need you to do is not panic while it happens, and to make sure Lucky doesn't shoot me. Both of these apply afterward, too. It's unlikely I'll be able to communicate, but please know that I remain aware of the situation at hand. I'll do my best to be helpful. The process... might be painful, but this is an emergency and I've been through worse. Do you understand?"
What he said? Yes. What the hell he's talking about? "What are you <span class="mu-i">doing?</span>"
"Magic." He grunts as he jabs the syringe into his neck, shakes it out, and stows it back in his robe. Then he pulls out a smaller, sharper one. The liquid inside is clear. "Bottoms up."
You grip the fish cleaver as he injects this into the same place, staggers, and falls to his knees. His eyes are bugging out. "Arledge?" you attempt, because he's already begun to ooze <span class="mu-i">stuff</span> from his face and neck— his hands, too. Probably everywhere. It's shiny and viscous and puts you in the mind of goo, if goo were pale pink. Goddammit! Fucking magic. Where were you? Murder worm, Lottie crazy, you've got to do something. You've <span class="mu-i">got</span> to. Or the rest of your life will be exactly like this, you just know it.
But what?
(Choices next.)
