Quoted By:
<span class="mu-i">Gil!</span> Damnit! You promised him your entire life story— are you drunk enough for that? Do you even qualify as drunk at this point? Maybe you can brute-force that too, just convince yourself hard enough that you're drunk that you— whatever! That's a problem for later. You need to go see him, at least, or he'll think you forgot about him, nevermind that you did— and Richard still isn't back, of <span class="mu-i">course,</span> so it's down to you to wrangle into your manse. Which is a simple feat for someone of your—
It had been ten minutes of counting, rolling around, getting up to face the other end of the cot, crossing your eyes, pretending to fall asleep, and various other measures before you got the bright idea to use a visual aid. The completed model, shiny and unstolen, rests in your outstretched palm: you are attempting to imagine being inside it. You'd have to be tiny, you suppose. Or it'd have to be much bigger, would have to quiver and unfurl its walls like a great flower. Or the tiny doors would have to slam open and suck you inside and slam shut behind you like nothing ever occurred. Or the world would turn itself inside out and you'd find yourself in your manse with a tiny model of your tent in your hand, with a tiny prone figure of you inside. Or you can just fall asleep on accident, you guess— your eyelids are drooping— maybe you've graduated from a little tired to regular tired? Sorry, Gil. You—
-
You are in a white space. There is a white floor but no apparent walls. It is bright, but there's no apparent light source, either. Are you asleep? Dead? Did Lucky poison you after all? Damnit! What's Gil going to think? If you die while he's in your manse, does he die? Does it vanish? Is he trapped there? Sorry, Gil. You know, you bet <span class="mu-i">Horse Face</span> poisoned you— you suspected that all along, honestly, you just—
"...Charlotte?"
Gil! So maybe he did die with you? You look in all directions and find nothing but white. Alternately you're hallucinating him, which—
"...Um, I-I-I'm— I'm not— I'm on the ceiling, like usual, but don't <span class="mu-i">lo-</span>"
You look above you and see white. No ceiling, much less Gil. Definite hallucination. This is Horse Face's and also Richard's fault, because if Richard was <span class="mu-i">around</span> he could've prevented you from getting—
"<span class="mu-i">-o-ok!</span> Aw, shit. Shit. I-I-I— god, I-I don't even— don't turn around!" There's a whirring noise. "Don't turn— I-I-I'm behind you. I-I'm gonna be behind you until you stop vanishing everything. Yeah? Charlotte? Are you—"
"...You're the real Gil?"
"Are there other Gils I-I-I-I need to be aware of? Unless you mean some kind of <span class="mu-i">semantics</span> gullshit, which—"
"You're the real Gil." It certainly sounds like he's directly behind you. "Um. And where are we?"
"Where do you think we— your manse?" He also sounds faintly hysterical.
(2/3)
