Quoted By:
On the other hand, thanks a lot for jinxing it, Richard, because he's turning the expression on you. "This is not an appropriate discussion to have right now," he says woodenly. "Thank you for your, er, congratulations, Charlotte. I'm sure I'll..." He can't finish the sentence. "Would you please leave? Now?"
Should you leave? It doesn't take a detective(ss) to tell that Monty's barely holding it together, but you also don't see how that's <span class="mu-i">your</span> fault. Eloise has been doing most of the provoking. Also, it'd ruin your dominant stance. Also, you feel like it's rude of him to—
«Leave.»
Ah! Well, that settles it: you're not going to do anything Richard tells you to do. Phew. Now, if you just say this confidently enough— "Um, I can't leave."
Monty swallows. "Why."
Was it not confident enough? Is it because you're lying? You're not— <span class="mu-i">not</span> lying. Not at all. You're telling a new and exciting truth, a way better truth than the old one, a better <span class="mu-i">story</span> than the old one, which is that you were meant to be here. You were destined to be here, probably. You heard the call of adventure, or felt the pull of sacred duty, one of the two, and it led you to this very spot. And who would you be to refuse that?
You square your shoulders and adjust The Sword. "Because you need my <span class="mu-i">help,</span> Montgomery. Face it. You were practically begging for me to show up and solve your problems, and I with my keenly attuned senses knew this in mine heart, and spirited myself here as fast as the, um, eight winds! So if you'd like to shareth with me the troubles weighing down upon thy brow, then—"
>Advanced Gaslighting: 95, 36, 64 vs. DC 72 — Mitigated Success
You've been dimly aware of the mounting pressure in the room, but you thought that if you talked loud enough and long enough it'd all snap back to normal. It hasn't. Your throat is dry and your ears are clogged and your vision is shimmering. You open your mouth to keep going and stall out when you catch Monty's eye. He's staring.
Or, no, "staring" isn't the right word— Monty is intently, impassively, unblinkingly watching you. He doesn't say anything, and similarly you can't seem to speak, or breathe, or look away. The pressure is unbearable. You—
Eloise reaches across the desk and waves a hand in front of Monty's face. "Hey, hello?"
And it's gone. Everything's ordinary. Monty, pale, collapses back into his chair and coughs wetly into his sleeve. Black goop beads his lips when he pulls it away.
«...»
"Thank you! Geez." If Eloise has noticed anything, she doesn't show it. "If you weren't <span class="mu-i">listening,</span> the kid's offering help with the whole situation."
"I... yes." Monty attempts a smile. "In an unorthodox manner, I, er, must say, but I won't deny that—"
Eloise swivels around to face you. "They found Madrigal."
<span class="mu-i">What?</span> You boggle. "They— where? When? It's been a day! Who's 'they'?! Wait, did they find the snake? Because Gil's still—"
(3/5?)
