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Yea, you’ll be fine in a minute, you reply, voice growing cloudy with doubt–who’s that <span class="mu-r">ROLO</span> guy he mentioned?
“Soooouuunds familiaaaar…” Muses Volka, tail patting against the wood as she adopts a pondering stance! You weren’t asking her, you clarify, but good to know! While the Skog gives you a good-natured nod, Obber stares at you like you just threw a crossword puzzle at him… and then pointed a gun at his face!
“Is… is th-this a test?”
Is it!?
Confusion shifts into panic on the Chytree’s bulging eyes as he comes to the conclusion that yes, this <span class="mu-i">is</span> a test.
“H-he’s your b-BOSS… a <span class="mu-i">REALLY</span> fair one! Boy, does.. Does he smell <span class="mu-i">good!</span> And uh… C-capo in the… y-you know…”
You <span class="mu-i">do</span>, you lie, but your Skog pal doesn’t, so…
“He’s right! I don’t!” Chirps said Skog pal, deftly turning your lie into a half-truth!
“Pl-please don’t make me say it…” The sugarman sputters under his tense breath, “I’m begging you…”
<span class="mu-s">SAY THEIR NAME,</span> you snarl with unusual amounts of venom!
“Th-the <span class="mu-r">SPICE CARTEL!</span>” Stammers Obber, spitting the word out of his mouth like a swig of spoiled milk! “Th-those st-street toughs tried to charge me protection money… b-but I told them I already <span class="mu-i">have</span> protection… a-and look how <span class="mu-i">THAT</span> turned out for them! H-hahaha!”
The Chytree sends a menacing, borderline manic trill of laughter over to the still-unconscious bodies lying on the dock behind you–malice burning in his eyes like a grease fire at your job! “OoooOOohh, I’ll b-bet you’ve got s-some… d-DEVIOUS plans in st-store for them, huh? T-TEACH ‘em a lesson…”
Yea, class’ll be in session real soon, you nod, glancing towards Volka for assistance and receiving none apart from an unusually clueless expression even from her!
“Y-you know…” Obber remarks, the vindictive flames fading from his gaze, “I’ve n-never seen you guys before… are you n-new?”
Realizing a mistake you can’t quite perceive, the sugarseller straightens up like a tack as his eyes bulge even <span class="mu-s">WIDER!</span> “N-NOT that I mean anything by it! R-Rolo can send whoever he w-wants! I’ll pay every time!”
Part of you wants to tell this guy the truth, but with TT still passed out you feel a little residual mischief trickling into your decision making muscle…
What do?
>Extort some money!
>Tell the truth!
>Pry for more info about Rolo!
>Tell Obber he’s DONE with the mob!
>Give us something for our friend you hurt, CREEP!
>Just send the sugar to Obber and we’re done!
>Write-In!
Don’t worry–we’ll get to the other choices after THIS!
