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Madrigal's eyes crinkle. "Is this what Richard told you to tell me?"
"Um," you say, "I don't know what you're talking about. I— I extracted my verbiage of my own free will, if you would like to know, and— hey!" She's snickering at you! "What did I say! I made an exceedingly generous offer, and you—"
"We can throw a fucking party. Whatever. Earl?"
Earl scratches his chin. "Ah... well... not to turn down a party, especially not one with you fine ladies, but I <span class="mu-i">am</span> still feeling the last one. And I've gotta keep in prime condition for my job, so—"
"Don't be <span class="mu-i">modest.</span>" Madrigal splays her arms over the back of the settee. "You drank a quart of that godforsaken shit and still were walking, talking— what's a little glass, Earl? Ever heard of hair of the dog? Besides, I assume we're not getting <span class="mu-i">plastered—</span> Charlotte?"
Oh. Damn. You were hoping everything would work itself out on its own, but no dice. "Um, no! No plastering. Just little glasses." You can always drink multiple little glasses, if the need arises. "And, er, banners, and... streamers, potentially, and..."
"Cake?" Madrigal says. "Pointy hats?"
Ah! She's coming up with all the ideas for you! "Yes! Precisely, yes."
"Har-har-har!" It takes a moment for you to interpret the noise as Earl guffawing. "I like this plan! Pick up the mood around here! Where do you propose we get the cake?"
You look at Richard. Richard sighs. "The present creator of the manse could procure any of those things easily. I love you, Charlie, but I'm not an universal miracle-worker."
He <span class="mu-i">what?</span> Oh, God. Oh, God, you need to— you need to intervene, as soon as possible. He's sick in his head.
"But..." And he's taken your stunned non-response as a cue. "...I could most likely, with some difficulty, provide these things— if that'd be beneficial to you, Charlie. I <span class="mu-i">would</span> like to help out. I'd just encourage you to temper your expectations."
"Uhhh," you say. "Uhhhhh, yes. Indeed. Whatever you've got to— got to—"
"Any other objections?"
Madrigal caught it too: her eyes have narrowed incredulously. Earl has caught nothing. "Hey, it's worth a hell of a shot, isn't it? Worse case we get half a cake, and that's not so bad! Har-har. Anything we can do to—?"
"Close your eyes," Richard says. "Don't open them until I tell you. That's all."
Earl receives this instruction affably, and you and Madrigal, after exchanging glances, comply. You hear very little, but at one point feel Richard's fingers brush against your forehead, and feel, as a well, drawn out of.
>[-1 ID: 10/14]
Then you snap open your eyes at Richard's command and discover: a round, uncertain end table, an unadorned cake, a few crowded cups, wispy streamers, and a cream-colored banner. The banner evidently used to say something else, but it's illegible now: painted on top is "CONGRATULATIONS ON THE EXPOSURE OF YOUR LIES!"
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