[279 / 57 / ?]
Quoted By:
You are Charlotte Fawkins, dashing heroine, detectivess, adventuress, heiress, sorceress, etcetera. Three years ago, you drowned yourself in a quest to find a long-lost family heirloom; nowadays, you're just nobly c̶a̶u̶s̶i̶n̶g solving problems with the help of trusty retainer Gil and MIA snake/father Richard. Inexplicably, many people tend to "dislike" you, though you've never done anything wrong in your life.
Right now, you are infiltrating Headspace inside the body of your nemesis' lackey, Everard Kurz. You're currently in a tour group composed of yourself, Headspace CEO(?) Casey Kemper, and Gil... except that Gil's been brainwashed. You're still working out what to do about that.
Also, Virginia's dead. She died. She wasn't dead when you last saw her, or maybe she was, or maybe she should've been— it wasn't good, what happened to her. Or to you. She was you at the time, you mean, but it didn't feel— it didn't look— it looks worse on the outside. Or maybe you just can't notice how bad it gets on the inside. Or maybe you're just that good at handling it. You and your sorcerous bloodline. Even if you're not aware of any direct sorcery, except what you saw at the party: the earth sucking at your father's feet. Henry's fangs. (He really does have those, even now.)
The god that never happened. <span class="mu-i">You have a daring heart, Wyrm-daughter...</span>
>[ID: 2/14]
Even though you're in a great position, tactically speaking— Casey oblivious, Everard locked down, Gil in arm's reach— you're in a strange mood. It might have something to do with almost dying multiple times. Or with the sphere/sun/red stuff thing. Or with a continuing lack of Richard. Or with Gil, in arm's reach, but still miles away: he barely looks at you. Or with being in Everard's body, which you're avoiding thinking about, but there's only so much you can avoid. (If your poor aunt knew...) Or with Virginia, who looks like a lizard got stepped on. She didn't die from that, though. There's a crossbow bolt in her eye socket.
A couple minutes ago Casey's talkie-thing started squalling. It's not like it wasn't before, and it's not like he was pleasant to the operator before, but he really flipped out this time. You think maybe he thought he was done with the interruptions— and so did you, a bit. If you had a little stability, you could think of a proper plan. As of now, you have nothing, and Headspace remains conspicuously un-blown-up. It's all been so much harder than you expected. A tiny nasty bit of you wonders whether Pat was right to scoff...
(1/3)
Right now, you are infiltrating Headspace inside the body of your nemesis' lackey, Everard Kurz. You're currently in a tour group composed of yourself, Headspace CEO(?) Casey Kemper, and Gil... except that Gil's been brainwashed. You're still working out what to do about that.
Also, Virginia's dead. She died. She wasn't dead when you last saw her, or maybe she was, or maybe she should've been— it wasn't good, what happened to her. Or to you. She was you at the time, you mean, but it didn't feel— it didn't look— it looks worse on the outside. Or maybe you just can't notice how bad it gets on the inside. Or maybe you're just that good at handling it. You and your sorcerous bloodline. Even if you're not aware of any direct sorcery, except what you saw at the party: the earth sucking at your father's feet. Henry's fangs. (He really does have those, even now.)
The god that never happened. <span class="mu-i">You have a daring heart, Wyrm-daughter...</span>
>[ID: 2/14]
Even though you're in a great position, tactically speaking— Casey oblivious, Everard locked down, Gil in arm's reach— you're in a strange mood. It might have something to do with almost dying multiple times. Or with the sphere/sun/red stuff thing. Or with a continuing lack of Richard. Or with Gil, in arm's reach, but still miles away: he barely looks at you. Or with being in Everard's body, which you're avoiding thinking about, but there's only so much you can avoid. (If your poor aunt knew...) Or with Virginia, who looks like a lizard got stepped on. She didn't die from that, though. There's a crossbow bolt in her eye socket.
A couple minutes ago Casey's talkie-thing started squalling. It's not like it wasn't before, and it's not like he was pleasant to the operator before, but he really flipped out this time. You think maybe he thought he was done with the interruptions— and so did you, a bit. If you had a little stability, you could think of a proper plan. As of now, you have nothing, and Headspace remains conspicuously un-blown-up. It's all been so much harder than you expected. A tiny nasty bit of you wonders whether Pat was right to scoff...
(1/3)
