Ugliduck99
Wobbufet fan
I don't think there is much we can do except for wait until the mail coach comes except for to listen out for locals talking about points of intrest
-
Hi all. We have had reports of member's signatures being edited to include malicious content. You can rest assured this wasn't done by staff and we can find no indication that the forums themselves have been compromised.
However, remember to keep your passwords secure. If you use similar logins on multiple sites, people and even bots may be able to access your account.
We always recommend using unique passwords and enable two-factor authentication if possible. Make sure you are secure. -
Be sure to join the discussion on our discord at: Discord.gg/serebii
A Leash of Foxes
- Thread starter Cutlerine
- Start date
Get some medical attention already. We got hurt escaping, and who knows what the overnight Charizard-ride did to us.
Also, check on the bird. Still following us Y/N?
Also, check on the bird. Still following us Y/N?
Deadly.Braviary
Well-Known Member
I predict Lily or Rosalind. Or maybe Cutlerine's playing a cruel trick on us and it's someone who the protagonist HAS met but doesn't remember meeting.
Wait for the mail coach.
~Deadly
Wait for the mail coach.
~Deadly
Cutlerine
Gone. Not coming back.
Get some medical attention already. We got hurt escaping, and who knows what the Charizard-ride did to us.
You stand there for a moment, thinking how strange it is that despite your evident familiarity you still do not know the man's name, and pondering what it could be that you did to make him so afraid of you – and then a twinge of pain in your side pulls you from your thoughts and sets you firmly back down in the dusty street.
You grimace. A doctor would be more useful than answers right now.
Dimly, you recall passing what looked like a surgery during your walk, and you retrace your steps in the hope of finding it again. A few minutes' searching turns up a respectable-looking wooden building with a brass plaque on the door, which reads:
You suppose that the order in which the professions are listed shows something about the priorities of the town.
Briefly, you consider your lack of money. There's always houndteeth, you remind yourself – you have twelve left, and it would be worth trading some away for medical attention. Besides, if you're going north-east, you will be heading towards fox territory, and houndteeth will be much less useful against them than needle slugs. All things considered, you think you can justify the expense, and knock accordingly.
The door is answered by a tall, sober-looking man with a three-piece suit and proudly-jutting whiskers. If you have ever met anyone who was born to be a doctor, this man was.
“Good afternoon,” he says suspiciously, looking you up and down and evidently mistrusting what he sees. “Can I help you?”
You say you need a doctor, and ask if he accepts payment in houndteeth.
His lips tauten, and all the lines on his face deepen momentarily.
“Yes, I suppose so,” he says. “This way.”
The man – Dr Ryan, you presume – leads you down a hall and into a small surgery.
“What's the problem?” he asks, as you go.
You wonder whether you ought to lie, but on balance decide that honesty is probably best when seeking medical help. By the time Ryan learns about what you did in Scourston, you'll be gone anyway.
In consequence, you tell him that you clung onto the side of a Charizard for several hours.
Ryan stops so abruptly that you nearly walk into his back.
“Excuse me?”
You repeat yourself, and roll up your sleeve to expose a particularly badly-burnt patch of forearm.
“Ah,” says Ryan, blinking at it. “I – er – see. Well. Um. Come this way, then.”
He certainly seems to be treating you with substantially more respect.
The actual treatment turns out to be fairly simple: your burns are different from the everyday sort only in terms of their severity, and Dr Ryan prescribes a kind of bluish liniment made from the slime that the black Sand Wartortle encase themselves in when they hibernate underground. Applying it hurts only slightly less than receiving the burns in the first place, but he assures you it will do you good, and instructs you to apply it twice a day, and to return if there is no improvement within a week.
You give him half your remaining houndteeth and leave, an hour after you arrived. The sun is high in the sky now, and it is growing hot. The shadow cast by the awnings is retreating towards the buildings, and in the broadening patches of sunlight you are beginning to miss your hat.
Also, check on the bird.
A glance up shows that the bird is nowhere in sight. It is not unusual for it to disappear when you enter towns, and you make nothing of it.
I don't think there is much we can do except for wait until the mail coach comes except for to listen out for locals talking about points of interest.
Wait for the mail coach.
Your afternoon is long and lazy. You stroll here and there, watching people pass along the streets, moving in and out of houses and shops with an easy grace. No one is in a hurry here. Lazar's Spit has none of the pressures of the big city, and where Scourstowners would snatch lunch only in small bites between sales at their market stall, Spit natives close up everything for over an hour at noon. Walking the city then is like strolling through a ghost town. There is no one at all abroad, and the only noise is a distant clinking of cutlery – and soon, not even that, as the town settles down for a collective siesta.
It is also increasingly hot, and you retreat to the cool of Sam's saloon for a beer that you assure him you will be able to pay for when you get word to your company about what happened and they send someone to bail you out of here. He offers you something to eat too, but you decline. You know you won't be paying him, and you don't want to cheat him any more than you have to.
“Did you hear that roaring earlier?” he asks.
You nod.
“Somethin' bad out there, that's for sure,” he says. “Don't rightly know what that could be, but – well, you must've heard about Tarnasshe, right?”
Another nod.
“Yeah.” Sam looks grim. “They say Dirge's army took out the foxes and their Charizard, but I can't help wonderin' if'n they didn't maybe have another.”
You assume a blandly concerned expression and nod again.
It was probably just a cougar in the hills, you say, and drink your beer.
Late in the afternoon, when the sun is sinking, you head back into the town, which is now marginally more lively than before, and wander. Once again you see the person of mysterious and indeterminate gender beneath their parasol, walking the streets with their Cacnea. The parasol is their only concession to the heat; the rest of their clothing wouldn't look out of place on a society lady taking the air on the windy seafront out West.
This time, they do not look at you, but hurry on, intent on some task of their own. You wonder what they are doing. They must have a life as large and complex as yours, after all, with its own set of nagging questions and elusive answers, of friends and enemies and impenetrable mysteries – a bigger life, in fact, for they have had weeks and months and years of love and hate and memory to build on, when you have only a few days. So must everyone, even in a small town like Lazar's Spit …
That strange feeling that overcame you as you walked through Scourston hits you again, the sense that you are so close to nothing, and the world is so rich with life and history around you that it almost squeezes you out of existence. For a long moment, you stand there, nauseous and transfixed. The people around you seem to linger in your head, faces and footsteps magnified into biographies written in a language you cannot understand. Your head throbs, and three lights, one red and two white, pulse before your eyes, and then you remember―
And then you don't. Whatever knowledge you were on the brink of retreats back into its hiding place in the back of your head – the place where your past is. Your self.
Sweating and suddenly weak, you stumble over to a shaded wall and sink down against it. It's there. Your memory – it is there, inside you. It isn't gone, only shut away.
You don't have the key.
But at least you know there is a lock.
It is a long time later when you can move again.
No more wandering now. You go back to the saloon and take a room there. It doesn't seem to matter what cost you cause Sam now. You eat, and stagger upstairs, and sleep.
And you dream – not of a cave in the earth but of a figure on a horse, who is riding towards you across a plain of rough wooden floorboards, a rifle levelled at your head – and you wake up with a clear head at last, and know even before you feel the pressure on your chest that someone has come to kill you.
You look up at the assassin, still as a board beneath the thin blanket, and the assassin looks back at you.
The pistol is lifted from your heart.
“Now we're even,” says the assassin, and moves aside to catch the moonlight from the window.
Somewhere in Scourston charcoal-sashed men are shooting a woman in a jeweller's shop, and in the hills a dragon is curling into a comma, its fire dim with pain and hunger, and in a coach in the desert a man with eyes that shine with the light of an untold joke sits among stacks of letters and parcels – and somewhere above your head, a great black thing that could be a bird is looking eastwards with glittering things that could be eyes, and on the horizon something is looking back.
And Lily says:
“You need to get up now.”
Note: Hi! I'm back, and with a pretty important update! Sorry I didn't get around to it before I left. It would've been good to start my three-week break with this, but alas, it didn't work out. Never mind. Let's get on with the story!
You stand there for a moment, thinking how strange it is that despite your evident familiarity you still do not know the man's name, and pondering what it could be that you did to make him so afraid of you – and then a twinge of pain in your side pulls you from your thoughts and sets you firmly back down in the dusty street.
You grimace. A doctor would be more useful than answers right now.
Dimly, you recall passing what looked like a surgery during your walk, and you retrace your steps in the hope of finding it again. A few minutes' searching turns up a respectable-looking wooden building with a brass plaque on the door, which reads:
V. K. RYAN
FARRIER
MEDICAL PRACTITIONER
VETERINARY SURGEON
DENTIST
FARRIER
MEDICAL PRACTITIONER
VETERINARY SURGEON
DENTIST
You suppose that the order in which the professions are listed shows something about the priorities of the town.
Briefly, you consider your lack of money. There's always houndteeth, you remind yourself – you have twelve left, and it would be worth trading some away for medical attention. Besides, if you're going north-east, you will be heading towards fox territory, and houndteeth will be much less useful against them than needle slugs. All things considered, you think you can justify the expense, and knock accordingly.
The door is answered by a tall, sober-looking man with a three-piece suit and proudly-jutting whiskers. If you have ever met anyone who was born to be a doctor, this man was.
“Good afternoon,” he says suspiciously, looking you up and down and evidently mistrusting what he sees. “Can I help you?”
You say you need a doctor, and ask if he accepts payment in houndteeth.
His lips tauten, and all the lines on his face deepen momentarily.
“Yes, I suppose so,” he says. “This way.”
The man – Dr Ryan, you presume – leads you down a hall and into a small surgery.
“What's the problem?” he asks, as you go.
You wonder whether you ought to lie, but on balance decide that honesty is probably best when seeking medical help. By the time Ryan learns about what you did in Scourston, you'll be gone anyway.
In consequence, you tell him that you clung onto the side of a Charizard for several hours.
Ryan stops so abruptly that you nearly walk into his back.
“Excuse me?”
You repeat yourself, and roll up your sleeve to expose a particularly badly-burnt patch of forearm.
“Ah,” says Ryan, blinking at it. “I – er – see. Well. Um. Come this way, then.”
He certainly seems to be treating you with substantially more respect.
The actual treatment turns out to be fairly simple: your burns are different from the everyday sort only in terms of their severity, and Dr Ryan prescribes a kind of bluish liniment made from the slime that the black Sand Wartortle encase themselves in when they hibernate underground. Applying it hurts only slightly less than receiving the burns in the first place, but he assures you it will do you good, and instructs you to apply it twice a day, and to return if there is no improvement within a week.
You give him half your remaining houndteeth and leave, an hour after you arrived. The sun is high in the sky now, and it is growing hot. The shadow cast by the awnings is retreating towards the buildings, and in the broadening patches of sunlight you are beginning to miss your hat.
Also, check on the bird.
A glance up shows that the bird is nowhere in sight. It is not unusual for it to disappear when you enter towns, and you make nothing of it.
I don't think there is much we can do except for wait until the mail coach comes except for to listen out for locals talking about points of interest.
Wait for the mail coach.
Your afternoon is long and lazy. You stroll here and there, watching people pass along the streets, moving in and out of houses and shops with an easy grace. No one is in a hurry here. Lazar's Spit has none of the pressures of the big city, and where Scourstowners would snatch lunch only in small bites between sales at their market stall, Spit natives close up everything for over an hour at noon. Walking the city then is like strolling through a ghost town. There is no one at all abroad, and the only noise is a distant clinking of cutlery – and soon, not even that, as the town settles down for a collective siesta.
It is also increasingly hot, and you retreat to the cool of Sam's saloon for a beer that you assure him you will be able to pay for when you get word to your company about what happened and they send someone to bail you out of here. He offers you something to eat too, but you decline. You know you won't be paying him, and you don't want to cheat him any more than you have to.
“Did you hear that roaring earlier?” he asks.
You nod.
“Somethin' bad out there, that's for sure,” he says. “Don't rightly know what that could be, but – well, you must've heard about Tarnasshe, right?”
Another nod.
“Yeah.” Sam looks grim. “They say Dirge's army took out the foxes and their Charizard, but I can't help wonderin' if'n they didn't maybe have another.”
You assume a blandly concerned expression and nod again.
It was probably just a cougar in the hills, you say, and drink your beer.
Late in the afternoon, when the sun is sinking, you head back into the town, which is now marginally more lively than before, and wander. Once again you see the person of mysterious and indeterminate gender beneath their parasol, walking the streets with their Cacnea. The parasol is their only concession to the heat; the rest of their clothing wouldn't look out of place on a society lady taking the air on the windy seafront out West.
This time, they do not look at you, but hurry on, intent on some task of their own. You wonder what they are doing. They must have a life as large and complex as yours, after all, with its own set of nagging questions and elusive answers, of friends and enemies and impenetrable mysteries – a bigger life, in fact, for they have had weeks and months and years of love and hate and memory to build on, when you have only a few days. So must everyone, even in a small town like Lazar's Spit …
That strange feeling that overcame you as you walked through Scourston hits you again, the sense that you are so close to nothing, and the world is so rich with life and history around you that it almost squeezes you out of existence. For a long moment, you stand there, nauseous and transfixed. The people around you seem to linger in your head, faces and footsteps magnified into biographies written in a language you cannot understand. Your head throbs, and three lights, one red and two white, pulse before your eyes, and then you remember―
And then you don't. Whatever knowledge you were on the brink of retreats back into its hiding place in the back of your head – the place where your past is. Your self.
Sweating and suddenly weak, you stumble over to a shaded wall and sink down against it. It's there. Your memory – it is there, inside you. It isn't gone, only shut away.
You don't have the key.
But at least you know there is a lock.
*
It is a long time later when you can move again.
No more wandering now. You go back to the saloon and take a room there. It doesn't seem to matter what cost you cause Sam now. You eat, and stagger upstairs, and sleep.
And you dream – not of a cave in the earth but of a figure on a horse, who is riding towards you across a plain of rough wooden floorboards, a rifle levelled at your head – and you wake up with a clear head at last, and know even before you feel the pressure on your chest that someone has come to kill you.
You look up at the assassin, still as a board beneath the thin blanket, and the assassin looks back at you.
The pistol is lifted from your heart.
“Now we're even,” says the assassin, and moves aside to catch the moonlight from the window.
Somewhere in Scourston charcoal-sashed men are shooting a woman in a jeweller's shop, and in the hills a dragon is curling into a comma, its fire dim with pain and hunger, and in a coach in the desert a man with eyes that shine with the light of an untold joke sits among stacks of letters and parcels – and somewhere above your head, a great black thing that could be a bird is looking eastwards with glittering things that could be eyes, and on the horizon something is looking back.
And Lily says:
“You need to get up now.”
Note: Hi! I'm back, and with a pretty important update! Sorry I didn't get around to it before I left. It would've been good to start my three-week break with this, but alas, it didn't work out. Never mind. Let's get on with the story!
Last edited:
Deadly.Braviary
Well-Known Member
Called it! 
Well, yeah, get up. That's pretty much all you can do.
~Deadly
Well, yeah, get up. That's pretty much all you can do.
~Deadly
Huh. Well. That's the burns... not quite healed but they're on their way.
Right. Lily is back (Good thing we elected to spare her, as a different assassin wouldn't have been so merciful), so ask her why she's here?
OOC: And also are we allowed to use the out-of-character knowledge at the end to go feed the Charizard? Or help the person being shot, or beware of the mail coach... you get the picture.
Right. Lily is back (Good thing we elected to spare her, as a different assassin wouldn't have been so merciful), so ask her why she's here?
OOC: And also are we allowed to use the out-of-character knowledge at the end to go feed the Charizard? Or help the person being shot, or beware of the mail coach... you get the picture.
teamVASIMR
Plasma Rocket
Welcome back!!
But first I think you need to find out what Lily wants with you...
Yeah +1 here toward seeing about getting Charlie some food and medical attention.
But first I think you need to find out what Lily wants with you...
Cutlerine
Gone. Not coming back.
Well, yeah, get up. That's pretty much all you can do.
First I think you need to find out what Lily wants with you …
Right. Lily is back (good thing we elected to spare her, as a different assassin wouldn't have been so merciful), so ask her why she's here?
You get up. It doesn't really seem like you have a choice.
You are very aware that you once set this woman on fire.
“I think you know why you're still alive,” says Lily. “Do you know why it is that I'm here to not kill you?”
You shake your head, and ask her.
“I was in town, and a man named Grant hired me to kill you,” she replies. “I didn't know it was you, of course. But it seemed easy and he was willing to pay a lot.”
Grant. You don't know that name. Unless …
You describe the man from by the well, the one who was partnered with Verne. Lily nods.
“That was the man,” she says. “He seemed weak, but committed. Which I suppose makes him brave.”
She stands by the side of the window and peers around its edge.
“He's on the other side of the street,” she tells you. “Watching. We don't have long before he notices something's wrong.”
You are about to pick up your pistol and sword from the table when her arm twitches, and the round black eye of her gun-barrel meets your gaze again.
“Leave it for now,” she says.
Weighing the distance between you and your weaponry against the speed of Lily's reflexes, you decide to obey. For the moment, anyway.
“You didn't kill me,” Lily says, “so I haven't killed you. But you did set me on fire, and I'm owed revenge for that, don't you think.”
It is not a question. Not really. You know, and she knows that you know, that by any code of honour she has a valid claim here.
Although that does not mean you aren't going to resist her when she makes it.
“But I don't have to take revenge,” she continues. “I can let it slide, if you're willing to do me a favour.”
You ask her what sort of favour she might have in mind.
“There's a reason I'm out here in the back end of nowhere,” says Lily. “And a reason that I'm resorting to hired thuggery to earn money.”
Her gun hand never so much as quivers. You know: you are watching very carefully.
“When I failed to rob the rose oil caravan, I made several people rather angry. People who had already spent the money they were going to get from the sale of the oil. People who are now demanding that I get them back all that money within a week.”
What if she doesn't repay them?
Lily gives you a withering look.
“What do you think?”
Ah. You thought so.
“Anyway. I left them in Corroseir – although I'm sure I'm still being watched – and came here, thinking maybe I could offer to take some refugees from Tarnasshe across the desert to Scourston and rob them partway there. But then I got this offer, and found out I could pay off my debt all at once if I just killed one person.”
Except, you say, that that person being you ruined the plan.
“Yes. Exactly.” Lily sighs. “I don't expect you to have any money. But since you owe me, I thought you might be persuaded to help me in other ways.”
There is a long pause.
You ask if she wants your help in killing her creditors.
“That,” she says. “Or getting the money from Grant. But he's brave, despite how scared he is. I don't know how to make him tell me where it is.”
Note: The protagonist knows and does not know about all that stuff; you could justify going to help the Charizard, I suppose, if you were persuasive enough, but I imagine the poor woman in Zavarat's shop probably died almost instantaneously. As for the man in the mail-coach, well, it's unclear, as with the Charizard. The protagonist probably feels uneasy about all these things, but does not know specifics.
First I think you need to find out what Lily wants with you …
Right. Lily is back (good thing we elected to spare her, as a different assassin wouldn't have been so merciful), so ask her why she's here?
You get up. It doesn't really seem like you have a choice.
You are very aware that you once set this woman on fire.
“I think you know why you're still alive,” says Lily. “Do you know why it is that I'm here to not kill you?”
You shake your head, and ask her.
“I was in town, and a man named Grant hired me to kill you,” she replies. “I didn't know it was you, of course. But it seemed easy and he was willing to pay a lot.”
Grant. You don't know that name. Unless …
You describe the man from by the well, the one who was partnered with Verne. Lily nods.
“That was the man,” she says. “He seemed weak, but committed. Which I suppose makes him brave.”
She stands by the side of the window and peers around its edge.
“He's on the other side of the street,” she tells you. “Watching. We don't have long before he notices something's wrong.”
You are about to pick up your pistol and sword from the table when her arm twitches, and the round black eye of her gun-barrel meets your gaze again.
“Leave it for now,” she says.
Weighing the distance between you and your weaponry against the speed of Lily's reflexes, you decide to obey. For the moment, anyway.
“You didn't kill me,” Lily says, “so I haven't killed you. But you did set me on fire, and I'm owed revenge for that, don't you think.”
It is not a question. Not really. You know, and she knows that you know, that by any code of honour she has a valid claim here.
Although that does not mean you aren't going to resist her when she makes it.
“But I don't have to take revenge,” she continues. “I can let it slide, if you're willing to do me a favour.”
You ask her what sort of favour she might have in mind.
“There's a reason I'm out here in the back end of nowhere,” says Lily. “And a reason that I'm resorting to hired thuggery to earn money.”
Her gun hand never so much as quivers. You know: you are watching very carefully.
“When I failed to rob the rose oil caravan, I made several people rather angry. People who had already spent the money they were going to get from the sale of the oil. People who are now demanding that I get them back all that money within a week.”
What if she doesn't repay them?
Lily gives you a withering look.
“What do you think?”
Ah. You thought so.
“Anyway. I left them in Corroseir – although I'm sure I'm still being watched – and came here, thinking maybe I could offer to take some refugees from Tarnasshe across the desert to Scourston and rob them partway there. But then I got this offer, and found out I could pay off my debt all at once if I just killed one person.”
Except, you say, that that person being you ruined the plan.
“Yes. Exactly.” Lily sighs. “I don't expect you to have any money. But since you owe me, I thought you might be persuaded to help me in other ways.”
There is a long pause.
You ask if she wants your help in killing her creditors.
“That,” she says. “Or getting the money from Grant. But he's brave, despite how scared he is. I don't know how to make him tell me where it is.”
Note: The protagonist knows and does not know about all that stuff; you could justify going to help the Charizard, I suppose, if you were persuasive enough, but I imagine the poor woman in Zavarat's shop probably died almost instantaneously. As for the man in the mail-coach, well, it's unclear, as with the Charizard. The protagonist probably feels uneasy about all these things, but does not know specifics.
Deadly.Braviary
Well-Known Member
I vote to go intimidate that backstabbing prick Grant.
~Deadly
~Deadly
Yes. Intimidate him- possibly threaten his partner? He certainly seemed scared enough for him... Fortunately, this is not friendly interrogation. Not this time.
OOC: Someone come up with convincing arguments to feed the charizard. Aside from "It's a charizard/it's really cool of course you feed it"
OOC: Someone come up with convincing arguments to feed the charizard. Aside from "It's a charizard/it's really cool of course you feed it"
teamVASIMR
Plasma Rocket
Well I had an idea earlier but didn't post it because it kinda went against our nameless protagonist being a considerate, peace-loving person...
The idea was to extort money from Grant/Verne, and then use it to buy supplies, transportation, and a metric buttload of pokemon food.
Now it's come to it anyway so go do that. So ask Lily how much she wants and figure out a reasonable split.
It looks like there's two of you and only one of him. Make sure he can see your gun. If he asks explain you had a talk with his boss and now you got it back. The whole thing was just a huge misunderstanding, and you weren't here to kill him, he and Verne always ran away before you could say anything, but now since he's hired someone to kill you (who just happens to be a friend of yours), well...
Oh and don't actually call him "Grant" in case he gave Lily a fake name, unless he otherwise confirms it.
And a good reason to help Charlie is:
-It's a charizard/it's really cool of course you feed it
-You don't like Dirge. None of us do. And if you nurse Charlie back to health, I consider that a victory. Not a big one. But perhaps the gateway to a greater one.
-It's kinda hard for creditors to reposess...
-idk anyone have any more ideas?
The idea was to extort money from Grant/Verne, and then use it to buy supplies, transportation, and a metric buttload of pokemon food.
Now it's come to it anyway so go do that. So ask Lily how much she wants and figure out a reasonable split.
It looks like there's two of you and only one of him. Make sure he can see your gun. If he asks explain you had a talk with his boss and now you got it back. The whole thing was just a huge misunderstanding, and you weren't here to kill him, he and Verne always ran away before you could say anything, but now since he's hired someone to kill you (who just happens to be a friend of yours), well...
Oh and don't actually call him "Grant" in case he gave Lily a fake name, unless he otherwise confirms it.
And a good reason to help Charlie is:
-You don't like Dirge. None of us do. And if you nurse Charlie back to health, I consider that a victory. Not a big one. But perhaps the gateway to a greater one.
-It's kinda hard for creditors to reposess...
-idk anyone have any more ideas?
Cutlerine
Gone. Not coming back.
Hello! Not an update, but something I should have made clearer: I didn't mean you had to persuade me to let you go and help out the Charizard. I meant you had to think of a plausible reason for our protagonist to go out into the hills in search of it when they have nothing more than a vague idea that something's happening out there. Sorry. That was badly phrased on my part.
As for being considerate or not ... the protagonist is what you make of them. You started off being merciful and, well, kind, so I've made them act accordingly since then. If you start to act differently, I'll do my best to justify it, but be aware that no action exists in isolation. Your commands will have a knock-on effect on the protagonist's personality, and that's going to change how they interact with others.
There are nicer ways of dealing with Grant than straight-up threats and violence, as there always are when dealing with people like him. But I leave the choice of what to do up to you.
As for being considerate or not ... the protagonist is what you make of them. You started off being merciful and, well, kind, so I've made them act accordingly since then. If you start to act differently, I'll do my best to justify it, but be aware that no action exists in isolation. Your commands will have a knock-on effect on the protagonist's personality, and that's going to change how they interact with others.
There are nicer ways of dealing with Grant than straight-up threats and violence, as there always are when dealing with people like him. But I leave the choice of what to do up to you.
I knew that, even if I worded my response badly. "Because charizards are cool" is a point the protagonist might agree with, but it's certainly not a good reason to go feed one. I just couldn't think up a good enough reason to do so.
On the interrogation. First suggest that you'll conveniently leave him (And his friend) alone if presented with the money he was going to pay Lily, and make note of the fact that you spared her even after she tried to kill you (Also possibly add you're helping her pay her bosses back for not getting enough money because she wasn't able to rob you). If friendly persuasion doesn't work, move on to making subtle (And not-so-subtle) threats toward him and his partner. Then after that move on to more direct methods.
On the interrogation. First suggest that you'll conveniently leave him (And his friend) alone if presented with the money he was going to pay Lily, and make note of the fact that you spared her even after she tried to kill you (Also possibly add you're helping her pay her bosses back for not getting enough money because she wasn't able to rob you). If friendly persuasion doesn't work, move on to making subtle (And not-so-subtle) threats toward him and his partner. Then after that move on to more direct methods.
teamVASIMR
Plasma Rocket
I already gave a reason above, and a reason for Lily to come with too. But here's some more reasons for Nameless to go on:
- Because I said so (Wouldn't s/he really have jumped off Charlie if someone actually said to do that?).
- Air transport (please remember the insulation this time). Your intended trajectory takes you into Fox territory. One does not simply walk into fox territory. So fly over it instead (assuming Foxes don't have much in the way of air defence capabilities).
- Remember when you were starving and dehydrated in the desert? Yeah? And how many people with absolutely no rational reason to do so you gave you drink, food and shelter? Now, are you innocent? Did you deserve it? How many have you killed? How many more have to die?
Really this Charizard is no different. And I think the right thing to do is to go help him. Because the kindness of strangers is the only reason you're alive right now.
Well Grant did say earlier that he would have paid you if he had the chance. But you got the merchandise back, so really the only money that would be due to you would be for:
- Your time and effort
- Pain and Suffering
- Assault and Battery
- Attempted Murder / Murder-for-hire
...well so I guess he DOES still owe you money. Take him to court.
EDIT: Before taking someone to court, one usually tries to extract a settlement. "Extracting a settlement" may be creatively interpreted. Apologies that wasn't very clear.
- Because I said so (Wouldn't s/he really have jumped off Charlie if someone actually said to do that?).
- Air transport (please remember the insulation this time). Your intended trajectory takes you into Fox territory. One does not simply walk into fox territory. So fly over it instead (assuming Foxes don't have much in the way of air defence capabilities).
- Remember when you were starving and dehydrated in the desert? Yeah? And how many people with absolutely no rational reason to do so you gave you drink, food and shelter? Now, are you innocent? Did you deserve it? How many have you killed? How many more have to die?
Really this Charizard is no different. And I think the right thing to do is to go help him. Because the kindness of strangers is the only reason you're alive right now.
Hmm, what would a kind, peace-loving person do?
Well Grant did say earlier that he would have paid you if he had the chance. But you got the merchandise back, so really the only money that would be due to you would be for:
- Your time and effort
- Pain and Suffering
- Assault and Battery
- Attempted Murder / Murder-for-hire
...well so I guess he DOES still owe you money. Take him to court.
EDIT: Before taking someone to court, one usually tries to extract a settlement. "Extracting a settlement" may be creatively interpreted. Apologies that wasn't very clear.
Last edited:
Cutlerine
Gone. Not coming back.
Go intimidate that backstabbing prick Grant.
First suggest that you'll conveniently leave him (and his friend) alone if presented with the money he was going to pay Lily, and make note of the fact that you spared her even after she tried to kill you (also possibly add you're helping her pay her bosses back for not getting enough money because she wasn't able to rob you). If friendly persuasion doesn't work, move on to making subtle (and not-so-subtle) threats toward him and his partner. Then after that move on to more direct methods.
You ask her to show you where Grant is.
Lily raises her eyebrows.
“You think you can make him talk? He is a professional. I got the feeling he'd rather lose a limb, and I'm not the kind of woman who goes in for any more sophisticated torture than that.” She pauses. “You're not the kind of person who goes in for more sophisticated torture than that, are you?”
You consider this for some time.
No, you say. You don't think so. But anything is possible.
Lily shakes her head.
“All right … Well.” She gestures with the gun. “Go to the other side of the bed.”
She isn't taking any chances. From over there, you would be hard pressed to get to your weapons before she does – not that you try. She will return them when she feels it is safe for her to do so, you are sure.
The desert woodsman goes back into the empty scabbard on her back. Your revolver she examines for a moment, noticing for the first time the colours rippling across the stone, and then sticks into a pouch on her belt.
“Right,” she says. “You go down first.” She jerks her head at the door. “Nothing personal.”
Before you go, you assure her that you haven't taken any offence, and she nods.
Then you are heading down the narrow stairs, taking care not to make too much noise – you have no desire to wake Sam and draw him into this – and out through the silent saloon into the warm night beyond.
What happens next happens fast. Grant sees you, and turns at once to flee, but you and Lily are much quicker than he is. Before he can escape, the pair of you have crossed the street and cut him off.
“Sorry,” says Lily. “The deal's off. Personal reasons.”
Grant takes a slow, trembling breath. You examine his face carefully. He is definitely the man you met before, but he looks different now, more … resolute. He has been working himself up to this, and you doubt he'll be cowed easily.
“Can I ask why?” he enquires.
“Yes, you can,” replies Lily, “but I don't owe you an answer.” She folds her arms. “I want the money.”
“Or what? You'll kill me?”
No.
Grant's gaze slides onto you with alacrity.
“That's what you are, though,” he says. “A killer. Know better than to trust you. When we came to take your gun, you said to me just that. That we shouldn't take it. That you were wiling to kill for it.” He licks his lips nervously. “Then you were as good as your word, and when Ben took it, you killed him. And Lewis. And Lyon. And Alexander, and Jimmy, and Cob. Six men, just like that, and if Beth hadn't been there I don't believe you would have stopped.”
With a jolt, you remember that Grant has more than money in him. He has information, too – about you and what happened to you, about the gun, possibly about the feud between Dirge and the thing that is Zavarat.
But you assure him you will not kill him. You just want him to pay Lily, and then you'll be gone. Lazar's Spit is just one stop on a much longer journey for you.
He looks suspicious.
“And what do you care that she gets what she wants?”
You pat your empty holster. The sudden movement makes him flinch, but then he sees that you have no gun, and his eyes dart up to Lily.
“She's threatening you?” He sounds incredulous. “But you could kill her anyway, even without―”
Maybe, you say, although you are not sure. The killer Grant describes sounds impossible; you are quite sure you couldn't take on six armed men at once. But you won't.
He gives you a long, inscrutable look.
“What the hell is going on?” he asks, and he almost seems more interested than afraid.
You look at Lily. She nods; you can tell her story.
Lily owes some money. She was going to earn it by killing you, but because you spared her once before, she owed it to you not to kill you. But because you set her on fire before – here, a flicker of Grant's fear shows itself on his face again – you owe it to her to help repay the debt.
“Didn't mean that,” he says. “I meant – with you?” He looks uncertain. “You are the one with the gun, aren't you? I haven't made a mistake?”
Lily coughs quietly – you are moving away from the task at hand – but you indicate to her that you won't be long. You just need to hear this, you say.
Maybe she remembers then that you lost your past, because she nods her stubbly head understandingly, and takes a small step back. She's still very close – she would not risk letting Grant get away – but the symbol is clear: all right, she is saying; I'll do you a favour, you can speak with him.
Note: Grant's a fairly knowledgeable guy. I held you back from intimidating him for the time being, because I think you and I will both regret it if the protagonist doesn't talk to him a little more.
First suggest that you'll conveniently leave him (and his friend) alone if presented with the money he was going to pay Lily, and make note of the fact that you spared her even after she tried to kill you (also possibly add you're helping her pay her bosses back for not getting enough money because she wasn't able to rob you). If friendly persuasion doesn't work, move on to making subtle (and not-so-subtle) threats toward him and his partner. Then after that move on to more direct methods.
You ask her to show you where Grant is.
Lily raises her eyebrows.
“You think you can make him talk? He is a professional. I got the feeling he'd rather lose a limb, and I'm not the kind of woman who goes in for any more sophisticated torture than that.” She pauses. “You're not the kind of person who goes in for more sophisticated torture than that, are you?”
You consider this for some time.
No, you say. You don't think so. But anything is possible.
Lily shakes her head.
“All right … Well.” She gestures with the gun. “Go to the other side of the bed.”
She isn't taking any chances. From over there, you would be hard pressed to get to your weapons before she does – not that you try. She will return them when she feels it is safe for her to do so, you are sure.
The desert woodsman goes back into the empty scabbard on her back. Your revolver she examines for a moment, noticing for the first time the colours rippling across the stone, and then sticks into a pouch on her belt.
“Right,” she says. “You go down first.” She jerks her head at the door. “Nothing personal.”
Before you go, you assure her that you haven't taken any offence, and she nods.
Then you are heading down the narrow stairs, taking care not to make too much noise – you have no desire to wake Sam and draw him into this – and out through the silent saloon into the warm night beyond.
What happens next happens fast. Grant sees you, and turns at once to flee, but you and Lily are much quicker than he is. Before he can escape, the pair of you have crossed the street and cut him off.
“Sorry,” says Lily. “The deal's off. Personal reasons.”
Grant takes a slow, trembling breath. You examine his face carefully. He is definitely the man you met before, but he looks different now, more … resolute. He has been working himself up to this, and you doubt he'll be cowed easily.
“Can I ask why?” he enquires.
“Yes, you can,” replies Lily, “but I don't owe you an answer.” She folds her arms. “I want the money.”
“Or what? You'll kill me?”
No.
Grant's gaze slides onto you with alacrity.
“That's what you are, though,” he says. “A killer. Know better than to trust you. When we came to take your gun, you said to me just that. That we shouldn't take it. That you were wiling to kill for it.” He licks his lips nervously. “Then you were as good as your word, and when Ben took it, you killed him. And Lewis. And Lyon. And Alexander, and Jimmy, and Cob. Six men, just like that, and if Beth hadn't been there I don't believe you would have stopped.”
With a jolt, you remember that Grant has more than money in him. He has information, too – about you and what happened to you, about the gun, possibly about the feud between Dirge and the thing that is Zavarat.
But you assure him you will not kill him. You just want him to pay Lily, and then you'll be gone. Lazar's Spit is just one stop on a much longer journey for you.
He looks suspicious.
“And what do you care that she gets what she wants?”
You pat your empty holster. The sudden movement makes him flinch, but then he sees that you have no gun, and his eyes dart up to Lily.
“She's threatening you?” He sounds incredulous. “But you could kill her anyway, even without―”
Maybe, you say, although you are not sure. The killer Grant describes sounds impossible; you are quite sure you couldn't take on six armed men at once. But you won't.
He gives you a long, inscrutable look.
“What the hell is going on?” he asks, and he almost seems more interested than afraid.
You look at Lily. She nods; you can tell her story.
Lily owes some money. She was going to earn it by killing you, but because you spared her once before, she owed it to you not to kill you. But because you set her on fire before – here, a flicker of Grant's fear shows itself on his face again – you owe it to her to help repay the debt.
“Didn't mean that,” he says. “I meant – with you?” He looks uncertain. “You are the one with the gun, aren't you? I haven't made a mistake?”
Lily coughs quietly – you are moving away from the task at hand – but you indicate to her that you won't be long. You just need to hear this, you say.
Maybe she remembers then that you lost your past, because she nods her stubbly head understandingly, and takes a small step back. She's still very close – she would not risk letting Grant get away – but the symbol is clear: all right, she is saying; I'll do you a favour, you can speak with him.
Note: Grant's a fairly knowledgeable guy. I held you back from intimidating him for the time being, because I think you and I will both regret it if the protagonist doesn't talk to him a little more.
teamVASIMR
Plasma Rocket
What is this i don't even
---
Well we have a problem here. Because Grant knows something we don't know, and he doesn't know that we don't know because to him we should already know, but if we let him know that we don't know then he's probably not gonna tell us.
Besides making casual conversation and hoping he drops something (which has already been tried) I'm out of ideas. Anybody else?
---
Well we have a problem here. Because Grant knows something we don't know, and he doesn't know that we don't know because to him we should already know, but if we let him know that we don't know then he's probably not gonna tell us.
Besides making casual conversation and hoping he drops something (which has already been tried) I'm out of ideas. Anybody else?
Cutlerine
Gone. Not coming back.
I know I'm sort of breaking the rule of non-interference, but I'm afraid I don't quite get that line of reasoning. Why would Grant not tell you if he knows you don't know? He stands to lose nothing by doing so. This isn't really the same situation as yesterday afternoon. Trying to make casual conversation in the middle of an extortion attempt is probably not an option.
I just thought I ought to make that clear before I ended up with commands that I can't use without sacrificing narrative credibility. Now I'll go back to silently watching and waiting, like a stonefish. Who writes stories. Uh, maybe scratch that simile.
teamVASIMR
Plasma Rocket
Because if he knows that you've forgotten the context of events, then he can lie with relative impunity?? It seems like Grant is already starting to realize that something is "wrong" with you.
Of course not, I'm just saying that's the only thing I could think of last time, and I don't have any fresh ideas this time.
I suppose you could try poking him about Beth...
Cutlerine
Gone. Not coming back.
He has no reason to lie, though. In fact, if you were to have forgotten your past, you'd be less of a threat to him than before, especially as you already have the gun.
... this is probably easier to see when you can read Grant's mind, as I can. Sorry about that. I seem to be being consistently unclear recently.
... this is probably easier to see when you can read Grant's mind, as I can. Sorry about that. I seem to be being consistently unclear recently.
Deadly.Braviary
Well-Known Member
I suggest you don't spill everything, seeing as god knows what he'd do if he figured out you have amnesia. So just tell him your memory is a little foggy, and find out from him what exactly happened. Also, who's Beth?
Oh, and start breaking his fingers if he doesn't comply.
~Deadly
Oh, and start breaking his fingers if he doesn't comply.
~Deadly