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I didn't see any option to punch him and start quoting Kras Mazov. 
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Jul 13, 2020 01:24
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"I'm but a lowly single-digit billionaire" is the most HENRY-rear end phrase in the English language.
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Jul 13, 2020 01:51
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Update on the bottom of last page.
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Jul 13, 2020 01:54
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That was amazing 
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Jul 14, 2020 15:11
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And it's entirely possible to never see any of that if you never manage to open the door to that container.
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Jul 14, 2020 17:03
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I wasn't expecting that check to pass. Hell, I was actually kind of hoping it wouldn't, because I thought that it would be a weird tonal and narrative diversion when I recorded it. But we successfully talked our way into the shipping container, and so I felt obligated to include it.
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Jul 14, 2020 20:15
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Hah, I was playing as an art cop with high conceptualization and I both only remember having one conceptualization choice and upon succeeding on it had the same proposal as our failed result here. I was really confused with there being two conceptualization options here in the LP but it seems on-brand for Disco Elysium, and a nice jab at whether all that work being good at art was really worth anything :P
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Jul 14, 2020 21:18
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Arist posted:I wasn't expecting that check to pass. Hell, I was actually kind of hoping it wouldn't, because I thought that it would be a weird tonal and narrative diversion when I recorded it. But we successfully talked our way into the shipping container, and so I felt obligated to include it. 
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Jul 14, 2020 21:39
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Crossposting from the PYF Weird/Awesome Fanart thread.Rampant Dwickery posted:Man there is a surprisingly good amount of Disco Elysium art out there (given how distinctive the game's painterly aesthetic is).
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Jul 14, 2020 22:34
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Chapter 35: 13:50-16:00: Ceramic Hornets ARIST: [Easy: Success] You should probably just forget about what just happened to you just like you forgot the rest of your life. People won’t understand. Just go talk to Evrart, okay?   Inside this locked case, we find some nifty gloves.     ARIST: [Medium: Success] For a moment there, *you* almost felt bad for wasting *Leo’s* time. Huh.  ARIST: [Godly: Failure] You’re… not actually sure what you think that is. Perhaps someone will one day explain it to you.   ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Yep, just get right down to business with that first thing. EVRART CLAIRE: “Ah yes, your side-investigation! Thank you.” He adjusts his glasses. “You’ve got some spirit, clearing up phony drug accusations alongside this murder. I’ll talk to the mayor and see if I can get you the key to the city, Harry. Now let’s talk real business.” ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] Actually, Revachol doesn’t have a mayor… RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] He refuses to discuss it further. It’s probably just a small nuisance to him.  ARIST: Goddammit, what did I *just* tell you?!   ARIST: [Easy: Success] He’s making fun of you. You know he’s making fun of you, right?  EVRART CLAIRE: “You’re right, Harry. I *am* a socialist.” His face turns serious. “I’m going to catch the mega rich guy inside the container and harvest his energy to power the harbour’s fog lights.” He bursts out laughing. “I shudder to think what you’re going to tell me next, Harry.”  ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Just… just do what you came here to do. EVRART CLAIRE: “The golden boy returns once more! Wonderful—simply wonderful, Harry.” He claps his hands together like a child who’s just been offered cotton candy. “Of course, I already knew this.”  EVRART CLAIRE: “You’re in my inner circle. You too, Mr. Kitsuragi,” he nods to the lieutenant, smiling broadly. “We can talk about anything: the strike, the murder, your lost gun—*nothing* is off the table.” INTERFACING: [Medium: Success] See, forging that signature really paid off. ARIST: [Medium: Success] Shut *up*, dude! You’re gonna get us caught!  EVRART CLAIRE: “Harry…” He shakes his head. “By now you should know I would never do anything tricky like that. However, if the construction noise and limited street access makes *some* people consider moving… Well, let’s just say there’ll be freshly renovated buildings near the roundabout where those poor people can finally enjoy a significant uptick in quality of life. I’m talking real affordable *worker’s palaces*.” COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] He proudly spreads his hands to demonstrate the size of the palaces. They’re very large. KIM KITSURAGI: “So the village is doomed,” the lieutenant says grimly. EVRART CLAIRE: “You were there, you saw the place. A waste land—there’s nothing left. But mark my words, officers.” He slams his fist on the table, causing some of the coffee to spill. “We are going to *reset* it.”  EVRART CLAIRE: “Harry, imagine a Youth Centre-Supermarket-Church complex! Employing hundreds, no, thousands of people. The coast will be lit up with enterprise—and *life*! All those ruins out there turned into *low-income housing*…”  ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Even if it’s true, there’s got to be a better way. A better way, offered by someone other than Evrart loving Claire. EVRART CLAIRE: “Yes, I do. I got the centre, I got room for a retail complex, and in four years I’ll get the church too. The wheels are already turning, Harry. The wheels of progress. This post-war limbo—I won’t stand for it. There are kids practically playing with their own *faeces* out there… It cannot go on.”    EVRART CLAIRE: “Why, a war, of course.” KIM KITSURAGI: “And what do you have to gain from a war?”  EVRART CLAIRE: “Harry, we outnumber them fifteen hundred to one. And that’s just Martinaise. With all the unions in Revachol—and with public opinion on our side—we can hold off two men. Or fifteen men. Or even fifty men.”  EVRART CLAIRE: “Harry, there is no strike, only war. Class war. Or, in business terms: a *dawn raid*. Or wait…” He pauses to rub his chin. “Is that when you still *pay* them something? Because we won’t do that. We’re not gonna give nothing. We’re gonna *take* Terminal B away from them: the roads, the gates, the containers, that big crane… even the drat coffee maker. We’re gonna take all of it for the people—and *gently caress* Wild Pines.” PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] The word *gently caress* rings like a gunshot from his mouth. He doesn’t swear often. KIM KITSURAGI: “So that’s why you haven’t let Joyce in?”  EVRART CLAIRE: “Because we’re friends, Harry! Besides, it doesn’t matter now. You can go tell her, if you want—it won’t change the course of events. We have a significant head start.”  EVRART CLAIRE: “No idea. Could have been his own mother for all I know. If you ever find the guy, give him a big fat kiss from Evrart Claire. Couldn’t have done it without him.” DRAMA: [Medium: Success] He really doesn’t know.  EVRART CLAIRE: “I don’t. I told you it could have been his own mother… I’m pretty sure it wasn’t anyone from the Union. Maybe it was the mob… or maybe he killed himself ‘cause he was a closet socialist? Truth is, I simply don’t know.”  EVRART CLAIRE: “2,372,” he replies like a whip. “Plus yours truly, of course.” LOGIC: [Medium: Success] 2,373 is a sizeable contingent for a labour organization in Revachol.  EVRART CLAIRE: “Oh, you mean what sort of *goods* are gonna be flowing through? How am I gonna replace all the contacts we’ll lose once the poo-poo hits the fan? The clients who’ll ditch us? Harry, we’ve thought of everything.”  EVRART CLAIRE: “Sure, some will go, but mark my words: the company will be *unpleasantly* surprised to see how many of them stay loyal to Martinaise. And to the new, competitive contracts we can offer. With renewed zeal sparked by communal ownership, the man will be shipping those containers double time. You’ll be surprised to see how fast things go without parasites latching on. We’ll have our hands free to pursue bold, exotic new revenue streams.” REACTION SPEED: [Easy: Success] That’s drugs! KIM KITSURAGI: “Drug trafficking.” EVRART CLAIRE: “Drug trafficking? Don’t be stupid, Mr. Kitsuragi. There are perfectly legal, 100% ethical chemical factories on the Samaran isola. You don’t need to be *colonialist* about it.”  EVRART CLAIRE: “The company thinks transporting these chemicals in bulk ‘looks bad,’” he makes air quotes, “‘has bad optics,’ ‘may be illegal in some countries.’ The Débardeurs’ Union, however… we’re all about the large volume column. We’re gonna transport the living daylights out of those materials, Harry.” He slams his fist on the desk once more. “So your sick kid can get his *benafed* and your wacky uncle doesn’t have to come off *risperizole*!” ENCYCLOPDIA: [Medium: Success] *Benafed* is children’s cold medicine, usually apricot flavoured, and *risperizole* is used to treat severe psychosis. KIM KITSURAGI: “And the kids on the street can get speed and pyrholidon?” EVRART CLAIRE: “I’m an old-fashioned guy, Mr. Kitsuragi. I sometimes grabs a beer with the boys, but I have no idea about the things you just mentioned.” He smiles. “But if I *were* to supply ingredients for some sort of rainbow party, I would make sure the Union took a fantastic share—and I’d keep that stuff far away from Martinaise.”  EVRART CLAIRE: “Harry, if I *was* supplying raw materials to drug manufacturers, I would need an army of Rubies.”  EVRART CLAIRE: He smiles slyly. “It’s also far-removed from my men and the people of Martinaise, who’ve put their trust in me.”  EVRART CLAIRE: “Let’s look at the big picture. Martinaise as a whole. There are little girls out there with dreams of making music. Young mothers who want to start businesses. Models who want to walk catwalks and steel welders who want to weld steel. I’m gonna unite them all into one economic body. We’re gonna incorporate this place to kingdom come. Everyone’s gonna be in on the wealth. And *everyone’s* gonna pull their weight.”  EVRART CLAIRE: “No, no, Harry. That’s boring.” He sighs. Alright, it’s gone! The hypothetical raw materials trade is off the table. It’s such a small and insignificant slice of revenue, I’m cutting it.”  ARIST: [Easy: Success] Okay, I know you’re pathologically terrified of appearing *centrist* or whatever nonsense is currently floating through your brain other than myself but for the love of god, do *not* prai—oh christ almighty  EVRART CLAIRE: “We’re way past *specific* Union members now. This is the Big Time.” His eyes are shining. “We’re talking about the future of Revachol here, Harry. You can bother Leonard with that.” He points to the door. “He loves to run his mouth on such matters. But I’m in Big-Time mode, Harry.”   ARIST: [Easy: Success] Motherfucker! EVRART CLAIRE: “Your gun is with an old woman,” he says, absolutely unperturbed by your outburst. “I hear she’s a character, so watch out.”  EVRART CLAIRE: “Yes, the same one—I see you’ve done your research. The pawnshop made the gun easy to track…” He smiles and shakes his head in wonderment. “Crazy stuff, Harry. Selling your gun like that! Wild. Anyway…” SUGGESTION: [Medium: Success] Union boys are gonna help you *fix* it, he winks at you. Don’t worry, Harry.  EVRART CLAIRE: “As I said, she’s a character. I didn’t have time for details.” He smiles. “It sounds like she’s unstable, but don’t worry. No one got hurt.”  EVRART CLAIRE: “Unfortunately I don’t know any more. You’re gonna have to go in blind, Harry. But she’s an old lady—how dangerous can she possibly be? Oh, and she calls herself the Pigs.” INLAND EMPIRE: [Easy: Success] There is is again—*the pigs*, like Roy said. Not good at all. KIM KITSURAGI: “I, for one, find it refreshing. Finally someone calls *themselves* a pig.” A smile flickers in the corner of his mouth.    EVRART CLAIRE: “Great, Harry, great! I think we have truly built a bridge between Martinaise and Jamrock today. We have united the RCM and the Débardeurs’ Union…” Suddenly there’s sadness in his tone.   ARIST: [Easy: Success] Evrart mentioned that Leo might have some information on Union members. Go talk to him.    EASY LEO: “All kinds of places he visits. Him and his brother both do when they’re on a vacation. Right now it’s Mr. Evrart’s turn to look after the Union, but last year he spent a whole winter in South Safre.” He chuckles. “Left with the first autumn rains and didn’t come back before the trees were green again.” The little guy chuckles again. ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] South Safre? A lot of *bulk* chemical manufacturing going on there. A lot of cargo shipments being made too.  EASY LEO: “He’s a Union man through and through. Good guy.” He falls silent, hesitating. “He’s very calm… laid back. Doesn’t do much. Talks to Evrart sometimes. Honestly, I don’t know *what* he does for us, but it must be important because everybody likes him. Yes, they do. I think that’s what he does, he makes everyone feel a little better.”  EASY LEO: “Ohh, he’s really something…” The little man starts laughing. “He doesn’t talk much to me usually, but when he does… I don’t really understand most of what he’s saying…” He suddenly falls quiet. “Actually, I don’t think he would like me running my mouth about him like that.”  ARIST: [Medium: Success] loving cut it out! EASY LEO: “Who do you mean, mister?” He’s rubbing his nape and looking at you with childlike innocence.  EASY LEO: “I don’t know anyone like this, mister—maybe he’s one of mister Evrart’s fancy friends. He knows all kinds of fancy people with suits and perdy carriages.” Leo falls silent.    “The night guard? Oh, he’s a peculiar fellow,” Leo looks at the guard booth on the wall. “He’s the strong silent type you could say. We talk all the time, but I don’t really know much about him… He pays pétanque with my old human studies teacher, Mr. Martin down at the plaza. I think he’s the only fellow who actually knows old René.”     Bye, Leo.  We have an abundance of skill points right now, so we put a point into Empathy and another into Drama. We still have two left over after this.    Looks like Gary is busy. We’ll have to terrorize him another time (in my fanfiction, because we will never see him again in this game). ARIST: [Medium: Success] You’ve resolved the Jam Mystery, you should probably go see Joyce about your findings and get the information she promised.  ARIST: Uhhhhhhhhh  ARIST: [Challenging: Success] The village? Well, that’s a bit pointless and inconvenient, but whatever.  We need to put a point into Volition for one of Joyce’s checks anyway, but before we leave the area there’s something else we can use it for, so we put in that point.  ARIST: [Challenging: Success] The clarion call of the doorbell rings out to you once more. Go, discover the secrets it yet withholds from you.    ELECTRONIC DOORBELL: There’s a light buzz as you press the doorbell, waiting for her to answer the call. It’s cold outside, and you can hear the wind blowing into the speaker. PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] There’s the static again, whispering like a seashell pressed against the ear.  TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: “My god…”  TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: Before you can finish your sentence the voice continues speaking: “It’s you… My god, I didn’t think I would hear your voice again.”  TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: “Michel, just please…” Even her breathing, the way her voice drops when she finishes the sentence sounds exactly the same. “Why did you even call? I don’t understand… You’ve been gone for months,” she continues. “I thought you didn’t care.”   TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: “Ever since I came to work here it’s been different…”  TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: “It’s so nice. It’s so nice to finally forget about you.”  TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: She tries again not to cry. And *still* doesn’t succeed completely. Her quiet sobs sound old and distant, as if her voice is being played off a wax cylinder.  TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: Her sound melts into the static from a long-distance phone call. From time to time you can hear people talking in the distance, but can’t make out any words.   TRICENTENNIAL ELECTRICS: No one replies, but the static grows stronger like rainfall. Then a female voice speaks out, completely different from the one before. Glorious and *total* somehow. Crawling inside your head. SHIVERS: [Trivial: Success] Her words are too cold to comprehend. She smells of sodium lights and rain streaks on car windows. Eyes like pilot lights watch your shape in dark hallways, guttering. KIM KITSURAGI: “So…” The strange, alien thought pattern ends. The lieutenant cuts in, inspecting the intercom.   KIM KITSURAGI: “Don’t take this the wrong way, but—during our short stint working together—*something weird* is almost always happening to you.”    Can we get the low-down on René yet?   Nope!  But do we have a chance to get Gaston to give us his sandwich?   gently caress yeah. GASTON MARTIN: “Like what, officer?” His eyes rest on the sandwich. “This is as good as they come in Revachol, I assure you.” ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] An array of delicious recipes flashes through your mind. Salads… Salmon… Sandwiches. Bingo!     ARIST: [Legendary: Failure] You flew too close to the sun, became too absorbed in the majesty of your own creation, and paid the sandwich price.    ARIST: [Medium: Success] Those locusts, abandoned in the cold, left out to attract a creature that may well not exist. You feel like kindred spirits in a sense—or not. It’s not actually that deep, really.  Before looking for Joyce now that we’re in the village, we see if Lilienne has anything to say.   LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER: “What is it with waves and fishermen?” She tilts her head and looks at the sea. “We need to be out there, with them. Fishing, making a living. So I ask them to accommodate me.”     LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER: “Yes, that’s the optimal time. Got to make the most of the calm. I’ve been sleeping like a corpse after. The sea really takes its toll. Now I’m just waiting for the wind to settle to get out there again…”       LILIENNE, THE NET PICKER: “Oh yeah,” she says with a chuckle. “You won’t even be able to get it out of the water before early June and where are you gonna bury it? Who to invite? What music to play at the wake? Take it from someone who’s been through a few funerals: it’s easiest to just leave them there and let nature take care of it.”  KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant looks at you almost gently. “Yes. That is a pity. But for now let’s focus on the things we *do* get to do. Like the murder investigation for example.”   ARIST: [Trivial: Success] DO NOT!!!!!   Oh hey, there’s Joyce’s sloop!     JOYCE MESSIER: “Oh jetty, oh jetty…” she responds mournfully… then secures the mooring line. It’s good to see you here detectives. I only just arrived myself.” KIM KITSURAGI: “What brings you here, madam?” JOYCE MESSIER: “Nothing, really… I’ve had my eye on this jetty for weeks now. So I decided to investigate it personally. This cluster of buildings isn’t on any of the official maps, as far as I can tell.”  JOYCE MESSIER: “‘Spying’ has such a negative connotation. I did track your progress along the coast, however, and decided I would be better able to assist you from here… Then there’s the matter of that little scamp in old-lady clothes. She threatened to paint the Cor-de-Leite red. Like blood, you see. Well, I like it the way it is—white.”   JOYCE MESSIER: “Hmh… How *do* I like it?” She casts her gaze toward the village—slush melting on the cinder blocks, construction work left half-finished ten years ago… PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Easy: Success] Water drips down eaves of eternite. The jetty below her feet creaks to the tune. PERCEPTION (SMELL): [Medium: Success] The smell of salt and dog poo poo in the background. JOYCE MESSIER: “It’s pornographically poor. The street has no name, all the men are dead or missing… and is that the carcass of a motor carriage over there?” She squints her eyes. ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Play it cool. JOYCE MESSIER: “I’m surprised that woman hasn’t put me to the sword yet. Maybe she will? You should ask your questions while you can.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “Fortunately for you, madam, the RCM is on the scene.” RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] All right. Politics time. Let’s *react*.  JOYCE MESSIER: “Maybe…” She leans against the railing, looking up at the grey sky. SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] Above you there forms a quilt of altocumulus clouds, twisting into each other. The wind tugs and stretches them over the bay. Their cloud shadows slide over the ruins of Revachol West—wherever they pass, the temperature drops slightly but perceptibly. ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Challenging: Success] It’s early spring and the rains are coming. An officer enters a low hut of stone and wood. Inside, weapons are piled against the walls. Rifles with splintering stocks… and swords. Tens if not hundreds. “They’re antiques,” says Lieutenant John ‘The Archetype’ McCoy to his partner. “They’re digging them up from the catacombs now, fixing them. Old caches from the Revolution. The children carry them up. Come May, the streets will be flooded…” Outside the wind rattles the loose hatches. “*Flooded* with cheap weapons. In angry hands.”     JOYCE MESSIER: “I knew you would sympathize.” She nods. “Most Revacholians will never know what this place means, our home—this island of matter. Or why they were ferried over in the first place…”  KIM KITSURAGI: “Do we?” He glances at his watch. It doesn’t look like he does. JOYCE MESSIER: “I hear you have singled out a *suspect* and are in pursuit. This is cause for cautious optimism—I would not want to delay you…” INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] This story—she will tell it only before she *leaves* Martinaise. At the very end of her stay.    JOYCE MESSIER: “It doesn’t really matter—and I do apologize for the surveillance. Wild Pines can’t afford to be blind at a time like this. In any case, it’s a relief to know someone has looked into it. If I may ask—will there be an official investigation? I assume you discovered there *is* an operation…” EMPATHY: [Challenging: Success] She’s trying to conceal her excitement, but the slight glimmer in her green eyes tells you otherwise.    JOYCE MESSIER: “I don’t believe that for one moment, officer.” There is a pause, then her stern expression clears. “I’m just going to assume that departmental regulations prevent you from saying anything more… In any case, you’ve held up your end of our arrangement. Now it’s my turn…”  JOYCE MESSIER: “Yes. I’m afraid this strike may descend into a small scale civil war. With possible consequences for all of Revachol West.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Since you’re sharing, ma’am—this is also the RCM’s worst case scenario.”   JOYCE MESSIER: “They were dispatched after I relayed the Union’s initial offer.” KIM KITSURAGI: “*Every worker*…”  JOYCE MESSIER: “Absolutely not. These mercenaries are muscle, pure and simple. They are meant to intimidate the Union into surrendering.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Who are they, exactly?” JOYCE MESSIER: “Krenel—an Oranjese miltiary company. As far as I know three arrived in Martinaise. They report to me sporadically, but they do not answer to me. To be frank, our relationship is deteriorating. They wear ceramic armour, have semi-automatic weapons and years of combat experience. They also have Trauma-and Stressor Disorder and no idea how to conduct themselves in an urban civilian environment.” KIM KITSURAGI: “So what happened?” JOYCE MESSIER: “The story is, one of them, the colonel—I don’t know his real name—sexually assaulted a local woman. While he was drunk and separated from his unit. This allowed some of the more militant Union members to subdue him.”   JOYCE MESSIER: “It’s a smokescreen. In secret, they are conducting an independent military tribunal into the lynching. Once this *investigation* is concluded, executions will follow.” KIM KITSURAGI: “What is the nature of this so-called investigation?”  JOYCE MESSIER: “It is very far from *disco*.” A wave crashes over the side of her boat. “My only hope is that you provide a single, concrete suspect before the mercenaries indiscriminately pick theirs. Simply put…” She leans against the wooden planks: “If you don’t pin this on someone *good*—and do it *fast*—they will identify and execute everyone present at the lynching. This, in turn, will force the Union to respond.” AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] They would have to. To project strength and power. KIM KITSURAGI: “The Débardeurs have over two thousand men. It will be a thousand to one.” JOYCE MESSIER: “Have you ever seen a hornet invade a beehive, lieutenant?” She leans back. “It’s not pretty.” ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Medium: Success] The Seraise Giant Hornet, the world’s second largest insect, can kill forty honey bees a minute while a group of 30 can decimate an entire hive of 20,000 bees in less than four hours. JOYCE MESSIER: “These men work in tandem using semi-and fully automatic firearms. Their armour is virtually impenetrable to muzzle-loaded weapons—even *yours*. Most Union workers don’t have guns at all…” HAND/EYE COORDINATION: [Medium: Success] The muzzle-loaders need to be reloaded after every one or two shots—the automatics every one or two *minutes.*  JOYCE MESSIER: “*Many* bleak scenarios have already come true.” She looks at you, eyes damp from the wind. “Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Du Bois…”   JOYCE MESSIER: “Not much. Their public resume is relatively good—as far as private military contractors go. I believe they were once called… Downwell.” INLAND EMPIRE: [Challenging: Success] Down a deep, black well. JOYCE MESSIER: “They boast a long list of clients: Saint-Batiste, Welchman-Lorentz, Eendract… A warning sign, however—the operations concerned all take place in third- or fourth-world countries. Guarding facilities, escort missions, and such.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Meaning they’re used to operating in war zones.”  JOYCE MESSIER: “Sadly—no. Before this happened I had little interest in them. Now that I do—I don’t have the resources.” She thinks. “If you still have access to the ICP’s database, you could run a better background check than I ever could. It may take some time, though…” She thinks. KIM KITSURAGI: “Do you know a lot about the inner workings of the RCM and the ICP, ma’am?”  JOYCE MESSIER: “I have. And they *will*. However, these orders take time to reach what is basically a rogue unit out in the field, here. Until they do—it’s all on us.”    JOYCE MESSIER: “That the man was killed because he assaulted a local woman. I’ve asked around a bit—this seems to be the accepted story around Martinaise.” KIM KITSURAGI: “This does not come as news to us, but still…” He exchanges a glance with you. “To *your* knowledge, where did this assault take place? If you know.” JOYCE MESSIER: “Last Sunday night, at the Whirling-in-Rags—the hostel by the gates. Supposedly the colonel was drunk, maybe on narcotics too.”  ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Best not to mention it. Who knows how Joyce will react to this information and whether you’ll still be able to protect Klaasje.  JOYCE MESSIER: “If you mean did I see him alive—yes. But I did not *know* him.”    JOYCE MESSIER: “One is a man, *Korty* they call him. A nickname as well. The other a woman, Phillis de Paule. Korty is… *the gunner*, I believe. De Paule is a radio operator.” KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant cuts in: “What would you say was his eye colour—the deceased’s?” JOYCE MESSIER: She closes her eyes, trying to picture the man’s face… then shakes her head… “I can’t remember.” There’s a pang of regret to her voice. LOGIC: [Medium: Success] The lieutenant was testing her—asking a small detail first to see if she knew him better than she let on. She passed. KIM KITSURAGI: “That’s alright, ma’am. Anything else—nationality? What would you say was his age?” JOYCE MESSIER: “He was forty. Or fifty. It’s hard to say which, he had a combat injury on his lower jaw. It made it difficult to estimate his age, or gauge his facial expressions.” KIM KITSURAGI: “This matches the dental reconstruction we saw on the body; and Klaasje also mentioned it I believe…” he says to you, then turns back to Joyce. “What else? Nationality? Accent?” JOYCE MESSIER: “He was Occidental I think. Light brown hair, a mixed accent. Oranjese, or Messinian maybe? His injury gave him an accent all his own…”  JOYCE MESSIER: “They’ve gone to ground, as it were. I don’t recommend seeking them out.” She raises a cautionary finger. “For one—they’re likely to be armed to the teeth… They don’t have the same respect for the Revachol Citizens Militia as I do. To put it bluntly they think you’re vigilantes, *ghetto savages*. It will not be a fruitful meeting.”    ARIST: [Medium: Success] C’mon, let’s just work this out. As a thought experiment or what-have-you.    JOYCE MESSIER: “That may be so.” She is poised and unperturbed. “I still hope you heed my advice—there’s no need to kick the hornet’s nest.” KIM KITSURAGI: “For all your talk of averting this catastrophe the situation at the gates is a powder keg. Does this not bother you?” JOYCE MESSIER: “Of course it bothers me, lieutenant, but my hands are tied. How would my employer react if it appeared I were intervening on behalf of the *Union*?”  JOYCE MESSIER: “That *would* afford a good vantage point,” she says. “In any case, it’s practically inaccessible.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Where is your radio, for contacting them—if I may ask? Do you have an ear piece?”   JOYCE MESSIER: “Until the executions start? Truthfully—I don’t know. It depends on their progress identifying the members of the lynch mob. And their impatience.” KIM KITSURAGI: “They don’t report their progress to you?” JOYCE MESSIER: “Not on this matter. I’m afraid they consider this a personal initiative.” There is a brief silence. Seagulls squawk over the bay…” INLAND EMPIRE: [Challenging: Success] Five days. Not more. Maybe sooner.   JOYCE MESSIER: “Of course—excuse my hesitation before.” She reaches over the guardwire and takes the photo; holds it in her hand… for about half a minute—in silence. PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Challenging: Success] She wears fingerless gloves, her fingernails are cut short and fractured. Like those of a working woman.  JOYCE MESSIER: Her mouth is relaxed, the accordion lines near her mouth vanish. The pearls of her eyes move slowly on the photo’s surface.  JOYCE MESSIER: “Sorry,” she breaks her concentration. “I was trying to see if I can read the web of interdependencies between these points—the stars.” She points to one on the photo paper.   JOYCE MESSIER: “The sailor’s soul would use it to fly back home if they should die abroad. This is a sort of… contraption. To be reeled back in by. The *silver cord*, they would call it.”   JOYCE MESSIER: “Quite a few. Vredefort—the Oranjese capital—traditionally stands on the right shoulder.” She points to it on the photo. “He started somewhere near here, I think.” KIM KITSURAGI: “What next?”  JOYCE MESSIER: “Revachol,” she says. “Those are the two constants: Vredefort on the shoulder and Revachol in the heart. They started the tradition of these maps right after the discovery of Insulinde, at the dawn of the Interisolary Age.” KIM KITSURAGI: “You said you can’t read it.”  ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Challenging: Success] Somewhere in an office lit by a single green desk lamp captain Ptolemaios Pryce—58, bald and bespectacled—is writing in a ledger on his desk. Rows and rows of days and weeks, laconic remarks in a single column: *patrol*, *case*, *vacation*, *injured*…   JOYCE MESSIER: “His platoon members? The other contractors—though I do *not* suggest you go and show them that picture. This man was their friend and comrade.”  ARIST: [Medium: Success] Worth a shot. Just be careful.    ARIST: [Medium: Success] Oh boy, it’s *reality* time! Let’s learn about the pale!   All right, next time, we’ll (hopefully) actually get to learn what the hell the pale is. Arist fucked around with this message at 19:39 on Aug 14, 2020 |
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Jul 15, 2020 21:53
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"Have you ever seen a hornet invading a beehive?" Oh boy, is this going to be about how honeybees will smother an invading wasp to death? Because that's my favorite fun... no, no this is not about that. 
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Jul 16, 2020 04:16
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Love the LP, and very excited for the big revelation about the world of Disco Elysium that is coming next update.
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Jul 16, 2020 05:23
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in before snake-eyes
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Jul 16, 2020 11:33
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After a certain point in your progress, everything that looks vaguely like a reed will momentarily remind you of something.Dareon posted:"Have you ever seen a hornet invading a beehive?"
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Jul 16, 2020 14:27
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I thought I saw almost everything in my playthrough, and I had no idea Joyce moved to the village at all.
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Jul 16, 2020 19:11
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JT Jag posted:I thought I saw almost everything in my playthrough, and I had no idea Joyce moved to the village at all. Completely missed this and something else too. I only ended up seeing it on a stream.
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Jul 17, 2020 01:18
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Chapter 36: 16:00-17:02: Beyond The Pale  ARIST: [Challenging: Success] You can do this. You won’t chicken out like last time. Just ask Kim to leave. You need Kim. You do need him. Just not for this.  Fuckin’ A!     JOYCE MESSIER: “*Isola* is a Messinian word for a continent of matter, enveloped on all sides by the pale. Also: isolation, or land mass. We used to believe there was only one. In the last four centuries we have discovered seven…”   JOYCE MESSIER: “Achromatic, odourless, featureless. The pale is the enemy of matter and life. It is not *like* any other—or *any* thing in the world. It is the transition state of being into nothingness.”   JOYCE MESSIER: “No, detective, we’re safe.” She points to the sea. “It begins there, 6000 kilometres to the north, and even more to the south, east and west. You are in the middle of the isola.”   JOYCE MESSIER: “An uproar of matter, darling, *rising* into the pale. Rolling. Evaporating even, a great vision. The area of transportation between the world and the pale is called *porch collapse*. Imagine a grey coronal mist, cold vapour, marked by spores of an opportunistic microorganism—a mould that’s adapted to grow at the edge of the unrest. It’s…”  JOYCE MESSIER: “It’s difficult to describe—or even measure—something whose fundamental property is the suspension of properties: physical, epistemological, linguistic… The further into pale you travel, the steeper the degree of suspension. Right down to the mathematical—*numbers* stop working. No one has yet passed the number barrier. It may be impossible.”   JOYCE MESSIER: “Oh, it is…” Her lungs deflate, her words sound like a sigh, “…*so* difficult for us.” PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] A squall of birds, hardware operating in the harbour. Firm, self-evident. JOYCE MESSIER: “It is possible to force dimensions on the pale—in modern times we can even compress its latitude, bouncing radio waves from one end to the other. Shortening the path.”   JOYCE MESSIER: “Some say the damage stems from extreme sensory deprivation. Others that pale somehow *consists* of past information that’s degrading. That it’s rarefied past, not rarefied matter. They call it *the blend-over of the self*. The pale does not only suspend the laws of physics, but also the laws of psychology, maybe History, even… The human mind becomes over-radiated by past.”   JOYCE MESSIER: “It feels terrible. Absolutely terrible. International standards strictly limit civilian travellers to six days of pale exposure per year…”  JOYCE MESSIER: “No, lieutenant Du Bois. I’m ‘Entroponetic Business Class.’ I’m cleared—and trained—for 22 days of pale transit annually.” EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] Perhaps that explains her strange pining after the Revolution? Some degraded early memories…  JOYCE MESSIER: “Yes. Carried in the hulls of airships,” she nods. “It’s a horrific job. Automation will abolish it, soon.” ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Automation, to you, represents the capitalist class trying to squeeze out further profit where a human being with a paycheck used to be. Or at least, it would if you had any real grasp of politics outside of sloganeering. It’s disgusting. But somehow, this capitalist, in this one case, made you see value in it. What a terrifying, disgusting job. Go automation, you suppose. LOGIC: [Challenging: Success] It won’t be that simple. It never is. Look at this world you find yourself in—do you really think it’s about to develop automated transportation anytime soon? It’s just another pipe dream, even if presumably well-intentioned. REACTION SPEED: [Easy: Success] You should ask the Paledriver about this. See what she says.  JOYCE MESSIER: “Up to my gills, officer.”  JOYCE MESSIER: “*Entroponetics*,” she corrects, “is the scientific study of the pale. Or a recent iteration of it, by way of Graad. The study of the pale reaches back 6,000 years—the Perikarnassians called it the Western Plain.”    JOYCE MESSIER: “Hybrid airships, detective. Conventional rotors or jet engines no longer add velocity after the point of reference for motion is suspended—once you’ve crossed from near pale to far pale…”  JOYCE MESSIER: “Then they don’t.”    ARIST: [Legendary: Failure] You know the answer. What else could it be? JOYCE MESSIER: “Precisely. One of the few measurable effects of the pale is that it is expanding at an unknown rate.”  ARIST: Reality is being consumed by nothing, literal *nothing.* What is there to say to that? It’s all meaningless—or at least, it will be. JOYCE MESSIER: “Most people—and indeed most private and government sector organizations; entire civilizations and religions even—find handy ways to ignore or downplay that knowledge. I suggest you do the same.”  JOYCE MESSIER: “One and all,” she closes her eyes. “They say pale is death, but for the Universe.”  JOYCE MESSIER: “Yes, sweet reality,” she stomps her foot. “But before we do, tell me detective…”   And suddenly, we are at a crossroads, with many paths before us. Let us consider them all. ARIST: True, but it doesn’t really encompass the totality of what needs to be expressed here.  ARIST: …Disco? What does that even mean anymore?  ARIST: I mean, yeah, probably, but you don’t have to be so *dramatic* about it.  ARIST: You’re not this kind of idealist or this kind of corny. Next.  ARIST: Oh, shut up. This isn’t about Communism. Unless perhaps… No! Stop it!  ARIST: Oh, shut *up*.  ARIST: You have the political understanding of a third-grader.  ARIST: Again, superficially true, but the word choice is… off. You are a part of this world. You have to live in it. Its problems are your problems. You cannot ignore them.  ARIST: Abdicating responsibility seems like a copout, but really, it might be the most appropriate response. This threat is beyond your reach, your very comprehension. But in the end, there’s only one choice… ARIST: But what is *disco*? And if *this* is it, is that even good? Does good and bad even matter on this most existential of scales? Can you fight? Probably not. Maybe all you can do is submit. No. All you can do is live. Maybe that’s what’s so disco about it. COMPOSURE: If the whole world is disco, the party’s gonna get stale. JOYCE MESSIER: “Hmhm…” Her eyes tense. Crow’s feet radiate from them. She observes you: your bloodshot eyes and swollen face. ENDURANCE: [Medium: Success] Your ailing constitution, sweaty forehead, the beads there and your heavy breathing.  JOYCE MESSIER: “I hope so, I truly do. If I may suggest—hold on to your colleague Kitsuragi. I ran a check on him and he is very competent. In the meanwhile…” EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] Some of that assurance is meant for herself, as much as it’s meant for you. She must have *a lot* on the line here.    KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes, well…” he thinks. “The rest of us have dealt with it for thousands of years, so…” He looks around, a little uncomfortable now.   ARIST: [Formidable: Success] That was… wow.  Oh hey, a new thought. Something to distract us from… that. Sure, why not?        Oh goddammit, this is what happens when we get too into *disco* whatever.   We’re going to put one point into Inland Empire and another into Logic. ARIST: [Challenging: Success] One side effect of pale exposure—well, exposure to the *concept* of the pale—is that your already-overworked imagination is now running amok even further. Better apply your reasoning even further to counteract it.  ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] Where are you goi—oh no.  ARIST: Please, no. You’re not ready.  ARIST: Stop, please. *I’m* not ready.  ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] You stand in front of the door in silence. You know you can’t ignore this, but still… why? How can you deliver this news? How can you do this to someone? LOGIC: [Medium: Success] It won’t be you who does it to her. EMPATHY: [Challenging: Success] A part of her may actually be grateful to you for informing her—but yes, she will forever associate you with this. This is the only thing she will care to remember about you. VOLITION: [Challenging: Success] But you still need to do it. ARIST: You’re burning up now, flashes of heat moving through your cheeks and your arms and your *skin*. Why? Why can’t we let someone else do this? Why?! EMPATHY: Because this isn’t about you.  PERCEPTION (SMELL): [Medium: Success] Something smells good—soupe à loignon? KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant motions for you to go ahead and knock. INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] This is the door, you already know it’s the right door. This is going to be *so hard*.  KIM KITSURAGI: “You’re right, let’s talk this through.” He looks at the apartment door and lowers his voice a bit… PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] You hear light footsteps passing by the door and some folk music playing on the radio. KIM KITSURAGI: “We have our first preliminary identifications—in all likelihood the deceased is the husband of Billie Méjean. We need to confirm this, as well as deliver the death notification to Billie herself.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “Dead? Just don’t say that you know how they feel. You don’t.”    DOOR, APARTMENT #20 “Hello! Who is it?” A voice calls out from the other side of the door.   DOOR, APARTMENT #20 “The police? A moment, please, give us a moment.” You hear shuffling inside. PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] Tidying up. Nervously. EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] There’s fear in her voice.              ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] Stop gawking!!!! You’re making this even harder than it has to be at this point, distracting yourself and putting it off. You need talk to her.  WORKING CLASS WOMAN: “I don’t think I introduced myself properly—I’m Billie. Would you like something to drink?” She looks around in the kitchen. “Tea, lemonade? We’re out of coffee…” KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant has taken off his foggy glasses and is busy cleaning them in his handkerchief for now. You’re on your own here.  BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Is this about Victor, my husband? Is he in some kind of trouble again? I can come pick him up in the station if that’s what…” She stops, her eyes trying to read answers from your face. COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] Keep it together. You don’t want your body language to tell her the news. BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Sorry, I’m rambling…” She shakes her head and tries to laugh it off. “It’s just that Victor often gets into all kinds of trouble. So, how can I help you?”    ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] Small talk. Yeah. Go for that. BILLIE MÉJEAN: “How have I been?” she shakes her head. “You’re not here to discuss *me*—what is this about, officer?”    BILLIE MÉJEAN: “The girls are staying at their friend’s place tonight, and Victor is… out.”  BILLIE MÉJEAN: “No.” She stops.  BILLIE MÉJEAN: “No. I guess I’ll find out when he decides to come back home.” She looks at the front door. ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] Oh god, you’re making this so much worse, so much more painful than it needs to be. She’s gonna figure it out while you’re sitting here asking questions you know the answers to. Why are you *doing* this?!  BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Oh, it’s in Jamrock. The one at Meroe Street. I don’t know the official name.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Central Jamrock Public Library?” BILLIE MÉJEAN: “I think, yes. If that’s the one on Meroe.”  BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Just to return a book of mine, why?” She looks at you quizzically. “Why all those questions, detective? Did he…”    BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Um, it’s just your average brown leather jacket. But he bought it as a teenager.”   ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] At least you’re out of *loving* questions now, you *loving* idiot!   ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] You sit there in silence for several seconds, trying to verbalize, to make any sound at all, but the words die in your throat. You take a deep breath; in this condition you’ll either fail entirely or just blurt them out in a rush, and you can’t afford to do either. Collect yourself for one more moment, forget about Billie Méjean staring anxiously at you, and just…  ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] You don’t say it perfectly, not as crisply or as firmly as you’d like. It’s not the bedrock she needs. But it’s as close as you’re gonna get, and that’s drat close.  EMPATHY: Yes. That’s the most important thing. Use that word.   BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Oh.” She touches her neck, eyes pale like pearls in seawater. “Oh,” she says again, “But he was just…” She looks at the kitchen table, where two cigarette butts are still in the tray. EMPATHY: But he was just here. Alive. KIM KITSURAGI: “We understand this comes as a huge shock. I want you to know that me and my partner,” he points at you, “are here for you if you have any questions. Take your time, ma’am.”   ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] You regret it the instant you say it. She’ll latch onto that detail, this moment. She would probably have found out, but you could have spared her this right now, if nothing else. BILLIE MÉJEAN: “I see…” She withdraws, trying to picture the scene. “And you just… found him there? Lying in the cold? How long had he been there?”  BILLIE MÉJEAN: She blinks, eyes welling up with tears, as her hands start searching for something in the pockets of her dress.  BILLIE MÉJEAN: A small, terrified smile quivers on her face as she takes the handkerchief and wipes away the tears. She looks disoriented. KIM KITSURAGI: “Is there anyone we could call for you? A friend, a family member, someone who could be here for you?” BILLIE MÉJEAN: “No, no…” She breathes in. “I just need to tell my girls…” The air gets sucked out of her lungs suddenly. “God, should I call them? Should I tell them to come home?”  BILLIE MÉJEAN: “Good, that’s probably the right thing, thank you…” She nods, but with a wretched expression. “Just tell me, what do I need to do next? Where is he? Can I see him?” KIM KITSURAGI: “We’ve taken him to the city morgue. The local coroner will be contacting you shortly to arrange the funeral. Here’s his number in case you want to contact him earlier.” DRAMA: [Medium: Success] A very good call. KIM KITSURAGI: He hands her a leaflet with the morgue’s contact information. “Is there anything else that the RCM could do for you?” BILLIE MÉJEAN: “No, I’ll call you if something comes up, I’m still…” She rubs her face, runs her fingers over cheeks that have become numb.     ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] Your heart is still pounding, your hands still shaking. You hid it well in there, but the instant you left you just *broke.* You look over at Kim.  KIM KITSURAGI: “You did enough.” He pauses, rubbing his hands together to generate some heat.   KIM KITSURAGI: “They’ll manage.”    ARIST: [Heroic: Failure] And as you walk down the length of the balcony, down the stairs and out of Billie Méjean’s life forever, you have a thought. Not a Big, Important Thought, but a critical one all the same. You think of Victor Méjean, dead for two days before you found him, surrounded by empty bottles and cans, blood leaking from his temple, eyes full of fog and head full of empty. His end came at the bottom of a bottle. You’ve been so thirsty for a drink all week, but now the memory of the taste makes you retch like it was gasoline. Kim waits up for you at the bottom of the stairs. You need to get out of here.
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Jul 19, 2020 22:51
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That empathy check is one of the few in the game where I held my breath and drat near said a prayer because I just didn't want botchcop to appear. I dont even want to see what the failure for this check looks like.
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Jul 20, 2020 02:32
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I was going to make a joke about some stuff earlier in the update, but no. Now's not a good time for jokes.
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Jul 20, 2020 08:06
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Fear and sadness make for a dangerous combination, like heroin and cocaine. Everything's worse when it's in the path of an encroaching void.
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Jul 20, 2020 22:49
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It's very easy to see why people praise this game so much, but I kinda never want to play it myself.
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Jul 20, 2020 23:56
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Poil posted:It's very easy to see why people praise this game so much, but I kinda never want to play it myself. It is marvelous and bleak. Magnificent desolation. Also I felt the same way about Night In The Woods, because it was about people trapped in a sleepy dead-end town, and I didn't need more of that in my life. But I did play it, and felt better about myself and my situation for doing so.
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Jul 21, 2020 00:19
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Chapter 37: 17:02-18:21: War Stories and Boxing Trivia ARIST: [Medium: Success] You end up wandering aimlessly back to the roundabout, running into René and Gaston again. Looking for a distraction from your own disgust in yourself and the world, you steel yourself and decide to ask René the question that has so eluded you from the moment you met him.  We put a point into Composure to unlock René’s White Check.      COMPOSURE: A crowned head in front of two crossed rifles. The medal hangs from a blue striped triangle.  COMPOSURE: A small blue star inside an orange sun. It has the word *Vaillance* written below.  RENÉ ARNOUX: “For bravery,” he interjects.  RENÉ ARNOUX: “For doing my duty in the heat of battle, for looking my mortality in the eye, when men like Gaston here hid in the bushes and shat themselves…”  RENÉ ARNOUX: “It was on the first months of the Revolution here in Revachol. Unrest was spreading like wildfire. Marauders had taken most of the Couron and were getting *really* ambitious. King Frissel thought he could end it all in one decisive strike.” The old carabineer runs his fingers over the larger medal. “Sent his cousin, Drysant, to put an end to the unrest. Alas, the young Drysant was all piss and no vinegar, wearing a tunic of purple velvet and cockatoo feathers to battle.” He spits. “Even his rifle was *gold-plated*. Shone from five clicks away. Can you imagine the asininity?” REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] He really despises that Drysant-fellow. KIM KITSURAGI: “Purple velvet tunic,” the lieutenant says thoughtfully. “That isn’t exactly *camo*.” RENÉ ARNOUX: “To keep the long and bloody story short, Drysant marched us against the partisans in Couron. And when I say ‘marched’, I mean made us walk into captured enemy territory single-file, like toy soldiers, while he rode in front on his giant red stallion.”  RENÉ ARNOUX: “I got shot in the left shoulder and went down. Just a flesh wound, but just as I turned over, the prince fell into the mud next to me. He was missing his lower jaw. Then his horse, driven mad by the noise and smell of gunpowder, stepped on my leg and shattered my knee.” He pats his right thigh.  RENÉ ARNOUX: “I grabbed my sidearm and shot the beast in the head. Then everything went black.” GASTON MARTIN: “*Capitaine Arnoux—le fléau des chevaux*!” RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] The bane of horses. RENÉ ARNOUX: “When I came to, it was all over,” he continues, ignoring his companion. “It was just me and jawless Drysant, gurgling in the blood-soaked mud right next to me.”  RENÉ ARNOUX: “He didn’t.” A shadow of respect crosses his face. “I hoisted the prick on my back and started crawling. Kept going until the 59th Cavalry picked us up. Through some miracle we both survived. And the jawless freak convinced Frissel to give me a medal for not leaving him to die in his own blood, piss and poo poo. He was the commanding officer and I was on duty. Just doing my job. Shouldn’t hand out medals for that…” He shakes his head. “13th months later I received ‘The Sun’. For distinguished service. It’s not worth mentioning.”  RENÉ ARNOUX: “Because he was a *god drat* dandy!” he exclaims furiously. “Had no goddamn business leading men or even being on the battlefield. All he was, was *related*. That’s it. Royal blood alone doesn’t make army commanders. He was a stupid kid, only interested in horses, hair styles and *manloving*.” He spits. “And *seven hundred and eighty two* Royal Carabineers are dead because of his incompetence.” RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] Whooa, *manloving*? Is that even a word?  RENÉ ARNOUX: The old carabineer stands quietly like a statue, his features motionless. GASTON MARTIN: “What *Monseignur Modestie* is not telling you is that he crawled over seven kilometres before the cavalrymen found him and Drysant. Two days later that was. And that even whilst crawling with a mangled half-dead prince on his back, he still managed to murder three rebels on his way.”  GASTON MARTIN: “Sorry, officer, but you’re reading me all wrong.” He chuckles. “I’m a man of peace and these kinds of bloody ‘heroics’ are only impressive to men like René himself. Certainly not to me.”  GASTON MARTIN: “Maybe, maybe, but also bare in mind, officer…” He points to the sun-shaped medal on René’s chest. “They don’t hand these out for anyone with a service record. Oh no, you have to get shot.” He nods eagerly. “Repeatedly. And you need to get your hands bloody too. Really *really* bloody.”  RENÉ ARNOUX: “Bah!” His gaze wanders over the bay. “There were many such stories in those days. Many such men too. True Revacholians, men with *backbone*.” GASTON MARTIN: “Oh yes, René, yes…” The jolly man nods meekly. “Men were bigger, girls were prettier and everyone was a *fascha*—Lord, please bring those days back, if you can!” RENÉ ARNOUX: “I’m *not* getting into this with you again,” he mumbles through clenched teeth and turns to you. “Officer, was there anything else?”  Oh boy, sounds interesting! Where could *this* possibly lead?     RENÉ ARNOUX: “I’m not following you.”  …Oh god. RENÉ ARNOUX: The man stares at you, silently frowning.  RENÉ ARNOUX: “You’re talking about getting black-out shitfaced drunk and going into delirium, right?” he asks impatiently.   ’RENÉ ARNOUX: “How so, then?” He leans in with his hands on his hips.  KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant sighs audibly, but keeps his eyes on the notebook. RENÉ ARNOUX: “And I thought getting my knee shattered and surviving on rat carcasses in the trench was bad… here, have one of my medals! You’ve earned it, *officer*.” REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] Your sarcasm will be your undoing, old man.   RENÉ ARNOUX: The man shakes his head, mumbling something under his nose, then turns back to you: “Can we get back to our game now?” PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] He mumbled: ‘You certainly had me fooled.’ AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] This feels *honourable*. You did the *right* thing not taking the medal. The *good* thing. Your chest is buzzing with pride.   ARIST: [Medium: Success] You continue your effort to get as far away from Apartment #20 as you can, heading now to the coast. There was a decrepit church you never investigated in that direction, and you recall hearing a kick-drum pulse somewhere in the area. Might be worth looking into.  (This observation is a reference to an earlier observation we somehow didn't get the follow-up to when we originally saw that motor carriage wheel, possibly because we lacked the stats or something for it)  ARIST: [Easy: Success] There’s that low, constant thrumming of the kick-drum pulse to your east. You can hear it as you get closer. There’s a strange shape you can’t make out across the gap, but you decide to look at the church and this side of the ice first.   ARIST: [Medium: Success] Why would anyone hide money in—whatever, it’s not worth thinking about. PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Medium: Success] Not just money—some of these holes have over-the-counter drugs in them. Look, Nosaphed, Magnesium… ARIST: Why would anyone—nope! Not doing this!  Church time.    CHURCH DOORS: Nothing happens, only the sound of the padlock rattling against the door. KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t think that’s going to work…”     CHURCH DOORS: This cheap-looking padlock is sturdily built. It shackles together a hasp and a staple screwed into the wooden door. The lock is adorned with a yellow sticker.   KIM KITSURAGI: He takes off his glasses and uses a blue handkerchief to thoroughly wipe them clean before inspecting the sticker. Then he looks up, pauses and replies… “No.”   KIM KITSURAGI: “I haven’t seen that sticker before. And I am not a youth.”      CHURCH DOORS: The padlock passes through a staple that’s been hastily attached to the wood. Closer inspection reveals that one of the screws is not a screw at all, but a nail. The work has been done recently and is unprofessional, to say the least.  KIM KITSURAGI: He takes a step back. “Maybe we should circle the building first and look for another way. The building has seen enough mistreatment.”    Nahhhhh.   ARIST: [Medium: Success] You first attempt to get around the ice by going northwest and taking the long way around the building, but find no opportunity to pass through the reeds north of the building.  ARIST: [Trivial: Success] Go this way, genius.  Northeast of the church, we have a thought.  (Note: seagull may be cropped out of this shot, oops)  ENDURANCE: Think about the seagull’s story. It’s one of endurance—and adaptation. The seaside was paradise once. They were birds of that paradise. Then their paradise became *poo poo city*. And what did they do? They became urban survivors! Eating burgers out of trash cans! Killing and eating pigeons!     ARIST: [Medium: Success] That was oddly inspiring. Thanks, Endurance. ENDURANCE: No problem. I’ve got all kinds of thoughts about the current political situation if you’re intere— ARIST: Well, that’s all the time we have, so busy, talk to you later, man!  Yes, it must have taken a lot of patience to do… whatever that is, sticking out of the ice.   ACELE: “Oh, hello there.”  ACELE: “Huh?” She looks up at you, distracted.    ACELE: “Yeah, well…” She tries to think of something to say. “Look man, gently caress the hat.”   I don’t even want to think about what will happen if we botch this one, let’s not.  ACELE: “I’m sorry I said ‘gently caress the hat.’ I was concentrating on something else…”  ACELE: “No.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Just no?”  ACELE: “Acele.”   ACELE: “Okay, well…” She hesitates. “It’s Berger.” LOGIC: [Medium: Success] A very common name.    ACELE: “A contact mic records sounds from inside things. Like this ice.”  ENCYCLOPEDIA: Nope.    ACELE: “Um…”   ACELE: “What is it with you and this Mike guy?” She pauses. The question is rhetorical.     ACELE: “Oh man, you haven’t been to The Paliseum?” She forgets herself for a moment. “It’s *the* coolest place in this whole drug-addled shithole. It’s a music club and a synthesizer workshop. On Boogie Street, in Jamrock. Musicians live there, like… real musicians. I once saw Arno van Eyck!”  ACELE: “Oh yeah…” She looks you over, assessing your age. “Guess you wouldn’t know van Eyck. Or really be a Paliseum-going kind of person…”  ACELE: “A ‘skull thing’?” She shakes her head. “Man, you sound like a hundred years old when you say that.”           ACELE: “I don’t know, man… things. Just stuff you need for life.”   ACELE: “Anyway, I thought I’d make some, too. It’s supposed to be, like, a music place anyway…” She rubs her shoulders and looks around. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. They use synthesizers, too. I don’t have a synthesizer.” EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] She looks at the recording device, the thing she thought would fill her hours with joy and escape. It’s turning out to be an empty fantasy. She feels childish, very useless all of a sudden. COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] The sharp drop in endorphins is almost visible. Like a warm blanket has fallen off her shoulders—the wave of chill, the quivering jaw. Indications of a drug high. KIM KITSURAGI: “Take this, you’re cold.” The lieutenant begins to take off his jacket. ARIST: [Challenging: Success] No, Kim! Don’t lose the sweet bomber jacket!!! ACELE: “No man, gently caress that, I’m cool… I’m sorry I said that. I’m sorry about the *gently caress*.”   ARIST: [Challenging: Success] As much as you would normally love to help this girl, you value Dick Mullen’s hat too much to give it up. Besides, it was a gift from a child. ACELE: “That.” She nods toward the church. “The boys think it could be a *place*, like The Paliseum or something. Stupid. It’s really…” she pauses, “not gonna be a Paliseum, that’s for sure.”  ACELE: “Yeah, Andre and the guys. They’re inside. In the tent.”       ACELE: “It’s supposed to become, like, a club. For *anodic dance music*. Like that new style of synthesizer stuff they play at the Paliseum. Except that… yeah.” She looks at the old wooden church up on the poles. As a mean wind comes bellowing in, the six-story structure lets out a doleful shriek. SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] The floorboards are twisting and the shooting beams are slowly cracking like bones. Far east of the golden Delta, beyond the industrial port, there is a black patch of unlit coast with the smallest creatures on the ice… There will never be a club for anodic music here.   ACELE: “Synthesizers and tape consoles, microcomputers too. Anything that uses electricity, but isn’t guitars… also found sounds. Stuff like that.”  ACELE: “I know.” She nods towards the sloping mass of wood on the coast, then shivers. “It’s not my idea. Andre and the boys found the place. It was supposed to be deserted, but now they can’t even take it…”     ACELE: “Not really, no.”      ACELE: “Well, it’s just questioning, right? You’re questioning me—it’s what cops do.”           ACELE: “Um… thank you?”     Goddammit.   Well, that’s enough out of Acele for now.  Here’s the Contact Mike thought we gained.  It seems these posts near this… tent… have been decorated.     ARIST: [Medium: Success] What’s that standing up over there? Go investigate.      ARIST: Now that you’ve unlocked that rather pointless little shortcut, look into that tent situation.    ANDRE: “Sorry.” He points his thumb at the lieutenant. “We barely have room for one.” KIM KITSURAGI: “You go ahead, I’m too old for this…” ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Easy: Success] I’m actually not, he thinks. I just dislike delinquents.  We’re leaving Kim behind and heading into the belly of some manner of beast… Arist fucked around with this message at 20:32 on Sep 24, 2020 |
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Jul 27, 2020 02:05
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Arist posted:ARIST: [Medium: Success] Why would anyone hide money in—whatever, it’s not worth thinking about. We actually got the answer to this earlier, I think in a Shivers check, or possibly just from the washerwoman. People around here don't trust banks or their significant others with their money (Or drugs, apparently), so they just squirrel it away in various small places, not knowing their world is about to be rocked by the kleptomaniac vacuum cleaner commonly known as a "protagonist."
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Jul 27, 2020 02:40
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You go back and give Acele a hat right the next update, mister. Then talk to Anette about it.
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Jul 27, 2020 17:19
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Chapter 38: 18:21-20:09: Anodic, Anodyne ARIST: [Medium: Success] You are already beginning to regret entering the crowded tent full of youths.    ARIST: [Medium: Success] Talk to the leader. That’s probably the one who greeted you earlier, right?   ANDRE: His grip is strong, sweaty, and warm. He’s trying to project and inspire confidence. “This is my posse: Noid…”  ANDRE: “…and Egg Head.”   ANDRE: “We have many in the pipeline, officer.”  ANDRE: “You see, we’ve been all over Jamrock North, prospecting for real estate to establish a new venue in…” EGG HEAD: “Also for talent!” ANDRE: “Yes, thank you, Egg Head. And, while there is no shortage of raw, unfettered talent spinning tapes in Jamrock, we’ve had rotten luck with the real estate part.” NOID: “Place is a shithole.”  ANDRE: “Which brings me to the problem of occupied ecclesiastical property. I bet you’ve noticed the derelict hive of *narcomania* on the coast?”  ANDRE: “I’m talking about the church. And I’m not exaggerating! Even a place of spiritual refuge can become a magnet for all sorts of *dopeheads* and *burnouts* if left unattended…” EGG HEAD: “Dopeheads!” NOID: “Burnouts!” He angrily spits on a screw, then starts cleaning it. ANDRE: “Well, I’m sad to say, that’s exactly what happened. Sad because we were just about to put Martinaise on the map with one of the maddest dance clubs in Jamrock—no, strike that—in Revachol…” EGG HEAD: “Strike that—the world!” ANDRE: “And sadder yet because the dopeheads and burnouts holed up in there are *the worst* kind.” COMPOSURE: [Easy: Success] He leans back a little, watching you with a steady, serious gaze, letting you imagine just how bad those ‘dopeheads’ and ‘burnouts’ really are.   ANDRE: “I was hoping you would be the judge of that, officer. All I can say is, their spookiness is the kind that keeps us from restoring this church into a community centre. And a place of spiritual refuge.” NOID: “Also, they don’t heat or clean the building. poo poo’s gonna collapse.” EGG HEAD: “People just wanna spin tapes without them spookin’ it up! Place has bad sines! No one can dance like that.” ANDRE: “Thank you, Egg Head.”    ANDRE: “Oh, so you met her? Good, good.” EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] He’s not as glad as he would like you to think. There’s concern in his voice. LOGIC: [Medium: Success] He doesn’t know what she told you. This is a man who’s desperate to control the message. But that just leads to the obvious question: what doesn’t he want you to know? ANDRE: “I did ask Noid to install a measure against more drifters wandering in. It’s a temporary fix. Just something to contain the situation.”  ANDRE: “Of course. Noid, give the officer the key.”   ARIST: [Easy: Success] Cool Cop time!    Oh, what? You got a bogus fake health point back from the check failure, but then you took unhealed damage one text line later? Gaaaaaaaaaame!  ARIST: [Legendary: Failure] He hit you in the *eye*! He ruined Cool Cop! He’ll pay for this!  NOID: “Man, I’m super sorry. That was totally my bad, I got overexcited. Threw them too hard. I’m sorry.”  NOID: “I really am sorry man, just take this, okay?” He pulls out some black paper from his belt-pack.    NOID: He is shifting in his spot uncomfortably, still feeling sorry for the mishap.   ANDRE: “”I’m super sure they’re alive. I mean, c’mon! I’m at least 90%… maybe 85% sure they’re still alive.”   ANDRE: “I don’t know…” He pauses to think. “What does anything mean, really?”  ANDRE: “You’re right. It *is* nonsense. Total garbage. I knew you’d see through it, you’re one smart cop!”    ANDRE: “Well…” he leans in for emphasis, “there’s also *the machinery*…” INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] This machinery is of the deeply mystical variety. ANDRE: “When I first scouted the place, back in February, it was abandoned. Empty. Took some time getting the crew together, so about two weeks ago we came here hoping to set the stuff up. Suddenly there are all these strange *machines* lying around in there.” NOID: “One of them has wires running into bowls of water. Wires. Into *water*. Never seen anything like it.” EGG HEAD: “Andre, tell him about the feeling!” ANDRE: “Oh, and it felt like there was some *thing* in there with us, watching us from the dark…” EGG HEAD: “No! The other one.” ANDRE: “Uhm, which other one? I’m not as in tune with my emotions as you are, Egg.” EGG HEAD: “Felt like silence! Awful silence…”   ANDRE: “Sure, why not! Yeah!”  ANDRE: “What Noid said!” LOGIC: [Easy: Success] So brown and older? Ruby might have dyed her hair? Though it seems like a stretch at this point.  ANDRE: “Like… you aren’t *alone*, you know?” NOID: “It wasn’t quite *human*—if you know what I mean.” RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] *Not human*? As in a ghost? *Do* you know what he means?  ARIST: [Impossible: Failure] CRAB MAN! ANDRE: “Yeah, you know. The way it was climbing up and around the ceiling. Like a crab.” NOID: The other one agrees. “It was stalking Acele. Exhibiting ambush behaviour.”  ANDRE: “Yeah, totally. I mean… I didn’t *personally* see it—Acele was alone that time, but I believe her. If she comes out running and days there’s a crab in there, there’s a crab in there.” REACTION SPEED: [Medium: Success] So he hasn’t even been in there lately? Is he afraid? NOID: “You should ask her about it—but be nice. Don’t tell her you don’t believe in the crab.” ARIST: [Impossible: Failure] But I *do* believe in the crab! INLAND EMPIRE: [Challenging: Success] The implications of this are… too numerous to consider. Proceed with caution. Learn all you can before entering that dark building.  ARIST: [Impossible: Failure] Shut up, you!!!  ANDRE: “Well, honestly, I can’t. But I am.”  ANDRE: “Hey now!” He furrows his brow. “I’m 70% sure they’re substance abusers.”   ANDRE: “Oh yeah, that’s a Meteoran name for the Founding Party. Thought it’d be cool to use it.”  ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Don’t ask about Meteo. He’s gonna think you’re a huge loser if he knows you have no idea what Meteo is. Whatever that is.    ANDRE: “Totally.” There isn’t a trace of doubt in his voice. EGG HEAD: “The Perikarnassian Chruch is about *love*! Anodic music is about *love*! I got love for my Perikarnassian posse, *love* is the relay out of death! WE DANCE!!!” He violently shakes the tape player, to see if he can break it. “Love is HARD CORE!” NOID: “Unity.” ANDRE: “UNITY!” EGG HEAD: “Make some noise for my Insulindian posse!” He turns the volume up, then looks at you with a knowing nod. As if it’s obvious you will now break into dance.   EGG HEAD: “Your posse’s like your people, man! Like you got your cop posse—you look out for each other and you party together. That’s a posse!”  ANDRE: “Are we?” He looks at you mysteriously.  EGG HEAD: “Oh yeah, it can!”  EGG HEAD: “YEAAGH! Yakokataa—the place to be!” EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] He seems ecstatic that you share his vision of Perikarnassianism. NOID: “Do it for the masses, do it for the crew.” His friend forms a fist with a screwdriver still in his hand. Approvingly so. ANDRE: “I didn’t want to say it, but it *was* pretty lame of you to imply otherwise. Anyway, you got more questions?” EGG HEAD: The one with the large head is still looking at you, nodding his head, waiting for your body to start moving…    ANDRE: “Oh?” He doesn’t know what to say. “It’s the one they sell at the fuel station.”  ANDRE: “It does, doesn’t it?”  ANDRE: “Ether? I don’t smell ether. Do you, Noid?”  ANDRE: He sniffs the air, then shrugs. LOGIC: [Medium: Success] It doesn’t take a forensic scientist to guess it’s drug-related. They look and act like the kind of guys who’ve done their fair share. PERCEPTION (SIGHT): [Easy: Success] Unlike the girl outside, however, the boys’ breathing is regular, their jaws stay put and their pupils aren’t dilated. So they’re not under the influence *currently*.  ELECTROCHEMISTRY: [Easy: Success] ‘Sup?  ANDRE: “Oh! The old ‘Ultra’… we… uhm…” DRAMA: [Medium: Success] He’s like an actor looking to the souffleur for his line.  ANDRE: “Yes!” He nods energetically. “That’s all Nosaphed’s doing. Without the Nosa I’d be drowning in poo poo right now.”   We immediately down that Nosaphed to heal our illegitimate 1 point of health damage.    LOGIC: The gist of it is: they want to turn the church into a club, but a suspicious element has overtaken the building. It’s very important to understand what the *gist* of things is—always consult the gist before making up your mind. This is going well. Plus—and it has to be considered—you can’t invent the future of dance music in this smelly old tent. Imagine if you had the church! That settles it—analysis complete, their story checks out.  ARIST: [Challenging: Success] You can’t possibly be this stupid. Ugh.   ARIST: [Medium: Success] Okay, whatever you do, *don’t* start talking to the big-headed oh goddammit.  INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] ...as though you’re supposed to be sharing some tremendous, evangelical secret…     ARIST: [Challenging: Success] You are clearly not equipped to deal with this at this juncture. Just talk to the last-and-somehow-least-weird one.       NOID: “It is cool. But it’s also more than that. *Much* more.”   NOID: “He defeated History. We are living in the age of History, and in the eyes of History we are always already dead. How can we ever smile, then? Because History is a lie, and so are its deaths… The present moment and life are the hard core. The hard core expels death.” ARIST: [Medium: Success] That’s some hot nonsense.      NOID: He cringes. “Weird stuff. Specialized. There was a data processor and some sort of long-wave machinery.”  NOID: “Nothing’s wrong with it. It should definitely be researched. You can still do sick poo poo with it, though.”  NOID: “Most of it doesn’t exist, but there’s also stuff that isn’t *allowed* to exist because the moralists think it’s too *dangerous* for the plebes.”  NOID: He picks up some sort of widget. “The hard core aesthetic is esoteric. It is not meant to be discussed with the law at this moment.”    ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Well… you should probably just try to figure out this Egg Head situation, huh?      And repeat. 19:30.   DRAMA: [Medium: Success] This young man adds a capital *G* before the *H* in his *YEAGHs* and *AAGHs*. This produces a guttural, *Gottwaldian* accent and makes him sound more animal, more *in it*.  EGG HEAD: “You know about him…” He moves his mouth, but sound doesn’t come out. His eyes are the size of saucers. Looks like you’ve rendered him speechless.  ANDRE: “Good, good.”  19:34. I’ve already started to skip paths I did not deem sufficiently interesting to show here. But don’t worry: we’re gonna see most of it.    EGG HEAD: “The Y to the E to the A to the A to the A to the A to the A to the G to the H to the hyphen mark… YeaaaaaGH!”   19:36.      ANDRE: “Wow!” NOID: The skinny wraith looks at you with some disbelief. EGG HEAD: “So am I! SO AM I!” He begins to shake his head so everyone would understand. ANDRE: “Oh! Andre almost falls over backward from the realization. “Is *that* why they call you Egg Head, because…” EGG HEAD: “Eyck-Head to the mega! The K became the G! The boy became the man!”  19:38.       EGG HEAD: “Yekokataa is a hard core place!”  19:40.         19:41.      EGG HEAD: He furrows his brow as his very large head traces the sublime invisible movement of the music in the very real air of the stuffy tent…   EGG HEAD: “But is it? I mean, really?” He tilts his head to the other side, like an owl.   19:43.    19:44.         19:45.          ARIST: [Easy: Success] OH MY GOD, THANK gently caress, IT’S OVER. I would have helped, but I think I blacked out somewhere around the eleventh “hard core!” If it wasn’t clear what that even was, we needed to navigate the maze of Egg Head’s dialogue tree to find the absolute dumbest, most inane response possible and then turn it around on him at the perfect opportunity to break out. It’s… a lot. SHIVERS: [Medium: Success] The skin on your back is crawling. For a second you can’t even hear the music any more. There is a hawthorn tree on Rue de Saint-Ghislaine, right next to the canal.  EGG HEAD: “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m still in love with the hard core.” He turns pensive all of a sudden. “Sometimes I just feel like anodic music is in its infancy, you know? For example, take this Arno van Eyck jam I’ve been pumping for the last month… and will continue pumping for the rest of ‘51… Isn’t something holding it back? From being hyper?” He thinks for a moment, then his expression clears… “It’s like it’s only *ultra*.”  EGG HEAD: “It is, isn’t it?!” He nods in agreement. “I knew it!”   EGG HEAD: “Whaaaat?!” He looks at you with customary amazement. “Guys, there’s something happening in his head!”  EGG HEAD: “Oh yeah! He’s DOING it!”  ENDURANCE: The abstract shapes swelling in the foreground have done so in vain. This is a core matter. The answer, in the double-kick that moves the millilitres through your mind. The dark thud is the source of all rhythm, the inspiration behind mathemathics…       NOID: “He’s not a communnist. That’s just something he likes to yell. He picked it up from a tape-jockey at The Paliseum… *she* was a communist though.” ARIST: [Challenging: Success] You sense… an opportunity.  EGG HEAD: “I can be a communist! He nods. “If you want that—do you want me to be a communist?!” NOID: “Please don’t turn him into a communist.”  ARIST: [Easy: Success] Sounds like a tie, so… dealer’s choice!  ARIST: [Easy: Success] gently caress yeah. NOID: “Don’t be a lunatic. Of course he isn’t. Germaine here just yells random things. Odds are, sooner or later one of them will come off as thought reading.” EGG HEAD: “Yeah! REVACHOL IMPERATIVE!”     EGG HEAD: “D’accord hard core! Germaine Egg-Head.”        EGG HEAD: “I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about anodic music, I’m just the party boy. I get the people going and say it’s hard core…”   ANDRE: Basically what you need to find here is a tape with some banging music on it, so that Egg Head could use it to remix van Eyck’s jam.” NOID: “Yeah. Maybe that streethawker across the pawnshop has some tapes to sell? That’s just an idea.”  EGG HEAD: “Oh, I know! I know this! I can tell you where it is!” ANDRE: “Saint-G is the boulevard before the canal bridge. The one that takes you to the Whirling-In-Rags and the Industrial Harbour. It’s got the lanterns and the…” EGG HEAD: “I knew that! I could have said that!” ANDRE: “And the mosaic sidewalk.”   ANDRE: “Anyway… That’s all yours to figure out, copman.”  ARIST: Huh? What tape?  ARIST: Oh, lord no. Why are you doing this!?      ARIST: [Easy: Success] Nothing else to do in here right now. You should leave. Kim’s been waiting out there for almost two hours.   “That was really stupid, Kim. You have *no* idea.”ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Actually, he probably does. Why else would he not make any effort to go in with you?
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Aug 3, 2020 22:38
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HARD CORE
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Aug 4, 2020 03:26
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Is that Yekokataa mention as successful Encyclopedia check? Because successful checks generally have a difficulty setting mentioned. Also: 
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Aug 4, 2020 09:10
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Xander77 posted:Is that Yekokataa mention as successful Encyclopedia check? Because successful checks generally have a difficulty setting mentioned. I noticed that there wasn't a difficulty mentioned, which suggests it's 100% passive and not related to a specific skill level. Which, I suppose, would make it technically a "pass."
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Aug 4, 2020 16:12
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Arist posted:I noticed that there wasn't a difficulty mentioned, which suggests it's 100% passive and not related to a specific skill level. Which, I suppose, would make it technically a "pass." If you could check whether this activates the Wompty bonus, I'd greatly appreciate that.
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Aug 4, 2020 17:16
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You made a friend 
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Aug 4, 2020 22:16
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Eggy is gonna be the new Kras Masow
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Aug 5, 2020 10:24
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Chapter 39: 20:09-21:39: A Sobering Conversation With The Crab Man ARIST: [Medium: Success] Before you head into the church, go talk to Acele about her incredibly sketchy compatriots.    ACELE: "Oh, that... you're not gonna believe me. There's no point in me telling you."  ACELE: "Okay," she nods. "I went in and saw a woman next to one of those machines there. Noid calls it a *mainframe*..."  ACELE: "And then, you know, right behind her a man *crawled down the wall*. Upside down, like a crab. Down the church wall. I think the woman didn't even know he was there, he was completely silent... He stopped right before he got to the floor, then just hung there like that, looking at me. Right at me. I loving turned around and walked out. End of story."  "Oh, yeah. You missed a lot in there, Kim."ACELE: "It was too dark." She shakes her head. "I couldn't tell exactly."  ACELE: "He looked like a banger, okay? He was all muscular and stuff. Had a mesh tanktop. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that only made it scarier, in a way..." KIM KITSURAGI: "A crab *and* a banger?" The lieutenant raises an eyebrow.      ACELE: "Of course I do. I just don't tell people about my friends and who they are and so on. I don't provide information on them."     ARIST: [Medium: Success] You can hear the creaking of wood succumbing to rot, to base entropy, as it sways in the wind. It can't be safe to step foot in there. But what have you got to lose at this point?  CHURCH DOORS: The lock turns easily. You hear a click as the shackle pops open.  INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] As you do, you hear an echo of the Doomed Commercial Area. Its black halls and dusty machines. Then the feeling passes. CHURCH DOORS: A great whoosh of air rushes into the dark innards of the church, as though rushing to fill a great vacuum...                ARIST: [Challenging: Success] You find yourself wandering around the inside of the church, aimlessly taking note of the detritus scattered messily thoughout, when you suddenly take note not just of the massive hole, but where that hole is—what used to fill the emptiness.  ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Easy: Success] This is Her Innocence Dolores Dei.    STAINED GLASS WINDOW: The world is silent, but for the creaks and cracks of the massive wooden structure behind you. It covers you from the wind outside. PERCEPTION (HEARING): [Medium: Success] The ocean feels distant. Its ebb and flow blocked off by the centuries old pinewood sarcophagus around you.      KIM KITSURAGI: "It's a minor landmark, not easy to find. Most maps misplace it..." He lowers his voice. "It was built not long after Revachol's founding, 300 or so years ago by first-generation settlers."  KIM KITSURAGI: "There used to be seven stave churches on the coast. Les Sept Souers they call them—The Seven Sisters. Only one remains. The rest were burnt in the Revolution, or used for building materials. We should be respectful here, although the building appears to be deserted. I do not believe we'll find the instigator here. Something else, perhaps..." He looks at the machinery lying around. ARIST: [Formidable: Success] I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns—though it once was larger. How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters—toward those pale cliffs there I would often stay there. In the tiny yard there. I have been so glad here—looking forward to the past here But now you are all alone. None of this matters, now, none of this matters, at all.  KIM KITSURAGI: "I have a theory, yes." There's a pause, then he continues: "There was a police raid a while back. I heard the place was shot to pieces."  KIM KITSURAGI: "Well... your Station was involved, I hear. Although I can't be sure."    KIM KITSURAGI: "Good luck. You will not get information on a confidential operation from your station secretary just by calling. If you really don't remember—it might be better to keep this one forgotten."      ENCYCLOPEDIA: More. An innocence is elected to office by the Founding Party, a precedent that has taken place a mere six times in the entirety of History. The legal system of the Reál Belt is built to acommodate innocentic rule, should it coincide with our time.   ARIST: I'm not doing the whole song again but pretend I did the last line.  ENCYCLOPEDIA: Many things. You know she was a woman of the court, the wife of an influential *marchese*, and eventually the principal advisor to Irene La Navigateur, Queen of Suresne (modern day Sur-la-Clef). Also, that she was gorgeous beyond beauty.   ENCYCLOPEDIA: Terribly. Women of the court were expected to play both contract bridge and chess sufficiently well to prove an interesting challenge to a man—a similar grasp in matters of philosophy, theology, and science was encouraged. She was, by all means, a kept woman... She made the most of her position in the Antedolorian court—a court visited by the most prominent thinkers and artists of the day. In secret, she was becoming the era's pre-eminent philosopher of the state. A scalpel, a piercing gaze.  ENCYCLOPEDIA: It was on her advice that Irene La Navigateur sponsored a number of voyages into the pale. A costly, often tragic endeavour, ultimately vindicated by the discovery of the *New New World*, the piece of reality you're standing on.  ENCYCLOPEDIA: Wow indeed. When her innocence was declared—and the queen she had advised for years fell on her knees before her—she was so overcome with emotion that her *lungs* started *glowing* in her chest.   ENCYCLOPEDIA: In a city called Advesperascit, in Vesper-Messina, her homeland. The name of the city means 'Evening comes,' but it happened on a winter's morning with the canals frozen and slush falling out of the sky.  ENCYCLOPEDIA: Oh yes... She looked like humanity's young mother, a perfect mother. Insultingly beautiful. It was as if her face and shoulders and hands were covered in a soft down of under-feathers. You know this well—very well.   ENCYCLOPEDIA: Something that had walked in our midst, watching us stumble for hundreds, if not thousands of years, until it decided to interfere--interfere in the course of our history. 'We were supposed to come up with this ourselves!' the man was reported to have screamed at the innocence... Dolores Dei was shot in the chest with a fowling piece, eight times. The man, thought to be insane, said he once touched her and her body had been unnaturally warm, like a furnace—and that sometimes while on duty he observed her forgetting to breathe for over ten minutes...  ENCYCLOPEDIA: *Terrifying* is a term too emotionally charged for your semantic memory. Or what remains of it, but...  ENCYCLOPEDIA: You already do. Although she is often considered to be the greatest human being to ever live, there *was* something ominous about Dolores Dei—constantly surrounded by her Therriers...  ENCYCLOPEDIA: The Mesque state tried to detach itself from innocentic rule. Parts of the world were experiencing whiplash from accelerating into secularism. Her mandatory education programs and mass resettlement of upstream Magritte were problematic as well. Dissenters were suppressed by a military force she called "The Army of Humanity." RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] Suggesting those who fight against it are not part of humanity. ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Oh, is *that* all? INLAND EMPIRE: [Challenging: Success] Why do we always look backwards for saviors who can never come? ENCYCLOPEDIA: She adored chess, yes—but also military war games. Dolores Dei often holds a tiny tin soldier between her index finger and thumb—in icons such as this. She was also blonde, the blondest woman you have ever seen, with green eyes the colour of the Pisantic *mare interregnum*... Little is known of her marchese husband. It's as if he vanished from history after completing his role— which was to introduce Dolores Dei to court. In conclusion, yes, there *is* something lonely, paranoid, and even terrifying that people seldom mention, but *feel* when they think of her... INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] What is seen is what is looked for. KIM KITSURAGI: Lieutenant-yefreitor, you've stood there for over five minutes..." The lieutenant's calm voice echoes in the cold air of the church.  KIM KITSURAGI: "Okay..." He takes his glasses off to clean them. Then, after a while, he says:     VISUAL CALCULUS: Unknown.     VISUAL CALCULUS: And then along the left side: APRÉS LE MONDE - LE GRIS; APRÉS LE GRIS - LE MONDE DE NOUVEAU.  KIM KITSURAGI: "...death, life again," he nods. "After the world, the pale; after the pale—the world again."      ARIST: [Medium: Success] As you lower your head, you continue to feel her watching over you.    \REACTION SPEED: Don't be so pessimistic. Love doesn't die that easily!   ARIST: [Medium: Success] Uhhh... sure. Get right on that. But not right now! You have a *crab man* to find!   ARIST: [Easy: Success] Hey, this isn't a crab man! It's just a stupid computer! Boooooo! KIM KITSURAGI: "Another radiocomputer," says the lieutenant, stepping closer. "And this time it's already turned on." He seems cautious around the machine. ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] These machines sometimes harbour traps, he thinks—alarm systems and the like. Let's be careful.  KIM KITSURAGI: "It's also quite similar to the one we have down at the station. Must be the same model." He inspects the machine's framework, careful not to touch anything. INTERFACING: [Medium: Success] The one you saw earlier was the Rehm Civic—this is the Rehm *Prefect*, a model number RC7024. equipped with a Feld mainframe and a Rehm-compatible Interim printer.  MAINFRAME: You see virescent PLAY and PRINT buttons on the keyboard. A hatch connected to the central compartment is wide open.  MAINFRAME: Behind the hatch sits a cube-like crisscross of filaments, smouldering in the dark like fireflies. Silver tape on the side says in a black marker: "LOG (FEB-MAR)".  MAINFRAME: The speaker comes to life, static seeps through the machine's planar magnetic driver. An old lady greets you, her voice sounds a hundred years old...    EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: "Good. Please repeat the password."  EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: "Received. I will *register* this log-in attempt."  EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: "I have two machines registered to this company name in Martinaise—one on Saint-Brune, the other on Rue de Saint-Ghislaine." KIM KITSURAGI: "Saint-Brune—that's the church," the lieutenant gestures around him, "and Rue de Saint-Ghislaine, that's the Doomed Commercial Area."  EAST-INSULINDIAN REPEATER STATION: "Sleep well, Fortress Accident."   ARIST: [Medium: Success] Getting kinda antsy waiting for this crab man. Wait, were they pranking you? When you get out of here, give those punks a piece of your mind!      PERCEPTION (HEARING): And then it's gone. Almost all of it—but for the faintest of hums. LOGIC: [Medium: Success] It seems that sound here is detached from its source somehow, if not blotted out outright. Truly unusual.    KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant points to his ears and shakes his head. Then he leans closer.  KIM KITSURAGI: "I wonder why the... church was built with such strange acoustics..."  KIM KITSURAGI: "Please, detective, not this again."   PERCEPTION (HEARING): The silence, the darkness—they've enveloped you, as in a cocoon. You cannot move anymore.         PERCEPTION (SIGHT): It's not a shadow anymore—becoming more substantial as it gets closer. The shape of an *animal* descends. KIM KITSURAGI: "Officer, is there something up there?" The lieutenant follows your gaze, attempting to see whatever it is that you are seeing.    ARIST: [Impossible: Failure] CRAB! MAN! CRAB! MAN! CRAB! MAN!    VOLITION: [Trivial: Success] Don't. LOGIC: [Trivial: Success] Seriously, this is the *worst* idea. ARIST: [Impossible: Failure] gently caress those guys, go talk to the crab man!   Crab man crab man crab man TIAGO: The man leans forward a little, fixing you with a steady, unreadable gaze, then speaks...  ARIST: [Challenging: Success] This might be the *one* scenario where that's a legitimately surprising thing for you to hear! It's still true though.  TIAGO: "Here you can receive the Mother's love, and, when you're ready, she will take your hand and lift you out of the despair at the bottom of the bottle." KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant whispers to you, quietly. "This man is obviously a habitual narcotics user. Do we really need to question him?" ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] I'm put off by this religious stuff, he thinks—and maybe the ceiling-climbing, too. It's all very hard to square with the lieutenant's own view of reality.   TIAGO: "I was like you once—just dragging my feet to the next bottle... poo poo was dark, homes." KIM KITSURAGI: "You know, actually, since we're here—you may actually want to pay attention to what the ceiling climber is saying." ARIST: [Medium: Success] Kim? You agree with the crab man? Wow, never thought that'd happen. Though he's completely incontrovertibly right on this, no doubt about that. VOLITION: [Challenging: Success] If the lieutenant agrees, then maybe, just maybe—you should pay attention?   TIAGO: "This is the Church of the Mother of Silence. You are welcome here." He sways gently on the beams, waiting for you to take it all in. RHETORIC: [Medium: Success] You have no idea what the gently caress he's talking about. Is he just trying to throw you off your game? COMPOSURE: [Medium: Success] Whatever it is, he's quite confident about it—just look how gracefully he sways.   (This joke has been removed due to a copyright claim by the Walt Disney Corporation, but also it was really only there out of a sense of obligation and wasn't funny so don't feel too bad about missing it) TIAGO: He considers this for a moment. "I always thought of myself more like a *flame*. Flickering along the rafters and beams." He pauses. "It may be that I gotta work on my technique."  TIAGO: "Sure am. Whittling wood used to be something I just did to busy my hands..."    TIAGO: He frowns. "That's not really the point, ese. You gotta give yourself over to service... Service of the Mother, that is..." KIM KITSURAGI: "Do you remember your name, sir?" AUTHORITY: [Medium: Success] The lieutenant is not particularly interested in this information. He's just trying to assert some control over the conversation. TIAGO: "Tiago is my name. But those syllables don't mean much to me these days. A name isn't just your identity but also, so to speak..."   TIAGO: "This is a special place. There's a perforation in the world up there. A way out, into nothingness." He nods toward the ceiling. "This church was built around it, for purposes of veneration."  TIAGO: "No, no, no, there's a *new* god in town. And she can't be painted or sculpted, because she has no limbs or even a face. She is the end."  TIAGO: "I will be incinerated, but not destroyed—finally at one with the state of the world before reality began." ARIST: [Challenging: Success] Metal.  TIAGO: "It's not like that at all, man. It's just faith and joyful service."  TIAGO: He shakes his head. "I've heard that before, wey, and I know I can't convince you on the spot. But think--when's the last time you woke up from *silent communion* with a hangover, regretting what you did last night?  TIAGO: He looks at you gravely. "She took you for a good spin, huh? Don't worry, bro, that love is but a drop compared to the ocean of the Mother's love..."    TIAGO: He laughs. "I don't mean *literal* singing, homes. This is the Mother of Silence we're talking about. It's the singing of a burning heart..."  TIAGO: "Hard to say. I think I did some construction work here, back when I still had material worries. Up there, I realized what the true purpose of the church was... Been spending a lot of time here ever since. The past is nothing to me now, wey. It didn't belong to me."   TIAGO: "Something like that," he responds, his voice suddenly flat. KIM KITSURAGI: "Did you witness it?"  INLAND EMPIRE: [Challenging: Success] Feed the world with castoffs from the old you, and watch the empty grow—outside and in.   TIAGO: "Why not? They wouldn't bother me none. I'm usually way up there, imbibing. Ain't no music on Earth that can reach where I go. Might even be nice to have some company..."  TIAGO: "Other spooker? Oh, esa viajita muy estudiosa!" He laughs. "Dunno, homes."  TIAGO: "No, I just call her 'viejita' because of her clothes, she's actually quite young..." He scratches his head. "Or maybe not *that* young... Age is just one of the many masks we wear." REACTION SPEED: [Trivial: Success] Wait, what if it's Ruby? KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant seems to be thinking the same. He takes out his little notebook: "Did it ever seem to you like she was hiding here from something?" TIAGO: "You mean like a fugitive?" He glances at the abandoned radiocomputer on the other side of the nave, pulsing with light. Then he shakes his head. "No, man, quite the opposite—I don't think she cares much about authority, or anything else for that matter. Maybe only about her machines. KIM KITSURAGI: "I see." The lieutenant seems contented with that answer. "And where is she now?"  TIAGO: "You just have to wait until she comes back or..." He shrugs.  TIAGO: "Too many times, ese. You need it for something?"  TIAGO: "Don't sweat it, vato. The password is 'AFTER LIFE DEATH.'" INLAND EMPIRE: [Challenging: Success] That is true. But what comes after death?    Oh, absolutely.  ARIST: [Medium: Success] He's right. It doesn't seem like Ruby's been here. But you should still finish looking around.  We got a new thought from our crab man chat, and it's the most important one yet.   ARIST: [Challenging: Success] All it took was a tiny push, one last flippant remark in the end. And from a crab man, no less! You'd understood the depths you'd sunk to before that, sort of, but the weight of all of it finally became too much to bear. He was an addict too, in his own way. Maybe it was less what he said and more what he showed about himself, what he was still giving away of himself to that beast. It's going to be hard. You managed to distract yourself with the case for the last few days and put it all off for Kim's benefit, but it's going to be hard. Actually, it's never going to be easy again. Just don't loving flake on this. Not on this.  We're getting sober, everyone.
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Aug 5, 2020 21:27
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Gettin' sober is very important for Harry.
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Aug 5, 2020 21:54
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Congratulations on trying, Harry. But wow. Your Thought Cabinet is a lot emptier than mine was.
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Aug 5, 2020 22:59
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I'm honestly not a huge fan of a lot of the thought system. Having to spend a skill point to unlock a slot for a thought that may confer no immediate or even long-term benefit (and may actually give me a skill penalty when it resolves, which means I might have to spend another point to remove it) seems like a waste when I could put it into one of the many, many skills I like hearing from. (Gameplay spoilers for thoughts) Like, we're going hardcore Communistcop here but finishing the thought you get for picking communist responses reduces your Visual Calculus and Authority by 1 each and just gives you 4 experience every time you pick another communist response. If you pick another 50 left-wing dialogue options it'll eventually even out, but in the short-term it's garbage, and worse, it dictates what responses I'll pick in a way not dictated by roleplaying or how entertaining they are. Basically, with no way of predicting what value I'll get out of a thought or even what the end result will be, I'm disincentivized to actually explore that system.
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Aug 5, 2020 23:25
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Some real spooky stuff going on in this house of worship. Tiago is a fascinating guy, but the ambiguity surrounding Dolores Dei really captures the imagination.
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Aug 5, 2020 23:42
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Arist posted:I'm honestly not a huge fan of a lot of the thought system. Having to spend a skill point to unlock a slot for a thought that may confer no immediate or even long-term benefit (and may actually give me a skill penalty when it resolves, which means I might have to spend another point to remove it) seems like a waste when I could put it into one of the many, many skills I like hearing from. (Gameplay spoilers for thoughts) Like, we're going hardcore Communistcop here but finishing the thought you get for picking communist responses reduces your Visual Calculus and Authority by 1 each and just gives you 4 experience every time you pick another communist response. If you pick another 50 left-wing dialogue options it'll eventually even out, but in the short-term it's garbage, and worse, it dictates what responses I'll pick in a way not dictated by roleplaying or how entertaining they are. Actually 25 left-wing dialogue options, because you can then spend a skill point to forget about communism and get rid of those penalties! Edit: No I'm dumb, you did the math. You spend a skill point to unlock the thought as well, though you get to use that thought slot for something else for free. I like gaming the thought system, but I definitely look up what they do which isn't really being a gameplay purist. There are some powerful thoughts that I figured you were intentionally avoiding for being too good with our general build. Rawkking fucked around with this message at 01:07 on Aug 6, 2020 |
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Aug 6, 2020 00:58
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Man, these last few updates have been wild. Makes me wonder how Botchcop would screw them up. Speaking of, whatever happened to him?
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Aug 6, 2020 03:35
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| # ? Jun 6, 2024 10:18 |
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That "reichsapfel" is clearly an egg. (Reichsapfel translates generally as "imperial orb" but more literally as "imperial apple.")
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Aug 6, 2020 04:26
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