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Risky. Nip it before it gets any further along. Friendship is one thing, a romance involving the puppet won't end well.
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Jan 29, 2020 07:30
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I find your commitment to super villainny lacking 
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Jan 29, 2020 08:10
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Full speed ahead. Maximum Drama
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Jan 29, 2020 11:41
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End the relationship. Last thing we need is to get into an actual relationship when it isn't our real body. All we need is for her to visit the meat puppet while we're busy getting our evil mastermind on. Maybe we can tell her Jane's boss is sending her overseas for awhile, but that when we get back, we'll meet up again.
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Jan 29, 2020 12:36
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Well, I just caught up with this, and wanted to just take the time to say I really appreciate you putting the trigger warnings into the appropriate scenes. My wife has CPTSD, and the number of times she's stumbled into something and gotten triggered because someone didn't bother to mention it is extremely frustrating, so it was really nice to see you putting in that effort. Doubly so because the writing in this CYOA is really well done from that aspect, enough to make me wonder if the author is suffering from some form or another. Just wanted to also say I am really enjoying your side talk and explaining your thoughts on this playthrough and not dragging every single selection to a group vote, makes things progress much smoother.
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Jan 29, 2020 18:01
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Thanks very much. I do what I can, on both fronts. Sadly, I agree with you about the writing. My guess would be that someone involved in the project has been through something unfortunate.
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Jan 29, 2020 18:37
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Smart play is to end the relationship...but we also don't want to burn any bridges with Mortum. Ideally we should softplay the backing out, but maybe keep playing along if she seems insistent.
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Jan 30, 2020 05:09
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Keep the relationship going A person like Mortum is not someone you want on your bad side, especially since people like her often put in secret kill switches to stop all the products they make if they ever end up needing it.
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Jan 30, 2020 18:33
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Fumbles posted:Keep the relationship going This but also it may just be handy to have an additional pawn to be sacrificed if the need arises plus we may be able to get her to do free stuff for us. We are a manipulative super villain after all - why not use all advantages we can gather? Plus given there are risks with ending the relationship it seems obvious we should continue it.
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Jan 30, 2020 22:42
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The Plan You can see Dr. Mortum raising her glass in a toast as you return. "I see your excursion went well?" She smiles and refills your drink. "You are still in one piece." "Of course. Did you doubt me?" "Let's just say I was curious about what you were up to." She gives you a look you're finding hard to read. "Worried?" "More…" There is a moment's pause as she searches for the right word. "I suppose I was wondering why." "Because it was fun." You raise your glass with a wink. "Sometimes there's no need for another answer." "That's true." There is another pause as she leans back, looking up at the ceiling. "I suppose that this is what life is. Chaotic. Random. Violent. Prone to end in to spilled drinks and disappointment." "That's bleak," I say, raising an eyebrow. > "You forgot the fun part," I say, sipping my drink. "Nothing is truly random," I say with a knowing smile.  For now, we're 4:3 in favour of keeping the relationship going. I'll proceed on that basis for now; flirtiness and bravado have served us well so far.--- "You forgot the fun part," you say and sip your drink. "You still have a few years to go before you get this cynical, ma chérie." She toasts you before downing her drink. "I'll look forward to enjoying them before the inevitable disappointment sets in." You nod sagely. "It's not disappointment; it's just realism." Dr. Mortum grimaces a little and mutters, "Merde, I sound old." "I wouldn't think that realism was much in demand in your line of work." "I'll admit you need a certain kind of insanity to get truly creative in this field." She regards her empty glass with an almost wistful sigh. "It took a while to free my mind from the old constraints." "This field? What did you work with before?" "Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to." Her face has gone dark. "Because the answers would make me a liability?" you ask with a teasing smile. "And liabilities end up disappeared?" It's not like you're a stranger to secrets. "Ha!" The laugh is short and sharp enough to almost be a cough. "I knew there was a reason why I liked working with you." "My boss values their privacy as well." You shrug. "I've had to curb my curiosity." "And what other things have you had to curb?" "Wouldn't you like to know," I say with a flirty wink. > "My ambition. For now," I say with a confident smile. "Nothing I can't live without," I say with a shrug. Jane has already 'tried' to embezzle from her boss (remember when she tried to negotiate a discount on the power suit so she could skim the extra?), and after that display Dr. Mortum has to suspect there's more to her than meets the eye. Maybe we can even sell the idea that Jane's hiding powers of her own.--- "My ambition. For now." You add the last two words with a confident smile, making sure she understands that while you're currently just a lowly assistant, the sky is the limit. A bit of ambition would only be natural in a woman of Jane's profession. "What do you mean?" The question is deceptively innocent. Her eyes are not. "That's for you to figure out," you say with a cryptic smile. "If you're interested enough." "Really? Good thing that our collaboration is not yet ended, then. Speaking of collaboration, I was thinking…" Dr. Mortum seems to take the hint and changes to safer, more neutral subjects like your armor designs. Good. Hopefully things can stay that way for the rest of the evening - just an ordinary night out. --- Later that night: Much later. The cab brought you home without incident, and now you're sitting in the kitchen trying to calm your restless thoughts while your puppet sleeps her dreamless sleep. Dreamless. You wish the same could be said for you. Talking with Dr. Mortum made you think a little too much. Thinking can be dangerous, and yet… Why? You've asked yourself that question so many times. Why are you doing this? Revenge? Anger? Justice? It's not too late to back out. Not yet. You could pay off Dr. Mortum and bury the suit in your closet once it gets finished. Nobody needs to know. And yet… Is that really an option? Go back into hiding? Live a life in the shadows, pretending they will never find you? Maybe you would have had a shot at that before you ran into Ortega, but now the clock is ticking. All you can do is make sure you are as prepared as possible. So, why are you doing this? I want revenge against the people who hurt me. > I've had enough of being stepped on. I want a good life, and this is the way I can have it. I need to show the world the truth. I don't know what I want—this just feels inevitable. --- You know what it feels like to be helpless, and you have had enough of it. No more. Never again. It's not kind people who run the world, but utter bastards, and if you have to turn into one of them, so be it. Nobody will step on you ever again. Nobody will make jokes at your expense. Nobody will turn you into a tool and a wea— No. That is not true. Someone has turned you into a weapon. Yourself. That's a strangely liberating thought. You are both the smith and the sword, forging yourself from pain and anger. They always treated you like a dog to be trained, but sometimes even dogs turn against their masters. And tear out their throats… There's no place for you in this world, so who cares? Nobody will ever tell you what to do, ever again. Soon, the waiting will end. --- It's been a grueling two years. This isn't how you want your life to be. You keep staring at the leftover chocolate cake sitting on your kitchen table. It's still moist, and part of you takes comfort in that. Those are the kinds of options you have now. The option to buy good quality food that doesn't come frozen in a bag. The option to sit at a comfortable kitchen table eating it, even if it's past midnight. Time turns strange when you run two bodies. And the option to pick what paper you want to read. You actually bought one yesterday because paper makes things feel more real than digital does. It feels good to tear the page out. To look at it. To crumple it up in your hands like it matters. And it does. Matter. What you're holding is nothing less than the site of your debut, the place where, after so much deliberation, you will reveal yourself to the world. Where all the sweat, pain and sacrifices will be realized into your new self. You smooth out the page again and read the article once more, even though you know it by heart. --- "The Heroic Heritage Museum—Set for a Grand Reopening in Los Diablos," the headline says. You read on. "When Mayor Alvarez officially opens the Heroic Heritage Museum next week with a grand benefit gala, it will mark the end of a painful restoration project. "The work ran one year over schedule and millions of dollars over budget. The most famous of the Los Diablos city museums has been closed since the Shasta Quake two years ago. Renovation was delayed by a dispute over city funds in the wake of the budget crisis. "'I'm glad that it's finally been completed,' says museum director Gerard Cho. 'The museum is a symbol of the heroic spirit of the West Coast, and I'm proud to see it stand tall once more.' "On Wednesday, the last of the collections were moved back, including the famous 'W'—the last surviving letter from the iconic Hollywood sign. Some collections still remain in storage to allow for the gala to be held in the museum halls. The proceeds from the gala will go towards the museum endowment fund. "'Everything has changed,' says Shaniqua Jones, the museum's director of collections." --- You skim through the rest of the page, thinking back to your plans instead. There will be celebrities there, and thus it will be crawling with the press. This is the perfect way to get a flying start and cement your reputation as a villain to be reckoned with. There will be heroes there, and you are willing to bet they will include at least one of the Rangers. That's part of why the government foots their bill—to have a team to show off and placate the populace. Smoothing out the page, you ponder your options as you look at the pictured building. There's going to be a big media presence. It's a central location. If something happens there, the headlines will be huge. They could be your headlines. They should be your headlines. But what kind? Your absentmindedly finish the last of the crumbs on your plate, your mind already at work. You have decided how you want the world to first learn of your presence. Destroying the museum building will strike fear into everyone. I get the opportunity to take the Rangers out on camera. There will be an exhibit of Sidestep. I'll destroy my past before it destroys me…. Robbing the gala will give me the funds I need. --- Yep, I screwed up so that's all for now. I didn't know how much more there would be to the tavern scene; the last update was pushing over-long so it felt like time for a cut. Oops.  Today's question is super important. Each of the four objectives available will present a different mission, different challenges, and different parameters for the inevitable conflict with the civilian and caped authorities. So while the plan will always be to attack the museum, we need to decide if we're destroying the museum, humiliating the Rangers, erasing our past, or robbing the gala? 36 to 48 hours, 2 hour warning will apply.
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Jan 31, 2020 20:22
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Erasing our past. The protagonist here seems very much haunted by it. Whatever else drives her, a literal destruction of her old identity feels appropriate.
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Jan 31, 2020 22:24
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There are no lessons in the past.
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Jan 31, 2020 22:43
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Rob the gala. It’s the most practical option and destroying the sidestep stuff is sentimental and would possibly lead to us.
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Feb 1, 2020 00:54
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Thunderfinger posted:Rob the gala. lol beat me to posting this by seconds! Rob the gala. Can't change the past, but we can create a new future for ourselves.
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Feb 1, 2020 01:07
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Rob the gala. As much fun as the other three sound, destroying the past seems like it might be tipping our cap too early as to who we really are, and the other two might force us to play our trump card too publicly.
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Feb 1, 2020 01:36
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Erase our past. Seal the villainous deal, whoever we once were we aren't anymore.
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Feb 1, 2020 02:01
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Money money money (rob the gala)
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Feb 1, 2020 02:28
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Rob the gala. Destroying just the Sidestep exhibit would be waaaay too big a hint for the good guys, and there's no mention made of targetting any others. And so far practical has been our watchword.
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Feb 1, 2020 02:52
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Let's put a two hour warning on this close poll.
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Feb 2, 2020 19:52
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Rob the gala!
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Feb 2, 2020 21:53
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Psychic Surgery You skim through the rest of the page, thinking back to your plans instead. There will be celebrities there, and thus it will be crawling with the press. This is the perfect way to get a flying start and cement your reputation as a villain to be reckoned with. There will be heroes there, and you are willing to bet they will include at least one of the Rangers. That's part of why the government foots their bill—to have a team to show off and placate the populace. Smoothing out the page, you ponder your options as you look at the pictured building. There's going to be a big media presence. It's a central location. If something happens there, the headlines will be huge. They could be your headlines. They should be your headlines. But what kind? Your absentmindedly finish the last of the crumbs on your plate, your mind already at work. You have decided how you want the world to first learn of your presence. Destroying the museum building will strike fear into everyone. I get the opportunity to take the Rangers out on camera. There will be an exhibit of Sidestep. I'll destroy my past before it destroys me…. > Robbing the gala will give me the funds I need. Some great points in the thread. We've been playing it practical so far, and singling out the Sidestep exhibition might give us away. We're robbing the gala. I've never played the robbery mission before. This should be interesting.--- You are so tired of this. Tired of living in hiding. Tired of being trapped by the same four walls. Tired of being this gray shadow of a nobody, just to be safe. Money can't solve everything, but you've reached a point now where it feels like you deserve something more. A secret base. A nice apartment. Just the feeling of luxury now and then, without living hand to mouth. Are you walking down this path just for the money? No. But you would be stupid not to take advantage of the fact that there will be as much money at that benefit gala as there would be in a bank. Cash. Jewelry. Important people with things to show off. Oh, you will show them alright. Dr. Mortum will soon be finished with the armor. You have a target. Now all you need is a plan. Time to get to work. --- Two Days Later Waiting for Dr. Mortum to finish up the suit would have driven you to distraction if you didn't have other things to do. Planning for your debut means learning everything you can about the museum: procuring floor plans, scanning the minds of city officials, pondering escape routes and weak points. You have a few ideas of how to go about this. But that's something you'll have to think about later because you're already running late for your session with Lady Argent. You know that if you take too long, Ortega will worry. He used to, anyway, and you don't think people change that much. And yet… What does that say about you? Have you changed, or were you already bad back then? Was it all pretend? Or is this just you playing with new masks? Not that it matters—you've set your course now. For better or worse. Ignoring the mirror, you pull on your jacket, doing your best to look as tired and mundane as possible. It wouldn't do to let anything of your true self slip out on a day like this. Not when you've got to maintain shields strong enough to survive yet another trip into Lady Argent's mind. This time, ostensibly, to help. You've put this off for as long as you've been able, so it's now or never. The ride to the Rangers' headquarters will be just long enough to get into character. You've certainly had enough practice. --- Third time's the charm. This time, the Rangers' headquarters doesn't feel as intimidating. You're here by invitation, and there's nothing compromising that the scanners can reveal without being far more intrusive than the passive ones concealed in the walls. And that wouldn't do. Ortega trusts you. "Thank you again for doing this." Ortega meets you down in the foyer, trying vainly to conceal the tension on his face. You know him far too well to be fooled. He's in uniform this time, white lightning designs on deep blue nanomesh making him fit these hallways far better than you, a colorful ghost of a past you wish you could forget. His mind is a static blur as always, a radio left on the wrong station. "Can't say I'm looking forward to it." You suppress a shiver as you look around, wondering if you have been put into the security system yet. How would they classify you? Friendly? Not a threat? Would it be worth the risk to get closer to them for possible future advantages? "I understand." There's a hint of hesitation, as if Ortega has had some time to think about what his request really means. The risk he is putting you through. "You know I'm only doing this because you asked me to, right?" "No, you don't. You really don't." > "I'll try to help her if I can." Whether we like it or not, Ortega's here and we're working with Lady Argent. Let's just stay in everyone's good books for now; in a few weeks, it won't matter. We just have to get there.--- "I'll try to help her if I can." You reach out to touch his arm briefly, wondering if you're displaying enough empathy. How did you use to act? It feels so long ago. "Thank you." He gives you a soft smile. "I wouldn't have asked you to do this if I could think of any other way." "I suppose it's nice to be wanted." "I've missed you, you know." The softness of the smile has reached his eyes, and you look away a little too fast. You continue your walk, surrounded by deceptively blank walls, neither of you knowing what to say to each other. That's good to know, that Ortega has as much trouble finding the right words when you're together as you do. Old friends, reunited. What are you supposed to make of that? "Is she ready for me?" You switch topic to the safest one you have. Lady Argent. "As ready as she can be." Ortega sighs. "Maybe this will help her even if we don't find any clues. She's been…tense." "She's been violated. I can understand." In a strange way, you do. You've lived through what she has, and now you… "Was that what it felt like when…" Ortega was always far too good at reading your mind. "I don't want to talk about it." Your voice has gone hard, your words locking your feelings down. "I…" There is the briefest of pauses before he continues, "I respect that." "Really?" The snort is out of your mouth before you can stop it. "That's new." "Can't say I like it." Ortega pauses to give you a long look. "But it's your call. Chen…" "What does Steel have to do with it?" You don't bother to hide your frown. "He felt it too. During the last mission we did together. At least some of it." You notice he doesn't mention Heartbreak by name. "But the dampeners…" "They were overloading," he explains, too eager to get a chance to talk about this again. "That's why I was almost too late. He was…" > "Was what?" "I don't want to talk about it." "It doesn't matter." And it pays off! Free intel is always appreciated.--- "Was what?" You can't help the morbid curiosity. "It started getting to him. He managed to keep himself under control, just about, but…" "How did he manage that?" You're not sure whether resentment or curiosity has the upper hand right now. "I reminded him he was a soldier, that his life wasn't his own anymore." "You…" The look on your face makes Ortega turn away. "I guess I was channeling my father a little." A small, embarrassed laugh. "It seemed to do the trick." "Lucky for Steel," you say with resentment dripping from your words. You walk the rest of the way in silence. So Marshal Steel's dampeners can overload, even to the point of him being affected. I'm not sure how strong this armour will be, but if the telepathic boosters bring us into Heartbreak's weight class...let's remember this.--- Time to get this done. The small conference room is shrouded in shadows, the only light a softly glowing ball set on the table in front of you. A candle would have been better, but apparently low-tech devices like that are not within this new facility. Probably some fire safety rule, which is ridiculous since you know they store things here that could level half the city. You stole one of them, after all… "Close your eyes," you tell Lady Argent. You use your most convincing voice even though you still feel like a bundle of nerves, ready to jump at any sudden interruptions. "Why? I don't like that." She sits on the other side of the table, leaning back in her chair with silvery arms crossed over her chest. Her posture leaks aggression and hostility, masking the fear beneath. I explain that it is for her own good. > I admit that she's a bit intimidating and say it will help me focus. I joke a little to try to ease the tension. And now we're back to telling people what they want to hear. Lady Argent feels vulnerable; flipping the script by acting afraid of her will make us seem less dangerous.--- "Honestly, your eyes are more than a little unnerving," you admit with what you hope is a sheepish smile, feeling your shirt sticking to your back. It's meant to help her relax and feel in control, but there is more than a little truth to your admission. Her eyes are as silver as the rest of her, with just a faint glow to distinguish them from the rest of her face. This close, you can see a hint of what might be a pupil in the center, but it is dark and opaque and faintly…oblong? A single monolith shrouded by mist. You feel painfully mundane compared to her esoteric form, just a pretender trying to recapture her former glory. It is times like this when you realize how much a uniform helps with feeling confident—how easy it was to hide your misgivings behind a mask, and soft, nervous skin behind tough armor. There's so much riding on this that you feel like you have a gun pointed at your head, betting that the hammer will strike an empty chamber. "Fine," she snaps, not sounding surprised. Most likely you are not the first one to feel unnerved in her presence. "Just get it over with." "Calm down, Argent," Ortega says. He shifts a little where he sits, off to the side where he won't be in the way. "I am calm," she retorts, words snapping like angry dogs. "You stay out of this, Ricardo." But she dutifully closes her eyes. It looks eerie, your reflection shimmering on her face even in this dim light. If you leaned close enough, you bet you would be able to see your own eyes staring back from her closed eyelids. I do my best to make her feel at ease. I joke a little with Ortega. > I play up my own nervousness. Once you bluff, commit to the story. We've been representing that we're afraid to use our powers since Ortega showed up at the diner; there's no reason that should have changed over the past few days.--- Now that you get a chance to study her closely, you idly wonder what her heritage is. Caucasian? Maybe, but there are hints of Asian features there as well. It's surprisingly hard to judge when the skin is pure silver and the reflections throw everything off. "Should I be doing anything in particular?" Argent's voice still sounds abrasive. "Please, be quiet. This is delicate work, and it's been a long time since I did anything like it." The lies slide easily from your lips as you brush up against the thoughts of Argent, silvery and slick and oh so familiar. She is worried, her aura buzzing with anger and frustration. You can understand why; what you put her through was traumatic, and now she sits here again, with her attacker pretending to be the physician who would examine her for evidence. No wonder she is tense—the invulnerable girl made vulnerable. "Just take your time, Charlotte." Ortega sounds just like he used to sound when talking to nervous civilians, and even though that is the impression you want to give, you can feel your anger starting to flare. You force it down with a deep breath. It doesn't matter what they think; you need to focus now. --- You close your eyes and take a moment to center yourself before gingerly reaching out to brush the edge of your consciousness against hers. The first contact feels almost electric, a static mental shock making your mouth taste like metal before you leave your body behind. Reading a mind is scanning the surface like a pebble skidding across a pond, each touch of rock to water revealing new thoughts and feelings. Possessing someone, on the other hand, is a completely different discipline. When you take someone over, you don't want to interact with the mind at all: you just trap it so you can use their body as you please, little butterfly thoughts caught in a snow globe. Undisturbed until shaken. What you are doing now…is something else. This time you're sinking into an active mind, subsuming yourself in the turmoil of her thoughts. It looks like it's going to be a bumpy ride. Burying yourself in the silver blizzard feels like driving a Cessna through a storm, winds of panic tossing you from side to side. Her mind is deep, dark, and turgid, neither pond nor snow globe but rather an endless, stormy ocean. Everyone has their own mental landscapes, like mountains carved by ages of rain and wind. Hers are all clouds over water and odd metallic structures, shifting and turning, an ever-changing city of steel below you. Everything reflects your abrasive presence; you have to fight hard to keep your chosen shape, so close to the one you're wearing physically. Tired. Worn out. Innocent. Now, how to go about this…. The longer you linger in her mind, the bigger the chance of slipping up and letting her catch on to who you really are. But on the other hand, if you try to force things too fast, her mind might recoil and strike back, which would have the same effect. A paintbrush or a scalpel… > I try to stay aloft, keeping a light touch as I repaint her memories. I dive deep, trying to cut out what needs to be gone and insert a new alternative. Our gift is for Subtle Manipulations. This is too high-stakes of a situation to try and practice our Strength of Mind; we should play our A game. Besides, we crushed her will earlier; flexing our mental muscles again might make us feel too familiar.--- The wind feels like a living thing, touching you with feather fingers as if trying to discern whether you are a threat or not. It takes everything you have to relax and let it probe, to allow Argent's mind to taste enough of you to decide whether to bring its teeth out or not. Was it always this difficult to be gentle? Just a stray thought lost inside her mind? It gets harder and harder to remember, but apparently you can still generate enough trust to make her back down for the moment. Good. The winds die down somewhat, letting you gain enough altitude to survey the intricacies of her mind. The air smells of ozone and fresh laundry, a peculiar combination that almost has you smiling in recognition. It shouldn't be too hard to do what you want up here, but while her mind is pliable it's tempting to do a few other modifications as well. > No. I won't risk compromising my main task here. It can't hurt to try to make her see me as a friend. I'll make some preparations for the next time I have to fight her. The third option was extremely tempting. But we'll have our suit by the time we fight her again; we beat her even without it, so she shouldn't be much of a threat. We're most vulnerable now; let's focus on staying safe.--- You're not in her mind for fun and games; you have been forced into this to defuse a potentially dangerous situation. It would be foolish to risk ruining everything you've worked for just because you have access you normally wouldn't have. They say that opportunity makes the thief, but you're not that stupid. Even if it is tempting. --- You float effortlessly in the sky, shielded from the storm by childhood memories of comfort: a mother's hug, a father's steady hand. The jealousy this evokes is quickly suppressed; you have no time to indulge in what you've never had. It is enough to use her past to protect you from her present. Wrapping yourself in the semblance of parenthood, you soar over the changing structures until they quiet down. She has stopped fighting now, her mind no longer recognizing you as a threat. Time to go to work. It is a risky business, what you are about to do. But now that you have left your body behind, slumped in the comfortable chair, you are also free of fears. You bring no baggage: you are invisible and competent, pure intent with no thoughts to spare for failure. Your worst enemy as a telepath is yourself; to imagine failure or doubt your abilities is as dangerous as a trapeze artist suddenly noticing the vertiginous heights from which they ply their trade. You have a task here, and you set about it with no thoughts about the consequences of failure. You spread the seeds you've crafted as you glide through subconscious worries, adding gentle nudges here and there to make sure the currents move the way you want them to. Allusions. Misdirection. Your first step is to tweak the vague memories of your intrusion to point towards someone else. You need to add a few key differences in tone to give Argent a realistic final memory of contemptuously curled lips, bright purple against black skin—the color signature of Locus. You refine that hint of sadness that she had already picked up on, the feeling of regret that it had to come to this. Over it all, you sprinkle a feeling of discomfort—that this was a necessary evil, that it wasn't anything against Argent personally, but simply something that had to be done for the greater good. You are left with a delicious cupcake of implications sprinkled with doubt, and you wonder how bad of a diet she is on, since even now thoughts of food equal comfort in her brain. Finally, you are done. There is no time left for sightseeing so you pull back quickly, making sure to cloud yourself in a different mental feeling than the usual. Something she can remember when she wakes up. > Stale beer and lost dreams. Tired concern. Suppressed annoyance. --- You wrap yourself in a sad feeling of stale beer and lost dreams. You don't want her to fear you; you want her to pity you. "Charlotte?" Ortega has his hands on your shoulders, and you realize he must have been steadying you so you wouldn't fall off the chair. It's a lucky thing too, because the room is spinning. It takes a few moment for you to catch your breath. "I am fine." You cough out the words, making this look a lot more serious than it actually is. "She has very strong mental defenses; whoever did this to her was good." Again, not a lie, as it is dangerous to lie to people like this. Far better to skirt the truth. "Not whoever." Lady Argent's voice is filled with cold rage, but luckily, it isn't aimed at you. "Locus. It was Locus. I knew she couldn't be trusted. Nobody is that nice for real." Argent's mouth is a severe line of silver, razor-thin and just as cruel. You would not want to be in Locus's shoes when Argent finds her—which she won't, considering that the girl has been missing for months. "Are you sure?" Ortega asks her, helping you back to your feet. You feel so very out of place here in your wrinkled clothes, but that is just what you need to be right now. Just someone helping out, not a hero anymore, and certainly not a villain. "Yes. I'm sorry about your friend there," she says, giving you a look as if you're not even worthy of a name. Good. "I'm fine," you mumble, not that she listens. "But she jogged something," she continues, touching her forehead as if the gesture helps her focus. "I remember it clearly now. I saw her, just a glance before it happened." Argent has risen and she stands now, looking down at her hands, the fingertips pointed and sharp. There's a twitch to them, as if she wants to tear into something. "She is up to something. I am not sure what…it almost felt like she was forced. Or maybe she was sorry she had to do that to me." Her voice drops a few octaves into a disturbingly inhuman growl. "Not that it matters. She will pay all the same; nobody does that to me and walks away from it." You have a hard time hiding your smile where you stand, looking tired and lost. You are dying to tell her the truth where she postures, all indignant fury. You are dying to tell her that you did it, and that you got away with it too. But you do not. She will know soon enough. They all will. "You'd better go and tell Chen." Ortega motions towards the door. "While you still remember everything. I'll just make sure Charlotte is alright." "Good." She throws her hair back in a silvery cascade, confidence restored. "We finally have a lead now." The door slams shut behind her hard enough to make you jump. Being in there has made you more skittish than you thought. We nailed it! She suspects Locus, she sees us as insignificant, and if people grill her about how we 'felt' later she'll likely think of us as a burned-out has-been. Marshal Steel probably thinks the same, and we've told Ortega the same story. Everyone will reinforce each other's views, and confirmation bias should do the rest.--- "Do you mind if I turn on the lights?" Ortega walks over to the console. "No," you say, shielding your eyes. "Sorry." There's a quick smile of amusement that quickly turns into worry as he takes a closer look at you. "You look like crap, Charlotte." "I feel like it." I rub my head. > "Why did you think I wore a mask?" I say with a straight face. "You always had the best compliments," I tease. "You worry too much." I shrug off his concern. Spending a lot of time as Jane - a puppet chosen for her beauty, which we carefully maintain - must make it interesting when we're our normal self. Even though Charlotte uses her plain appearance as a shield, it can't be great for the old ego.--- "Why did you think I wore a mask?" You manage to say it with a straight face, and it takes a moment before he realizes you have made a joke. "See, there is the Charlotte I know," he says with a chuckle as he walks over to one of the side tables. "Don't bet on it," you say with a shrug, looking at his muscular back, far more noticeable when he's in costume. Looks like he's been staying in shape. "Here, looks like you need it." Ortega comes back with a bar of chocolate, holding it out to you as a peace offering. "Hell, do you have your own personal snack cabinet back there or what?" You grab the bar, taking a small bite. It is delicious. "I know how you feel after doing strenuous things like that. I thought you might need a little pick-me-up before going back out there." "You're not wrong." You close your eyes to savor the moment. "You never used to be this thoughtful." "Things change." "I suppose they do." Both of you fall back into what in the past would have been a comfortable silence. Now? Not so much. This is exactly what you were afraid of when agreeing to this, that Ortega would take it as an excuse to reconnect further. Dangerous. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks as if he could read your mind. What is he talking about though? There's a long list of things you imagine he would want to discuss, none of which you're comfortable with. > "Talking doesn't help," I say with a shrug. "No." I cross my arms. "Not right now," I say, looking away. --- "Talking doesn't help," you say with a shrug. "Can't hurt either." He matches your shrug. "You're not the one with the scars." "None of us got out of there unscathed." Ah, so the Heartbreak Incident it is. "You know what I mean." You give him a hard stare. That is possibly the last thing you want to talk about right now. "I suppose I do, but…" "But?" You look over at Ortega, suspecting that once the look of hesitation on his face has passed he's going to do something embarrassing and personal. "I need to get going…." I step away to avoid the impending hug. I don't do anything. Let's see what happens. > I hug him first. As always, the best shroud is the other person's expectations. He thinks we're having a moment; if we give it to him, he won't question this interaction.--- You take a step forward, decisively giving him a hug. You can do that, you were friends, and this…this feels nice. You've missed having a friend. Missed someone you'd dare to relax around. For a moment Ortega hugs back, a little harder than you. Then you break the hug, stepping back. "You…" Ortega shakes his head in surprise. "I've missed you too." His face lights up in one of those far too bright and carefree grins, and for a moment you're taken back to how things used to be. When you used to be friends. When you used to care. But things have changed. "Don't plan for a repeat performance." You give him a cautionary look. "Of course not." The smile is a little embarrassed. "Still, no need to be a stranger in the future." "Maybe. I need to get going now." You look down, not sure how to react to your sudden burst of emotion. This is getting too complicated. "Of course." Ortega scratches the back of his head and motions towards the door. "I haven't missed this kind of hangover." You rub your face as you walk through the corridor, heading back towards the elevators. You're not exaggerating much, but it's a handy excuse to get out of here before you say or do anything you'll regret. Ortega often has that effect on you. "Herald's been asking about you, by the way." He has a hesitant look on his face, as if debating whether to bring this up to you. "Has he now?" I say, sounding hesitant. "I hope you shot him down," I say, not bothering to hide my annoyance. > "Why?" I ask, making sure not to show any particular reaction. O-ho! Even more grist for the mill. Let's see if this gets us anywhere.--- "Why?" you ask, making sure not to show any particular reaction to the news. You have no reason to dislike Herald. "He wanted to be here for this." Ortega sighs a little, shaking his head. "I said no, of course." "Huh." You rub your chin, trying to figure out what that might mean. "Is he that worried about Argent?" "Honestly, I think he wanted to see you again," Ortega says with a teasing jab as you step into the elevator. "You're his idol, after all." "What?" You can't hide your confused reaction, and as predicted, that makes his smile grow even wider. "You didn't know?" he asks with an innocent look on his face, leaning so very casually against the elevator wall. "How could I?" You had forgotten how smug he could be. "And more importantly, why?" "I could think of a few reasons." The look Ortega gives you is pointed like a dagger. "Maybe you should ask him sometime." Is he trying to get you to come back to the team? How little he knows. --- "Maybe you should tell him Sidestep is dead." The elevator sighs to a halt, the doors promising relief. You step through them a little quicker than natural, trying to look like you're not escaping. It's hard. "Is that really how you see it?" "Yes." You make sure to really stress the word as you give him a stern glare. "That is not just 'how I see it,' it is how things are. I. Am. Retired." "I don't think you've lost the knack. Just look at what you did back there." Of course, Ortega wouldn't let it rest. Luckily, you are approaching the exit now, so there's an end to your ordeal. "Don't be an idiot," you say with a sigh, making a final effort to smile at him. "Just let me get out of here and collapse in peace." "You know where I am if you want to talk, alright?" There's that look on his face again, the 'I'm worried about you' look. The one you really don't need right now. "Or you'll come find me, right?" You phrase it as a joke, but it hits far too close to home. Ortega is a risk, but luckily he will soon be less of one. Once you've stepped over the line, you can cut loose this ghost of a friendship and be done with it. Until then, you need to keep the mask on. Even when it chafes. --- Three Weeks Later This is what Christmas is supposed to feel like. As with many things, you never really understood the feelings involved, but you had seen enough on screen to mimic what was expected of you. But today, you feel like you understand the volatile mixture of tension and excitement. If you had dared to laugh, you would have. The garage you're standing in is a small space, the corners filled with dust, but the white van parked at one end is kept in perfect shape. It's been your improvised base for the last few days because you needed somewhere neutral to prepare. Your first secret base. You wish it had been grander, but it will have to do for now. The crate smells like sawdust and disinfectant when you open it, a vaguely chemical odor that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Are you afraid? Nervous? Impatient? You're not sure how you feel as you pull out the separate parts of the armored suit and set them on the floor in front of you. They look more solid than their holographic counterparts, beset with a realness that makes you feel like a cardboard cutout. When you pick up the nanomesh skinsuit that goes underneath, it's slick as liquid in your hands—not at all like what you remember wearing as Sidestep. Have you just gotten too used to the comfortable drabness of ordinary fabrics, or is this more advanced than your old suit? Maybe it's just that this one is meant to go under armor, and thus has none of the reinforced padding that you wore. It doesn't matter, really; it needs to be put on either way. You glance briefly towards the owner of the garage, a stocky older man sitting with his back towards you. The bag over his head ensures you get a bit of privacy, but undressing is not something you do lightly. You might need his hands and van in a few days' time, but that doesn't mean you haven't taken precautions to keep yourself anonymous. I've manipulated him as gently as I can. I've brainwashed him until he follows my every command. --- Time for a vote. Most of our character profile and build are basically set at this point. We're a tactician and manipulator with contacts, and while we're pragmatic and unscrupulous we hold ourselves to a standard of professionalism. Our suit is built for speed and telepathic amplification and we're aiming to rob the museum. We take our enemies down hard, but we don't destroy them utterly if we can safely avoid doing so. But there's one more dimension we haven't settled: How does Charlotte treat civilians? This decision - the one about the garage owner - will stand in for that. If we manipulate him gently, I'll take that to mean Charlotte treats civilians relatively gently. People who aren't in our way and haven't hurt us deserve to live on; we were a civilian once. But if we brainwash him completely, it will suggest that Charlotte doesn't see ordinary humans as morally relevant. There are no bystanders - only assets and threats. Anyone who isn't part of the former group is part of the latter; there are no bystanders. --- And now for a full dump of the entire character sheet. CLASSIFIED Secret Identity: Charlotte Becker Gender: Female Description: An average Asian woman in her thirties with brown eyes and shoulder-length straight black hair. Charlotte Becker is a seasoned, streetwise tactician. Physical Status Stamina: You are rested. Willpower: You feel calm. Injuries: You are fine, with no significant wounds. Telepathy Strength of Mind: 63% Subtle Manipulations: 75% Standard of Living: You are comfortable. Psychological Profile Infamy: 20% ||| Obscurity: 80% Arrogance: 36% ||| Anonymity: 64% Ruthlessness: 42% ||| Empathy: 58% Daring: 58% ||| Caution: 42% Main Puppet Name: Jane Puppet Status: Fine. Description: A tall white woman in her twenties, with brown eyes and shoulder-length straight brown hair. Allies and Enemies Charlotte's relationship with Ortega: old friend. Ortega and Charlotte: 82% Jane's relationship with Ortega: flirting. Ortega and Jane: 46% Jane's relationship with Dr. Mortum: flirting. Mortum and Jane: 62% Charlotte's relationship with Lady Argent: neutral. Lady Argent and Charlotte: 0% Charlotte's relationship with Marshal Steel: distant. Marshal Steel and Charlotte: 24% Charlotte's relationship with Herald: distant. Herald and Charlotte: 30% I still think the relationship percentages are dumb, but just this once I'll leave them in.--- 36 to 48 hours, 2 hour warning will apply. Sorites fucked around with this message at 06:24 on Feb 3, 2020 |
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Feb 3, 2020 06:22
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Be gentle. Normally I'd be all for brainwash, but Charlotte seems to be some kind of nominal hero.
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Feb 3, 2020 06:44
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Try a little tenderness, it's not the common people who deserve our wrath
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Feb 3, 2020 07:07
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Manipulate him gently. I think that's most consistent with Charlotte's behavior so far.
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Feb 3, 2020 09:45
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Gentle. No longer a hero, but some I can't say as to being kind overall, but the average civilian populace we encounter is unlikely to deserve our mind-obliterating wrath.
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Feb 3, 2020 09:51
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Go easy.No need to be a monster, yet.
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Feb 3, 2020 10:02
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Arcanuse posted:I can't say as to being kind overall, but the average civilian populace we encounter is unlikely to deserve our mind-obliterating wrath. WRATH is valuable, don't waste it! Let it build pressure until the time comes to terrify everyone into obedience.
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Feb 3, 2020 10:11
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Gentle. The only time we've gone "bull in a china shop" has been against other supers, though with the upcoming robbery, that may bite us in the rear end. Also, since no one else has pointed it out, but not only can Steel's dampeners be overpowered, but that Ortega helped him overcome... mind control? by reminding him that his life isn't his own any more. What would happen if we made Steel start to resent that fact and Ortega tries to use it again? Just something to remember if it comes up.
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Feb 3, 2020 14:56
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A subtle touch is less noticeable. Gently.
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Feb 4, 2020 00:42
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Yeah gentle seems like the way to go, no point in drawing unnecessary attention or looking like a bigger threat than necessary, at least until we're ready. Let's keep this professional so we can get in, get the funds we need to increase our power, and then get out.
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Feb 4, 2020 00:58
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Oh wow, I never expected to see a FH:R let's play pop up here. This obscure little game means a lot to me. It's cool seeing more people's take on it, especially outside of the younger Tumblr crowd. it looks like voting is set, but i'll vote for a complete brainwash just to be contrarian
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Feb 4, 2020 05:14
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AriadneThread posted:Oh wow, I never expected to see a FH:R let's play pop up here. This obscure little game means a lot to me. It's cool seeing more people's take on it, especially outside of the younger Tumblr crowd. I have to say, few games have made an impact on me like this has. It's so rare you get a convincing story about mind stuff - not just the telepathy but also our avatar's emotions and coping. I think Disco Elysium had a chance to but the janky gameplay threw me right out of the experience. I'm enjoying following the thread about it though.
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Feb 4, 2020 21:35
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Sorites posted:I have to say, few games have made an impact on me like this has. It's so rare you get a convincing story about mind stuff - not just the telepathy but also our avatar's emotions and coping. As someone who has never played this game, thanks for running it mate! Quite enjoying seeing where this all goes.
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Feb 4, 2020 22:27
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Sorites posted:I have to say, few games have made an impact on me like this has. It's so rare you get a convincing story about mind stuff - not just the telepathy but also our avatar's emotions and coping. The game just gets something about trauma and also the trans experience that I haven’t seen in many other places. I came across it by chance shortly after it came out and it’s stuck with me since. Even got me to start writing again after like 7 years
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Feb 4, 2020 23:23
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AriadneThread posted:Even got me to start writing again after like 7 years Me too, actually. As I think I've made apparent, the game's gestures toward dissociation and related disorders struck a chord with me. It inspired me to write an article overthinking the Incredible Hulk, which I published and nobody cared about. I've also been playing with the idea of making a game in this engine myself. Haven't even downloaded the tools, but I've looked into the tutorials and workshopped some concepts. There's just something about this game. I can't wait for the sequel to continue the story.
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Feb 5, 2020 00:40
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The writing seems to be on the wall, but I promised a two hour warning so here it is. Anyone with final comments before we keep moving forward, now's your chance. (or if there are nine people on right now who really want us to brainwash this dude I guess)
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Feb 5, 2020 16:40
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Manipulate.
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Feb 5, 2020 22:48
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Battle in the Park This is what Christmas is supposed to feel like. As with many things, you never really understood the feelings involved, but you had seen enough on screen to mimic what was expected of you. But today, you feel like you understand the volatile mixture of tension and excitement. If you had dared to laugh, you would have. The garage you're standing in is a small space, the corners filled with dust, but the white van parked at one end is kept in perfect shape. It's been your improvised base for the last few days because you needed somewhere neutral to prepare. Your first secret base. You wish it had been grander, but it will have to do for now. The crate smells like sawdust and disinfectant when you open it, a vaguely chemical odor that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Are you afraid? Nervous? Impatient? You're not sure how you feel as you pull out the separate parts of the armored suit and set them on the floor in front of you. They look more solid than their holographic counterparts, beset with a realness that makes you feel like a cardboard cutout. When you pick up the nanomesh skinsuit that goes underneath, it's slick as liquid in your hands—not at all like what you remember wearing as Sidestep. Have you just gotten too used to the comfortable drabness of ordinary fabrics, or is this more advanced than your old suit? Maybe it's just that this one is meant to go under armor, and thus has none of the reinforced padding that you wore. It doesn't matter, really; it needs to be put on either way. You glance briefly towards the owner of the garage, a stocky older man sitting with his back towards you. The bag over his head ensures you get a bit of privacy, but undressing is not something you do lightly. You might need his hands and van in a few days' time, but that doesn't mean you haven't taken precautions to keep yourself anonymous. > I've manipulated him as gently as I can. I've brainwashed him until he follows my every command. Charlotte has been through a lot - but not at the hands of ordinary civilians. They aren't the enemy. We've suffered at the hands of capes, and at the hands of our half-remembered tormentors. This mechanic doesn't deserve to have his personality annihilated.--- Everyone has something you can use for leverage, and for this man it was a thirst for alcohol. It was easy to trigger his mind into going through the motions of thinking he was drinking himself into oblivion, then trapping him in drunken dreams until you woke him up. You've been here every night for the last week without him suspecting, rehearsing your plan, nudging his mind until it became pliable enough to do what you needed it to do. Still, this method has its drawbacks, and one of these is the snoring. You can see the paper bag vibrate with the force of it, moving slightly in and out with every breath, making it impossible for you to ignore that he is here. You can't afford to let yourself be bothered by that, even though pulling off your shirt makes you sweat as badly as he does. You'd better get this over with fast. There are no mirrors in here, and you avoid looking down at yourself as you pull on the skinsuit. It clings to your body in an uncomfortably private way, reminding you of other invasions. Still, once it's on, it settles down on you like a second skin, turning you part shadow in the harsh light. It also makes you realize that you are not twenty anymore, and that it's been years since you had a washboard stomach. The chest piece takes care of that admirably. Bit by bit, you strap on the suit. The various pieces interlock with a smooth, mechanical sound as you press them together. It's not something you can slip into at the drop of a hat, but you don't need to hurry right now. And with a bit of planning, there should be no need for it in the future either. You need time to get into character, turning yourself from faded nobody into your new self. The gloves slide on with a faint hiss, the left one bulkier and filled with menace. You can't feel the nanovores you know are resting there. They lie in their default state of peaceful slumber, hidden inside the reinforced compartments ringing your palm. One thing you do feel is the Rat King, stirring to life as you grab the helmet with both hands, jogging the former targeting matrix into wakefulness. It chitters excitedly as you push the helmet down over your head, resulting in a moment of breathlessness before the suit's internal systems take over and the entire thing boots up. The sensation is nothing short of glorious. Seeing the systems blink into green one by one, you're struck by a sense of giddy elation. You wonder what you should do first. I feel amazing. I need to check out how I look. > I need to try out how the suit works. Yes, yes, thank you Mortum for the corset or whatever. But does it work?--- Function is more important than form, and it won't matter how good it looks if it doesn't work. That is why you are still alive—because you've always been more focused on getting the job done than on how you look while doing it. Sometimes you wonder how it would feel to be someone as carefree as Herald, able to effortlessly indulge in flash and style without ever having to worry about secrecy. --- All the systems are flashing green at the edge of your vision, but you've yet to learn what they each indicate. You'll get around to it eventually. Now, how to test it properly…. Looking around, you remember that the garage owner is a smoker. There should be cigarettes somewhere in here, and it doesn't take you long to find them. Lighting one up is a fine test of dexterity. You're pleased to that the finger joints run so smoothly that you have no issues, even handling something as delicate as a match, after a few tries. Good. And since you can't smell the cigarette smoke at all, at least that part of the air filtration system is working properly. You just have to hope it can stand up to the standard array of teargas and worse that you can expect to be subjected to. Turning off the lights makes your night vision activate, painting the garage in pale greens and grays. The infrared seems to be working as well, the still body of the owner a warmer spot than the recently extinguished cigarette. Your own hand is dim and hard to spot. It seems Dr. Mortum has managed to make your armor quite insulated, at least when you are not using any of the more power-draining functions. Good to know. Now to test the strength…. The spare tire feels light in your hands, more like a foam prop than the real thing. You might not have gone with the enhanced strength option, but you are still stronger than you used to be. Maybe as strong as Ortega, though you've never really bothered to think about exactly how strong his enhancements make him. I love feeling this powerful—I can't wait to punch someone. Good. Just what I need right now. > I have to be careful not to go overboard. I can't afford to be cocky. Remember, we built this thing for speed and telepathic enhancement. We're stronger than our normal self, but we only have the basic physical-power enhancements. It's a suit of powered armour, but we didn't emphasize durability or strength. Let's not go thinking we're Marshal Steel.--- You have to be careful not to go overboard. You can't afford to get cocky. Not right now, when you are so close. So, the strength is fine, but speed is a little harder to try out in here. You move through a few seamless kata, smiling underneath your helmet. The suit feels and moves like your own body. It remains to be seen how much of an improvement over your own reflexes it will be once you are out in the field. You are not fool enough to try firing up a pair of jump-jets indoors. The same goes for the armor itself; you can't feel any pain when hitting yourself with a hammer, and throwing yourself head first onto the floor leaves you rattled but not bruised. You don't dare to put your finger in the socket to test the insulation because that might short out the entire building, but considering you told Dr. Mortum that isolation was a priority, you have to trust her judgment. You know all too well what Ortega can do. And finally… You take a deep breath, looking down at your left hand, because you know you can't put it off. But at the same time, you are more than a little nervous. There's a presence there that you can feel, a lethal heaviness of intent that you are too familiar with. Did the first cavemen feel the same when they lit a campfire? The terrifying elation of controlling something that could kill them? The nanovores are a colony and not a swarm. They are neutered and cannot procreate. And if Dr. Mortum has done her job, they should also target inorganic rather than organic matter. Your armor is their designated home, so it's safe from their voracious appetite. But everything else… You look around the room, trying to decide what to try them on. I'll play it safe, destroying a wrench to test how easily they are controlled. > I'll try a chair. Will they spare the wood and eat the metal? The important thing is whether they are truly neutered. Can they target living creatures? I think it's possible to go so overboard on Ruthlessness that the last choice is the only option! Fortunately, we've kept things pretty balanced and don't have to risk the mechanic's life.--- You walk over to the chair lying on the floor; it had fallen over when you first walked in and took over the owner. It's a simple construction, metal legs with a wooden seat and back. Just something to sit on when you take a breather and a cup of coffee. Right now, it's the perfect target to test the accuracy of your secret weapon. Picking up the chair is an easy thing, now that you are stronger than you used to be. Holding it by one metal leg, you trigger the nanovores. They feel like ants, the crisp impression of formic acid stinging your mind, though you know there's no physical substance here. The friendly presence of the Rat King sits at the back of your mind, helping you see and control every aspect of the swarm. You can feel them covering the chair, and you frown a little at the focus you have to exert to keep them moving over a surface they are not allowed to eat. Still, you can guide them with little effort, spreading over the chair, sparing the wood while devouring all the other disparate metal pieces. Legs, bolts, the metal supports in the backrest…it is all devoured, leaving the seat and backrest dropping to the floor, gnawed clean like bones. Good—you not only have control, there is an ease and an elegance to it that has you smiling inside your mask. Now that you've made sure everything is in working order, you can't quite resist the urge to take a look at yourself - a self you can admire. --- There are no mirrors in the garage, but the windows on the white van are kept impeccably clean. It's not perfect, but they're enough to give you a rough idea of what you have turned yourself into. The van distorts your image a bit as it reflects it back at you, adding to the disjointed look of the armor. You have to admit that Dr. Mortum has done a good job: the helmet is a blank, mirrored surface that reflects more than reveals, and the angles of the armor planes make it hard to focus on the body beneath. You're there, for sure, but you're a broken, angular shard of a being, and it feels right in a way that few things do. This is your true face now. For a moment, you stand alone in the garage, lost in thought. You keep flexing your hands, feeling the armored suit shift according to your movements. It feels so good. It feels so very good, and you imagine that after a few days practice it will feel even better. Outside, the sun is shining, the citizens of Los Diablos going about their business as normal, not knowing that something has been born. Inside, someone is laughing. You are laughing. The temptation to take your new self out for a spin is almost overwhelming. And then your phone rings. I jump, startled out of my reverie. I swear, annoyed that I am getting interrupted. > Only one person has this number…Ortega. --- There is only one person who has this number, and that is Ortega. You had to get a cheap burner phone so he could stay in touch. The phone is a compromise you don't like, but the alternative would be worse. If you didn't have it, chances are he would just try to seek you out in person. And this is far safer. Controlled access. You pull off your helmet, casting a glance towards the man on the chair. He still hasn't moved, showing no sign that he heard the phone ring. Good. "Yes?" You answer the phone, not bothering to hide the irritation in your voice. You've been dodging Ortega for the last week. But right now, bolstered by the suit, you feel confident enough to stop hiding. "Charlotte?" Ortega's voice sounds distant. "Of course. Did you think someone had stolen my phone?" It feels unreal to stand here flexing your left hand, feeling the joints shift as you move your fingers. "Maybe, since you haven't been answering it lately." Is that worry or reproach in his voice? "I've been busy." > "I've been sick." "Not everybody is glued to their phone, you know." "What do you want?" Maybe he'll read 'sick' as a euphemism for being retraumatized by our work with Lady Argent (whom my brain keeps trying to call Glory Girl, by the way; it trips me up literally every time).--- "I've been sick," you say, making sure to sound as tired as you possibly can. "I hope you're feeling better now," his voice filled with worry. "You don't have to worry," you say with a sigh as you lift your helmet in the other hand, looking straight at it with a smirk. "I'm perfectly fine." "I'm glad to hear that. Do you have time to meet up this afternoon? There was something I wanted to ask you." "Can't you do that on the phone?" "It's safer in person." "If you say so." You stop yourself from chuckling because with the jammers Dr. Mortum provided for you, there's no chance that this phone is getting traced. "How about five? At the entrance to the Memorial Park?" "Someone's feeling morbid." The helmet almost looks like it is smiling at you. "It's just a park." Ortega's sigh is deep enough that you can hear it. "Fine," you say because it's obvious he'll just keep badgering you until you say yes. Better to meet up and assuage whatever fears he has. Maybe then you can work in peace. "See you soon then." You hang up with a sigh of relief. Time to pack up the suit and get ready to get back into character, you suppose. --- Later That Afternoon You could have spent money on a cab, but right now the bus provides you with a better cover. It's a tough choice deciding not to own a car in Los Diablos, but a car would be yet another way you could be tracked. Owning things is a greater trap than most people realize, and your fake name on a secondhand lease is as close as you let yourself get to normalcy. Even the phone number you gave to Ortega is unlisted. Besides, riding the bus lets you keep a thumb on the pulse of the city; you can relax back in your seat and let your mind drift over your fellow passengers, picking at their thoughts and dreams. On days when you feel less than real, it's a great grounding exercise to be reminded of what people are like. Not people like the one whose armor you left securely stashed back at the garage, but the person you pretend to be. The person you need to be right now. But who is that, really? What kind of act will get Ortega off your back so you can get on with your life? I'll just be myself. > I'll keep it brief and to the point. I'll pretend that everything is fine. I'm going with the theory that our recent visit back into cape-world has messed with our health and we don't want anything more to do with it.--- By the time you've reached the park, you've come to the conclusion that you might be jumping from the frying pan into the fire. Once you were done with the whole Lady Argent business, you should have made sure to drive home the point that you wanted to be left alone. At that point in time, he would have understood it. Now, it might be too late. Sadly, he's not stupid. If you show any more cracks in your facade, he will just prod them harder. It would be disastrous to arouse suspicions at this stage; you're only doing this because you still have a faint hope of disarming this whole situation. So there's only one solution. Get in and out fast, and don't give Ortega any chance to notice anything wrong. If you have to cut the meeting short, so be it. You don't have to keep this up forever, after all, just long enough to get everything in place. Soon, it won't matter anymore. "Hey." Ortega raises his arm in greeting as he spots your approach, and you automatically do the same. "Don't tell me you called me from the park. I can't believe you're here on time." You can't help the slightly cynical twinge of your words because Ortega had a habit of being late. Always used to blame it on phones and watches breaking due to his powers. But you suppose that with the expensive timepiece he sported on his arm last time you met, he can afford to be on time. "Ouch," he says with a soft laugh, as he squeezes your hand in a too-intimate greeting. "Are you ever going to let me live that down?" "Probably not," you admit, because there is a long list of things you never really want to forget. Or forgive. "But in this, case I'm grateful." "Oh?" Ortega raises one dark eyebrow in an expression you know far too well. The one that has gotten you deep in trouble in the past; the one that makes you talk more than you should. The one that makes you confide in him. Not this time, though. > I lie and say I have another appointment. I get angry and snap at Ortega. Picking a fight seems needlessly risky. People sit around and psychoanalyze each other after arguments. Let's get out of here as soon as we safely can.--- "Yeah, I don't have that much time right now. I forgot that I had an appointment today." You smile and try to make it a sad one. "Sorry about that, I plain forgot until my phone reminded me. Don't know where I'd be without it." "Really?" Ortega frowns a little, looking as if he's not buying a single word you're saying. "I mean, I have this appointment…" you start, but you're finding it harder than you thought to pretend. It might be inconvenient, but Ortega is your friend. At least, the closest thing you ever had to one. "Come on, Charlotte, don't bullshit me. If you want to blow this off for whatever reason, at least have the decency not to lie to my face." "Okay, fine. I've got things I need to do that are none of your business." That's the truth, and from the look on his face that hurts him as much as any punch. "It is my business when my friends feel they have to lie to me," he snaps, unconsciously squaring his shoulders as he stares you down. "How can you even accuse me of that?" How do you convince someone you are telling the truth when you can't simply reach into their head and make them believe you? You're trying to remember, but all you're feeling is this weird mixture of shame and anger that makes it hard to think clearly. You're not even sure who you are angry at, yourself for screwing up, or Ortega for putting you on the spot like this. The shame is easier—that is all on you. You should be better at this. You used to be. "I'm sorry." Unusually, Ortega is the first to apologize. He never used to do that; did he mellow with age, or is it the look on your face that makes him back off? "I just wish that you felt you could be honest with me." "I wish I could." > "And I wish you would get off your high horse for once!" That did not work. Plan B: When caught in a lie, tell an obvious and useless truth. We're mad at Ortega, and that's true, so let's run with that.--- "And I wish you would get off your high horse for once!" You can feel your face flush, but this time it definitely is anger. "Why can't you just do what everybody else does and ignore the white lies?" "Because they aren't white!" Ortega lets out a soft breath, forcibly frying to calm down. "I'm worried about you, Charlotte, haven't you got that yet?" "Well, worry all you like, but I can't take responsibility for your feelings." "Nobody asked you to!" He has raised his voice as well, as if you've both been heading towards this unavoidable argument ever since you reconnected. "Oh, just shut up." Not the most mature words, but it feels so good to finally get to say them. "You always do this." Ortega's eyes have gone narrow, and he's looking at you like this isn't really a surprise. "Do what?" You try a shrug but fail. You know you should back down, but this has been such a long time coming that you can't. This fight might not be smart, but you want it. "Act like people are idiots for caring about you." The words are spat out, which is a minor victory to you. If Ortega loses his temper, that means you have the upper hand. "Well, most of the time, they are." You can't hide the smirk as you speak, coming unbidden to your lips. "I never asked them to care." Another hauntingly accurate portrayal of early-life trauma: It's so easy to internalize the feelings of worthlessness."Newsflash, Charlotte"—your name is harsh on his lips this time, almost an insult— "you can't dictate what other people feel." "I…" You manage to stop yourself before you say too much because the truth is that you could, just not with him. And that is a secret you don't want to slip out; you are supposed to be powerless and safe, and even with your rising temper you know that you need to redirect. > I bring up the past instead—that is safer. I tell Ortega to stop mothering me. --- "So I'm the only one who does that, huh?" You cock your head in just the right way to make him worry about what you are talking about. "What do you mean?" It never fails—he took the bait. Worrying about your own actions is always easier than worrying about someone else. "Remember Riley?" You might be opening a can of worms here, but right now any weapon is a good weapon. "Hey, that's not fair!" The protest is immediate and strong, and you smile a little because now you can go on the offensive. "You screwed up that relationship so badly that you asked me if I could just make him forget his feelings entirely." Oh Riley. You hadn't thought about him in years, but apparently that was not true for Ortega. Or perhaps he remembers the argument, but not who had been the cause. "I was wrong back then, alright?" Guilt? A little shame? You wish you could read Ortega's mind because right now, it would be so very sweet. "You literally asked me if I could change his feelings!" You tap your temple with one finger, finding it hilariously ironic that the you back then had scruples against things that are now as natural as breathing. "I just wanted him to stop hurting. It was wrong. I was wrong." He's speaking slowly, and you wonder who he wants to convince here. "I was an idiot. I know. I just…" Ortega hesitates a little, as if not quite sure how to proceed. "You were a selfish jerk." That's an understatement, and not even Ortega can argue that. "I know." The nod is small and filled with shame. "Who thought that my powers were a cool party trick." You're still angry about that, to an extent that actually surprises you. But then again, you were a very different person back then. "I did," Ortega admits sheepishly. "Do you still have any idea what you were asking me to do?" You find yourself wondering why you actually care about what he thinks, but right now is not the time to worry about that. "No," he says, raising his voice again as he continues. "I don't, because you never talk about these things with me." "Why should I?" You feel like shaking your head in disgust, but in the end you settle for a tired shrug. "You're just as big a mess as I am." "So what are you saying?" "I'm saying you're an idiot, that's what." The anger is fizzling out, settling into bitterness. "That's real mature." Ortega gives you an almost amused look, which sets you off again. "If either of us were anything close to being adults," you start, raising your voice, "we wouldn't be here arguing. We would have shared some stupid pleasantries and then been on our way. Not made a scene like this." "Being an adult doesn't mean you're supposed to stop caring about your friends." Ortega has raised his voice in return, leaning in closer towards you. "So we're still friends?" You don't pull back; instead you stare him down, daring him to stand his ground. "Aren't we?" Ortega pulls back a little, suddenly unsure. "You tell me." You keep your face carefully bland, making sure he can't get any clues from your demeanor. "I would," he says after a long pause, scrutinizing your face. "Except that I think you're too pissed off to listen." I am indeed—time to get out of here. > I can't keep this up. I don't want to fight anymore. Right now, Charlotte is writing herself. I knew this would happen; I get so into this story every time. While playing the update, this is the moment I remembered we'd chosen to keep Ortega close. I guess Charlotte got swept up in things and lost sight of the plan too. Fortunately, the argument has taken itself in a direction that lets us back down convincingly.--- "I'm not, I'm just…" You fish around for a suitable word, finally settling on "…Tired." "I can see that." Ortega's smile has softened a little, the tension in his shoulders slowly evaporating. "Hell, I think the whole world can see that." You let out the breath that you have been holding. "I'm sorry, I don't want to fight with you." Ortega has no idea how true those words are, but that doesn't really matter right now. You can pretend. You can pretend that this is all about old friends failing to reconnect, that there is a happy ending in sight somewhere. It's a lie, but right now, it is a lie that you need. "It's okay." Ortega's voice is calm and quiet now. "You do know I am your friend, don't you?" "That still feels weird," you admit, blinking a bit harder than you need to. "I think I've fallen out of the habit of having friends. I don't know how to do it anymore." "Well, that never stopped me before, did it?" You make the mistake of looking over at Ortega, and his smile is familiar enough to put a knife in your guts. "No, that's true." You didn't know how to make friends back then either, but somehow you made it work. Maybe it was because you wanted to be normal so desperately. Because you wanted to fit in. To have friends. To have a life. Now…things are different. "So just take a deep breath and tell me what is wrong." The words are so honest and simple that they almost make you laugh. Tell him what's wrong. Where would you even begin? By admitting I have a problem. > I can't do this—this conversation is over. But there's such a thing as going too far. I think we've accomplished both our short-term and long-term goals: Ortega is still on our side, but we haven't given anything away. Let's not let the conversation get any deeper.--- "I'm sorry." You run a hand over your face as if forcing your expression to go blank. "You really have no idea what you are asking me." "I don't," he admits. "That's why I am asking you." "This is pointless." You can't stop the sigh escaping your lips. "I'm leaving." Walking away is harder than you had imagined, but also more of a relief. You don't need this. You don't need any meddling old friends in your life, making sure that everything is doubly complicated. That's what you have Jane for, where you can make connections that stay at a safe distance from yourself. Ortega has no idea how dangerous he is to you, and in a way that is almost a little sad. > I look back one final time. I keep walking. --- You look back over your shoulder, and just as you thought, there he is. Watching you leave. You really wish you had another option, but you have to think about your future above all. > Leave the past behind you. --- Let's call this update here. We've pulled off the Charlotte-and-Ortega part of the plan. He still trusts us, even though he knows we're keeping things from him. But that's only half of it. Remember, Jane also sees Ortega from time to time. In fact, our next update will start with that. So: Jane is flirting with Dr. Mortum, and we voted 4-3 on keeping that going. But how should we play her relationship with Ortega? Our options, in short, are: 1) Break it off when we get the chance; 2) Stay gym-rat buddies; or 3) Try to develop the flirty spark from our first few interactions. 36 to 48 hours. Two-hour warning will apply if the poll is close; if it's one-sided like last time, I'll just launch into the next update.
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Feb 6, 2020 05:01
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Stay gym-rat buddies imo, never know what you might hear and it's way less risky than playing the flirt game that argument scene is one of my favorites in the game, i'm not sure i've seen it play out quite that way before actually. different stats or past relationship status can make the same options play out in pretty different ways, it's impressive
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Feb 6, 2020 06:26
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| # ? May 3, 2024 05:39 |
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Stay ratty
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Feb 6, 2020 06:33
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