ššŗš°š¦šÆš¦¢ (
retellers) wrote in
redactable2020-09-18 10:12 am
Entry tags:
WEEK ZERO: ARRIVAL
WEEK ZERO: ARRIVAL (43 remain) Whatever each character was doing—chatting with friends, going to bed, saving the world—ceases. In fact, it's likely nothing more than a groggy memory now, as they open their eyes to unfamiliar surroundings. Apparently, they took a nap right in the middle of a small town, plopped outside on the paved road. Ow? Oh, but it looks like they've been given a goodie bag. Everyone likes gifts, right? Inside, it contains:
- packets of tea - one unlabeled pill - a rock that resembles the galaxy - if they're of age, a mini bottle of alcohol; if they're underage, a can of Mountain D*w Baja Blast instead - a singular condom - a single random one of these pillows (how did this fit?) - a handheld device Should they boot up the device, the screen helpfully informs them that it's a Participant Help System (PHS). Not much on it, but it does have a few apps, including a memo one for taking notes. There's also a messaging system, though it's only capable of receiving messages, not sending any. As a matter of fact, there's an alert for a new message already. Maybe it'll explain what's going on. Good evening, everyone. Uh, how are we sure theyāre arriving in the evening? Just say āhelloā! Or āgreetingsā! Greetings is fancy, right? Oh thatās true. Greetings, everyone. Thatās better? Yes! Except maybe we take out the thatās better part in the final version. Will do! Er, what? Unfortunately, it seems as though that's the only info they're given for now. In the meantime, why not explore the surrounding area? A number of buildings are locked, and the Planetarium appears to be closed, but there's enough to keep the characters occupied for a day or two. They might even want to get to know their fellow "participants" better, while they're at it. |
NAVIGATION locations āĖ. statuses *+:ļ½” ic profiles :āo ic rules dļ¾ļ¾ļ½„ļ½” audience requests murder proposals ļ½”ā§o private conversations dļ¾oļ½” curfew dļ¾ā§ memories |

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The so-called cat sits straight on the floor, wrapping a fluffy tail around itself. There's a pregnant pause before Rufus answers.]
I don't see a cat here.
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Can I pet your cat?
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[Hansa lets his hand fall to his side, letting out a sigh.]
Ah...sadly I don't. Can you take a little pity on a poor priest, though...?
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[He sounds dreadfully monotonous as he says this. Helpfully, he adds:]
Please be advised that information is also considered a mode of wealth.
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[Hm. Hmm hmmm hmmmm.]
I can tell you something about the bridge I just discovered, at least. The one that's at the north end of town.
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In order to pet, you must pay. That is the condition of our transaction.
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You're driving a hard bargain, here. Fine, I'll say what I need to say...but who says you'll uphold your end of the deal?
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[A beat.]
The barrier across the bridge is unbreakable. If you throw something at it, it goes flying back with force, and releases cute little sparkles. Even heavy things. You won't be able to punch your way out of that one.
[And a Look. CAN HE PET THE WEIRD CAT NOW]
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[Cued by his words, the creature climbs onto its feet and pads in front of Rufus to look up at Hansa. The broke priest may now pet the cat.]
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[He quips in reply - and then bends down to pet the cat that is absolutely a cat. Who's a cute weird anime cat?? You are!!]
...What's your name? [He looks up at Rufus. A beat.] I don't have to pay for that too, do I?
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Rufus, meanwhile, looks down to lock eyes with Hansa.]
That knowledge is public domain. It's on the device and the plate.
[What a pity, that. Most fortuitously for Hansa, said plate is right in plain sight.]
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[Continues to pet the cat!! He will get as much out of his transaction as he can!!]
Maybe you'd like to be called something different. How should I know?
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[And because he paid so dutifully, he's being rewarded with all the time in this encounter to pet the cat. What blissful harmony, this is.]
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[Please don't tell him that.]
You look like a "Jeff". How much does it cost to call you that?
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Each time you use that name, I will require information regarding this place.
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[You WOUND him, sir!]
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If you don't like it, you can forgo the name.
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[Yeah, he can read. He's not Jared, 19.]
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Then I look forward to it.
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Say. I just want to say...you look good for over a thousand years old. You have to tell me your secrets.
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. . . Secrets don't come cheap.
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