Fading Memory

Household Adventures, a Two Little Mice game

I’ll give +2 die for leveraging advantageous circumstances :)

1 for the typical ‘help’ advantage of a situation or tool, and an additional 1 because that specifically pressures D’arcy and I’m feeling benevolent.

Household Adventures, a Two Little Mice game

@rush99999 I believe this one is simple enough a task that a Society+Eloquence test would be all that is necessary. He is willing to offer a reward for successful assistance as is, but a Critical success will get you a notable mechanical reward rather than a narrative handwavium reward.

Least, near as I’ve double checked, that’d be the more correct way to handle this. D’arcy has limited access to funds and has a pretty cut and dry scenario; a more intense scenario or risk would be necessary to delve into the proper ‘Duel’ rules.

This is of course merely a suggestion for polite conversing or haggling. As always you could reframe it more physically or cunningly to try and use other Fields. Just the difficulty of certain things may be easier or harder etc. Trying to physically intimidate him for example would be quite hard, he’s a lieutenant in basically his base with his soldiers, etc. just establishing a vibe with these explanations.

Household Adventures, a Two Little Mice game

Bartholomew

D'arcy composes himself swiftly at the appearance of the being known as Bartholomew. He sets his jaw and corrects his posture.

"You're not from around here. Good. I am pleased that our somewhat abrasive introductions did not dissuade what reason you possess. I am sure you witnessed the crowds. You can see that we stand upon a powdered keg. I do not wish to see this peace shattered by mouse theft, goodman. I'll take what help I can get."

Planescape: Search for Tir na Og

Zaraknvyr is dumb enough to think he might some day be able to take control of at a bare minimum, some immense empire that may or may not exist in a place that is both Under and Dark. But he’s the conniving and malicious sort of opportunist who will gladly ‘pull the ladder up behind him’. If he managed to become Overlord Of The Gods he’d do something idiotic like outlaw violence because clearly if he could do it, someone might do it to him, and therefor violence must be controlled.

Sorry. What were we talking about? Oh right, what does he do. I’ll get a post out soon.

Planescape: Search for Tir na Og

What does Zaraknvyr do? He finds Tir Na Og of course. Duh. What a strange question. How silly of you, Fellsing. Next he ascends to ultimate transcendent godhood.

The Wild Beyond Witchlight

She said what she meant, and meant what she said!

Edit; that short is incredible and only reinforces Zavakri’s confused attraction to this witch. Anyone who can quiet a Mind Goblin is a winner.

The Wild Beyond Witchlight

Zavakri stands outside the shop, rubbing her eyes repeatedly as the others emerge. She sniffles a few more times, her eyes red and still watering, but she slowly moves to walk behind her companions. As she moves, she seems to calm. After several paces her hands fall from her face and she takes a deep breath.

"Thin is one heck of a word for it. This place is utter madness. It's looney."

The Wild Beyond Witchlight

I’ll get a post out tonight

Shadowrun: Lost Heir

Frost and Wildfire team up and go off in search of their wit and whimsy; Tenno claimed some strange need to disappear into the red light district; CAPTCHA slapped Bomoh upon the shoulder.

"Alrighty chummers, sounds like a plan. I could use a little escort on my own walkabout, if you don't mind my good man Bomoh."

Each of them received a matrix ping from her Persona, requesting access to any devices they obviously had upon them. Her Marks came as digitized slashes from rose thorns, but they merged into the device icons easily with the permissions granted. As the team split, she whistles to Frost as she makes a gesture. The Carnwennan hovered out of her pocket and skimmed forward in the air before almost 'jumping' up at Frost and into her hand.

"If you need an extra set of eyes, then just ping me and toss Carnwennan about. I can jump in at a moment's notice, and it'll give me a chance to interfere in other ways once I can spin up the sensor suite. Pour one out for Big D when you get to the bar."

She winks, stuffs her hands into her long jacket's pockets, then turns and starts whistling as she traipses into the city.

---

Bomoh gets to see a down-to-earth approach to legwork in action.

CAPTCHA's eyes flicker every few blocks, and she redirects her steps. Back in The Chosen Hiding Spot, her Steel Lynx hides in its crate with the Ares Duelist on standby to protect the box-- but here, in the city streets, she isn't walking with the eyes in her head. Rather, she is witnessing an overhead view from the Dalmatian drone as its powerful sensor arrays map the area around her and Bomoh. She makes a seemingly random turn down an alleyway and kicks the cardboard off the top of a sleeping man as if she simply knew he was there. Another time, she flips a credstick out of her pocket and into her hand and tosses it towards a young girl wearing a ripped up jacket with a jarring yellow facepaint, the simplest of waves for the girl to fall into step with CAPTCHA being the only introductory conversation made. A third time, Bomoh witnesses CAPTCHA step into a Stuffer Shack and buy a full set of vended clothing and boots; when the machine displays the prompt for a SIN to be displayed, she merely frowns for a moment before her Living Persona manifests over the display and winks to Bomoh before the machine vends its payload for her.

The first man she sits down with at an outdoor stall, a cup of hot noodles going from her hand to the homeless man's. She brushes white hair from her face and listens as he speaks;

"Mmm...Yep, uh-huh...Fightin' goin' on, but gone quiet-like." The man devours the food hungrily. CAPTCHA watches as he slurps from the steaming cup with such greed, as if someone were going to take the food from him. "Birdies started it. Birdies started it. Don't trust the quiet. City doesn't sleep, yeah? Mm... Yep, uh-huh, city doesn't sleep. Never asleep. Not since the lights outshined the...mhmm....outshined the stars."

The young girl, in fierce yellow warpaint, CAPTCHA spoke to in the bright fluorescent lighting of a subway bathroom. CAPTCHA lined out a dose of Novacoke on the dirty surface of the long sink and sat up onto the surface to kick her legs in the air as the girl leaned down to take a hit.

"Fuckin' A, that's right. What are you, the snowdust angel or something? Fuck me, yeah, alright. Damn. Vultures, yeah, I know about them. Fuckers muscled us Yellowjackets outta our turf. No skin offa my back to give someone a little leg up on 'em. Their boss is a mean bitch, and I don't mean your manic pixie slag type of bitch. I mean your evil bulldog kind of bitch. Fuck, what I'd give to string her up from a streetlamp--"

CAPTCHA kneels in an alleyway and slowly places the clothing down. She slides it forward, the outfit in its original vacuum-sealed plastic. She tosses the boots farther into the shadows, where the glinting eyes of a filthy man pierce into Bomoh and CAPTCHA. CAPTCHA raises her hands and backs up a few paces, before smiling easily. The shadow of a man lunges, too-pale arms and too-dirty nails scarcely visible in the blur of his movements as he snatches at the offered clothes. He recedes into the darkness, mumbling loudly.

"Eyesonya. Eyesonya. They-a be watchin, ah, ye, they-a be watching. Eyesonya. Eyesonya. Vulture-a prowlin', a-mouth waterin', a-waitin'. Vulture be lookin' for the carrion prey. Eyesonya. Eyesonya. Eyes all a-gleam. Prayin' and preyin' and peelin' and schemin'. Eyesonya. Eyesonya."

---

CAPTCHA sighs, staring into the racks of a vending machine. She chews her lip. Then, she reaches over and slowly presses the antiquated, still physical, interface of the machine with a deliberate and exceedingly meticulous series of buttons. The divine combination, C-04. She watches, almost enthralled, as the coil within the machine spins in place and propels a singular granola bar forward. She watches as it tumbles against the machine's translucent plastic barrier. When it thuds in to the bottom she yelps and jumps nearly half a foot in the air, before laughing maniacally and dropping to her knees to rummage into the bin to retrieve her snack.

She rises up and takes two steps to the side to lean back against the machine and gesture towards Bomoh with the granola bar as she peeled the wrapper open.

"Can you believe how much soy they manage to pack into these bars?" She lifts it to her lips and takes a dainty bite of it, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. "Ninety seven percent soy and soy-based product. Right there on the wrapper. Synthetically articulated proteins, soy-based flavor additives, lab-grown nuts. The only natural ingredient used in this drek is 'quadruple distilled water via reverse osmosis and charcoal filtration'. This thing was made with cleaner water than I get in my showers back in Denver. Mmm. Azzies put all this right on the label and people still eat this stuff."

She takes another bite.

"Kinda insane. I mean, I did this one job." She swallows thickly. "It was about fractional costs of soykaf cups. Had to hijack a train to delay the shipment of a competitor's Styrofoam. And people think I'm the crazy one. Ha."

She folds the wrapper over to save the remaining half of the bar, sliding it into a pocket on her jacket.

"Right. I think we got some useful stuff there, I'm starting to wonder if this gang fight was timed around our arget-tay's esence-pray. Something like that suddenly coming to Old Berlin status is pretty scarce. I grew up in a street gang like this, and usually it's blood on the streets until one side's gone limper than a drowned fish. Things are too clean. I'll tap the others, let them know what we learned, but uh...I'm thinking once they get us a van we just go knock on the door and see what's left behind. Whaddya think? Wanna do whatever that spirit-ghost-flight drek is that you mage-types do?"

She blinks and her vision goes briefly filled with augmented datum.

"Oh, man, check it out. One less slice of the pie. Tenno just shot me a message that he's out. That brothel must've had some wiz services to clear that kid's head up. Post nut clarity slaps like a sack of bricks sometimes. Good for him, woulda hated to see him get hurt."

Household Adventures, a Two Little Mice game

Artemisia and Bartholomew split, their paths leading them in opposite directions on the singular path of fate. The Forces watch in mirthful wonder as the tale unfolds thus;

Artemisia and Co

Old Abbott gives only a passing glance towards the Littlings as they head into the back after his granddaughter. His business at the bar was too important to leave completely unattended, so the group proceeds unmolested by the disgruntled and aging boggart as he goes about meticulously stacking bottles in their appropriate homes on the tall shelves.

Which means Artemisia finds herself in a new whirlwind altogether.

Elizabeth, running around the kitchen in an absolute fit. Her apron was stained. Her fingers burnt. Food and sauces sent atumble and into disarray. Something foamy was frothing out of a lidded pot and sizzling on a stovetop.

"That absolute-- I can't believe-- If he wasn't so damnably-- Gah!-- He's just looking for easy blame!"

She slams a large crate of vegetation goods against a countertop before realizing someone had come in on her tantrum. She points a finger at them.

"I'm gonna go out there and solve this myself. Don't even try to stop me. That D'arcy is going to get the wrong Little, mark my words, because I'm sure as spit that I've been 'earing some nasty sounds in the night. Sounds no Boggart'd make."

And quick as that, she's tying her hair up and pulling her apron off, taking a few moments to shut the stove off and wash up in a deep sink.

Bartholomew

Bartholomew does not have difficulty finding his destination. Indeed, there is already a crowd moving in the direction he susses to be his own; his arrival at the Great Imperial Army Garrison reveals it to be metaphorically besieged. An angry mob, to be succinct, stands between him and the building. Indeed, it stands between the company of D'arcy and the safety of the garrison as well. As Bartholomew approaches, a matter of sheer convenience-- or perhaps, Fate-- occurs.

D'arcy pushes forth, his soldiery with him, and as he clears a path towards the garrison through the crowd his squad split away to keep the path clear. The crowd is split, but for a brief period it would be simple for Bartholomew to pursue D'arcy through the clearing into the garrison's entrance. Shouts and yells from the crowd rain, and tensions grow.

"I'm telling you, it's not a Sluagh!"

"Who else would nick a mouse from the Hearth?" A retorting roar erupts.

"Lieutenant, what leads do you have?" A nimble Sprite of the Sylph variety, a thin woman, squeezes before D'arcy with a notepad and pen in hand- only to be struck with D'arcy's withering glare. She sheepishly sinks back into the crowd when guided by a soldier to clear the path. A stone strikes off a guard's helmet, and pistols are drawn. The crowds shrink back from the path and pistols are lowered; reason holds, for now.

Within the building, D'arcy permits himself a moment of nerves. Should Bartholomew have followed him in, he witnesses the young lieutenant running a hand through his hair as he drops at last onto his feet and rests his wings as he steps to the side to peer out through the shuttered windows of the garrison.

"I need to solve this. Now." He murmurs, checking a pocket watch. "Before a war is on my hands."