New to the site, new to the touhous, but I want to try my hand at this CYOA thing.
Care to try your luck, anon?
“Look, Christina, I- no, no, I understand.” The railing burns my hand, but it doesn’t hurt as much as the one clutching my cell phone. Sunlight splashes on my sleeves… it feels like, insects crawling across my skin.
Why is it so bright today, I wonder.
“…How is he doing?” The phone chatters into my ear – the volume’s set way too high, and I mishear her through the blaring noise. I must have misheard. Even though I know I didn’t. “I have a fucking right to know, Christina!”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to prevent the headache I already have.
“I didn’t mean to yell at you, I just-” He’s my son too; but, I can’t bring myself to say it. I’d make a god-awful father, so it’s really for the best. The phone seems to agree with me when the call ends, in that abrupt way only cell phones can manage.
The dial tone used to be comforting, somehow; made for good white noise.
I heave a sigh and shove the phone in my pocket before trudging downstairs- the mail still won’t check itself. What kind of shitty future do we live in, anyway?
There’s… actually mail. It’s almost surprising.
Bill. Credit card bill. Child support payment due this month. Student loans. Reminder that I could already be a winner. Invitation to a five year high school reunion? I crumple that one up and hurl it into a nearby waste bin. Last thing is… some sort of package, with a letter inside.
Well, let’s open it up.
The plain manila envelope seems like it’s taunting me now, looking so ordinary. It should’ve been, covered in sequins, or loaded with brightly-colored papier-mâché, or on fire. Not- in my mailbox, though.
…Anyway. Put simply, this letter- this letter sent in a generic envelope with no return address- is an eyesore.
“Congratulation! You are already lucky winner great prize adventure! Lifetime journey of magic in Fantastic Illusory Land! No refunding!”
What the hell is this?
There’s this weird rattling. I shake the envelope and, yep, there it is again. Did they leave some extra parts in here just to confuse me? I know how letters work, you know.
I give the envelope another good shake and a- is this a key to some outdated hotel? I can’t even read whatever’s on the number plate, just a bunch of weird symbols; one kind of looks like a sage brush having sex with a wind chime.
Is this evidence? Have I just unwittingly received stolen property? I should throw this out...
------ [ ]...right now. [ ]...after I accost the neighbors a bit. [ ]...what the hell is that noise? And why is it coming from my apartment?
[x]…what the hell is that noise? And why is it coming from my apartment?
I don’t have time to throw this thing out because someone is in my house. Apartment. They’re in my goddamn space. This is an outrage.
“You don’t belong in here. Homeless people should stay on the street.”
The- person, woman, sipping tea at my table, doesn’t respond. I quietly slip the key into my pocket before repeating myself, a little louder this time, but she seems to be too busy smirking into- I don’t own any tea cups like that.
She broke into my house and brought her things along. That’s, somehow that arrogance is even more irritating than mere burglary. (I still set the bills on the counter, because someone like this – she wouldn’t even know what to do with them.)
…Fine. That’s perfectly fine. I don’t even enjoy tea especially much. Anyone who dresses like that and can break into my house, they’re probably too dangerous to bother with. So I won’t. I have things to do, important things.
So don’t be fooled by appearances. It only looks like I’m sitting on the couch and dully watching television- there are no good games out right now, at least, that I don’t already own. This is an essential process. This way, I can wait out the homeless person in my kitchen.
There’s a slight noise behind- no, beside me. A delicate, intentionally-loud sip. But I refuse to turn my head. A bunch of suspicious teenagers in spandex are burning their hands trying to shoot an oversized magnet with legs calling itself a monster – those guns never fire anything but sparks.
…Hasn’t this show been off the air for almost a decade? Why am I watching Power Rangers?
“That’s a really subpar reaction, you know. Are you sure you have any survival instinct?”
What an irritating voice.
“I’m sure I told any homeless people in my house that they should leave.”
The woman seated beside me laughs in a way that might be considered regal if you had strange, foreign sensibilities. This person is, really conceited. Where did she even get a fan from?
“That’s an interesting outlook~! You’ve got a really laid-back attitude for someone who just won a lottery.”
What lottery is that? Was my prize a shrill blonde witch? Because all I got in the mail were two credit card bills and some suspicious-
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m always serious~! Why wouldn’t I take such an important matter seriously?”
I finally break away from the TV, frowning even more harshly than normal. …Looking directly at this capricious woman is making my head hurt, for some reason.
“Your English has certainly improved.”
“So you enjoyed the letter, then!” That, wasn’t a question? “And you have your key!”
I turn back to the television; a man in a Megazord costume punches wildly at a man in a rubber suit in the midst of a prop city. It still doesn’t make any sense for this to be on. Maybe some sort of marathon? Odd choice.
“Hey. Ignoring guests is rude.”
“Breaking into someone else’s house is a crime. It is literally illegal.”
She simply waves her hand, as if saying it doesn’t matter. This woman is- doesn’t she understand how the world works? The headache’s just, slowly getting worse.
[ ] …I’ve been pretty lenient until now. This person needs to leave. (Show Yukari the door.) [ ] …Alright. I’ll play ball. A distraction is a distraction. (Go with it.) [ ] …God, when was the last time I ate? I’m not in the mood for this shit today. (I wonder what’s for DINNER.) [ ] …This woman. This woman, this woman, this woman, this woman- (I’m freakin’ out!)
>That, wasn’t a question? >That’s, somehow that arrogance is even more irritating than mere burglary. >it feels like, insects crawling across my skin. >It should’ve been, covered in sequins Those commas don't belong.
>>23414 Yes I was. And as a general reply regarding the commas, I'm aware of the situation and am trying to address it. it was a stylistic choice that i am still recovering from.
(Pic is related to your options. At least get to the end before revealing it, won't you?)
[x] (Show Yukari the door.)
Okay, I’ve been pretty lenient until now because honestly this person is- well, she’s rather- she has that quality of somehow being-
…She’s frightening, this woman. She’s like one of those beautiful aristocrats; the ones that maintain a youthful appearance by bathing in the blood of virgins. I get the feeling that I might be skinned and used as some sort of kitschy rug if I press the wrong buttons.
Reminds me of my ex-wife! I cough into my hand to disguise a laugh. But in all seriousness, this situation has gone on long enough.
The blonde witch takes another sip of (her?) tea, this one much less obnoxious, and regards the television with a keen eye. I hope she isn’t weighing the pros and cons for stealing it; I would immediately have to send her to her next life. Besides, green ranger is getting screen time, uh, not that I know who that is. What. Damn it.
“What was that? Was that supposed to mean ‘fuck the police’?” I’m pretty bad at imitating voices, even as a joke – I’d be a god-awful comedian as well.
“Why, whatever do you mean? You shouldn’t worry so much, you know.” …Are you messing with me?
I finally pry my eyes off of the flashing screen to glance at her, wishing I could strike physical blows with only the force of my discontent; she waves her fan around in an amused sort of way. “My my, that’s a terrible expression~!”
I stand up, shutting off the television and tossing the remote onto the coffee table. There’s a time and place for screwing around, but this isn’t either of those.
“…You need to leave.”
There’s a noise as that fan snaps shut. Her expression still looks flighty, but her eyes are- dangerous. I almost forgot that this woman is definitely dangerous. But that’s fine. That’s perfectly fine.
“Don’t look at me like you don’t understand.” She isn’t doing that. “This isn’t a playpen for dangerous, unstable people like you-” at least not anymore “-and I have shit to do. Some people in this world have responsibilities.” Responsibilities heaped on them against their will are responsibilities all the same.
At this point, the frown almost feels carved into my face; fortunately I’m not a sculpture, so that’s just metaphor. But that smile she’s wearing now, it’s too thin- toosharp. This woman smiles just like a knife. Is this her real character? …or something else?
–Well, it’s not worth thinking about. It’s too late to do something wishy-washy like backing down. So I…
[ ] …back down anyway – for now. I guess I can hear her out first. (Diplomacy) [ ] …have no regrets. This is the only path. (Yukarin Toss~) [ ] …And one of those is making sure no one goes hungry when I can help it. If she broke into my house, she can come with me to eat. (DINNER invitation) [???] [ ] Genuflect LIKE I’D GENUFLECT BEFORE THE WOMAN WHO RAPED THE SANCTITY OF MY APARTMENT AND SCOOPED OUT MY TEA.
When you're as old and wise young and beautiful as Yukari,little things don't get you down!
Also, drawing too many things at the moment to draw something for this update as well.
[x] (Yukarin Toss~)
Her eyes are an odd color, but that’s probably a trick of the light. Still, they look almost inhuman as I try to assess the best method of removing this infestation from my house.
“My, I hope you aren’t planning anything rash!” …She can’t read my mind, right?
I have no regrets- really; this is the only path I could possibly take. This person doesn’t belong in my house, and she definitely doesn’t belong on my couch watching television while speaking in such a roundabout way. So, it’s for the best.
It’s for the best. Any person who can smile like that is dangerous.
In the space of a few seconds, I make my move- I pin her arms to her side to lessen her ability to struggle and heave her up over my shoulder in a single motion. Like a vain blonde sack of potatoes. She’s surprisingly quiet about it, for someone of her particular character.
“...Lighter than I thought you’d be.” I turn towards the front door and-
–without warning, my plan spontaneously fails.
Holding on to this woman is like trying to hold on to a bolt of greased lightning; it’s impossible, impossible. She twists through my grasp and around my body as if she were made of smoke, and I can’t keep track-
Somehow, she… How did I wind up holding her like a blushing bride? It feels contrived, but somehow this woman slithered around and made herself comfortable in my arms, still wearing that too-thin smile. This set of circumstances is too outrageous.
…She makes a soft sort of noise, and I can feel her fingers drawing circles on my chest through the thin fabric of my shirt. Has it really been two years since the last time I- but that’s not the issue at hand here, is it.
“Oh, look at you~. A big strong man, come to sweep me off my feet? How inappropriate- !”
What’s inappropriate is how you’ve chosen to interpret the situation. I may be a man, but I know better than to mess with certified crazy; I learned through trial and error (and error, and error, and error-) after all.
And, what’s more: I’m not some easily-flustered teenager who can barely keep his dick in his pants, you know. If you want to get me uncomfortable, you’d have to do a bit worse than that. There’s a feeling of hot breath on my ear despite her not moving, and I blink. …She can’t read my mind, right?
Regardless of what she’s after, this woman needs to leave, so I make my way to the door with easy steps and a steadily darkening frown. This... brings back memories.
“I know all about responsibilities, you know. My delightful little-” there’s a word I don’t understand, but it causes a strange surge of sympathy. “-has lots of those.”
Suddenly, her face is only inches from mine, and those eyes are far too intense for comfort- human eyes can’t glow like that. And that expression is, dangerous; in a different way than I first thought, but still dangerous.
“Besides- where you’re going, you won’t have time to worry about things like that.”
She’s- too close. Too close. This woman with no sense of personal space is much too close to me right now. I resist the intense urge to fold her in half over my knee (I WILL BREAK YOU, BATMAN!) and increase my pace towards the door. It doesn’t seem to be getting any closer.
“…Was that a threat?”
She doesn’t say anything at all.
[ ] “You remind me of my ex-wife. So I’ll do to you exactly what I did to her.” Throw her ass out. [ ] “Don’t be coy. Making threats isn’t like making jokes.” Try to get answers. [ ] “Some responsibilities… they can’t be forgotten so easily.” [???] [ ] Drop her. “Shut up and get out. I hate carefree people like you.”
Well, I live in an area that was hit by that massive supercell a few days ago, internet is very very tenuous and the power only just got turned back on for the area I'm staying at. So, update might be delayed a LOT more than I thought, since finals are still next week despite my university not getting power for a few more days, presumably.
Sorry for the long wait, and relatively subpar update. Let me know if the writing quality is as shit as I thought.
Not as much information on his ex-wife as I originally intended, but enough to show the situation is shittier than you may have thought!
I've also given you a few clues as to the nature of [???]. You should be able to solve this!
[x] Throw her ass out. [???]
“…You really don’t get it, do you?” This blonde witch of a woman, she really just doesn’t understand- she doesn’t understand anything at all, but she thinks she does and she won’t let anyone tell her otherwise.
Controlling, obnoxious, dangerous, she’s too much like…
“You really are too much like my ex-wife.” That uptight bitch- but, that’s long since over and done with. Marriage straight out of high school, it’s genuinely as terrible an idea as they make it out to be; I got along with my sweetheart just fine… until she had me trapped at arm’s length with a leash of red tape around my neck.
“I hope your name isn’t Madison, on top of everything else.”
She laughs a too-sharp laugh and twists around in my grasp, cloth shifting on her frame in interesting ways as she does it – but that’s unimportant. The door seems to remain impossibly far away, but I keep walking regardless, keep taking my great loping strides. My shoes stutter across the tile flooring in the kitchenette and I ignore how distressingly empty my apartment sounds.
“You really are quite interesting, aren’t you?” I muster up the restraint to avoid screaming at this woman who doesn’t know anything at all. Interesting is term you use to describe an animal that’s proved ingenious enough to squeeze out of its cage- but still isn’t anything resembling a threat. Interesting is like a kick in the teeth coming from this, this-
-where did she get that fan from, I wonder? It matches her laugh in a way I can’t really comprehend, distracting me enough that, what was that flickering…? The door seems to be getting closer now, at the very least, but something about it sets my teeth on edge.
I ignore the goosebumps through sheer force of habit; a jagged electric feeling makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention – it’s a distinct sensation, this flavor of misfortune. It brings me back to… not better times, but… I’m not certain I could call them worse. It’s so thick in the air; I can almost trick myself into seeing it.
“…Bad luck’s a miserable trait to be interesting for.”
Lordy lordy, she whips her head around so fast I’d worry for the sake of my glassware if I had any sitting out. Those ribbons could make for effective projectiles at that sort of velocity. That smile isn’t sharp any more, but it’s just as frighteningly mysterious.
“You can… What disastrous luck you must have, to develop something like that!” She almost sounds excited. ‘Something like that’? Don’t make such irritatingly vague statements.
I make it through the rest of the kitchen without the oven spontaneously igniting, and all that remains between this woman and getting thrown the hell out of my apartment is the door. But there’s something else in the way, an indistinct obstacle that jogs something in the back of my mind, sparks some primitive instinct in the lizard brain.
Stop. Stop right here. Don’t take one more step forward. I can’t go on. Because… I’ll die. I’ll definitely die if I open that door.
…That’s just nonsense. Like hell I’m going to stop here because my gut says I’ll be killed- that sort of thing is commonplace. I’d never get out of bed in the morning if I listened to that manner of suggestion. Still, this door. This door is overwhelmingly ominous. Why is this happening? [i]What[i] is happening? Nothing makes any sense at all.
“It’s fine if nothing makes sense. I just need you out of my hair.” I speak with confidence, and that’s damn rare. For good reason. All it seems to take is a little self-assuredness before my life goes crashing down.
I should have known better.
I grab the knob and a million screaming voices thunder into my hand, arcing up to my head like lightning through my veins. Jackhammers sprint around inside my skull and I let this demon of a woman fall to the floor (even if she doesn’t go anywhere.) Everything is on fire, heart pumping molten lead out of my chest to a terrible staccato rhythm, and my vision is doing that thing where everything fades to a violently bright white, my surroundings just a smear of faded colors.
The door looms in front of me, a hazy black monolith.
I bite right through a chunk of my lower lip and blood spills into my mouth, a tang of iron and copper on my tongue as if I’d swallowed a mouthful of rusty pennies. I’ll admit that the pain made me a scream a little. A lot.
But… I’ve opened this door a hundred thousand times before, and I’ll be damned if a bit of pain is going to stop me from throwing this whore out of my god damned house.
I turn the knob, even though the movement is making my skin crack apart. I pull open the door and…
What the hell…
A great swath of ink cuts across the frame, blocking my view of the outside world- eyes swim in and out of view within the- the- whatever the hell it is, and the impression of misfortune from earlier hits me. A freight train of apprehension and dreamy awareness slams into my gut and for one frightening second I forget how to breathe.
“By the way, it’s all expenses paid~! So try to enjoy yourself _________.”
Why can’t I hear my own name…?
And then, I’m falling down into blackness, jostled on every side by these voyeuristic, disembodied eyes. What a shitty twist. ------
[ ] Flail about like a tool. [ ] Stoically fall though dimensions. [ ] GOD DAMN IT YUKARI. [ ] Anemia Option.
Also, ha ha this took way too long. I've had the pic done for almost 2 weeks now.
[x] Stoically fall though dimensions.
It’s completely, stiflingly black, sweeping in and out from all sides- an undulating curtain surging across my senses. Vertigo settles into the back of my skull like a lead weight, but my stomach is full of ice and butterflies (and it keeps trying to float away.) The only concrete sensation is the slick heat of my blood as it pearls against my teeth and trickles down (up?) my chin.
I’m not sure if I’m falling or flying and… that’s perfectly fine. I don’t care one way or the other. There’s just one thing that bothers me.
These, these- eyes, I suppose- they don’t belong. They don’t belong at all. They serve no purpose, no reason, they just seem to exist, glaring voyeuristically through my skin and trying to burn holes through my clothes; maybe the other way around. It doesn’t really matter. Any heat I feel is just me tricking myself.
Some of them seem to blink. Why? How? It’s, it’s… bullshit. They glow, as well, but they don’t really provide much light. What kind of selfish bioluminescence is that? If it weren’t all so pointless it might be infuriating.
But, it’s pointless. It’s obviously pointless. Because whatever that blonde witch did, whatever happened in my apartment, I’m sure it’s quite the scene now. I must have died there, been murdered through some means or another. Already, the afterlife has exceeded my expectations – it seems to, in fact, actually exist.
Pain ripples through my head in a steady, rhythmic throb.
What is it that this reminds me of…? There’s… something. Just out of reach.
But now my mouth is full of dirt, and an awareness of the cold, wet earth around me dispels the vertigo. It tastes pretty awful as far as dirt goes, but at least it seems contaminant-free; somehow, I get the feeling that I could’ve done a lot worse.
But that’s retarded, and I spit it out. There are ants in my teeth, I think, so I work on removing those as I try to get my bearings. There’s that smell, that distinct scent that says “forest,” trees and wildlife and… there’s something else. It’s sharper, metallic, almost like rust.
…The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up again. I’ve got goosebumps. That’s the smell of blood– and then I immediately dismiss it when I realize I have a bloody nose. When the hell did that happen?
So, I’m in a forest. I hate camping, so the afterlife thus far appears to be kind of shit. I’m also really starting to doubt that this is the afterlife. To make things worse, it is pitch-fucking-black and I can only tell where my hands are because of proprioception- deep breaths, now.
I’m, feeling pretty calm, all things considered. All the pains seem pretty distant. And my vision is starting to adjust, so I can see a little- enough to maybe move around if I don’t want to lay about like a tool. My nose and lip are still leaking blood and, god, from some tentative probing… There’s a bit of tooth exposed when I close my mouth.
There’s dirt in it. I really need to find some water, but for now- try to stem the bleeding a little. I take the handkerchief out of my back pocket and… wrap it- maneuver it around to- mouth wounds are sort of troubling.
Well, whatever. I…
[ ] …try to get my orientation. Maybe I can find a way out of here. [ ] …really need to get some water. Maybe there’s a source nearby? [ ] …yell out obscenities and writhe around in the dirt. Maybe a bear will come and put me out of my misery. [ ] …feel tired, now that I think about it. So tired. I’ll just… take a quick nap.
There's no excuse for how late this is, but I'll try and maintain a tighter update schedule if at all possible. It should be getting more interesting from here on out anyway.
And, just for you guys' benefit... One of these options is deadly, and it isn't the one you think it is.
Probably, anyway! Now, let's get this show on the road...
[x] …really need to get some water. Maybe there’s a source nearby?
…These ants are really in there good. I work at my gums with a finger and attempt to get a better grip on my surroundings, but it’s still so dark that I can only see a few feet in front of my face at best. Ugh. Like grains of sand with legs. Miserable- this is really miserable, you know-
–but still. I need to find some water if I want to clean this out. Wounds like this are no good.
So I set out…
Ah. I smear my boots across the mud, and hear the telltale splash, but- it’s so shallow, so little. There’s only just enough water for it to be hideously dirty. This is completely unacceptable; the infection would be hilariously bad. Except that isn’t funny. I spit an ant into the puddle and resume searching.
Somewhere in these black woods, there’s got to be some-
No. This puddle of liquid, there’s a strange odor emanating from it- I just catch a whiff and I get that jagged electric feeling. It sets my teeth on edge, but I crouch down and run a finger across the surface just to be sure- it’s cool and almost viscous by now but… It’s definitely blood.
I stand and wipe the blood onto my jeans, but that sharp sensation doesn’t go away. I can feel it settle into my bones. With a frown, I move off to continue looking-
No. Just more blood. Wet grass and upturned earth. I think I might be on the trail of some animal, one hunting down prey- and from the looks of things that prey is weakening. At the least, it’s lost a lot of blood.
Still no water. More blood. I’m not going in circles, but I’m not accomplishing anything either. The trees seem to be changing a bit, though. The smaller plant life is growing a bit different as well, but I’m not sure if that means anything.
There’s a ripple of thunder through the trees, rolling across the canopy- and I regret my next words immediately. “All I wanted was some God-damned water!” Without warning, a curtain of water smashes into my face and the roar of thunder grows louder. Sheets of rain hamper my visibility even more, to the point where I all I can see are vague scatterings of moonlight refracted in the drops. As far as I can tell… everything else may as well not exist.
“█████?” There’s a wet ripping sound, a primal noise of meat and hunger, coming from just up ahead- I can barely hear it through the rain and the thunder. No, that’s not true- I can hear it clearly. I can hear it as though the sound was transmitted directly to my brain, and it makes me clench my jaw. But it’s as if I’m in a trance.
The rain and the moonlight, the thunder and the beating of my heart. I can feel it in my ears, rust sliding down my face and neck, that wild rhythm. And so I–
“██████████!” Another sound, louder. There’s a voice mixed in, light and cheerful, speaking sloppily in a language I don’t understand. I stumble forward faster, frantic. I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all.
My foot catches on something (a log maybe) and crash to the ground- there’s a loose rock, all thin edges and rain-slick coldness. A rough, icy finger rips across my face, copper heat trickling down after it, but. It doesn’t matter. That doesn’t matter at all. With a single focused motion I shove myself back up to my feet.
I must be.
In a trance. But that doesn’t make any sense. That static, anxious sensation building up beneath my skin, my heavy breaths misting, this tension is beyond belief. My every instinct is screaming at me, so loud that I can’t even hear it.
And I keep moving forward. Faster. Mud churning beneath my shoes, mixed red and dull dull brown.
“███████ ████.” The noise stops, but the voice resumes speaking, even louder than before. Vaguely inquisitive, still… sloppy was a good word for it. It almost sounds childish, but that’s far too frighteningly cliché for this situation.
I reach out to grasp at– something. Anything, but it’s so far away; so far away that I’m not sure why I bothered.
…I can’t see. Nothing exists but the scattered ropes of moonlight twisting in the wind.
Soft footsteps, and suddenly the murmur of awareness in my bones is like a bonfire. Run. Run. Run. Run away. Get away. I have to get away! …But my legs may as well be made of lead. They won’t respond to my demands. All negotiations are compromised.
So when the little blonde girl walks up to me, my hand still outstretched, I take a moment to admire that beautiful red ribbon in her hair; it’s almost as red as her eyes. She seems to be perfectly dry, against all reason, and she laughs something at me around her hideously sharp-looking teeth.
“███ ████?” …W h a t ?
And then, there’s a click and a crunch and a Mack truck made of pain slams into my chest, pressing in on me from all sides. My– hand–
I lock eyes with the tiny blonde monster (blonde, blonde, always blonde!) as she gnashes her teeth against the stump, bone cracking in her mouth as she works her jaw- blood trickles heavily down her chin. Her eyes are laughing, laughing, much too alien, much too dangerous, much too fucking pleased for me to possibly be able to stand for it.
My breath rattles in my chest as the pain squeezes everything, spindly fingers worming their way into my brain, but I can barely feel it at all. I wheeze out a- not a laugh, but a choked, bitter sound that scratches at my throat. Then I take another breath, and another, and steadily my lungs are working again (past their maximum capacity) and the only thing on my mind is the sweltering heat.
And she giggles. Instead of at least choking on cartilage she manages to giggle.
I twist around and slam my fist into her face, hit her harder than I’ve hit anything in my entire life, tension snapping at my muscles like some frantic animal- like I’m channeling all this god damned misfortune right into her stupid mug. And there’s just… carnage. Like a bomb went off.
Her entire facial structure just crumples inward around my fist, nose bursting like an overripe grape, knocking her back, back, back- she soars away in a cloud of blood and teeth, tumbling brokenly through the mud and vanishing into a copse of trees.
I hunch over and puke, rain pounding on my back as I retch, nothing but dry heaves and adrenaline on my mind. There’s that awful, acidic taste of bile and I manage to find some modicum of self-control. What the fuck was that? What the fuck did I just do? Is she all right? Should I care? What about my-
I press my wounded hand against my stomach, curling up around it slightly as blood pumps out of a ruined digit- that bitch, she bit my finger off! Fuck!
“Ugh. Shit. I… really don’t want to die here.”
After a moment to catch my breath, I unsteadily get back to my feet, woozy and nauseous and- no, stay focused. I begin aimlessly wandering through the trees, in some direction, any direction away from that- that- demon child.
…It’s still completely dark. It’s still raining, and I can feel a chill starting to seep in through my jacket; I’m completely drenched from head to toe, and as soon as the thought hits me, a shiver works its way up and down my spine.
[ ] Keep stumbling aimlessly through the woods. There’s got to be someone! [ ] That girl was eating something before, right? Maybe someone else needs help… [ ] Find some shelter and try to tend your wounds. At least get some rest. [ ] Collapse from exhaustion. Enough’s enough already… (Anemia option)
[x] Find some shelter and try to tend your wounds. At least get some rest.
This day just keeps getting better and better! Now we really need to find some water and clean out our wounds. Mouths are fucking nasty and full of gross shit, and it would suck balls if our maimed hand got infected. At least we showed Rumia what for.
>and as soon as the thought hits me, a shiver works its way up and down my spine.
Bad luck sense tingling, need to move it fast.
>[ ] That girl was eating something before, right? Maybe someone else needs help… She took a few bites already while happily talking about something, so that guy is more than dead. When she got him, then that means that he did not have anything to properly defend himself with, so loot is out of the question too.
>[ ] Keep stumbling aimlessly through the woods. There’s got to be someone! Not a good idea, we're wounded already, movement without care could make the wound bleed worse. Also not very smart; whatever owns this part of the forest (Rumia) you just punched to pieces; you dont want to run into the hunting grounds of a different youkai.
>[ ] Collapse from exhaustion. Enough’s enough already… (Anemia option) Oh come on, not after all we've gone through. Adrenaline is there for a reason. Rage, too. This doesnt seem like the kind of guy to back down in front of anything, even his own bloodloss.
So I'll go with [X] Find some shelter and try to tend your wounds. At least get some rest. Most sensible option, rule #1 when you get lost in the woods: stop moving. People will find you more easily. Wounds need to be tended to too; when nobody comes to get us, then we'll need all that bllod to survive the trip to anywhere.
[x] Collapse from exhaustion. Enough’s enough already… (Anemia option)
>One of these options is deadly, and it isn't the one you think it is. Anyone remember this? For all we know, We stay there and Eirin will pick us up. Look at the options. All of them involve you moving, What if Eirins right around the corner and you've already left?
[X] Find some shelter and try to tend your wounds. At least get some rest. He needs to get somewhere relatively safe where he can sit down & slow his heart rate - and thus the speed he's bleeding out at - down.
Whoever it was Rumia got should be quite dead. No use running around leaking everywhere hunting for a corpse.
>Her entire facial structure just crumples inward around my fist, nose bursting like an overripe grape, knocking her back, back, back- she soars away in a cloud of blood and teeth, tumbling brokenly through the mud and vanishing into a copse of trees.
[x] Keep stumbling aimlessly through the woods. There’s got to be someone!
We're in a place we can't sleep, with a wound we can't treat, we have no survival skills, and we're dehydrated. Staying where we are is hilariously dumb. If we become incapacitated, there will be no one coming to save us, and it's not like we can alert anyone's attention without also alerting the local fauna.
Well, I think I got this one out a bit faster, and it's even longer than the usual. My update length is kinda sad, really.
As always, let me know if it's shitty, etc. Also, you can only pick one!
[x] Find some shelter and try to tend your wounds. At the very least, get some rest.
The trees are a tangled mess of dull colors and shadow. My head is pounding, swirling, shifting, and every step seems to add another lead weight to my back- the rain might as well be ice as it pours down my face. I shiver again, my teeth chattering madly until I clench my jaw out of sheer stubborn spite, but it doesn’t help anything.
There’s another wave of nausea and pain and I almost start retching again, but I push through it and sag against a nearby trunk, every breath sharp in my throat. Why- why is this happening? What in the hell did I ever do to get put in this situation?
I- I think I might die out here. The thought slithers through my mind, black as crude oil, and for one fleeting moment I contemplate giving up. There’s no reason to keep fighting it, is there? Just lie down and, sleep. I’m so damn tired…
…Like hell. Like hell I’ll just give in like that. I didn’t come this far just to puss out and die. I’ve got too many questions to just bleed out in the woods a million miles from home!
Still. Standing back up on unsteady feet, it’s a lot harder than I would’ve liked- I can barely keep myself upright. The dull roar of the rain has receded to the point where it almost feels soothing, a lullaby of pounding drums – ah. That sort of thinking is dangerous, dangerous, I really will fall asleep out here if I keep losing focus like that.
The adrenaline is slowly working its way out of my system, and- I know that the crash is coming, cresting like a wave before it hits me all at once. Willpower’s great and everything but, if I don’t find a cave or something soon it… isn’t going to matter what I want. This isn’t going to be something I can… push through.
“Okay… Okay. I can do this. No- no problem.”
I sidestep a strange rock- I can’t put my finger on why it’s strange, exactly, but my gut instincts have been a lot more reliable lately. Not that they’ve made a difference at all, because I can’t doanything, I can never do anything when it matters–
This isn’t helping. Calm- down. Calm.
The moment I move past the suspicious rock, I step onto an even more suspect pile of leaves smeared with dirt and- I’m falling, falling. The sense of vertigo is back, but it goes away as quickly as it comes when I slam into the moist earth face-first.
Fuck! Why does this shit keep happening!
I drag myself over to a far wall and prop myself up against it, pressing my wounded hand deeper into my shirt in some attempt at slowing the bleeding- but my blood’s so warm on my skin as it seeps through the thin cloth. Ugh. I don’t think that I’m, I don’t think that I’m going to be able to stand back up again- at least, not until I get some rest.
I’m so god damn tired. So tired…
Fuck, fuck, stay focused! Um, shit, what was I doing before, what was the plan- triage, triage, uh, treatment, dress my wounds so I don’t bleed out, bleeding, bleeding all over my shirt, lukewarm blood… Focus! Get a grip on the surroundings first, don’t want to be exposed if I’m going to be ripping up my shirt, exposed, open to attack, more childlike monsters-
“Focus, god damn it.”
It- it looks like I’ve fallen into some kind of- pit? Cavern? It’s not especially big but somehow it’s managed to stay remarkably dry, almost warm- a thin shaft of moonlight shivers in through the hole I stumbled down, distorted by the pitter-patter of the rain. It doesn’t look like too much rain is getting in now that I uncovered the entrance, either.
It’s… surprisingly peaceful. Kind of– relaxing...
…No! No. Don’t… lose focus. My body’s so damn heavy; there’s cotton in my ears and weights on my eyelids, every movement takes pushing through the lethargy, thick and soupy like, like some kind of, sludge.
I feebly tug at my shirt, trying to rip at the wet fabric, but it just stretches in my grasp, shifting around drearily between my fingers to the dull rhythm of my heart- throbbing in time with every wave of pain working its way across my nerves. Dull, dull, everything’s getting duller.
I ease back against the wall, shifting my weight so it’s more comfortable, legs moving around- ah. There, that’s– that’s much better. There, hm, wasn’t there something I…
Needed to do…?
I cross my arms and curl around them slightly, left hand pressed into my shirt- mm. So, tired. I’ll just, take a quick nap for now and– worry about it later.
>>23590 Yeah, going back to investigate the corpse would've gotten you murderstomped by Rumia.
Time for a dream sequence! It might be kinda obnoxious, but try to bear with it? also god damn look at me updating again within 24 hours
[x] I (am)
There is a blank room with sterile white walls – warped picture frames reluctantly decorating them. At first glance it feels half-remembered; with a second look it seems even more indistinct than before, ephemeral and strangely nostalgic.
I am here now.
In the center of the room is a boy– or rather, it seems like the room is centered around him. He has no clothes, but definitely isn’t naked. He has no face, but not because it is cloaked in shadow or concealed beneath a mask; his face is smooth and featureless, a sheet of paper or an empty canvas in place of individual humanity.
I know this boy.
His name is █████.
“You’ll never get anywhere in life if you’re always so afraid of yourself.”
He speaks calmly and quietly, remarkably easy to hear despite not having a mouth- his tone couldn’t be described as young or old, or even as something in-between; it simply was, bland and generic and soothing. He is looking at me, but with what I couldn’t say.
This boy is… my ███.
“I’m not afraid of myself.”
I’m well aware of who I am. I know exactly where my lines are drawn, when my moral constraints run out of slack and how my ethical commitments can be disavowed. I know my weakness, my weakness, my weakness- and I know my (pitiful, unenviable, useless useless useless) strength. I’m as weak and as cowardly as they come. The last person I would be afraid of is myself.
But that’s fine. I’m perfectly happy with being weak. Being (powerful), it’s dangerous isn’t it? It’s much too dangerous to entrust something like that to someone (weak weak weak) like me.
…So why is it that I can ███████ ███ ████?
The child tilts its perfect, featureless head to the side, nonexistent brow furrowed in apparent dismay- but still absolutely calm and composed.
My fists are twisted in ragged knots as my fingers fall off one by one, replaced with crooked bone-white facsimiles piece by piece by ivory piece. That steady torturous rhythm, going drip drip drip as blood pearls along my knuckles and falls to the floor, is all I can hear.
God, they’re beautiful.
“I’m only afraid of what I could do.”
Locks of opalescent hair fall across his- not his face, he doesn’t have a face- as he shifts around once more, seemingly satisfied… with something, an obscure lack of smile growing within my field of sensation. A distracted nod.
His gaze is elsewhere now.
Why are you looking away?
“And what is it that you can do?”
A pause as something resembling a jaw works beneath that unblemished façade, a rattling of bone and popping of joints- the entire activity is, somehow, completely motionless. The child’s monotone voice conveys a sense of urgency, or rather… excitement? Fascination?
“Do you even know?”
That’s a pointless question. The answer should be completely obvious, completely and totally obvious. Of course I know what I can do; of course I know the extent of my bad luck. The ability I’m so afraid of, that stupid worthless curse of power. It’s misfortune.
Disastrous, calamitous misfortune!
Why am I so fucking unfortunate, why me?! If I could dump all of this on someone else, anyone else- !
I sag as the child nods, cheerily, mockingly almost- but more naïve than mean-spirited. That’s why I hate it, because it’s dangerous, too dangerous for someone like me. I’m much too awful a person to be given so much-
“It’s your responsibility, you know. Don’t misuse it.”
Misuse it? How the hell could I possibly–
…Is that an EKG?
…Where am I?
…What am I doing?
…At least the bed is comfortable.
[ ] I- need to get up. Get out of here. Wherever the hell ‘here’ is. [ ] Get a grip and try to assess the situation. Where the hell am I? [ ] I’m still so god damn tired… More rest couldn’t hurt. [ ] is this a hospital? Maybe I should yell for a nurse or something.
[ ] Get a grip and try to assess the situation. Where the hell am I? then [ ] is this a hospital? Maybe I should call for a nurse or something. Being so extremely worn out, yelling is not possible. [x] If the nurse is hot, Fuck staying alive and bang her right. there.
[x] is this a hospital? Maybe I should yell for a nurse or something.
>Futile tide pissing attempt. Let's do this. The other vote is just too stupid for him. He's shown himself to be a pretty savvy guy, and he should easily be able to recognize a hospitals bleached interiors.
>>23609 This is what writers should do if possible. It really paints the scene, Yaknow? Stove, Keep this shit up. I think you'll be a damn fine writer on this site one day. Maybe even as known as people like Serial ATA.
This is a first! I think I'll give this whole "write-in" thing a shot. But uh, try to keep itReisenable! haha holy shit that was bad.
Also bad about updating, etc. tell me if the medical stuff comes off as overdone/bullshitted.
[x] Get a grip and try to assess the situation. Where the hell am I?
…First of all, the steady beeping of that EKG is really irritating. It needs to stop soon or I’m going to go- well, I’m not going to go crazy, that’s complete exaggeration, but it’s going to really grate on my nerves. Not that I’m implying I want my heart to stop, either. Actually? Forget the EKG. That doesn’t really matter at all.
Okay, let’s try this again from the top.
First of all, what the hell happened to my clothes? This sure as shit isn’t a normal patient’s getup. I mean, the material is light and airy and I’d almost call it silky – but, uh, only if I knew a manlier synonym for the sensation than ‘silky’.
…That isn’t really the issue though. The issue is my things- where did all my things go? My cell phone, my wallet, that- that weird key, I guess- actually, patting down what feels like a pair of expensive pajama pants reveals that somehow the key is still in my pocket. That’s, concerning, but not really relevant to the situation at hand; keeping track of a key given to me by some suspicious witch of a woman wasn’t high on my list of priorities.
Taking another nap is creeping up the list pretty quickly, though- no, no, stay focused, if I keep taking naps like this I’m going to have bed sores the size of small island nations. Like Guam, or something. Wait, that’s technically a US territory and not really a distinct self-governing nation, so the comparison doesn’t really work…
Jesus Christ how much blood did I lose.
It takes a lot more effort than I’d like, but I brush off the thin sheet (blanket?) covering me and sit up, sliding- well, dragging, really- my legs over the edge of the bed. I feel the air hiss through my teeth on pure reflex. The floor is cold, god damn it! What is this, tile? Why don’t I have any socks? Right, hospital patient, some weird pajama getup.
The cold is kind of nice, actually.
So, okay, game face, I need to assess the situation and figure out where in the hell I am. I have my hunches, but… Never hurts to try and consolidate more information.
Cold black tile that looks surprisingly stylish. Sterile white walls. Patient bed (surprisingly nice one too), weird pajama getup (again, surprisingly nice), EKG machine- bandages all over my hand and stitches on my face. I’m pretty sure this is the nicest hospital I’ve ever had the pleasure of waking up in- there’s no antiseptic smell, it isn’t cold as hell, and from all appearances I seem to have a personal room.
Maybe the food will actually have some variety? Ha. Ha ha.
…How much debt is this going to put me in?
I scrub tiredly at my hair with the hand NOT covered in bandages and sigh, resisting the urge to pull it down across my face in some cartoonish gesture of exasperation– exaggeration makes the emotion feel farther away, you know? But as tangentially helpful as it is, I enjoy wounds staying closed and leaving stitches perfectly intact a bit more.
Almost against my will, I sag down into a leaden slouch, studying the patterns on the tile with half-lidded eyes- well, there aren’t really any patterns, just unfocused reflections of the overhead lights. Not too bright, not too dim, not irritating at all.
That EKG again.
Come to think of it, I don’t feel any leads sticking out of me.
Is it wireless or something? Maybe medical technology is more advanced in– wherever this is.
I wiggle my toes. It tingles a bit.
The whole world just feels… miserably dull.
And then a door I didn’t even notice before swings open on well-oiled hinges, letting in what appears to be some sort of fetish nurse with the best dye job I’ve ever seen. Really playing the part too, face hidden behind a bright blue folder, murmuring quietly to herself as she flips through some papers. Damn good acting for a call girl, actually.
I try to get a better look at her, bed creaking under me as I shift my weight around, and she startles slightly at the noise; I’m beginning to have my suspicions about it being an act. Slight suspicions. I’ll call it a hunch.
She quickly scurries over- why does that word come to mind at the movement- and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, setting the folder on a nearby countertop. Okay, hold on, that countertop definitely wasn’t there before. What is this? …She does have a nice smile, though.
“You’re already awake! That’s good.”
She grabs my chin between her thumb and index finger and twists my head from one side to the other (to inspect my injuries I’m assuming) and I stop worrying about her smile and start worrying about her freakish strength instead. I’m… not entirely sure I could stop her. Not without a lot of effort, anyway.
I’ve definitely got my hunches.
She pulls something from her pocket and lets go of my chin- what is that, some sort of miniaturized- and uses that free hand to hold my eye all the way open instead before shining a damn light in it. Yeah, definitely some sort of miniaturized ophthalmoscope. She got the other eye too, of course, before scribbling something down in that folder.
…That’s uh, that’s a lot of writing. And that EKG is still going in the background, Christ. I really don’t think I can take the suspense.
“How am I doing, Doc?”
She laughs and shakes her head, setting her pen down and closing the folder around it for some reason- maybe to keep her place? Nervousness? I really can’t tell.
“Oh no, no, I’m just her assistant.”
Really? Aren’t you doing a lot of work for an assistant?
"But to answer your question, according to your chart you were in surprisingly good health before this incident- no offense- so your recovery shouldn't take too long."
…None taken? How did you get my medical records?
“We've done what we could, but as we had no way of recovering it we couldn’t save your finger.”
–fine, but she won’t let me get a word in edgewise. And for some reason, her expression looked particularly shady when she delivered that line, as if she were hiding… was that guilt or relief? I- I’m not really sure what that might mean, exactly. Should I be worried more than I already am?
“Your blood pressure is still low so you're going to be feeling weak for the next few days. Try to keep strenuous physical activities to a minimum, and drink more water than usual. Don't skimp on any meals either."
…What the hell does that mean, ‘strenuous physical activities’? To a minimum, not avoid? What does she expect me to be doing here after I almost died in the woods?
Again, she cuts me off completely; in a nervous, hurried sort of way rather than with intentional rudeness, though.
“Now, did you have any other questions?”
“Why the hell do you have rabbit ears?”
The pause lingers awkwardly in the air, not quite substantial enough to be called uncomfortable silence, but not brief enough to be polite.
“...Have a nice day. The doctor will be with you soon.”
…How did she slip out the door that fast?
oh god damn it
[ ] Well, might as well wait warmly for the doctor. [ ] Get up and take a look around. [ ] SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP (destroy EKG) [ ] Write-In
Something fishy going on here. There is no way in hell we somehow missed the counter-top or the door on our first inspection. This requires more investigation. Besides, getting up and moving about is always healthy.
[x] Might as well wait warmly for the doctor. –[x] While you’re at it though, try and address that FUCKING EKG
Okay, I’m all for the mindset of stoicism and approaching everything with an ability to withstand and endure, but sweet merciful Christ on a crutch that EKG is driving me up the fucking wall. I feel like I could stomp an entire box of babies into mulch before shitting myself inside-out with rage. Okay, that’s not true. But it is pretty annoying.
Okay, something is about to go down regarding that thing.
I slide off the bed to my feet, ignoring that heavy woozy feeling (like wet cotton in my head) and take one stagger-step forward; then I take another, and one more– make that two. Three! …I don’t consider it cheating to use the bed to support some of my weight. It’s only like, half. Of my weight, not half of the bed. My hands aren’t that big.
Fuck, hang that left turn around the foot of the bed. Steady now! Steady.
…I should have just rolled off the other side of the damn bed. This is bullshit, why do I gotta walk all this way just to shut up some stupid alarm. Heart monitor. Whatever it counts as, I don’t much care for its arguments and wish to present my side in an eloquent plea for surcease. I am the undefeated master debater! Ha ha ha it’s funny because it sounds like…
Am- am I on painkillers?
I delicately run my hands along the smooth, sweeping edges of the EKG; they lend it a crisp, futuristic aesthetic and also feel kind of odd when I grip them- ah! They don’t seem to have any particular temperature. It’s doesn’t seem much like anything so much as touching a numb limb. It also feels… powerful. I continue to run my hands along the machine, drinking in the sensation like a sommelier might a fine wine. Or a kid huffing paint.
That’s real nice.
No, uh, no switches or plugs to be found, although there is something that may function as the most internally-complex usb port I’ve ever seen. So I don’t think I can shut it off without somehow dealing extensive damage to it.
No, no, shh, I wouldn’t do that.
Okay. I… really should sit back down and wait for the doctor. With that in mind, I manage to stumble back to the bed- feet clapping softly against the cold black tile- and settle down at the foot. Time to wait warmly for miss doctor to give me first aid~
what is wrong with me
Embarrassingly, the door chooses to open at that very moment as if sensing my mild turmoil and shame, letting in- well hellooo nurse. Doctor. No rabbit ears in sight, but look at that hair- and that outfit- I bet she does SOMETHING like a bunny. That’s probably the drugs talking. I really hope I’m on drugs.
“Yes, the pain killers should still be in your system.” She sounds incredibly amused. “They’ll wear off completely in an hour or so.”
Oh. That’s good.
Shit. I said that out loud.
“Yes. You seem to be quite the narrator.”
Okay, let’s calm down and try to focus here. This is important. Ignore how you just contemplated the sex life of some unknown doctor straight to her face. In her face? She does have quite the nice face though- focus. Now might be a good chance to finally get some answers to all of my pressing questions. At the very least, answers to some of them, or maybe hints.
“Oh? Questions like what?”
Like why the hell does your nurse dress in some kind of fetish outfit? Why does she have rabbit ears? How did I get here? Where in the hell is ‘here’ anyway? What is the deal with that EKG? Are you doing anything later because you have been remarkably patient so far?
I hate painkillers. I’ve never been very good with them.
The good doctor laughs and it’s a smooth, clear sound- velvet and glass. But that doesn’t make any sense at all, does it? It’s almost contradictory.
“We’ll see what we can do about your questions later, Mr. █████████. Maybe when you aren’t too doped up to forget the answers, hm?”
That’s… a salient point. But how did you get my name…?
Wait, that doesn’t matter, and judging from the doctor’s slight smile (like a whispery smirk, but more dignified, I think) I probably won’t get much from her on that front anyway. There is one thing that still needs to be said, though.
“…That mister really makes me feel old. Just call me what everyone calls me-
Gonna go ahead and call it for Clint because with 5 votes already it'd be pretty unlikely to turn around. Archer was closest, and I already doodled something a little while back. so it gets the runner-up.
"Look, just because Archer is my middle name..." I heave a tired sigh. "It's not like I can stop you."
"You sure can't! What good is being a princess if I can't dress you up as I please?"
>>23709 >>23706 You're both morons, the complainer because of perfect, sweet delicious pure perfect trollbait and the traditionalist for actually doing what he was asked for and making a straight riff on the commenter without any good/funny ideas.
I was about an inch away from pointing out the massive bait with a comment myself but thought it would be too stupid to actually follow through with for anyone. I guess I was wrong. Lesson learned.
>>23711 >"The truth split my skull open, a glaring green light washing the lies away. The periodic blank pauses in my life, segmenting notable events. The schizophrenic decision-making. The overabundance of magical flying girls in frilly dresses. I was a person in an interactive online fanfic. Funny as Hell, it was the most horrible thing I could think of."
Sorry this took so ungodly long to get posted. I just typed out the greater portion of this all at once, so it's probably sloppy and terrible. It isn't even a long update, or anything, and the picture has been done for weeks and is subpar. Well, I say done, but what I mean is I stopped drawing it weeks ago.
I actually drew this pic before the one you got for the last update.
Maybe I'll update it later or something, I don't know. It's a response to the last option, which isn't actually an option. Wait until then to reveal it! Or don't, I guess.
I won't make promises on update speed, but I'll try to be faster than this.
She smiles again and I can just barely resist narrating it like a film noir protagonist, from waxing rhapsodic about the curve of her lips with overblown metaphors spilling out of mine as if trying to match it. God damn it.
…but it got a laugh, and I’ll take that as close enough.
“Oh, so we’re on a first-name basis now? Feel free to call me Eirin then, big man.” What, is that a big deal or something? She pats me on the cheek that isn’t bisected by a jagged scar when she says it, and my mouth twists into an overtly sour expression. More sour than usual, anyway. Well, into an expression. I’m not too good at these sorts of exaggerations.
“…That’s some condescending bedside manner there, doc.”
“My my, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Her expression of wide-eyed innocence is even more obviously feigned than mine – it really just doesn’t suit her features at all.
“Well Eirin, no offense to you and yours if I come across as blunt, but…” I heave a sigh in time with another beep from the EKG and settle back onto my arms, fingers splayed across the sheets and suddenly feeling more aware than ever of my missing digit- and of just how classy this particular establishment seems to be.
“How much is this whole thing going to cost me?” There. Flat delivery. Chatting up the doctor is well and good but the financial situation comes first.
“Ah, and here I was hoping we could let questions wait until you’ve rested properly.” She pauses for a moment, as if considering something, teasing her bottom lip absently with her teeth. She stops as soon as I think that, probably because I was narrating the whole damn time. I am a functioning adult and my inner voice should not be prancing around on the outside, this is retarded.
“Well, first off, here’s a hint to the scope of things: what language would you say I am speaking, right now?”
…What? What the hell kind of question is that? That’s not even- of course it’s… English? Something about that statement seems, slanted, wrong; it sits uneasily in my mind, an isolated puzzle piece with crooked edges. It sounds like English?
No, no, that’s not quite true. The sound is slightly… off-center. If I don’t focus, I can’t detect even the slightest nuance of inaccuracy – I have to actively try to peel apart the subtleties to even guess that something is wrong. But… I can’t deny it. What she’s speaking isn’t English, isn’t any language I know or am familiar with-
Except… that monstrous little girl. She, it, sounded – it sounded a lot like that.
“…I’m not sure what that means.” That’s, way too big. She patched up my face and fucked with my, uh – speech comprehension, Wernicke, that’s – my temporal lobe? And probably a lot more than that besides. I can’t even begin to imagine the costs for surgery. Wait, no, I can imagine those. What I can’t imagine is how I’m going to pay for it.
This is actually looking to be worse than I thought, and I thought it was going to be pretty god damn bad. However, little miss Eirin somehow manages to look both pleasantly surprised and disapproving at the same time. It’s a very interesting expression.
“Ah, I actually hadn’t expected you to get that much out of it! That you managed to-” She manages to pause, and shifts to a decidedly more disapproving expression. “We are not in the habit of making debtors out of patients who cannot afford to pay. We provide medical care first and foremost.”
Maybe I’m focusing a bit too hard on the crushingly huge price tag, since I seem to have struck a nerve.
“If you would be willing to work here for a time, you won’t have to worry about payment. Think of it as… labor for a good cause.”
…I don’t really like the vagueness of that provided time-frame. But doing some manual labor to pay off a hefty hospital bill sounds like a perfectly reasonable bargain, drugged up out of my mind or not. Hell, I’m not even all that doped up if I can expect it to wear off in an hour or two, so my judgment probably isn’t all that impaired.
Regardless of that.
I need think this one through.
[ ] Maybe I could pay some other way? [ ] Indentured servitude isn’t really my thing, but fine. [ ] It’s not that easy! You can’t seriously expect me to just give it up without even taking me to dinner first. [ ] Maybe I could “pay” you some other way. If you know what I mean.
Mokou has over 15000 images on Pixiv. A comparative smattering hand-picked and arbitrarily tagged on Danbooru is hardly representative.
Aside from that, the difference in content between 'large_breasts', 'huge_breasts', and 'flat_chested' tags on danbooru is big. Mokou has 5 pages tagged 'flat_chested'--not a staggering number--but tagged with 'breasts' (not with wildcard, the actual tag), there's 38 pages, most of which depict breasts that fall into the area in-between that I admire very much.
Maybe you just have a generous definition of 'flat chested'?
>>23765 >Maybe you just have a generous definition of 'flat chested'? I do, actually. I didn't search for flat_chest as well because I honestly forgot it existed. Anything less than "generous" (at least a good B or so) is too boring for me to normally care about.
I would've search pixiv for numbers but damned if I know how to do anything fancy with the searches, like on danbooru. It's necessary to search with chartags:1, because otherwise a search for mokou will bring up titty Keine or a flat Kaguya as well.
My remark was more towards Mokou being particularly developed when if anything Kaguya would be the shaplier one of the duo as she at least has a healthy diet.
Eirin and Keine top the curve list of the eiente bunch generally. Reisen varies, Both Mokou and Kaguya are seen as small. Tewi? Usually loli-build but might not be that flat (She's lived as long if not longer than the old maid alliance)
>>23767 >My remark was more towards Mokou being particularly developed when if anything Kaguya would be the shaplier one of the duo as she at least has a healthy diet.
Presumably their diet would cease to have any effect on their body composition once they drink the elixir. Mokou was part of one of the most powerful noble clans at the time, so her growth could be assumed to be normal for the most part prior to drinking it.
A temporary decline in nutrition won't affect growth much unless you're also going through a spurt. Breast tissue is conserved over other fat stores in starvation conditions. That's why women in subsistence-level agricultural societies still have breasts. Buddhist influence led to a ban on meat consumption in the upper class by 700 AD, so the nutrition of someone living outdoors could well be better than someone who lived the court life.
We don't know anything about Lunarian nutrition or development, other than that they live a long time and they probably eat a lot of peaches and mochi.
>>23797 >"Tewi, where the hell do you keep that gun?" >"Well, if you really want to know..." Wrong, the correct responce is "None of your damn buisness, Sam." Oh wait, I'm thinking of a different selfish, amoral lagomorph.
AND YOU THOUGHT IT TOOK A WHILE LAST TIME. HA HA HA. I am literally the worst. This took so little time to actually write. Also, this image would have had more Eirin in it, but I decided to just get this out and prepare for the next update.
WHICH WILL be faster this time i swear upon my own grave.
[x] It’s not that easy! You can’t seriously expect me to just give it up without even taking me to dinner first.
…Yeah. This is an important decision. There’s no way it couldn’t be – it’s my first chance to relax and maybe get some info on whatever the hell happened to me. A chance to wipe off a bit of the shit life’s slung in my face this time.
But it’s hard to think when I haven’t eaten anything in… What, 2 days?
Something like that.
The clever plan was to charismatically resist any of the good doctor’s advances, no matter how reasonable they seemed, and suavely insinuate myself into whatever lunch plans the staff of this hospital were concocting for themselves. This is a hospital, right? Was that ever confirmed? I don't think I actually got a straight answer.
…Anyway, what I seem to have said was “I could eat a whole fucking elephant right now. And an elephant is huge.”
I’ve almost never regretted saying something so much, so quickly.
That’s the situation. Rather, that’s the backstory, the lead-up for the situation at hand. It’s a crisis. It’s a crisis of unbelievable proportions.
That doctor, Eirin. Truly, I underestimated her. Truly, she must be more of a witch than a doctor, must have access to some obscene magic to create this mockery before me.
What the hell is this supposed to be?
“Aren’t you going to eat your sandwich?”
What? …A sandwich? If this is a sandwich, I’ll eat my plate, and my shoes, and why the hell not the doctor for good measure. This is a sandwich in the same way a nursing home fire is a sandwich- that is to say, it isn’t especially sandwich-like at all. This is a disgrace.
“Don’t call it that.”
She gives me this look, torn halfway between sheepish and amused. Which is a rather odd set of emotions to be coming from a doctor giving their patient food; it’s shady actually, it’s far too shady to just let it pass without notice.
I tentatively press a finger against the- the bread, I suppose, the topmost layer of the thing situated before me; the plate it’s on is nice at least, with tasteful, muted patterns of color swirling across it. The, uh, chunk(?) of wheat(??) lets out a low hiss, as if air were escaping, a deflating balloon full of grease; some sort of murky amber goop seeps out onto the plate, turgid and disgusting and smelling vaguely of burnt hair.
Mother of God.
“This isn’t a sandwich. Don’t call it that.”
The plate begins to sizzle and pop as the gunk spreads across it, etching the ceramic with terrible striations. It’s, it isn’t safe. There’s no way I can eat this without dying some horrible death- I don’t think there are words to describe what eating this would do to me.
…So why is it that this doctor looks so keen on making me do so? Doctor. I keep calling her a doctor. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that this Eirin is no doctor- she’s a monster, one I must have angered somehow, and this is her vengeance.
“I refuse to eat this.”
What is that? That look. I don’t like it at all.
“Are you sure? But you said you were so hungry before! You weren’t lying to me, were you?”
This- this bitch-! Ah, I’m sweating now- but that’s, that’s just because of the heat. It’s dreadfully hot in here. The plate seems to be releasing waves of heat, shimmering distortions curling up and away from it towards my face.
…Unbelievable. There’s no way you could call this food.
“Well, if you don’t want to eat, I can take this back and grab those papers. Contracts have to be binding, after all.”
…Legally binding? Contracts? That’s…
That’s way too uncomfortable, that wording. I really don’t want to get caught up in something like that again. They have a way of going south and dragging me down with them.
What hell can I do in this situation, though?
[ ] …Fine, you win. I’ll sign your contract. [ ] …Is there really no other way? I don’t have time to stick around for too long. [ ] …Like hell. Like hell I’ll let you just win like that! (Eat the ‘sandwich’)
WELL WELL WELL LOOK AT THIS. GUESS WHO POWERED THROUGH THE NEXT UPDATE AND SHAT OUT A DRAWING. THIS GUY. please excuse the shitty writing since i didn't spend weeks agonizing over it and the shitty art due to wanting to get this posted.
please keep write-in reasonable. we're nearing the end of the tutorial phase
I hand her the plate without a word, despite some sort of obscene chemical reaction making it hot enough to scald the shit out of my hand – at the very least, even at this critical juncture, I won’t show any more weakness than is necessary. I’ve already shown more than I’m really comfortable with, and now I’m going to have to sign away a chunk of my freedom (again) because a monster shaped like a little girl bit off my finger and took a chunk out of my hand for good measure. Why always the hands, what is the deal with that?
What wrongs have my hands committed that were so awful?
Regardless of my future debt (even if it isn’t strictly in the monetary sense), regardless of the ache slowly flowing back into my hands as the painkillers wear off, regardless of how I still have yet to find out anything at all…
I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy watching little miss Eirin sashay her way out of the room. Well, at least she’s pleased. I suppose, with the way this little arrangement’s going to work out, someone has to be– otherwise why bother?
Why bother at all?
Oh man, and to think I almost forgot about you. Old buddy, old pal.
I wad up the velvety-soft bed sheet (probably with some absurd thread count, even though the thread count doesn’t actually matter overmuch-) and squeeze the hell out of it, as if it were some sort of slapdash stress-ball. God damn it. God- god damn it. What the hell is going on? More importantly, why the hell is it happening to me? I crush the repurposed linen in my hands a bit more vigorously and let a breath hiss out through my teeth.
I shiver, hair standing on end, goosebumps breaking out across my skin as I feel every sensuous millisecond of a breeze caressing my arm. Thin, crooked knots of ice slide around inside the bone, hand racked with spasms, and I–
–I drop the sheet, acutely aware of all five fingers. All five fingers, despite knowing (knowing) that count should only be four.
Fuck, that hurts– that hurts that hurts that hurts– why does it feel like my finger is twisted up inside a garbage disposal? God damn it, nothing can just end well for me, can it? Nothing can just be over and done with after I’ve accepted it–
I rip at my bandages, somehow certain that the gauze is preventing me from freeing my finger from whatever the hell spiritual fuckery I’ve stuck it in this time. Without warning, the temperature shifts from cold to hot, ice melting to boiling water in my veins, fuck fuck fuck almost have the bandages off-
The honestly frightening pain ebbs away as if it had never been, leaving behind that same dull ache from before.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but… It’s really gone, huh? Not even a nub.
That door that’s so well-oiled swings open again, letting my silver-haired benefactor hustle back in (well, it isn’t actually frantic, more with enviable poise- not the point-) with a sheaf of papers tucked under one arm and a roll of bandages in hand. Silver hair, huh? Or is it more of a white…? She doesn’t seem old enough to have hair like that, but I suppose the same could be said of me, so I won’t bother questioning it.
Wait, go back to the last part. How did she know to bring-?
Setting what has to be the documentation for our little arrangement on the bedside table, Eirin begins manhandling me seemingly without a care in the world, pulling my arm out toward her and stripping what’s left of the bandaging. She manages it with a little more finesse than me, but only a little; strictly a small amount.
Who am I trying to convince, here?
“While I appreciate the thought, please try to wait until a medical professional is in the room before you decide to start switching out your bandages, alright?”
She has this sly little smirk on her face, a quirk of the lips subtle enough to miss if you weren’t observant; my my. What exactly has you in such a good mood– ? Well, don’t call me one to back down from a challenge.
“I’m sure it would’ve helped to have more bandages on hand, doc.”
A laughing “I’m sure it would,” and she cinches my new set of wrappings tight, securing the ends to keep them from unraveling on their own. Surprisingly painless, surprisingly quick- I suppose you really could call her a medical professional, couldn’t you?
“Now, this contract is pretty straightforward- you’ve signed these before, haven’t you?”
Oh yes. I’ve signed quite a few of these sorts of things in my time. Though… how YOU would know that baffles me. Whatever, questions can wait.
“Slap my initials here and there, sign my name on the dotted line. Same old, same old.”
I leaf through the papers and do exactly that, working my way through page after page until I get to that final dotted line- the finish line, really. I, the undersigned, certify that to the best of my knowledge, yadda yadda yadda… a minimum six months of manual labor, unless extenuating circumstances allow otherwise?!
“I feel like an indentured servant already.”
Eirin gives me a ‘reassuring’ pat on the shoulder and scoops up the contract as soon as I finish crossing my t’s, but I don’t feel especially reassured as I watch her make a beeline towards the door again. What’s that old saying about going and leaving? Maybe staying here won’t be too bad after all- in the short term, anyway.
“Oh; one last thing, Clint.”
She takes a moment to shift the papers around, holding the door open with one hand, before turning to give me one last look.
“Welcome to Eientei. Try to enjoy your stay.”
And with that, she’s gone.
Well, now what?
[ ] I need to get some more god damn rest already! That power nap I snuck in while waiting for my ‘food’ isn’t gonna cut it. [ ] Well, the doctor’s work is done… Time to get out of this room and take a look around. [ ] What the hell is up with this key, anyway? [ ] Write-in