Scene I - RedoingsI seem to be running a little late. Hopefully, you can excuse my tardiness. Things are busy in the afterworld.
"Oy, mate. Nice gang. Can I join?"
The man's body jolts upright, like a limp marionette whose strings have just been suddenly tightened. He fumbles around a bit, popping out of the otherwise stationary and uncaring backdrop of the abandoned alleyway. Now you can see he's there. "
Oy yourself! Frankly, I don't know what in God's name you're blabbering on about! I ain't got a gang! You're tooting up the wrong ringer, pal!" he says. His voice is gruff and gravelly, but the frantic nature of his retorts knock his words off their direct course to your mind. Instead, they swivel and spin in the air, descending lazily down upon you. Something's off.
"It was done, the man and his daughter are dead, now, can you tell me who the fuck they were?"
"
D-daughter? Oh, is that what this is all about? Real funny! You some sorta hired guns? Does the name D ring a bell?" he yells out. Some of you flinch, naturally. A light smirk forms on his otherwise rough and jagged face. "
Thought so. Guess there's no need for further talk, eh?" he chuckles, pulling out an oddly familiar knife from under his coat as mechanically and gracefully as a swordsman unsheathing his blade. He wields it calmly, his hold strong yet not too strong, as if confident in his current power.
"It was done, the man and his daughter are dead, now, can you tell me who the fuck they were?"
context
"Yeah, those two... three? were weird. Did they hurt you? Point to where they touched you on the doll."
The man suddenly appears beside you. He flails his knife in the air with the technique of a professional cook slicing vegetables for a salad that is about to be appraised by a Michelin inspector (of course, he does not know that the inspector is a Michelin inspector, since Michelin inspectors are known to be extremely elusive and highly anonymous). His knife touches neither the doll nor you, but in a split second, he ceases suddenly, his knife still in mid air. You blink. He doesn't move. The outer skin of the doll peels off. You feel a slight droplet of blood run down your cheek. Good thing you don't have an HP bar.
Teehee teehum!
joy is me and joy shall be you!
In these days of mirth and merriment, it shall be forbidden to grump and grouch!
Will you join these good folk in their festivities or must I coerce you with threats of piscine punishment?
I am afraid this is your last chance to avoid the karmic carp...
Still not even the slightest of smiles? Well then!
I shove a day-old fish into the man's windpipe.
Your fish puns do not go unappreciated, as the man chokes on them, your genius falling flat on his plebeian mind. Or maybe it's because he has other things to worry about, like a fish stuck in his windpipe. Carp-ma from another life allows you to miraculously strike one point of damage. Nobody escapes the cycle of salmon-sara. The man coughs the fish up, still somehow flopping mindlessly. The man, I mean. It's very disconcerting.
"Whats everyone doing standing around this guy, aren't we supposed to be kicking his ass?"
The Mobster Godfather's pet donkey hee-haws, releasing his pent-up concern. He's wearing a hat that says "don't kick the ass".
Come from the previous game with the Power of Dreamland in hand. Kick their asses, all of them.
You arrive with the Power of Dreamland in your hand! You kick the Mobster Godfather's pet donkey (his glorious debut documented one post above) and deal 2 points of damage, and then kick the donkeys of multiple other bystanders. Furious, the Mobster's donkey points at his hat, and then momentarily charges at you, soaring through the air with the grace of a ballerina, and lands teeth-first into your arm. It appears to be almost entirely in his mouth, and boy does it hurt. Worse yet, this is the hand that you had the Power of Dreamland in! While the donkey is biting into your arm, you are unable to access it.
Huh, I'm here now, with a savagely adorable wolf-dog-pupper on a leash. He is my wolf-dog-pupper, after he got jacked from another dimension and his owner here died.
Poor wolf-dog-pupper.
...
JESUS MY CLOTHES ARE STILL TIGHT.
Cross realities with one where I have clothes that fit properly, my gods!
You attempt to cross realities, but your REALITECH is lacking from the trip here, and the REALITY CLIMATE seems far too STABLE in this particular area to perform such a feat! The Mobster's donkey offers you a hug of pure unadulterated empathy.
”.....”
As I look around at the others, with two of them coming back from a job from The Godfather and one of them wanting to join his crew, and the one guy trying to choke him with a fish, of all things, I realize that I might’ve gotten mixed up in the wrong cores while looking for some downtime, anyways I stay quiet and decide to use some Telepathy to get a read on The Godfather, while trying not to look too out of place.
Your telepathy yields you the Godfather's name: "Charles Jay", apparently. You tilt your head a bit to the side, your expression still a bit confused. It almost seems
too easy. Aren't names of diabolical villains supposed to be shrouded in thirteen layers of mystery, or something like that?
You try not to look out of place, but your telepathy technique basically makes you strain yourself so hard that everyone around you knows something suspicious is happening. That, or you're just trying to unload a dump right in front of them. Unfortunately, the Godfather seems to have picked up on your ability, and somehow manages to use it as a two-way link to his advantage. It appears that he was able to read your mind as well! "
So you can bend reality too, eh? It's been a while since someone like you was hired to make me croak." he says.
Offer the Mobster Godfather a shave.
You stare intently at the Godfather's stubble, holding out a razor in your hands. "
Uh...uhm... S-sure, I guess?" he gulps.
After an overly intimate (and at times vaguely unsafe) half hour, you pull back. The kerchief wrapped around the Godfather drops down, as if a baptized child brought up from within his wrappings, and his cleanly shaven face rises like the morning sun in the face of the dreary night sky. It's... it's almost beautiful. You wipe away a tear with your vacant hand. The other still clutches the razor. "
W...wow. I mean, it's hard to mess up a shave, but, this is somethin' else!" he looks in awe at his face, gleaming at him from a pocket mirror. This is why you get out of bed in the morning. This is it. This is your true life calling.
Report these suspicious activities to the local authorities!
You dial 911. Unfortunately, it is most likely that the authorities are too busy jamming out at the carnival! An intern is sent instead. Yes, somehow, even the police have interns. "'Ello, is there a p-problem?" he stutters, and then looks to the right. His eyes widen, pupils dilate, a drop of sweat rolls down, his body jerks back, and then he steps two steps forward, puffing his chest out, and pulls out his gun, fumbling through it. For some reason, he doesn't think to actually aim it. It seems, however, that even this pathetic display is enough to scare the Godfather off. "
Crap! A cop!" he shrieks, and cowers behind one of the many barrels scattered around the street, much like a scared critter.
A vague presence or spirit of curiosity flits like a ghost through the mind of every bird in the city. Combining the mental capabilities of several subjects at once, it approximates something not entirely unlike a human mind. It can just barely remember something about a fight with a strange man and his daughter, and rifling through the contents of a scattered mind...if it was not just a dream.
For now, it decides to rest and let its avian hosts take control.
Be a bunch of birds. Try to steal food and shiny objects and keep an eye out for anything suspicious or interesting.
You are now a bunch of birds. You flock in search of something shiny, and make your way to the carnival of shadows. You pocket a few breadcrumbs - it's almost unnavigable in this commotion, but you manage to steal the wallet of an unsuspecting man. Not only is he an unsuspecting man, but he is, in fact, the player right below you. It seems as if even in a stabler world, traces of reality screw-ups and reach-arounds still persists.
Dance, and enjoy the Carnival of Shadows.
You enjoy the carnival of shadows, and make your way through the spirits and souls that inhabit fleshy vessels. You almost walk through them. It's warm, huddled in like this, and yet as cold as it ever was, in this carnival, secluded, the rest of the gray and lightless city surrounding you. It feels like you're missing something. You stare out in the night sky, and it dances along with the carnival - a dance of emptiness. Suddenly, a flock of birds steal your wallet! You are snapped out of your trance. The birds are, in fact, the poster above you. It brings towards you a familiar feeling, and yet you must still get it back!
this is mm2 right then i can post here yes totally
I point out that bold hair is the same colour draco malfoy had, which is a person who was dumb enough to cast a cursed, person-seaking, super-destructive, magic-breaking fire he couldn't control in a magically expanded space full of possibly-explosive magic items when there's a war going on just to catch a single teenager when a sleep spell would suffice.
This will lower his intelect until he sufficiently differentiates him from Draco Malfoy for it to be invalid. for example, he can become a poor, humble, brown-haired person. if he's humble enough to do such a deed.
You try to turn the Godfather into a poor and humble brown-haired person! However, you point out the wrong color, using "bold" instead of "blond"! This causes the Godfather to go bald! He looks in despair at his fallen hair, and then covers his head up with a fedora.
The Man looks up at you from within the barrel. "
Alright, I see now that I misjudged you! How's about we settle this like a group of respectable men? I own a speakeasy right around here, if you want, I can treat you all to a drink...?" he puts his knife in his coat and slowly stands up, backing out. Total silence. "
Fine, then! If it's a war you want, then it's a war you'll get!" he suddenly lunges towards his donkey, who lets out a despondent noise under the weight of his jump. He points towards one of the buildings, and the donkey gallops towards it, still carrying TricMagic's arm, making him skid down across the ground.
The donkey runs over the intern, who doesn't actually get injured from it, but dies from fear as the donkey approaches him. A tragic and heroic death. The donkey then crashes into the building it was directed to, a loud bang, hee-haws of pain from the donkey, and splinters flying through the air, and a cacophony of colors, lights and alcohol spill out from within the Godfather's speakeasy. Especially alcohol.
Mobster Godfather: 49/50 HP. Currently retreating into speakeasy!!
Godfather's Donkey: 3/5 HP. Don't kick him, please!
Author
Topic: Conductor's Jubilee (Read 9371 times)