>>28428853

All the thoughts turn and churn in you, radiating an uncomfortable heat in your guts, swirling up until it almost feels like you need to vomit. Or maybe to take a dump. But you manage to keep your shit together, literally, for long enough so that Tessa can get *her* shit together.

When she does, though, she returns to her natural state - that of a councillor, a leader. It's almost admirable, really, this pretty girl who's also so... astute, or who at least *looks* astute. The idea itself, though, you're not so sure.

'God. I must help them. I know Mel very well. I know where she likes to go, maybe that's something they'd need to know. I have to go back, Stan.'

'Tessa, it's...' this is not going to be pleasant. 'Look, if she was abducted... it's not really up to her where she goes, right?'

> cont'd.

>>28428985

She looks as if she's been slapped, then gives a little whimper and begins crying again. You fucking twat, Stan. But this time it lasts just half a minute. 'You're right... but then maybe the council is gathering information or organising something as well. They have to. And if they don't, I bloody well will. I have to go back.'

That makes a bit more sense. But wait - if they already know and are circulating rumours that it might be you who attacked Caitlin, then Tessa is going to be your only alibi. If she returns to town, it... you had better return with her as well. Unless-

Damn, your phone! You fish it out of your own pocket, leaving Tessa alone. 'Mom?'

'Stanley. Stanley, listen to me.' Her voice sounds strained. 'Something terrible's happened. There's one girl who got attacked, and two girls went missing.'

'Yeah, I heard...'

'Okay. They say they might close the school for a bit. I want you to stay at Da's, all right? It's out of town. It's safe. You stick with Da. Okay?'

'But, wait a minute-'

'No.' She sounds vehement. 'Stan, you're all I have left. I want you to stay out of trouble, okay? Mackelmore is a mess right now. Please listen to your Mom...'

You talk a little more, then hang up. Damn! You were inclining towards going back with Tessa - it would make sense, for both you and her. But this way... you really don't think splitting up would be a good idea. Now Tessa is your witness that you have nothing to do with... with anything, really. At all.

> Try to persuade Tessa to stay here. (Write-in arguments)
> The heck with Mom, she'll understand when we show up at home. Go back with Tessa.
> Others.

>>28429021
>> The heck with Mom, she'll understand when we show up at home. Go back with Tessa.

>>28429021

Two girls have gone missing? I thought just one?

>>28429103
>>28429090

Tessa is already on her feet when you come back; the old man has returned to his perch, where he watches you, holding the musical box with one hand and your phone in the other. 'Is everything okay with you?' She says, slightly hoarse.

'Yeah. Yeah it's Mom, telling me kind of the same thing, what's happened.' But as you think over what Mom said, something sticks in your mind. One girl got attacked, that's Karen... but two girls have gone missing? Mel, and-

Oh, god. It can't be, can it? The instructions for telling you to leave town and go to Da's place; the little announcement that she was going to talk to Kelvin and 'settle things' - the repeated need for you to be safe, to be out of trouble, to be safe. Everything in a shot glass, and then...

The sudden, terrible clarity of the situation - both Tessa's good friend and Elina missing - shines through your mind, sweeping away all the doubts, even Mom's instructions. No. No. If something's happened to her, you have to go back.

'Right, so... I'll call Penny now, okay?' She's still sobbing, and the crying's made her look quite awful, but she's in control now and you're willing to leave it at that. 'How about you look for tickets online?'

You do. There's a pair, heading back to the Bridge at 2 in the afternoon. One every hour. You purchase them and, later at Da's, Tessa digs up some bills and pays you back.

The train is also scarcely populated, and both of you find a seat easily. Tessa chooses to sit beside you, and nudges into you a little. 'I... so what are you going to do when you get back? Are you helping with the search?'

> What do/say, Stan?

>>28429333
>> What do/say, Stan?

"I'd like to check on my neighbor first. See if she's all right."

>>28429351

'The search? Well, I guess... but I think I'll go home first.' You point at the musical box, and your backpack. 'I need to go check on my neighbour first, just to see if she's okay.'

'Your neighbour?'

'Yeah...' wait a minute, Tessa knows Elina. Or at least knows about her, through you. 'Elina, that is. She lives downstairs, you see.'

Just a few hours ago, the mention of that name might have inspired a little friendly ribbing. But now Tessa's face is just a mask of fear and confusion and some concern. She nods slowly. 'Right, right... I didn't know that... yeah, you should probably check on her. Maybe give her the box too?'

'Yeah, suppose I will.'

The rest of the train journey is pretty quiet; even the other passengers are mostly staring out, or trying to take naps, only rousing when the train slides into the Bridge. You get up and help Tessa with her backpack, and she thanks you; then you make the mistake of following her out into the cavernous, fluorescent lit atrium of the Bridge, where she looks up and suddenly begins running ahead of you.

Eh?

'Steve!' You hear her say, a sound that somehow wounds you a little - an expression of love and safety in someone even she recognises is a bit of a douchebag. Some people have all the luck. You watch as Tessa runs into his arms, and he scoops her up and gives her a kiss, and another, and is leaning in for a third when she stops him with her hands.

Seriously, this is the best you can do with someone who's in a panic over her best friend?

... and seriously, this is the best you can do boyfriend-wise, Tessa?

> Let's split. Letting Steve see us could be bad.
> Go up to them. You have nothing to fear.
> Other.

>>28429540
>> Other.
Walk away. Don't look like you're avoiding them though.

>>28429540
>> Let's split. Letting Steve see us could be bad.

>>28429579
>>28429642

> Roll d100. Your decision gives you a bonus.

Rolled 62

>>28429657

Rolled 87

>>28429657

>>28429685
>>28429689

> 62, 87: successes both.

Stopping dead in your tracks when you remember Steve's friend, Rob, and the softball team, and their suspicions, you decide to get out before you can be caught. Turning, you walk around a knot of tourists, which provide enough cover that though you can see Tessa gesture in your direction, neither of the two of them can see you.

Tessa's right. You're a good watcher, maybe.

The bus back home takes just a short while, as usual, and on the face of it it looks like there's nothing wrong with anything at all - people getting on the bus, staring stiffly into space, and then getting off when they're there. It's just something you have to get done with. But every now and then you catch a snatch of conversation around the bus.

'... they say he tried to rape her...'

'... you think it's someone just moved in?'

'... These things are for the death penalty...'

When you get off at the bus stop and jog through flecks of rain into shelter, however, the familiarity of the crappy scene before you - grey-brown buildings, the gaping maw of the entranceway leading into shadows because the lights have not been fixed in two months - makes you feel good, comfortable. Sure, it's a shitty place to live. But you had been half-expecting some sort of police crime scene, a cordon, something.

Or maybe it's a bad thing, if it's Kelvin who did it - and who could it be? Elina already told you - and they haven't gotten around to catching him? Damn. You look down at your hands. Oh fuck, you're holding the music box out in the rain! Wiping it down hastily, you wonder if you should go home first, or maybe head downstairs. Maybe no one yet knows who it is. It's only been a few hours.

It's still fine. Everything's still fine, right?

> Go down to Elina's (and Kelvin's).
> Go home first.
> Other.

>>28429767
>> Go home first.

>>28429777

Home turns out to be empty, and the smell - slightly stale, but recognisably home-like - is almost enough to make you sigh in relief. Well, shit as it is, it's home. The backpack you fling on the couch; but the music box, you go to your room and put it, carefully, on the desk.

While you're there, you glance out the window, hoping for a message on the sill; but there's nothing there. Just a cold expanse of black-painted bricks. Neither is there any sound of people talking downstairs. No one.

Are they even still here? They never brought much with them, coming into the old flat. You recall the photo, of course, that photo of Elina, with the stare which might have been fearsome in another context but which was so... so pretty to you. What if they're gone...?

Heading back out, you sigh while unpacking your backpack, which you hardly touched. Pulling out the hippo-print pyjamas, feeling the soft, gentle fabric caressing your hands... please don't let her just disappear. You want to see her wear this again, baggy and oversized, the sleeves longer than her arms.

Right. There's nothing for it, though. Is there something you can do? You check the phone and see an announcement which ought to make you happy. School's closed for two days while they try to sort things out. Damn - if Elina was around you know how you'd spend every one of those days. And the Funstation would probably catch fire.

> Take the clothes down to the laundromat. Maybe they'll know something there.
> Mope at home.
> Play some vidya, perhaps.
> Go out for a walk. Maybe you'll find something.
> Other.

>>28429912
I'd say go downstairs and knock the door, but I wouldn't know how not to end up in pieces if Kevin is at home

>>28429912
>> Go out for a walk. Maybe you'll find something.

>>28429987

This sounds good. Maybe have a coffee or something.

>>28430029
>>28429987
>>28429980

> I'll be off for a bit after this - dinner. Be back in some hours.
> A little quiet today, but thanks for playing!

You ought to go downstairs. The silence is unnerving - if they were at least having an argument, then you know they're still there and arguing. But fucking hell, this...

For a bit, you try to mope, to do something on the laptop, maybe even try to have a wank. But the silence, punctuated only by soft splashes of rain, weighs on you, and nothing works. You need to get out of here, man; you need to go somewhere...

The coffee shop down near the end of the road has got pretty awful coffee - well, you think it's awful but you don't drink coffee, so maybe it's just you. But they do have some rather nice pastries, and when you enter, the bell above the door tinkling merrily, it seems you're in luck - someone's just brought out a tray of custard tarts. A much-needed score! The bearded man at the counter glances at you, a little warily, but smiles anyway. 'Yes, sir.'

'Two custard tarts please.' You'll sooner drink water, thanks very much.

The shop at this time of day is pretty quiet; just two other tables are occupied. You sit near both of them and try to eavesdrop. One's talking about work, but the other is on about the disappearances, their words tinged with fear. Most of them are middle aged men, except for a younger woman.

'You be careful with yourself, Janice,' one of them says.

'Yeah, it's just crazy. The city always has its share of nutters, though, doesn't it? It's like it comes back every now and then. Or it wanders from one part of town to another.'

'I heard it was an attempted rape, on that poor girl whom they found...'

You sigh. It's not likely anyone here will know something you don't already know on the news... then again, what were you trying to find out?

> Go and talk to them. (What about?)
> Continue to sit quietly and eat your warm tarts.
> Other.

>>28430082
>> Continue to sit quietly and eat your warm tarts.

What kind of phone do we have? Maybe we can look up the news.

>>28430082
Finish the tarts, message Tessa to check if there's something new

>>28430181
>>28430094

There's no point going to talk to them - no way to talk to them without looking seriously suspicious. Why would you be asking about? This is the sort of stuff people tell you about.

So for now, that would be pointless. Instead, you just sit there quietly, continuing to listen to them talk, and then take out your phone and try to check the news. It's already leaked into national news now, but there's no new story - just some more profiles of the victims, and again a ticker of historical cases when young women and teenage girls have been abducted, and perhaps killed.

Knowing who will be on there, another fucking footnote, you sigh and switch to other stories. The people behind you are already talking about other things, like sports and just general banter. The custard tarts, meanwhile, are really delicious - warm and flaky and crunchy in your mouth, the egg custard smooth and sweet. There's a layer of crunchy, burnt sugar on the top, too.

You look up from a mouthful of the things, about to drink some water, when you see someone you know at the counter and pause. It's someone you half recognise; you've seen him before, hanging around with Gerald. But you don't know if he's a threat...

It could well be nothing. But then you can't help taking in mind your new position now. You're guilty of... of something horrible, aren't you? Then again, you're always guilty, probably. Of going to school, of being in the same year. Of being...

> What do now, Stan?

>>28430511
Stay in the shop. He probably won't start shit with onlookers present.

>>28430511
try to blend in the background, get out on the first chance when he won't see us. I don't wont no trobble

>>28430546
>>28430551

You freeze for a moment more, then force yourself back into composure and lift the half-bitten tart to your mouth again. Shit. Shit. But it's okay, right? You just have to stay in the shop, it's not like they're going to stuff you in the toilet here. This isn't school.

It's the first time in a long while you've run into them outside of school. The last time it happened it was at MackelMall, and you stood there like an idiot, and actually bowed at them while they walked past once. What a fucking twat you were, then. But at least nothing happened to you, right?

You're just- oh wait. That guy's gone now.

Glancing around to make sure you're not seen, you then put the other custard tart in your bag and get up to go, slipping around the table. Right. Keep calm, Stan. The street is quiet because it's Sunday, but you just have to go out, turn left, and walk up the street...

Opening the door, you glance to the right, and all your plans and inner dialogue flee at the sight before you. It's Gerald. And Andrew, and Boris. Three of the crew, standing about ten metres away, looking at you.

'Hey, freako. Back from a little rape and murder, I see? What's that you have there?'

> What do, Stan? Fuck...

>>28430658

Nope back inside the shop. Tell the cashier that there's some guys harassing you. Call the cops maybe.

>>28430658
"That's not something to joke about, those girls could in real trouble, and its a custard tart."

>>28430793

This. We're standing up to them. Elina taught us to.

'If you don't have anything nice to say, shut up.'

>>28430658
Its just a tart, want it?
>try to nope out before we're forced to go RAGE

>>28430730
>>28430793
>>28430816
>>28430817

You ought to run. You can't run. There's three of them. Elina said, you should fight anyway. But Elina isn't here. But that's not the point! But-

'Oi, freako.' As you hesitate, wondering whether to duck in the shop where people are watching, they come up to you, and it seems that option is closed. You glance helplessly into the window, but neither of the tables is looking outwards. Again, everyone has their back on you. Welcome to life, Stan. 'What, too tired from your-'

'That's not funny, okay?' You had something a lot more eloquent inside, something about how those girls might be hurt and how you should shut up if you can't say nice things, but it boils down into four words before tumbling out. 'That's not funny. And this is a custard tart.'

Boris closes the door for you, and then the three of them surround you, coming round on either side and gently - well, relatively gently - prodding you on into a parking lot. No cars around. Nobody. The windows closed above. 'Did you hear that, B? He talked back.'

'Yeah, he did. Grown some balls now that he's gone serial.'

> cont'd.

>>28430894

'Look, it had nothing to do with-' but suddenly your left face erupts in pain and your head recoils, though you keep on your feet. That was Andrew. Always Andrew. He doesn't talk; he just strikes. But the attack makes your heart thump. They went for the face. They never go for the face because that's obvious. It's dangerous.

If they can let you be seen with a facial bruise, it shows they don't care anymore. And then-

Gerald steps up and slaps your custard tart away, taking the golden, flaky pastry out of its paper bag, and you make a small move only to be shoved back by Boris. 'Man, this looks nice. Can I have a bite?'

No, Gerald. You fucking paid for it. You can't just- 'you could just ask,' you murmur, rubbing your face.

'Oh man, little squealer here wants to eat it so badly after all!' Gerald laughs, and Boris follows. You kind of already know what's happening, so it's not much of a surprise when he drops the tart face down into a puddle of greyish-brown water, a scum of oil covering its surface. Your shoulders slump as you look at the thing. It's... well, it's not new, you tell yourself. He's done this with peanut butter sandwiches, a bun, a fruit tart as well. You can deal with it. You can deal-

'Don't you want it? If you don't want it, then I dropped it for nothing, man. Then I'd be angry. You'd be angry too, right, Boris?' Gerald nods when Boris does. 'So go on then, eat it.'

He's not done *this* before.

> What do, Stan? Fucking hell, that's seriously muddy and shitty water... and the tart is soaked halfway into it. And getting more soaked by the second.

>>28430920
>get mad

>>28430920

Pretend to head for the tart. Then swing.

>>28430920
>Aim for the balls.


That's all I can think of. Should have gone inside

>>28430934
>but only be verbal about it. If we go to town in them then they'll just have more proof that we're the rapist. Just tell them we were up north over the weekend, and that jokes about rapists aren't funny. If we need to, we can run somewhere more populated.

>>28430920
Fuck this man. Stand up, tart in hand, shove it in his face, then rip his fucking eyes out. Bite his ear off. Do SOMETHING.

>>28430986
>>28430979
>>28430968
>>28430967
>>28430934

> So just to be clear: get mad verbally, or get mad violently? It seems like eating the tart has been removed as an option (go Stan!).

>>28430920
Do what they teach women to do to rapists. Thumbs in their eyes and then rip them the fuck out.

>>28431070
Violent. Fuck it if people think we're the rapist, we were up north all weekend. We've got a strong alibi for the police to handle with, and after we punk these bitches, who cares what people in school think? They're all of the opinion that we're pantsonhead retarded no matter what we do or what kind of alibi we have.

File: 1385123073950.gif-(328 KB, 389x542, Hotline.gif)

328 KB GIF

>>28431070

Violent

>>28431085
>>28431079
>>28431142

You stand there, staring at the soaking tart, as the resolution slowly crystallises in your mind. It's almost as if the destruction of the tart comes parallel with the formation of your idea.

Elina, grabbing your arm so tightly it hurts, between her thin and delicate-looking fingers. On the bus, leaning gently against you, telling you that you need to stand up. You have to fight.

And fuck it, you even slapped *her*, didn't you? The guilt that burns in you from that awful moment when you realise you've busted her nose, split her lip; the relief when you hugged her and she accepted your apology after a little prompting - you can't just do that, and then chicken out before the *real* bastards. Come on, Stan. You can't be a fucking wuss now.

'Hey, look, he's waiting for it to become a soup tart or something,' Boris says. You glance between the two, hearing the rush of blood in your ears - blood like in your dreams, welling out of springs, flowing in great boiling rivers. 'You really are a freako, aren't you?'

> Roll d100. No modifiers; your rage counteracts a 3-on-1 disadvantage.

> Swing at Gerald, Boris or Andrew first? Boris is the biggest. Andrew is the most aggressive. But Gerald is the leader.

Rolled 83

>>28431172
Gerald.

Dice gods don't fail me

>>28431172
Gerald. Take his eyes.

Rolled 68

>>28431172
Gerald

Rolled 28

>>28431172

Rolled 64

>>28431221
Here, let me get that for you.

>>28431172
"I asked you not to joke about people who could be hurt or worse, I even offered to give you the tart if you asked. All that and an ass whooping is all you can think to give me?"

Rolled 92

>>28431172
Smash that rat bastards face into the mud! Or rip his eyes out, I don't mind either way.

hear me dice gods!

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683 KB JPG

>>28431182
>>28431236
>>28431246
and in that moment, I swear Stan was fist

>>28431182
>>28431221
>>28431229
>>28431236
>>28431246
we don't need his eyes, like Elina said "Make him remember us"

Guys, we should take one of his eyes and then threaten to take the other if they don't back off.

Sort of like the opening to incubator quest.

Rolled 9

>>28431269
>>28431269
He'll remember us every time he can't see, which will be often, because we're ripping that little shitheads eyes out.

>>28431246
>>28431242
>>28431237
>>28431234
>>28431229
>>28431182

> 92, 83: holy *shit*.

Your fists clench one more time. Freako. Freako, is it? I'll *show* you what Freako means. You manage to hold yourself just long enough for Gerald to start laughing along with Boris, distracted from you, before you lunge at him, your hands outstretched - one clenched into a fist, the other one ready to grab.

His eyes. You want to grab his eyes. If you could-

Your hand claws onto his face, and you feel for a split moment the sensation of your nails clawing down his face, over his eyes. You don't manage to stop, but then the hand reaches down to his t-shirt's collar and you clutch on to that for dear life before swinging. His eyes. His eyes! You want him not to see. If you can make Elina bleed, you can make this fucker blind.

PBBT! A shock of pain travels up your knuckles, which tells you how hard you hit Gerald, though you miss his eye and slam your fist into his ear instead. It seems as if only you are moving now, they're all frozen with shock, only you are moving. You raise your fist again.

PBBT!

You must be yelling, because you feel your throat vibrating as you topple towards Gerald. Too close to punch now, you grab a ear and try to claw out his eye. You son of a bitch, you little *cunt*, you-

> cont'd.

>>28431330

You step forward again, pushing Gerald until he overbalances, and only then do your ears cut in again - with a bloodcurdling scream. Two bloodcurdling screams.

'Gerald!' You hear Boris yell, and then you make your fist into something with a protruding knuckle as both of you splash into the water. Even gravity is on your side! A foot slams into that part of your ribs still injured from previously, but you're screaming too hard, you hate them, hate, hate, hate them too much to care. If they break your arm, you'll take out his eye. If they break your rib, you don't fucking care-

PHUT!

YES! Your protruding knuckle sinks right into Gerald's eye, and even though his eyelid is closed you swear you must have squished it, broken it somehow. YES! YE-

And that's when Andrew kicks you right in the head, the shock making you roll off Gerald, who screams as he gets to his knees - long, horrible, horrified screams. Yes! It's time to scream properly, Gerald! The rush of blood all over your body even gives you a strange and totally unwarranted erection, and you squirm as you roll about on the tarmac, with Boris and Andrew battering and kicking you.

It is a long time before they're gone. You lie there, feeling the same as that last time in the toilet. Actually, even worse; they've done you properly this time. You can hardly feel half of your body for the aching. But... but you fought back.

'Nailed it, Elina...' you mutter. You'd chuckle, but it'd hurt like fuck.

> What do now, Stan? Heh, hehe, well that's shown them...

Rolled 27

>>28431379
Limp home, or to a clinic or something. Gotta be practical, don't want to die of internal bleeding.

>>28431379
limp home, get clean, laugh and cringe for the pain

>>28431379
see if the cafe dude will let you in, maybe wash up a bit and call someone
"Sorry about that"

>>28431379

> Some other thoughts in your mind:

> You feel as if a certain part of your revenge has been completed. The first and easiest bit, anyways.

> But, at the same time, it's going to get worse, you bet. Those fuckers don't just limp away. And their reputation is built on being bad. You'll have to get on protecting yourself now, properly... socially, perhaps.

>>28431409
do we know anyone that could help with medical care?

File: 1385125177596.jpg-(157 KB, 1216x826, shit yes.jpg)

157 KB JPG

>>28431409
for now bask in the glory of the conquering hero, social links later
>schools closed so we have time

>>28431391
>>28431392
>>28431407
>>28431424
>>28431425

The thought about having to protect yourself flashes through your mind, but as you pick yourself up - fuck, it hurts, your shin, your foot, *everything* - you decide to leave that for the moment. Fuck it. You won this round. You won it.

Now you just need to patch yourself up properly and not look too battered in front of Mom. Fuck, you forgot about Mom! She'd be mad enough as is knowing you've sneaked back against her instructions, and if you look like you'd been attacked by some maniac... except, well, this time you're the maniac. How bout that, eh, how bout that?

Maybe if Elina was around she might be able to help you patch yourself a bit - at least the bits you can't reach. You know she's got really nice massage skills, at least. Good with her fingers, as they say... but she's not around. Fucking hell, where's she gone? She just moved in from somewhere... with practically nothing... she could go anywhere, actually. She could be anywhere.

Not in here at all, perhaps. And how about Kelvin? Did Elina unleash him on your neighbourhood? Your mind wanders to the story of the music box's owner. 25 or 30 bodies, fuck. And eventually, his own. But of course there's no link between the two, right?

You mull those things over as much as you can in the clinic, which isn't much because AAAA OWWWW OAAAA SSSSSS AOOOOAHAHUUUUGH.

Limping back home from that treatment, you slump in the couch and half laugh, half groan for about a minute. Aww yeah, bitches! But, as you fall silent, something makes your ears prick up.

It's a sound. From downstairs. There's someone down there...

> Ignore sound, rest, plan something. Revenge? Finding Elina? She never said she'd go away, right?
> Investigate sound.
> Other.

>>28431482
obviously investigate

>>28431482
>> Investigate sound.

>>28431482
>> Investigate sound.
try to listen through the floor like before

>>28431505
>>28431502
>>28431491

Shit, is that... but would Kelvin come back here? Or what if he's using the basement as a storage room, and Mel is in there?

... And what if Elina was in there all along, just that she was locked away? You should've fucking thought of that, Stan! As quickly as you can, you sprawl on the floor to listen for a while - also, this is quite comfortable - but there's nothing more. It's not Kelvin's voice; it's not Elina's voice. It's just a quiet shuffling about, as if someone's... as if someone's just wandering in.

What the hell?

You get up and hobble down the steps, careful to keep to the wall in case it *is* a psychotic serial murderer. Also, the steps are really slick with algae. Elina's door - it's... it's open. You go up to it and lean against the wall, listening, and this time it's clearer. It is shuffling. Someone's walking about inside, muttering something.

'Where... where's she? Where's the girl? Where's she?'

It sounds feverish. But it also sounds familiar...

> What do, Stan? Someone's inside. You don't know how much of a threat he is. But he's clearly looking for Elina... right?

>>28431591
try to get a peek at whoever it is, but stay out of sight

>>28431591
Try to remember who's voice it is. Maybe that guy who's dog was killed?

>>28431591
Whoever is inside is bound to get out sooner or later. Assuming there's only one way out of the basement, wait for them upstairs where we have an excuse to be. Don't want to end up in a fight against someone with supernatural force, the natural one was enough for the day

>>28431616
>>28431620
>>28431625

Your first thought is to retreat, maybe seeing as you've really used up your quota of suicidal bravery for the day. And you've been paid back properly for it too, fucking hell. He'll have to get out eventually, and come back up, and then you'll wait for him, right? Right?

But then that doesn't sound right, if only for one thing. Sure, he'll come out eventually. But if you think about it... how the hell did he get *in*? Why does he know there's a girl here? Elina and Kelvin slipped in like ghosts; you're pretty sure they haven't talked to anyone. They aren't that sort. It's a little heartwarming, actually - you're probably the exception to an almost absolute rule.

Except... you blink as the memory comes back to you. 'Where's that bitch... where's the bitch...' you hear the muttering from inside rise with intensity. The bitch. I'll make you pay, you bitch. Fenton. Fenton!

It's Fenton's owner - but how the *fuck* did he know to look for Elina here?! Just then, you hear a soft *thump*, and then the distinct sound of a zip being undone. Uh... you glance around, and oh what the fuck is he doing? It is the man. He's staring at one of the rooms, kneeling at its entrance, and he's... he's got his cock out. You watch his big, pale hand stroke the appendage once, twice, and okay that's enough, you can turn back now.

'That girl... where is she...'

> What do/say, Stan? He's... what, is he wanking to the memory of Elina?
> Also, if Elina is still in this town - big if, but she did kind of promise - where could she have gone...?

>>28431672
"What" said out loud

>>28431672
Get out of there. We're in no position to get into a fight.

>>28431672

He doesn't seem like a threat. Not while jerking off. Confront him.

>>28431780
>>28431717
>>28431710

Shit. If it's the Fenton guy - that guy was huge. Well, he *is* huge, and by that you mean the whole of him. You're really in no shape to be getting into a scrap now, so maybe you should leave...

...

... but *how* did he get here? Even as you retreat slowly along the wall, listening carefully to the sound of dripping water and slowly not-splashing your way away, that question nags at you. How did he find out where she lived? There were no clues at all, right? You really have to go and confront him.

And if you're going to have to confront someone nearly double your size, then maybe the best time to do it is when they're playing with themselves. Edging back, you take three deep breaths and then come in view through the doorframe, and clear your throat a little. But the man pays you no heed at all. His hand is really jerking hard, almost painfully hard, and he leans back, covered in a disgusting sheen of sweat, as he murmurs.

'That bitch... when I find her...'

'What?'

That seems to snap him out of his reverie - you think, at least. But instead he turns, stares at you for a few moments. This is... weird. His eyes seem glazed, faraway, as if he's not really here. Well, wanking does that to you, but this isn't post-wank eyes. He gets to his feet, unsteadily, as you reconsider running. Oh for god's sake, zip it up at least...

'You,' he says, leaning against the door, his erection hanging out. 'You know where she is. Where is that girl. Bring me to her. I need to... I need her... I need to see her... please...'

He shudders, and then reaches for his organ again. This is... *weird*, to put it mildly...

> What is your course of action, Stan? Also, Elina isn't here. You notice the place has been cleared out. Could she have... lied to you?

Rolled 34

>>28431672
"What the fuck are you doing here." But first go get a knife/cricket bat.
Elina might be at school, she said she was interested in it.

Rolled 33

>>28431829
Damn, ignore this.

>>28431828
Do we know those bully's addresses? If so send him there.

>>28431828
Why did you think you could find her here? How did you get in?

>>28431828
Ask him why he's here.
>>28431854
This seems like a big city and a big school, I don't think we would.

>>28431876
>>28431854
>>28431841
>>28431829

You want to get armed - you really *ought* to get armed - but then it's a bit too late now to go upstairs and... you glance to one side and see what looks like a chair leg, and walk over slowly to pick it up. Okay. Okay. That makes you feel a little better.

The man sees you, but does not react. Oh for god's sake WILL YOU PLEASE STOP WANKING IN FRONT OF- you hear him give a strangled groan, wince and quickly turn around for a few seconds, your face contorting as you hear his cries of release. They don't sound particularly happy, grunts and groans, almost as if he was bring forced into a climax.

When he's finally done, you turn around to see the pervert. 'What the fuck are you doing here? How did you know... why did you think you could find her here?'

'I... I can smell her. I can feel her, she's here, right? Was that bitch here? Was she?' He raises his voice a little, tremblingly doing up his pants. 'I know she was. I can feel her, I need to see her. You've seen her. You smell a bit like her.'

Oh for fuck's sake. Maybe if you gave him someone's address he would go away. But you only know Jeremy's... and maybe one or two old friends who abandoned you when you started getting picked on. Maybe that would freak them out. But then you notice the man's wounds, and oh fuck... brown, almost purple, Elina's scratch and bite marks are swollen and seem rather inflamed. It's fucking gross.

He doesn't move. You're not sure he even sees you now, gazing into the distance...

> Ignore him, explore house. You're looking for Elina too, right? But without the wanking.
> Try talking to him more. (What about?)
> Get out. Go look for Elina elsewhere. School, perhaps?

>>28431924
Tell him to go to the hospital.

>>28431924

Tell him to go away, she's not here.

Then look at the house.

>>28431946
This, then go looking for Elina. Start in the park where she killed Fenton, then make our way to the school. If he doesn't go or continues bothering us, brain him with the chair leg.

>>28432014
>>28432004
>>28431946

You sigh. 'Look, just... fuck off, okay? Elina's not here.'

'Is that her name? Elina?' Oh fuck, you just gave it away... but then it's not like he hasn't heard you call her that, about three or four times. Then again, they were mostly when she was mauling him. Huh. 'Okay. Elina. I'll remember that. Elina. I'll go look for Elina, then...'

'Yeah, yeah, okay,' you try to cover your crass mistake. 'Go look for her elsewhere. She honestly isn't here. And you need to go to the hospital before you get maggots on your chest.'

'I don't care. That's not the point. That's not the idea. I must find Elina. This place really smells and feels like her. It's in my bones. It's...' you see him reaching for his zip again, and this time you advance upon him raising the chair leg as much as you can. Seeing your aggression, the man lets out a surprising whimper and backs into the corner. 'No, no, don't. I can't be hurt. I have to see Elina.'

'Well, if you don't want to be hurt, *fuck off*.' You walk around with your chair leg, rousing him away from the corner, watching him whimper and shield himself and cower as you herd him out the door. What the hell's turned the angry rich twat into this pitiful thing? He slips on the algae and splashes heavily in it, but before you can help him up he scrambles and crawls up the stairs on all fours.

...

> Roll d100 to look around the house.

Rolled 26

>>28432074
Please dice gods, be kind.

Rolled 45

>>28432074

Look hard, Stan

Rolled 39

>>28432074
here we go

>>28432088
Maybe I should have capitalised Dice Gods

Rolled 86

it looks like all the good rolls were spent in the fight

Rolled 91

>>28432074
Rollan'

>>28432112
>>28432110
I take it back

> Looks like the Dice Gods are more easily tempted than appeased.

> 86, 91: great success!

Closing the door, you try to lock it only to realise the wood has rotted around the lock, holding it open. Damn, this house really *is* shite. Did Elina know this before she came in? It seems unlikely...

As you look around the house, you quickly realise a few things, going through the kitchen and the counter closets. It's a little creepy - you half expect to find Mel, or maybe a hunk of Mel, inside the fridge or something. Or maybe a hunk of- no, you don't even want to think of that.

But nothing. Nothing. You can see the traces of certain things in the fridge, crumbs of this and that, greasy bits where meat was kept, but the stuff itself is gone, as if neatly packed away. Since there is some veg, and a little milk, this all has to be Kelvin's stuff. Elina doesn't drink milk, does she?

... what *does* she eat?

The living room is bare, but then you look at your own chair leg, at the bit where it connects to the chair. It looks a little warped, almost as if it was wrenched away. But this thing is an inch and a half of solid wood. Also, even the little furniture they *did* have here is gone - that little chest of drawers with the photo of Elina, and of course this chair.

It takes a short while before you realise where they've gone.

You're standing on them. Or at least, on bits of them. Unlike the fridge, this was... smashed. What... how violent a fight did they have? What the hell could have happened here?

> cont'd.

>>28432188

> One or two more posts, people, then I'm done for today. But thanks so much for dropping by.

The door leading to Kelvin's room, a cramped windowless affair, is open; the bed lies wrecked, its mattress sprouting springs. It's stained everywhere, anyway. But the door that leads to the room directly downstairs of yours - Elina's - is locked.

It takes you a while to find the key, but eventually you do find it, under Kelvin's bed. It seems strange. If he's taken away all his food, and also all the clothes he presumably had in his closet, why would he leave the keys? And if Elina told him to leave them, why are they here under his bed? You sense she would have trusted them with someone else.

... a little, hopeful voice says she would have trusted them with you. Except you weren't *around*! You listened to Elina, and now you don't know where she is, goddamnit... going out to the door, you feel an ominous hesitation settle over you, a weight that tells you something is... wrong. Almost like a chill down your spine, cliche as that is.

> Unlock the door.
> Kick the door open instead. It looks pretty rotten.
> Leave it.
> Other.

>>28432221
knock on the door?

Rolled 45

>>28432221
Grip the chair leg tighter, then kick it down. Aim for the side of the door that's most rotten.

>>28432221
Unlock the door

>>28432272

Yeah, this, doesn't seem like something could go wrong...

>>28432305
>>28432272
>>28432253
>>28432250

It feels almost like you're going back to meeting Elina for the first time again. You go to the door, trailing its rotten, warped surface, and then knock gently. Kok, kok, kok.

'Elina. Are you there?'

Kok, kok, kok. Nothing and nothing. Damnit, it's not like you don't have the... fumbling the key into the lock, you sigh in relief as it turns. But your relief is quickly drained away when you see what's happened inside the room.

... Holy shit. A spray of dried blood - it can only be dried blood - and then another, and another, decorate the walls, splashing this way and that. The wall across from the door has a slight indentation, with the plaster cracking and shattered around it, where someone was clearly thrown against the concrete with *enormous* force. Even the ceiling is so stained that when it was wet it must have been *dripping*.

Oh... oh god. Oh *god*. You turn to the windows, walking up, unable to tear your eyes away from the shape of the grille bars. Some are twisted, some have been snapped; not a single one is whole. More blood on the floor outside, in a trail that-

Oh *god*. If she can climb like that, bleeding or not, it has to be Elina. It could only be Elina...

She's in trouble. She's in trouble. The phrase resounds in your head like a klaxon. Last night you dreamt it and now it's happened. You need to help her. Elina, please hang in there, Stan's coming, not sure what he can do but fucking hell he'll do anything...

> Calm down and take another look around. (Roll d100)
> Let's go search in the Park.
> Go to the School.
> Go elsewhere - the Mall? You know Elina has been around town. She left that night and just ran out and came back again...
> Other.

Rolled 18

> Calm down and take another look around.

Rolled 37

>>28432429

Look again.

Rolled 62

>>28432429

After looking, we go to school.

Rolled 38

>>28432429
look around. try following the trail of blood

>>28432596
>>28432523
>>28432513

> 62: barest of successes.

You have to find her. And you have to find her soon. But before that... leaning against the windowsill, trying not to panic even though you're breathing so hard all your ribs hurt, you end up raising your hand to your mouth and chomping down on it. NGGGGRRRR! Owww fuck! But okay. Okay. Calm now, kinda.

Turning around, you look at the bloodstains in the knowledge they might be Elina's, trying to work out how things might have gone. Some of the sprays are upwards; some are horizontal. For such a brutal fight, though, for it must have been a fight, you don't see any weapon...

Looking around, your eyes then finally fall on the little suitcase lying in a corner of the room, its brown almost merging into the colour of the decor. No wonder you couldn't see it. As you step towards it, though, you feel something nudging your shoe; bending over, you try to pick up the black thing, only to gasp as it cuts you. Shit!

Blood oozes out from a fine, fine cut, but you pick it up again carefully this time. The purple-black blade is cool to the touch, and it isn't a metal either. You've heard of this before, in National Geographic or something, some kind of glass that makes great knives. Obisdan? Obsidian. Is this the weapon?

You hurry over to the suitcase and heft it. The wooden box is heavy, but what's inside doesn't seem to add much to the weight. Looking over it, you see there are droplets - but no more - of blood on it. The trail of blood leads outside, upwards... but then the rain washes it out from there.

Elina's made it out. But you don't know where to. If she's died along the way, surely someone would have realised...?

> Keep the suitcase, it must be Elina's, and go look for her.
> Leave the suitcase.
> Other.

Rolled 72

>>28432429
School should be our first stop after looking around, unless the park is on the way.

Rolled 57

>>28432729
why would she be at school?

>>28432811

She mentioned being interested.

Also it's the only place she knows, we told her where it is I think.

Rolled 31

>>28432827
No we didn't, I say check what's inside the suitcase and then search starting from the park.

>>28432872
>>28432827
>>28432811
>>28432729

> Just a note: You did tell Elina where school is. Well, roughly - you said it was around Cedar Lane. But that's probably enough for her.
> Also, last post for today. Thanks very much for playing! Check Twitter for updates.

The suitcase... placing it on the windowsill, you try to open it, but it won't budge. Turns out there's a combination lock there, with four digits; it would take you forever to try.

No choice, then. This has to be Elina's, right? You'll just have to keep it for her. So much stuff to give her, now - and the music box is a rather big thing as it is already.

The park - that's a possible place for her to go, of course, since you showed her. But after what happened with the dog and that guy, who incidentally just came all over the floor of the room, you're not sure if she'd go there at all. Certainly *you* are not eager to visit that place and get into more trouble. Is it something with dogs, come think of it? You haven't been out with Elina enough to know...

... well, if it's not the park, then it's the school, right? She mentioned school - mentioned going to it, even though she doesn't. Given how little she knows about the way things work, maybe she thinks that after ending her arrangement with Kelvin (whatever that is) she could just literally *go to school* and sit around or something. You wouldn't put it past Elina.

That would be so cute, though.

> cont'd.

>>28432991

Anyway, with school out for the next three days while they search for the abductor, you could actually go to school with less threat; strange how this is the only time you feel like visiting. After hefting the suitcase into your room, you put on some more clothes and head out for the bus ride, and then you're before the gates.

As usual. They've locked all the gates, but it's not like you can't clamber over, and even from outside you see that people have. The track team is practicing now, the guys doing sprints, the girls stretching; sometimes in class you can see them, and you do, watching their sweaty, lithe bodies twist this way and that.

But no. Important stuff now. Climbing over, you sneak past the sports people, go around a classroom building and then upstairs, so you have a view over the inner quadrangle. It's mostly empty, a cluster of people laughing and talking loudly in one corner away from the rain. Now that you've someone to look for, the school feels a lot bigger. If Elina doesn't want to be found, you have no chance. But if she's injured...

Please, Elina, don't be daft, let me find you. Let me get to you...

> Try the auditorium building.
> Try the classroom buildings.
> Try the admin building.
> Try the extracurriculars buildings and sports grounds.
> Ask around.
> Other.

>>28433040
> Try the classroom buildings.
> Try the extracurriculars buildings and sports grounds.

> Try the auditorium building.

>>28433262

Second this one. Then the extracurriculars.