The Town: Life is Good

[Gelquie]

_{Chapter Eight: The Hunt}

The riots had been going on for quite some time, and everything was intensifying. As the guards tried to control the crowd, the crowd had only pushed them to other places on the Island. They realized they were getting closer to the City Hall, and after a while, from the shouting, they were able to place what they were doing.

They were looking for the Council, specifically Uncle May.

Once the guards figured it out, they grew more on edge, and began to fight back with more fervor… And with more violence.

Two members of the crowd, however, had slipped away, unaware of all of this. Unfortunately for them, a particular figure had noticed them, recognized one of them as the man who worked at the radio, spreading the Council’s lies on a daily basis. What was he up to now?

The last member of the Resistance was determined to find out. And so they followed Sampson Thorpe to the residence of the late Jensa Noberry.

It was clear enough what was happening when they arrived; he was going to do a special broadcast. And it seemed the man had changed his mind about the Council, something that gave the last member of the Resistance pause… But as they hid out of sight, peering into the house, they couldn’t help but overhear their complaints about the Resistance as well, something that made the last Resistance member incensed. They didn’t mean all those murders, and the ones that died by their hands… Well, it’d be worth it in the end. It’s not as if they were going to go on forever. But against a foe like the Council, fire had to be fought with fire.

The man may have been trying to change, but it was clear he was still swayed by the lies. And such a man couldn’t be trusted.

And so the last Resistance member hid, preparing their weapon as they listened to Sampson’s broadcast, lambasting both the Council and the Resistance. He talked as if it would be his last broadcast.

And oh how right he was.

But fine, he would have his last broadcast. But as he neared the end, they were at the ready.

“You’ve been a wonderful audience,” Sampson Thorpe said, cueing the last Resistance Member. Now was the time.

“This is Sampson Thorpe, goodnight, Melville, goodnight.”

At his fateful last sentence, the last Resistance member pulled the trigger, putting a bullet through his head and killing him, the crack through the air echoing through the radios all around Melville. The last Resistance member then ran, as fast and far as they could, anything it took to avoid being caught.

Let no one say that Sampson Thorpe didn’t go out with a bang.

**

As the last Resistance member rejoined the crowd, the rioting had reached City Hall, and now people were trying to break in. Other members of the riot parted, heading towards the residences of the Council members. They had to be around there somewhere.

“Find them!” a member of the main crowd shouted as they broke their way into the City Hall, making their way to the Restricted Areas, where they suspected Council members like Mayhitch Frinkett may be hiding. “Don’t let the guards stop you! It’s time to make our stance. Bring them here by any means, but alive! It’s time to make life truly good in Melville!”

Sampson Thorpe was an Innocent Townsperson.

SPOILER: Click to show

Thundy's Will:

The Resistance killed the radio star

[Tiger]

Aerona took a few minutes to panic a little about being dead, and then got on with things. There was never time to really properly absorb anything, always lamps to make and fish to catch and the Outside to attend to and resistance meetings and quests. She focused instead on figuring out how to move, which fortunately turned out not to be so complicated - if she thought about moving forward, or backward, or sideways, without thinking too much about stepping, she could glide forward. It was jerky and awkward at first, like she was riding a cart hitched to the most start-and-stop donkey in the world, Inside or Outside of the Wall, but eventually she managed a fairly even pace. The fireflies continued to wink on and off, slowly and steadily, as Aerona made her way out of the barracks.

She wasn’t headed much of anywhere at first - mostly she wanted to avoid being spotted. Probably she couldn’t be hurt in this form, but one thing she knew about magic - and this seemed sort of magic-ish, in a way - was that it could be weird, and not-quite-sensical, and possibly bullets could still hurt even if they didn’t kill her.

Then the lampmaker was distracted by what she thought, for a moment, was a suddenly-revealed cache of hidden radios. But no - the nearest broadcast to her was coming from a payphone inside a shop with its front windows smashed. Aerona drifted over the shards of glass to listen more closely. ...Sampson Thorpe - no wonder she’d assumed it was a radio. But this was not like any broadcast she’d ever heard from the man before. He was denouncing the Council - finally!

'Detention without trial' - the Resistance must be with him, if he knows about that. Most likely Ene, Aerona figured, assuming the lampmaker - and Quentin Nook - weren’t the only ones who could return from the dead. Technically it could also be Sebastian, but he had been.."incompetent" was a word. "A moronic lunatic who took stupid risks and escalated conflicts more than they were already going to be escalated by shooting Council children and was constantly putting “hashtag” in front of rushed phrases for some reason" was thirty-seven words, if she counted correctly, and much more descriptive. It was possible, too, that the Resistance's other member...

She was distracted from those thoughts by the rest of the broadcast. Aerona scowled at the phone. Maybe it was Sebastian there - because no, mass-murder and frenzied, targetless rioiting wasn’t what they’d wanted, this wasn’t what they’d wanted, or what they would have done if they were in charge - as if the resistance were even automatically going to be in charge, there was a thing called elections that had sounded incredibly interesting…

But you couldn’t fight the Council with signs and chanting and peaceful protests - the last time that had happened, the protesters had been shot at. Murdered. Arrested. Interrogated. Arrested, interrogated, and murdered. You couldn’t light a lamp without setting something afire - you couldn’t make the frame without chopping down a tree - you couldn’t make glass without shattering several bottles you found in the street and melting them down again. In Mellville, you couldn't have a protest - not without a martyr.

This is Sampson Thorpe,” the phone said. ”Goodnight, Melville, goodnight."

Aerona jumped at the sudden, unexpected sound of a shot. She had never gotten used to the sound of gunfire. Not even when it came from her own weapon.

Who… Aerona realized quickly there was no way of knowing; it could have been either side, hers or the Council’s. ...Maybe she ought to go see. If Ene or the fourth Resistance member or...or even Sebastian, were there - they needed to regroup, discuss, and -

And before Aerona could even consider how, exactly, she was going to track down the radio waves being broadcast through every phone in the city, her Price zapped at her head and she twitched. The fireflies’ flicker sped up and they cycled on and off so that it looked like they were passing the light to each other. Evidently, she had other places to be - though what in the Wall was so important it required her immediate attention at a time like this was -

And quite suddenly, her Price made itself clear. ...Oh. Oh, bricks of the Wall, how did I forget the Shadowkyne?

SPOILER: Click to show

Aerona adapts a little to being dead. Mostly by not thinking about it. Repression! \ o / She has mixed feelings about Sampson’s broadcast (“Yay Council denouncement! ...Wait what, Resistance defilement? D< “), and realizes some member/s of the Resistance must be with him. But before she can go find said Resistance bffs (and murdered Council relatives and forcibly-martyred entertainers and freshly-shot community radio show hosts), her Price yanks her elsewhere in town. She’s thinking about Shadowkyne, for some reason. How odd =O (Sporty)

[Huntress]

Ene knew, of course, that while she could give information for the broadcast, she couldn't exactly influence how the radio men chose to present it. Being dead, she could also chew on the broadcast as she pleased.

The backup radio system impressed her, in any case. Sampson Thorpe was a more crucial bottleneck, a keystone, than she'd realized - if not for this man here and now, how would they ever have found a way to broadcast any information to anyone? The Council had such a stranglehold on the information network that if they'd targeted the radio station at any point, this backup would probably have been used at once to overrule everything.

"...the Resistance, while they would like to see a change in our governance, they wanted it to be like this, violent and bloody..."

"Ghost or not, I can still drop spiders down your pants, mate," Ene said icily, leaning against the door to the bathroom with her arms crossed.

"...We see at once the brutal tactics we would see if they were in charge..."

"Big, hairy spiders."

"...Arguably with either the Council or the Resistance at the helm of the city, the only people who will suffer will be you..."

"Wiggly ones, scuttling around like this," Ene said mercilessly, wagging her fingers, still unheard by the living, and the broadcast still went on.

"The future is not in the hands of the Council or the Resistance, but yours..."

"Yeah, alienate everyone who hasn't been a meek lamb and appeal to all those who have, sure, why not," Ene grumbled under her breath, craning her neck into the bathroom to idly see what Jensa's place had to offer by way of spiders.

And then the shot rang out.

Ene froze on spot and snapped her head back to see a broken window and the body of Sampson Thorpe which was just beginning to slump over.

"Well," she said heavily, this being the first word that came out before her head crowded with a million other reactions, all straining to get out. Then she overrode it all and stepped closer. She'd seen death before, this one here was fairly predictable and frankly overdue, and most of her standard human horror at witnessing a life getting snuffed out had dropped away with the noose.

That was a nice clean headshot. Through the window, no less. Did she know this handiwork?

Ene stepped primly over Sampson's cooling body, the long train of her dress brushing across the man's face like the whisper of a shroud. She went across the room and looked out of the window to find the street empty - no wonder too, this wasn't amateur work.

She craned her head to see farther along the street, momentarily forgot her predicament, stuck her head straight through the glass and shuddered. But before she could pull herself back, something caught her eye and Ene leaned halfway out of the window to see better.

Huh.

She withdrew back inside, turned around and her eyes fell on Reuben who would be unable to see ghosts and had therefore just found himself alone in a strange room with the fresh corpse of his former colleague, surrounded by ghost informants.

"Jensa, tell whatsisname that I'm gonna make him some tea," Ene said grimly, clattering over to the kitchen. "No sign of anyone on the street, but you can probably pick and choose possible culprits by now. Also, Frinkett's house is on fire. Things look to be getting interesting."

SPOILER: Click to show

Ene is not best pleased with media representation of the Resistance, but before she can do anything about that, Thundy gets shot dead. Whoops.

So instead, Ene resorts to making tea for Reuben, who's just found himself starring in a horror movie, and tells everyone that Uncle May's place is on fire.

[RielCZ]

“Thank you!”

Carlos smiled at Doormat, then Laurie; she was always one to seek calming and balance in the universe, and for all who resided within its vast infinity.

"I'm proud of you," he thought to her before running his well-toned fingers through her hair.

And then the loudspeakers clicked to life all over the city, preparing to run an emergency broadcast.

This was to be exciting.

***

"You've been a wonderful audience…" rang the voice over the loudspeaker.

"FOUND IT!" Carlos exclaimed, utilizing both his eye in the sky and Laurie's ability to sense auras—it was his radio, buried under the clock tower rubble, and had a strong presence of his aura and hers about it.

His self-designed radio, with casing making it shock and fireproof, far more advanced in capabilities than anything consumer-based.

Carlos quickly flipped it on and pressed a button and it scanned for signals; the normal KMLV frequency was silent, and whilst another frequency was shooting out signal farther than KMLV ever could. It must be the backup emergency service, with its own generator, as opposed to being on the same grid as the lights.

"…This is Sampson Thorpe, goodnight, Melville, goodnight."

The engineer pressed the decode button on his device and all information regarding the signal was saved in the radio's limited memory.

A gunshot was heard.

The signal clicked off.

"Well shoot I didn't expect that to happen," Carlos said in frenzied disbelief. Killed, the man who had the greatest influence in this town. The man who had finally started to reform; more than reform, but think the same way Carlos did.

"Laurie, you stay here with Doormat," Carlos started, setting a hand on either person's shoulder. "Keep 'im safe, would'ja?" He winked at his fiancée.

Transforming back into a state of purer energy, save for his left eye, he went through the lights and into the power system grid and returned back into KMLV, where he manifested himself into his (mostly) human form with the added cloak of invisibility in case any cameras were present. He removed the memory-transistor from his radio and soldered it with his energy unto the manual override section of KMLV's main switchboard. In doing this a backdoor was created whereupon all outgoing signals, unless they came immediately from the emergency broadcast system, would not go out over Melville's airway.

Carlos, with his eye in sky, saw the combination of digits Thorpe pressed into the phone.

(He also saw the murderer but wanted to give the person one last chance at reform.)

Telephones were hard to come by in Melville, which is why so many of the poorer classes relied on messengers.

He wasn't sure why Jensa had one, but there was certainly one in the station.

Pressing the digits, things clicked to life once more:

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP…BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP…BEEEEEEEEEEEEP
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP
THIS IS THE MELVILLE EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM
THIS IS NOT A TEST
PLEASE STAY BY YOUR RADIO FOR OFFICIAL INSTRUCTIONS FROM THE COUNCIL
REMAIN INDOORS
DO NOT TAKE ANY UNNECESSARY RISKS
LIFE IS GOOD

"Hello everyone. You won't know me, so for now my identity may as well be confidential. This is somewhat an address to Sampson Thorpe and mostly an address to all of you—those pro-council, those pro-resistance, and those pro-neither, pro-self-determination if you will… I'm inclined to say the vast majority of Melville's citizens fall into this third sub-class."

"Mr. Thorpe—I am dead. You glorified my death and yet I forgive you. I want to show you, however, that the dead can still be heard via radio—complex systems of energies interacting with other complex systems of energies, though that pertaining to the living ethereals is far more complex than any system I'd seen before passing."

"Passing at the hands of the council, but that's beside the point."

"For those who are pro-council… You're probably very rich and probably actually in the council itself and fail to see how poor everyone is in comparison. Give up your concentrated wealth and actually make other people's lives better. Everyone knows your lies and 'correcting' by now. People can only be suppressed so far before bloody revolution, as we've seen."

"For those pro-resistance… stop with all the murders. Seriously. I don't know how many of you are actually left, but if you kill anyone else it only validates Mr. Thorpe's words further. It only validates your want of bloodshed further."

"We are in a violent time of transition with a seeming council and resistance vying for power. Every time this has happened, the ones who come out on top promise reform and pass legislation on 'freedom of man' and yet people still continue to suffer. The only reforms they bring in are ultimately to consolidate their own power. Leaders are corruptible, leaders lead to bad things."

"Council, you know this. Resistance, you know this."

"So, people of Melville, and in my interpretation of Mr. Thorpe's words, let's have a Melville without leaders. Where everyone shares equally with another, does things for each other, and everyone is loved."

"Tomorrow at noon… On to Island Trek. Let's us, the third class, those tired of the bloodshed and for total self-determination—us, those ready for change, us, the guards and ghosts and everyone else tired of death in this town, us, any reformed members of the council or resistance, us, THE PEOPLE—stage a massive peaceful demonstration and, quite literally, take over Town Hall. It will be a completely peaceful restructuring of power, and the people of Melville will come out on top."

"The people of Melville will, truly, Make Life Good."

Carlos hung up the receiver and left the station, again, via the power grids.

SPOILER: Click to show

Carlos gets on the radio again and encourages a peaceful protest for noon the next day. He tells the council to give it up, the resistance to give it up, and calls for a leaderless, classless society to dawn unto Melville.

Tagged 'cause mentioned: Thorn; Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff); Thundy; Fraze.

[Sporty]

Kree was having absolutely no luck finding Reyaah.

Of course, Kree had also spent most of the day avoiding the fire near the center of town. It had an idea that this might be part of the reason for the former trouble, but it could not bring itself to complete its search by ignoring the deep-seated instinct that insisted it stay away.

Finally, when the shadowkyne felt certain that the fire had truly burned down, it slunk into the open area at the heart of the town. The place was a mess -- in part from the rubble of the fallen tower, but also from scattered and broken objects and the scattered bits of other wrecked buildings. It was as though a stampede had gone through here... But the sounds coming drifting from the people in some nearby part of the town sounded too angry, too violent for a stampede. Were the other humans fighting back against the town-killers?

There were still a few humans around, some injured or worse and others trying to help them or otherwise restore some semblance of order to this place, so Kree decided to keep itself hidden for now. Still, it called out in a soft and low voice in the hopes that Reyaah might hear before some other passerby pinpointed the source of the sound.

As the shadowkyne made its way through the square, a shift in the light caught its eye. Turning, Kree quickly spotted the source of the light -- a swarm of fireflies pulsing oddly around a figure just beyond the square who shimmered much like Reyaah --

Kree's eyes widened in recognition. Kahroo? It slunk up, slowly at first to confirm the recognition, then running, abandoning its camouflage altogether as it approached this trusted human.

Some time ago, perhaps a year or so, Kree had been badly injured by a human dressed much like the town-killers while trying to slip through the Gate. That night it had been healed -- most likely saved -- by this strange human, though it had not been shimmery or surrounded by fireflies at the time. Kahroo, "healer," had earned its nickname in Kree's mind easily enough, but though the shadowkyne had spotted the human from time to time since, it had not seen Kahroo in a while.

"Kahroo, kraa-rei aah?" Where have you been? the shadokyne asked jovially. "Ree Grei!" It's good to see you!

SPOILER: Click to show

Kree goes looking for Thorn in the square and finds Tiger instead. Turns out the two have some history together, after Aerona saved it once when it was injured by guards. Excited to see a familiar face, Kree runs up and greets its old acquaintance.

Kree still hasn't figured out that Doormat, Aerona or the others are ghosts, and it still has a super great impression of the Melville guards \o/ (Also also, I'm not entiiiirely certain I got the scene of the town square right? If not, just let me know and I can edit as needed!)

[PFA]

A woman had told her to climb a tower to get a better look at the wreckage—something Fortune did not think she could do, she was a terrible climber, but she'd told herself she would try. So she made her way to the tower, mustering up her courage to make the climb. As she got there, she was still clutching to her radio, which she realized she wouldn't be able to take with her while climbing. But what should she do with it? If she left it somewhere, someone might think to take it, and she didn't want anyone to steal her most precious possession...

Before she could make a decision, though, there was a gunshot.

Fortune shrieked, turning to get a look at who was shot. To her surprise, it was the same woman she had spoken to earlier, now being surrounded by frightened citizens. Apparently it was the same woman who had led the protests yesterday, and now people were angry. And then there was a riot.

"No, stop!" Fortune whimpered from the back of the crowd, too afraid to get involved. Her eyes darted about nervously as she watched the chaos, people everywhere abandoning the ruined clock tower to take out their anger on the city guard. But what was that supposed to help? More people were just going to get hurt, or maybe even get killed, or—

She realized that Sampson was gone. Panic rose up in her as she continued scanning the crowd for him, to no avail. What had happened to him? Had the city guard taken him into custody? Was he going to die?! Her fervor from earlier returned, and she hurried off in search of Sampson. He couldn't die, he had been so kind to her, he was a hero, he—

"Hello, citizens, this is Sampson Thorpe," her radio crackled suddenly, "and you are not tuned in to KMLV. Instead, we are broadcasting from an undisclosed location."

"Wh-what?" Fortune whimpered, tears rolling down her cheeks as she listened to the broadcast. This couldn't be happening, when had everything gone so wrong, why was he making it sound like this was going to be his final broadcast, this couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening...

"This is Sampson Thorpe, goodnight, Melville, goodnight."

Once again, there was the sound of a gunshot.

Fortune dropped to her knees and wailed.

SPOILER: Click to show

A couple rounds ago, Fortune attempts to take Fraze's suggestion to climb the tower, despite knowing she's a terrible climber and probably afraid of heights because of course. But before she can get there, Jensa dies. Oh. During the ensuing chaos, Fortune realizes that Thundy has gone missing and runs off in search of him again. However, before she can find him, she hears his final broadcast from her radio she's still carrying around. She cries.

[The Scrac that Smiles Back]

Little Sammy screamed when she heard the gunshot at the end of Sampson’s broadcast. She dropped her cup of apple juice, the glass hitting the ground and shattering.

The mob marched on, joking and being friendly with each other between the burnings as though they were nothing more than a sports team making a come-back. The guilt in their eyes had no relation with what they were doing, and everything to do with having not done it sooner. The bodies hanging from the gallows haunted them, and this seemed the only way to set things right. When the law of Melville was murder and oppression, what choice did you have?

“Ciseon! Ciseon! Ciseon!”

Drale wasn’t sure who started the chant, but it caught on quickly. He joined in, raising his fist to the air, his certainty amplifying with each hand he saw, casting the same vote as his. He thought back to when his father had been killed, and the shame that was mounted on his family. An only, lonely child, he’d been expected to stay in his place, a wallflower for life. Despite this, he had managed to make a few friends, people he’d been very close to. Unlike the man he’d loved so cautiously from a distance. A man Drale had never had a chance with, and never would. The council had made sure of that.

SPOILER: Click to show

Sammy drops her glass of apple juice when Sampson is shot, and it breaks.
The mob is shouting for Ciseon (icon) while they burn council homes.

[Gelquie]

Cori had been busy. After floating to her Uncle May's home and bypassing the guards at the door, she quickly proceeded to try once again to yell at her siblings and get through to her Uncle May before she gave up and went into the bathroom. There had to be a way for ghosts to write, if that Resistance ghost could set a tower on fire. She just had to spend the time and energy to figure out how.

Well, a lot of time was spent, and although she was making progress on focusing on trying to grab a toothbrush, she still hadn't gone further than nudging it around. But she was close, she was sure. She'd keep trying. And if someone else had decided to come into the bathroom... Well, she'd probably temporarily phase into the wall, but maybe her ability to move the toothbrush would finally nail it into her sisters' heads that yes, ghosts are real, darnit. Or at least it'd start to give the idea of it.

...But then if it were Cara, she wasn't so sure if it'd convince that girl; nothing ever had. That girl was nothing short of...

A crackle of the radio cut her off, and she realized it was the radio announcer, working undercover and without the permission of the Council, encouraging the city to reject what the Council and Resistance has done, and encouraging change. Which was all promising, but how were they going to manage to do that? The Council had always ruled. They couldn't just... not. It never happened. ...Right?

She couldn't help but jump at the end, when the radio announcer signed off... Followed by a gunshot. She winced. Another death? Who did it this time? The woman from the Resistance claimed that the deaths from them were by accident. Did that leave a guard? ...There was no way of knowing now; the line had switched off. And then shortly after followed by another radio hijacking from someone else entirely. This one encouraging protests and grilling into those both pro-Council and pro-Resistance. (As if the only people supporting the Council were the rich themselves; did they forget the Council had families?)

The radio transmission didn't last long, however, when she suddenly heard a crackle. Not from the radio in the other room, but from something else entirely. Slowly, she floated out in the direction of the crackling, only to find a room was consumed in flames. And a broken window with a torch beneath it.

Arson.

Cori clenched her hands together tightly, enough that she felt the edge of discomfort, which would possibly have been pain were she alive.

“What, are you, doing?!” she cried out of the broken window, seeing the mob below. They had torched the house?

With Caraway and Rosemary still inside?!

“CARA! ROSE! GET OUT OF HERE NOW, THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE!” she shrieked. If any of them were denying the existence of ghosts, they couldn't deny the very real fact that they were going to die if they didn't get out.

And even if they did get out, they'd be left with the old small house, all by themselves. And if Uncle May died, there would be no one left to look after them. She certainly couldn't as a ghost, and she couldn't leave Cara at the reigns, she couldn't. They'd be helpless, no matter what Cara insisted otherwise.

Bristling with anger, she took another look out the window and stuck her head out at the mobsters. Maybe they couldn't hear her, but she didn't care right now. “YOU IDIOTS, THERE ARE CHILDREN IN HERE! WHAT ABOUT YOUR 'PEACEFUL' PROTESTS?! I...” She gritted her teeth, shaking. “I HOPE YOU ALL GET WHAT'S COMING TO YOU BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT AND MORE!”

She then stormed away. No more time for yelling. She had to get her sisters out of there, and she had to do it now. Though the guards had thankfully come in, intent to evacuate everyone. She had to help them. But she could only affect so much as a ghost. But if she could mess with the locks, break something, find another way out... She had to find something and soon.

SPOILER: Click to show

Cori spent the entire last round trying to learn to manipulate objects, and is slowly getting the hang of it. She reacts to the radio recordings, then realizes that the mob set her house on fire... With her sisters still inside. Which basically pressed her berserk button, and she takes a moment to take it aaaaall out on the mob whether or not they can hear her before hurrying inside to try to do something to help her sisters get out.

[Tiger]

Aerona had learned a fair bit about some of the creatures of the Outside over the years - not as much as perhaps she ought to have, but it was difficult to make observations when you were sneaking outside of the town and needed to get back as soon as possible. She could have wished up quite a bit of that knowledge from the fish, and had done so before - but of course, wishes incurred Price, and her current heavy debt notwithstanding, Aerona tried not to plunge herself into debt.

One of the things she had actually learned from experience instead of asking a magical fish was that shadowkyne could turn invisible - or possibly not invisible, but matching their surroundings - she wasn’t sure. It would have been interesting to know, but not quite important enough to pay extra Price for. However it turned invisible - Aerona suspected the shadowkyne was going to be hard to find; camouflaging itself out of fear would only be natural inside the Wall.

Fortunately, this was one time she was wrong. Also fortunately, she was already dead so the shock of glancing over her shoulder and seeing a large shadowy beast coming toward her couldn’t kill her with a heart attack. Aerona spun around, an incredibly smooth motion that made her momentarily dizzy from the surprise of it, as the shadowkyne came to a stop. Kahroo, kraa-rei aah? Ree Grei!"

Another thing Aerona had learned about shadowkyne was that they could talk. It had surprised her the first time she’d realized it, but then she had remembered that the Outside fish had talked to her, and telepathically or just plain magically at that - the idea that glowing-eyed shadow-lizard creatures would develop their own language was pretty reasonable by comparison.

...She had not learned to speak it, or at least, not technically. Apparently along with the powers to cast light, which were only questionably useful most of the time, the fish had given Aerona some ability to get the general gist of Outside creature languages.

This remark, for instance, was friendly - and had a name attached to it, oddly enough. And it was odd that the creature would be so willingly sociable - most of the Outside animals were shy and wary. Granted, there had been the shadowkyne pawing at the gate just a few days ago - probably this was the same one - and heck, it hadn’t been all that long ago since one had gotten close enough to spook a guard, and…

...And now that Aerona thought about it, this one looked as familiar as a shadowy lizard-creature really could look. The odds of two insatiably curious shadowkyne living near the Wall seemed pretty slim. “Hello again - what are you doing here?” She wasn’t sure if the shadowkyne could understand her - probably not - but it felt...proper to talk to a sapient creature. “I know you’re curious, but...how’d you get over the Wall?”

It was the first time she’d tried speaking since she’d become a ghost. It felt...odd, probably because she wasn’t actually breathing in any air. Her voice still dropped in pitch and roughened as if she had a sore throat, however, which had happened the last time she’d been around and speaking to shadowkyne. Whether it was unconscious mimicry on her part of some more magic of the fish, Aerona wasn’t sure. Again, not a thing that had seemed important to ask.

There was a sudden burst of orange light and a great guttering rushing sound - Aerona looked up and saw another fire stretching up over the rooftops. It looked to be from the wealthy end of town - the citizens weren’t done yet. ...And they might not be capable of holding back at this point. Aerona shoved aside a momentary spark of doubt. They’d had no choice.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Aerona said to the shadowkyne, making a motion to follow her into the shadows of the nearest alley.

SPOILER: Click to show

Aerona chats it up with Kree (Sporty), realizing that this is indeed probably the same shadowkyne she healed a year or so ago! As Mayhitch’s house starts to burn, Aerona suggests maybe they should get out of the city, before the mob catches sight of a shadow-monster and goes all torch and pitchforks.

[The Scrac that Smiles Back]

The fires burned cheerfully, and the mob began to break up. Drale joined the group in front of Mayhitch’s house, most of them waiting to see if the fire drove Mayhitch out. Drale had heard Mayhitch was in hiding, so he expected the house to be empty. Instead he heard faint yelling that didn’t sound like Mayhitch at all, but rather like … a girl? With a start he realized the house wasn’t empty after all. Who was in there? Why weren’t they in hiding with Mayhitch?

He rushed toward the front door, but members of the mob blocked him, much like the time he’d tried to leave. This time for his safety, not theirs. He dodged around them, trying to reach a window instead. They moved to block him, but guards came running down the street. The mobsters scrammed.

Drale reached the window and looked in, spotting the girls inside. He ripped off his shirt, wrapped it around his hand, and began punching out the glass.

“Here!” he yelled.

SPOILER: Click to show

Whoops, there were people in the house. Not-Mayhitch people, even.
In case of emergency, break glass. Setting up for collab with Gelquie

[Lizica]

Sylvester Castell was having an...okay golf game, to say the least.

He and Joan Wrigley had found themselves at the mini-golf course in Sunnyside Park, because after a brief stop at the MTA, Joan had suddenly asked what day it was, and upon checking the calendar, had unfocusedly started rifling through her coupons to grab the ones that were due to expire soon.

It was a wonder that the mini-golf course was even open at all on a day like this, but the proprietor, Andrea Burrow, had fearfully heeded the Council’s threats that morning about being sent to work on power repairs if her work was unsatisfactory. Having seen no visitors all day long thus far, her eyes had widened considerably when Sylvester, a guardsman in uniform, and Joan, her travel agent, still wearing a bathrobe and blackened slippers—both covered in ashes and sporting bags under their eyes—had come in to play a quaint round of mini-golf at her establishment.

She had been rather bewildered, but she tactfully chose not to acknowledge the appearance of the day’s first customers, and she had thankfully honored Joan’s coupon for nine holes at half price.

And so it was that—somehow, bizarrely, ridiculously—Sylvester Castell was out putting for par by a miniature windmill covered in paper mache mice wearing sunglasses.

At each one, Joan had found it necessary to detail the current hole’s history. The paper mache sheep at the third hole, made by high schoolers; the cattle obstacle on the fifth hole, modeled after Helen Delacey’s prized cow Magnolia; the gnomes at the sixth hole, what were they from? Was it a club? Maybe a gardening club? You know, the flower and seed shop down on Eleventh was supposed to have a sale on sunflowers next Tuesday from nine to four, and did you know that their plant nursery is award-winning, the very best plant nursery in Melville, also the only plant nursery in Melville, but what if they don’t have it, what if they don’t have the sale, what if there aren’t any more sales ever, what if there aren’t any more anything, what happens, what happens then, Mr. Castell, the slope breaks to the left here, you’re aiming too far over, pretend you’re aiming for the mouse with the blue t-shirt, everything is gone.

Sylvester Castell let her ramble and blather; her voice was still cracked and unsteady, but at least she had stopped talking about landmarks that no longer existed. Maybe it helped to be at a familiar tourist attraction still standing. Every once in a while she’d still give a choked sob, and her eyes were red from rubbing ash into them. But they both had at least calmed down a little sometime earlier on the way to the MTA, when a faint, inexplicable peaceful aura had trickled into the crowd. Even so, Sylvester thought it was a good idea to avoid what was going on at the Island at present.

And so it was that he inwardly cringed when Andrea Burrow finally couldn’t take it any more and scurried from her ticket booth towards Joan and Sylvester (making him putt with too much force, miss the hole, and ricochet his golf ball off the mouse with the blue shirt).

“I’m sorry for interrupting, I hope you’re having a good game, are you on duty?” Andrea quickly asked them, turning from Joan to Sylvester at the last question.

“Uh,” said Sylvester. He glanced at the putter in his hand. Technically? He was sort of looking after someone from the crowd, which was what guardsmen...were supposed to do. All the same, he stepped around the question and slowly asked the putt-putt proprietor, “Is something wrong?”

“Have you been hearing the radio?” Andrea asked. When both her customers looked rather blank, she went on in a surge of volume. “It’s all over the radio! There’s a riot, and the clock tower is gone, and Mr. Thorpe has been shot, and there’s Council and Resistance, and there might be a peaceful demonstration tomorrow, but there’s still a giant riot right now, and something else might be on fire, I'm not sure, I might have been shrieking around that part of the broadcast.”

There was a short, stricken silence on the mini-golf course. Sylvester looked at Joan, who said nothing and shuffled to take her golf turn, but she was shaking so much as she batted around the hole that she racked up eight more putts in only half a minute. Andrea glanced at the two of them with a confused, worried look.

“By the way, are those, um, ashes?”

“W-why—what—Why would they do that,” Joan finally managed to croak, still frantically putting all over the green (now up to an extra fifteen putts over par), until she finally got her yellow ball in the hole by accident (for a grand score of 35). “And why are there more things on fire. Are the firemen there? Are they signing things or doing okay? I need to get my brochures and my fire extinguisher—Please hold these slippers for me, Andrea, tell the Melville Veterinary Clinic I’m so sorry, rabbit’s foot couldn’t do enough to help, maybe a good wash will help?”

And so it was that Joan Wrigley handed her blackened bunny slippers to the putt-putt proprietor and handed her golf putter to Sylvester, and she hurried off, now barefoot.

“Wait, what?” Sylvester yelped, stuffing the scorecard into his pocket and shoving Joan’s and his own putter club at Andrea with a clatter. He sprinted after the travel agent. “Miss Wrigley, don’t go down there, arsonists aren’t reasonable!”

The owner of the putt-putt course in Sunnyside Park had her hands full of ashy, bedraggled slippers and a bouquet of golf clubs.

“I could tell that Joan wasn’t feeling well,” Andrea Burrows sagely said aloud to herself. “She didn’t take full advantage of her coupon for nine holes.”

SPOILER: Click to show

A round of mini-golf gets interrupted by Plot.

SPOILER: Click to show

Joan is still freaking out a little, but in order to use a coupon, she and Sylvester go to mini-golf. They're playing and rambling and mostly trying to calm down from the morning's events, but then the putt-putt owner (Oh look, even more NPCs) comes over and tells them the radio news from the broadcasts. They're all generally horrified, and Joan hurries away towards the riot because people are setting things on fire again, and would they just stop. Sylvester is in tow.

((If there are typos or errors, I shall fix them in the morning, wooo.))

[Gelquie]

((Collab with The Scrac that Smiles Back!))

Cori had been spending a good amount of time fiddling with the lock on the front door, attempting to move it in any way she could so she could bust the door open. But her skills at handling objects still weren't great. The most she could do was make the lock slightly rattle. She put all her will into it, attempting to push the door lock to the side...

...And then she heard a window shatter and someone shout from the outside. Was it another rioter, aiming to create more trouble for the girls or even kill them? As if they hadn't had enough trouble.

But the man seemed to be gesturing for them. And when she thought about it, now that the window was broken open, the girls could possibly not need to mess with the many locks upon the front door of Uncle May's house and just climb out. Assuming they didn't get cut by glass, but better being cut by glass than being burned to death.

“You'd better be clearing that glass as much as you can before they get there,” Cori muttered as the girls ran for the opening. She didn't think he would hear her, but it didn't stop her from wanting to talk at the man anyway.

He heard one of the three girls tell him to clear more glass away, and he complied. Guards ran up behind him and shouted for the girls, holding their arms out to take them away to safety. Drale moved to the side, deciding it was better he kept his glass-covered hands to himself.

Cori blinked in surprise when she found the man immediately doing as she requested when she spoke. Could that mean... Someone living could hear her?!

She had to put the thought to the side as the girls rushed through her. Cara insisted on letting Rosemary go first, making a dramatic effort to help her that made Cori roll her eyes as Rosemary slipped through the window into the arms of the guard. Cara was then pulled through. And without waiting, one of the guards began to escort Cara and Rosemary through the streets, hurrying towards what Cori hoped should be somewhere safe.

Cori knew she should follow them, but there was something she had to address first. That is the living man who could hear her. She floated out of the building before turning to him.

“You can hear me?” she asked.

He coughed and walked away from the burning house, unwrapping his hands.

“You should go with the others.” he responded.

“Plan to,” Cori said, folding her arms. “But how can you hear me?”

He frowned and turned to her, jumping when she vanished from his sight. He turned away again, and she reappeared in his peripheral vision.

“Not this again.” he muttered. But if he was seeing this ghost... “Where is your body? he suddenly demanded. “Are you in the house?” Had he killed this girl?

Cori frowned; could he not see her after all? ...But he could hear her, maybe. That was at least something, right?

“Don't have one anymore,” she said. “Not because of the house. Which somehow started burning. I... Look, thanks for saving my sisters. But if you could do me another favor, could you throttle the one that started this fire and tried to kill them?”

“I…” he looked down at his hands, examining the disastrous shape they were in. “I don’t think they thought anyone was in the building.”

“As if that makes up for nearly killing my sisters. Now where will they go? How is this--” she waved her hand out by the burning houses, “--going to make life better for anyone?”

She paused before turning. “Maybe I should just go after them...”

He held back the things he wanted to say, realizing wherever the girls were going was probably where Mayhitch was hiding. Besides, arguing with the ghost of someone related to Mayhitch seemed unwise while Mayhitch was still alive.

“I think they went that way,” he responded, pointing. He started walking that way as well.

More guards were showing up, and they were pointing at Drale and yelling.

“Look, thanks for saving my sisters, but the guards will take care of them, and I'll keep an eye on them,” she assured them when she noticed he was going in the same direction. “You want to do something helpful, you can try to stop this mob from doing any more damage than they already are.”

Without waiting for another word, she floated above the rooftops and went off, moving to catch up with her sisters. Later, she's have to look for her Uncle too, but for now, she wanted to be sure they would be in a safe place, and that Cara wouldn't stupidly wander off.

SPOILER: Click to show

Drale helps save the living Nix sisters from the burning house, and Cori... eventually thanks him, but realizes he can see ghosts, so she takes advantage of it to try to have a conversation. She isn't able to find out why he sees ghosts and they argue about the mob's intentions until Cori decides to speed off after her sisters to make sure they're okay.

[icon]

((Collaboration with Fraze))

Few people really paid much thought to the symbol that occasionally dotted the Wall.

It was just a weird, lopsided triangle with shapes running down the middle. It had to do with some old folk story, or those religious weirdos who were a few bricks short of a wall, or something like that, right? In any case, drawings were drawings, and chalk was chalk, and if they didn’t have anything to do with getting food on the table they were cast aside.

But to the figure with the snake-yellow scarf who wandered the empty streets of the Eastern District, they offered an insight beyond ordinary sight.

From the sigil on the wall across from Mayhitch Frinkett’s house, Ciseon watched the mob grow ever hotter, bringing the mansion down with the crash of fire, sending embers in a skyward dance.

From the sigil in the hatmaker’s shop, directly across from the clock tower, Ciseon watched the message of Carlos Allende, still burning, still warning the city of a fate to come.

From the sigil scrawled on Jensa Noberry’s bathroom mirror, Ciseon watched the fugitive broadcaster and his assistant providing their message—a final warning to the citizens of the town. Ciseon watched the radio transmission click to a close, watched the Messenger Thorpe put down the receiver—watched the gunshot. The ensuing shock disrupted Ciseon’s concentration: they blinked, and they were no longer in the performer’s apartment, but back on the street.

More deaths, more riots, more needless chaos. Sagging their shoulders (some physical actions just come naturally with the body), Ciseon Ra continued down the street, running a gloved hand over the stonework.

They turned the corner, and stopped. Two ghosts, floating up against the Wall. One of them Ciseon had seen recently—it was Nook, the scholar, the one who sought the answers that none of the other townspeople could provide. The other one… the other one… Ciseon reached back into the walls, searching for memories that only the stones could hold. A face appeared, along with a flood of memories, emotions—and a name.

Oh, yes: that name, once remembered, stuck to the memories in these stones like mortar.

EDWARD MELVILLE, Ciseon said.

Edward Melville, the man behind the construction of the Wall and the destruction of most other things, felt Ciseon's words echo in his head. He turned to the almost-human figure.

“Ciseon,” he answered. It sounded more like broaching a discussion topic than a greeting. “Nobody's addressed me by my name for a long time. Well, I did a few days ago, but it's not the same thing. I'd ask why you showed up now, but that seems like a question with a faulty assumption. D'you have business with me?”

I HAVE BUSINESS WITH EVERYONE, came the reply, but then they paused. The Wanderer’s Belamy didn’t exactly frown, because as far as Melville could tell there wasn’t anything there to frown with, but there was a sense of some sort of hesitation. THOUGH I SUPPOSE BUSINESS IS NOT THE RIGHT WORD TO DESCRIBE IT AS MUCH AS… AFFAIRS. ARRANGEMENTS.

The hat looked at Melville now. IN ANY CASE, WE HAVE THINGS TO CATCH UP ON. IT CERTAINLY HAS BEEN A WHILE.

"A long time," Melville repeated. "Interesting way to put it. I put those first protective spells up before the Wall even started being built…but no, I don't think that was you. Not properly, anyway." He let out a flumphing sigh. "I don't much like being reminded of things, but if there was ever a time, this is it.”

THE BARRIERS SURROUNDING THE WALL HAVE ALWAYS BEEN PRESENT, EVER SINCE THE BEGINNING… YOU ARE CORRECT, THOUGH. I DID NOT FORM UNTIL LAYERS UPON LAYERS OF PROTECTIVE MAGIC WERE ADDED TO THE SAFEGUARDS YOU CREATED. I AM A SIDE-EFFECT—A FORMALITY, IF YOU WILL.

If Ciseon Ra had possessed a face, she probably would have looked down at her hands now. “I”. WHAT A STRANGE CONCEPT. A DEFINITION OF SELF IS BROUGHT ABOUT MERELY BY THE EXISTENCE OF A CORPOREAL FORM. HOW QUAINT.

The figure turned her head back to Melville. BUT BACK TO YOUR PROTECTION—THE ENCHANTMENTS SURROUNDING THE WALLS.

The old man scowled. “What, something wrong with them? There shouldn't be, those were the best protective spells money and connections could buy - and that's MY money and connections. IMRC rated to 1000 years with enough physical and magical repulsive capacity to stop anything short of a nuclear blast or an elder dragon. Don't tell me they're already wearing down.”

THE SPELLS FULFILL THEIR FUNCTION WELL ENOUGH. I AM REFERRING TO YOUR WALLS, YOUR PROTECTION—AND THE ENCHANTMENTS SURROUNDING THEM.

“What do you—”

LISTEN TO ME. The figure placed a hand on the Edward's shoulder, and the ghost flinched when it didn’t pass through. WHEN YOU INFUSED THE BARRIERS OF YOUR TOWN WITH PROTECTIVE MAGIC, PART OF THEIR STRENGTH CAME FROM THE EMOTIONS THAT ACCOMPANIED THEM. I HAVE HELD ONTO YOUR MEMORIES… GUNFIRE. SMOKE. PAIN. MAGIC, FAR MORE POWERFUL THAN MY OWN… AND REMORSE.

WHEN YOU CONSTRUCTED THE WALL, YOU HOPED TO PROTECT THE DENIZENS OF THE WORLD FROM THE OUTSIDE, BUT MOREOVER YOU SOUGHT TO PROTECT YOUR OWN CONSCIENCE. YOU SOUGHT ATONEMENT—THE ENCHANTMENTS OF THE WALL COVER UP YOUR GUILT.

Melville tried to move from the figure's grip, but found that he couldn't. He wasn't sure whether he was physically unable or just didn't want to.

“‘Global freelance military solutions provider,’” he said with a lopsided smirk. “That's what I called myself. It was nice words for an ugly truth. I sold weapons to...just about everyone. Never directly killed anyone myself - well, maybe a few times - but I supplied all sides of the war so they could all go kill each other. Not just guns, either. Wars need escalation, and I designed some...wondrous things. Half of the creatures outside the Wall didn't exist until some of those magical bombs went off. By the time I finally had an attack of conscience, it was too late to stop anything, so I did what I could.” He looked down. “Don't make it sound so altruistic, though. I half did it to protect myself. Started wondering what'd happen to me after I died. The others who built the town saw it as an old man getting eccentric and paranoid. But now?” He looked up again and held his hands up. “There's a lot of ghosts outside those barriers with nothing better to do for eternity than take their revenge on me. And worse things than that. I think some of the things out there would think ghosts are just as tasty as living things."

Ciseon Ra dropped his hand, chuckling softly at the explanation. TELL ME, MELVILLE. WHEN YOU INTENDED FOR THE WALL TO REPEL THE TERRORS OF THE OUTSIDE, DID IT EVER OCCUR TO YOU THAT THEY MIGHT CONTAIN THE FEARS OF THEIR CREATOR WITHIN?

Melville gritted his teeth. He really didn't want to talk about this, and yet.

“I knew this place would be my punishment. My exile. And it's a pretty nice place to be exiled, all things considered. It's amazing what you can live with if you don't think about it. But it's not just the fear; it’s the anger, the greed, the suspicion, the - the lack of empathy. They all poisoned this place, and it's only gotten worse. Maybe this town was a lost cause from the beginning.” He lapsed into silence for a while. “But if you're here, maybe not.”

Ciseon Ra shrugged again, turning their hawk-hat to look down the street. IT IS UP TO THEM TO FOLLOW THEIR LIVES AS THEY SEE FIT. YOU AND I, MELVILLE, WE ARE CONFINED TO THE OUTSKIRTS OF MEMORY AND THE DREDGES OF FAITH—MERE FIGMENTS, TO BE FORGOTTEN AND DISMISSED.

The glimmer of an idea crossed the wanderer’s face. They extended an open hand to the man.

BUT I THINK, PERHAPS, WE COULD MAKE THEM REMEMBER.

The old ghost took the figure's hand and shook it. It felt firm and solid in an intangible way. “Not sure I want to be remembered, but they might need it now. What d'you have in mind?”

THERE IS MUCH WORK TO DO, Ciseon Ra said, starting them in the direction of the Island. MUCH OF IT WE CAN DISCUSS ALONG THE WAY. FOR NOW, I THINK IT WOULD BE NICE TO CATCH UP… WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN UP TO THESE DAYS?

SPOILER: Click to show

Ciseon watches a bunch of things happening from the little sigils plastered all across the town, then goes for a walk. Eventually, they run into Draco and Edward Melville, and strike up a conversation with the latter.

Exposition leads into a bunch of Melville's backstory: he was an arms dealer who pretty much singlehandedly supplied every side of the war that made the world what it currently is, and helping to build Melville was his way to try to assuage his own guilt. Ciseon points out that the town functions to protect Ed from the Outside just as much as the other citizens. The two of them decide that hey, while they've been stuck to the sidelines for ages, maybe they can actually do something about this mess if they team up.

[Gelquie]

((Just a friendly reminder that the final execution deadline is tomorrow, 24 hours from now. If you haven't already, get your votes in before then!))

[Thorn]

"You've been a wonderful audience, this is Sampson Thorpe, goodnight, Melville, goodnight."

Doormat was still attempting to digest all that had just been said (Uncle May and the rest of his Council were missing? People-who-weren't-just-Resistance wanted Thorpe dead? Was it because of all the upsetting things he was saying?), when a gunshot rang out, loud and clear. He shuddered, instinctively looking to Gwen and Will- the latter having seemingly materialised out of nowhere as the mob moved onward- but of course they were okay. The gunshot hadn't actually happened nearby. The sound had come at him over the radio.

So the people who wanted Sampson dead had...presumably made him dead. Doormat couldn't tell for sure, since the transmission had now ended, but he doubted that they would leave the job unfinished, if at all possible.

He folded his arms protectively across his chest and glanced at the ground.

(he'd known Thorpe was innocent, too- well, that hadn't been too difficult to ascertain, all things considered- and...so the Resistance must have killed him, but then he'd implied the rest of the town didn't like him either, so...maybe, he was-).

Ezekiel jumped as the scarf-lady's-associated-man clapped a hand onto his shoulder, asking for scarf-lady (who was called Laurie? He'd thought she would be more of a...Flora, maybe?) to keep Doormat safe. Which- he supposed, as he regarded his shoes- wasn't an entirely unjustified suggestion. He was not the best in these situations, after all, especially when so unfortunately unarmed.

"Ah- um, yes," he stammered, as the older-ghost-man vanished from view. "I...will. Stay safe- erm...yes."

***

This was, undoubtedly, the most trying day of Captain Brant's entire career.

There'd been a fire. Then somebody had shot that woman and kicked off a whole other thing. And while her uniform in general had seen better days, now the forearm of her left sleeve was torn and drenched in blood, which she was nigh on 100% sure wasn't her own, and which had most likely come from that tall idiot who cracked his head open on her baton whilst yelling about...murders, or taxes, and probably Ciseon as well.

She couldn't remember exactly. It was hard to remember specifics after the first dozen or so people had run screaming at you, attempting to disarm or outright attack you, or just shout in your face.

And now they were throwing explosive cocktails at Council houses?!

"Just- there!" she snapped, halting a dishevelled trio and pointing them in the right direction, all the while attempting to turn at least some of the agitators back towards the centre of the Island.

Most of them seemed content to either a) engage with her personally, or b) engage with any one of several other guards in the vicinity, at least two of whom had already been disarmed and were now relying on rapidly depleting reserves of bluster and fatigued reflexes to get by.

This was...not going well, all things considered.

SPOILER: Click to show

(peeps in general: I only found out today that somebody had a...not overly nice..character in a 'Medieval' story, who was also called 'Brant'? This is totally a coincidence, I swear. I hadn't even read that story when I wrote this 'supposed to only be a one-off reference' lady. xD And they also seem much meaner than her. But I just thought I should say something).

UM OKAY ACTUAL POST SUMMARY SKIP TO HERE IF YOU DON'T WANT BLATHER:


Doormat listens to Thundy's broadcast and is distressed by its rather unfortunate conclusion, but all the violence has kinda worn him down and so he's not doing his usual shrieking-thing (thank goodness for poor RielCZ and Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)'s ears!). He obediently waits where he is whilst Carlos disappears to hijack the airwaves again.

At around the same time, Captain Brant (aiiiii, it's the less-hot NPC!) attempts to divert the mob from its...mobbingness. She'll probably fall back to whichever Council house is nearest in a moment, once she actually disentangles herself from the Rather Hostile Crowd. Tagging The Scrac that Smiles Back, because I decided I would let her know if and when my character was nearby...and well, this isn't Doormat, but hey it's still a thing of mine so it totes counts.