I was deep in contemplation of my many dark plots.
[She was lying on the floor in a pure fit of teenage angst. But the last man who commented on her makeup was slapped and then turned into a Toblerone, so a wise choice.]
[It's fine, you're allowed to have fucked up makeup in the Despair Indugulence Zone. In fact there's something almost cool about messing up your skull make up? That's just even more goth.
[She. She kind of opens it like. Expecting to find animal parts? And instead she finds donuts unless you're about to pull a plot twist on me and wrinkles her nose, because sadly she actually doesn't really like sweets. Harrow's idea of a tasty sweet treat is water mixed with a tiny lil bit of sugar and lemon and even that is a little bit too spicy for her. I'm sorry to tell you this sad fact about Harrow.]
[this is the saddest fact i've ever, ever heard about harrow. ive seen all the sad memories now and somehow miss sugar lemon water just knocked me out cold.
anyway no sadly they are just delicious baked goods. molly reaches over to snatch the box back then?]
Not everything's about you. I had a hankering, thought I'd bring some by. Remind me to not try it again.
[He can have it back! Sorry about her bad taste!! It's just that shitpost about the amount of extreme nacho cheese flavor a peasant would get in his lifetime.]
Those things make me ill. [Anyway.] What are you up to, other than using my quarters as your breakfast nook?
Too many of them do that. You'd be shocked by the amount of them Jester can eat. Once watched her double fist them. Think they'd been in her pack six days at that point.
[Molly just picks at it much more slowly than double fisting them, but doesn't question her medieval peasant taste in breakfast delights.]
Don't know exactly. My room's boring. Considering my week? I don't think you want to know my plans. Am I not allowed to check in on a friend?
Ah, considering your week. What new and unspeakable indulgences await those of us whose sins encourage us to have a nice time.
[She's so tired, fam.]
I suspect I shall spend the week mired in a pit of despair and bitter hatred towards all those have wronged me. Which is every single one of us, myself included, because we cannot solve these fucking trials.
I spoke with Greed and Despair. Greed was forthcoming as always, with so many new and helpful suggestions. [Sarcastic. She's still. . . mad.] Despair, however, I felt had valuable advice.
There is a marked difference between paralyzing inaction and biding one's time. We cannot simply wait around for someone to die again in hopes we'll correct our past mistakes and not make new ones.
. . . This conversation was in the context of doing a murder, but I believe it has more genuine applications, as well. We ought to be more proactive.
[He listens to all of that, just. Absorbing. That does seem like the difference between Greed and Despair doesn't it? One seems a little more ... into the idea of murder, but--
Grinning when she suggests the idea of a trap immediately.]
Now that seems like a grand idea. But where to put it? Somewhere where they're likely to go, then? Where does every murder seem to pass through ... Sleep bay? The common room?
The med bay pods, of course. At first, I thought perhaps I could use my own blood to create puddles on the ground that would have to be avoided, in order to discourage their use. But a better idea struck - to scatter bone debris inside them, which would be difficult for most to recognize had gotten in their hair and clothes, but for me trivial.
[harrow if you want someone else to be like "dont use your own blood for stuff" you're asking the wrong person on certain fronts. use your own blood for all sorts of stuff? however,]
All kind of easy to get off if they discover it, though, right? Blood doesn't stick too bad. Bone-- not dismissing that one.
[he thinks and then just goes to dig in the inner pockets of his coat - little bottles of paints, a blue ribbon, sunglasses, sailor moon, oh. there we go.
yoinking out his tattoo ink. the red vial.]
This might leave a mark. Put it on the inside of the handle, so they can't see it.
[That works too. I guess it doesn't have to be bones.
No, just kidding, this idea is actually good and smart, and she gets a nasty little glint in her eyes over it.]
Very, very clever. We will have to test it to ensure it won't heal over, but - I like this idea very much. Does the ink stain skin on its own, or will it only be effective if applied with a needle.
It would be good to have a point of comparison, the type of mark we're looking for.
A stain on the hands will be scrubbed away, but perhaps they won't have had time by Friday morning - and if it's elsewhere on the body, perhaps they won't notice to scrub at all. I like this plan very much.
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[She was lying on the floor in a pure fit of teenage angst. But the last man who commented on her makeup was slapped and then turned into a Toblerone, so a wise choice.]
What have you?
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He holds up the box a little.]
Bear claws.
[And then he sits down, holding out the box?]
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Ew. Why are you bribing me.
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anyway no sadly they are just delicious baked goods. molly reaches over to snatch the box back then?]
Not everything's about you. I had a hankering, thought I'd bring some by. Remind me to not try it again.
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Those things make me ill. [Anyway.] What are you up to, other than using my quarters as your breakfast nook?
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[Molly just picks at it much more slowly than double fisting them, but doesn't question her medieval peasant taste in breakfast delights.]
Don't know exactly. My room's boring. Considering my week? I don't think you want to know my plans. Am I not allowed to check in on a friend?
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[She's so tired, fam.]
I suspect I shall spend the week mired in a pit of despair and bitter hatred towards all those have wronged me. Which is every single one of us, myself included, because we cannot solve these fucking trials.
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... Yes, well. I'd say that's fair.
[Eating a bear claw still, but now more Despairingly.]
So, what's to be done about that?
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There is a marked difference between paralyzing inaction and biding one's time. We cannot simply wait around for someone to die again in hopes we'll correct our past mistakes and not make new ones.
. . . This conversation was in the context of doing a murder, but I believe it has more genuine applications, as well. We ought to be more proactive.
I propose that we lay a trap.
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Grinning when she suggests the idea of a trap immediately.]
Now that seems like a grand idea. But where to put it? Somewhere where they're likely to go, then? Where does every murder seem to pass through ... Sleep bay? The common room?
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All kind of easy to get off if they discover it, though, right? Blood doesn't stick too bad. Bone-- not dismissing that one.
[he thinks and then just goes to dig in the inner pockets of his coat - little bottles of paints, a blue ribbon, sunglasses, sailor moon, oh. there we go.
yoinking out his tattoo ink. the red vial.]
This might leave a mark. Put it on the inside of the handle, so they can't see it.
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No, just kidding, this idea is actually good and smart, and she gets a nasty little glint in her eyes over it.]
Very, very clever. We will have to test it to ensure it won't heal over, but - I like this idea very much. Does the ink stain skin on its own, or will it only be effective if applied with a needle.
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Suppose I can not be a useless infant and go test it. Don't mind a few extra marks.
[But,]
Should stain. You'd have to work to get it off at any rate.
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A stain on the hands will be scrubbed away, but perhaps they won't have had time by Friday morning - and if it's elsewhere on the body, perhaps they won't notice to scrub at all. I like this plan very much.
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So, you could say we'd be . . . catching them red handed?
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