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--- sessions:2016-12-18 [2017/12/28 05:09] – pinkgothic
+++ sessions:2016-12-18 [2018/03/31 23:24] (current) – Today pinkgothic
@@ Line 87: / Line 87: @@
 <fc #008888>Pascal howls in pain as the claws sink into his flesh, bringing his total number of unmangled shoulders down to zero. Eyes squeeze shut, hot tears leaking out the sides, as he tries to focus through the pain. Massive foreign fingers begin to wrap around his wrist, but he manages to pull his hand away before it can establish a firm hold. His leg is starting to go numb from the tendril's tightening grip. And it's still speaking to him, toying with him, talking about a 'riddle'. What was it he said? Why isn't it killing him, or something?</fc>
-<fc #008888>Maybe if he answers the riddle it'll let him go. It's a desperate long-shot, but right now he has no other ideas. Okay, what does he know about this thing? It's intelligent. It's predatory. It's *incredibly terrifying*. It reminds him a little of the Cheshire Cat from //Alice in Wonderland//, not that he remembers many of the details from that story. It likes riddles. It seems to be enjoying watching him struggle. It singled him out. No one else could see it -- or, no, that's not quite the right word for it, but the amount of pain he's in is a bit too distracting to correct that thought. He hazards a guess: "Is it because I can actually see you?" It doesn't quite work as an answer to a riddle, but hopefully it's close. "You're keeping me away from other humans so I can't warn them about you? Separating me from the 'herd'?"</fc>
+<fc #008888>Maybe if he answers the riddle it'll let him go. It's a desperate long-shot, but right now he has no other ideas. Okay, what does he know about this thing? It's intelligent. It's predatory. It's **incredibly terrifying**. It reminds him a little of the Cheshire Cat from //Alice in Wonderland//, not that he remembers many of the details from that story. It likes riddles. It seems to be enjoying watching him struggle. It singled him out. No one else could see it -- or, no, that's not quite the right word for it, but the amount of pain he's in is a bit too distracting to correct that thought. He hazards a guess: "Is it because I can actually see you?" It doesn't quite work as an answer to a riddle, but hopefully it's close. "You're keeping me away from other humans so I can't warn them about you? Separating me from the 'herd'?"</fc>
 The impossible eyes flare up and the demonic grin widens in a silent amusement. "It is better than if you had refused to answer," the creature observes. "But I count at least three errors in your response." In a steady motion, the creature's reaching for his upper arm near the trapped shoulder, curling long fingers around it, then easing that circle down until it's closed about his wrist, grip tight enough even as it travels to pinch at his hairs and threaten to bruise his skin. Still with a soft, haunting voice, it speaks: "You may either try again or, if you'd rather, name the mistakes."
@@ Line 106: / Line 106: @@
 A part of him had just //evaporated// - as though consumed by an imagined swarm of nanobots. No teeth, no claws; only the pain of an open wound to strike existential fear into Pascal.
+<fc #008888>A sliver of irritation at the creature's comment crawls among the nested layers of fear; it was never a //riddle// to begin with. But pointing that out to something that could probably crush his arm -- and who knows what else -- seems like a singularly poor decision. That thought is cut short, though, as the dull throb in his pinky turns into a sharp burning, causing him to cry out in pain. A moment later, the realization of what just happened hits him like a sack of bricks: His finger is gone. Just... gone. A chill laps up his spine, finding his throat and spreading from there to the rest of him. For a long moment, he's frozen, staring blankly at where the vague impression of the finger used to be, before a cracked voice speaks. "What... what did you just... What //are// you?!"</fc>
+The ring of eyes around him abruptly lurches, widening as it closes in, blinking in unison. ...is it a game? Is this lost ground? He's shifted away from one riddle and moved on to the next, without solving the first? A skip, then, and a penalty? The grin of the increasingly surreal creature's teeth broadens. Its tongue, previously short and feline, snakes out as a pink serpent no thicker than a cord, and touches his ring finger. It feels like dry sandpaper more than anything organic.
 **✘ IN PROGRESS**