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--- sessions:2016-12-18 [2018/03/31 21:50] – pinkgothic
+++ sessions:2016-12-18 [2018/03/31 23:24] (current) – Today pinkgothic
@@ 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**