Finding Emo

There’s a certain salon in London, one you frequent often. It’s no stranger to heated arguments, raised voices, the occasional thrown fruit or vegetable. Yesterday, however, things got a bit more personal than they usually do. Things were said. Declarations were made. Ears were grabbed. Outfits were insulted.

Fools were made of selves.

Now the head fool, Flesh-Stick, the &quotI’m in the wrong genre&quot Psycho Bandit, has stopped coming to the salon.

For some, this is probably a relief. The noise in the salon has been reduced to a dull roar and the various breakables (including the fourth wall) are still intact. But perhaps you find yourself missing him a bit…perhaps even worrying about him. He was awfully upset when he stormed out. It might be a good idea to check up on him, just to make sure he didn’t stick his head inside his bifurcated owl or something (he’s upset, but not particularly bright, after all).

So you stop at the giant zee znail zhell he calls home, but he isn’t in. Which is a bit surprising, since it certainly SOUNDS like he’s in, but the screaming turns out to be coming from three mandrakes, two monkeys, three urchins and a St. John’s Lily that is heavily laden with &quotfruit.&quot You might also hear a voice that sounds a bit like the former Provost of Summerset shouting for help from the basement, but he deserves to be locked down there like the lousy cockroach that he is. So that was probably the wind.

There’s no sign of Fleshy, though. Thankfully, a kindly white rat tells you that Flesh-Stick has been staying at his old lair in the marshes for some time now, trying to get his memories back. You thank her and head off.

But of COURSE he isn’t there. That would be too easy. There’s only a trail of footsteps leading deeper into the marsh. Apparently, if he has to suffer, so do you. Why did you miss him again? The reason is getting harder and harder to recall.

Off you trudge. Judging by the footsteps, the psycho bandit’s stride is deliberate and determined, but the trail is meandering. It’s almost like he’s searching for something. For a while, the trail lingers near the Prim Baronet’s marsh house, but eventually takes a sharp turn deeper into the marsh. You follow.

Eventually, your efforts bear fruit. Wet, slimy, smelly fruit, but fruit nonetheless. You soon realize the footprints are following an actual trail through the marshes. Narrow, wet, and beginning to be overgrown, but there.

It leads you to a large house that is almost completely overgrown with vines and creepers. The door is open (although it looks like someone had to hack at the surrounding foliage to do so) and the footprints lead to it.

Finally! Your shoes are stained pond-scum green, your stockings will never be the same, and you think a leech might’ve crawled up your…ankle. But you made it. And…is that a figure you see through the window?

You move closer. Yes! There he is! Flesh-Stick!

You have no idea why you heard those last two sentences in a little girl’s voice.

(OOC: a couple of players expressed interest in speaking with Fleshy after the salon debacle, so here is a place to do so. My replies might be slow, as I have to go to bed and I work tomorrow, but I’ll reply when I can! :) )
edited by Kukapetal on 8/7/2016

Lord Vaustus trudges in. The marsh was stinking, and he’s not used to things like this. He sees Flesh-Stick, curled up in a ball, leaning against a wall. He sighs.
He says, offering a bottle.
“It’s no Oblivion but it’ll dull the pain. Jealousy is a painful thing.”

(Want to say more but phone dieing. Will continue tommorow)

Eli and Siobhan aren’t in a compromising mood. They came to the marshes to have an intervention, they’re gonna having a fu**in’ intervention.

“Get lost, Vaustus.” Eli seizes the bottle with uncharacteristic aggression. “If you keep peddling him this garbage I’m going to feed you to a pitcher plant in here.”

Siobhan trudges in behind him shortly after.

Siobhan doesn’t want to be here, not really. Oh, she’s used to the marshes, she has a home in them, but this entire disaster just keeps getting bigger. Still, maybe there’s a chance to fix it.

And even if there isn’t, at least the screaming matches are less embarrassing in private.

She didn’t want any of this. She’d lost her temper, and things had come of it that shouldn’t have. Along the way, though, she’s learned things, and now a number of other details make more sense.

(It’s not as if she can blame the fellow for adoring Eli, she thinks to herself. Why shouldn’t he? She does, for good reason.)

But this can’t go on as it has been. It needs to change, and she and Eli have agreed, the time to change it is now.
edited by Eglantine-Fox on 8/6/2016

(Kinda of want to join in, but not sure if that would be fully appropriate since Dirae Erinyes wasn’t there for the screaming match.)

(OOC: well, as long as everyone is here, I might as well stay up a bit longer :P )

Flesh-Stick looks up at his three guests and shakes his head slightly

&quotYou guys can’t be here. This is his house.&quot
edited by Kukapetal on 8/6/2016

OOC: I’m fine with anyone who wants to join in. However, Eli and Siobhan may want to talk to Fleshy in private, so if that’s the case, we can always say that Dirae Erinyes and Lord Vaustus came by later after they were done.)

Does Stick mean it’s his own house, in third person? Or that it’s someone else’s house, someone who would not want anyone else coming here? Whatever the answer is, they came to sort this out, and they’re not leaving.

Siobhan shrugs, hands on her hips. “And here we are anyway. We need to talk, so here we are.”

Sounds like a plan.

“I’m relieved we even found you, Fleshy.” Eli takes a long sigh, he looks exasperated. “We really need to talk.”

Flesh-Stick: It’s not like I asked you to look for me. I came out here to remember. I knew there was something out here that would help me remember the rest and I finally found it.

This is his house. And I remember. He died. And so did the Old Stag, and the two Last Dogs and the Cheesemonger and the Sea Captain. And you’re going to die to, Eli. Even if you don’t wanna tell us.

That’s why I drank the Bottled Oblivion. I wanted to forget so I wouldn’t have to care. So I wouldn’t have to hurt anymore. But it didn’t help. So I remembered…and now I still hurt.

So if you wanna talk so much, then tell me. What am I supposed to do?

“You’re supposed to soldier on.” Eli says simply, his face emotional but sincere. His glasses are in his pocket and even though he must strain, he forces them to take their normal appearance even in the fading sunlight.

“You’ve hurt so much. More than you should have, but it’s brought you this far. Why not go further?”

Flesh-Stick: That’s the thing though. I haven’t hurt more than I should have. I haven’t hurt enough. I deserve everything that’s happened to me and more.

You see, I remember that too. What I did before I cam here. HOW I came here…and why. If you knew the things I’ve done, you wouldn’t even wanna be in the same room as me.

So I hurt. And I deserve it. But it’s…it’s just so hard. I don’t know how to be strong like you are.

If there was a way to just…to just be able to bear it so I could keep going. But I don’t know how to find it.

Siobhan sits down, not far from Stick, her expression gentling. “A lot of people down here have done things they regret. That doesn’t mean they have to bear it alone. It’s easier, with the right company.” She beckons for Eli to come sit with them.

Eli takes a knee and sits in the dirt next to Flesh. “I am a god damn idiot, Stick. I didn’t know how you felt about me. I’ve been blind.”

Flesh-Stick: No you haven’t. I didn’t say anything and you’re not a mind reader.

Anyway, I didn’t say anything cause you already had a girlfriend. I was just gonna keep it to myself until I got over it. I never wanted to make a huge stink about it. After I got mad at you for smiling at her and threw the poop at you, I realized I couldn’t be in the room when you two started getting all cuddly cause I couldn’t trust myself not to do something stupid. So I thought I’d just leave when Siobhan came in, but that just made it worse. I shoulda just stayed away from the salon. I shoulda done that anyway actually. I stopped going there for good a while ago, but when I drank the bottled Oblivion I must’ve forgot.

Anyway, I’m sorry I yelled and swore at you guys. I didn’t mean what I said. I was just really humiliated. But that doesn’t make it okay. I’m sorry.

“There is still an issue here and we will solve it. Your emotions aren’t my duty, but they are my concern. I care about you, fool.” Eli says, placing a hand on his tattooed shoulder. “Siobhan and I have been talking.”

“I didn’t know why, or what I must have done,” Siobhan notes quietly. “I’m sorry for bringing it all out in public.”

She looks to Eli, and gives a tiny encouraging nod.

“If you were anyone else, I’d let you go. If were anywhere else, it would never be okay.” Eli says quietly. “But we aren’t anywhere else but here. And we’re talking about you. I love Siobhan, but I love you too.”