KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant’s expression is difficult to place as he ponders the mural.
THE NEXT WORLD MURAL — “TRUE LOVE IS POSSIBLE ONLY IN THE NEXT WORLD— FOR NEW PEOPLE. IT IS TOO LATE FOR US. WREAK HAVOC ON THE MIDDLE CLASS.”
INLAND EMPIRE — Right on.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — What a slogan! So many layers in so few words. Perfectly crafted to grab one’s attention and keep hold of it for long after you’ve passed by. You wish you’d thought of it.
“Truer words were never spoken.”
“What a fuckin’ bummer, am I right?”
“Not bad, but I like the one we painted in Martinaise better.”
KIM KITSURAGI — “You mean, the one *you* painted,” he says pointedly. “I had nothing to do with that.”
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — He did like your mural. He’s just never gonna admit it. He’s too committed to the bit.
THE NEXT WORLD MURAL — The words seem to tower over you as you and your partner take them in. Once again, you can’t help but wonder how the Belles Lettres managed to paint this monstrously massive mural without being seen.
VISUAL CALCULUS — Surely there must have been scaffolding involved, or some kind of machinery.
LOGIC — They were seen. Just not by anyone who would disturb their work, or sell them out to the police. Which, if the results of the vote are anything to go by, would be most of the people of Jamrock.
“What do you think about the part about true love, Kim?”
“What do you think about the part about the middle class, Kim?”
“Did you know there was a vote on whether or not to remove the mural?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “We did hear about it back at 57,” he admits. “It’s rare for your district to organize a vote like that. Or any district, for that matter…”
He frowns slightly, peering up at the embracing couple. “I’ll admit, when I heard about it, I had no idea how *big* this thing was. I’m surprised that they voted to keep it. You must be able to see it for miles…”
CONCEPTUALIZATION — Eight stories loud, painted over the corpse of a failed real estate venture. A reminder, a call to action, and a threat, all rolled into one. Constant and inescapable. Oh, yeah. *This* is good stuff.
EMPATHY — It makes the lieutenant uncomfortable.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — That’s the point.
YOU — “How would you have voted?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “I wouldn’t have,” he says drily. “I didn’t live here.”
“All right, fair enough.” (Drop the subject)
“Cmon, Kim. If you *did* live here, which side would you be on?” (Press him)
KIM KITSURAGI — “I don’t know that it’s about taking sides…” His sentence trails as he considers the mural.
PERCEPTION (Sight) — He glances at you for the briefest of moments, and then away. Almost as if he hadn’t meant to do it.
ESPIRIT DE CORPS [Godly: Success] — You make him uncomfortable in much the same way that the mural does. Representative of truths that he doesn’t know what to make of.
There was a time when he dreamt of things like true love. And heroic deeds, and brilliant discoveries, and aerostatic pilots. A home that belonged to him. A table laden with food and crowded with people. The future and the past were polar opposites in his eyes— one a painful collage of loneliness and ostracization, the other a blank canvas, and all the more beautiful for it. It could be anything.
It did not take long for the present to beat it all out of him. And then he blinked, and he was forty-three and alone, having spent twenty years of his life on stubbornness and spite, trying to prove himself to people who didn’t and still don’t care, at the expense of the people that he should have cared for. And he realized it was too late for him.
YOU — Too late for what…?
EMPATHY — To do or be anything different.
KIM KITSURAGI — “…I don’t know,” he finally says. His voice is level, but quiet. “But I can understand why people wanted it to remain.”
He tears his gaze away from the mural at last and looks at you. “What about you? How did you vote?”
YOU — “I can’t remember.”
KIM KITSURAGI — He grimaces slightly. “Right. Sorry…”
“But I think I would have voted for it to go.”
“But I think I would have voted for it to stay.”
KIM KITSURAGI — “That doesn’t surprise me,” he sighs. “I’m sure the part about wreaking havoc on the middle class especially appealed to you.”
“You know it, comrade.”
“No, it was the part about true love being dead.”
“No, it was the part about new people.”
KIM KITSURAGI — He looks at you strangely. “…Oh? What do you make of it?”
“There’s no such thing as new people. We’re all the same, and we’ll always be the same, walking in the same old circles.”
“Fuck the new people and their new world that we’ll never get to see.”
“I think anyone can become a new person if they try. It’s a call to action.”
“Even if it’s too late for us to be new, I think we can still change. And we can still love each other.”
KIM KITSURAGI — He looks for a moment as if he’s going to say something… and then nothing. His lips purse slightly.
EMPATHY [Formidable: Failure] — It’s hard to say what he thinks of your little thesis. Matters of love are tough on him.
COMPOSURE [Legendary: Success] — But you get the feeling that *something* is happening within the lieutenant. There’s a crack in the dam that’s widening every day, and he knows it. He’s afraid to let it happen, but he’s equally powerless to stop it.
INLAND EMPIRE — You’re afraid, too. You’re both the same brand of coward.
VOLITION — You’re both a lot of things that you don’t have to be. It’s too late to have never been them. But it’s not too late to stop.
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — Stopping is precisely what he’s afraid of. He wonders what of himself will be left if he ceases to be *this.*
That’s selfish. We’re both so selfish.
It would be better if we ceased to be anything at all.
Whatever is left, I’ll still love him.
INLAND EMPIRE — How do you know he *wants* your love?
YOU — I don’t know. But he has it, anyway.
THE NEXT WORLD MURAL — A cold wind rushes past you, sending a chill deep into your bones. Unconsciously, you both step closer to each other. Seeking warmth.
The world is ending. You know it, your neighbor knows it, the dealer knows it, the jailer knows it, the king and all his men know it. All one has to do is look around to see it— the future is curdling into something pale and incorporeal. The infernal machine that is this stupid world is going to blow, sooner rather than later. So what are you doing? Why are you still here? Why is anyone still here?
SOLUTION
You are doing the only thing worth doing. You are living. *Why,* you ask? Try and remember now. Remember your mother’s hand on your shoulder. Remember the taste of a fresh catch. Remember the times when you were kind to the dogs in the valley and they did not bare their teeth. Remember the weight of a child on your shoulders. Remember the stars throwing their light against the wall of sodium and smog. Remember singing until your throat was raw. Remember crying just as loudly and publicly, and the gentleness with which someone opened your curled fist and pressed a handkerchief into your palm. Crying, laughing, running, eating, screaming, haunting, loving, fighting, fighting, fighting. The fight fuels you, and you fuel the fight. You run yourself ragged just for a chance to keep running. You never stop. You cannot stop. The world depends on it. *You* are the infernal engine. You are the world. And, simply put: you want to live.
Suggestion/request if you need any, maybe Kim and Jean talking after Kim joins Precinct 41?
PERCEPTION (Hearing) [Medium: Success] — Wait. You can hear voices just outside the window. Familiar voices. If you concentrate, you can just make out what they’re saying through the pitifully thin glass.
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “…smoke Drouins, too?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “I’m giving them a try.”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Oh, *hell* yeah. You should go join them for a smoke.
SUGGESTION — Or… hang around by the window for a minute or two first.
YOU — What? Why?
SUGGESTION — Oh, come on, Harry. Aren’t you a *little* curious about what those two talk about when you’re not around?
INLAND EMPIRE — You don’t want to know. Don’t even think about it. Lock that thought away with her letter and anything else that might hurt you.
YOU — Isn’t it wrong to eavesdrop?
SUGGESTION — You’re not eavesdropping, you’re just getting a breath of fresh air by the window! It’s not *your* fault that your two closest friends also just so happened to be having a smoke right outside the same window. The precinct is public property, anyway. If this was a private conversation, wouldn’t they have it on *private* property?
ENCYCLOPEDIA — I think you’re confusing private ownership with privacy.
SUGGESTION — Oh, look, a new copotype. Grammar Cop.
They’re my friends, so I should respect their privacy. (Step away from the window)
They’re my friends, so they wouldn’t be talking about anything they wouldn’t talk to *me* about, right? (Eavesdrop)
INLAND EMPIRE — You’re too trusting. So are they, it seems. You’re going to be the death of each other, someday.
PERCEPTION (Hearing) [Easy: Success] — You casually lean against the wall beside the window, sipping water from the cooler and listening to the muffled voices outside.
KIM KITSURAGI — “…late nights?”
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Everyone here works late. I’m sure you’ve noticed. But Jude and Trant have kids to look after…”
EMPATHY — He’s got nobody. That’s something you and he have always had in common.
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “This late, it’s usually just me and Harry.” He pauses, perhaps to take a drag from his cigarette. “…And you?” He asks more than says it.
KIM KITSURAGI — “And me.” His voice is flat and quiet.
EMPATHY — He’s got nobody, too.
JEAN VICQUEMARE — Another long pause. You can see Jean’s hand suddenly come into view through the glass.
COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] — Don’t panic! He’s just flicking the ash from his cigarette. See, it’s fine. If you’d flinched, they might have seen you.
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “How’s the Drouin?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Not bad. I might make the switch.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Ha. I like them better than Astras, but most people disagree.”
KIM KITSURAGI — He gives a noncommittal sort of hum, nothing more.
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Any reason for the switch?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Just wanted to try something new,” he says lightly.
DRAMA — A lie if I ever heard one, sire.
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — Astras remind him of Martinaise. Of loneliness. Smokers on rooftops and balconies and in traffic jams. A corpse on the boardwalk. A corpse that could have been *you.*
-1 MORALE
INLAND EMPIRE — I told you not to listen.
SUGGESTION — No, no, surely if you listen long enough, you’ll hear something *good* about yourself.
Walk away.
Keep listening.
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “…Can I ask you an unprofessional question?”
KIM KITSURAGI — He hesitates, just briefly. “I suppose.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Why the hell did you agree to transfer here? I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’re glad to have you.” A pause. “Well, more like we were totally fucked without you.” Another pause. “Okay, we’re still fucked, just less fucked. But you could have stayed at the harbor and *not* been fucked.”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — If only there was as much fucking going on around here as he makes it sound.
KIM KITSURAGI — “Hm… I suppose I could have.” He pauses for a smoke. “But I think that the 41st will be… more important in the grand scheme of things than the G.R.I.H.”
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — “UN JOUR SERAI DE RETOUR PRÈS DE TOI.” Whatever is coming, he feels it’s going to come here first.
KIM KITSURAGI — “And like I said, I’ve been wanting to try something new.” You can almost hear the smile in those words.
DRAMA — But they are still not entirely truthful. Oh, he *does* long for something new. That part was the truth, sire. But he won’t find it here. Deep down, he knows it. And there you find the lie he tells himself over and over again, every day he reports for duty.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — “Nulla sarà cambiato della luce.” Nothing will be changed about the light. Nothing will ever be changed…
PERCEPTION (Hearing) — Silence falls, so lengthy that you almost think that they must have finished their cigarettes and started their way back. And then—
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “I thought maybe it had something to do with the shitkid.”
COMPOSURE — To call the following silence “loaded” would be a massive understatement.
YOU — Oh… I don’t know if I want to hear this…
INLAND EMPIRE — Leave now. Please, just leave.
SUGGESTION — Stay! They care about you, that’s what they’re going to say!
INLAND EMPIRE — That’s what makes it all so sad.
Spare yourself.
Stay.
KIM KITSURAGI — “…And if it did?” His voice is calm, like deep, still water.
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Then I was going to warn you not to bet everything on a losing dog.” His voice is calm, too. That’s what hurts the most. “You haven’t known Harry long enough to see the pendulum swing the other way. And it *will* swing, Lieutenant. It’ll happen right when you start to think that maybe it won’t. And then things will get uglier than you ever thought possible.”
DRAMA — …He isn’t lying, sire. Nor is he trying to intimidate the lieutenant. He believes every word he’s saying.
YOU — Wait, so then… then it’s true? All the progress I’ve made… is it worthless?
INLAND EMPIRE — Nulla sará cambiato…
VOLITION — No. He’s waiting for the past to repeat itself. But it doesn’t have to, Harry. At least, not always in the same way. Don’t lose hope.
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “…I’m not trying to be cruel.” His voice suddenly softens. Saddens. “I just don’t want you to end up with regrets. There’s no fixing that guy, Kim. People have tried.”
EMPATHY — *He* has tried. And for his troubles, he’s had all sorts of cruelties hurled at him. Humiliation, abuse, betrayal. Broken promise after broken promise. He’s almost exhausted any hope he ever had.
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — Almost, but not quite. That’s what hurts him the most.
-1 MORALE
INLAND EMPIRE — You’ll die at this rate.
VOLITION — Why are you doing this to yourself? Their words are not ironclad truth. You don’t need their permission to live. And you *definitely* don’t need to hurt yourself like this.
SUGGESTION — It doesn’t matter. You don’t have a choice anymore. You *need* to hear this.
Stay.
KIM KITSURAGI — An uncomfortable shuffle of nylon can be heard, even through the window. “…I appreciate your concern,” he says stiffly. And that’s *all* he says.
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — He knows he doesn’t sound like he means it, but he does. And he also knows that Vicquemare will be embarrassed, maybe even hurt, by the curt response. But he can’t think of a single word to say.
EMPATHY — It’s hard for him to face people head on like this. It’s easier when he has something to hide behind. Like you and your antics.
PERCEPTION (Hearing) — A long sigh. You’re not sure whose it is.
JEAN VICQUEMARE — And then you see Jean’s hand toss his cigarette butt into the grass. “Well, who knows? Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re some kind of miracle worker. I mean, two of you apparently *attract* miracles. You know, with your pheromones.”
KIM KITSURAGI — “He wasn’t talking about *our*… khm. Actually, never mind. Let’s not start the cryptid thing again.”
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Yeah, let’s not.” He sounds a little gruff as he says it.
EMPATHY — He is sad that no miracle ever happened for him, and angry that it came for someone else at all. But most of all, it hurts him that your miracle was someone else.
YOU — I’m sorry for forgetting…
EMPATHY — Forgetting what?
The things he did for me.
The things I did to him.
Why I am the way I am.
All of it.
EMPATHY — He can’t hear you, Harry.
VOLITION — There’s no point in being sorry for how everything played out. Your relationships with them, your sobriety, the case, the Insulindian miracle— all of it is as much a product of circumstance as anything else. A matter of who was in the right place at the right time. All you can do now is choose what to do with what came of it.
That is why they’ve run out of things to say now. They are sad and uncertain, but they have chosen to carry that. What do you choose?
To tell them I don’t need their fucking pity.
To be sorry all the same.
To distance them from me before the pendulum swings.
To make sure they never leave me alone to die.
I don’t know. I want to do what’s right, but I don’t know what that looks like.
VOLITION — None of us really do, Harry. Just do your best.
KIM KITSURAGI — “…I’m not trying to fix him.” His words come out clunky and awkward. Sudden, as if he said them against his better judgment.
JEAN VICQUEMARE — “Uh huh.” He sounds doubtful.
KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant clears his throat. “That is to say… I believe he can get better. He *is* getting better. But I don’t think… Well, let’s call it a… a chronic problem.” He clears his throat again, clearly uncomfortable.
EMPATHY — It’s hard for him to say that he doesn’t think you’ll ever put it all behind you. It makes him feel callous.
KIM KITSURAGI — “But… I think that’s all right. We all have things we simply have to learn to live with. But we do live with them. And I think he’s getting better at living with… with everything,” he finishes, trying to put it as delicately as possible. “That is all I can ask of him.”
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — Maybe someday, he’ll tell you and Jean about all the things he has learned to live with, and the times when he very nearly didn’t. But not today.
JEAN VICQUEMARE — You hear the click of a lighter. Another cigarette. “…I see. Well, if he’s made any progress, he probably owes it to you.” He makes a valiant effort to conceal the bitterness in his voice.
KIM KITSURAGI — “No,” he says quietly, “I don’t think so. I think… Well, it doesn’t really matter what I think.”
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — A freshly cleaned room. A little girl come in from the cold. A handkerchief pressed into the hands of a working class woman. A wall with the words “I LOVE YOU CUNO” painted in giant red letters. Dancing ecstatically around a hole in the world. He remembers it all, but he is at a loss for the words to explain the true miracle of it all. He wishes that Jean could have seen it and understood.
honestly the way Jean treats Kim is just as dehumanizing as he treats Harry, just you know. through a different lens. a very racial one.
he ignores him entirely until the end of the game, once he realizes that Kim isn’t just some random Seolite cop, he’s the important Seolite cop.
and the way he tries to kiss up to him as a superior officer while completely disrespecting his experience and what he actually has to say. I think is very transparent. he dismisses Kim's evaluation of Harry as 'bewitched' as naive and unreliable.
and if Kim is shot he ignores Kim’s orders to cover Harry who's been left in Martinaise (and in fact later lies to Harry that Kim is dying, not just ignoring his responsibility to cover Harry but taking out Kim’s justified anger against him onto Harry instead)
like Jean doesn’t like Kim, you guys. that’s not respect. he doesn’t go there because he cares about Kim, who he’s ignored all week. he goes there to play politics with a superior officer because he’s building his case against Harry. his behavior with Kim is downright slimy. and Kim isn’t fooled. he's furious.
do you write for mr scarletella? :) if so, may i request jealous scarlet who makes attempts to get closer to reader (court them) after seeing how close they are to mr crawling
persistence is key
That creepy smile grows on his face. "You like me," he says like it’s a fact.
“What the- what?” You share a glance with Mr. Crawling. “You slow in head?”
‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮ yeah idk, lowkey some enemies to (potential) lovers, i have no idea how to characterise mr scarletella, but i tried my best and then i kinda got a little too invested in trying to spin the fic the way i wanted and wrote a little more than usual... sorry if ur disappointed, i tried to keep the whole courting/jealous thing subtle but still kinda there >w<
warnings. canon typical violence >w<
You’re not sure when you met the man in red, but you know he’s stalking you now. And it’s getting seriously old. Unlike the ghosts and monsters you’ve had the pleasure of meeting, this one doesn’t know how to take a hint.
Your first unofficial encounter with him is something that sent shivers down your spine, tucked away under Mr. Crawling’s arm and clutching onto his kimono for dear life. The second encounter was much worse- separated from your other worldly protector and left running down an almost comically long and creepy hallway where he just magically appears in front of you.
You don’t even think twice before you smash the crowbar into his form with all your strength, but it was futile the way he flickered? in front of your own eyes and left a weird moist residue on your weapon. You scowled, and rudely pointed a finger at him- “What the hell’s your problem, dude?”
In response, he leaned in close- so close that your nose nearly touched his. The tilt of his scarlet umbrella cast a dark shadow over you, and as he peered down, one black eye appeared from behind his hair, locking onto you with a soul-piercing stare. You felt stripped bare under that gaze, vulnerable and exposed, like he was seeing straight into your core, uncovering forgotten memories, pieces of yourself even you couldn’t remember. He smiled—a slow, unsettling curl of his lips that chilled you to your bones—and said something you didn’t understand. It sounded like a question, maybe, though you couldn’t be sure. You didn’t care. You spat out a few choice words and swung again, hard.
At least for a while, he left you alone.
Has it been days, weeks, or even months since you’ve got here? It was difficult to keep track, and it was difficult to even care anymore. The place was, without a doubt, growing on you by the day. Even if it was filled with hostile creatures that wanted to eat you sometimes, and when your skin started to get discoloured and you had the inhuman itch that just could never be satisfied- it wasn’t that bad! Hell, you even made a few friends and claimed a comfortable bed in some random room you found.
However, just as you finally started settling into the place, you had your third encounter with Mr. Scarletella.
It started with a dream- from before you came to this world. That man in red… A test of courage, your friends called it- spending a night in those so-called ‘Ghost Apartments.’ Your friends hadn’t known it then, but you were quite familiar with the building for reasons, and set yourself up in a cosy corner and the night was supposed to sail smoothly.
A rumour had surfaced- a tale of a ruin that appears only on rainy days, where you’re warned never to give your name to the figure you’ll meet there. That figure, they said, would take your soul. At the end of a dim hallway, standing silently under a scarlet umbrella, he was waiting. The man in red, eyes hidden beneath his hair. He was watching you. Or was he? Somehow you could feel his stare even if you couldn’t see it.
You woke up, heart pounding, muttering a string of curses. You groan, rubbing a hand down your face. The discoloration of your skin hadn’t gotten any worse, but it hadn’t gotten better, either. The longer you stayed here, the more the place left its mark. As long as you remained relatively human, and the only thing this place took from you was your memory, you weren’t too fussed. How could you possibly miss something from the other world when all you could remember was smashing a crowbar into someone’s head?
You swing your legs over the bed, feet touching the cold ground. The chill sent a jolt up your spine, and it was almost too tempting to get back under the cosy, warm sheets. You stretch your arms above your head, bones cracking and popping into place and mumble a hazy ‘Good morning’ to Mr. Crawling that should have been in the other bed. Silence wasn’t something you were used to around him- and you whip around so fast that you gave yourself whiplash.
Cursing, you grab your crowbar and stumble out of the room with a hand rubbing your tender neck. You didn’t need to look far- you could see Mr. Crawling at the end of the hallway.
And Mr. Scarletella.
The man in red was bent over to be face to face with Mr. Crawling, all-too-familiar sinister smirk on his face. Mr. Crawling didn’t look so happy either, and they seemed to be having an argument. You stomp your feet as you make your way over to the two, hand tightening on your crowbar as you ready yourself to fight literal static if it meant leaving your best friend in here alone.
“You,” you scowl, pointing your weapon at him. “You problem?”
Mr. Crawling scurries to your side, a hand gripping onto your clothes. “Dangerous… should get away!” he urges, tugging.
You shush him with a pat on his head with your free hand and continue to glare at that menace.
“You like them?” is the only thing Mr. Scarletella asks with a tilt of his head, smile seemingly disappearing into thin air.
Glancing at Mr. Crawling, his face covered in worry- you feel the familiar itch of your skin. You take a breath, going through all the reasons why you can’t actually kill Mr. Scarletella, and loosen the grip on your crowbar. From what you can sense right now, he’s not actually that much of a threat. Just a nuisance that can’t seem to leave you alone.
“Them friend,” you reply, deadpan. What type of question was that anyway? This guy was a freak.
That creepy smile grows on his face. "You like me," he says like it’s a fact.
“What the- what?” You share a glance with Mr. Crawling. You turn back to Mr. Scarletella. “You slow in head?”
The smile on Mr. Scarletella’s face falters just for a moment, but it quickly returns, more chilling than before. He stands there, towering above you. Despite your snarky comment, he doesn’t look offended- no, it’s almost as if he’s intrigued by your resistance.
You tighten your hold on the crowbar. “You problem.” You frown. “Go away.”
Instead, his grin deepens, his head tilting at such an unnatural angle that you can feel your stomach churn. It’s as though he’s studying you, savouring every little bit of your discomfort. Surely, turning your head at that angle is gonna hurt… You audibly gulp.
“Problem later,” Mr. Scarletella says, and with an unsettling flicker, he’s gone.
The next time you saw him after that was in less tense circumstances. It was unsettling after whatever that was with his coy little ‘Problem later’, you weren’t going to worry too much about it for the time being. You decided you’ll worry about it when the problem occurs, which probably wasn’t the smartest of ideas you had.
The earth shakes, and you’re completely cut off from Mr. Crawling. Wandering down hallways, resting in random rooms- you never really felt alone. You turn a corner, dizziness growing by the minute, and pause.
“You again,” you sigh. You don’t even bother lifting your crowbar at him. “What do you want?”
He appears directly in front of you, causing you to stumble back a few steps at just how tall he is. He bends down to your eye level, umbrella covering both of you once again. “Give name?” he asks.
“No. Go away.”
“Give name. Teach.”
“Go away!”
“Teach name.”
“Fine! My name’s… you pause. You didn’t actually have to give him your real name, did you? “...Silvair, or something.”
He gets closer to your face. You take another few steps back, but not before you get the smell of blood and dampness off of him. It takes all the willpower in your body to not scrunch your face up.
“Wrong name.”
“So what? It’s a name.” You scoff. Mr. Scarletella is silent, eerily so, and you can feel his piercing gaze stare through you once more. You awkwardly avoid eye contact, and clear your throat. “I’m… gonna go now, okay?” You turn on your feet and only make it a few steps.
“You teach them name?”
Them? Mr. Crawling? That guy doesn’t even understand the concept of his own name! The scowl feels as if it’s permanently etched onto your face. You whip around, pointing another disapproving finger into his red raincoat. It feels fuzzy… and wet. It grosses you out, almost. More than Mr. Gap’s greasy hair.
“No,” you hiss. “I don’t even remember my own name.” He stares, silently. “Me,” you point to yourself, “not know name.”
“...Not know name?” he echoes. What you said has him lost, you could see that.
Just like that, he’s gone again. You don’t see him for a few more days, nor do you find Mr. Crawling. You spend your time aimlessly wandering, knowing eventually you’ll most likely find someone you know in a friendly manner, and not pondering if every ghost you come across is a friend or a foe.
You awake promptly to a sound of a chainsaw revving. As if it was a morning routine, you stumble to your feet, grasping for your crowbar that should have, without a doubt, been next to you… only to grasp at air. Okay, now you are starting to feel a little panic.
Through trial and error, you knew that whatever wound you receive will heal, with time- but it doesn’t mean you were looking forward to being maimed to shreds with a chainsaw!
“Hehe.”
You froze, heart racing, and slowly turn around. There that wretched little being was- the stupid little fucker in the goat costume. The ‘Hooded Child’, the thing was termed. In it’s stupid little fucking hands, it held you handy-dandy crowbar that’s been with you thick and thin. Your stomach churns.
You gulp and face back towards the open doorway- a long black abyss, stretching on and on, with only the haunting bounce of that chainsaw, crawling along the walls. That chainsaw that was about to mince you in a matter of seconds. That chainsaw that was approaching you rapidly.
Frantically, you grab the nearest thing you could reach for. A metal chair. You wince. Probably not the best thing you could’ve grabbed, but it’ll have to do. It’s a matter of- well, technically life or life, but still! You could feel the sweat on your palms, the adrenaline pumping through your veins and your heart hammering through your ribcage.
You lift the chair above your head as the monster comes into view- a tall, masked being in a strapless floor length black dress… wait, why was she dressed so sexy? Your surprise leads you to hesitate as she rushes at you with her machine. You let out a yelp as you whack the chair down in front of you, metal clanging echoing throughout the room.
Complete silence. Not even the sound of that chainsaw. Not even the sound of metal.
“Huh?” You blink, once, twice, thrice at the sliced up body of that creature, blood splatter on your clothes. There was blood even on the ceiling, too… You drop the chair in utter confusion. “What the hell?”
“Help you.”
“You again!” You spin on your feet, meeting the dull eyes of Mr. Scarletella. You’re about to huff and puff this guy into next week, but pause. You leave your accusing finger down by your side. This guy just saved you from that thing. You avert your eyes and scuff your feet against the ground with a cough into your fist. “Uhm… Thank you.”
Wow, this guy really has an intense stare… Way to make things unnecessarily intense and awkward.
“Protect you,” he says. “You like me?”
“Take me out to dinner first, man!” you exclaim, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not like. You not bad. Not good. You okay.”
Mr. Scarletella dons an out of place frown that even makes you feel a little uneasy. “Them protect you. You like them.”
“Them friend,” you stress, finally meeting his gaze once more. You kind of regret it. This guy doesn’t blink. “You…” Weird? Off-putting? Freaky? “...unsafe.”
“Me safe. Protect you. Help you.”
You sigh. “Unsafe to friend.”
He just stands there, holding that stupid umbrella, with that unblinking stare. You blink at him and squint your eyes. His facial expression doesn’t change. Completely unfazed. You can’t even tell if he’s confused, or upset, or whatever he could possibly be. Your breath hitches as his unsettlingly familiar smile returns.
He tilts his head. “Me good. Me show you.”
Then he’s gone again. You can finally breathe. Your heart is still pumping. You slide against the wall, landing on the ground and resting your head against your knees. You clutch at your raincoat with shaking fists.
Mr. Scarletella - you knew he was meant to be dangerous, but he just saved you a whole lot of pain. Even if he was still a threat to Mr. Crawling, and hounds you for your name, asks you weird questions, could he honestly be as bad as you originally thought he was? You can’t deny that he did save you… but his presence is more dangerous than comforting. He’s both a threat and an aid, but never clear on which he’ll be at any given moment. One thing is for certain, however, and that was that he was persistent for your attention. Wait…
Oh my good God, does he like you?
“Heh…” Chuckling, you tuck your hair behind your ear. “I am pretty cute.”
You stand, and decide it’s better to think about while on the move back to Mr. Crawling. You reach for your crowbar, and curse. Of course. The Hooded Child took it with them when they disappeared when Mr. Stalkerella showed up. Well, you sigh as you drag the chair behind you as you exit the room, at least you have a temporary weapon, for now…
Making it back to Mr. Crawling didn’t take that much longer. He greets you, frown on his face and long arms wrapping around your waist. “Me worried! You gone long time!”
“Long time,” you agree, bending down to his level. You ruffle his hair, a smile finally sliding onto your face. It quickly turns into a pout as you wave your empty hands. “Lost attack tool.”
Mr. Crawling points to the spilled blood on your raincoat with a high pitched noise. You sheepishly giggle, and gesture to the chair behind you. He tilts his head, processing, before letting out his all familiar laugh. You sigh in content, glad to see a friendly face and let him pet you for a while.
He stops petting you, and turns around. “Attack tool!” he smiles wide, your trusty weapon in his grey hands. “Them give me.”
“Them?” you repeat, taking the crowbar, twisting and turning it in your grasp. “Them who?”
“Them!”
Curse this damn language.
“Mr. Crawling,” you hold his face in your hands, “what look like?”
His smile falters, and if you could see his eyebrows, you’d imagine they would be furrowed. He takes a moment to think, and points to the blood on your raincoat, and attempts to imitate holding an…
Umbrella.
You stare. And stare. And stare. You can’t even begin to process what Mr. Crawling just said to you, debating maybe you actually were growing crazy and it was finally time to bounce out of this place- andddd of course, you notice a red flicker at the end of the hallway. You tilt your head past Mr. Crawling.
That scarlet umbrella tilts slightly, and just for a split second, you catch a glimmer of that piercing dark eye staring straight at you, as if watching every nerve fire under your skin. You can see his smile from here, as if it was a smug ‘I told you so’ but it was actually a ‘Me show you.’
Well… Mr. Scarletella did show you. And now you were just left, to put it simply, utterly fucking confused. It just drilled the narrative down deeper of the possibility that he did like you. So… what do you do now? Do you apologise for trying to smash his head in with a crowbar? For being so rude?
How do you even apologise for something you don’t even remotely feel sorry for in the first place? Mr. Scarletella was creepy! …At least, he was kind of sweet. Not really- his intentions were anything but kind. But still!
You bite the inside of your cheek. …Is it wrong to feel a little flattered? There’s barely any romance in this place anyway!
In your world, things are either friend or foe, monster or protector. But Mr. Scarletella? He exists in some in-between place. Dangerous yet helpful. It’s as if he’s deliberately defying every category you try to force him into. And now, the memory of his unsettling question repeats in your mind- “You like me?” - echoing in your thoughts with a kind of twisted innocence that gnaws at you, a bit more with each repetition.
Mr. Crawling gives a soft, anxious chirp, tugging you slightly, drawing you out of your thoughts. He’s still eyeing the red figure warily. He points. “Them… dangerous? Them good?”
“Not know,” you mumble, defeated. “Good, maybe.” You stand to your feet, crowbar falling off of your lap and clanging onto the floor. “Me, them, talk. You stay.”
Mr. Crawling makes a noise of protest, hand reaching out to grasp at your clothes. You reassuringly ruffle his hair once more, and make your way to the end of the hallway. You don’t hear him follow behind you.
Face to face, you stand in front of the smiling Mr. Scarletella. He stares down at you, unblinking, unmoving.
“Can’t give name,” you remind him.
He leans his face down, ever so close. “Me like you.” A pause. “Want you.” Another pause. “You like me. Give me many human. Give me many blood.”
Well… In your defence, you didn’t know your corpse dumping ground was Mr. Scarletella’s domain.
“Getting in over your own head…” you grumble, and lift up your hand. You pinch your fingers together. “Little like you. Okay? LITTLE.” You wonder if this guy’s smile could get any bigger, geez… “You want big like?” You point your index towards him. “Be normal. Be good. Understand?”
“Normal? “Good?” He seems to chew over the words like they’re a foreign delicacy, his head tilting at that unnatural angle again. “For… you?”
“You good,” you waggle your finger at him, “I teach name. Maybe. If I can remember it…”
There’s an unnatural, prolonged silence in the air. You’re beginning to feel the awkward tension once more, but your resolve refuses you to break the unblinking eye contact you keep with him.
And finally, he speaks once more, agreeing to your proposition, “You teach good, you teach name.”
You hold back your groan- whatever this dance you two were playing, was going to take a long time to progress.
But at least something is better than nothing, right?
Okay so. Limbus Theory Time. But I'd be lame if I did a theory about the soon-to-release (hopefully) Canto VI, so instead I'm doing Don Quixote Theory Hours.
Okay so, let me lay out my thought process. In the latest released piece of content for the main game, "Risk Levels and Classifications" I believe it's called, Don Quixote seems to recognize the name Moses. To me, this implies that she has either met or been in proximity to Moses in the past.
Furthermore, in Canto IV, Don is basically the first person to realize Dongrang is Distorting, and says something about it before even Faust can. This says to me that she has been involved in cases of Distortion in the past, since she recognizes the signs before anyone else. Before this point, supposedly none of the Sinners have seen someone Distort. There was Papa Bongy in Canto 3.5, but the group only arrived after he had Distorted.
If Don Quixote really has been involved in a Distortion case, then it'd make sense that she either knows of, or my theory, has met Moses, the Distortion Detective.
Going even further back, to Canto III, Don beats the shit out of Sinclair when he stabs a dead inquisitor repeatedly, and says that her friends had done similar to her in the past when she had been "overtaken by fervor."
What has, to this point in the game, been the most effective method of "curing" the Distortion? What method has worked on Papa Bongy, Dongrang, and Distorted Bamboo-Hatted Kim?
Beating them up.
It is my theory that, in the past, Don Quixote has Distorted. And she was saved from her Distortion by her old friends "beating some sense" into her.
Past this point is stuff I don't really have much evidence for, but want to talk about anyway. So here's your warning that we're going from "mildly substantiated speculation" to "complete spitballing."
I think that Don Quixote has not only Distorted once in the past, but potentially multiple times. The way Don speaks about when she's been beaten by her friends says to me that it has happened multiple times before. So I don't think this Distortion is juts a one-off thing. She either has Distorted, or been on the verge of Distorting, multiple times before.
Furthermore, I want to look at exactly when Don notices Dongrang's imminent Distortion.
Don notices that Dongrang is about to Distort when he begins talking to somebody who isn't present. As we've seen in every Distortion victim and potential Distortion victim, from Philip, to Yan, to Xiao, to Vergilius, to Dongrang, they all speak with Carmen before they Distort. It's well-established at this point that Carmen is the one who causes people to Distort.
My theory is that Don has spoken with Carmen, perhaps many times, due to her past Distortion. This is why she recognized Dongrang's imminent Distortion, due to the context she knew he was speaking with Carmen. Don isn't stupid, she's been shown to be able to deduce things quite easily as long as she has the background knowledge to do so.
Not only has Don Distorted before, and not only has she spoken with Carmen in the course of it, and not only has she Distorted multiple times in the past, but I think she has some kind of "Recurring Distortion" caused by Carmen not being willing to let up on Don. And I also think that she is still at risk of Distorting, even as she rides on the bus with all of the other Sinners.
Don Quixote always acts like a hero of justice, a valiant knight who respects those who keep the peace and fights to stop injustice and villains all over the City. And yet, we know she doesn't really believe this delusion of grandeur she has. As far back as Canto II, in the scene with the mariachi gang, we've been able to see a side of Don that's much more grounded in reality. The gang even brought up the idea that Don is insincere.
I believe the reason for Don's personality is that she's constantly battling Carmen. If Carmen is really trying to get Don to Distort, she may be attacking Don's sense of justice. Something along the lines of, "You can't really help people, injustice can't be eliminated by just one person." Possibly even telling Don that if she Distorts and accepts this fact, she can do more to combat injustice than she can right now.
I don't think Don's love of justice and hatred of villains is a lie, but I do think her old-timey speak and her sheer dedication aren't sincere. The sheer amount of trouble Don causes when she sees an injustice, and her lack of ability to restrain herself, I don't think can be put up to an act. So what is it?
As I said before, I think she's battling Carmen. Whether she's trying to prove she can serve justice all on her own, without Carmen's help, or whether she's trying to delude herself so hard that Carmen can't get in anymore, I don't know. But I think her act is all an attempt to stop her "Recurring Distortion" phenomenon.
If Limbus knows about her past Distorting, there's a chance they've had her talk with the LCD. If this is true, then it's another potential avenue through which Don has learned of Moses, if Moses and Don didn't meet in Moses' Distortion Detection.
If Don is also at constant risk of Distorting, then this could be involved with the "deal" that she's made with Vergilius. It's possible he sees her deranged behavior as a warning sign of Distortion.
It's possible that Don saw an "injustice" and attempted to right it when she joined Limbus Company, and her being unable to do so caused her to Distort. The "deal" could have been that she wouldn't put herself at risk of Distorting. But this is all just wild speculation.
In short, I think Don is a constant Distortion risk. Carmen saw her emotional instability and intense desire for justice, and decided she could use that to get Don to Distort. Because she is a prime candidate for Distortion.
But there's one more thing I haven't brought up, and that's Don's "friends." The people who stopped her from fully Distorting in the past by beating sense into her. Who were these people?
I don't know. Not conclusively anyway. But I have an idea.
The Udjats.
To be transparent, I did not come up with this theory. But I think it makes at least a little sense. The Udjats, and their leader Dias, seem to be quite invested in Distortions. They would know what to do in the case of one of their own beginning to Distort. It's possible that Don joined the Udjats because she thought they were just, or through some other reason entirely. Again, I have no real evidence of this.
If Don was an Udjat at some point, or knew them in some way, then that'd be another potential route she knew Moses. Moses was once a relatively high rank in the Udjats, and continued being under Dias' thumb long afterwards, as shown by her still having to do work for Dias during the time of Distortion Detective.
All together, this is a bunch of barely-substantiated theories, but I think they make just enough sense to be put out there. "Don has Distorted in the past" is the one I'm most confident in, while, "Don was an Udjat at some point" is one I'm very much not super confident in. But I think it's food for thought.
[[ Source. Original creator: wats6831. Additional information and images linked under each one. Love this project? Support it here! ]]
Universal:
Homemade artisan herb bread, home grown and dried apples and prunes, uncured beef sausage, munster cheese. Made a small bag from cheesecloth and tied it closed.
Discussion thread here.
Human:
Waterdhavian oat loaf (handmade irish soda bread, fresh smoked ham shank, “dessert” pear, Corm Orp “mountain” bleu cheese served on butternut squash, imported Saerloon broccoflower (Romanesco), mixed garden vegetables (carrots and radishes), Misty Forest chestnuts.
More images here. Discussion thread here.
Dwarf:
Garlic chicken livers, smoked and peppered cheese, spiced pork sausages, hard tack, dried vegetables, dried wild mushrooms.
Discussion thread here.
Elf:
Top left to right: Evereskan Honey Comb, Elven Travel Bread (Amaretto Liquer Cake with custom swirls), Lurien Spring Cheese (goat cheese with garlic, salt, spices and shallots), Delimbyr Vale Smoked Silverfin (Salmon), Honey Spiced Lichen (Kale Chips), and Silverwood Pine Nuts.
Discussion thread here.
Halfling:
From upper left: “Honeytack” Hard tack honey cakes, beef sausage, pork sausage mini links, mini whole wheat toast, cranberry cheddar cheese mini wedge, mini pickles, pumpkin and sunflower seeds, lower right is my homemade “travel cake” muesli with raisins, golden prunes, honey, eggs and cream.
Discussion thread here.
Half-Orc:
Wrapped in cheesecloth and tied in burlap package. Forest strider drumsticks, molasses sweet wheat bread “black strap”, aged Munster, hard boiled eggs, mixed wild nuts.
Discussion thread here.
Orc:
Orcs aren’t known for their great cuisine. Orcs prefer foods that are readily available (whatever can be had by raiding), and portable with little preparation, though they have a few racial delicacies. Toughs strips of lean meat, bones scavenged from recent kills, and dark coarse bread make up the bulk of common orc rations.Fire roasted rothe femur (marrow is a rare treat) [beef femur], Strips of dried meat (of unknown origin) [homemade goose jerky], foraged nuts, only edible by orcs….nut cracker tusks [brazil nuts], coarse black bread, made with whatever grains can be pillaged [black sesame bread], Pungent peppers [Habanero peppers stuffed with smoked fish and olives].
More images here. Discussion thread here.
Gnome:
Pan fried Delimbyr smelt, spiced goat cheese (paprika crusted hand pressed Fontina), Gnome shortbread (savory pistachio), glass travel jar filled with Secomber Red (wine), hard boiled quail eggs packed in rolled oats (to keep safe), dried figs from Calimshan, and Southwood smoked goat sausage (blood sausage).
More images here. Discussion thread here.
Duergar (gray dwarves):
The Duergar (gray dwarves) are the hated subterranean cousins of the surface dwelling Shield dwarves. Vast Duergar kingdoms exist in the Underdark beneath Toril’s surface. Duergar are known for their foul tempers, penchant for cruelty, grim and bitter dispositions. Their food is as coarse and uncouth as they are. Clockwise from top left: Sour Deep rothé pepper cheese (Limburger), boiled Deep rothé kidney (whole beef kidney), foraged roots and tubers; skirret and Fellroot (ginger and turmeric roots), contorted strangler fungus (Enoki mushrooms), onion & mushroom gravy hand pies (Morel mushroom with shallot and dill in cream sauce).
More images here. Discussion thread here.
Lizardfolk (This is a MEAL/feast and not a travel ration):
Lizardfolk are known to be omnivores, forage for a surprising variety of foods found within the confines of their marshy environs, in this case the Lizard Marsh near Daggerford. Fresh caught boiled Delimbyr Crayfish on wild chives, coastal carrageen moss entrapping estuary brine shrimp (irish moss, dried brine shrimp), Brackish-Berries (blackberries), Blackened Dart-Frog legs (frog legs) on spring sprouts (clover sprouts), roasted bog bugs on a stick!
More images here. Discussion thread here.
Drow (This is a MEAL/Party Fare and not a travel ration):
From top left: Menzoberranzan black truffle rothe cheese (Black Knight Tilsit), Donigarten Moss Snails (Escargot in shallot butter sauce), Blind cave fish caviar in mushroom caps (Lumpfish caviar), faerzress-infused duck egg imported from the surface Realms (Century egg), Black velvet ear fungus (Auricularia Black Fungus Mushroom).
More images here. Discussion thread here.
Svirfneblin (deep gnome) (This is a MEAL/Party Fare and not a travel ration):
Underdark radishes, mushrooms and edible mosses. Rothé tongue (cow tongue) and rothé cheeses, which are made with wine to be eaten on the side as well as in plain varieties that can be melted into the mushroom caps.
More images here.
Mind Flayer/Illithid (This is a MEAL/Party Fare and not a travel ration):
A Mind Flayer dwelling in the Underdark of the Forgotten Realms might celebrate a special event with a smorgasbord of illithid delicacies. Center: An extra large brain (former minotaur servant who did not go quietly) plated on tinged cerebrospinal fluid. Right: peeled kuo-toa eyeballs in serous fluid (with mithral eating pick) TOP RIGHT: green mushroom wine TOP: drow slave heart (tastes better than human) with savory sanguine sauce. All served amongst various potion bottles, scroll and alchemical vessel.
More images here. Discussion thread here. Some “making of” and reaction photos here.
Ogre Holiday Platter (This is a MEAL/Party Fare and not a travel ration):
Ogres are well known for legendary feats of horrendous brutality, torture, and savagery. It’s no surprise they consider flayed skin, fingers, toes and ears (especially elf ears) as special delicacies. Ogres revel in the misery of others. Crushing the smaller races…then eating their crispy bits is considered a true perverse joy, worthy of what passes for brutal ogre celebration. Paired alongside campfire roasted rabbit and coarse grain bread.
Help! I am Obsessed with the Merchant! (The One Within the Villainess)
This was a color edit I did after reading The One Within the Villainess and post this way earlier on Reddit.
I am obsessed with this guy and I can’t help freaking help it!😭😭 That I am so weirdly obsessed with him, I post this on Reddit cuz I want to know I ain’t alone and How it will be interesting (And Better, it is like there are so many ✨spice✨ you can do with this) if he was the ML for our ✨Badass Queen Remilia✨ (Malewife and GirlBoss Dynamic-)
And if they ever showed the official “ML”, I will still stan my boi, Thorne the Shopkeeper/Merchant, and still prefer him over the official ML.
