if you badly need the character and all your art is turning out shit and your writing is bad and your reading comprehension is acutely nerfed by brain fog and you’ve no money for commissions never forget there is always the old reliable playlist curation option
finally attempting to make good on my promise to reread the homestuck intermission. absolutely delighted that the first things spades slick does in this arc is set a bunch of clocks on fire for no reason and look under a rug only to find a photograph of jeff foxworthy. this comic rules
So.... I just realised something today. I received a truly wonderful comment on itchio, however, it made me realise that I did not share a very important piece of information about the game.
I thought I did, but clearly, I did not.
The ROs can die. No one is safe in the world. BEFORE YOU LIGHT THE TORCHES LET ME EXPLAIN. The deaths can be avoided! This is just something I planned for because I think it is important that players are rewarded for roleplaying and give weight to their choices.
Basically, at the end of the game, depending on the choices you make and your approval levels with the characters, they can die. This does not mean they have to have high approval to live.
It just means that if you wish to send them on a difficult mission, you should only choose those who have high approval because they are loyal to you and trust you. Whereas those with low approval should be entrusted with low risk missions.
So, if you want to keep everyone alive, choose wisely. I did not lie when I said there would be consequences to your choices. Isn't that more fun?
Once Anko agreed that it wasn’t a bomb, she hit the ground running with the new technology. “This is a translator, and this is secured end to end messaging.” She confirmed, indicating one icon at a time. The mystified ship worker nodded along as she scrolled through all the languages she could translate to. “There’s hundreds of local languages on this land mass but the government language–” she squinted at listings and took a guess. “The locals on this island speak- American English?”
“Close enough,” he said, “it sounds basically the same.”
Anko hummed acknowledgment. “Am En it is.” She picked the setting and began downloading keyboards. “And the civilian who wants to contact me?”
“He claims to be popularly known as the snake master. He wishes to inquire as to your mission with the hopes of advising you.”
Her whole face twitched.
“His name is-” the man checked a note. “Hay Roser.”
“Right,” Anko said, wrestling down extremely normal feelings about serpentine mentorship. “So, how would I do a little bit of background checking on this guy before I meet him?”
The answer turned out to be that you could just search his name and there was information publicly available. Fascinated and aghast, Anko tried searching famous people back home to see what kind of leak they had. There was very little… What existed was almost exclusively the work of some fisherman who had gotten blown far off course and wound up stranded in the outer countries. He had been from Kumo and he had shared, frankly, an unpatriotic amount of information. Anko mentally tallied up what Kumo would pay to have this man dead and congratulated herself on her new garden shed. She kicked her feet and giggled a little bit with glee as she figured out where the ship would dock closest to him.
‘I can get him on the way back, maybe put him in my luggage so I can waive him around Kumo’s face and threaten to release him back where I got his ass if they don’t pay up. Ho ho ho, I’m going to get an in-ground pond.’
Oh, right. The whole reason she had started using the fiery fox was to look at the snake man, Hay. She searched him up. It was nothing like Yamamoto-san’s Tanglr blog of national secrets, strange posts about bone-stealing-witches, and tastefully homoerotic images of bearded pirates. Hay’s online presence was obviously meant as a sort of resume.
That was not to say that Hay-san gave an immediate first impression that conveyed reassurance.
The website was obviously self-promotion and made inexpertly by someone who liked neon. Anko read it judgmentally, and then again with an open mind. It was full of bombastic language and fantastic claims about the long list of people dying for the wisdom of the snake master. It was hard to judge, but there were photos of him handling snakes that added a bit of credibility.
“He says he’s been bitten by lots of venomous snakes,” she told the tank by her bedside. A black-banded sea krate undulated conversationally to show he was listening. Since he was paying attention Anko turned and told him, “He probably knows what he’s doing if he has the most exciting snake shows in the country.” She showed him the screen.
They both looked at a cut-out image of the man himself holding a writhing armful of various snakes. He was wearing a bowling outfit for some reason. There were fake flames behind him and also a cartoon lightning bolt coming from the mouth of a brown snake.
The krate pursed his face up and didn't comment.
Fair enough. Aiko had her own thoughts. For example, what the hell was a snake show? Anko was dying to know.
So she contacted Hay Roser. He must have been waiting for her response, because his replies were instantaneous and about as modest as his website.
“A snake show is an unrivaled spectacle fit for all ages.”
That didn’t really answer what she wanted to know, but it was incredibly intriguing. She asked for clarification.
“Snakes are fit for audiences of all ages! Children especially love snakes.”
Anko felt her eyebrows go up. “Really?” she replied. That lined up with her personal experience being a child, but the chuunin exams had not engendered much surety in the serpentine receptability of children. “Is it younger the better?”
“Yes, before someone teaches them to fear snakes.”
She hummed. That made sense. It was probably a lot easier to love snakes before you were menaced by Orochimaru. You needed a foundation of trust. She needed access to small children, got it.
“I have one tomorrow. Please come. You don’t need a ticket. I want to speak with you in person, about a collaboration. I also want to know what you plan to do about the petition.”
“...The what?” Anko said, to the snakes in her room. A few loose grass snakes lifted their heads to see what she was talking about. “I think I need to find out what he’s talking about.” Who was petitioning her? Or was it a petition about her?
It was time to research herself and see what the locals thought was going on with her, apparently.
