The Radical Revolution: A Quest of Budget Mad Science

Setting your present down on the table, you gave a brief wave to the aunts as you marched to the kitchen, ignoring their titters and words beyond a muttered "Howdy," as you decide to beeline for what might be the best, or at least least worst tactical play you could make at this juncture. You just had to play it cool and you should be able to walk out of here with your dignity and sanity intact: you just had to explain to your mom why you had more or less disappeared for almost an entire year.

"Yo," You said, giving a nod to your mother as you entered the searing white hell of the kitchen, the result of Aunt Carol's fastidious persistence when it came to things like tile polish, fluorescent lights, and white, featureless wallpaper, seperated from the dining room only by a difference in aesthetic and a bar (currently covered in two liters of assorted soft drinks, red solo cups, disposable woodpolymer utensils, and some bioplastic plates) seperating the two physically. "Need any help in here?" You said, quickly scanning the situation even as you felt a dozen eyes stare at you.

Aunt Marva was in the corner making Taco's, standing over a griddle, all the parts of her assembly next to her: a platter of partially fried corn tortillas, a pot of meat and diced potatoes, and a bowl of shredded cheese. Mom was currently basting the turkey, brushing it with a mixture of butter, herbs, and broth before the final stretch of cooking. And Aunt Lucy, the eldest of the Aunts, was chopping more spuds, slicing them with the huge durasteel knife your sister had gifted her the other year: apparently the metallopolymer knife was something Maggy had whipped up in her lab: it would never dull, rust, and it cut through most materials up to and including bone like butter.

...Chances are she had something else from her lab in the Dirty Santa Pile. Meanwhile you, despite having an entire ass lab where you violated the laws of gods and man on a daily basis to create technological marvels, had merely purchased a Grinch themed set of plateware.

...Wow, another reason to feel inferior! You were worse at gifts! "You can take over for me," Lucy said, stepping back, setting the knife down as she clenched and unclenched her hand, a frown on her face. "Cold snap has my arthritis actin' up," She said, rubbing her right hand gently, moving past the bar (currently occupied by Hank pouring some soda for himself) to sit at the dining table, sitting down in one of Aunt Carol's assorted dining chairs.

"Got it, Aunt Lucy," You said, effortlessly sliding in, picking up the knife and- wow, this was butter smooth. If it wasn't for how weirdly chilly the knife was, this would genuinely be in the top three knives you had ever worked with. Number one was the laser scalpel you used to have in college. It cut meat AND medical tissue like you were chopping through nothing but air! "So, uh. Hey, mom," You say, deciding to get this conversation over.

Your mom turned and looked at you, frowning. "May. It's been awhile kiddo. Any reason you didn't call?" She asked, continuing to brush the Turkey.

"I, uh. Was busy, and we don't get a signal out there-"

Your mom rolled her eyes. "May, you haven't been working a job, what could you have possibly been so busy with you couldn't figure out a way to figure out a way to call once?"

+5 Temporary Stress.

You felt your hands tremble a bit, slowing down your chopping even as you began to grip at the knife harder. You breathe in, taking a slow inhale. "I have in fact been working," You say, making sure to keep your voice level. "I've been helping Hank out at the farm. Created a proprietary form of plant food that improves yields by up to 40% and a few species of GMO crop that should be capable of growing in any season. I'm also in the middle of a financial venture that if it pays off should prove exceedingly profitable," You say, and immediately you saw Mom's frown deepen, swiftly realizing you had made a mistake.

"Oh honey, you got into a MLM?" Mom said, the immeasurable disappointment in her voice flooding over and hitting you in the gut with the force of a jackhammer. "First you assault a young man, quit college, move out to the country to live in Hank's barn, and now you're geting into obvious get rich quick schemes?"

+5 Temporary Stress.

"Why is a MLM your first guess?" You ask, baffled, doing your best to hold back an eye twitch, the shakiness of your hand increasing, the speed of your slicing increasing alongside your infinite desire to not be here any more. "No, it's a-" Oh god you can't tell her it's a bank robbery.

Crisis One: Pick A (Fake) Venture. Write ins are not allowed.

[ ] Waste Treatment: Oh god. It was the kind of job you didn't talk about around the dinner table, being a waste management specialist. But that could be a good thing here: people were less likely question it, because nobody wanted the fine details about their sewage. Dignity Hit, generating a Grinch Token, but none of your relatives are likely to question the credibility: what kind of person would lie about having a career in waste management?

[ ] Entertainment: Oh god you'll look like such a flakey TOOL, but if you claim you dropped out to pursue a career in music, it's at least something you can objectively prove you have more talent with than anyone in your family except maybe your brother. Massive credibility hit, generating additional hits of Stress damage, but gives 1-3 Cheer Tokens.

[ ] ...Accounting: Oh god oh GOD. You'd be putting yourself through hell, but this was, technically, something you could do, you were very good with numbers. It'd probably make you look pretty good, too! But they'll want to know why you didn't just switch to a finance major, and they'll also, even worse, likely want you to help them with their fucking taxes. Modest credibility hit, generates 3 cheer tokens, high stress and impatience damage alongside a grinch token.

[ ] Bank Robbery [Stress]: Sometimes the truth will set you free. Gain variable (D4) Grinch and Cheer tokens. Begin cultivating a reputation as an eccentric.
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30 Minute moratorium.