.1.10.
"Okay," you say, deciding that screw it, you're going to get right to it. Leaning forwards, you rustle about in your hoodie's pocket for a moment, pulling out a biro, and then snag an unopened letter from a side-table. Witch-doctor gives you a look you can't quite decipher, but doesn't seem happy. "So there I was this morning, waking up and all, yeah? And there was this boxy-thing in the air, like this -"
Laying out the events and oddities so far, you start sketching - well,
scrawling, more like - doodles and pictures of the little boxes, a reaction portrait of your magnificently handsome face to these weird events, a representation of a particularly adorable puppy you saw on the way, and of Officer Whats-his-face, with an arrow pointing at him labelled 'WEIRDO'.
Apparently this is enough to give you the skill of Drawing at level 2, which is kind of nice. It soothes the sting of witch-doctor lady's increasingly unimpressed look as you scribble over the paper ('- and this is you at your front door, looking all creepy, see?'), occasionally flailing an arm as you explain the more exciting parts ('Yeah, if I hadn't looked before I crossed the road, I'd definitely have been hit by that car! Unless it had braked first, I guess.').
By the end, the envelope is covered in your beautiful masterpieces, and you hold it up so she can get a better view of the extent of your day. "See? And that's why I needed to come here, since you're kind of... well, magic and all."
She stares at you, her eyes blank and soulless. "I'm never getting those past twenty minutes of my life back, am I?"
You consider. "I dunno. You could probably get twenty minutes easier than a kid's soul?"
"You'd be surprised." She snorts, chair groaning dangerously as she shifts in the seat. "All right, fuckwit. Sit still, keep your mouth shut, and don't do
anything except breathe and blink, you got me?"
You nod, then abruptly stop nodding and sit as still as possible, a hint of nervousness bubbling in your chest, an emotion which you feel oddly removed from. As she leans back, her eyes close and body tenses, breathing becoming regimented, body stilling; a few moments later, an odd prickles slowly builds over your skin, and beneath, a barely-there sensation of discomforting... awareness.
The feeling continues, rising and falling in low ebbs, shifting focus at some points, vaguely there at the corner of your awareness, while the witch-doctor's expression turns to a light frown, then a deep scowl. You're pretty sure it would be a bad idea to question her.
For a smart decision, 1 WIS gained!
... This power you've developed is kind of an asshole, huh?
A few minutes later, the feeling fades away, and you can't resist a shiver of relief as it does so. Sitting back again, slumping into the chair, the witch-doctor takes a deep, almost ragged breath, looking a) pissed off and b) tired. "That's just fucking weird," she diagnoses.
"Oookay?"
"It's not a physical thing," she clarifies, sounding as annoyed as she looks. "No mutations, no developments in the brain. No-one's stuck a chip or something in there either. Not a psychic ability. Not magic, I'd recognise that a mile off, even a type I'm unfamiliar with, even if you'd just touched an old artefact or something. You have any alien technology?"
Well, you'd got a souvenir from the K'torri invasion of Chicago last year, but that was just a bit of twisted metal that allegedly came from one of their ships, so you doubted
that was the cause. Plus, it only cost you five bucks from a guy who swore he was there during the whole thing.
... Now you thought about it... it might not be authentic. Damn.
"Nope. So - what does that leave?"
"Not a whole lot," she grunts, arms crossed. "Not magic, not psychic, not tech, not mutation, not radiation-"
What. "Radiation?!"
"Sure, sure." She waves a hand, idly. "Pretty common for powers origins. You have no idea how many nuclear spillages and the like there are. There's some guy over in Canada who got bitten by a radioactive beaver, and..." Shaking her head, the witch-doctor actually looks a little sympathetic. "Poor bastard."
Despite yourself, you lean closer, a hint of nervousness building. "What happened to him?"
"It got infected, and he died."
"... Oh."
"But for the three days between, he could fly!" Her voice is oddly chipper, for someone talking about death by radioactive beaver. "Dunno how flying relates to beavers, but I'm sure there's a link."
You're pretty sure there isn't.
"Anyway," she continues, turning sullen again. "I'm guessing you haven't been injecting yourself with, or smoking, weird substances?"
"Like weed?"
"Like experimental treatments or shit that was cooked up in a classified military facility."
"Oh. Then, uh. No." Unless that was classified, military weed, and you're fairly certain it wasn't. Military weed would probably be ten times as expensive and half as effective. Or you'd smoke it and a civilian village fifty miles away would get high instead of you. ... That would actually be pretty cool.
Witch-doctor lady sighs, shoulders slumping, and you give her the most sad, pathetic puppy-dog look you can. It says 'Are you really going to charge me thirty-five dollars if you can't help me?'.
"Yeah, no take-backs."
What the fuck?!
"
But -" she continues, "I'll definitely look into this, okay? I've got contacts, people who owe me, and I - I don't like not knowing shit, got it?" She scowls even harder, thus increasing her chances of wrinkles or, if your mother was right, getting her face stuck like that. "Within a week, I'll have a proper diagnosis, or -" She grits her teeth, obviously steeling herself. "Or... I'll give you a refund."
It's clearly the hardest thing she's ever said.
[ ] Actually, I'm cool with however it happened. Don't worry about it. (No chance of power information from her any time soon, no chance of knowledge of your powers spreading)
[ ] Okay, but be discreet. (Lower chance of finding information, lower chance of people finding out about your power)
[ ] Go all out, I want answers. (Higher chance of finding information, higher chance of people finding out about your power)
[ ] Actually, I have a different idea...
-[ ] Write-in plan
[ ] Write-in
