INDEX (because threadmarks aren't working)
1.
The Director's office is a testament to banal...
1.
The Director's office is a testament to banal...
Supernatural Regulation Bureau Quest
- Thread starter Zen
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INDEX (because threadmarks aren't working)
1.
The Director's office is a testament to banal professionalism. No doubt to more than just mortal senses, it'll be a cacophony of wards and illusions, hiding cameras, blocking scrying spells, a hundred defences ready to lash out and destroy a threat, right down to their soul if necessary.
You're also pretty sure the Director would very much like to activate them on you.
"This is technically a promotion," Director Stade says, his expression studiously bland. He's barely looked at you, despite your having been sitting across from him for nearly ten minutes now.
"I understand." It's been weeks since you spoke in anything but monotone. You really do understand. On paper, officially, going from Captain to a Commander of a city's department is something to celebrate, even if it's just a small city. Especially at your age. But this isn't just any city, is it? This is the city that breaks its Commanders, chews them up and spits them out, broken and bleeding, so they can be shuffled quietly aside to an ignominious early retirement. Those it doesn't swallow whole, anyway.
"Of course you do."
You flinch slightly at the tone, the disgust that crept in before he can hide it again. You keep your expression blank anyway. You're lucky he isn't spitting in your face. Or putting a bullet through your skull, though your new position will no doubt do that for you.
Director Stade takes a moment to compose himself, pointlessly shuffling some papers on his desk, before looking back at you. "There's already an office established there, of course, but it's currently undermanned." He means it's an underfunded shithole that acts as a dumping ground for troublemakers or embarrassments, and that anyone half-decent transfers away or finds a new job. Everyone in the SRB knows that. And while they might not know exactly why you've been assigned to run it, they'll know it isn't for anything good. "I'd recommend you spend a while settling in before you make any real changes, get a handle on the political situation there. Some of the locals don't get along well with us."
Considering the Commander there three years ago turned up strung from a lamppost by his own intestines, and they couldn't find most of the rest of his stomach? Yeah, that's one way of putting it. Officially it was a packless rogue werewolf, still unidentified, but the local alpha's media response had been a little too smug for that.
Werewolves. Vampires. Sorcerors and mages, demons and shapeshifters, fae folk and undead. Las Estrellas, the so-called City of Eternal Night, is a dumping ground in and of itself, for the ghoulies, monsters and magic-users unwilling or unable to submit to the legal and ethical restrictions that the vast majority do elsewhere. It's a useful dumping ground, of course – better they all stay in one place than run amok in a hundred other towns and cities – but that was before YOU were given responsibility for it.
On the bright side, you can't bring yourself to feel too bad about it. You haven't felt much of anything in a while now.
The rest of the discussion is as perfunctory as possible. You'll be flying out tomorrow morning, which gives you one last night in your hotel room here in Washington DC – hopefully the lodgings in your new city will be appropriately warded. It'd be a shame to get murdered on your first day. Not that you can bring yourself to care much, anyway.
Leaving Stade's office should bring relief, but the dull ache in your chest won't go away. As you try not to hunch in on yourself, pretending not to notice the dark looks and whispers from the SRB staff you pass on the way out, you're pretty sure it never will.
You are newly-promoted Commander
[ ] (name, can be male, female or gender neutral)
of the Supernatural Regulation Bureau, age
[ ] (age, 21 to 30)
and you have the rest of the day, now 2 PM, free.
[ ] Find a bar. Start drinking. Don't stop.
[ ] Go back to the hotel. Watch TV, get some rest, whatever.
[ ] You've never been to DC before. Look for something to do? (Willpower check, DC 60)
[ ] Write in. May be subject to Willpower check.
1.
The Director's office is a testament to banal professionalism. No doubt to more than just mortal senses, it'll be a cacophony of wards and illusions, hiding cameras, blocking scrying spells, a hundred defences ready to lash out and destroy a threat, right down to their soul if necessary.
You're also pretty sure the Director would very much like to activate them on you.
"This is technically a promotion," Director Stade says, his expression studiously bland. He's barely looked at you, despite your having been sitting across from him for nearly ten minutes now.
"I understand." It's been weeks since you spoke in anything but monotone. You really do understand. On paper, officially, going from Captain to a Commander of a city's department is something to celebrate, even if it's just a small city. Especially at your age. But this isn't just any city, is it? This is the city that breaks its Commanders, chews them up and spits them out, broken and bleeding, so they can be shuffled quietly aside to an ignominious early retirement. Those it doesn't swallow whole, anyway.
"Of course you do."
You flinch slightly at the tone, the disgust that crept in before he can hide it again. You keep your expression blank anyway. You're lucky he isn't spitting in your face. Or putting a bullet through your skull, though your new position will no doubt do that for you.
Director Stade takes a moment to compose himself, pointlessly shuffling some papers on his desk, before looking back at you. "There's already an office established there, of course, but it's currently undermanned." He means it's an underfunded shithole that acts as a dumping ground for troublemakers or embarrassments, and that anyone half-decent transfers away or finds a new job. Everyone in the SRB knows that. And while they might not know exactly why you've been assigned to run it, they'll know it isn't for anything good. "I'd recommend you spend a while settling in before you make any real changes, get a handle on the political situation there. Some of the locals don't get along well with us."
Considering the Commander there three years ago turned up strung from a lamppost by his own intestines, and they couldn't find most of the rest of his stomach? Yeah, that's one way of putting it. Officially it was a packless rogue werewolf, still unidentified, but the local alpha's media response had been a little too smug for that.
Werewolves. Vampires. Sorcerors and mages, demons and shapeshifters, fae folk and undead. Las Estrellas, the so-called City of Eternal Night, is a dumping ground in and of itself, for the ghoulies, monsters and magic-users unwilling or unable to submit to the legal and ethical restrictions that the vast majority do elsewhere. It's a useful dumping ground, of course – better they all stay in one place than run amok in a hundred other towns and cities – but that was before YOU were given responsibility for it.
On the bright side, you can't bring yourself to feel too bad about it. You haven't felt much of anything in a while now.
The rest of the discussion is as perfunctory as possible. You'll be flying out tomorrow morning, which gives you one last night in your hotel room here in Washington DC – hopefully the lodgings in your new city will be appropriately warded. It'd be a shame to get murdered on your first day. Not that you can bring yourself to care much, anyway.
Leaving Stade's office should bring relief, but the dull ache in your chest won't go away. As you try not to hunch in on yourself, pretending not to notice the dark looks and whispers from the SRB staff you pass on the way out, you're pretty sure it never will.
You are newly-promoted Commander
[ ] (name, can be male, female or gender neutral)
of the Supernatural Regulation Bureau, age
[ ] (age, 21 to 30)
and you have the rest of the day, now 2 PM, free.
[ ] Find a bar. Start drinking. Don't stop.
[ ] Go back to the hotel. Watch TV, get some rest, whatever.
[ ] You've never been to DC before. Look for something to do? (Willpower check, DC 60)
[ ] Write in. May be subject to Willpower check.
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- Location
- .
WALLACE E. HIGGINS
AGE: 28
SPECIES: Human
TRAITS:
CURRENTLY KNITTING: Sweater (369/500)
CURRENT PRIORITIES:
● Recruitment: You have 0 Agents (1st), 5 preferred. 1 Agent (2nd), 12 preferred. 7 Agents (3rd), 20 preferred.
AGE: 28
SPECIES: Human
TRAITS:
SKILLS:
WILLPOWER: 15/100
CURRENTLY KNITTING: Sweater (369/500)
CURRENT PRIORITIES:
● Recruitment: You have 0 Agents (1st), 5 preferred. 1 Agent (2nd), 12 preferred. 7 Agents (3rd), 20 preferred.
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SlugSLinger
Seeker of Originality
- Location
- Somewhere in the Jungles of S.E.A
[x] Wallace E. Higgins
[x] 28
[x] Write-in: Go to a restaurant and eat the best mashed potatoes they sell. A full stomach should help calm you down to think properly.
[x] 28
[x] Write-in: Go to a restaurant and eat the best mashed potatoes they sell. A full stomach should help calm you down to think properly.
theflyingbiscuit
"Titanic neechan"
[x] Write in. May be subject to Willpower check.
-[x] Check the policy on resigning from your position.
-[x] Check the policy on resigning from your position.
DeepWaters
No one will be the wiser.
- Location
- Land of Spiders and Shipping Charts
[X] Molly Kingsley
[X] 26
[X] Write in. May be subject to Willpower check.
-[X] Check the policy on resigning from your position.
[X] 26
[X] Write in. May be subject to Willpower check.
-[X] Check the policy on resigning from your position.
Pathetic King
"I Speak To The Audient Void."
- Location
- Colorado
[X] Wallace E. Higgins
[X] 28
[X] Write-in: Go to a restaurant and eat the best mashed potatoes they sell. A full stomach should help calm you down to think properly.
[X] 28
[X] Write-in: Go to a restaurant and eat the best mashed potatoes they sell. A full stomach should help calm you down to think properly.
- Location
- .
(Threadmarks aren't working for me, so I'll sort out an Index later, along with the character sheet.)
2.
[x] Wallace E. Higgins
[x] 28
[x] Write-in: Go to a restaurant and eat the best mashed potatoes they sell. A full stomach should help calm you down to think properly. (No Willpower roll)
[x] Check the policy on resigning from your position. (Cowardice autopass, no Willpower roll)
You know what you need right now? What anyone needs when their life is crap, and they're crap, and everything in existence is crap?
Mashed potatoes. Possibly the only thing in the world that isn't crap.
The idea of your comfort food manages to spark a tiny hint of actual emotion in your dead soul (and stomach), and it doesn't take long before you're dragging your exhausted body down the street, finally finding a diner that's ready and willing to exchange sweet, sweet cash for a bowl full of mashed-up starchy goodness.
Maybe you seem a little weird — half-slumped over a bowl of mash, dressed in your
[ ] rumpled (effect: ???)
[ ] neat (effect: ???)
suit and tie, looking like you haven't slept in a month, but you honestly can't bring yourself to care. Instead, you pull up the internet on your smartphone, forcing yourself to check SRB's policy on resignation.
You could quit. Officially, legally, you could quit. It would mean kissing goodbye to an excellent retirement scheme and health insurance, but would you even live long enough to need those? And of course, there's no way you'd be given a reference — you'd never get a job with the government, or even the police, but you could probably get a job flipping burgers. At least you'd be alive to do that, right?
It would mean —
It would mean running away. Again.
But what's wrong with that? No-one's going to die if you quit. Not this time. It might even save your life. So that's okay, right? Right?
Your gorge rises, and you quickly grab your glass and choke down some water.
So. You could quit. You could type up your resignation right now, work a month's notice — technically two weeks, you have two weeks of vacation saved up — and go. If you don't even want to do that, you could probably walk right back into Stade's office and tell him you need to quit right now, for medical reasons. Mental health ones. Maybe it's even the truth. He'd probably write the paperwork up on the spot and kick you out with a smile on his face.
You can probably find another job. Not... a great one, but you won't starve. Not unless people find out what you did, of course. Then you'll be lucky if you don't have an 'accident'.
Taking another mouthful of mashed potato, you consider your options.
[ ] No, you'll keep working, for now at least.
[ ] Email your resignation. Two weeks work, then you can use your accrued vacation time to ditch early.
[ ] Email to see if Stade will authorize you to quit without working notice.
[ ] Write in.
2.
[x] Wallace E. Higgins
[x] 28
[x] Write-in: Go to a restaurant and eat the best mashed potatoes they sell. A full stomach should help calm you down to think properly. (No Willpower roll)
[x] Check the policy on resigning from your position. (Cowardice autopass, no Willpower roll)
You know what you need right now? What anyone needs when their life is crap, and they're crap, and everything in existence is crap?
Mashed potatoes. Possibly the only thing in the world that isn't crap.
The idea of your comfort food manages to spark a tiny hint of actual emotion in your dead soul (and stomach), and it doesn't take long before you're dragging your exhausted body down the street, finally finding a diner that's ready and willing to exchange sweet, sweet cash for a bowl full of mashed-up starchy goodness.
[+1 to Willpower]
Maybe you seem a little weird — half-slumped over a bowl of mash, dressed in your
[ ] rumpled (effect: ???)
[ ] neat (effect: ???)
suit and tie, looking like you haven't slept in a month, but you honestly can't bring yourself to care. Instead, you pull up the internet on your smartphone, forcing yourself to check SRB's policy on resignation.
You could quit. Officially, legally, you could quit. It would mean kissing goodbye to an excellent retirement scheme and health insurance, but would you even live long enough to need those? And of course, there's no way you'd be given a reference — you'd never get a job with the government, or even the police, but you could probably get a job flipping burgers. At least you'd be alive to do that, right?
It would mean —
It would mean running away. Again.
But what's wrong with that? No-one's going to die if you quit. Not this time. It might even save your life. So that's okay, right? Right?
Your gorge rises, and you quickly grab your glass and choke down some water.
So. You could quit. You could type up your resignation right now, work a month's notice — technically two weeks, you have two weeks of vacation saved up — and go. If you don't even want to do that, you could probably walk right back into Stade's office and tell him you need to quit right now, for medical reasons. Mental health ones. Maybe it's even the truth. He'd probably write the paperwork up on the spot and kick you out with a smile on his face.
You can probably find another job. Not... a great one, but you won't starve. Not unless people find out what you did, of course. Then you'll be lucky if you don't have an 'accident'.
Taking another mouthful of mashed potato, you consider your options.
[ ] No, you'll keep working, for now at least.
[ ] Email your resignation. Two weeks work, then you can use your accrued vacation time to ditch early.
[ ] Email to see if Stade will authorize you to quit without working notice.
[ ] Write in.
SlugSLinger
Seeker of Originality
- Location
- Somewhere in the Jungles of S.E.A
[x] rumpled (effect: ???)
If we're working for an organization that monitors and eliminates supernatural threats before they destroy the world (or at least us), then we ain't got no time to stay neat and tidy!
[x] No, you'll keep working, for now at least
- [x] Buy a more mashed potatoes as comfort food for when you head back to the hotel
- [x] On the way back, buy some beer to wash down the food with.
If we're working for an organization that monitors and eliminates supernatural threats before they destroy the world (or at least us), then we ain't got no time to stay neat and tidy!
[x] No, you'll keep working, for now at least
- [x] Buy a more mashed potatoes as comfort food for when you head back to the hotel
- [x] On the way back, buy some beer to wash down the food with.
- Location
- .
You know what? I don't think threadmarks are ever going to show up. Well, as long as there's a single vote, and all that...
3.
[x] rumpled ('Neat Freak' trait rejected, 'Slovenly' trait gained)
[x] No, you'll keep working, for now at least
- [x] Buy more potatoes as comfort food for when you head back to the hotel
- [x] On the way back, buy some beer to wash down the food with.
Screw the weird look from the waitress; you get more mashed potatoes to go, all bundled up in a nice styrofoam box to keep them hot. Or at least reasonably warm by the time you get back to the hotel.
One bottle of beer.
No. No, three's enough. You pull your hand back from the fourth bottle and walk over to shove the other three across the counter, ducking your head so as not to look the staff in the eye. Not that he gives a shit, most likely, but still.
Laden down with beer and mash, you still walk a little faster, feeling strangely buoyant at how easily you stopped at three beers. Even the sight of a car driving past, windows blacked out in a way that screams 'vampire inside' can't dent your enthusiasm. Washington has a lot of vamps; the classy kind that like politics, not the goth loving ones, or the clanless trash that like jumping people in alleys. Honestly, all of them make you twitchy. Maybe that's why you're a paperpusher and not an Agent.
Merlot Hotel is your home away from home for tonight — midrange, which is a surprise. You're here on the SRB's dime after all, and they'd rather stick you in a dumpster. Still, you run your keycard through the door's electronic lock, and take a quick look through your Sightstone to check the warding symbol on the door. No sign of magical tampering, not that someone couldn't get in through the window or even phase through the wall with the right powerset, but still.
Beers out. Potatoes out. You run a hand over your face — at least you found the energy to shave before seeing Stade — and open the first beer, trying not to feel too desperate. 3 o'clock is a good time to start drinking, right?
[ ] Check the news. See what's happening in the world.
[ ] Research Las Estrellas. Might as well get an idea for the job.
[ ] Try to relax. (Choose hobby?)
[ ]Call your friends. (They're dead.)
[ ] Write in.
3.
[x] rumpled ('Neat Freak' trait rejected, 'Slovenly' trait gained)
[x] No, you'll keep working, for now at least
- [x] Buy more potatoes as comfort food for when you head back to the hotel
- [x] On the way back, buy some beer to wash down the food with.
Screw the weird look from the waitress; you get more mashed potatoes to go, all bundled up in a nice styrofoam box to keep them hot. Or at least reasonably warm by the time you get back to the hotel.
[Gained trait: Well-Starched]
The next stop on the way back to your room is a shitty convenience store. For a moment, you even thought about not going in, but — but why not? The lead weight in your chest tells you there's no reason you shouldn't.
One bottle of beer.
[Revealed trait: Burgeoning Alcoholic. Roll to resist buying 1 beer; auto-failed due to vote. Roll to avoid buying 2; 1d100 = 7. Plus 11 Willpower = 28. Fail.]
Two bottles.[Roll to avoid buying 3; 1d100 = 7 again. Plus 11 = 28. Fail.]
Three bottles.[Roll to avoid buying 4; 1d100 = 100. Nat 100! Gained 5 Willpower!]
Fo—No. No, three's enough. You pull your hand back from the fourth bottle and walk over to shove the other three across the counter, ducking your head so as not to look the staff in the eye. Not that he gives a shit, most likely, but still.
Laden down with beer and mash, you still walk a little faster, feeling strangely buoyant at how easily you stopped at three beers. Even the sight of a car driving past, windows blacked out in a way that screams 'vampire inside' can't dent your enthusiasm. Washington has a lot of vamps; the classy kind that like politics, not the goth loving ones, or the clanless trash that like jumping people in alleys. Honestly, all of them make you twitchy. Maybe that's why you're a paperpusher and not an Agent.
Merlot Hotel is your home away from home for tonight — midrange, which is a surprise. You're here on the SRB's dime after all, and they'd rather stick you in a dumpster. Still, you run your keycard through the door's electronic lock, and take a quick look through your Sightstone to check the warding symbol on the door. No sign of magical tampering, not that someone couldn't get in through the window or even phase through the wall with the right powerset, but still.
Beers out. Potatoes out. You run a hand over your face — at least you found the energy to shave before seeing Stade — and open the first beer, trying not to feel too desperate. 3 o'clock is a good time to start drinking, right?
[ ] Check the news. See what's happening in the world.
[ ] Research Las Estrellas. Might as well get an idea for the job.
[ ] Try to relax. (Choose hobby?)
[ ]
[ ] Write in.
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SlugSLinger
Seeker of Originality
- Location
- Somewhere in the Jungles of S.E.A
[x] Check the news. See what's happening in the world.
[x] Research Las Estrellas. Might as well get an idea for the job.
[x] Try to relax. (Choose hobby?)
- [x] Knitting
I like our protagonist! Likes mashed potatoes, is a burgeoning alcoholic, works for a shady organization that handles supernatural threats, has a shady past; this will be a nice Quest!
[x] Research Las Estrellas. Might as well get an idea for the job.
[x] Try to relax. (Choose hobby?)
- [x] Knitting
I like our protagonist! Likes mashed potatoes, is a burgeoning alcoholic, works for a shady organization that handles supernatural threats, has a shady past; this will be a nice Quest!
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[x] Check the news. See what's happening in the world.
[x] Research Las Estrellas. Might as well get an idea for the job.
[x] Try to relax. (Choose hobby?)
- [x] Knitting
[x] Research Las Estrellas. Might as well get an idea for the job.
[x] Try to relax. (Choose hobby?)
- [x] Knitting
I think it'll be amusing if we have a protag that doesn't solve intractable problems through personal awesomeness, but because nobody else can take him serious, and so he just stumbles into it. And sheer dumb luck.
- Location
- .
... Please don't look at my notes.
Also, writing - if anyone has a preference for what Our Alcoholic Hero is knitting, now's the time. Otherwise I'll have to pick the item myself, and no-one wants that.
A new cord for his potato charm? Y'know, like that Discworld religion which is "you're fine so long as you have a potato when you die". Knitting a new cord seems about the most effort our protag would put into matters of the faith (faith is mandatory for the organization, for practical reasons, so he has to keep up some appearance, and played straight it would be a bit too cracky). Also, the idea of a potato as a religious icon is amusing. Lots of potential for hijinks there.
- Location
- .
4.
[x] Check the news. See what's happening in the world.
[x] Research Las Estrellas. Might as well get an idea for the job.
[x] Try to relax. (Choose hobby?)
-[x] Knitting
Sinking the beer down your throat, you settle back on the bed and fumble your phone out of your suit pocket. Then you manage to wriggle the jacket off yourself and fling it onto the chair, followed by your tie.
Much better.
Tapping through to your usual news site, you browse quickly through the headlines. Some celebrity said something stupid — well, you could barely name a celebrity, given how you've thrown yourself into work these past years. She's a singer, you think? Next up, some idiot sorcerer tried to tap a leyline without a license or any safety protocols, made nearly every low-level enchantment within a fifty meter radius fail or blow up, and got himself arrested by a local SRB agent when they found him staggering around the street suffering from a mana overdose.
Genius.
Some lunatics in Cornwall are once again trying to secede from England, this time announcing they want to be part of Faerie. That's probably going to end up in a lot of corpses and kidnapped children, but hey, that's the UK's problem.
A new breakthrough in technomagic is announced, as leakages from iron-based mana batteries are lessened by nearly 20%; a step closer to cars and laptops running on magic rather than electricity, much to the fury of energy companies.
The government will be voting next month on various environmental matters, and much to your disgust — whether the Childe Siring Allowance should be raised from one childe every decade for a vampire over a century old, to two childer. Everyone knows it's because vampirism is the easiest, possibly best way to become immortal, an ambition dear to the heart of every (still-human) politician out there (except for the Humans First party members), but still.
Oh, and some team you've barely heard of won some sports tournament you don't follow. Go Eagles, you guess.
Somehow you finished the second bottle without even realizing you'd opened it.
The city outside is bustling, according to the dull noise making it through your window. Will Las Estrellas sound like this? All you really know are things you've heard through the grapevine, friend of a friend type bullshit that's urban legend at best.
There's the obvious facts, of course, as you flick through to the Wikipedia article for the city. Established in 1822, Las Estrellas grew at a steady rate thanks to its prime location for travellers and merchants passing through and good tin mining prospects nearby. It was slowly dying in the 1930s, shortly after magic was publically revealed to the world, when in 1933, a coven of moronic witches suddenly made it the destination of choice for every supernatural-type out there.
They'd been down in the sewers, trying to summon some kind of death god. Maybe they'd even succeeded, though judging from how little remained, no-one could guess. But whatever had happened, their screw-up had cracked reality throughout the city and for a short distance outside, leaving it an area of permanent night, stars and moon constantly visible overhead, and the local leylines expanded to nearly ten times their previous power.
Regular humans had to take vitamin supplements if they wanted to live in sunless Las Estrellas, not that most did. Forget about growing a garden, too, not without special lamps or some decent spellcraft to mimic natural light.
Las Estrellas, population of nearly 8,000,000. Nearly three-quarters of them with a supernatural bent; and that wasn't including the various unregistered beings that regularly slipped through the cracked veil of dimensions those idiot witches had helpfully installed all those decades ago.
Most of the residents are just regular people, of course, going about their lives with whatever benefit the city brings them. Vampires don't have to fear daylight there, were-beings find it easier to shift, magic-users take advantage of the the strong leylines, goths just really like the aesthetic — and the rent's cheap, according to Google, so that's nice.
Oh, and the SRB offices there have burnt down twice since the '80s, despite heavy warding. Not to mention the twenty-meter snake that smashed into the cells and caused a jailbreak only a few months ago.
The agents who stick around Estrellas, people say, are those who can't find anything elsewhere, or who are on the take. Frankly, you can't find anything to dispute that.
There's also a good amateur blog reviewing the local food joints, although they don't list places willing to sell to-go boxes of mashed potatoes, so why even bother?
Third bottle finished, and you're feeling it. But you've finished the mashed potato now, and there's nothing else to take your mind off where you're going tomorrow, except —
Yeah. All right.
You pull the yarn and a set of needles out from your still mostly-packed luggage, and settle down for a soothing few hours of knitting. Yeah, it's relaxing. And productive. You're over halfway done with a decent sweater, okay? You're not going to make a potato amigarumi next. That would be stupid. Obviously.
***
You don't have much luggage, really. Most of your belongings are in storage, and the majority of your furniture came with your old apartment. Two suitcases should handle you until you can establish a place of your own. It was 'recommended' you stay in guest-quarters in the local SRB HQ until then, probably so that you don't go hanging from a lamppost yourself.
Yay.
The flight is smooth — probably the work of an aeromancer hired to keep turbulence to a minimum, since most sigils are illegal on aircraft — and you step out of the airport only to see the black dome of a shattered sky hanging in the distance. Las Estrellas, just a short car ride away.
Your stomach lurches into your throat, sweaty hands tightening around the handles of your suitcases.
No. It's okay. This is fine.
"Director Higgins?"
You hesitate just for a second, before turning to face the speaker, who thrusts a hand out at you, beaming.
"N-nice to m-m-meet you, s-sir! I'm Age-Agent i-in training G-G-Gladstone!"
Good gods. What's short, covered in acne, has (hopefully ketchup) stains down their suit, and looks like a twitchy twelve year old boy?
It's your official greeter.
You're doomed.
[ ] Be cold, cool and professional. As a bonus, not shaking hands means Gladstone won't realize how much you're sweating.
[ ] Try to be friendly. It'll be... difficult, but people want a personable boss, right? (Willpower, DC 75)
[ ] I SUDDENLY NEED THE BATHROOM, WATCH MY BAGS, BE RIGHT BACK
[ ] Panic, pretend to be someone else and get a taxi.
[ ] Write in
[x] Check the news. See what's happening in the world.
[x] Research Las Estrellas. Might as well get an idea for the job.
[x] Try to relax. (Choose hobby?)
-[x] Knitting
Sinking the beer down your throat, you settle back on the bed and fumble your phone out of your suit pocket. Then you manage to wriggle the jacket off yourself and fling it onto the chair, followed by your tie.
Much better.
Tapping through to your usual news site, you browse quickly through the headlines. Some celebrity said something stupid — well, you could barely name a celebrity, given how you've thrown yourself into work these past years. She's a singer, you think? Next up, some idiot sorcerer tried to tap a leyline without a license or any safety protocols, made nearly every low-level enchantment within a fifty meter radius fail or blow up, and got himself arrested by a local SRB agent when they found him staggering around the street suffering from a mana overdose.
Genius.
Some lunatics in Cornwall are once again trying to secede from England, this time announcing they want to be part of Faerie. That's probably going to end up in a lot of corpses and kidnapped children, but hey, that's the UK's problem.
A new breakthrough in technomagic is announced, as leakages from iron-based mana batteries are lessened by nearly 20%; a step closer to cars and laptops running on magic rather than electricity, much to the fury of energy companies.
The government will be voting next month on various environmental matters, and much to your disgust — whether the Childe Siring Allowance should be raised from one childe every decade for a vampire over a century old, to two childer. Everyone knows it's because vampirism is the easiest, possibly best way to become immortal, an ambition dear to the heart of every (still-human) politician out there (except for the Humans First party members), but still.
Oh, and some team you've barely heard of won some sports tournament you don't follow. Go Eagles, you guess.
Somehow you finished the second bottle without even realizing you'd opened it.
The city outside is bustling, according to the dull noise making it through your window. Will Las Estrellas sound like this? All you really know are things you've heard through the grapevine, friend of a friend type bullshit that's urban legend at best.
There's the obvious facts, of course, as you flick through to the Wikipedia article for the city. Established in 1822, Las Estrellas grew at a steady rate thanks to its prime location for travellers and merchants passing through and good tin mining prospects nearby. It was slowly dying in the 1930s, shortly after magic was publically revealed to the world, when in 1933, a coven of moronic witches suddenly made it the destination of choice for every supernatural-type out there.
They'd been down in the sewers, trying to summon some kind of death god. Maybe they'd even succeeded, though judging from how little remained, no-one could guess. But whatever had happened, their screw-up had cracked reality throughout the city and for a short distance outside, leaving it an area of permanent night, stars and moon constantly visible overhead, and the local leylines expanded to nearly ten times their previous power.
Regular humans had to take vitamin supplements if they wanted to live in sunless Las Estrellas, not that most did. Forget about growing a garden, too, not without special lamps or some decent spellcraft to mimic natural light.
Las Estrellas, population of nearly 8,000,000. Nearly three-quarters of them with a supernatural bent; and that wasn't including the various unregistered beings that regularly slipped through the cracked veil of dimensions those idiot witches had helpfully installed all those decades ago.
Most of the residents are just regular people, of course, going about their lives with whatever benefit the city brings them. Vampires don't have to fear daylight there, were-beings find it easier to shift, magic-users take advantage of the the strong leylines, goths just really like the aesthetic — and the rent's cheap, according to Google, so that's nice.
Oh, and the SRB offices there have burnt down twice since the '80s, despite heavy warding. Not to mention the twenty-meter snake that smashed into the cells and caused a jailbreak only a few months ago.
The agents who stick around Estrellas, people say, are those who can't find anything elsewhere, or who are on the take. Frankly, you can't find anything to dispute that.
There's also a good amateur blog reviewing the local food joints, although they don't list places willing to sell to-go boxes of mashed potatoes, so why even bother?
Third bottle finished, and you're feeling it. But you've finished the mashed potato now, and there's nothing else to take your mind off where you're going tomorrow, except —
Yeah. All right.
You pull the yarn and a set of needles out from your still mostly-packed luggage, and settle down for a soothing few hours of knitting. Yeah, it's relaxing. And productive. You're over halfway done with a decent sweater, okay? You're not going to make a potato amigarumi next. That would be stupid. Obviously.
[Sweater: 369/500 finished. Skill: Knitting revealed.]
***
You don't have much luggage, really. Most of your belongings are in storage, and the majority of your furniture came with your old apartment. Two suitcases should handle you until you can establish a place of your own. It was 'recommended' you stay in guest-quarters in the local SRB HQ until then, probably so that you don't go hanging from a lamppost yourself.
Yay.
The flight is smooth — probably the work of an aeromancer hired to keep turbulence to a minimum, since most sigils are illegal on aircraft — and you step out of the airport only to see the black dome of a shattered sky hanging in the distance. Las Estrellas, just a short car ride away.
Your stomach lurches into your throat, sweaty hands tightening around the handles of your suitcases.
No. It's okay. This is fine.
"Director Higgins?"
You hesitate just for a second, before turning to face the speaker, who thrusts a hand out at you, beaming.
"N-nice to m-m-meet you, s-sir! I'm Age-Agent i-in training G-G-Gladstone!"
Good gods. What's short, covered in acne, has (hopefully ketchup) stains down their suit, and looks like a twitchy twelve year old boy?
It's your official greeter.
You're doomed.
[ ] Be cold, cool and professional. As a bonus, not shaking hands means Gladstone won't realize how much you're sweating.
[ ] Try to be friendly. It'll be... difficult, but people want a personable boss, right? (Willpower, DC 75)
[ ] I SUDDENLY NEED THE BATHROOM, WATCH MY BAGS, BE RIGHT BACK
[ ] Panic, pretend to be someone else and get a taxi.
[ ] Write in
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SlugSLinger
Seeker of Originality
- Location
- Somewhere in the Jungles of S.E.A
...welp, now we got our first task; impress our lackey through whatever means necessary!
[x] Write-in
- [x] Smile, and pray it doesn't look too brittle.
- [x] "Nice to meet you, Agent Gladstone. I'm assuming you're here to pick me up?"
-- [x] If he says yes, put you luggage on his outstretched hand and pat his shoulder in thanks/gratitude. Mention how pleasant it is to have such helpful people instead of doing everything yourself.
-- [x] If he says no, give him a high-five and gesture him to follow you as a fellow seeker of taxis. You can both share a cab and split the fare.
[x] Write-in
- [x] Smile, and pray it doesn't look too brittle.
- [x] "Nice to meet you, Agent Gladstone. I'm assuming you're here to pick me up?"
-- [x] If he says yes, put you luggage on his outstretched hand and pat his shoulder in thanks/gratitude. Mention how pleasant it is to have such helpful people instead of doing everything yourself.
-- [x] If he says no, give him a high-five and gesture him to follow you as a fellow seeker of taxis. You can both share a cab and split the fare.
SlugSLinger
Seeker of Originality
- Location
- Somewhere in the Jungles of S.E.A
How does Willpower work in this quest,if you don't mind me asking?
- Location
- .
Basically, you're a depressed alcoholic, which means your willpower is horrible (as you can see from the character sheet). A regular non-depressed person is around 80-90 Willpower, depending on if they're having a good or bad day. 100 is usual peak human, and a shonen hero goes beyond regular human limits.
When you do a willpower check, I roll a (usually) 1d100, and it's the roll result plus your current willpower to try and make the DC. For example, you get an autopass every time you vote to get drunk because you WANT to do that, but things you're opposed to (such as potentially risky, dangerous or humiliating behaviour, or things that'll take a lot of effort) need a willpower check.
You need to make a check to be friendly to the trainee because a) you're a depressive who wants to lock yourself in a room forever, and b) he's icky and you don't really want to touch him.
You can gain willpower by resisting alcoholism, raising your self esteem, accepting or removing the angst of your Traumatic Past, proving your capabilities and, apparently, by eating potatoes.
Tldr; you are in DESPAIR
- Location
- .
5.
[x] Write-in (DC 75)
- [x] Smile, and pray it doesn't look too brittle.
- [x] "Nice to meet you, Agent Gladstone. I'm assuming you're here to pick me up?"
-- [x] If he says yes, put you luggage on his outstretched hand and pat his shoulder in thanks/gratitude. Mention how pleasant it is to have such helpful people instead of doing everything yourself.
-- [x] If he says no, give him a high-five and gesture him to follow you as a fellow seeker of taxis. You can both share a cab and split the fare.
Okay. Friendly. Personable. Good impression. You can do this.
Easing your mouth into a warm smile (and a little crinkling at the eyes, can't forget the microexpressions), you keep your eyes carefully off the outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you, Agent Gladstone. I'm assuming you're here to pick me up?"
He nods, still with that stupid grin. "Yessir! The r-rest of the team are b-b-back at the office, but they pick-picked me to c-come g-greet you!" He swells with visible pride at the responsibility. Gladstone's so enthusiastic, it'd be cruel to let the kid know that it's probably either because they couldn't be bothered to come get you themselves, or that they wanted Gladstone out from under their feet for a while.
Maybe both.
In any case, he might be an idiot, but he's your idiot from now on.
In light of your sweaty palms, you promptly shove one of your cases into his grip, as if not realizing he was going for a handshake, and briskly pat his shoulder instead. "Great! It's so good to have helpful people around instead of doing everything myself," you tell him, still managing to keep the smile up despite the strain.
Gladstone recovers from the confusion of his sudden suitcase-possession with acceptable speed, nodding vigorously. "Th-thank you sir! I'll d-do m-m-my b-b-best!"
Praise makes his stuttering worse, you note as you follow his rapid scuttling over to the company car, relieved to let your fake smile turn to real wincing once he's turned away. He's going to take a lot of getting used to, but hopefully he'll be out of the office most of the time. Or maybe he'll transfer elsewhere — you can't imagine him being on the take, and he doesn't seem totally incompetent; maybe a local that got assigned to his hometown SRB HQ?
In any case, the pair of you load the bags up, before you slide into the passager seat. The car is... not good. It's old, the engine sounds... off when Gladstone starts it, and the interior's scent is a suspicious mix of kebabs and cigarette smoke. The scraps of food packaging and the empty soda bottles thrown in the back don't make a great impression either. It looks like the interior got a vacuuming and the outside a wash at about the same time — approximately shortly after the dinosaurs went extinct.
It also has a cassette player.
Dear gods.
Pleasant expression. Pleasant expression. Pleasant expression. Don't cry, Wallace. You can do this. Believe in the — wait, no-one believes in you. Never mind.
"So," you manage to say as brightly as possible, while Gladstone starts driving (with worryingly studious care — when did he get his license? Last week?).
[ ] (Up to three questions/general topics)
[ ] Drive straight to HQ.
[ ] Stop off at (write-in)
[x] Write-in (DC 75)
- [x] Smile, and pray it doesn't look too brittle.
- [x] "Nice to meet you, Agent Gladstone. I'm assuming you're here to pick me up?"
-- [x] If he says yes, put you luggage on his outstretched hand and pat his shoulder in thanks/gratitude. Mention how pleasant it is to have such helpful people instead of doing everything yourself.
Okay. Friendly. Personable. Good impression. You can do this.
[DC 75; rolled 60 + 16 Willpower = 76. Bare pass!
No Slovenly malus, due to recent flight.]
No Slovenly malus, due to recent flight.]
Easing your mouth into a warm smile (and a little crinkling at the eyes, can't forget the microexpressions), you keep your eyes carefully off the outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you, Agent Gladstone. I'm assuming you're here to pick me up?"
He nods, still with that stupid grin. "Yessir! The r-rest of the team are b-b-back at the office, but they pick-picked me to c-come g-greet you!" He swells with visible pride at the responsibility. Gladstone's so enthusiastic, it'd be cruel to let the kid know that it's probably either because they couldn't be bothered to come get you themselves, or that they wanted Gladstone out from under their feet for a while.
Maybe both.
In any case, he might be an idiot, but he's your idiot from now on.
In light of your sweaty palms, you promptly shove one of your cases into his grip, as if not realizing he was going for a handshake, and briskly pat his shoulder instead. "Great! It's so good to have helpful people around instead of doing everything myself," you tell him, still managing to keep the smile up despite the strain.
Gladstone recovers from the confusion of his sudden suitcase-possession with acceptable speed, nodding vigorously. "Th-thank you sir! I'll d-do m-m-my b-b-best!"
Praise makes his stuttering worse, you note as you follow his rapid scuttling over to the company car, relieved to let your fake smile turn to real wincing once he's turned away. He's going to take a lot of getting used to, but hopefully he'll be out of the office most of the time. Or maybe he'll transfer elsewhere — you can't imagine him being on the take, and he doesn't seem totally incompetent; maybe a local that got assigned to his hometown SRB HQ?
In any case, the pair of you load the bags up, before you slide into the passager seat. The car is... not good. It's old, the engine sounds... off when Gladstone starts it, and the interior's scent is a suspicious mix of kebabs and cigarette smoke. The scraps of food packaging and the empty soda bottles thrown in the back don't make a great impression either. It looks like the interior got a vacuuming and the outside a wash at about the same time — approximately shortly after the dinosaurs went extinct.
It also has a cassette player.
Dear gods.
Pleasant expression. Pleasant expression. Pleasant expression. Don't cry, Wallace. You can do this. Believe in the — wait, no-one believes in you. Never mind.
"So," you manage to say as brightly as possible, while Gladstone starts driving (with worryingly studious care — when did he get his license? Last week?).
[ ] (Up to three questions/general topics)
[ ] Drive straight to HQ.
[ ] Stop off at (write-in)
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SlugSLinger
Seeker of Originality
- Location
- Somewhere in the Jungles of S.E.A
[x] What can you tell me about the rest of the staff?
[x] Any recent problems I should know about? Difficulties? Besides the last director kicking the bucket.
[x] Overall morale; how the personnel are doing since the last director kicked the bucket. How is everyone doing?
[x] Stop off at...
-[x] The grocery store nearest to the SRB building. See if they're selling any potatoey goodness that you can stock up on.
-[x] Along with empty containers to later store potatoes in for easy respuding.
[x] Any recent problems I should know about? Difficulties? Besides the last director kicking the bucket.
[x] Overall morale; how the personnel are doing since the last director kicked the bucket. How is everyone doing?
[x] Stop off at...
-[x] The grocery store nearest to the SRB building. See if they're selling any potatoey goodness that you can stock up on.
-[x] Along with empty containers to later store potatoes in for easy respuding.
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theflyingbiscuit
"Titanic neechan"
That would put it as the close second most populated city in the USA after New York and the 5th most populated metropolitan area in north america (city is not the same as metropolitan area. This just makes "how populated is a city?" a more complicated question.).
That seems is a bit much for the dumping grounds of talent.
I dont think he (a greeter) would know most of this and we would want to be in a secure location to get some of this info anyway.
[x] What can you tell me about the rest of the staff?
[x] Any recent problems I should know about? Difficulties? Besides the last director kicking the bucket.
[x] Overall morale; how the personnel are doing since the last director kicked the bucket. How is everyone doing?
[x] Stop off at...
-[x] The grocery store nearest to the SRB building. See if they're selling any potatoey goodness that you can stock up on.
-[x] Along with empty containers to later store potatoes in for easy respuding.
edit:
A flask for liquor and a flask for potatoes.
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- Location
- .
Yep, this is specifically a 'generally estimated' population. There's a much higher than normal population of fae folk, especially the very small ones, which means you can fit a great many more of them in a place that would normally be cramped for regular humans. A local fae family/court might have a hundred members living in a one or two bed apartment. Local parks? Dryad trees are basically the only type of plant that can survive without sunlight, so no competition for space! A lot of were-beings have litters or clutches. The sewers are... let's just say heavily populated. The dwarven tunnels are an open secret (and no, they don't have planning permission either, but who's going to cause a diplomatic incident just for that?). If you count fully registered, tax-paying individuals, it's more like five million.
You can also consider the quest world as a great deal more populated than our own, due to improved fertility (thanks, magic), interdimensional immigration, legal citizenship of non-humans, etc. Las Estrellas is a city that very much builds upwards and doesn't much care for building permits if it can get away with it (magic can also do impressive things for structural integrity).
Also, damn, you guys really love your potatoes.