III - Procedure
xamaplak
WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE @SOUP?
- Location
- the Soup Store
- Pronouns
- He/Him
You hesitate for a moment, feeling an odd sensation. You have no guideline, no path set forward, and only two choices that you can clearly see before you. As you walk towards the police car, and the officers quickly rearrange themselves – one in the front, driving, and one in the back sitting with you, you try to convince yourself that you've made the right choice.
The next few hours are a bit of a blur – there's chattering on the radio about roadblocks and other units, but you and your rescuers aren't part of it. After they confirmed that you had no pressing injuries, you were taken to a local police station where you were briefly examined by a doctor, given a bottle of water that you were firmly told to drink, and then transferred to the local police headquarters. There, you were placed in a room with animal-print wallpaper, comfortable-looking chairs, a few bookshelves, a table with coloring books and crayons, and a tired-looking policewoman.
After being fed – a meal that was mainly fish and rice – an older-looking man with eyestalks and a woman with a proboscis entered the room, and the questioning began.
"...Oroku Saki." The policeman states, and you feel your hackles rise.
"How did you know that?"
"It's my Quirk; I can see people's names, date of birth, even their Individual Numbers." He cracks a grin, "Makes my job easier."
"In cases like this, we prefer to ascertain information like that organically," the proboscis woman says, a hint of steel in her voice. She nods to you and makes a half-bow, "My name is Yamamoto Eiko, and I'm the social worker provisionally assigned to your case. Lieutenant Matsudaira," she gestures at the man with eyestalks, "and I are here to figure out what happened to you, and to ascertain how we can help you."
"And to tell you that we caught the guys that grabbed you," Lieutenant Matsudaira says, still grinning. "Good thing you ran, too – cults can convince runaways of all kinds of things."
"We aren't here to make assumptions," you can hear the rebuke in her tone, like sensei when you answered one of his questions without thinking. She again focuses on you, and her voice turns softer. "We're here to help you."
You feel your eyes narrow. "Why?" The question slips out too quickly for you to stop it and the policewoman, who up to this point hasn't said a word, sighs.
"It's my job," Matsudaira says, "and I get a kick out of it. Never really got over failing the Yuuei entrance exam."
Yamamoto nods, "One of the signs of a society's health," she begins, "is how it treats its…" she pauses, as-if searching for a word, then seems to settle on "most vulnerable members." You again feel your hackles rise, but she keeps going. "When people slip through the cracks there has to be someone willing to help pull them back out. If there aren't people and organizations like that, then I don't believe that a society can be considered beneficial to the people that live within it."
There's a pause in the questioning as you mull her words over. It still rankles that she implied you were weak, but you at least understand what she and Matsudaira gain from helping you – a sense of righteousness and smug superiority. You can work with that.
"So," Yamamoto eventually says, "we already know your name, but I don't know your age yet." Matsudaira, prudently, holds his tongue. "Or your… situation. Can you tell us, in your own words, what happened?"
[] The full, unvarnished truth. They found out your name and age – how do you know they won't be able to catch you in a lie? And more, if you start out telling the full truth, it can't be used to hurt you later on.
[] A half-truth; you'll tell them enough of the truth that they won't reasonably be able to catch you in an out-and-out lie, but you don't feel like telling them everything.
-[] Authorial fiat
-[] Write-in
[] Straight-up lie; you don't know these people. You only know a little bit about what they want from you, and none of that is certain.
-[] Write-in
And how do you feel about this situation? Purely internal, won't be said out-loud.
[] Write-in, keep it short -- A few words, one sentence, maybe two.
AN:
For reference something along the lines of 'I'm an orphan, I ran away from the foster system a long time ago and was looking into these guys because I like eating' counts as a half-truth while 'I've been living on my own for years and these guys jumped me in the warehouse I was squatting in' is a straight-up lie, though write-ins aren't subject to veto this time. What wins, wins. Consider this a character-building moment.
The bonus from last time's write-in never actually came into effect, because despite the low rolls there was no actual failure that necessitated a re-roll. So soon-ish you'll be seeing something to reward that write-in.
Writing a Quest is even more fun than I expected, though the low word-count makes me wince. One of these days I'll write an update that's over 1000 words, but for now I'm happy that I always find an organic stopping-point for votes.
The next few hours are a bit of a blur – there's chattering on the radio about roadblocks and other units, but you and your rescuers aren't part of it. After they confirmed that you had no pressing injuries, you were taken to a local police station where you were briefly examined by a doctor, given a bottle of water that you were firmly told to drink, and then transferred to the local police headquarters. There, you were placed in a room with animal-print wallpaper, comfortable-looking chairs, a few bookshelves, a table with coloring books and crayons, and a tired-looking policewoman.
After being fed – a meal that was mainly fish and rice – an older-looking man with eyestalks and a woman with a proboscis entered the room, and the questioning began.
"...Oroku Saki." The policeman states, and you feel your hackles rise.
"How did you know that?"
"It's my Quirk; I can see people's names, date of birth, even their Individual Numbers." He cracks a grin, "Makes my job easier."
"In cases like this, we prefer to ascertain information like that organically," the proboscis woman says, a hint of steel in her voice. She nods to you and makes a half-bow, "My name is Yamamoto Eiko, and I'm the social worker provisionally assigned to your case. Lieutenant Matsudaira," she gestures at the man with eyestalks, "and I are here to figure out what happened to you, and to ascertain how we can help you."
"And to tell you that we caught the guys that grabbed you," Lieutenant Matsudaira says, still grinning. "Good thing you ran, too – cults can convince runaways of all kinds of things."
"We aren't here to make assumptions," you can hear the rebuke in her tone, like sensei when you answered one of his questions without thinking. She again focuses on you, and her voice turns softer. "We're here to help you."
You feel your eyes narrow. "Why?" The question slips out too quickly for you to stop it and the policewoman, who up to this point hasn't said a word, sighs.
"It's my job," Matsudaira says, "and I get a kick out of it. Never really got over failing the Yuuei entrance exam."
Yamamoto nods, "One of the signs of a society's health," she begins, "is how it treats its…" she pauses, as-if searching for a word, then seems to settle on "most vulnerable members." You again feel your hackles rise, but she keeps going. "When people slip through the cracks there has to be someone willing to help pull them back out. If there aren't people and organizations like that, then I don't believe that a society can be considered beneficial to the people that live within it."
There's a pause in the questioning as you mull her words over. It still rankles that she implied you were weak, but you at least understand what she and Matsudaira gain from helping you – a sense of righteousness and smug superiority. You can work with that.
"So," Yamamoto eventually says, "we already know your name, but I don't know your age yet." Matsudaira, prudently, holds his tongue. "Or your… situation. Can you tell us, in your own words, what happened?"
[] The full, unvarnished truth. They found out your name and age – how do you know they won't be able to catch you in a lie? And more, if you start out telling the full truth, it can't be used to hurt you later on.
[] A half-truth; you'll tell them enough of the truth that they won't reasonably be able to catch you in an out-and-out lie, but you don't feel like telling them everything.
-[] Authorial fiat
-[] Write-in
[] Straight-up lie; you don't know these people. You only know a little bit about what they want from you, and none of that is certain.
-[] Write-in
And how do you feel about this situation? Purely internal, won't be said out-loud.
[] Write-in, keep it short -- A few words, one sentence, maybe two.
AN:
For reference something along the lines of 'I'm an orphan, I ran away from the foster system a long time ago and was looking into these guys because I like eating' counts as a half-truth while 'I've been living on my own for years and these guys jumped me in the warehouse I was squatting in' is a straight-up lie, though write-ins aren't subject to veto this time. What wins, wins. Consider this a character-building moment.
The bonus from last time's write-in never actually came into effect, because despite the low rolls there was no actual failure that necessitated a re-roll. So soon-ish you'll be seeing something to reward that write-in.
Writing a Quest is even more fun than I expected, though the low word-count makes me wince. One of these days I'll write an update that's over 1000 words, but for now I'm happy that I always find an organic stopping-point for votes.
