#greenspoilers

[fiddles-ifs]

how do i get to see shirtless bautista and the spar offer? i thought ive gone through all the options but i cant seem to find those.

That specific sequence of events has more to do with variables than certain choices in sequence, so you have to really thread the needle wrt interviewing the lumberjacks. The easiest way to get to spar with Bautista or Nazeri is under the cut!

Go to McNeil's -> Tell Cal the bartender you're hiking -> Pull up a seat -> Rough day at work? -> Stay put -> A teenager? or Kind of a major douche?

That should put you at exactly the right amount you need to get the most information! After interviewing Eddie away from Cal and the rest of the lumberjacks, you'll get to ask Bautista to spar (while they're in their underwear)

[fanfictasia]

Disaster Trio Appreciation Week Day 2

Green

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from The Wrong Time-Travellers

As far as the awkward situations Ahsoka has been in go, this is one of the worst. She’d seen herself in a place where she forgot how to talk to Anakin, but that wasn’t something she lived through. This is reality. Present.

They’re in the room of a thousand fountains now, for the first time since Anakin came back. It’s been too long. It’s the look on Anakin’s face when he enters that cuts her to the core. She… never knew him when he first came to the Temple, but Ahsoka suddenly imagines this is what it must’ve been like. He – he hasn’t seen anything green or living in… months.

All because the Council made a stupid mistake – as usual – and gave him over to a group of crazy Dark-Siders. Ahsoka tries to remind herself over and over that she shouldn’t blame the Council for it, but she can’t help it. It was them who made this choice.

She also knows and doesn’t care that Obi-Wan is watching how she’s holding Anakin’s hand and won’t let go. She’s finding she doesn’t care terribly much what he thinks about it. It’s not that she doesn’t care, because she does want his acceptance and approval, but it’s not the same with him as it is with Anakin. He broke her trust, and he hasn’t regained it, or maybe it’s that she’s simply not willing to return it. Ahsoka might feel bad about it, but it is what it is.

“It’s been a… long time,” Anakin says finally. He looks… happier that he has since he came back. Maybe a tiny bit more at peace.

The room looks real enough that she could almost be surprised it’s not, but she’s grown up knowing it. “You can touch it if you want to,” Obi-Wan reminds, nudging him forwards. “You don’t need to hold back anymore.”

Anakin moves forwards, settling down near one of the plants. He looks… calm, and Ahsoka moves forwards to sit next to him. She lays a hand on his knee.

Obi-Wan looks tired, worn – it’s how Ahsoka feels, too. She can’t help thinking she should have done something more. Everyone should have. Anakin did everything for them, but they failed him in the end. Ahsoka leans over, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Anakin says. “You’ve done so much for me.”

“Consider it even,” Ahsoka replies, closing her eyes, letting the calm of the nearby plants wash over her. “You fought for me when no one else would. It’s only right.”

“I failed you twice over,” Obi-Wan reminds, a point which no one tries arguing – Ahsoka because she, quite frankly, agrees and Anakin because they’ve already talked about it. “I’m making it up to you. At least I’m trying to.”

[fiddles-ifs]

Taps the microphone. Shirtless Bautista in this month's update. Thank you

[fiddles-ifs]

series of mildly concerning statements.......

[fiddles-ifs]

The Box is Open. THE BOX IS OPEN

A VERY MERRY GREENWARDEN HOLIDAY

Warden’s winter season is marked by Christmas lights and tinsel on phone poles, bright snowflakes in green and red and white lit up when the sun goes down. There’s even a few chanukiyot in shop windows, gelt sold in the grocery stores. It’s also fucking cold. 

The mountains freeze early. It’s been snowing since October up here, but it’s only just now been cold enough for the river to go solid, enough that there are kids daring each other to seal slide across when their parents aren’t looking. They wear layers of socks on their hands, four coats and as many pairs of jeans, and little toboggans with puffs of color at their crowns or WVU stitched on their foreheads. You smile, shake your head, and breathe warm air into your numb fingers. It’s better than hurricane season in Florida, at least.

Devin and Nazeri sent you out to get last-minute groceries, things that they were too busy bickering to remember. They’ve set aside their differences -- mostly -- to keep the holiday somewhat calm. It’s still Irish Christmas at Devin’s house, though. Utter chaos.

The bags are heavy in your hands. You’ve gotten offers from a few, cautious Wardenites to hop in their car and they’ll drive you up the holler, but you’ve declined every time. You kind of like the walk now. It’s brisk, you get to see the decorations, and the eerie cracking of river ice as it thaws and refreezes is oddly peaceful.

You pass under the boughs of branches, and the whispers start. The steady pressure on the back of your skull. A shiver rolls down your spine.

...calm...

You stop on the trail, head tilted, straining to listen. Your ears rumble with blood.

...happy...

...Nothing.

You roll your shoulders and shake the tension from your head, a huff of hot air crystalizing and dissipating. The pressure subsides, just a bit, but noticeable. A contented big cat curling up for a nap. You walk a little faster down the trail.

Devin’s foyer is welcome warmth, Dean Martin’s crooner voice blaring through the TV speakers. It smells like God. Your mouth immediately gets sloppy wet, and when you walk into the kitchen to set the bags down, you already see Devin threatening Trace with a wooden spoon.

“Go on! Git!”

She scampers, muttley laughing, one of Devin’s homemade bread rolls in her mouth. Nazeri is on savory duty, reading over Devin’s recipe book.

“Are you sure I should put cumin in this?” He asks. Devin eyes him from whatever batter they’re whipping into shape.

“I’m sure.”

“I just think cardamom would be better-”

“I have stuff,” you haul the grocery bags onto the kitchen island before another fight kicks up. Both of them light up at the sight of you. Bautista pokes her head from around the overstuffed chair. She’s curled around a hot cup of coffee. The monstrously huge stack of firewood by the fireplace and her cherry red nose tells you all you need to know about what she’s been up to. You ask anyway.

“They won’t let me in the kitchen,” she says.

“Because you’re bud luck,” Devin rifles through the bags and pulls out produce, spices, and booze under Trace’s watchful eye. “She managed to burn rice. Rice!”

“Is that what happened while I was gone?” You chuckle. Not that you’re much better -- you have the sneaking suspicion Devin and Nazeri sent you to the store to get you out of the house. Otherwise, you’d be causing even more chaos. All of you woke up early this morning to make breakfast and get dinner done before Polar Express comes on this evening, and Devin quickly chased all but Nazeri out of the kitchen because the rest of you are functionally useless with anything but coffee makers and microwaves. Now, dinner is in its last vestiges.

You ladle a little eggnog into a cup and sip, casting around at the Kwanzaa kinara, the nativity scene, and Bautista’s dinky little handmade parols. Trace made paper snowflakes and plastered them to the walls with Scotch tape. She has her ear next to the speaker, quietly tapping away with her finger. It feels strangely like family. It’s not a feeling you’ve felt for years. Something stings, and something balms a wound.

You hide your face behind your mug for a bit.

You manage to slip in somehow, pre-rinsing dishes and running the dishwasher. It lessens the load a little, while Bautista and Trace play ninja in the living room. Sometimes you tag in. Trace wins. You and Bautista take bets on who would win at the game -- Nazeri or Trace; Devin chimes in with a five dollar wager, and then it’s on.

The ninja game lasts until Devin serves dinner for everyone. You curl up by the nativity scene with a plate of roast chicken, lumpia, tahdig. A second round of mashed potatoes, gravy, and green beans. A little bit of pie, a little bit of ice cream. You eat until your stomach hurts and your eyes droop, curled with hot chocolate. Even Nazeri and Devin are laughing at each others jokes.

Polar Express is an uglier movie than you remember, but it sparks a nostalgic part of you. None of you do Noche Buena -- Devin and Nazeri don’t celebrate, Trace doesn’t know what it is, and Bautista can’t stay awake too long. She’s got a two hour drive tomorrow to catch morning mass at the nearest Catholic church. Habits. If she doesn’t get a solid six hours, she won’t wake up.

You swallow a yawn beside Devin on the couch.

“Thanks for doing this for us,” you mutter, everyone enraptured by Tom Hanks’ eclectic hot chocolate burlesque.

“Sure,” they say, “you’re family now, pretty much.”

You can’t really argue. Not tonight, anyway.

It feels good to be family.

[fiddles-ifs]

I cackled when a certain coyote showed up in an alleyway, thanks for looking out for us!

Though that route, I'm not sure where... Liam? went when all that went down. I didn't see it mentioned anywhere so the transition is a little hazy there for me.

He just left! Skedaddled! Moseyd on out. He's in his room at home playing XBox.

[fiddles-ifs]

has baut or anyone else noticed this memory loss? 🤔

What memory loss?

[fiddles-ifs]

hey im on the bar fight scene and it described my very short tracker as a foot taller than the 6 ft lumberjack guy so i think there must be a bug or something 😅

Noted!! I'll check it out! :]

[fiddles-ifs]

Why was Baut at the bar? Did they follow the Tracker there and just sat away from them to keep an eye on them or did they just get there when things Got Bad?

They got a little concerned when you didn't come back after a few hours. Once the sun set, they started looking for you. They just happened to (coincidentally) get there just as things Went Down.

[fiddles-ifs]

GRUBFIXES: 3-31-23

Quick bugfix update! Everything should be hunkydory for the moment! :]

Fixed a pronoun issue in CH01_Scene06

Fixed an issue during the Bar Fight scene where the MC's height was always registered as "tall" or "very tall"

Redirected "ch01_lumberjacks" to "demo end"

[fiddles-ifs]

are the three tally marks on the nape that you see trace get after biting the tracker a tattoo or a scar? is it spoilery to ask what its for?

It's a scar! Tracker doesn't know where it comes from -- they just assume it's something they got on the job.

[fiddles-ifs]

Hello, sorry to bother. Just here to report this error: the passage "ch01_lumberjacks" does not exist. Thanks for the update.

Yep, sadly that branch isn't written yet (although it IS a bug that the passage beforehand doesn't send you to the usual demo end screen -- should be fixed soon)

[fiddles-ifs]

Hello again! I'm the anon who just asked about the barfight scene. I did a different combo i hadn't tried before and it went through (basically chose: admitting I was investigating, apologizing for her loss, then going from there till the "long night" and it continued)

Not sure if it didn't trigger the othe times for a reason, or if it's an issue, but thought I should let you know

(sorry for sending an ask before I tried all the possible options :sweat_smile:)

Sorry about the abrupt ending to that part of the demo! Getting the bar fight scene only happens under specific circumstances (basically: being too forward with Cal at McNeil’s). The down-low route isn’t written/implemented yet.

[fiddles-ifs]

Hi wanted to let you know that if you choose fuck it DIY with the broken nose the next passage is fine except the text that would take you to the next page cuts off in the middle and leads you to an error "Error: the passage "RE" does not exist" idk if it's because it's still a work in progress or something just thought u should know in case it wasn't intentional :-)

Should be fixed now!!

[fiddles-ifs]

do you ever just get very proud of how you’ve described something

text under the cut

It’s a long walk, and you have a long time to stew.

Warden unfolds in pretty doll houses with sprawling yards, blooming gardens, and well-manicured walkways, the coves where wealthy elderlies go to die in the shadow of the natural gas boom. They live off investments and old money, or a tidy little stipend from selling their land for gas companies to exploit. A few of them give you an eye, watering their lawns or sitting on their porches. You walk a little faster. Peeling back a few more petals, you can see Warden start to rot. There are vacant houses with old FOR SALE signs, neglected once their occupants have passed on and too expensive for the rest of the community to even try buying.

  This far into town, the buildings stop trying to level the earth and instead start working around it. Warden is a kaleidoscope of concrete stairs cutting into mounds. The road is steep in places, the sidewalk nearly nonexistent — you’re walking on bare asphalt for some of your journey. Two-story clapboard houses built during the coal mining days are in every state of disrepair, stacked on top of each other, all rotting wood propping up more decay. The occasional beacon of a well-loved home sticks out, trying its best to grow beneath decades of neglect. At the occasional T-section, you can peer down into the rest of Warden.

  Suddenly, everything is flat. Flatter, at least. You’re at the center of town now, closer to the river. It seems quieter here.

[fiddles-ifs]

Back in the saddle baybee!!!!!