#when all parties have finally extricated themselves from the trauma that led them to make those mistakes

[remyfire]

I love finding out the things that are solidly important—like, the most crucial things possible—for someone's typical postwar depictions because I have some that are so rigid, it's difficult for me to step outside the lines, but they can sometimes be totally different from someone else's brilliant world that they prefer to paint. Humans and creativity and how our minds work are just! Really cool 😌

[mishasminion360]

We’ll All Float On

An It: Chapter 2 epilogue

Warning: Language; mentions of trauma and therapy; coming out of the closet; angst; fluff. You know what? Everything. It’s got everything.

A/N: I wrote this ages ago immediately after seeing the movie, but I’m just getting around to typing it up and posting it. The remaining members of the Losers Club deserve all the happinesses life can dish out. And in this house we ship Reddie!

Derry, Maine, 2017

Maybe coming back there wasn’t the best idea. After all, the last time they’d all gathered at that particular restaurant it had been a disaster, a God damned nightmare, and Mike had sworn to himself that he’d never eat Chinese food again. But as he gazed into the bubbling waters of the aquarium (this time tranquil and free of severed heads), his worries began to subside. And when the second of the Losers finally arrived his fears vanished completely.

“Jesus, isn’t there anywhere else to eat in this town?” Mike turned to see Bill Denbrough sling his jacket over the back of a chair and offering him a wide grin.

“Man, you grew up here, too, Bill. You should know that the answer to that question is a resounding ‘no’.”

The two men embraced with a hearty laugh, things already felt so much different than before.

***

Beverly gazed up at the glowing neon of the Jade of the Orient as Ben wrapped an arm tenderly around her waist.

“How does it feel to be back, Mr. Hanscom?” Bev asked, leaning into him.

“A lot better now that I’m not saddled with this overwhelming sense of dread weighing on my chest.”

Beverly circled both of her arms around Ben’s muscular torso which 28 years ago had not been so muscular. “Well, now the only thing resting on your chest is me.”

She hoisted herself up on her toes to lock her lips with his and Ben smiled into the kiss. “Easy now, Mrs. Hanscom,” he murmured. “Time and place. Time and place.”

“Get a room you two, before I lose my appetite.”

The lovebirds extricated themselves from each other’s arms to gape at the bespectacled man who’d approached them.

“Seriously, how the fuck is it that the two of you look even better than you did last year? And what the fuck am I doing wrong?”

“Beep beep, Richie!!!” Ben and Beverly cheered in unison as the pulled good ol’ Trashmouth Tozier into a bear hug.

“All right you two, lay off,” Richie laughed as he shrugged his way out of their embrace. “Don’t touch me, you don’t know where I’ve been.”

The three linked arms and strode to the front door of the restaurant like Dorothy, Scarecrow and the Tin Man sauntering down the yellow brick road.

“Alrighty, fellas,” Bev said, never afraid to take the lead. “Let’s do this thing.”

***

“Hello and welcome! How many in your…oh.”

The hostess trailed off as she took in the trip before her. Oh, she remembered these three, and the rest of their strange little gang as well. The last time the six of them had dined there they’d nearly destroyed their finest dining room. She didn’t need to open up a fortune cookie to know she’d be cleaning up more shattered dishes and splintered furniture that night.

“Right this way,” she said, clearing her throat. “The rest of your party is expecting you.”

Volleying quips and sharing in quiet giggles, Bev, Ben, and Richie followed the hostess as she procured their utensils and menus and led them to their seats.

“Where is your sick friend? The small man who is allergic to everything? I don’t believe he’s arrived yet.”

The trio immediately fell silent. She’d been referring, of course, to Eddie Kaspbrak. Bev would had to have been blind not to notice Richie’s face fall and his body sag with an unspoken sadness at the mere mention of their late friend. Reaching behind her without looking, she grasped Richie’s hand tightly in her own and her stiff shoulders relaxed when she felt him squeeze back in thanks.

“He’s, um,” Ben paused as a he searched for the right words. “He’s one of the reasons we’re here tonight.”

***

Mike and Bill were already engaged in an animated discussion about something or other and hadn’t even noticed the others approach. Ben gazed wistfully at the joyful pair, admiring their exuberance and allowing it to overtake him as well before removing the padded mallet from its place and offering it to Richie. “Care to do the honors?”

Bill and Mike’s conversation was abruptly silenced by the thunderous echo of a gong and Richie’s announcement.

“This meeting of the Losers Club has officially begun.”

And just like that all of the pieces fell into place. The little family was whole, as it would ever be, once more.

***

“Shit, Mike, you actually went to Florida?” Richie guffawed before taking a pull from his beer.

“Mm-hm,” he responded through a mouthful of lo mein.

“Fuck, why?”

“It’s like I told you when we were kids. It’s just a place I’d always wanted to see. Now I’ve seen it.

“And?”

The other five eyed Mike in anticipation of an exciting story, but he merely shrugged. “It’s about as magical as you’d expect.”

“Yeah, I told you you’d hate it,” Richie snickered.

“It wasn’t all bad. I did meet a nice gal in Jacksonville.” This was met with a chorus of juvenile “oohs” and a salacious whistle from Bill.

“What was she, like, 70?”

“Don’t be such a smart ass, Rich,” Mike chided, waiting until Richie once again had his lips poised at the edge of his glass of booze before finishing his sentence. “She was 80.”

The gang hooted as Trashmouth Tozier choked on his beverage. Bill clapped his coughing friend firmly on his back before lifting his own glass.

“If Richie here can keep it down, I’d like to propose a toast.” The others followed suit and hoisted their drinks in the air. “To those we lost. To Stan and Eddie.”

They smiled they’d all been wearing throughout the evening finally began to falter as silence engulfed the room. After a moment of quiet hesitation, Bev tapped her glass against Bill’s.

“To Stan,” she said with a grin that took all of her strength to muster.

“To Stan,” they all repeated before clinking glasses and taking a swig.

“To Eddie,” Ben cheered, and the others parroted with a little more pep. All but one.

“Rich? You okay, man?” Bill turned to his left to see the usually boisterous comedian staring stoically into his half poised glass, his brow furrowed in concentration as if he was searching the bottom of his beer for something he’d never be able to find.

“To Eddie,” he whispered at last, clinking his glass against all the others.

***

Though Florida had been a bit of a dud, Mike did find happiness traversing other states, even other countries. Thanks to a little help from Bev’s keen eye, Ben had just designed, and would be supervising construction for, a swanky new chain of hotels. Richie’s third Netflix special would be available to stream by the end of the week. Bill’s latest book had just been nominated for an award and talks had already begun regarding a big screen adaptation. And all that good news coincided with the birth of his first child, a son named Georgie.

It certainly seemed that none of them could be considered losers anymore.

***

Another blanket of uncomfortable silence settled upon them as the waitress plopped the plate of fortune cookies in the center of the table.

“Enjoy,” she chirped before adding in a whisper, “and my boss has insisted that I ask you lot to please refrain from destroying any furniture this time.” To that end she left them to partake in their potentially hazardous desert, and the group eyed the plate of novelty snacks with trepidation.

“Okay, who wants to be the first to crack one of these suckers open?” Richie asked. “By the way, not it.”

After another moment or two of hesitation, Mike finally reached for the plate. “I got you all into this mess last time, so I might as well start making up for it. Since Eddie can’t be with us, I’ll be this evening’s designated risk analyst.”

He cracked a cookie in two and, popping one half inside his mouth and discarding the other on the table, withdrew the small slip of paper.

No blood, no milky eyeballs, no critters from another hellscape of a world. The only thing inside these cookies were fortunes. Mike read his without a sound, and he could feel the others watching him intently.

“If that fucking thing says ‘guess’ or ‘Stanley’ or ‘could’ or ‘not’ or ‘cut’ or ‘it’, I swear to God I’m fucking gone.” Richie laughed but failed to hide his growing unease.

Mike grinned as he read the fortune again, this time out loud. “‘The world is big, but time is short.’”

“Well that’s much less terrifying,” Bill sighed. “I’ll take that as a cue to dig in.”

Bill devoured the cookie and then vocalized his fortune. “‘The ending is the most integral part of the journey’.”

“Would you look at that,” Richie guffawed, clapping Bill on the shoulder. “Even a shitty cookie has offer it’s two cents about your lousy endings.”

“Fuck you, Trashmouth. My last two novels have ended quite nicely, thank you very much. Just ask my Booker Prize nomination.”

“I’d rather ask the award itself when you win it.”

Bill rolled the slip of paper into a minuscule ball and flicked it aside. “If I win it.”

Richie shook his head. “When.”

Bill patted Richie’s hand as a sign of thanks. “You know, I’ve actually been thinking about taking a step back from all the doom and gloom thriller stuff to take a swing at writing children’s books.”

“You’re kidding!” Bev exclaimed with a bark of laughter.

“I’m serious. I kind of thought it would be a good way for Georgie and I to bond. I write a story, then we read it together. You know?”

Ben leaned back in his chair and snapped his cookie in half. “Bill that’s…wow. That’s quite a change. Good for you, man.”

“What does yours say, honey? Bev asked, eyeing the slip of paper between her husband’s fingers.

“Yeah, honey. What’s it say?” Richie leaned toward the two of them, batting his eyelashes dramatically and resting his chin in his hands as the pair flipped him off at the same time.

“It says ‘he who builds the dreams of others should not neglect his own’.”

“Well, that’s oddly specific,” Richie said matter-of-factly. “You know, because you’re an architect? You build things….yeah, I’ll shut up now.”

“First time for everything,” Ben grinned.

“I want to read mine next,” Bev chimed in, holding the small piece of paper primly between her fingers. “It says ‘the smallest changes make the biggest difference’.”

Mike rubbed his chin in thought, nodding his approval at the depth of Bev’s fortune. “Anyone want to wager a guess as to what it means?”

Richie snapped his fingers as his eyes lit up. “Well, by jove, I think I’ve got it, gents,” he exclaimed in an overblown, piss poor excuse for a British accent they hadn’t heard him use since they were kids. “I do believe it means that if our dear friend William here could slightly alter his crummy endings, some of his books might actually make for a halfway decent read.”

Bill glared at his wisecracking friend. “Tozier, if you make fun of my writing one more time, I swear to God-“

“Don’t blame me, man. It’s the cookies that have it out for you!”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with Bill’s books, Rich,” Ben smiled just as Bill smacked Richie in the back of his head.

“I think it means that something small can have a huge impact on your life,” Bev clarified. She scanned the faces of her companions to see if any were catching her drift.

“What, like, a new haircut?”

“Or a baby, Richie.” Ben’s eyes twinkled when he grinned.

“Right. Or like-wait, what?”

“Bev that’s….are you really….?” Mike stammered happily.

“Three weeks along,” she confirmed proudly. “You guys didn’t think it was a little weird that I’ve been drinking water this entire evening?”

Bill leapt from his chair and threw his arms around the expectant couple. “Ben! Bev! This is amazing news! Congratulations!”

“Yeah, congrats you two crazy kids,” Richie added before Mike inquired if they’d been considering names yet.

Bev leaned into her husband affectionately. “Well, of it’s a girl, Ben has graciously agreed to name her after my mother, Elfrida. We’d call her Frida for short.”

“Beautiful choice, Bev,” Mike praised, taising his glass and taking a celebratory sip. “And if it’s a boy?”

The Hanscom’s looked silently, almost nervously at each other before answering, some sort of unspoken agreement passing between the two of them as the rest of the Losers looked on.

“If it’s a boy,” Ben finally said, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d even been holding, “we’d like to name him Eddie. Edward Stanley Hanscom.”

Richie instantly felt a lump form in his throat, and he had to cast his eyes downward to ensure that no one could see the pain that burned behind them. He chewed his lip quietly as he struggled to reel his unraveling emotions back in. When he looked back up his eyes immediately found Beverly’s. She searched his face silently. Hopefully.

“He would have loved that,” Richie finally croaked. “They both would have.”

Mike and Bill were too choked up to speak, so they just adamantly nodded their agreement.

“Alright, I think I’ve had about as much sentimentality as I can take for one evening.” Ben turned to Richie and tossed him a fortune cookie. “Come on, funny man, make me laugh. What does yours say?”

Richie made a big manly show of crushing the cookie in his hand before extricating the fortune from the rubble of the snack, and as he read it to himself his face blanched.

“Oh, this should be good,” Mike snickered, noticing Richie’s sudden discomfort. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Rich.”

He felt a wave of nausea overtake him as he read and re-read the small segment of paper. The clown was dead, he knew that, but this fortune felt like another of his cruel tricks. Richie felt as if he were being mocked all over again.

Love doesn’t come only once.

“Rich?” Beverly asked softly, her gentle voice cutting through the harsh buzz of white noise in his ears. Nuh-uh. No way in hell was he reading this shit out loud. He didn’t have the stomach to explain it to them. Not yet. Not like this.

“I, uh, I guess my new special’s gonna bomb,” he coughed. “It says ‘a career change can set you on your true path’.”

The others eyed him skeptically and he feared they’d seen through his fib when Ben at last said, “it’s probably for the best, Rich. You’re not that funny anyway.”

Richie mouthed a silent “fuck you” and the tension dissolved into laughter.

***

The first to arrive, the leave. Mike stood and slipped his jacket from the back of the chair, shrugging into it as he said, “I don’t know about you folks, but jet lag and alcohol do not seem to be mixing well for me. Any of you care to continue the conversation back at the townhouse?”

“You read my mind,” Bill said, polishing off the dregs of his third beer before following Mike’s lead.

“Me, Ben, and the Lima bean here,” Bev said with a Pat of her stomach, “would be more than happy to take you up on that offer.”

“I’ll handle the check,” Bill said, already removing his wallet from his back pocket.

“Slow your roll there, Stephen King,” Ben said, reaching for his own wallet. “I’ve got this one. Really.”

“Let’s at least split it. I don’t feel right about you taking the whole thing.”

“Girls, girls, you’re both pretty,” Bev interjected. “I’ll pay it myself if it keeps this from turning into an all night debate.”

Bill turned to Richie, who hadn’t moved an inch. “Well, maybe mr. big shot comedian here would like to contribute.”

Richie still made not a move to stand. He simply sat and stared at the collection of dirty dishes littering the table, gazing so intently that he could potentially shatter one of the plates with a single thought.

“Yo, earth to Trashmouth. You okay, man?”

Richie licked his lips nervously; his mouth had gone inexplicably dry and he struggled to dislodge his voice from his throat.

“I’m not ready to, uh….guys we can’t leave yet.”

The tone had shifted once again and a far sense of dread took hold of each of the Losers. Bill tried to laugh through the unease. “You planning on spending the night here, Richie?”

“You guys, I came here tonight to say something and, God dammit, I’m gonna say it! I just need…just give me a sec.”

Richie Tozier spent so much of his time joking around that the rest of the gang often forget that he was even capable of being serious. He felt sadness and fear just like the rest of them, and it was clear at that moment that he was scared to death.

He was gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles paled. Beverly slid into the chair next to him and took one of his hands in her own. He was shaking terribly.

“Richie, what’s wrong?”

For what was probably the first time in his life, Richie couldn’t bring himself to start talking. Tell them, Tozier, he commanded himself. Just tell them. They’re your friends, man. They deserve the truth. You owe it to them, and to yourself. To Stan. To…Eddie.

“Sweetie, you’re scaring us,” Bev whispered. “Talk to us, Richie.”

“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” he finally blurted, the words tumbling out with the gust of a breath.

The others glanced from one another, unsure of how to respond, until Mike placed a comforting hand on Richie’s shoulder.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Rich. Shit, after everything we went through last year…” He trailed off as Richie shook his head fiercely, eyes screwed shut.

“I’m…um, I’m….gay.”

And just like that it was out. His “dirty little secret”. His painful truth laid bared before him for his friends, for the world to see.

“I’ve been having a really hard time accepting myself and….and processing all of these feelings. Especially after….after Eddie….” The rest of the words died on his tongue. He couldn’t bare to finish the sentence. It had been a year since he’d lost the only man he’d ever loved, but with each passing day the wound reopened. The pain was always fresh.

“Oh, Rich,” Bev cooed. She stroked his hair and pulled him close, already a loving mother in the making. “We know, honey.”

“You….what?”

“Richie, we know,” Bill confirmed. “We’ve always known, man.”

Richie could hardly believe his ears. Was it even possible for someone to be in so much pain but still find it possible to smile?

“Why the fuck didn’t any of you ever say anything?”

Ben slipped an arm around Bev’s shoulders and placed one of his strong but gentle hands over Richie’s. “Because we didn’t care, Rich. Who you loved didn’t matter to us. Because we loved you.”

“We still do. We’re your friends, Trashmouth,” Mike added. “We figured that, someday, you’d tell us when you were good and ready.”

Richie snatched his glasses from his face to rub his eyes as his vision went blurry. “I would have told you all a lot sooner, I think. But then we all left and….and we forgot. I forgot.”

Beverly laid her head against Richie’s shoulder. His trembling had only grown worse.

“Do you think….do you think that Eddie knew?”

“Eddie’s death hit us all pretty hard, Richie, but we could see how deeply it hurt you. Much more than any of us. We understand why now,” Bev soothed. “We all know how much you loved him, and we’re just so sorry that you’ve had to deal with all these feelings by yourself.”

He didn’t want to cry in front of them. Not again. But Richie had never been a good fighter, so the tears eventually won. Just like that day in the quarry one year ago, his friends held him as his body convulsed with harsh wracking sobs.

***

After his good healthy cry, Richie excused himself and snuck off the pay the check before either Bill or Ben had the chance to protest.

“So, I think Richie is definitely going to need another drink. How about I go grab a couple six packs and then meet you all back at the townhouse?” Bill offered.

The gang nodded their agreement as they all began filing out of the dining room and toward the front door. Suddenly, Richie came barreling past them back to the table.

“OhShitOhShitOhShitOhShit,” he chorused as he frantically snatched up as many napkins as he could that hadn’t already been soiled.

“What happened?” Ben inquired, quirking one perfect brow.

“I bumped into a guy at the register.”

“A guy?” asked Bev. “Someone you know?”

“Nope,” Richie responded, clutching two fistfuls of napkins. “And I literally bumped into him. Now he’s wearing his takeout as a suit.”

Richie rushed past them all again in a mad rush to clean up the mess he’d made.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Looks like Trashmouth has got quite a way with the fellas, doesn’t he?”

***

Cozy in the townhouse, they laughed some more, drank some more, and reminisced some more. They listened intently as Bill read aloud some of the rough passages he’d scribbled out for Georgie’s book. They helped Mike chart a course for his next adventure: a traditional backpacking trip across Europe. Richie offered to tag along if they could make a pit stop in Amsterdam for some weed.

As for Richie, the happily married Losers offered him some helpful advice for his next encounter with Don, whose number he’d been rewarded with after mopping up his spilled sweet and sour chicken. The very Don he’d promised himself to call when he returned home and felt good and ready to make a move. And Richie was starting to feel that “ready” may actually come sooner rather than later.

And as the week long visit neared it’s end, as their time together came to a close, the five collectively came to the realization that they were far from the losers that Derry had shaped them to be. But then again they never did feel like losers when they were all together.

[itsbenedict]

No Driver’s License: Session 5

[adventure log- from the beginning]

[session 4]

Last time on No Driver’s License: wiiiiitch fiiiiiiiiiight, which the players won handily. They went to where Nishi-chan said the safehouse was at, found the witch Ｌａｍｐｌｉｇｈｔ Ｊｏａｎ rampaging, and put her down pretty handily, claiming a weird grief seed that Nishi-chan warned them not to use. Then a scary evil MG showed up and tried to get them to give it to her, and they managed to escape down a hatch to the safehouse right before her giant magic death shark ate them.

(pictured: @drazelic‘s drawing of @eternalfarnham‘s character, Kazama Ibara, who beat the everloving shit out of Joan while getting the everloving shit beat out of her in return.)

So what happens now that they’re in the safe(?)house?

Well, first off, the door to the safehouse led to a vertical shaft- and it was too dark for any of them to see the ladder, so they all tumbled down and landed in a big heap they had to extricate themselves from, to Sakura’s drastic abashment.

So, in the pitch blackness, Seina is the first to try and solve the problem like a reasonable person. She takes out her cell phone that she has, and uses its flashlight. Now they can see! And the only exit to the small room they find themselves in (besides the ladder back up, to where the overpowered shark summoner is waiting) is a dark tunnel that stretches on a long ways.

On their way through the tunnel, Nishi-chan gives them sharkgirl’s name- Yamauchi Yoshe. The name sounds sort of familiar to Sakura, but she doesn’t roll well enough to remember it exactly. So she turns to Google, which also fails, and her school website, which doesn’t have a public register of students. Finally, she tries Facebook- and finds Yoshe’s profile. It’s hidden, but she also finds that a few of her Facebook friends (who are mostly classmates she’s barely if at all spoken to and aren’t actual friends) are friends with Yoshe, making it pretty likely she attends her school. 

Yukari wisely advises not to immediately investigate Yoshe using an online tool that’s connected to her civilian identity, so she drops it there and the team proceeds into the darkness.

At the end of the tunnel, they find the world’s most suspicious object ever: a vase of daffodils on a small desk. There’s also a left turn that leads deeper into the safehouse, but clearly this vase of flowers needs to be investigated in detail.

They thoroughly inspect the incredibly suspicious vase of flowers, and find that it hides exactly zero secrets whatsoever. It’s just flowers. It must be a trap, but they continue on regardless.

At the next bend in the tunnel, they find the second heinous trap on the wall: a motivational poster!!!

They could handle some flowers, but this diabolical obstacle was going FUCKING DOWN

The party is somewhat split on this.

Eventually, the deadly foe is utterly vanquished thanks to Makoto’s heroism.

They finally reach an actual room, with a lightswitch, and turn it on. They find... just, kind of a nice apartment! A clean kitchen, a sofa, more flowers, and a desk covered in half-finished homework. Someone clearly lives here, and- OH FUCK THERE’S MORE MOTIVATIONAL POSTERS, SHIT, IT’S TIME TO TAKE ACTION

Eventually, after Yukari’s outburst quells the rampage of indiscriminate poster destruction, (and after Ibara raids the fridge to address the fact that she hasn’t eaten in like days,) Nishi-chan tries to get people back on track. During the confrontation with Yoshe, she claimed she could bring the magical girl who’d become Lamplight Joan back to life- and is eager to get around to it.

People aren’t exactly eager to trust Nishi-chan, what with how she apparently kinda sort of tried to kill them earlier. A whole lot of questions ensue, including:

“Is Olivia going to be okay? Can she go home?”: Nishi-chan says that Yoshe can only sense people by tracking where their telepathy comes from, and that- since nobody replied to Yoshe back when they were in the apartment- Yoshe probably doesn’t know exactly which apartment they were in at the time, which means Olivia is probably safe. 

“How long are we trapped here?”: Until Yoshe gets bored and decides to go cry to- and then Nishi-chan cuts herself off, not mentioning who exactly Yoshe reports to. Yukari guesses that she has an Incubator on her side.

“What’s up with Incubators? Don’t you take sides against each other, for some reason?”: Nishi-chan unconvincingly lies, saying that, oh yeah, there must be a third incubator on Yoshe’s side, because she and Tama-chan have nothing to do with her at all, HA HA HA WHAT A CRAZY IDEA

They start rolling Seek the Truth to get more info out of Nishi-chan, but they flub their rolls and she clams up, and tries to redirect the conversation back to them handing over Joan’s Grief Seed.

Yukari tries to use her Prophecy power again to find out if this is a bad idea- she looks at the future “if they trust Nishi-chan”, rather than anything more specific. What she gets is... a mess.

While Yukari is trying to make sense of this data, Sakura decides she’s tired of beating around the bush and distrusting people, and tries to covertly slip the Grief Seed to Nishi-chan. Ibara, though, notices what she’s doing, and snatches it away before she can finish. There’s a brief fight that ends in Ibara getting a tick of Trauma on her “disdain for victims” track.

Yukari eventually interprets the data as “trusting Nishi-chan will cause the girl to come back, but we’ll probably get in a fight with her, which could go badly.”

She turns out to be completely correct about this- Nishi-chan eats the seed, and spits out a soul gem. They notice- using uncharacteristically lucky Real rolls- that the gem looks a little weird.

Reiko, apparently, does not like home invaders very much. She doesn’t understand how they all got there, and they’re in her house and it’s her house and how dare they be in her house! It’s supposed to be safe, no one is supposed to be able to bother her there, they CAN’T be here!

She transforms, brandishing her magical weapon- a baseball bat full of nails.

She’s in full-on aggressive panic mode, and everyone scrambles to try to calm her down- trying to fill her in on the situation, explaining that she’d witched out, and so on- but it all goes in one ear and out the other, because she is too busy being ANGRY. Seina tries to use her empathy magic to alter Reiko’s emotions, but unfortunately the magic empathy locks on the wrong emotion- fear of the ghost shark outside. Reiko remains highly agitated.

Yukari tries to be blunt about it, explaining that Reiko became a witch and they were the ones who saved her. This... does not make her less agitated, and has the unfortunate side-effect of alarming the rest of the party- Yukari had tried to dance around the “becoming a witch” part of the exposition earlier. General panic increases.

Sakura, then, decides to defuse the situation in the most direct way she can think of.

Awwww! What a heartfelt gesture! Clearly this means she should roll 2d6+Heart to see if it succeeds, right?

Congratulations, Sakura! You’ve passed your skill check... on resisting Reiko’s passive ability!

Thera, though, requests a retcon- Sakura does not recoil before the fire manages to do any damage. She’s still got candy armor left over from the Lamplight Joan fight! She decides to tank the hit.

Reiko, ultimately, is completely flabbergasted by this gesture, and is a little too confused to start attacking. She shoves Sakura away- and demands that Ibara, who rolled a success on Help Someone Out, start helping her out by giving her information.

Ibara answers several questions, and rats out Nishi-chan as the one who told them that the safehouse was there and helped them get inside. She also tells her about Yoshe, who will definitely kill them if they leave. Reiko is not quite heartless enough to send them to their certain deaths, and being able to blame Nishi-chan helps take the heat off. It’s starting to look like this conflict is defused.

(Because there was no way in any hell that I was going to forget about that.)

So she gets pissed, but Sakura decides to roll Change the World to repair the posters before things can get too nasty. She rolls... a crit 15, which means it succeeds but has noticeable side-effects. One poster ends up with the wave turned to syrup, and her face watermarking the sky.

Reiko, thankfully, doesn’t notice these slight modifications just yet. She does get a little snippy about the stolen food, though. Ibara offers to buy her more groceries- and when the question of money is raised, Makoto holds up the  351025 yen left over from buying a phone for Tama-chan. Reiko’s jaw drops, and she decides that maybe it would be a good thing to have these very rich people feeling indebted to her.

As the team tries to walk away, Reiko grabs Nishi-chan, who does not get forgiveness for bringing strangers into her perfectly secure home. She begins incinerating her.

Most of the team doesn’t give a shit about this. Nishi-chan can respawn, and she’s kind of a dick, and kind of deserves it. Only Sakura remembers the practical problem with letting Nishi-chan temporarily die- without Tama-chan, Nishi-chan is their only relay for the use of telepathy. And without telepathy, Makoto is mute- and Sakura is Bigtime Ultra Gay for Makoto, and doesn’t want to be unable to talk to her.

At Sakura’s protesting, Reiko extinguishes Nishi-chan and flings her at Sakura. Sakura flubs her roll to catch her, and Nishi-chan bounces off her face and flops to the floor. Nishi-chan falls unconscious, and telepathy is temporarily disabled.

Makoto calls out, trying to make her teammates hear her- but no one hears her. 

Luckily for the group, the hiding effect of the safehouse interferes with Yoshe’s telepathy-related tracking abilities. Her ability lets her pick up Makoto’s undirected mental cries (where other MGs would hear nothing without an Incubator as a go-between), but she can’t tell where she is.

Sakura tries to help Makoto communicate by texting with her cell phone, but she flubs her roll and ends up giving information overload, leading Makoto to panic. Sakura takes Trauma on “Isolation from Peers”, and Makoto takes Trauma on “lacks basic knowledge most people would have”.

They eventually reach Reiko’s “big empty room”, and set themselves to the task of finding a way to sleep comfortably on the hard floor. Seina uses Sorcery to produce piles of petals to sleep on- flowerbeds, so to speak. ( :V ). A middling roll means there aren’t enough for all of them to get a bed to themselves- there’s going to be an odd girl out. Ibara volunteers to keep a lookout while the others sleep, and Makoto volunteers to sleep on the floor (because that’s nothing new to her, poor thing.) Ultimately, though, the soluton of “Makoto and Sakura share a bed” is decided upon.

And the session wraps there, with the party finally getting some rest!

Now that a session has ended on something other than a cliffhanger, the players are free to use the channel to play out some scenes of downtime between sessions. Thera and Koho have a scene planned with Sakura and Makoto, and there might be other conversations that happen that night. I’ll be putting those up as Omakes in between session logs. And then, next week... we’ll see what’s waiting for the team when they wake up.