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As if waiting to be caught.

His face contorted in fury, caught mid-scream, disintegrating in strips of light.

A single tear of blood as the metal ricochets around his skull.

A single tear of blood as the metal ricochets around his skull.

He means this as a compliment.

What would they notice? Another unremarkable tram, making its daily commute? Or might they sense, on some cardinal level, the contamination you've untethered, the frightful hazard more primitive nations would have marked with rings of salt and paper seals?

A barely-perceptible edge to the way he says 'that name'.

He respects the idea of this love even if he would despise its reality.

He bites his lip, apprehensive.

And because he's tense, beneath it all. Finger on trigger tense.

Through the mask, she's fixing you with an intense stare.

Behind the mask, a death glare aimed in her friend's direction.

The man is a vision of comfort and security. Remember that move for later.

The man is a vision of comfort and security. Remember that move for later.

She does think he's real.

Rhetorical question. She's undecided but you won't be able to push her one way or the other.

She still wants to impress you, to help you. After all this.

A dry sound meant to approximate polite laughter.

But not before she got a good eyeful, the little minx.

Pale, moist, clammy. Like a deformed frog plucked from the canal there.

The way forward is obvious. Duchess surely knows what this 'gap' is all about.

She laughs, but there's an edge to it.

She's not her sister, in other words.

You're not afraid of any empty space. Fill it the fuck in.

Rings honest enough, but there's something more.

His trigger finger twitches.

It sounds like a yelp of pain.

Wait. There's something off about this woman's off-ness... she's not what she appears to be.

The role-subject dissonance is too much. Your brain is incapable of processing it.

She raises a finger to the heavens, threatening the angels not to challenge her authority on the matter.

His face twitches on the razorblade between perverse delight and terror.

The soundless words are clear on his lips: 'I was held in one'.

Cowed, shrunken, SLAVA ages ten years as the feeling of betrayal sinks in.

As he's talking, his whole posture changes -- a lightness across his features.

His full-force gaze reminds you of meeting the sharks in Mircea Aquarium eye-to-eye. Empty yet full, processing alien thoughts.

Something about this rejection feels more than just embarrassing. It feels dangerous.

A note of sadness in his voice.

It's impossible to tell which limb moves next -- beware!

His eyes look like lava. He is erupting.

What does he see in the figurine?

He was the one holding the clipboard.

That little jump he gave when you walked in the door -- you're the first visitor he's had in a while.

In herself, she means. In her own mind.

A glancing flash of a person overlayed upon another -- like a stencil nudged off its overlay.

As if they might be waiting just outside it.

No self-awareness whatsoever.

He hits you with a wink.

He smiles at you, a benevolent and kindly expression.

133 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual