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291 checks

The equipment makes a high whining noise as thousands of little particles infiltrate its tender insides.

His voice lowers an octave.

He widens his stance, stretching his layers taut like a molting beetle.

His voice breaks as he speaks.

As he removes his hand, a single sliver of sweat runs down the outside of the glass.

Her hand is cold, but the movement feels tender.

She's savouring it.

Transparent liquid, normal glass, ice cubes and crushed leaves. Appears to be something-tonic.

Up here you smell only pine needles, ozone.

You can almost hear the warm hum of his brain as it processes and cools itself.

The bump of his pupils moves rapidly under the convex domes of his eyelids, as though he were dreaming.

For a long moment he looks switched on without the sound.

Odd cadence. He hasn't said that name in a long time.

Within the darkened mass you think you see a slither of movement.

The air in the room thickens like an aggressive tumour.

He pushed his finger down so hard it's left a red imprint in his skin. A target marker.

Bands of rain continue to move slowly north and east across the region. Walks home expected to be unseasonably melancholic. North wind 5-8 kph, becoming calm after midnight.

Overcast skies incoming, bringing light rain and a strong tendency to see oneself reflected in the environment. Expect gusts up to 20kph.

Patchy fog in the morning expected to burn off yesterday's illusions. Increasing clouds, low near 9 degrees.

You can nearly make out the sound of sloshing water without the irony to muffle it.

Syllables -- mangled. Something in his mouth?

Suddenly, so quiet that it's almost imaginary, a muffled pounding answers from the other side.

You can practically hear the fetid water sloshing about his feet.

Speakers spaced out, the reverberant pop, pop, pop of the ball's ricochet echoes off the bar's high ceiling.

The television may be dusty and broken, but it is not yet its time to go to the scrap heap. Salvation is possible.

Beside you, a gradual upshift in HOLOCENE's energy.

His voice a ten tonne weight.

'Courage, CASCADE.'

Too quick, too distant -- he disappears from your line of sight.

In the background, you hear a steady rhythm of something being hit.

And a sip of something.

A gentle curve, swaying through grime. Odd shape for corrosion.

You hear her stifle a yawn.

A shock through your body, the colour draining from your face. You shudder with pleasure.

You gasp, you throb. You're just shit, you're just you.

Goosebumps, everywhere, your body alight with pleasure.

You can feel it, your body tense, your skin ready for the shock...

Deep, cold, agonising pleasure. You writhe.

The kitchen light hums and splinters momentarily.

But, below that: vanilla, must. The pulpy fragrance of paper.

Linen in soft cream, dusty ochres and pale sand.

The flash of a gold tooth near the back of his mouth.

Instruments do not sound like that. That was the scream of something alive.

Each flash reproduces the world in monochrome, and the body on the bed spasms in time.

From the floor, a noise -- low, almost human.

Sour-funky-staleness. A bit of lint from the bottom of the bag fuzzes against your tongue, but you taste none of the tell-tale earwax and aspartame flavor of ecstasy.

It's quiet. No activity behind the door. Once open, you should be in the clear.

Vertiginous patterns of broken tile swirl below you. Your head swims.

You mark the features. The imperious nose. The fleshy cheeks.

291 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 5 of 6