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Do you have a choice, Hershel?

Amused by her own obscurity.

Half-laughing, as if firearms are ridiculous at a conceptual level.

The moments where you knew each other best.

What is Melita doing right now? Is it in any way related to you? And if it's not related to you, is she maybe daydreaming of you a little bit?

Just one more customer she won't have to deal with again.

Probably just a dirty old man, enlisting the bartender in his pick-up scheme.

Offended that you'd mistake her for someone's wing-woman.

She's too proud to ask for help, but she'd gladly take it.

Something about the woman in the photo doesn't match the person standing in front of her now.

He doesn't seem the murdering type. But you can never rule anything out.

Beneath all the charm could lurk a stone-cold killer. Approach with caution.

He was a friendly face she barely remembers.

It's as if you just told her a secret, the same secret she has kept for many of her patrons.

She suspects the answer is 'now'.

She's just happy you took the hint -- she truly doesn't want to dwell on this.

And your work made her lie to him, betray his trust. He could sense the distance growing between them, but could not bridge the gap.

An attempt to spare your feelings.

The thought should probably make you sadder than it does. But there's a hollow where your memory of him sits.

She won't say what she really thinks of him. Not yet.

An uncomfortable reminder of his assumed familiarity with you.

She'd almost prefer if he just tried to assault her. She's used to that.

Without the long lens of the camera between you, she suddenly seems horribly normal.

No, a true nobody. Dragged unwillingly into another world.

Through the cracks in her indifference, horror starts to leak out.

He's not dead. Maybe asleep. Or wriggled elsewhere.

Just think what you need to say really loudly. He's you, maybe he'll pick up on it.

He clearly doesn't believe that's possible, even as he says it.

His soft heart has had to learn to nestle among wilder things.

In the diffuse wilderness of Ramses' cognition, the line between irony and honesty is blurred to nonexistence -- and in this liminal space he is home.

It's unclear whether or not he's joking. Does he even understand the gravity of the situation?

In Ramses' imagination, the L-pop physically leaves Kaleidoscope's body in perfumed and colourful vapours as he is repeatedly pummelled.

'Fear', 'lack', and even 'discomfort' are concepts utterly foreign to this animal.

Despite the verbal evasions his manner is genuine. He doesn't know anything about Tempo's demise.

A wall of words embellishes the hurt, but it's genuine.

The ego must perform a dissociative split before it can look back at itself and say 'I'.

There's no craft here -- only despair.

Its 'eyes' find yours, even through the haze of crimson.

Behind the abstractions, an unopened envelope rests on a countertop, the words 'FINAL NOTICE' stamped across its front.

In the silence after she speaks, you sense, rather than hear, something on the line. A presence. Someone is listening in.

'Yes', she means.

She likes remembering him this way, in her shop, pretending to discreetly examine her list of services.

She doesn't trust you. Yet.

The facility's nickname is new to her. A delicious tidbit to hide away for later.

There's no such policy. She knows taking your money would make her complicit in the act.

Trying her best to be helpful.

She's dying inside. She felt a great deal of affection for your double.

Trick the photo lady into revealing what she knows.

432 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 5 of 9