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811 checks

A man with the demeanour of a goalkeeper whose team has fled the pitch.

Behind the white blue of his eyes, a rapid recalibration is occurring.

Hmmmmmmmm. Does this guy fuck or not? An impenetrable mystery.

Not some kind of bluff. Genuine.

A light glows beneath the pale ice of his eyes.

The man's pale blue eyes have drifted somewhere beyond you.

He's tense around the shoulders. Twitchy at the edges.

All serenity liquidated. Animal terror.

As cold as you've ever felt her.

The first time she's reckoned with another person turning against her. The real her.

Tears tremble on the edges of her eyes.

Slightly self-conscious all of a sudden.

The management's changed, but the artist's still on tour.

Genuine. You've intrigued a famous person.

Adorable stifling. More of this.

Plastic surgery for the soul.

She loved every moment.

Like an unfavourable omen.

Aimed for nonchalance, flew wide of the mark.

For some reason, she's uncomfortable talking about this.

She recognised it immediately. This is no bootleg.

Light blooms behind her pupils.

Not fading. Shimmering.

Didn't go outside either.

One very at odds with the atmosphere in the room.

You watch her nose physically turn upward a few degrees.

Not only is there nothing cool about this proposition to her, there is no chance this 'collaboration' ever occurs.

'Never. Please.'

There's unease at her fringes -- slow ripples along the shoreline.

For a moment, her mind flits to erasing all life through a single song. A communal three-minute ritual of beauty and horror.

He said that way too quickly. Bet he can't name any.

He turns his head to look sideways at you, like one might at a crackhead or a priest.

"What mission are you on? Who sent you?"

'Embroiled' also didn't land.

She isn't remotely surprised or on edge -- if there's such a thing as 'off-duty' in this business then you're looking at it.

Her eyes sparkle, delighted. She's inviting you to participate in the ritual humiliation of a third party.

Hers is crumpled on the floor beside her, discarded like a tight bra after a mid-week work day.

She is into this. Use it. Flirt, get her drunk.

Relaxed, casual. She assumes you're like her, that you feel the same way.

Her posture straightens, as if she's ready to fight you -- but she's afraid.

Visibly relieved.

No change in expression or posture. She seems genuinely unperturbed.

She takes a drink -- a longer one than usual.

She desperately wants this.

Her face adjusts, then sets. She believes this.

Use Duchess's technique on her.

His eyebrows meet in the middle as he contemplates this new aspect of being.

She winks, her finger tracing the rim of her glass -- she thinks you're in on a secret.

811 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 12 of 17