When the task requires a steady hand and a quiet mind. Don't let the world see what's behind the mirror.
- Faculty
- Relation
- Limit
- ANXAnxiety
- skill checks
- 704
- Flows
- 196
- Loudest around
- You 20
- Gear
- Brown Paper Bag +1Brown Paper BagClothing
Any eyes that look out through the rectangular slit in this paper bag shine with a glimmer of madness.Cool Teen Gloves -1Cool Teen GlovesClothing
Fingerless, expressly for the purpose of showing off sparkly nails and hand-tattoos. Faux Fur Coat -1Faux Fur Coat₽ 30 · Clothing
Wrapped in the plastic pelt of the Party Animal, you can assume its form -- gyrating, grinning, gurning. Mister Artista Hair Set +1Mister Artista Hair Set₽ 5 · Clothing
Originally made to imitate the look of nefarious street painter 'Blackpoint'. High-Grip Gloves +1High-Grip GlovesClothing
The rough pads on the inside of these gloves generate so much friction, you practically stick to things.Knee-High Socks and Athletic Shoes -1Knee-High Socks and Athletic Shoes₽ 1 · Clothing
The cleats ground you; the world is your pitch. Pink Round Sunnies +2Pink Round SunniesClothing
The proverbial 'rose-coloured glasses', for looking out at an eternally candy-coloured world.Spiked Cuffs +2Spiked CuffsClothing
Iron studs and cracked leather, heavy as the Ombre Hombre's own conscience. Pathos Wolf's Flaming Claymore +1Pathos Wolf's Flaming ClaymoreTools
66 Wolves swordYellow Sunglasses +1Yellow Sunglasses₽ 13 · Clothing
Tortoise shell frame, yellow lenses.
Conditioning
Difficulty ladder
704Case files
Status effects touching this skill
Voices in
196"Didn't work, did it?"
"Hello, lapinette."
"Hi again. Still not leaving yet, sorry." She puffs on her pipe.
"..." His idiotic expression remains unchanged.
"You. Again." The tapping begins.
You loom once more over the shrine and its congregation of frames.
The ration pack crinkles as you turn it over.
"CASCADE." The barest of nods. "I've been playing 'I Spy' relentlessly with myself to pass the time. Pretty even as things stand, but I'm…
You return to the postbox.
"..."
"My agent of fortune returns. Happy Dante."
The one personal touch in the otherwise sterile, bland clinic, the wall has been decorated with photographs, documents, evidence of Dr.…
The pink paper tab is no bigger than a fingernail. One side is decorated with a simple illustration of a cockerel.
"Dull the blade, and unsteady the hand. The great CASCADE makes her appearance at last."
"Anything interesting in the shack back there?" He smiles at you.
"You should move, CASCADE."
Whatever light that's slipped in from above has nearly drained away.
The control unit idles in its cradle, lights softened to a tired glow.
As you press down on the intercom button, a little light comes on.
PSEUDOPOD shifts from foot to foot, glancing at the boatman.
You return to the lone payphone.
A shade in a leather jacket thrusts a decapitated head towards the reader -- its lolling tongue and dripping viscera a promise of what's…
There is nothing more for you here.
The weight of the thesis threatens to strain your hand muscles.
You pick up the payphone's handset. A dolphin emblem smiles at you, its eyes wide.
You stand before Tempo's door once more.
"Hello again."
You return to the shrine under the stairs.
"Back again, are we?"
"How goes it, H?"
Three posters stare back at you from the wall. A watchful triad, ready to creep into your midnight's hour.
A cosmonaut suit, a relic of Project AUTONOMÍA. Its shoulder patch reads, 'The Stars Are Ours, 77'.
The cat lounges.
The satchel by the door is empty, but the rain boots haven't moved.
The novel lies where you left it, gathering expensive dust -- 'Blood Type: Hecatomb' by H. S. Lastra.
"Long time, no speaky, nameless one."
One more phone, one more voice.
Light refracts within your cornea; you are someone else, somewhere else.
"Operant."
The vendor won't look at you. He recoils slightly as you step closer.
"Go on, Hersh. You'll give us away."
The mould's tendrils rise gently as you approach.
"Spare me the bleating you call an accent and listen up: metoprolol, you eunuch-diddling Azzurri. That's what I paid for -- not atenolol!"…
"Back again."
"I believe... this is where I'm supposed to offer you a deal."
A grey, gelatinous slime thrives at the bottom of the rusted pails.
AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY.
A tunnel into darkness.
Hairbrush, moisturiser, and an empty glass.
Very little remains of the luggage rack.