The handwriting is large and blocky, characteristic of someone with a thumb-tuck grip or something similarly crude. "Headspace," it says across the top, then "ask Monty" underneath, underlined four times. "Ethical??" Finally, underneath it all, seven or eight completed tic-tac-toe boards.
You place the clipboard back where you found it.
Though you're a stone's throw from town, the trek back seems much longer than it had taken the first time. When you finally emerge from the underbrush, you're pleased (and concerned) to find nobody around, again. Is something afoot?
Well, whatever it is, it's probably none of your concern. You locate the Nothing immediately— it's one of a scant few buildings with a sign out front, and the only one with a real sign. The wood was hand-chopped, sawed, sanded, and painted, Jacques has told you proudly (multiple times), and the chain holding it up was scavenged off an ancient anchor. It shows, you think: the sign has a certain solid, dependable quality to it. It will still be there when everyone is dead and gone. It is Better Than Nothing.
?Remind me to lower the dose next time, please.?
You are brimming with— not confidence, exactly, but definitely something brittle and manic, mistakable for confidence in the wrong light. You want a drink, that is pink, and has an umbrella in it, and God save anyone or anything who stands in your path. You might just punch them, or something. (Your jaw really hurts now.)
There is the door to the Nothing standing in your way. You consider punching it, and then just open it, like how you're supposed to.
It's crowded for this hour. You count eight patrons: the fish in the corner, two Courtiers at a table, some body-mod freak at the bar (is the glowing truly necessary?), a couple of identical burly types by the entrance, and… a city slicker? It must be. No one else would wear a skirt so high: it's just asking for leeches.
And Jacques behind the counter, glaring at you like you'd just spread some vile rumors about him and/or his wife. (Which you did. But it was an accident, and anyways he did kind of deserve it.) "Out!" he barks, and gestures roughly outside. "Out! Out!"
"Hi Jacques," you say, in a very moderate and reasonable fashion. "I need a drink."
"Get out!" he says, in a very (you think) non-moderate and non-reasonable fashion. Everybody is looking at you.
"Can we talk about this outside?" you continue, in an admirable show of patience. "It's very important. Do you still have the umbrellas?"
Jacques doesn't say anything.
?I'm glad your priorities are in order.?
After a long, long silence (you feel the heat of nine pairs of eyes on your neck), Jacques slams his towel onto the bar and stomps out to meet you. He looks you up and down with far less sympathy than you consider required.
"You want a drink? Your daddy better have gotten eaten by a shark," he snarls. "And he better have been loaded. You are paying all your tab."
(You briefly consider the amount of chit you carry on your person, which is zero, and tally that amount up with the amount of chit you own in general, which is also currently zero. You are flat broke.)
>[1] Don't be unreasonable, man. You don't even need the drink. You'll just take an umbrella and go.
>[2] Come on, Jacques, we're buddies. Buddies-buddies. Buddies-buddies-buddies. He makes a killing, anyways, what's one more drink?
>[3] Look at your jaw! (There's probably something there, right?) Can't he see you've been through a lot? You're desperate! You're raving!
>[4] You will trade him some dirty gossip (not about himself) in return for one (one!) drink. Well, a pink drink. With an umbrella. How about that for a deal?
>[5] Write-in.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
"Come on, Jacques, we both know that's not going to happen." You prod your jaw gingerly. "Have a heart. Can't you see what kind of day I've been having?"
He purses his lips. "That's a bruise."
"It is. And do you know why I have a bruise?"
"I don't know," he says. "Maybe you claimed someone else was using their business as a front for an elaborate criminal empire, and they punched you for it? Wouldn't that be funny?"
You hold up both hands placatingly. "I see you have some unresolved resentments—"
He slams the door.
He slammed the door! On you! In your hour of need! Before you even started your list of tribulations! Before you could even ask for an umbrella! You pound wildly on the door, you holler "JACQUES!!" though it only heightens the pain to eye-popping levels— "JACQUES!! THAT'S NOT— THERE WERE ALLIGATORS TOO!!"
The door opens a smidge. "Shut up!" Jacques hisses through it. "You are going to get yourself killed! Or worse!" He slams it shut again.
"Jacques…" you moan desperately. You are on the verge of tears, and it's only half because of the jaw. "Jacques… what's worse than… why is that going to…?"
?This is a
He is tight, too tight, around your neck.
?That is all you are, Charlotte, underneath everything. You're not mature enough to tie your own shoes, let alone run a nation, and oh, you know it. You know it, Charlotte. But anything to make your
Your father died before you were born.
?Whatever you like, Charlotte. You still know what he
He is pulsing with warmth.
?Too bad you can't do anything alone. You can barely do anything
You don't want that at all.
?Good. I don't want that for you, Charlotte. I want you to see the sunshine. I want you to see your family. But there's only so much I can do when you are chasing delusions every time I look away.?
You are crying softly. It's hard to tell, given you're wet, and everything else is wet. But you are.
?Since we're agreed. Give up on the ridiculous
If he had said anything else, anything at all, you would have done it. You would have agreed, immediately. But not the umbrella. The thought of the umbrella is probably the only thing keeping you from flying into a million glittery pieces. You WANT one. A PINK one.
But...
>[1] Give up on the umbrella. [+1 max Severalty. Richard will be pleased. You'll pull yourself together.]
>[2] Keep the umbrella. [+1 max Identity. Richard will be MEGA pissed. You'll remain a mess today.]
But nothing.
"No," you mumble.
?Sure, we can do it this way.
"No," you mumble again. You barely registered any of that. Your jaw is throbbing quite hard. "What?"
?Explain why not.?
This you understand fully. He says "explain," but what he always means is "try to explain"— while he calmly points out every flaw in your reasoning, and all the reasons you're wrong, and also stupid. It never fails to convince you.
But though you may be wrong, and also stupid, it's not something you want to be convinced of right now. You don't want to try to explain. You just want an unbelievably pink umbrella, and maybe a drink to put it in. You just want to have something small and beautiful you didn't make yourself. It's not— it shouldn't be— a crime. Right? It shouldn't be. It's not. You can want things, if you want. It's not weird. It's not hard. It's okay. Positive thinking.
>[+1 MAX ID: 3/11]
THE CHARACTERS OF DROWNED QUEST, AS DRAWN BY PEOPLE WHO AREN'T ME #3
also drunk) Richard, and the soon-to-be-famous pink-umbrellaed cocktail. This is by the prolific and talented , a friend, fellow QM, and active voter in the original run of the quest: you will very likely see more Siren art in the future! I love many things about this piece in particular, but I have to call out the Richard, because Siren consistently draws just about the best snake!Richard in the world. Just look at that widdle face. Look at those widdle beady eyes. Look at how fat he is! Look! Look!