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> I'm still up in the air as far as schedule goes as well. Currently, I'm thinking Thursdays at 9:00PM Pacific Standard Time, if you have thoughts regarding this, please, let me know.

>Oh, and I also started a twitter so I can let you guys know what the heck is happening. https://twitter.com/AssessorJohnson God forgive me for dipping my toe in social media.

>Always willing to answer questions.

>>25726856
Death and Taxes. I say yes, though I must say the IRS is kinda near the top of my personal "Hate With All of my Hate" list.

Rolled 62

>>25726856
Yes, you wouldn't have brought it to Mr Hamilton if you weren't.

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>I see.

"Of course," You give a thin smile and nod, "They need my expertise for something, right?"

Mr. Hamilton grunts, and shakes his head, then turns to the door, "Let 'em in, Ella."

Ralph Buhl comes in first, large and doughy, sunken eyes on a swivel. He tips his head at you and grins, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. He sidles to the side, and Tom comes in, hat still in hand. He looks at Hamilton and gives him a nod, a greeting, and a shake of the hand (Despite Mr. Hamilton's clear reluctance), before taking a chair and sitting in it opposite of you. Mr. Buhl remains standing.

Everyone stays silent until the door shuts.

"Timothy," Tom starts, and you must admit to being a bit annoyed at the candor of his start, "I am glad that we could have been of assistance to you at Mr. Albigram's farm. You kept your head and cool, good traits. Traits we could use at the Bureau."
"We had a man retire just the other day."
"Yes, thank you Ralph, we had a man retire just the other day, and have a bit of a hole in our assessors in the field," Tom looks over at Mr. Hamilton, "Having such a diligent field man is quite a privilege, Mr. Hamilton. I hope you don't mind us borrowing him for a night."

"No, no," Mr. Hamilton growls, "Not in the slightest. I've already had my own man upstairs correct me on how I feel."
"Naturally. Of course, this depends on Timothy's feelings-" Mr. Johnson, you silently correct, "Regarding this. As I recall, You actually had taken a sick day today- for a good six, seven hours? If you're feeling unwell, or," At this, Tom sounds unfriendly, "Have something else to pursue outside of Detroit, this can wait."

"All I need for you to do, Timothy, is to go with Mr. Buhl hear on one of our jobs in the field. Just tonight, in and out. That's all."

"Any questions?"
>[ ] How do briefcases turn in to snakes?
>[ ] What field work does the Bureau do?
>[ ] How could I help you?
>[ ] No, no questions.
>[ ] Other.

>Hm, maybe I should link last thread while I'm at it.

>http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/25694175/

>>25727177
What field work does the bureau do? Will I need to fill out any forms before we begin?

>>25727177
>[ ] What field work does the Bureau do?

>>25727177
[X] What field work does the Bureau do?

>[ ] How do briefcases turn in to snakes?
If this is a literal question we might want to wait til we're alone with those men from the Bureau, unless Mr. Hamilton knows what's up.

>>25727189
Generally, a QM always links to his own archive in one form or another at the beginning of the thread. They also tend to number them. So people know how far the story has progressed. Just something to consider.

Also, once the quest has progressed beyond a certain point a summary will be necessary if you hope to secure "new" blood as it were. Reading through a hundred threads is something only a hardcore fanboy of your setting or themes will do. A condensed version makes it more accessible to potentially interested parties.

>>25727177
>>[ ] How do briefcases turn in to snakes?
We are still going to be sore about that briefcase.

>>25727234
>>25727239
>>25727268
"What field work does the Bureau of Indian Affairs even do?" To your memory, the closest reservation to Detroit was actually Walpole Island- but that was an island.

The last time you saw these men, they were in Detroit city limits.

"Indian Affairs, mostly," Ralph says with a chuckle, but shuts up as soon as Tom gives him a warning look.

"A simplification. We're basically in the same line of work," Tom gestures around the room, and by extension, the Revenue Office, "Collections."

Mr. Hamilton snorts at that, "I don't take well to being compared to your Bureau that easily, Mr. Tom."

"Well, right now, we require a taxman, and Timothy here happened to coordinate with us rather well."

No you didn't. You had passed out in a yard after hitting a man in the face with a rake. Even for flattery, that was beyond the pale.

"And, are there any forms I have to fill out?"
"Just two signatures, one to state that you're aware that you're not technically working for Bureau, merely assisting, and the next the typical boilerplate not to divulge confidential information, for our records."

"Anything else?"
>[ ] Other questions.
>[ ] "No, let's get going."

>>25727297
>In retrospect, yes that would have been wise. I'll get it next time.

>>25727384
No, let's get going.

>>25727384
>[ ] "No, let's get going."

I would say that filling in those signatures without the assistance of a lawyer would be detrimental to us, but I don't want to bog this down.

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"No, no further questions I suppose," You stand up, then consider, "These forms, I would rather not sign them without a lawyer pres-"
"Timothy," You hear growled out of Mr. Hamilton.
"Right, of course," You remind yourself to be very careful when perusing the legal language used.

You walk out of the office, getting your hat on, your colleagues staring after you in curiosity following the long haired Indian and the tubby meat mountain. Not your usual company. Not that you usually had company in the first place.

An elevator down, and then the way to the street. Tom nods to Ralph, "Take him with you to Low's, and please keep an eye out for him. I'll just walk back to the office."

"Yes, sir," Ralph said with a nod, then went to the door of his car, a nice if beat up Cadillac Suburban, "Anything else?

Tom considered a moment, before turning to you, "Actually, Timothy, do you happen to have a gun?"

Well, yes you do. You still have your snub .32 in your jacket pocket. And in the car, you have your new semiauto .45. Whether or not you wanted to tell them about this was another thing.

For that matter, this wasn't Little Bighorn and you weren't Custer, why did a gun matter at all?

>[ ] "No. Should I have one?"
>[ ] "Yes, actually."
>[ ] "Stop calling me Timothy."
>[ ] Other.

>>25727628
>[ ] "Yes, actually."

Show him the snub.
Keep the .45 a secret.

>[ ] "Stop calling me Timothy."
"I prefer a certain degree of professionalism, especially among colleagues."

>>25727628
Yes, atually and could you please stop refering to me as Timothy?

>>25727695
>>25727709
"Christ, Tom, leave the littl-" Ralph is interrupted by your nod.

"Yes, actually," You lift the revolver by the handle out of your pocket, just quick enough for the pair to see, not enough to cause a panic in the streets. You don't mention the .45 in the car, "And please stop calling me Timothy. I prefer a certain degree of professionalism, especially among colleagues."

Tom raises an eyebrow, and smiles at Ralph, who looks a bit taken aback, "A bit of a dead fish, but I told you I picked 'em right," Tom turns and walks away, giving a wave, "He'll be perfect for Low. Take care, Timothy."

He walks away, and before you can think of a retort, Ralph heaves in to view, "Don't mind him, don't mind him, he's just an asshole, Tim- er, I mean Johnson. Mr. Johnson," Ralph is having trouble being appreciably formal, before he gives it up, and gives you a grin, "You surprised me kid. Lot quicker on the uptake than I suspected. C'mon," He steps to the other side of the Suburban and gets in, "We can make this job quick."

>[ ] "Hang on." Go and grab your gear first.
>[ ] "Let's get going." You don't want to look creepy, walking back to his car with a crowbar and .45.
>[ ] "Let's take my car instead." That way, you won't have to worry about hauling crap over to his car. On the other hand, that means if things go south, again, people might follow you by your make and model.
>[ ] Other.

>>25727879
Let's get going.
We have all we need, if we needed anything else they'd have told us surely.

>>25727879
>>[ ] "Hang on." Go and grab your gear first.
We need a decent holster. Too bad period holsters are such bad fighting holsters. Hard molded horsehide FTW.

>>25727879
Shut up and get in my car

>>25727879
>[ ] "Let's get going."

Hopefully, Ralph has already made preparations.

I'm beginning to suspect that this quest was in one of those discussion that drew inspiration from Repo Man and Psycho-Pass.

>Okay, calling it for getting in Ralph's car. Writing.

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You set aside your worries, and sit in the car. Large car, for two men.

"We usually had more people," Confides Ralph, seemingly reading your thoughts.

Ralph drives competently enough, handling the care easily and smoothly in defiance of the laws of both man and God. You privately wonder if a badge from the Bureau of Indian Affairs would hold any truck with the police, but fortunately you do not get pulled over despite the many liberties that Ralph takes with his car.

It does not take overly long for you to pull in front of a flophouse near the lake off of Trumbull. Across the way you can see the Canadian city of Windsor, a town of vaguely ill reputation. Then again, it had to compare to Detroit, city of Ford.

The only way to identify what manner of business was inside was a sign crudely hanging with a bed drawn on it- littered in front of the business were a great deal of workers, reprobates, and layabouts, lounging in front of the entrance, engaged in conversation and dice.

Ralph glances to the storefront, then to you. "Okay, now, I'm going to walk in. We're here to talk to an Ah Low, got it? Chinaman, kinda short, and certainly not clean, but a Chinaman that might help us. Now, you wanna keep in the car, or walk in with me?"

On the one hand, you'd have to enter a den of ill repute. On the other hand, you might be able to actually see what all of this is about. You sincerely doubt there was an Indian reservation in this flea ridden hole.

>[ ] "I'll walk in with you."
>[ ] "I'll just stay in the car."
>[ ] Other.

>>25728256
>>[ ] "I'll just stay in the car."
Don't want any of what is in or on that house on us.

>>25728256
>[ ] "I'll walk in with you."
>[ ] Other.
Be prepared for things to go wrong, keep yourself gun ready with an eye- on everywhere. This is a den of filth, anything may go here

Rolled 1

>>25728394
>>25728392
>Okay, here goes the coin flip.

>>25728256
>Walk with him.
Keep a low profile, you are just there to watch. Look out for anything unusual.

>>25728507
>Staying in th-
>>25728511
>Or not. Calling it for walking.

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You sit for a moment, gripped by indecision.
"Well?" Ralph sits there, eyebrow raised.
"I'll walk in with you," You step out of the car, as Ralph nods appreciatively, "What are we looking for here?"
"Lead on a delinquent taxpayer's assets," Ralph says as he walks in with you, "Mr. Albigram's actually."
"What do you mean?"
"He had assets that he owed the United States government that he had not declared- we only found that out a bit too late," Ralph gives a friendly wave to Irish man standing at the door giving him a dirty look, "We need to collect that asset."
"Isn't that a job for the cops?"
"Not if it's an Indian affair."

The door rattles as it's pushed in, a string attached to a pair of dry dusty windchimes rather than a bell. Immediately ahead of you are some stairs up, and to the right is a desk with a tired looking older woman looking up from it. She scowls at the sight of Ralph.
"Not you again. He's not in!"
"Please, Patricia," Ralph takes off his hat and spreads his arms friendly like, "You and I both know Low wouldn't go out at this time-" Ralph checks his watch, "It's still light out."
Patricia frowns, then glances over at you, "And him? Who the heck is he?"

>[ ] "T.L. Johnson, Internal Revenue Service," flash the badge. You've always wanted to do this.
>[ ] "Mr. Johnson. I'm working with him right now," not entirely honest, but not a lie either.
>[ ] Lie. 3d100, difficulty 40, one success necessary.
>[ ] Other.

>>25728650
>[ ] "Mr. Johnson. I'm working with him right now," not entirely honest, but not a lie either.
This... doesn't seem like the kind of place that's fond of the taxman.

Rolled 60, 57, 64 = 181

>>25728650
>[ ] "Mr. Johnson. I'm working with him right now," not entirely honest, but not a lie either.

>>25728650
>>[ ] "Mr. Johnson. I'm working with him right now," not entirely honest, but not a lie either.
Sounds good to me. I highly doubt they would be very friendly to an IRS man here, especially if this fellow has been skimping on his taxes.

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>>25728723
>>25728705
The woman glares at you with beady, glittering, narrowed eyes.

You feel a pain in your right side. Just a dull ache, growing-

"That's right, he's with me," Ralph speaks up, "We're both Bureau men. Mr. Low knows that, and knows better than to say he ain't here. So," He leans heavily on Patricia's counter, causing her to lean back in distaste, "You going to let us in, or do I have to come back here with Roy?"

Patricia's screws her face up like she'd won a lemon eating competition, "Fine. Fine," She slips Ralph a key, and he obligingly palms it. Big key. Old fashioned, "But don't think I ain't keeping track of these things!"

"Your boss knows where to send complains, Miss," Ralph turns away, a smug grin on his face, and stops in front of you with a look of surprise, "You okay?"

You didn't think you were showing any signs of a problem. You're standing up straight. Just your side aches. That's all.

"I'm fine," somebody you belatedly realize is you says, "Let's see Low."

"Sure thing kid," Ralph nods at you, and leads you deeper in the flop house. Eyes follow you in the dark.

>Gimme 3d100, difficulty 40, two successes necessary.

Rolled 9, 83, 93 = 185

>>25728888
>inb4 3 1s

Rolled 82, 37, 35 = 154

>>25728888
Rolling.

Rolled 42, 46, 17 = 105

>>25728888
Rollan rollan rollan.

>>25728888
will Tax Quest be a daily thing?

Rolled 47, 12, 25 = 84

>>25728956
See
>>25726927
> I'm still up in the air as far as schedule goes as well. Currently, I'm thinking Thursdays at 9:00PM Pacific Standard Time, if you have thoughts regarding this, please, let me know.

>>25728914
>>25728920
>Well... Not quite by the system, but the second roll got the two successes, might as well count that.

>In the future, I generally prefer to have it be that each poster rolls a 1d100, I consider the first 3 linked in such a way.

>Also, difficulty 40 means that you have to roll under 40 to get a success. Which the second guy did, so great.

>I really have to get to work on a summary for rolls and suchlike.

>Anyway, success, will be writing now.

>>25728956
>No, not a daily thing. I just had a spree of thought lasting from Friday I don't want to let die. I'm thinking every Thursday, 9:00PM Pacific Standard Time at the moment, but there was another poster earlier that wouldn't be able to make that time. I want to set it earlier for him, but I'm worried that moving the time so drastically will be a drastic shift in audience. I was hoping to get an idea from you guys what you'd like the schedule to be.

>>25729028
Ah, the "3d100" thing threw me off. Recommend "3 1d100s" or just "1d100".

>>25729028
>In the future, I generally prefer to have it be that each poster rolls a 1d100, I consider the first 3 linked in such a way.
Phrasing for that is 1d100, best of first three, roll under 40.

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>>25729058
>Yeah, that was my bad.

The room is a symphony that has missed a note.

Songs are strange. There's something not right about a song- you can tell when it's going right even if you don't like it, or can't stand it. You walk through dim and blinking yellowed lights, following Ralph. You hear distant conversations, a wobbly gramophone, a creak of a door, and then the sound of a scraping razor.

The lights blink. There is a dark, and you see a room very similar to the room you were in before, but a room with teeth.

There is an eyeless man in a doorway that used to be a window. He has both hands placed on a saber. You can't describe him. You know he has no eyes, and a saber, in the dark, picked out by your eyes. And that he is patient.

Then the orchestra find their pace again, the light comes back on, and you're walking behind a fat man deeper in to a flophouse. Ralph stops in front of a door with metal slide over it. A large padlock hangs from the door. He glances over at you. Raises an eyebrow.

Your pain is gone. But you swear to God it's gotten a lot colder in here.

>[ ] "Don't open that."
>[ ] "Did you see that?"
>[ ] "I don't feel well."
>[ ] "Let's get this over with."
>[ ] "Other."

>>25729177
>[ ] "Did you see that?"

>>25729177
>>[ ] "Did you see that?"

>>25729177
>[ ] "I don't feel well."
>[ ] "Don't open that."
We've got a funny feeling about this, to put it lightly.

Rolled 2, 13, 28 = 43

>>25729238
>>25729205
"See what?" Ralph asks. He puts the key in the padlock, and turns it, "You're nervous, and that's fine, but let me assure you," he grunts as he turns the rusted lock back in place, "We've visited this slope bastard enough, he knows his place more than well enough."

The padlock clicks, the arm loosens. You hear steel grinding on steel.

>To borrow some phrasing from earlier, 1d100, roll under 55, two successes necessary.

Rolled 47

>>25729336
Rolling for bad news.

Rolled 61, 17, 17 = 95

>>25729336
>Hm. Good roll.

Rolled 13

>>25729336
DICE BE WITH ME!

One more.

Rolled 75

>>25729443

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Rolled 62

>>25729443
Should you insist.

>>25729457
>>25729456
Thank you, sorry about that. You had passed, but extra successes make it extra better.

Regrettably...The other guy got some good successes too. Writing.

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Rolled 73, 23, 6 = 102

You glance away from the padlock unlocking to the other end of the hall, where the lights were blinking.

There was the usual traffic of people going back and forth, but there was one man that you saw approaching with a purpose, hands balled up in his pockets. As soon as he sees you have seen him, he breaks in to a sprint.

Slicked back hair, short tie, and a straight razor in his hands, he rushes forward. You shout a warning to Ralph, who turns in time to see the man lash out randomly.

Blood wells up from Ralph's raised arm, causing him to curse and stumble back, padlock still in his hand.

The man's pin prick pupils focus on you. You can act.

>[ ] Gun out, shoot him. Difficulty 45, two successes necessary.
>[ ] Tackle him to the ground before he can cause more trouble. Difficulty 50, one success necessary.
>[ ] Punch him in the kidney, you read that in a detective novel! Difficulty 40, three successes necessary.
>[ ] Defend yourself from his inevitable attack. This roll adds difficulty to the enemy's attack.
>[ ] Other.

>Wait until consensus is reached on action before rolling. All rolls will be with three 1d100s. Rolling for Ralph.

Rolled 26

>>25729628
>[ ] Tackle him to the ground before he can cause more trouble. Difficulty 50, one success necessary.
I don't think we could quite bring ourselves to shoot a man, yet.

>>25729628
>[ ] Gun out, shoot him. Difficulty 45, two successes necessary.

>>25729628
[X] Tackle him to the ground before he can cause more trouble. Difficulty 50, one success necessary.

Rolled 40

>>25729628
>[ ] Tackle him to the ground before he can cause more trouble. Difficulty 50, one success necessary.
Ralph seems to have rolled nicely, to be sure. Let's tackle him, as shooting him dead might not be the smartest course of action right now.

Rolled 51, 65, 96 = 212

>>25729711
>>25729725
>>25729659
>Alright. Roll on, gentlemen.

Rolled 79

>>25729752
Riight, forgot we came to consensus before we rolled.

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Rolled 91

>>25729752
Oh, snap.

Rolled 44

>>25729752

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>>25729831
>Hah, managed to squeak it in.

He shouts something, swings at you, and you stumble back. Ralph's blood spatters on your cheek. Good lord. But you can't just let him get away with it. You can't let him murder you, or Ralph. You run in to the far wall backing up, and then you shout, and leap forward, tackling the man to the ground.

He gasps, you knocked the wind out of his body, and not much more, as he sits up, raising the dripping razor, when a padlock gripped in Ralph's meaty hand slams in to his face. Good god, it tore his lip. The man shudders, tries to scream through a mouthful of broken teeth. Ralph's paw, the one with the forearm dripping from a cut, grabs the hand holding the steel aiming to cut you up.

"Drop it!" He shouts down to the men, held down by you. The man shouts something- sounds like a foreign language, and spits blood up, thankfully missing you.

"I said, drop it!" Ralph repeats, twisting the man's hand. The man still holds on. Ralph raises the padlock. The man's fingers decide to loosen.

The razor clatters down to the floor, and with it, the last of the man's resistance as he goes still under you.

Ralph picks up the razor.

>[ ] Focus on keeping him down.
>[ ] "Ralph, what are you doing?"
>[ ] Try to knock out the man. Hard roll required.
>[ ] Other.

>>25729995
>[ ] "Ralph, what are you doing?"

Dead men pay no taxes. Ralph better not be doing what I think he's trying to do.

>>25729995
>[ ] Try to knock out the man. Hard roll required.

>>25729995
>[ ] "Ralph, what are you doing?"
>[ ] Focus on keeping him down.

>>25729995
>[ ] Focus on keeping him down.
>[ ] "Ralph, what are you doing?"
I assume Ralph is going to try and get some answers from this guy, but we'd better make sure it doesn't get too out of hand. The police might want to have a word with our new friend, after all, and as a man of the government the law is everything.

>>25730090
And JUSTICE

>>25730090
>>25730045
>>25730040
>Consensus seems to be asking Ralph what's going on and making sure out amateur barber doesn't start practicing again anytime soon. Writing.

"Man came at me," Growls Ralph, approaching the held down man with the razor, the man staring up at Ralph, "He's lucky the least he got is a visit to the dentist. That fucking HURT!" Ralph waves his cut arm at you. You can't see how deep it is, but Ralph winces and lets it lie still next to him, his good hand holding the razor in front of him, swaying it in front of the light, "Old thing. Kept pretty sharp too."

The man under you is saying something in Polish, before switching to broken English, "Don't know, don't know, no problem please no problem."

Ralph snorts, "Oh but there is a problem. Tim. Hold him still, I gotta look under this coat.

He leans in with the razor.

>[ ] "Ralph, are you nuts?"
>[ ] Hold the man down, let Ralph have at it. Easy dice roll.
>[ ] Let the man go.
>[ ] Other.

>>25730219
>[ ] Hold the man down, let Ralph have at it. Easy dice roll.
It doesn't SEEEM like he has murderous intentions.

>Dang it all, be back in twenty.

>>25730219
>>[ ] Other.
Ask for the razor, tell him to put it away before searching, then after the search to give it to you.

>>25730219
>[ ] Hold the man down, let Ralph have at it. Easy dice roll.
>[ ] Other.

I'd rather have Ralph check Mr. Polish razor without the sharp object in his hands, thank you very much.

>>25730219
Tax man you are incredible.Never change.

>[ ] Hold the man down, let Ralph have at it. Easy dice roll.

>>25730219
>Tim
First he calls us Timothy and now this. Well... now is not the time for complaints.
>"What are you looking for?"

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>>25730398
Maybe pic related for starters?
And we might want to dress his injured arm and put it in a sling later.

>Back. I'm sure everyone already knows this, but I'm saying it for my benefit. Never room with a group that includes a couple.
>>25730232
>>25730250
>>25730252
>>25730344
>Consensus seems to be that Timothy keeps holding the fella down, but wants Ralph to give him the razor first?

>>25730618
da.

>>25730618
As long as the razor is not in Ralph's hand, yes.

>>25730640
>>25730642
>Roger. Writing.

>>25730642
I think we should keep the razor. they're awesome and OOC this one seems a mite magic
I'm not a knife-nut, I promise

Rolled 28

>>25730618
>>25730642

Oops. The roll for holding him down.
Even if it's easy, still gotta be done.

"Mr. Buhl, first of all, I believe I asked you to be a bit more professional regarding my name," You hiss through gritted teeth. The man under you is growing more squirmy, as Ralph approaches, "And secondly, put that razor away or give it to me."

Ralph Buhl stops just short of you, perplexed, "I'm sorry?"

"This man, though he did approach with intent to harm, is no longer any threat," You look up at Ralph, suddenly conscious of how small you were in relation to him, but something else kept you going, "I do not know what you intend, but to have an open razor approaching a clearly surrendered foe-"
The polish man under you murmurs something that sounds like 'nazwam sie ogromne', which you don't feel helps, but you venture on.
"-who currently seems mortally terrified. I am no torturer, I am a tax man, and an American, and I believe there is a reputable part of our constitution that says something about 'cruel and unusual punsihment,' isn't there?"

"I wasn't going to-"

"He, nor I know that for certain, so," With one hand placed on the man's chest, you reach for the razor, "Please, disarm yourself."

Ralph narrows his eyes at you, and you worry for a moment it'll be like out front of Harper's Hospital all over again. But still, you hold his gaze. You're not at all sure where this well of courage is coming from. With a sigh, Ralph flicks the razor shut, and passes it to you.

>You have gained one old straight razor.

"Happy?"
"Yes," then you notice the man under you has gone utterly, entirely rigidly still staring up- even his breathing has gone shallow.

>[ ] ...What?
>[ ] Get the razor out of your hand.
>[ ] Step away from the man.
>[ ] Other.

>>25730679
>It's actually a little different as soon as you get razor in your hands.

>>25730825
>[ ] ...What?
>[ ] Step away from the man.
>[ ] Other.
Puch him over to our erstwhile colleague.

>>25730825
>punsihment

I must scourge myself for this.

>>25730825
>[ ] Other.

"Does this man have a medical condition I should know about?"

Keep holding the man down, unless Ralph tells you otherwise.

>>25730840
push, argh.

>>25730856
>>25730840
>Right, coinflip time again?

>>25730910
I'd say so, unless we got a viewer who wants to chime in.

Rolled 1

>>25730932
>Righto. 1 goes for pushing him at Ralph, 2 goes for holding him down and asking a question.

>>25730940
>There we are then. Writing.

"What in the world-," You step back from the man, and a moment later, he regains his composure, and tries to bolt- thankfully, he is still within reach, and you grasp hold of him long enough for Ralph to grab him and press him against the wall.

"No idea. T-" He rolls his eyes in despair, "Mr. Johnson, keep that razor on you and grab his shoulder."

You do so, and the man stares limply forward again. Ralph starts rifling through the man's pockets, "I don't know what exactly it is. Psychological something. Maybe hypnosis- who knows. Ah," You hear a tearing noise, as Ralph starts digging in to the man's coat, grousing about how much easier it would be with a razor.

Finally, out of the coat comes a little velum bag. You see something glitter inside. Ralph gives a grim nod, "Not one of Low's boys. The chink lives another day. Hell, we might have just saved him though," At this Ralph frowns, then looks to you, "I don't know why he'd be after you," he reaches his large fingers in the bag, and delicately pulls out a little folded piece of paper. A triangle, bisected, then your name written in delicate, scrawling hand writing, "Timothy Lawrence Johnson."

"What...What is going on?"
"Do you know a man named Edward Call?"

>[ ] No.
>[ ] Can we get to the point?
>[ ] Shouldn't we be calling the police?
>[ ] I'm out.
>[ ] Other.

>>25731059
>[ ] No?

>>25731059
>[ ] No.
>[ ] Other.
Do you? And how does that piece of paper cause him to try and cut me up?

>>25731059
>[ ] No.
The name does seem familiar, but hell if I know why, though.

>>25731059
>[x] Other.
"I will have to look through my documents for that. I deal with many people. This might explain the crucified dove though."

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>>25731123
>>25731122
"Hm," Ralph shrugs, and then wads the paper between his thumb and forefinger and drops it back in the bag, "Well, it was a hunch. I see his name showing up a lot recently. Showed up when it came to Mr. Albigram. And I don't know if that little piece of paper is what made the man cut you up- I'd wager it's a little promise made. The paper's just a reminder," Ralph shrugs again, as if that apologized for the possibility of you being targeted by madmen with razor blades, "This is all speculation mind."

You stare at Mr. Buhl.

"I...Will look through my documents I suppose," Some consideration, "I did have a pigeon crucified to my door the other day."

"Did you?" Ralph raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. I called the police. They theorized it might have been neighborhood ruffians."

Ralph is silent, as you stare at him, silently beseeching some vestige of a conscience within Ralph. He isn't comfortable with your look, and then shakes his head.

"Well," Ralph scratches the back of his head, "I'm not really any good with this stuff, I. Well, when I got this job, I never had somebody sit down and explain things to me," He waves up his hand, "I wish somebody had. Now, now I can see why nobody really talked about it. To be frank? It's kind of embarrassing to talk about things," He waves to the door, "Partly why I wanted to meet Low. And really, maybe that's why Tom wanted you to tag along."

Ralph paces away from you a moment, taking a moment to pull off his jacket and absent mindedly wrapping it around his bleeding arm, wincing (How long was he going to let that bleed?) before he turns back to you, tugging at the sleeves.

"Are you SURE you didn't kill Mr. Albigram?" He looks, "I swear, I'm not going to turn you in to the cops or nothing, it just would explain a whole lot- so you gotta tell me, be square, did you kill him?"

You didn't. You could not have.

>[ ] No.
>[ ] Not possible.
>[ ] No way.
>[ ] Didn't do it.
>[ ]
>[ ] Other.

>>25731302
>[ ] Other.
"There is a slight possible, rather small, I must say where I might have conceivably stove his head in with a rake."
"But I'm fairly sure I didn't"

>>25731302
I will choose
>[ ]

Do we want to tell him about how something wanted to know our most precious thing right before we blacked out?

>>25731358
Huh. Seconding, I guess. Dunno why there were multiple redundant responses in the negative, anyway.

>>25731365
It was JUSTICE
.
.
.
.
I'll stop now

>>25731302
>I passed out and then thought about justice. Can thinking about justice kill people?

>>25731401
I'm going to say... Yes. Our burning desire for justice caused our foe to wither and die of shame.

>So, tell him about the detail of what you thought before passing out? Anything else?

>>25731437
Ask him to sit down and explain things to us, he wishes somebody did for him, so he might for us.

>>25731437
Tell him he really doesn't need to feel embarrassed. We promise not to laugh no matter how ridiculous it seems. This is too important for that.

>>25731437
"Please explain. The loss of my briefcase lies keenly on my mind. Briefcases do not tend towards slithering in normal conditions, and I have the scars to prove it. I doubt your explanation will be silly or humorous. If it helps at all, I promise to keep my much vaunted wit in check while you do so."

>>25731460
>>25731467
You explain it to him, as best as you can. You aren't sure of what happened during that black out, but you are sure of one thing, one thing down to the bone. You didn't kill Mr. Albigram. But you do know that you had to think of something that you valued most, and at that moment, for whatever reason, it wasn't anything material, wasn't even yourself, but...And at this, you wince to yourself, it almost sounds childish to say, but. Justice. And it rings a little bit when you say that.

Ralph takes it all in. The Polish man might be as well, you've still got your hand on him, keeping him staring ahead. You really wish Ralph would tell you to let the man go.

"And then you woke up to me talking to you?"
"That's right."

Ralph nods, scratching at his mustache, "Sounds kind of like me. At least, as far as the black out and waving fingers, and all that kind of stuff goes, and no," He raises a hand, "I'm not going to be spilling my own beans here about personal stuff."

"Well, at least tell me what is going on. We both serve the United States government, and I don't want to go in blind. Is Mr. Low going to come at me with a razor blade?" Your arm is starting to get tired.

"Nah, nah, razor blades break, he'd use a dagger," At the look on your face, Ralph chuckles, "Sorry, sorry, making a joke. But you got a point. I do owe you the whole story. And I think Mr. Low can help tell it, if you're willing to follow me. At least I can tell you right now, it's still about collecting taxes. Just," Ralph gives a weak smile, "On a different sort of income."

>[ ] Put your foot down. You're not going to go walking in blind again.
>[ ] Well, he hasn't technically steered you wrong yet. Follow him.
>[ ] Other.

>>25731597
>[ ] Well, he hasn't technically steered you wrong yet. Follow him.
>[ ] Other.

"I suppose I'll have to lug this man around into coming with us?"

>>25731597
>>[ ] Well, he hasn't technically steered you wrong yet. Follow him.
But be prepared to fight. Hell just add that to all my posts for a while. I don't trust these folks.

>>25731597
>[x] Well, he hasn't technically steered you wrong yet. Follow him.

>>25731635
seconded.

>>25731597
>[ ] Well, he hasn't technically steered you wrong yet. Follow him.
The knife-wielding Polack was seemingly out to get us, not him, but we may still want to take a bit of caution. Also, >>25731635

>Well, that was easy. Desperately trying to keep awake.

"Right. I suppose I can be patient, but, er, him?" You nod to the Polish man. Ralph looks at him, as if just realizing the man was there.

"Oh, oh, right, go ahead and let him go. Are you going to be keeping that razor blade, by the by?"

"I can decide after you explain matters," You let go of the Pole, who starts, stumbling from the wall and holding his face. Crying out something in his native tongue, he stumbles away, hands to his bloody lips.

"Fair enough."

Ralph pulls aside the iron on the door, unhampered by the pad lock now, and with considerable courage, you think, steps blindly in to the dark. You hear his shoes recede downwards, clacking on rough wood beneath his feet. Obligated to find the truth, you follow in the dark.

You never liked the dark.

You step after him feeling a definite chill as you descend, bare wooden walls on either side. You go down you estimate a story. You can't help but keep glancing down between the steps, and just seeing dark, and imagining hands reaching from between the boards as you walk, or one of the steps snapping, leaving you to fall to that dark place below. Mercifully, you see floor, and an oil lamp hanging above it, casting a yellow glow that you wished were warmer. A curtain hangs in front of a doorway, which Ralph waits outside.

"Mr. Low!" Ralph shouts like a herald of old.

"Mr. Buhl," You see one of the shadows cast by the lantern collects, in to the shape of a figure, "And...Guest. Come to collect so soon?"
"Just want to know some information," Ralph replied, "We can forgive some of what you owe if you cooperate."
"You say that every time, Mr. Buhl," the shadow stalks around you, flickering impatiently.
"And the Bureau forgives a bit more each time. As an American citizen, you should be more grateful for your government's flexibility."
"Oh, I am well aware of your 'flexibility' at interpreting the laws, treaties, and pacts that bind us here."

woooohhh!! made it to tax quest!

love the archived one! keep it up!

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>>25731991
"You owe us, had you declared Perrien Park, you would not have been assessed penalties-" The shadow swelled up, reaching up to the roof, towering over you and Ralph.
"That was an emergency!" Returned in a bitter shout.
"You don't want to be short, and you already know that you're not going to win this argument, now," Ralph stepped forward, "Will you invite us in, or do I have to come back with war paint?"
The basement breathed like a living thing for a time, before despairingly the shadow fades and Low speaks again.

"Alright. Come in. You have my permission."

Ralph nods to you, and the pair of you walk in.

It's like a chemist's lab, all bubbling alembics and fermenting tubes. You think for a moment you were stepping in to a bathtub gin joint, but no, what was on display was a lot more exotic. Strange plants, herbs, and fungi hung from the walls, and tables not covered in equipment had books covering them, books even hung from the ceiling too. Amidst the forest of reagents and recipes, you see Mr. Low. A short fellow, old and tested, but not an unkind face on him. He looked rather exasperated as Ralph stomped in, you caught in his gravitational pull.

"Mr. Buhl, how good to see you. I assume you're here to ask about Mr. Albigram? I heard he died."
"He did."
A smile twisted on Mr. Low's face, "You do not seem so deeply bereaved."
"Mr. Albigram was a man that eluded us for a long while, and we mostly managed to collect," Ralph looks with a certain finality at Mr. Low, "And we always collect what is due."
"Of course, Mr. Buhl, but," At this Mr. Low looked up with confusion, "He is dead?"
"Does not change matters with the Bureau."
"Hah, not even death can stop taxes," Mr. Low smiled, "Good to know that somebody will care after I die. And who is this?" At this he points to you and says in wonder, "Another one?"
"Low!"

>[ ] Mr. Johnson. I'm working with Ralph.
>[ ] T. L. Johnson, tax collector with the IRS.
>[ ] ...Another one?
>[ ] Other.

>>25732164
>>[ ] ...Another one?
OOC
I think Ralph is a vampire. Or a gentlemen, but considering who we're dealing with I'm leaning towards the former

>>25732164
Note to self, look up Perrien Park some time when we have a chance.

[X] T. L. Johnson, tax collector with the IRS.

It's who we are, it's what we are.

>I'm nodding off and it's showing. Here, I think I'm gonna call it a night. After losing that titanic chunk of text because of Chrome...Flargh. Sorry everybody. Couldn't keep it up. Meet ya agin thursday.

>>25732191
Or there are security measures that only let invited people in. Or he is one of the other creatures that require invitation.
>>25732164
>[x] T. L. Johnson, tax collector.

>>25732203
Sleep well.

>>25732203
g'night
>>25732210
Equally plausible.

>>25732210
Might be a demon considering;
>"Oh, I am well aware of your 'flexibility' at interpreting the laws, treaties, and pacts that bind us here."

>>25732223
Might be a fae considering the penchant for rules and need to be invited they are sometimes associated with.

Or he might just be a human, you know? Maybe with some magical binds or ancestors. There are far too many possibilities to be sure about anything right now.

>>25732283
That's partly what makes it so deliciously fun.

This was awfully short. More?

>>25736609

You'll have to wait for the OP to resurrect on thursday. I hope that I'll manage to wake up early enough too.

So, we've got Ella and Gertrude for potential waifus. Should we start pursusing, or hold out?

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Detroit is a pretty cool city actually. Not modern day Detroit of course, considering it's a war zone.

>>25740993
You know, until 2010, there had been a satanic cult living in that building that practiced human sacrifice using the homeless.

>>25741015
...What?

>>25739712
Ella's pretty damn cute. If only we were cool enough for her