>[ ] Follow Mr. Buhl. Treatment is still treatment.
Let's get ourselves patched up. Once we're fine and dandy, we can start exploring again.

>>25961877
>[✔] Follow Mr. Buhl. Treatment is still treatment

You place a hand on your aching face. Really, you're surprised that you didn't lose any teeth in that. Or your head. Though, you're not entirely sure on your skull's integrity.

"Johnson?" Mr. Buhl has stopped just short of the door, turned to you.

"Coming," You mumble as best as you can, as you hobble after him.

Mr. Buhl balances Mr. McIntyre as carefully as he can, and then toes open the door with his shoe. The inside is bright, brighter than you expected, and you can hear the soothing clicks and clacks of typewriters, the low whispers of words, the scratching of pencils. You are surprised at first when you stumble in (Doing your best not to slop blood on the nice, smooth, hardwood floors)- you only see three people in the large room. Mr. Tom standing at one end of the building, looking over the shoulder of a blonde man with a pencil thin mustache, tapping away with a fury on the typewriter before him, and an ugly man, face like a brick with a scar running from nose to chin, scrabbling on a note pad.

Eight desks in the room, typewriters and papers sitting by them, and only two occupied. There was another room, a frosted glass cage looking office set a few feet above the floor on the other side of the room- only marking on it "Tom." To your left, a wall, blatantly added in after the building was constructed, with a heavy oaken door. A sign hung off of the doorknob saying 'Please do not disturb.'

As soon as you walk in, Mr. Buhl starts shouting, which really does not help the ringing in your ears.

"Tom! Tom! We got McIntyre! He's hurt real bad!"

Tom glances up, dark eyes narrowed to slits, "What did you do, Ralph?"
"Is this really the time, Tom?" Ralph bulls forward, carrying his bleeding package- Mr. McIntyre's shoe catches on the type writers, sends it to the ground with a terrible noise, whipping up a cloud of papers.

>>25962198
Welcome back.

"I need to know what happened, Ralph," Tom rises from the table, clearly annoyed, going to meet Mr. Buhl before any further mayhem was caused.

"I, uh, I shot him!" You get the feeling that Mr. Buhl is not a very good liar. Or perhaps it's just the stress of holding a dying man that causes his voice to shake, "Look, Tom, I know how important this is to you, but are you really going to let him die like this?"

"McIntyre is no friend of mine," Tom murmurs, reaching in to his pocket for cigarette and lighter, "I'm just surprised is all, Ralph. You shot him?" Tom stands three feet away from Mr. Buhl, hands folded in front of himself.
"Yeah, yeah, now would you hurry up and fix him?"
Tom looks at you. Face quite still.

>[ ] Stay mum.
>[ ] "Mr. Buhl did not shoot him, I did."
>[ ] "Do you think maybe you could help me?"
>[ ] Other.

>>25962265
>[ ] "Mr. Buhl did not shoot him, I did."
I believe we're an honest man.

>>25962265
>[ ] "Mr. Buhl did not shoot him, I did."
We simply must tell the truth.

>>25962284
Sorry, I write way too slow. I should probably post that I'm writing at any rate. Give it another two minutes, then going with this.

>>25962265
"Bit of an accident, that. My weapon discharged after he got the drop on me"

>>25962327
Its fine, I'll thank you for doing this. I needed something to do Fridays.

>>25962265
>[ ] "Mr. Buhl did not shoot him, I did."

Stress that it was an accident. I have a feeling we'll be recounting the events that happened to Mr. Tom anyway.

You have to tell the truth here.

"Mr. Tom sir, Ralph did not shoot Mr. McIntyre. I did."

Mr. Buhl lets out a noise like a tire. Tom grins at you.

"A regular George Washington here. Shame it's a man you shot, and not a cherry tree."
"It was an accident sir," You look for the words, then decide to be honest, "I, was approaching Mr. McIntyre's apartment from the front, and his door was locked. I heard noise, heard Mr. McIntyre running, and I tried to get through the door without success. I took out my gun, warned whoever was beyond to back away, and shot out the lock."
"And the bullet passed through and wound up in Mr. McIntyre's belly?" Tom finishes for you, pointing Mr. Buhl to the office. Mr. Buhl obliges, shaking his head.
"Yes sir."
"I see," Tom raps his knuckle on the desk in front of him, "How disappointing," Tom purses his lips, shakes his head, "You should probably start walking now, you should..." He takes out his pocket watch, glances at it, "Should be able to get back before midnight? Maybe? If you start now, friend."

He turns, starts walking back to the office that Mr. Buhl took Mr. McIntyre in to. You blink. You're bleeding from the head, and he just told you to walk home in the dark.
>[ ] "I nearly died out there, and you're complaining a shot a man that would have killed me and Mr. Buhl?"
>[ ] "Am I to assume I failed a test then?"
>[ ] Not worth it. Just walk.
>[ ] "Your agent, Mr. Buhl seemed to think I could get help here."
>[ ] "Friend? I have a head wound! You can't just tell me to walk back to Detroit in the dark!"
>[ ] Other

>>25962516
>[ ] "Am I to assume I failed a test then?"
>[ ] Other
"I'll go, IF you answer my questions"

Refuge in audacity, ACTIVATE.

>>25962516
>[ ] "Friend? I have a head wound! You can't just tell me to walk back to Detroit in the dark!"

We still need some medical treatment here.

While we're at the BIA can we ask them to stop letting the Catholic Church kidnap, beat, rape, and attempt to "de-Indianize" First Nations kids using the Residential School program?

I mean, they probably won't give a shit, but...

>>25962516
>[ ] "Am I to assume I failed a test then?"
What a scrub, making us walk home all bloody.

>>25962516
[x] "Am I to assume I failed a test then?"
[x] "Your agent, Mr. Buhl seemed to think I could get help here."
There's no use in getting hysterical. Take refuge in calm and professionalism.

>>25962685
>>25962681
>>25962570
Okay, mashing these together. Writing.

>>25962620
Well, it's 1927 unfortunately, so you probably won't get a sympathetic audience, aside from Tom, who is a rather irascible sort. And aside from that, you probably would want to talk to the Office of Indian Affairs.

>>25962685
Fine, Fine. I need to take off my silly hat.

"Am I to assume that I failed a test then?"
"No, you failed at a lot more than just a test, Tim," Tom turns, his jaw set in irritation, "I actually got a phone call from Mr. Call about this before hearing from you two, and now I have to stitch up McIntyre."

"Mr. Call? Why does that matter?" You are going to set aside his overly familiar nature for the moment.
Tom opens his mouth, then shuts it, closes his eyes, breathes out, "Tim, I am going to ask you politely to leave one more time, and I do so dreadfully hope that you make me ask you again."

"Your agent, Mr. Buhl seemed to think I could get help here."

Brick face and thin mustache at the desks are staring at you both. Tom turns and scowls at them. Mr. Buhl is behind the frosted glass in the office at the end of the room, looking anxiously through it. Something kind of funny about the site, like seeing a grizzly bear behind a cage at the circus. The other coworkers keep looking curiously at you both.

Tom pinches the bridge of his nose, "The slings and arrows," he murmurs, before shouting past you right next to your STILL ringing and too sensitive ears, "Dorothy! You're going to get a visitor! Hide everything confidential!" Tom looks at you, points a finger with a rather noticeable scar above the finger nail in your face, "I am being remarkably merciful right now. But that doesn't mean that we're going to smoke the peace pipe when this is over, got it?" You open your mouth, and Tom hisses, "And absolutely. No. Questions."
"Tom!" You hear Mr. Buhl shout from the office.

Tom nods, and jerks his head over to the padlocked door at the other end of the building, before rushing in to his office.

You hear a car's engine pulling in outside.

>[ ] Introduce yourself to these other men.
>[ ] Take a look at papers. Roll required.
>[ ] Just go in to the room like Tom told you.
>[ ] Try to listen in on what Tom and Mr. Buhl are doing.
>[ ] Go outside.
>[ ] Other.

>>25962915
>[ ] Introduce yourself to these other men.
We always have to stay professional.

>>25962915
>[ ] Introduce yourself to these other men.
And then...
>[ ] Just go in to the room like Tom told you.

>>25962915
>[ ] Just go in to the room like Tom told you.
I have the feeling he'd make us join McIntyre if we piss him off.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gz4WgWbcjCA

Thread theme.

>>25962915
[x] Just go in to the room like Tom told you.
We do not interfere in the work of others. So no introducing ourselves.
We've already fucked up enough.

Going in the room. Roger. Writing.

>>25962981
thanks, I needed more of this kind of music.

You contemplate finding out who these strange two men are, but then you hear the snap of curtains from Tom's office and think better of it. You give an appreciative nod to the two men, murmur, "Timothy L. Johnson, Internal Revenue Service," then make for the door at the other side of the room.

You knock at the door, and hear a nasally voice reply with, "Door's open."

You push open the door, and hear an uncomfortable noise as the wood squeals on stone, and find yourself in a rather dark room lit only by an oil lantern, that seems absolutely flooded with papers, and you smell- gun oil?

There is a woman sitting behind the desk which the oil lamp is on- very plain. A nose more like a beak. Dull eyes which glance up at you for a moment, before going back to focusing on her task at hand, which seems to be the cleaning of a Thompson submachine gun. Her fingers are black with grease and dirt. She's left the gun pieces spread across the desk, with cleaning tools beside. The pieces of gun are set to rest haphazardly on papers- they look like pages of a book, you see proper names, paragraphs, something about a man and mountains, but it's hard to make it in the dim light and grease. And in the flickering light, you can see shut cases, machine parts, and other weaponry left laying in the wasteland of paper.

"Close the door," she mumbles, fingers expertly unwinding the barrel from the body. You oblige, again wincing at the wood on the stone. The room is perhaps the size of a coat room at a nightclub, but you notice there's a trap door on the opposite side of Dorothy. There's a padlock on it.

This really has not been your week.
>[ ] Wait patiently.
>[ ] Strike up conversation.
>[ ] Watch. Try to learn something.
>[ ] Investigate the room.
>[ ] Other.

Rolled 80

>>25963268
>[ ] Wait patiently.
>[ ] Watch. Try to learn something

We've fucked up enough on our initiatives. now we shut up and sit pretty.

>>25963314
[x] Wait patiently.

>>25963314
>>25963315
Do this.

Well, what else are you going to do?

You try to find a chair in the cramped room, and eventually settle for sitting on a relatively empty box and wait. Dorothy seems to appreciate the quiet, not looking away from her work.

You also watch Dorothy's work on the gun. Interesting. It's hard to focus as it is but, well, might as well passively watch it, see if you can pick up anything about gun maintenance.

>Gimme 3 rolls of 1d100, forty and below count as a success.

Rolled 53

>>25963424
rollan.

Rolled 11

>>25963424

Rolled 30

>>25963424

Rolled 91

>>25963484
disregard that, it's 1d40

sorry, i read 40 for success and got confused

>>25963449
>>25963484
Okay, two successes. That's pretty good. Writing.

>>25963496
D'oh, I gotta learn to check the email fields.

One success. Thanks for your honesty.

>>25963315
Yeah. Second.

>>25963510

Oh hey, didn't realize you were on today.

You're feeling kind of frustrated. You've got a concussion, broken nose, and broken glasses, but aside from Ralph, no one seems worried about it. Well, you're not really either. You suppose if you were going to die, you'd have died on the car ride over. But it still stings, and your hearing is still off on one side.

But you can focus on small things. That's what made you such a good taxman. To be able to focus and watch the details. You watch Dorothy's work on the Thompson. Magazine detached, chamber cleared, brush through the barrel, stock screwed on, pushed and prodded-

Hm. You've got the basics of how to maintain a firearm now, at least. Then you hear him, on the other side of the door. A great, bassy baritone.

"Tom! Hey, Walt, still packing that shiner I gave you, eh? No hard feelings friend, no hard feelings, Tom, come on!"

Somebody is shouting loud, but you also hear quieter voices. Some small words being exchanged. Dorothy looks up to the door. She looks down, dials the oil lamp down, then looks back to the door. Eyes still on the door, she starts assembling her Thompson.

>[ ] "Who is that?"
>[ ] Stay quiet, and listen.
>[ ] Push open the door, just a little, and see if you can sneak a peek.
>[ ] Other.

>>25963693
>[ ] Stay quiet, and listen.

>>25963693
>[ ] Stay quiet, and listen.

>>25963693
>>[x] Stay quiet, and listen.

No reason to say anything at the moment. Besides, Dorothy seems to appreciate the quiet, and the fact she's eyeing the door means something may be up.

>>25963762
>>25963744
>>25963719
Why break a good streak? Writing.

Awww yiss, sorry I'm late.

Well, so far so good. You glance at Dorothy. She pushes in the magazine, and chambers a shell, but otherwise doesn't do anything. She leaves the Thompson on her desk, and places both hands on it protectively, but otherwise doesn't change.

"Tom, there you are. That my boy's blood on you, or are you just blushing? Can't tell with you red skins."
You catch a snatch of Tom's irritated words, but can't really discern what he said. The other man was loud.

"I pay my dues, and as I recalled, Andy doesn't have to, now does he? Angela, baby, you mind explaining Tom how he's supposed to do his job again?"

You hear a woman's voice, and then Tom shouts, "Get that out of my face, and stop wasting my time, Ed! I got you y-" and then he falls back out of hearing range again.

"Right, and that's great Tom, oh do believe me, I am thankful, that another 'accident' didn't happen with Andrew. Don't think I forgot Albigram."

A mumbled response. Dorothy's face softens imperceptibly.

"Right, right, well, I'll give Andy a ride back home then, c'mon tubsy, get him rolling. Shit, can't take a joke Ralph? Sorry."

You haven't heard Ralph at all in this conversation. Dorothy is detaching the magazine from the Thompson, and clears the chamber.

"You just make sure that you haven't got any more 'accidents,' Tom, alright? Otherwise-" And then for the first time, you hear that voice go quiet, low, and imperceptible. Tom gives some kind of reply. Loud man laughs.

"Tell your Gods or spirits or whatever you're calling them now I said hi, Tom," You hear the voice receding, "C'mon Angie, you want to go catch a-" is the last you hear before the door bangs shut behind him.

A few minutes later, you hear a knock on the door. "You ready, Tim?" That's Tom again.
>[ ] "Yeah, I'll be right out."
>[ ] "What was all that then?"
>[ ] "This better be for my head. I still don't want to walk back to Detroit."
>[ ] Other.

>>25963778

We're rather polite.

>>25964034
>[ ] "Yeah, I'll be right out."
>[ ] "This better be for my head. I still don't want to walk back to Detroit."

>>25964034
[] Yeah.

>>25964034
>[ ] "Yeah, I'll be right out."

>>25964034
>[ ] "Yeah, I'll be right out."

>>25964034
>[ ] "Yeah, I'll be right out."
>[ ] Other.
Say goodbye to Dorothy, ask her if we're still on good terms next time we meet if she'll teach us some stuff about guns.

We failed once, and will take measures to never fail again.

>>25964060
>>25964065
>>25964073
>>25964077
Well that wasn't hard. Writing.

>>25964087
>Say goodbye to Dorothy

Have we met her besides this point?

>>25964405
No, but its polite to say goodbye when leaving.

"Yes sir, I'll be right out," You glance over at Dorothy. She's finished her cleaning and check of the Thompson, and set it to the side. She catches your eye, and gives a nod. You guess that that's about the most that you'll get out of her. Something about her is familiar. You nod back. A last glance, then she starts gathering papers for some inscrutable purpose, clearly done with you.

The oak squalls open again (They really had to fix this door), and you step out in to normal electric light outside of the dim of Dorothy's hiding place. Like day and night. Tom is there, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, wiping his hands with a red handkerchief. Mr. Buhl is sitting at a desk, fuming, red faced, glaring at the wall. Tom gives you a nod, "Right, well, you're not looking that bad. C'mon, in to my office," He grumbles, "I had been under the impression that a managerial position would keep my hands clean, but what do I freaking know."

Ralph doesn't look up as you walk by. Mustache is still there in his corner, hunting and pecking at his type writer. Brickface is missing. You ascend up the few short steps in to Tom's office after Tom, and take the nice office chair he offers you. It's not what you'd expected. It's actually quite modern, and rather organized. You expected something out of a crime novel, of the underboss's smoky backroom behind the cabaret, or some gaudy Indian thing with feathers and dreamcatchers and bows and arrows and stuff everywhere, but no. A desk with many drawers, and many locks for the drawers, a bookcase behind you with titles ranging from tax law to atlases, and a trashcan that has what seems to be McIntyre's bloody shirt in it.

"Okay, Tim, we got two ways this can go," Tom steps around the desk, holding a glass of what looks like milk, and what seems to be a little jar with red stuff inside. He offers you the glass, "Easy way?" He puts forward the red jar, "Or the hard way?"

>[ ] Easy.
>[ ] Hard.
>[ ] Can I get some details?
>[ ] Other.

>>25964545
>>[ ] Hard.

Have you read the novel Iron Hand by Charlie Fletcher, 'cause that's what you just reminded me of.

>>25964545
>[ ] Easy.
I pay my taxes.

>>25964545
>[ ] Can I get some details?

"Would you mind being more clear about this, Tom?"

>>25964588
Sorry. I haven't had the pleasure.

I hope it's a good reminder?

>>25964545
>[ ] Hard.

"Never take the easy way out."

>>25964545
>[ ] Can I get some details?

I dunno, but I feel like I should be irritated in getting caught up in their pace at this point, and the incredulity of the situation just keeps on escalating.

We need some semblance of control here. Even a grasp will do.

>>25964648
Good book. MC chooses the hard way, WWI soldier statues is bro-tier, MC relieves past of statue to prevent its death BBEG was creepy-awesome.

For those interested the hard way The hard way is overcoming three challanges, one of which is fighting a golem knight. for each challenge you have a rod of metal twirling slowly from your right hand to your heart slowly, fail the challege or take too long and it pierces your heart from the inside.

>>25964545
>[x] Hard.
"I have found that many people attempt the easy way, and inevitably, result in discrepancies in their filings."

>>25964703
>>25964652
>>25964588
Hard way it is. Writing.

Also, I'm going to stop trying to squeeze bits to fit 4chan's character limits. This may lead to some weird half and half posts, so, I apologize, bear with me.

>>25964695
Sounds an interesting book. I'll have to pick it up. Always have had a fascination for the Great War.

>>25964768
Its set around the year 2000? iirc and Iron Hand is the second of 3? its been a while.

>>25964739
That's not that odd in quest, really. Just pop a (Cont) or something at the end and we'll catch your drift.

Rolled 82, 54, 55 = 191

You glance at the jar, and then back up to Tom, "I have found that many people attempt the easy way, and inevitably this results in discrepancies."

Tom shakes his head, "Mr. Johnson, you are not the sort I expected to be a tax man. Alright, no sleep for you," He sets down the milky glass, and signals for you to turn your head so your wound is more open, "This will sting a bit."

It stings quite a bit.

You bite down on your lip, hard, your fingernails dig in to the wood of Tom's arm chair, and you squeeze your eyes shut. Whatever it was that Tom was daubing on your temple, it was like fire ants were coming down and marching up and down your skin. You start hyperventilating, trying to get a grip, but it hurts, it hurts worse than when you actually got hit by the damn thing in the first place.

You didn't mean to let out the noise. You tried your hardest to not cry out, but in the middle of forcing yourself to remain still you shout a bit. Not a scream. Not a shriek. Just a quick, bitter, exhalation of air. They come more rapidly after that. Strange, gaspy shouts. You hope you're not too loud.

Tom doesn't appear to be paying it any mind. One hand is on your jaw, keeping you still, the other dabs out at you, applying the strange red paste to your temple. It seems to take forever, but it soon ends.

"Done," Tom steps back, screwing the jar shut, "Didn't do too bad Tim. Might get a scar there though, but at least you don't have to worry about it bleeding, or causing you more trouble down the line. It's over now though," Tom gives you a smile, "Come Monday, all you'll have is a strange story to tell, and nothing else- well, I guess we'll see about getting you a bonus too."

Your face is very numb.

You were a taxman. You could go back to your job. Part of you reflects that it is Friday. When you go home, you could sleep. You take out your watch, check the time. 7:58PM. You forgot to feed the dog today, you realize distantly. Always something to do.

>[ ] "Where's McIntyre's coat?"
>[ ] "What exactly do you do here?"
>[ ] "Can you at least have someone give me a ride home?"
>[ ] No questions. Just walk out. Be free.
>[ ] Other.

>>25965094
>[ ] "Can you at least have someone give me a ride home?"
We have to return to feed the dog.

>>25965094
>[x] Other.
Thank Tom, then use a phone to call for a Taxi. Ask no favors, make no debts.

>>25965094
>[ ] "What exactly do you do here?"
>[ ] "Where's McIntyre's coat?"
>[ ] Other.

"Can I continue working with you, I don't think I could forget and go back to living a normal life. I don't want to live in terror of THINGS lurking in the dark corners"

We know some not-normal stuff is happening.

>>25965094
>[ ] "What exactly do you do here?"

>>25965166
>[ ] "What exactly do you do here?"
>[ ] "Where's McIntyre's coat?"


All of these. Tim Johnson might not be the most curious of chaps, but by God he's a diligent one, and diligence for a Tax Man means asking awkward questions about surreptitious things

>>25965094

I think I'll go with this guy >>25965164
It's not our job to ask questions, and we already did the job they needed us for.

We still need a new briefcase too.

Sorry folks, I gotta get going for about an hour. Will be back soon.

>>25965164
this. we're not out of this situation by a long shot. we're gonna be rocking this investigation on our own, or we're going to be dragged back to tom and ralph, one way or the other.

following that logic, we may as well not piss them off any further than we already have, so they'll have at least some inkling of a good impression of us. besides, we've got a day job to attend to. we're not going to skip out on the IRS to go on a lark. everybody else is an incompetent.

>>25965493
I thought we left the IRS to join the BIA

>>25965508

Not yet, or officially.

>>25965508
this was a test to see if we would fit in the IBA. we failed miserably. we still have our job at the IRS.

>>25965542
damn, oh well.

>>25965542
>we failed miserably.

We'll still keep asking Tom about the job.

"You've shown me the rabbit hole, Mr. INSERT-HIS-SURNAME-HERE. I have to see how far down it goes."

File: 1373607120736.jpg-(48 KB, 337x409, You Can't Be Serious.jpg)

48 KB JPG

>>25965725
do you even subtext? we've done nothing but pester and irritate Tom and Ralph throughout the entire case with unending questions, insulting their character, taking the sides of the people who probably aren't good, and all-around ruining our welcome here, and that's even before we shot the target in the gut.

they are fucking sick of us. Ralph's wanted to punch us in the face more than a few times, and Tom is mad as hell he got his clothes ruined with blood patching our fuckup. and you want to ask them if we can STAY and do MORE? we'd be killed by friendly fire the moment we stepped out the door.

no... We leave, and give the two time to calm down and get their mind off of us. then, if we run into them again, we ask VERY SUBTLY if there's anything we can do to help.

>>25965973
>You Can't Be Serious

I am

File: 1373607575016.jpg-(133 KB, 450x373, Full Retard.jpg)

133 KB JPG

>>25966012
Then you have gone full retard.

>>25966128
thank you. I was having a bitch of a time finding that exact picture.

>>25965973
Deep breaths, faggot. Timothy's about JUSTICE above all else. He isn't going to back off until he knows what's really going on and that the BIA isn't up to no good.

>>25966191
... one, you sound like a Shadow Quester with that capitalization. if so, mah nigga.

two, we (and thereby TL) don't know what the hell the BIA actually does, besides collect taxes on the supernatural, and even that's not spelled out for the guy. we're jumping to conclusions, and nothing good happens when people jump to conclusions.

three, if he really is so solely focused on JUSTICE (which he isn't, he's a bland taxman baffled by why he thought of JUSTICE in his dying moments), and if he thought the BIA is up to no good (which we don't know for certain, there's too much conflicting evidence), then WHY would he work FOR the ones abusing justice? that's some mental gymnastics to try and stay within arms-reach of the important NPCs, but those NPCs are as like to kill us for rumpling their suit as look at us. and we made them mad. we need to back off and plan out our next move.

>>25966191
>Deep breaths, faggot. Timothy's about JUSTICE above all else. He isn't going to back off until he knows what's really going on and that the BIA isn't up to no good.

Plus, you can't show a man fucking murderous ghosts and crucified pigeons then expect him to leave quietly.

>>25966317
We can't learn shit from the outside.

>>25966399
exactly! we're metagaming TL into trying to stay, when quite frankly, he nearly died. he's new to this whole ghostbusting thing, and he pobably wants to just go home, play with his dog, nurse a tumbler of whiskey and note his itinerary. give the man some time to detox without obligation.

"Mr. Tom, with all due respect, and I really mean all due respect, seeing as you people seem to have saved my life back at that farm, and I seem to have been nothing but an irritant for your office, but again, with all due respect, I have to ask, what exactly is going on?

In the past three days, I've had my briefcase turned into a snake, nearly murdered, once by the man who transmogrified said briefcase, once by a razor-wielding assassin, and again by an honest-to-goodness ghost. I've had a pigeon crucified across my front door. I've seen Mr. Buhl get injured and heal with unbelievable speed. More signs of the supernatural than in a nickel book to scare kids.

I don't think I'm going to be able to move on with anything else if I don't have a clue as to what I've gotten mixed up in."

>>25966550

Let's just use this.

Okay, back.

Don't be too, too, too paranoid guys. Paranoia is fun and all, but don't let tensions rise too high.

At any rate, should I count the votes now? Or is there still discussin?

>>25966613
May as well count the votes.

>>25966550
This.

Okay-

So, it looks like actually there is a little more leaning for staying and asking Tom questions. Barring major objections, writing.

>>25966550

Thirded

>>25966550
alright, if we're staying and asking questions, then this looks good.

>>25966730

You there, OP?

Come on OP, I just want to read this next update before I go to sleep

>>25967243
He's writing. Shhh.

"Mr. Tom, with all due respect, and I really mean all due respect, seeing as you people seem to have saved my life back at that farm, and I seem to have been nothing but an irritant for your office, but again, with all due respect, I have to ask, what exactly is going on?

In the past three days, I've had my briefcase turned into a snake, nearly murdered, once by the man who transmogrified said briefcase, once by a razor-wielding assassin, and again by an honest-to-goodness ghost. I've had a pigeon crucified across my front door. I've seen Mr. Buhl get injured and heal with unbelievable speed. More signs of the supernatural than in a nickel book to scare kids.

I don't think I'm going to be able to move on with anything else if I don't have a clue as to what I've gotten mixed up in."

Tom looks down at you with half lidded eyes.

"Well," Tom starts looking back out the frosted glass behind him, "You did go about your first job shooting an unarmed man in the stomach without a badge."

"That, that was an accident, I told them to stay away from the do-" Tom raises his hand for silence. He scratches the back of his head, thinking.

"Tell you what," He goes over to his desk, shoos you away to give him some room, and then unlocks one of his many drawers, drawing out a piece of paper along with a pen. It looks to be a form of some kind, "I can give you a start."

He fills it out precisely and carefully, even as he does, he speaks, "I don't want to hire you, Tim, nor do I want to get you in trouble," he finishes a swooping signature, "But maybe you can do something for me."

He straightens up, holding the form up above you, "I can tell you this. You weren't supposed to go to Mr. Albigram's. And Albigram sure wasn't supposed to do that to you either. Mr. Albigram is a friend of Edward Call's," He nods back to the door, "Loudmouth guy, you probably heard of him. He's a strange guy, just showed up last year. If I had to guess, he'd be behind your pigeon trouble."

"Now, I think I settled things, but just in case I haven't," He folds up the form, and hands it to you, "That's a form for getting in touch with us. Drop it off with Mr. Hamilton, he'll know what to do with it-"

"This isn't answering my questions-"
Tom looks up in vain for a merciful God to smite you from his office. But you still remain, so he takes a deep, deep breath.

"Okay. Mr. Albigram is the grandson of a Hermetic sorcerer that imparted his secret arts on the boy as a lad. He had recently gotten in to necromancy- which increased his tax bracket as he was drawing an undue amount of power. Mr. Albigram disagreed, went hiding out, and apparently fell under the protection of Mr. Call, a man who claims to have beaten a devil at his own game and eaten ITS soul, though I think that's bullshit. Mr. Call has since been dipping in to the underworld, breaching the sacred lines between the living and the dead- not illegal, but as a matter of income, one that is hard to pinpoint. Hence, our focus on Mr. Albigram. Regrettably, Mr. Albigram's hiding place coincided with your organization running down a tax dodger. For some reason, Mr. Albigram's usual tricks didn't cause you to give up, and you kept pestering him. This caused him to over react. When we came on the scene, Mr. Albigram was dead, and you were alive. And yes," He raises a hand when you open your mouth, "I know you didn't kill him. No offense, but you don't look like a killer. The pigeon thing isn't magic, it's pure attempt at intimidation. Mr. Call probably pulled some strings and found out you were at Albigram's," Or perhaps somebody saw you during your second visit, you silently wonder, "So he's probably sniffing around, wondering if you have Albigram's second payment to us, because Call is a greedy shit that hates paying what he owes."

"I can't get in to the cosmology of it right now, sorry, because I only have the loosest grip of it. I know my shaman stuff, Call and his gang have his own stuff. Seeing as you were effective at being stubborn about Albigram, I saw potential in you, and gave you a milk run with Ralph who has his own personal things that I wouldn't feel right mentioning without his explicit permission. He's got some personal issues, but I'm sure you already know that. Basically kid, you're a string caught in a ceiling fan, and I just unwound you. Do you really want to get back in?"

He looks at you.

"Actually, scratch that, don't answer that. I don't want to have a stroke right this minute. Now, do you see why we've been kind of avoiding this conversation?"

It's a lot to take in all at once. You raise a hand, then wave around the building, "So, you're, like..."
"We find what goes bump in the night, and ask to see its receipts, yes," Tom glances at his clock, "Speaking of which, it's late. You weren't the worst candidate we've had, but bit of advice?" He opens the door out of his office, "You're not a GMan. Don't just shoot guns around like that."
"People have been trying to kill me, sir!" You shout after him, but he doesn't give a response, waving you away, leaving you only with the form.

Damn. That couldn't be it, but still, it was a lot to wrap your mind around.

Edward Call. You're sure you've heard that name before.

>[ ] Well. That's a lot to take in. Let's go home.
>[ ] See if you can bum a ride off of Mr. Buhl.
>[ ] Check this place out. See if you can talk to anyone.
>[ ] Other.

>>25967493
>[ ] Well. That's a lot to take in. Let's go home.
>[ ] Other.
buy a briefcase on the way home

>>25967493
Well this all makes sense now, since our grandmother on our father's side always used to talk about an old man in her village back home doing tricks in the village square during the day, and then enchanting the married women at night, before he was beaten to death by a jealous husband. But then, his body disappeared. THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE JUST A STORY, BUT MAYBE IT WASNT

>>25967493
>[ ] Well. That's a lot to take in. Let's go home.
Feed the dog.

>>25967493
>[ ] Well. That's a lot to take in. Let's go home.

But also say "Goodbye." or "Nice meeting you, Gloria." to them.

Best be polite.

(Not a definite goodbye, but more like "See you tomorrow" goodbye or something like that)

>>25967493
>>[ ] Well. That's a lot to take in. Let's go home.
we have no business here. we are a god-fearing man in over his head.

>>25967535
>buy a briefcase on the way home

Good idea.

>>25967493
>>[ ] Well. That's a lot to take in. Let's go home.

We have a lot to think on, and we have a form to drop off with Hamilton. I think we can be satisfied with that much for now.

Oh, definitely also:

>>25967535
>[x] Other.

>>25967493
>[ ] Well. That's a lot to take in. Let's go home.
>[ ] Other.

Seconding briefcase. But maybe we can leave it for tomorrow morning?

Time to investigate this the taxman way. By digging through a ton of paperwork.

>>25967588
>>25967582
>>25967572
>>25967561
>>25967535
Going home, with a side of briefcase shopping.

...I literally know next to nothing about briefcases.

Calling a taxi, or walking?

>>25967633
how many miles from home are we?

>>25967633
>...I literally know next to nothing about briefcases.

Just say we buy a somewhat nice and functional briefcase for $8 or so.

And I say we walk.

>>25967633
Taxi.

Timothy is the best protagonist.

>>25967640
About twenty, twenty five miles, you estimate.

>>25967649
>>25967661
We walk. While its not a great idea, our head injury isn't bothering us, and we could use the time to think.

>>25967676
WHAT ABOUT THE DOG

We are so getting jumped. Tom just got done telling us that some demon-eating cunt has a bone to pick with us.

>>25967694
Humans average around 8km/h walking (around 4m/ph) we'll be home in 4/5 hours had a nice walk, gotten a new briefcase, thought about what we're doing and then feed the dog.

>>25967707
>We are so getting jumped.

Or we get into the wrong taxi and get taken hostage by one of them.

>>25967743
>>25967707
Or you get kidnapped by jetpack nazis

>>25967731
When was the last time you walked 25 miles?

>>25967707
*a demon-eating necromancer cunt with substantial connections

>>25967760
Again?
>>25967766
Never. I should change that.

Oh yeah, where did we leave the car? The one with the .45 in the glove compartment?

We just need to get there fast first.

>>25967787
That's at work. Don't worry too too much about it.

>>25967787
Oh shit.

>>25967781
25 miles is a really tiring amount of miles but definitely achievable, however I doubt Timothy is up for walking it in full as he is not entirely in the best shape at the current moment

>>25967818
It's 40k so, hmm. We could do it, probably while injured, but we'd be annoyed at the speed. Also how cold and what time is it?

>>25967633
>Calling a taxi, or walking?

Call a taxi. Too far to walk, and it's been a long day. Briefcase can wait until the next day, depending on how late it gets.

Sorry, got distracted. You check your watch. 8:18PM. Not enough time to walk and get a briefcase. You call a cab. It'll be out there in ten. Writing.

>I figure as soon as I mention 8:18PM people will swing to taxi, unless they really want a foot encounter.

>>25967864
By the time we had got home it'd be about 1-2AM and only ruffians and roustabouts are out at those hours.

>>25967936

You got a summary I can use to archive this thing?

>>25967936
We probably don't want to get home at midnight so yeah. Plus it'd be getting cold at that time.

So the clear path forward is to become a paranormal private eye, right?

>>25968015
>a paranormal private eye

Paranormal tax collector, actually.

>>25968033
The best paranormal tax collector.

>>25968033
That path sorta seems closed to us, what with the paranormal tax collectors giving us the boot.

>>25967973
Tax Quest 4; where something gets explained, and we get more questions.

>>25968015
We need to burn it all down. For the good of the land.

The feral negroes will know peace no longer.

>>25968067
He said we weren't the worst applicant he's seen.

>"Speaking of which, it's late. You weren't the worst candidate we've had, but bit of advice?"

>>25968101
>"I don't want to hire you, Tim, nor do I want to get you in trouble,"
Not the worst /= hired.

>>25968101
>You weren't the worst candidate we've had

I wonder who was shittier than us.

>>25968178
Well, we survived. That probably puts us above quite a few.

>>25968168
True, but we're still capable of redemtion
>>25968178
Yeah, did they somehow manage to torch a city block
>>25968193
I doubt they count.

You step out of Tom's office. The side of your face is still numb. You look over at where Ralph used to be sitting, but he's gone now. Surprised you didn't notice him leaving. Tom went out back, the door is still open on the outside, having a cigarette.

The only person left in the room is Mustache. When you approach him, he glances up. Something in his expression really makes you feel like he doesn't want to get talked to.

For lack of friends, you go out in the night.

You step outside, and note to your irritation that skies have clouded over. Makes it harder to see in the dark. Stepping down the gravel walk to the road, you can hear distant thunder. Great.

"Need a lift?" You freeze. The booming voice again.

You turn. How did you not see that there? A Rolls Royce Phantom purred gently just down the road a ways, headlights off. The headlights turn on, and you see a handsome man with messy hair step out of the car, white suit, red shirt, black tie. He has a smile on his face.

"Seems like you had a bad day, Mr. Johnson. Figure I'd do the charitable thing, and see if I can't clear some things up."

He seems remarkably friendly for a man who was supposed to have eaten a devil.

>[ ] "No thank you, sir, I've got a cab coming."
>[ ] "Don't you have anything better to do, Mr. Call?"
>[ ] Go catch a ride with him. Get his side of the story.
>[ ] With a bit of luck, you might get info. Stay outside the building, but talk.
>[ ] Him? Here? Go back inside the building.
>[ ] Other.

>>25967973
>Uhhh, I'm bad at this. Give me a while, I got something planned a bit longer.

>>25968242
>Give me a while, I got something planned a bit longer.

Already archived it.

>>25968242
>[ ] "No thank you, sir, I've got a cab coming."

"But thank you for the offer, anyhow."

Be nice & polite, but firmly decline.

>>25968242
>>[ ] Go catch a ride with him. Get his side of the story.
As much as I regret itI don't. I say we go with.

How do we know its Mr. Call

Nevermind forgot we had a cab coming.>>25968292

>>25968261
Ah, I shoulda spoken sooner. Oh well. Thank you.

>>25968242
"i've heard strange stories about you, Mr. Call. on any other day I would not put stock in words from some sort of child's night-terror, but I find myself rather shaken today. you will forgive me if I ask we speak before I consider a backseat with you."

>>25968242
>[ ] "No thank you, sir, I've got a cab coming."

Let's not trade one lion's den for another, shall we?

>>25968242
>[ ] "No thank you, sir, I've got a cab coming."
I am sorry, but I have already called a cabby driver to serve as my transportation for the night. To call him off would be a great disservice to the man for making him drive all the way out here with no client to serve.

File: 1373614010788.png-(200 KB, 529x386, Friends Now.png)

200 KB PNG

>>25968310
>Oh well. Thank you.

You're welcome! :)

>>25968308
No god please god no. I vote for not-this.

>>25968395
So do I.

>>25968391
>>25968345
>>25968292
"No thank you, sir, I've got a cab coming," You give what you hope is a polite grin, "I would hate to have called him out all this way for nothing. But thank you at any rate."

The handsome man blinks, scratches his chin, looking up for a moment, before he smiles, "Well, that's just fine!" He claps the roof of the Phantom, "Beth! Drive home without me!"
You hear a muffled confusion from the front seat.
"Don't worry about it! I'm lucky, Mr. Johnson called a cab!" He shuts the passenger door on the Phantom, and starts walking to you, smile on his face, "I'll just hitch a ride with him."

The Rolls Royce revs, drives past slowly- you can see a pair of angry dark eyes underneath a driver's cap, and perhaps a figure in the back seat, before the Rolls drives past, going down the road. The man in the white suit approaches, a manic grin on his face. One eye blue, another eye...Red? It's hard to tell in the dark.

"Hope you don't mind? I can cover cab fare even."

What an obnoxious man.

>[ ] "I suppose I can't object?"
>[ ] "No, no, I'm sure we're going to opposite sides of town."
>[ ] Just don't talk to him.
>[ ] Other.

>>25968567
>>[ ] "I suppose I can't object?"
>[ ] Other.
"They say you've done a lot of things Mr. Call, tell me, are the stories true?"

>>25968567
>[ ] Other.
We refuse to let him pay for cab fare, because that would leave us in debt to him.

>>25968590

I second this

>>25968627
Oh do this. Debts can be used for powerful mojo and bindings.

>>25968567
I like this guy. Smarmy cunt.

>>25968567
>[ ] "I suppose I can't object?"

Persistent guy. If he follows up to our house, don't invite him in.

Also, what this guy said. >>25968627
No debts to repay, no favors in return.

>>25968627
oh, shit, he's right. he out-moxied the devil, we CANNOT let ourselves be in any kind of debt to him!

>>25968627
>Clever fellow.

>Calling it for letting him ride with you, and paying for your own damn cab. Writing.

>>25968567
>[x] Of course I don't mind. From what Tom told me you already know where I live anyway.

>[x] I one the other hand hope you won't mind if I'm somewhat reserved. I had a long exhausting day and am supposed to careful around you.

>>25968627
If he asks to pay the fare it is he who will owe something to us if we allow him to pay

Don't ask him to pay in any case.

>>25968627
"I suppose I can't object" and the above. Let him initiate any conversation. We just want this to be over.

>>25968567

[x] I suppose I can't object. Mister Call, I presume?

>>25968627
"I allow you to come with me on this ride in exchange for you paying." would avoid this.

>>25968738
Yes, but its unsightly. Have tact man.

Glumly, you realize that for whatever reason, this man (Who you assume is Edward Call) really will not let this go. You glance after the Rolls Royce. It makes another bend, and then the last glow of its lights are gone.

"I suppose I can't object?" A thought. Just a hunch, really, bubbles up, as you look back at Call, standing a good six feet from you on the road, "I'll be paying though."

Call raises an eyebrow, and then shrugs, "Alright. I suppose you already know who I am then, right?"
"Edward Call. They say a great deal about you. Are the stories true?"

Mr. Call smiles, a wide smile, and you can see from the distant light of the Bureau building that he has a scar underneath his left eye, jagged, red, angry. Mr. Call smiles quite a great deal, always laughing at some private joke.

"True's pretty strange in this world, Mr. Johnson, I hate touching it, it sticks to you and doesn't let go. I can't really say that one way or another, but I'm not about to hide the fact that I'm a bonafide sorcerer, daemonologist, professional gambler, devil eater, and hero to all lonely women everywhere, even if they don't know it yet."

Well. He was blunt about it. Just two days ago you'd be doing your absolute best to ignore people that talk like this. Mr. Call shakes his head, and lets his smile degenerate in to a mere grin, as he looks down, "It's just a shame that Tom seems to want to bad mouth me like that. He gave you a form, right?" He looks at you, cocks his head. What a strange accent. Vaguely American, but you can't place the region, "Told you I was greedy, that I was the one after you, right?"

>[ ] Yessss?
>[ ] No.
>[ ] You don't know what you're talking about.
>[ ] Other.

>>25968909
>[ ] Other.
"Has he done this before?"
oh, shit, what if this is a test as well? what if call's working with tom to test our savvy and reactions to supernatural skullduggery?

>>25968909
>[ ] Other.
"Yes. Is it true?"

Screw it, I'm cold and hungry. Night all. Thanks for running this QM

>>25968909
Deflect the question and ask him where he lives.
This Taxi Cab business must be settled.

>>25969006
Have a good night then.

>>25968937
>>25968947
I'll give it two more minutes, then 1d2 this.

>>25969018
Make that 1d3.

>>25969030
Oops. Sorry.

>>25969043
Don't worry about it. More options are good.

>>25968909
>standing a good six feet from you
I see what you did there.

Rolled 1

1 - Has he done this before?
2 - Yes. Is it true?
3 - Question deflect.

I, too, must sleep. Fun thread IA.

You get a small sense of vertigo. Yes. Those were the things that Tom had been saying. You had the form in your pocket right now from Tom. Oh no.

"Has he, has he done this before?"
"Oh yes," Mr. Call nods, looking with pity at you, "Him and the rest of the spook show, tch! But don't, don't speak up too much about it, okay?" Call looks genuinely concerned about this, "Just play along. Tom is a dangerous guy, you don't last that long in his job without burying a few bodies."

Makes sense. Tom and Ralph had always been kind of arm's reach, antagonistic sorts.

"So, just play along, but believe me," He places a hand over his heart, and steps forward, "I know you had nothing to do with Albigram and all that business. Just wrong place, wrong time, right?"

Right. That was what happened after all.

"Just want to make sure we're not getting off on the wrong foot, y'know?"

Of course. Hell, Call had been the friendliest man you had met in a long while. Ralph and Tom danced around things, spoke in riddles. Not Call.

"You seem like a good guy Johnson," You're in the cab. You're not sure quite when you got in the cab. But you're riding along the road, heading to the lights of Detroit now, "So, here," he pushes a little card in to your hand- 'Edward Call - Problem Solver, 5171 Trumbull St,' "Stop by sometime why don't you?"

Don't.

Call is really a charming man, as he loosens his tie, and chuckles at your story. You crack up. He smiles, nods, points, puts on a sad face, and then, gets out of the cab. You're laughing. You're laughing so hard tears are coming out your eyes, bent over, you don't even feel the numbness on your face anymore. He waves good bye to you, as you wave back to him. What fun. What a fun man, such a charming man. You blink, trying to remember the joke, but just remembering the outline of it, not the actual thing causes you to crack up again.

What a funny man.

You're dropped off in front of your house. You check your watch. 8:38PM. Oh shoot, you forgot to get a briefcase. Tomorrow, you can get one.

You walk inside your house. Your dog runs up, crying and whining, bouncing off of you repeatedly. Good dog. The dog is very grateful when you feed it, set up its little bowl, and it devours the food. You're tired.

Do you sleep?
>[ ] Yes.
>[ ] No.

>>25969295
no. we must take special note of all the events of today. pay special attention to the car-ride home. try and remember absolutely everything that happened, and make a note of what you cannot.

>>25969282
>[ ] No.
We check our records for Mr. Edward Call first. Try to jog a memory of him, then write down what happened today, and whatever we currently know of.

>>25969295
>[ ] Yes.
But I really want to meta and say not to sleep and think really hard about what just happened, because Call is obviously an unsavory character and a charming devil

>>25969318
then, we can go to sleep.
>sorry, hit the enter too quickly.

>>25969318
oh, shit, our journal thing! you're right! we have an out, gentlemen! he takes notes and times of everything he does before he goes to sleep!

>>25969327
>>25969318
Writing.

>>25969350
>Thank you for remembering.

>>25969282
>Don't.
oh god
>>25969295
OH GOD OH GOD

>>25969378
We so fucked.

You are tempted to sleep- you feel exhausted. You can feel the side of your head is getting more sore. But, you have your record. Very important record. You cough, smile, and shake the fog from your head. What a nice night. Made up for the problems in the day.

You sit down, make your notes. What an eventful day. You really are happy about your pocket watch.

6:00AM : Awake.
6:01AM-6:03AM : Call in sick to office.
6:03AM-6:57AM : Morning preparations, shower, dressing, breakfast.

It goes on, pretty well timed in harmony.

And then, something strange.

8:18PM: Called Cab.

8:38PM: Returned home.

You frown. Glance at your watch. 8:43PM.

That was a strange irregularity. What happened on the ride? You think, think hard. Well, you certainly had fun, you recall with a grin. But still, there something, off. You glance at the watch. Look out to the living room. You had your grandfather clock in there.

You stand, walk out to the living room.

10:58PM.

You have two hours and fifteen minutes missing.

>Three anons, roll 1d100, 40 and below succeeds.

Rolled 40

>>25969471
Time to unravel this.

Rolled 96

>>25969471
oh god

Rolled 59

>>25969471
REMEMBER THE ALAMO!

>>25969484
Exactly 40...

Rolled 9

>>25969484
well, we got one success. that should count for something.

>>25969484
>One success. Writing.

>>25969484

I see Mr. Timothy Johnson likes to live on the edge.
feelsgoodman.jpg

>>25969484
Whew, close call, an-
>>25969487
>>25969495
Dang it you guys

Rolled 40

>>25969533
You know he likes to be called Lawrence.
>>25969544
s-sorry....

All of a sudden, you feel very, very light headed.

"That's a pretty little thing," You remember.
"My watch," You murmur, "Well, there's a story behind it, why it, why it's dented like that-"
"Mind if I see it?" It leaves your hand. You were just checking the time. Making a note. You look up to protest, but can't see really well. You're in an alley. It's dark, night time. There's neon washing over you.

"Here you go," A man claps you on the shoulder, "No harm, no foul," A watch is pushed in to your hand. You look down at it. Dents, chain, and all. Your watch. What a relief.

You're stumbling along. You feel sick, sick to your stomach. You felt sick like this once, when your friends took you to what they called a wake. Friends. That was a joke. You start laughing.

"Thick head on this one," You hear behind you, and laugh harder.
"Hard to work in."
"Give it time, give it time, hey Tim!"
"Ahhh, call me, call me Mr. Johnson!" You heard yourself yell.
"Sorry, sorry, look, here," You feel a card go into your palm, and you lean heavily against the brick wall, feeling sick again, trying desperately to gasp for breath, trying to decide between laughing and being sick, you look down at the card, can't read it right, "I'd like to see you again, if you don't mind, okay? Just put that card in your pocket, alright?"
"Okay, I can," You giggle. No one knew you didn't have friends. That was real funny.
"Good kid. Beth, get him a taxi, please? Before he pukes on my shoes again?"

You're pushed in to a taxi. He tries to pay the cab driver, but you scream at him, pay it yourself.

No wonder why your wallet was empty.

That's all you can remember. You start hyperventilating. You lean on your sitting room chair, and start panting, staring forward in a panic. What happened? What happened? This is the SECOND TIME that you haven't been able to keep proper notes! And this was for two hours!

What if it gets worse?

>[ ] I can't sleep.
>[ ] I have to sleep.

What do you guys think about the name McIntyre?

>>25969667
>[ ] I can't sleep.

Time for paranoia. I wonder how long we're gonna keep this composure?

This will not stand. We are a civil servant, our time belongs to the taxpayers! We can't just let it disappear like that.

Still, we need to be in phase with the real world. Adjust time on our watch to match the grandfather clock.

Rolled 38

>>25969667
Find a way to talk to yourself in case this happens again. trigger phrases, ritual habits, anything. put a note at the front of your bed:

DO YOU REMEMBER WHERE YOU WERE TODAY?

make notes to do research into hypnosis and the like in the morning. for now, hyperventilate into your pillow until you pass out. try and remember as you fall asleep.

>>25969667
>[x] Immediately write down what you just remembered. If you are capable of short-hand or similarly hard to read scripts, use those. Hide the note. Then sleep.

>>25969667

Write down our new found memories carefully.

Then... are we religious? If so, perhaps a prayer would be in order. If not, or actually regardless, we could calm ourselves by taking a look through our accounts. Double check our expenses over last month, for instance.

>>25969667
The next time we feel ourselves losing it, remember to bite down on our lip very hard such that it draws blood.

If we stumble around later and taste blood in our mouth, we'll know something is amiss.

>>25969784
>I don't know.

>Is Mr. TL Johnson religious?

>>25969744
You jot down all you can remember in Gregg shorthand, on two copies, and hide one in your mattress, and the other in a desk drawer.

>>25969716
You immediately set your watch to match the clock. Can't allow that to happen again.

>>25969736
>>25969744
Also, roughly, consensus seems to be to go to sleep and not totally lose it. Writing.

>>25969667
>You giggle. Nobody knew you didnt have friends. That was real funny.
It's probably partly lack of sleep, but this line hit me like a bag of bricks. Hug Tim. Read note.

Rolled 57

>>25969796
that sounds like my idea >>25969736. it's a good idea. do something that instantly sets him off. the taste of blood will be a very powerful indicator. anytime we feel we can no longer trust our judgment, we bite our lip to draw blood.

Rolled 44

>>25969851
have him immediately take issue to the IBA.

"Tom, because of Mr. Call, I have lost two hours and fifteen minutes of my memory."

that should get their attention.

>>25969853
Heh.

>>25969796
>>25969863
I disagree. Blooddrinking is a thing in this setting. We might snack on someone only to assume it's just our own blood.

I like the routine/trigger phrase idea.

>>25969935
The blood is to signify that something is amiss.
I think having someone else's blood in our mouths is still something amiss.

>>25969884

Too meta. We know something is off, but I'm not sure we could bring ourselves to approach Tom with the matter so directly.

It's a good sign that we paid for the cab though. Means we couldn't have been completely overcome.

>>25969851

>religious
samefag here. Complete atheist in America seems a bit unlikely, I'd imagine mr. Lawrence be raised in a god-fearing moderately protestant atmosphere. Would perhaps explain his affinity to Justice.

>>25969950
But there are multiple levels of amiss. If we don't realize we've been drinking the blood of Satan, we may end up super boned in the long run.

>>25969958
yeah. an atheist in 1920's america? practically non-existant.

>>25970001
if we were in any situation that required drinking the blood of satan, then I think a little memory loss is the LEAST of our concerns. still means that there's blood in mouth when there shouldn't be, which would still show 'something is not right.'

>>25970001
We can still have other signals we can send to ourselves, but I'm just saying that biting our lip is easy to do, relatively effective, and can't be too easily detected by outside forces.

>>25969667
>No one knew you didn't have friends. That was real funny.
oh god the feels

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You're starting to get dizzy.

After the sixth note to yourself, writing in the swooping architecture of John Robert Gregg's stenography, you start to slow. You stand from the chair, letting it clatter to the floor, starting to gasp for breath. Your dog whines, comes to your side. Licks at your hand as you stumble for your bed.

What did he want from you? What did he get from you in those two hours? You loosen your tie, kick off your shoes, take off your jacket, fall down on the bed, and stare up at the ceiling.

You're halfway through unbuttoning your vest when you lose consciousness.

In the morning. In the morning. In the mean time, flesh and blood must draw their due.

You dream of a great machine. It casts its light on you, and huddle underneath it. It does not cast its light willingly- it is poorly built. A gear goes astray, a spark flies, metal glows red hot of lack of care. You are in its bowels, and it grants heat and light, not out of charity, but out of inefficiency.

There are eyeless men, that wait beyond the light cast by the machine. You can see them, sometimes, when a spark goes astray. Fine, bland suits. Boater hats. They wait outside of the machine's range.

They ask a question of you.

There is a man who will not open his eyes. He shrinks against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. He has a broken nose, missing teeth, and his hair is shaved flat to his scalp. He wears a suit like the eyeless men, but no hat.

There is a woman in a chair. She is wearing a party dress, and her hair has been done out, like a great cloud. She is facing away from you. She will not see. Will not turn.

Which is the least just?

>[ ] The man.
>[ ] The woman.
>[ ] Do not respond.
>[ ] Other.

>>25970084
>[ ] Other.

The eyeless men. For making us look at this farce.

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>>25970084
>[ ] The man.
A man without his hat is a man without his dignity.
A man without dignity is a man lacking in justice.

This is getting too real

>>25970084
>[ ] Other.
Just by whom? who wields the scales in this scenario? to know justice, one must know all that transpired. otherwise, Discrepancies on the Tax Forms begin to form. I do not know by whose law I am measuring, therefore, I cannot say who is the least just.

>>25970084
Both. There is no justice in hiding from the truth, be it from cowardice or ignorance.

>>25970137
Yes.

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>>25970137

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This is juvenile and remarkably stupid. You make your irritation clear.

You sense a great irritation among the masses beyond the machine. They wanted you to choose. To choose between the two.

You can not choose. You do not know the law.

A great anger. Choose the law, they ask of you. Choose a law, any law. Judge them.

You can not. You are a tax man. A civil servant.

A mute fury. Another spark flies from the machine, it flies distantly, out in the great dark.

In those few seconds that it lived, you saw a veritable sea. There must be thousands of them, waiting there under their boater hats. Eyeless and staring. Waiting for you to slip. To walk out of that machine.

You will break. You will break. They don't say it, but you hear it in your dream nonetheless.

You wake up. Your dog is curled by your side, trying to keep you warm. It's a new day. You take a bleary look at your watch. 6:00AM sharp. Even with your late rest, you managed to wake up still on the dot. Good work.

Your jaw really, really hurts.

>And that's it for me. It's 2:35AM here, I must sleep. See you next Thursday. If any delays occur, I'll post on the twitter. Probably should have linked that up above. https://twitter.com/AssessorJohnson . Thanks for reading. G'night.

>>25970214
Cool, thanks for running, QM!

Song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5gAX9VwO18

>>25970214
Updated the archive!

>>25970214
fine job, IR. fine job. and now, with the tax code settled, I must pass out at 4:40 in the morning.

>>25970214

That was pretty cool. Cheers for the run, OP!

>>25970214
As always, thanks for the quest run, IR.

Besides briefcase shopping, I believe we'll need to...
>get back to our office building
>check our car
>visit Mr. Hamilton to hand him those papers Mr. Tom gave us
>check with Hamilton's secretary on what she found out about the BIA
>and maybe call Mr. Tom about our missing 2 hours.

>>25970214
You are the best QM in years. Rock on, IR.

>>25970311
Shit nigga, he was just trying to give a compliment, don't go waving around your shadow dick up in here.

Okay.

How do we learn magic, without getting fucked over.

>>25970214
Thanks for running. Been fun and delightfully unconventional as far as quests go.

>>25970311
...It's ok to toot someone's horn sometimes but you should only do it at the appropriate time and place. This is neither. Also: personal opinion and such.

>>25970355
We don't. We're like Guts of tax collectors.

>>25970279
Oh yeah, I forgot...
>try to dig up a paper trail for one Mr. Edward Call

We stumbled upon Mr. Albigram through this manner, I think chances are good we'll find some dirt on him.

I really feel that suits offer some sort of protection or resistance to the magic mojo these guys radiate. We may need to get some suit specifications from those BIA guys. And I'm not just saying this because I like them suits.
Barring that, charms or baubles.

I know what's happening.

We need to find out Mr. Albigram full name.

The next time this dream occurs, we need to do two things; one, turn to the cowering man and call him out by his name. Offer a chance of redemption in service, to pay his debts to the United States as a citizen and protect him from Enemies of The state; After all, he is a citizen.

If he refuses, well... he can seek blind justice.

And begin repairing the machine.

>>25970396
But Call and the Watchers from the dream wore suits, too. We need a more every-man look that's still sharp and sophisticated, because we represent humanity in a world of the supernatural.

>>25970464
It's the 20s, everybody wears suits.

>>25970469
Everyone is demons. Rip and tear.

>>25970464
So then, do we counteract the supernatural with our accessories?
Thunderbolt iron cufflinks for starters maybe?

>>25970480
Berserker packin' man and a half?

>>25970380
That is a HILARIOUS mental image. I'll have to see if I can get that request fulfilled in a drawthread.

A silver pocket watch?

we should probably just get the pocket watch fixed, since it is likely to be the glowing machine we're standing under.

also stop letting people fuck with it.

>>25970494
I wish I was competent enough to make a Tax Quest edit of that oft-posted "I'm human right down to the marrow of my fucking bones." panel from the manga.

>>25970557
It would have to be changed a little.

"You, sir, are quite mistaken. I am a Civil Servant, fully certified and licensed, with all forms properly filed. Do not mistake me for one of your unlicensed ilk."