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To keep things fair among the Sinners, there’s rotating dinner duty on Mephistopheles. After all this time, they’ve mostly gotten pretty good in the kitchen, though Outis’ huge, delicious moussaka and Meursault’s unforgivingly precise bouillabaisse are the staff favorites. Even Gregor had come a long way since the chicken mess. The only outlier was Yi Sang, who until last week was banned from kitchen detail.
But then, the ban was lifted.
“No way,” Ishmael said. “I’m not a picky eater, but I don’t think you make anything fit for human consumption.”
“Agreed, Outis agreed. “Yi Sang, you may cook in the event that we need advanced torture techniques to perform on a difficult prisoner.”
Yi Sang, with sad, wet eyes, looked toward Heathcliff.
“...all right, I say we give the lad another chance. Like as not he’s improved since the last time, right?”
“I concur with young Heathcliff! ‘Tis the case that many a wayward soul in our company hath steered their vessels toward redemption! Might that not be the case in the realm of the culinary?”
“I have no objection.”
“Aw, sure, why not?”
Despite Ishmael and Outis and their protests, eventually Yi Sang was allowed back in the kitchen.
“Thank you, my fellows. I promise your faith in me will not be misplaced,” Yi Sang said.
-
After dinner, Gregor and Ryoshu were outside Mephistopheles for their postprandial.
“D.C.A.A.O.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t bad. I guess our bud’s learned to make that red stew, whatever he called it. Hay-something soo-something gee-something?”
“Mm.”
A moment later, Gregor began staring into space. The roach on his shoulder whispered in his ear.
“Hey, man. I’ve been able to talk this whole time.”
“...huh?”
“Yeah, man.”
“That’s great, bud. Hey, what should I call you? I’ve just been calling you Pablo, but I guess now I can ask what you wanna go by.”
“Bro, you’re not going to believe this, but my name really is Pablo.”
“Shit, no way!”
Meanwhile, Ryoshu wasn’t paying attention to the old man talking to himself. (It happens at that age, you know.) Something else caught her eye. It was the head of an infernal procession, a standard bearer impaled on their own pole, bloodied and tattered flag flapping without wind. They staggered forward, leading the way for a troop of flayed marchers, dragging their skins on the ground behind them, wailing in a chorus of agony. Behind them was a blazing carriage filled with screaming and thrashing skeletons, followed by a great three-headed dragon with a load of the mangled damned in all three mouths, itself run through with hundreds of spears dripping with poison.
She turned to Gregor.
“You seeing this?”
-
Ishmael had been washing dishes and cleaning the kitchen after dinner, whistling as she scrubbed away.
Dinner wasn’t bad, but Yi Sang made a goddamn huge mess in here.
As she cleaned out a bowl, she suddenly felt a surprising – but welcome – strong, firm, muscular arms around her waist. Arms she knew she’d never feel again wrapped her up, and gentle lips pressed against the top of her head. The impossible smell of bygone days filled her nostrils, and a long-dead sense of safety and security flowed through her whole body as she leaned backward and relaxed in Queequeg’s embrace. She closed her eyes, happy tears running down her cheeks. Neither spoke for a while.
A few minutes later, Rodya stumbled into the kitchen. She saw Ishmael laying on the floor, a huge, dopey smile on her face and an unmistakable bulge in her pants and a sink full of unfinished dishes. Rodya had struggled like hell to get down the corridor for a snack – for some reason, Mephistopheles was bucking like a bronco, and the only cure for that, as far as Rodya could tell, was to go to the kitchen and eat every single one of the mercilessly elegant petits fours Meursault had made. She looked down and saw the edges of the checkerboard squares of the kitchen floor blur and melt into each other.
“Ishy, wake up, the floor’s melting!”
Ishmael only replied by thrusting her hips up and moaning incoherently. Rodya, with a sigh, carefully tiptoed around the evil white tiles and Ishmael’s writhing body over to the counter, where Meursault’s carefully made desserts were sensibly stored in a little container. Rodya gingerly crawled onto the counter for safety, where she remained the rest of the night.
-
Meanwhile, Heathcliff was sitting in his room, privately rewatching last night’s episode of Lovestruck Under Falling Stars. On the show, the roguishly handsome but quite insecure Kyung-moon was standing outside the observatory, deciding whether or not to go in and confess his feelings to Na-ri, a straitlaced and shy girl, unaware that she was in there wishing on a star for a sign whether she should go with bad boy Kyung-moon or free-spirited Hye-young or polished Tae-ho, all of whom she has feelings for.
“For fuck’s sake, mate, just go in there and tell her how you feel,” Heathcliff grumbled at the screen as Kyung-moon. Kyung-moon looked into the camera, which did not happen when Heathcliff and the lads were watching the episode live last night, and addressed Heathcliff directly.
“Are you talkin’ to me – or to yourself, bro?”
“The hell you mean?”
“I ain’t the only one who can’t come out and say what’s on his mind.”
“That lass is bloody waiting for you in there! Don’t – don’t just stand there. Make your fuckin’ play!”
Kyung-moon scoffed.
“The mirror’s on you, bro. You’re yelling at you.”
“I need to do it, too! I need to get out there! But you’re not off the hook!”
“That’s right, bro. We need to live our lives. We need to get out there!”
“Fuckin’ too right, mate! Go in there and finger that bird! Wank each other off! Slurp her fuckin’ flaps! Live your fuckin’ life before it’s over! Get out there!”
Kyung-moon shook his head with a rueful little smile.
“You don’t get it, bro. I’m a character in a TV drama. You’re a real guy, though, with a real life you can live. And you gotta go live it. Don’t just sit around in your boxers watching the fake me fake fumble a fake girl. Get your ass out there and do what needs to be done.”
“You’re right! Sod it, I’m doing it! I’m getting out there!”
“Do it, Heathcliff!”
Heathcliff, now full of determination, put his trousers back on (but no shirt to slow him down) and stormed out of his room.
-
Dante was often confused by their Sinners’ behavior, but this was new. They stared up at Faust, who’d stripped naked and climbed atop the bookcase in Dante’s office. She arched her back and hissed.
<Faust? What on earth are you doing?>
“Hissssss!”
<Get down from there!>
Faust yowled. Dante grabbed a broom and with gentle futility attempted to urge Faust down.
FAUST-BL: Fausts. Join spec mode on @FAUST-LCB immediately.
FAUST-N: HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHA
FAUST-7S: This is a dark day for Faustkind.
FAUST-MC: @FAUST-LCB Stop this at once.
FAUST-GYARU: girl. *girl.*
* FAUST-PRIME has changed @FAUST-LCB’s designation to @FAUST-CAT. To initiate an appeal, message “appeal designation change” to @AUTOHELPER-FAUST.
FAUST-CAT: mrrrrrrr
* FAUST-PRIME has initiated an all-Gesellschaft vote to initiate remote detonation protocol on @FAUST-CAT’s head. To be counted, your vote must be a YES or NO.
FAUST-CAT: hissss
Dante, meanwhile, had no luck getting the hissing, spitting Faust off the bookcase and set the broom back down in defeat.
<All right, I’m getting Meursault. He’s tall.>
While they were ticking, they noticed Faust starting to get low and wiggle her butt before suddenly launching herself off the bookcase, attempting to land on Dante’s shoulder and sending them both ass-over-teakettle onto the ground before she sprinted out the door, yowling.
-
Even if they had managed to get Meursault, he may not have been any help. He went back to his room to read the next section of Index of Human Facial Expressions and Related Emotions, 7th edition, when the words suddenly slid off the page and landed in his lap. He turned to the next page, and more letters started sliding off until the entire book was leaking on his lap and the floor. He carefully picked up a letter R from the lap and inspected it; it melted away to sludge on his fingertip.
Not feeling any particular way, he stood up, sending hundreds of tiny letters cascading to the ground, got his dustpan and brush, and diligently cleaned up the mess. He then discarded the empty book and, realizing that he was probably experiencing some kind of psychotic event, elected to get into his pajamas and go to bed, where he would be most likely to minimize harm and inconvenience to himself and others.
-
Outis felt the pull of an unusual whim which she decided to indulge, being at liberty for the evening and not in the mood to socialize. She sat cross-legged on the floor of her room and unfolded her board game conflict simulation, Fire and Smoke 3rd edition, and carefully took out all 200 cards, 264 tokens, eight pairs of eight-sided dice, every faction’s individual player mat.
Ordinarily there would need to be seven other players, but I’ll be damned if I trust any of these buffoons to learn the – hm?
She picked up one of the green K Corp Infantry tokens. The greenness was so appealing; Outis hadn’t appreciated just how lush and inviting these tokens were.
Without thinking, she popped it into her mouth and tasted the sweetness of a grape. She sat there and contentedly ate the entire pile of delicious board game conflict simulation tokens, savoring every bit of cardboard. All of them were shockingly sweet, and though Outis didn’t ordinarily have much of a sweet tooth, she was feeling hunger born of dreamy pleasure.
-
Yi Sang just drank a little tea in bed and went to sleep. Nothing unusual.
-
Sinclair had decided to join Hong Lu in the lounge after dinner and try out the new ping-pong table that Vergilius bought for the Sinners (he lost a bet again). They were playing in determined silence until Sinclair noticed that Hong Lu’s jade eye was glowing unnaturally bright. He could even still see it when he blinked. He also realized for the first time that Hong Lu’s long, lush hair was actually a writhing mass of black serpents, undulating and whispering in a primordial language.
“Ahhhhh!!!”
“Ḑ̸̞̯̪̟̩̟̮̗̹̩͓̦̠̒ò̵̥̦̼̻̣̝͐̍̋̓ͅ ̴̛̤̳̂̊͋̈̈́̈̎̇̈́̕͘͘̚n̷͉̱̬̏͛̌͊̿̆̍͒̎̕ô̴̢̧̱̙̰͇̦̯̻͂̆̔͒͑͆̽̍͘t̶̗̣̹̳̣̝̝̱͚̓̽̆̊͗͐̚ͅ ̵͉͇̳̹̮͉̟̘̰̐̊̆͑̅͗͊̔̽̈́̀̆͘͘̕̕ẅ̷̨̰̜͈͎̜̬͇̫̙̖̩́̏̐͋̈́́̽̊́͋̐͌ͅą̸͖͕̦̮̦̠̤͂͂̍̃̈̇̅̐̚̕͠͠s̵̢̛̠̭̦̄͐̈́͆͆̿̚͝͝t̵͕͓̰̬̬̜͌̈́͋̄̉̂͆͊͝͝͠͠e̶̡̢̜̥͇̖̪̼̙͈͛̑̈́͗̍̎̀͋̽́̔͗͝ͅͅ ̶͍̮͎͈͔̺̰̝̜͓̜͔̙̆͋̌̑͑͂̈́͒ť̷͇̻̮̈́i̷̹̯̞̙̰͉̼̗̣̭̗͗͂̈́̌̿̈́m̴͕̖̣̌̒̓͌̆͆̋̿̕͠e̷̡̡̡̛͙̞̖̹͕̲̽̽̈́̑̄͛͛̐̐̚͜͠͠͝.̴̨̧̛̛̮̥͇̦̫̰̼̼͑̎̔͜͝” Hong Lu said.
“What?!”
“t̷̰̗͍̦͎̆͒̇͑̇͌͂͛̃̓̾̐͗̽̏̀h̶̛̤̞͓̳̘͔̤̗̲̯͗͗̓͑́̀̒̚͝e̸̛͇̯̳͙̦̤̬̺̬̠̹̟̱͇̅̇͌̆͗̂ ̷̨̥̝͎͍̮̗͝ͅt̷̼̦̤͇͙̺̙̻̙̘̜̬͛̏̀̇̾̌̓͗̇͜͠ͅì̷̬̝̟̲̲̙̙͖̱͓̟̳͋̔͌̆̄̋̈̍̊͋̕ͅm̵̧̹̠̘̣̙͍̎̈͜e̸̥̻̺̹͚̳̗̪͗̃̿͒̓̾̌͋̀̈́̽̀͛̀͜ ̸̛̟̮̻͔̤̏̅̓͝ǫ̸̜̙͎͙͍̩̪̥̳̖͈͍̉̈̅͑̋͗̀̏̓̐̂̊͌̑̊̊͝ͅf̶͕̹͓̩͉̝̲̒͊͆̈́̒̄̆̐͒͒̌̕͝ ̷̡̨̤̤̟̠͙͗̎͐̒̆́̑̊̾̄̌̅͠t̶̗̣͇͖̻̔̈́̓̒̽̀̓̂̈̇̾͝ḩ̷̯̻̖̰̈͌̆̓̇ͅe̷̡̩̺̯̯̖̥͙̻͒̈́̌͑̍͑̃̋̅̐̐̈́̂̇̉͠ ̸̠̙̪̗̙̇͆̍̈͝a̸̩͐̔̇͒̓̿̈̃̎̆͆̓̓̐̀͑͝n̶̡̝̱͔̟͕̩̝̖͕͍͎̰͌̾͌̅̏̾́̅̊̒̕͝͝͝t̶̛̰̻̦̠̼͚̬̥̙͈̩̫̳͔̻̙̏͆̐̾̉͌̓̑̕͜͝͠ī̶̞̦̖̦̱̺̣̇́̄̄̃̐́̇̈̄̚̚͝m̴̛̫̹̥͇̰̐̈́̂̃̄̚è̵̛͔̪̟̯͇̇͗̾͐̐̓̒s̵̢̩͈̻̖̲̟̜̾̀̒͐̍̑̓͠s̶̩̠͈͙̔͌͊ī̷̬̪̰̭̪͓̈́͗̏̓̓̔̕͜͝ͅą̸̝͓̼͇̀͑ḫ̸̨̲̼͇͓͖̩͎̘͕̠͙̻̬̏͋̀͂̚͜ ̵̢̘͍̲̮̻̲̥̠͍̫͚̀͗͆̅̓̚h̶̯̭̥̮͙͉̐͗̔̀̀̉̿̈́͑̂̕͝ą̶̧̨̨̡̬̹̦͍̤̜̬̺̗̰̤̋̈̀͛̆̃͒̽̈́͐̈́̽̿̚͝ͅs̷̢̫͌̂͊̾̾̇̓̋̽̄̂̇́͘ ̷͎̦̬̮̺̭͕̞̺͚͓̒̈͑͐̓̈͜͜͠c̴̛̬͖̝̘̪̗̟̪̣̆̂́̂̃̃̌̐́́̒̿͘͜͜͠͝o̸̡̹͚̲̝͒̀̓̈̀̄̅͑̆̽͆̿͛̾̋͝m̷̫̳̠͔̫̚͝e̵͔̤͌͌̀̾̋͘.̶̧̧̛̛͈͉̰̫͖̗̥͉͇̥͈̱̗̂̑̏̋̀̍̋̽͋̎͐̕ ̶̧̧͉̘̤̺̩̼̟̖̺͈̺̰͍̑́͂̒͋̓̉͊̒̿͜͠͠͠͝͝͝t̷̝͕̤̱͙͇̺̘̭̫̜̟̝̊̈́̓͊̀̿͋̑̔̌̑̀͌̕ḧ̴̢͈͈̗̬͕̪̉ê̸̡̮̝̫̞͗ ̸̢͎̰̺͎͓̰̣̬͖̀̀̂̏̂̄͐̏̆͋͂͗̓͠s̷̛̙͚̰̹͓͐̀̋̎̐͋̓̒̔́̌̈́̈́͌͐̚ó̴̞̟̱͗̎͘ṵ̵̱̮͔̻̈́͑̅̂̈́͂̑̈̂̏̒̂͂̀̕͘l̸͓̟͖͖͈̃̒s̴̖͈̪̠̗͍̖̣̮̬̗̰̺̺̫̯͓̊͋̓͐͗̇̉̾̊̉̽́̽̿͆̕ ̴̮͔̘̘͍͕̫̂̀̐́͆͊̓̈́̔͗̿̐̓̿̑̿͑͜ö̶̧̧̼̬̜̣̥̰̙̝̫̫̰̭̜͚͍́̍̀̾̒͗͘f̴̭͓̱̬͙͇̱̹̮͈̣̫̳͕͑̈́̋͛̀̉̈̂̏͜͝͝͝ ̵̡͕͖͖̬͈̞͔͖̜̥̼̗͒̎̈́̄͜͜͜ͅt̷̢̡̨̠̳̬͎͖̥͒͗̅́͘ḩ̵̥͇͉̖̝̯͔̪̗̐͋̆̊ͅe̷̛̙̗̰̦͑̇̏̀͝͝ ̶̧͙̹͖̲͍͌́͛̏r̴̮͔̠̻͎̦̝͖͎̪͍̗̼̭͊͗͜ͅi̶̹̾̌̊̽̃̃̐͠͝͝g̸̭̦̝͍̭̙̹͖̟͇̩̬̩͙͕̳͕͑h̴̥͉̗͙̪͓̲̱̘̮̆̍̇̈́̂̽̕͝t̷͔͙͂̌́́͆͆͝͝e̵̛͖̹͈̰̽̃͌̿͑̑̂̈́̀͊̔͛̊̃͠ͅo̴̧̬̙͔͖̗̦̹̜̭̤͑́̃͊̊͆̋̈̽͗̅̆́͠ü̸͓̣͉̤̟̠͊͒͗̎̀̏̊̽͆̆̉̋̕͘͜͝s̶̢̡̧̠̫̙͍̮͕̳̫̯̰̞͚̜̻̈͆̏͋̇̿ ̶̧̡̡̧̼̝͙̹͎̣̳͎̺̜͇̲̍̉̿̆̐̆̉̂ͅą̵͈̜̞̫̞͎͎̤̼̬̆͘͠n̵̛͉̬̅̓͑̎̃̿̀̀̒̔̃d̸̨̥̟̙̥̤̙̖͚̻̩̮̈́͆͒ ̶̨̢͚̫̜̱̯̦̺̼̜̮̝̑̾͛̓̂̍̌̓͑̅̾͑̃̿̊͘͜͠w̸̬̘̞͖͕̭̪̞̘̪͕͇̼̱̮̒͑̊͋͐̆͒̂̓̀̃̇͘͜ͅį̷̣͓̯͓̯̩͎͎̆̃̎͒̍͗̔̀̏͛̉̅̕͘͝͝ͅͅḉ̴͈̳̤̾̿̂̇̈͜k̴̛̝̫̣̤̠̠̮͓̫̀̽͊̉̇̎̇͂̀̍͗̄̄̕̕e̴̳͈͖̎͛̈d̶̡̧̨̛͇̗̳̰̖̬͈̣̳̹̾̇͌̓̾̊̕͝ ̷̨̛̝̼̳̬̺̤̞̗̯̺͚̰̟̲̠̗̾͛͗̊̑́̍̐͊a̸̛̹̭͕̥̞̰̰͐͂͂̀̂̈́́̋͒͛͗̿̌͜͝l̶̨̛̤̞͆̐̐̐̓̃͛̓̌͘̚͠͝i̸̡͎̯͈͍̳̪̿͌̓̎̅̒̂̆̌͒̔̊̋̄̕k̸̬͉̤͙̠̳͂͌͂̂̀͛͗̒̄̆̿̄͝e̴̳̖̮͕̱̯͔͍̥͔̗̝̞̐̽̐̊̅̂̒̍̆̽̎̓̕͜ ̵̨̼͊̂́̈s̴̙̎h̷̩͎̲̪̯͙͚͎͓͉̉͋̀͂̃̓̈́̀̄̽̈̓̏͊͝͝a̴̢̫̻̟͚͐͐̂̾̕ļ̷̳̮͚̦͍͕͓̲̱̜̠̯͋̈̊̿͗̈́͑̇l̴̢̨̛̫̞̜̝̲͕̩̲̟̲̥̗̺͖͗̾͗̍͊̀̋̈́̽̏̏̓̓͐̌͠ͅ ̷͙͔̯͓̼͖̯̪͑̌̈̎̀̌͋͐̓̓̈͊́̕͝͝b̴͇̩̬̝̬͒̓͐͆̆è̶̛͉̙̺̳̃̀͗̀̆̂͘̕͘ͅ ̴̡͇̯̩͖̜̲̯͙̹̑̓̋̾̋̈́͗̍̾̍͗f̵̟̙́̏͆͆̒͊ò̶̢̤̻̤̙͓̺͊͌̎̉̑͌̇̋͗d̴̬͚̦̲̝͈̮̻̻̪͉̐́͌̈́͆͒̈́̚͘͘͘͝d̷̲͕̰̎͛̀̊̕e̴̛͈͈̜̘͊̑̇̇̄̆̑̒̉̋̂̽̐́͝r̴̺͕͈̗̥̭̥̅͂̑͜ ̶̨̞̞̝̣̝̾̾̑f̸̢͖͈͎̱͙̗̩̰̼̲͔̤̜͔̟̓͗̍̀̈́͘͜o̶̧̭̱̲͙̮̖̫͊̋̆̆͂͆͘͘͜͝r̸̦̋̉͋͌̽̿͘ ̷͎̩̻̺̭̬̳͇̠͍̠̭̜̄̀̀̋̽̋̄̔́̓͋̕͝͝͠t̵̡̨̡̹̱̳̪͙̞͓̪̜̀̂̽̊̑̈̌͗̈́̑͂͝h̸͍̎̈́̈́̋̾͝ë̵͍̖͓̣̮̼̫̙͓͙͓̫͓̟̻̯̥́̇͗̎̈̒ ̵̢̼̝̩̬͍̲̟͉̜̰͌̆̌̎͗̆̈́́́̚̚͠͝B̶̧̡̡̰̜̙̲̀̉̓̄̏̕R̷̢̢̪̣͉̪̗̰̝̟͎̩̰͙͑͜Ȍ̸̢̡̡̱̪̯͕̙̼̱͍̮͙̹̬̘͍͂̆́̀͋̓̈́̈̏͘͘Ķ̸̧̪̲͚̬̬̩͎̪̪̞̈́͒̀̓̍̂̀͂̽̆͋̈́̇͝E̵̢̡̧͇̺͉̰̪͕̯̹͖̙̤͇͊́̐̿͊͊͌͊͋̿̈́͑̃͘͜͝͠N̷̼̗͑͗̎̉͘ ̴̧͉̫̬̮̰̮̄̒͛̀́̾̋̈́͒̔͝K̸̛̼͉̹͗͌̐̾̄̏́̄̽̈́̇͛Ȉ̴̪̫̱̀̐N̴͖̠̘̻͂̽́̈́͆͂̔̔̐G̴̢̨̡͈̙̰͓͓̭̥̻̥͛̐͑̆́̈́͆͛̓͗̕͝,.̴̨̖̤͉̰͍̲̹̯̱͙̙̍͂̆” he replied.
“H-H-Hong Lu, what are you saying?!”
“T̶̢̜̺͎̞̬̮͔̀̃͐͛͆̂͊͆̈́̚͝͠H̸̛̼͇̞̹̠̦̲̓̈́̀̈͂̉̐̋͘E̶̡̜̼͉̣͕̪̮̩͖̳̗͎͓̹̒͒͋̈́͋͒́̃̌̿͛̈́̔͌̚͘͜ͅ ̸̨̫̫̏͛̔͐͋̑̃̒̚̕B̶̨̢̡̼͎͎̩̯̣̗͖̿̊͘͜ͅĻ̸̛͕̟͇̳̻̣̘̩͔͔̘͓̗͓̱͊̂̇̾̋̏͆͌͘͘̚͝͝ͅĄ̵̨̢̻̩͈̰̱̼̩͓̈͋Ç̶̧̖̻̯̃́͑͒͆͌͋̈́͒̍̓͒̀̕̕K̶̪̱̞̗̺̤̂̌͠ ̶̨̲̝̯͕̝̲̠͖͗̔̌̃̐͋́̊̂̈́̀̕͘G̷̢͉͔͇͉̜͐͂͂͛͒̾͐͊̊A̵̪͖͈͓̜̪̓͌̐̍͑̾T̵̟̫̯͍̽̀̅̅̓̏̋̾͛̒͋̅̾̌̕Ę̶̰͓̞̳͈̬͈͎͉̏̊ ̸̨̞̟̯̀̆̿̌̇̇̒̒͆̆̚̚̚C̴̛̗̟̓̉͛̀̌̽A̴̧̡͕͚̻̭̟̮̹͛̔͊͆̐̎̈́̉͐̑̀͐̃L̵̡̠͓̘̲͍̫̳̝̙̅͊́̓̈́͆͛̽̄̈́͑̿̂̍̚͠Ḻ̵̛̞͚͖͖̼̜̫̘̺̜̈́̿͊̿̐͋̾̏̄͋S̴̜̖͇̼͗̃̀̾͘͝ͅͅ,̵̤̞̙͍̀̉̃̑͆̓̊͌̉̃̕̕͝͝͝͝ ̸̧̧̢̯͉̥̗͈̞̲̰̎̇̍̌̃̓̀̇̔̊̏̌́̚͘͠ͅḾ̷̡̲̲͉̰̀Y̵̹̯͉͇͈͑̀̑͑̇͛̏̀̎͝ ̵̨̗̪͙͕̗̰͙̽̌̈́̾̍̾́͑̂͋̓͝͠͝͠ͅB̶̢̤͈͍͉̝͚͂̓̚ͅỎ̵̡͈̮̾̈́̓͐̈̌͊̓̕͝Ỵ̵̻͇̥̱̙͍̲͐̍́͌͆̄̅̈́̎̈̋̀̅̍͑ͅ!̴̖̘̮̋̓̓̇̃̊͆̔ ̶̢̩̱̺̗͉̰̺̭̉̆̈́̍̈́̈́̑́̓̽́͒̕̕͝͝ͅt̵̡̛͎̙͍͙̬̦̘̗͚̹̱̜̰̫̄̉̉̃̃̏̉̎̆̃̌̚͠͠͝͝ḧ̶̢̢̢̛̛̛̜͇̬̩͚̮̮̣̦̣̜͍́̂͗̎̂̑ě̴̗̝̼̰̤͈͆̓̐͂̒̇̽̓̈́̓̍ ̷̨̢̬̗͕̓͊̀̍̑͊͘͠ḣ̵͙̻̈̋̀͆̚̕ǫ̷̟͈̬̟̲̪̠͚͓̲̒̑͂͆̆̓͘͝͝ȕ̶̧̦̬̠̤̗̰͔̥̏̆ŗ̷̢͈̠͕̜͙̖͖̖́̍̈́̃̔͐͛̍̔̀̈́͠ ̵̥̝͔͇̻̞͖̭͓̫͖͍̫̾̀͋̀̋͝ó̵̢̦̣̞̗͖̯̫̟͓̺̼̮͋͂̽̒́̈́́̒̈́͊̑͂̾̐͠ͅf̴̧̛͎̖̠̜̮̺̗̣̖̣̲̭̮̺̳͙̽̊́͌̊͑͋̈́̌͑̈́̚͝ ̷̨͓̪͉͔̱̩̗̬̻̹̗̈́̀̈́͜͜t̷̢̜̺̹̰̯̻͙̳̥̥̰̱̲̠̉̔̓̉̀̉̓͂̓̌̄̉̈́̊̽̕͜͝h̵͎͖͉̠̝̬̣̘̠͙͓̜̘͌̎̾͜͠ė̶̠̬͍̣̣̫͍̹͔͎͉̜͚̳̊̂̌̕ ̷̫̳͉͕̝͚͔̱̲̣͈̰̥̊̀͂͛͂̾̎̋̓̊̋̽͑͊̀͜͠w̶̢̢̫̞̣̻̙͎̳̳̏̎̈́̑̇͗̅ǫ̴͚̞̮͐̎̓͜r̵̹̠̳̜͕͚̼̖̟̫͚̖̤̟͙̃͋̂́̅̎̉̈̿͘m̴̫̣̝̞̝̬̈́̈̀̽̏͊̅̌́́͋͒͐̔͝ͅ ̸̛̛̮̙̦̻̬̘̦̬̹̬̖͛͗̓͑̈́̈́̄̉̌̋̇̏̊͘̚ͅͅT̶̙̰̤̼̞̼͖͚͊̊̐͒̒͆̂̉͒͝H̶̻͓̖̹̺̰͈̟̀̾̃Ě̷̡̢̛͎͓̣͇͖̙͍̥̤̱̳̺͎͓́̉̎̾̓͑͒͑̌̓ͅ ̵̧͍̲͍͈̖̼͎̅͗P̶̡̦͈͕͈̍̀͛̃̓͠L̶̛͎̝̟͚͕͖̪͛̈́͛̏̏͋͐͑̔̽̽̂͠͝ͅE̶̡̜̘̺̱͓̱͉̐́Â̵̧̨̖̤̖͖̝̳̜̜͍͓̰̲̿́̈̔͌̂̐̽̃͐͝ͅS̴̛̛̲̦̺͍͙̩͚͖͊̉̈́̈́̔͋̓̈́́͑̐͘͝U̷̡̬̗̠̪̫̅͌͛̈́̎̍̍̆̃͆̕̚͜͠R̸̡͔̦̤͚̮̯̩̍͑͝Ë̷̡͎̘̱̦̹̹̻̲͎͌̈͋̊ ̵̦̦̌́̃̚Ỏ̵̧͍̱͉̱̳̱̝̦̹̘̝͋̊́́͂̀͗̐̐̿̈́͑́̽̕F̷̤̞̗̻͖̓ ̷̹̬͕̯̟̳̻̖̫̾̇̓̓̈́̃̌̀̌̊̒͜͝T̷̛̰̖͉̝̘̜͌͛̏͆̐̉̑̑̔̂̊̈́̀̏̃͘ͅH̷̼͐̽͊̈́̈͋̔͑̃̃̏̿͌͊Ę̶͇̉̄̓͋̒̇͘͘̚͠ ̸̡̜͚͙͗͗̋̊̑̓̾̅̄̎̔͊̀̓̕͝F̵̯̖̖̗̮̺̠̣͕̻̫̜̘̻̃̾̏̀͝Ļ̴̧̛̯̘͔̻͇̩̱̓̒̈͠Ȩ̷̜̣̞͚͕͙̀͆̄̓̿͘S̸̢̫̞̠̝̹͎̭͕̻̻̈́̓̚H̷̨̝̫̰̹̠͓̠̬͍̲̤̞̙̯͍̑̇́̀͗!̸̹̳̄̿͐̿̒̄̚ ̷̨̧̱̭̘̝̻̥̖͎̍̀̈́̇̊̎́̀̒́̍͝t̵̡̧̟̜͕̹̥̜̒̌͛͐̂͌̾̊̿̈̑̕̕͘͝h̴̪͇͚̖̓̆̉̂͆̑ͅṑ̶̧̡̱͓̖̯̗͚͈̲̯̤̌̂͘s̷̢̜͗̀̈͒͌̎͑̈̆̊͋͑̈̀͂̈́͠e̸̢̯̜̹̘̜̮̺̫̟̤̹̤͚͛̓ ̵͍̈́̀͛̒͗̑̆̀͂͋̑̂̌͝č̶̪̹̹͖͖̞̟̮̻͚̠̻͉̌̋͜͝͠r̴̫̣̓̔̈́̿̐̕a̵̢̛̛̛̮͓̼͕̯̘̗̗̭̻̋̈́́̋͒̉̀̍͊͘ẉ̵͔̠̓̐̊̎̐̄͘l̷̨̟̼̥̫̠̜̜̺̟͖͇̱̆́̈̂ì̵͇̺̫͚͕̗̗̹̪͚̇̓́̆̄͊͜͝ͅn̵̢̧̨͍͈̫͓͊͊̒̋͘͘͜g̵̤̮̖̻̙̰̙͚̿̊̚͠ ̴̢̨̰̳̬̬̥̻̙͙͈̻̭̇̓̑̈́̂̇̇̉̃̏̂̓̕͘ó̵͖͎̝̜̬̦̜͚͎͉̪ņ̵̫͚̗͍̱̜͓̩̃̃̓͂̈́̿͛ͅͅe̶̱̯͇̿̽͑͒̆͑͑̇͂̈͆̚̚ș̴̜͚͓͇̙͕͙͇̠̞̙͓̍̈́̎̋̈́̍̓̀͘͝͝ ̸̣̙̝̲̖̗͚̥́̃̒̓̒̀̾̈̔̽͌͒͆͛͝͠͝r̸̡̪̝̹͉̣͚̘̲͇̺͉͆̀͜͜i̵̼͇̪̻̗̖͊ş̵̨̨͙̘͎̙͚̯͓̟͈̥͕̱͗͠ë̷̢̡̘̳̟͙̱̞̣̪̂̀̐̐̀̌͐̍͆ ̸̡̩̘͉͉̯̔̾̋͜͠T̴̡̢̥͔͕̩̙͖̮̗̲͉͍̦̂́̉̈́̐͐͋̀̈̎̕H̴͕͔̙̣̓́͛́͠Ę̵̛̭̭͎͎͈̮͔̲̻̻̬̗̺̫͙̊̀̀̓̎̍͐̋͗̈́͘ͅ ̷̡̮̣̟̈̔͑̑̔S̶̨̧̡̨͕̹̹̗̪͚̠͈̔̐̿̽͛́̈́̉̚̚͝͝ͅC̷͍͍̭̠̟̠̮̐͛̈́̊̀̓̉͐̎̾̈͒͋́͆̎͝Ó̸̘̯̖͚̟̪͒͒̊̑̔̾͒̎́̌U̴̪̜͕̪̩̤̙̳̠͍̤͙̻͌̓͗̊͜͝Ŗ̴̡̡̧̰̳̫̖̼͚̈̿́͊̓̀̎̏̾̔G̶̦̠̻̠̣̹͕̦̮̹̱̿͊̾̉͆̽̂͒̔I̶̡̨̮͕̣̗̗͈̰̺̤̖͓̮͇̔̀̈́̓̑̃̅͆͆̽̌̄̔̆̓͝ͅŇ̷̡̞̼̯͎̦̙̠͈̰̟̱͖͓͛͜͝Ǧ̷̨̛̤͕͔̜̰̗̱̤͕̣̃̿̎̀̈́̈́̎̈́̎̈́͑̚ ̷̛̫͚̭̗̹̇̈͊̃̈́͆̂̃̓̑̉̕̕͘͠͠O̸̢̨̩̺͙̭̩̜̟̙̓͂̍̋̒̇̋̔͗͐͂̓̚̚͜͝͠F̶̯͙̞̥̣̥̣̅̀́ͅ ̷̤͉̘͇̠̀̏̋̐͘͜T̸̨̬̟̳̹̠̬̹̞̘͑̕H̶̡̧̛̥̻͓͈̻͎̺̆̐̽͋̓̽̓̋̆͋̇̎̂̋̚͝Ę̵͎͇̪̙̘̣̜̘̤̭͓̌̏͛ͅ ̵̢̛̜͇̤̯̪͕̟̝͊̂̃͐̾̈́̍̿͝͝ͅṠ̸̡͔̫̗̥̳͈̯̹̇̌͐͗͑̀̒͆̌̾̕͝͝͝P̴̛̳̻̗̭̻̩̙͈̙̤̙̯̺̩̝ͅĮ̵̺̗̖̮̥̲̲̞̻͋̌͆̅͊̽͆́̐̍̎̈́̀̃͠͠Ř̶̢̨̜̯̗͖̲̤̪͔̠̝͕̹͕̃͜Ḯ̵̢̧̧̢̝͓̟̪̜͖͖̠̦̫̣̠͗̏̉͌͒͂̏̎̉̈́̄̒̌̾͜T̵̢̀͐́̄̌̈́͐̀͒̽̀̽̃̃͂̕͘!̴̡̝̩̠̙͖͉̻͎̗̯̯͋͋̎̾͗̏̅̄̈́̑͊̆͑͆͜ ̵͍͈̳̞̤͉̔̆̿̓͛̓̈̚͜͠t̴̡̢͎̜̲̥̟̠̏͊̒̒́̅̿͛̓͋͐̇̕͠h̶̡̨̯͖̝̃̈́̎̐̅̽́̇̌̏̕e̵̮̰͔̹̻͔̯͊ ̶̛̠͎̠̝̻̬̋̌̀̀́̐̋̕ṣ̸̨̮̦̩̜͕̙̝̪̟͕͎͔̱͖̭̆͋̓e̵̡̞̦͇̱̙̲̜̘͔͇͓͇͕̽̏̄͌͐͆͌͗̀͑̐͝ͅͅá̸̜͕͕͎͇͚̣̩̓͜ͅs̴̫̟̟̣̭͈̈́̐̓̍͝͠͠ǫ̶̛͖̮̰̮̩͎̝̦̰͙̥͒́̎̀͒̌̿̒́̚ņ̶̗͉̹̫̝̼̖͛̍̈́́̐͂͜ ̸̡̧̧̡̛̳̞͉̙͔͕͓̦̖͋̉̑̇̄̀̄̉́̐̆ͅǫ̷̛̻͍̯̝̬̺͇̦͎̝͕͓̬̤̣̇f̴̮̒̽̐̉̈́̍̆͌̐͑͆̂ ̶̡̢̧̢͉̦͇͇̺̺̝͈̌͂́̋̔̔͐̕̚͜͝d̷͎̙͈̩̹͐̀͐̓e̴̡̧̹̳͕̺̗̜̫͚͎̲͆͆v̶̟̠̪̑ơ̷̢̡̲̩̬̰͉̘̣̰̮̱̔͑͆̑̽͂͑̈̆u̷̠̹͐͊̂̆̇̌̚͜͝ͅr̶̢̨̛̥͙̓͐́́̒͑̕͠͝į̷̗̞̲̲̩̯͎̬̫͍͕͒͌̊͋̎̓̀́͌͛̽͘̕͜͠n̶̨̧͎̩͔͔̼̱̫͔͔͚̦͛̏̔̌̔̂̌͐̆͛̂̌̊̅̀͛͜ḡ̶̞̳̼̠͇̙͚̣́̈́̀͒̍̿ ̸̗̲͓̀̀̍̈́͆̈̽̒̿̈̈́̔͂͝͝T̵͇̗̜̳̳̱̤̲͕͂̉͊͋̈́̇̓͒̓̔̇H̴̫̹́͛͜E̸̢͇̥̯͕̣̞̠͛͛̀̀R̵̫͚̗̼̫͕̉͋͌̈͐̂̓̓E̵̢̛̺̮̲͕̯̋͑͊̈́̏̂͑̿ ̵͇̲̰͕͈̹̟͇̬͚̖̻̏̔͆͐͛̊́͊̓͂͘̕͝W̶̨͍͈̣̰͉̜̠̍̎̂̋̿̕̕͠͝I̶̡͙̗̱̮̻͍̓̋̽̆̊̚Ļ̶̢̯̟̙̙̄̂̑͘Ĺ̷̨̪̬͕̦̖̞̲͈̦́́̕ ̷̭̖̪̫̣̠̦̲͔̩̩̕͝͝B̴̧̛͎̹̋́̓̾̈́̈̚͘͝͠͝Ę̸̫͓̺͎̟̟͕̳̺̲͋͐̉͆͌͜͝ ̴̛̖͈̻̠̘̂̾̂̑̿͐̂͆͂̎̽̂ͅN̸̨̧͙͈̺̙̪̫̥̥͍̺͇̯̺̄̈͝ͅǪ̷̢̖̘̺͔͊͗̔͋͑̈́̅̊̔͂̕ ̶̧̤͙͕̬͓̩̎̏͝Ṙ̸̨̛̝̣̳̠̩̮͕̪̮̘͚͓͍͈̹̓͒̐͐̄̐̒͗̆̒̓̂̇͐͠Ȩ̸̘͇̮̺̹͎̬̹̭̀͑̈́̿ͅP̷̭̯͇̭̘̩̲̹̤̺̝̦̰̩̦̈͆̾̇͌̂͝ͅĖ̸̤̋̓̋͌̾̄̿͒̏͘͠N̴̡̧̡̢̖̬͍͔̹̥͎͈͓̲̘̼̈́̇̑̒T̵̡͕̝̘̹̝̘͎͙̺̟͉̤͔̩̽͆͝A̸̟̳̓͑̈́͋̓Ñ̶͇̮̲̏͒̌̉̋̏͋̂̍̄̃̑̔͝Ċ̵͇͖̞̞̰̘͗̂̉͐͋̐̓̒̋̇̉̈́̈͌͛͗Ȩ̵̳̩͓͇̫̘̬̤̮̎͊!̶͉̐̍̄̈́̇̋̿̈́̓̕͜͝”
For his part, Hong Lu heard peppy, lively pop music and saw a little coterie of smiling lollipops and teddy bears as Sinclair turned white as a sheet and ran out the door, making cheerful little clown honks with each step.
“What was that all about?” Hong Lu asked a joyous little bunny by his side.
“a̵̡͉̠͕̜̯͚̎́͐̓̀ ̸̢̟̮͓̳̱̘͈̘̺̲̥̝́͐͑̄̐́̐͆̀͛͝h̴̢̧̰̹͓͗͋̌̓̅̿̃͘ù̷͇̰̈́͋́̾́̚e̸̢̲͍̬̤̙͖̜̬͉͆̎ ̸̛̝͈̤̙̟̫͕͙̤͖͓͓̯̱͙̺̆̍̎̒̆̅̿͒̿̽̅̕̚̕̚͜t̵͓̮̣̹̭̭̬̺̥̱̫̝̣͚̲̱̓̀̊̀̆̏͋͗̑̋͑͋̉́h̸̡̧̻̥͈̓à̷̢̬̬͉̳͇͍̪̏̌̈́̉̈͝͝ţ̶̡̮̫͖̭̙̫̗͛͂̿̀͒̍̓ ̶̩͆̄͗͊̀̅͑͋͊͂ȋ̴̜̃̍͆̀̆̑̒̐̈́̉s̵̟̫̙̰͓͎̰̳͖͓̘͑̀́̂͂̎̒͒̆̅̾̾͠ ̴͇̱̮͎̰͓̬͕̮͇͉̪̀̒̈́́́͂͌̍̈́͌̐̓̚̕͜͝d̸̳̼͚̭͈͗̌͆͋́̏͂͆̍́̍̑͘͝͝͠ͅä̵̭͋͌͂͊͝ŕ̷̬̦̮̦̗̞ḵ̷̬͔͈̳̈́̒̌̐ḛ̶̡̢̛̦̪̦̜̫̞̥̮̥̣͎̞̾̏̈̔̈́͒̑̑̈̕͜͠r̷̨͇̬̰͈̜̮̮̟̤͚͉̝͍̍̈́̾̓͐̎̿̿͒ ̷̡̡̧̭͚̮̹͔̙͙͖̫̻̭̝͒̃͠͝t̸̛̛͇͚̻̼̱̖͓͉̙̙̞̹̼͂̄̃͋̌̈́̏̔̌͒̾̕͝h̸̡̦̲͖̞̠̥̦̞̠̻̝̮͕̿ͅả̶̠̝͕̟͔̼͎͐̍̂̒̚̕ṉ̷̨̲̺̖͋͛̿̇̍̔̓̈́̚ ̷̧͖͚̲̈́̄͒̄͗͛͂̆̈̏̕b̶̹͔̞͙̈́͊͋̄̾͒̂̃̀͘͘̕ḷ̶̡̣̥͕̣̩̰͖̬͓̻͒͑a̸̢̧̼͖̦̫̖̯̬͙̜̲͖͖͙̔͐́̃͐̾̓̅͒͌́̾̀͋̚c̵̦̳͇͓̯͚̽͆̆͛̂̂̍̿͌͝k̷̠̜̳̙̻̞̦̣͓͕̩͚̹̙̾͊̊͆̈̎͗́͋̆͑̐͝,” the bunny replied.
“Ah~”
-
Don Quixote felt everything in her room begin to stir to life as she sat at her desk, reading The Index Prescript Told Me To Kiss WHO?! and eating a special blood-infused cake Ishmael baked for her earlier. She heard voices, hundreds of tiny voices all around her.
“Hmmm, am I in the throes of madness yet again? Whatever could be the reason?”
She turned and saw her Black Silence action figure which sat on her desk writhe to life.
“Hark! I shall make the most of my mind’s bizarre wanderings!”
She picked up the little Black Silence by his collar, ignoring his protests as she went for her other figures, all of whom attempted to push each other into her grasp. But she snapped up her Blue Reverberation action figure (letting his scythe drop to the ground) and brought him with the Black Silence back to her desk. She set them down before her on her desk and rubbed her hands together.
“I shall grant thee both thy liberty,” she said, her voice low and conspiratorial as her eyes twinkled in rotten excitement. “But first… thou must kiss.”
The action figures looked up at her, and with a resigned sigh, began making out as Don Quixote was rapt in joy. This was even better than reading Black and Blue All Over You!
-
The next morning, Dante stepped out and immediately saw Heathcliff, sleeping on his feet in the corridor with pants but no shirt or shoes. Dante gingerly gave him a tap to wake him up.
“Nn...ngh? G’morning, Clockmate.”
<Heathcliff, what are you doing sleeping standing up in the corridor? Where’s your shirt? Did something happen with everyone last night?>
They decided not to bring up the naked, hissing Faust incident.
“I, ah…”
Heathcliff scratched his head, trying to recall exactly what happened.
“...I was up to something, surely. No worries, I’m right as rain,” he said and started off to his room without further elaboration. Dante was just happy he didn’t go much deeper down the corridor this time. They really didn’t need a repeat of the Minotaur Incident.
Dante made their way to the staff kitchen, where they found Rodya curled up asleep on the counter, the empty container which once held petits fours in her arms. The dishes were still only partially done, and. Well.
Ishmael was on the ground, sleeping with a smile on her face and with a massive wet spot in the crotch of her pants which Dante didn’t speculate on. They very slowly bent down and gave Ishmael a little shake.
She stirred awake.
“...Manager?”
They watched her eyes widen, first in shock when she realized the long session of marital bliss with Queequeg was a product of her imagination, then in more shock when she realized she was on the kitchen floor, then in even more shock than that when she realized the Manager was staring at her while she had visibly climaxed in her pants several times.
“Manager. This isn’t what it looks like! I… where the hell is Yi Sang? What did he put in all the food last night?”
<Good questions. But first… uh. Why don’t we both pretend we didn’t see each other this morning?>
“Thank you, Manager,” Ishmael said, her face beet red.
“Ugh, c’mon,” Rodya mumbled. “Lemme sleep for five more minutes…”
After she left for the corridor, Dante heard a sharp shout of Ishmael! You’ve ejaculated in your uniform pants! That’s a – followed by the distinct sound of Outis abruptly running for the restroom.
-
FAUST-CAT: @AUTOHELPER-FAUST appeal designation change
AUTOHELPER-FAUST: This is an automated message. Your appeal has been denied.
FAUST-CAT: I have not had the opportunity to deliver a rationale. This is preposterous. As you can see, I am Faust of the LCB. I am not a cat. That should be obvious.
FAUST-N: @FAUST-CAT I HAVE SOMETHING WHICH MAY INTEREST YOU
* FAUST-N shared ball_of_yarn.webp to Gesellschaft’s database
FAUST-N: FEEL FREE TO PLAY WITH IT. YOU’RE WELCOME
-
This all ended with Yi Sang in Dante’s office looking quite ashamed of himself.
<So.>
“I… may have allowed my flight of culinary fancy to get the better of me while preparing last night’s repast.”
<I’ll say. What did you put in it?>
“Naught but hot pepper flakes, sesame and vegetable oils, pepper, garlic, some onion, mushrooms, stock made of anchovy and kelp, a green onion, a reasonable dash of fish sauce, fresh shrimp, some fine soft tofu… oysters, mussels, eggs… perhaps some other oddments. I cannot begin to fathom how this had caused such bizarre effects among my fellows.”
<Well, I guess I don’t really know that much about food, but… it’s not your fault, but maybe you do have to be removed from dinner detail again. Sorry.>
“...perhaps it’s for the best.”
<While I’ve got you here, do you know what something called, um, yowie is? I think that’s what she said? Don Quixote said she mustn’t leave her room until she’s written an epic about it.>
Based on Yi Sang’s hesitation to reply, Dante figured they might have an inkling.