<center><img src="images/titlebanner.png" width="75%">
</center>
Welcome to <i>Another Round</i>! Written and coded for the <a href="https://itch.io/jam/single-choice-jam" target="_blank">Single Choice Game Jam</a>, <i>Another Round</i> is a 25k word, urban fantasy story that follows Maddie through a difficult Friday night at the bar. In this not-quite-interactive fiction story there will be drinking, there will be crying and--if we're lucky--there will be smooching.
The emotional themes of this story may be sensitive to some readers--please view the Content Warning in the game's menu, if needed.
This is the game jam version of this title and may receive updates in the future. If you do find any errors or bugs, I'd appreciate you letting me know. I am proud of my story though and I hope you enjoy it!
<<button "Begin" "Round 1.1">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.1]]-->Another Round
----by <a href="https://petricakegames.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Petricake Games</a><!--MC WIDGETS-->
/* MC VERBS */
<<widget "are">><<switch $mc_vbP>><<case true>>are<<case false>>is<</switch>><</widget>>
<<widget "were">><<switch $mc_vbP>><<case true>>were<<case false>>was<</switch>><</widget>>
<<widget "s">><<switch $mc_vbP>><<case true>><<case false>>s<</switch>><</widget>>
<<widget "do">><<switch $mc_vbP>><<case true>>do<<case false>>does<</switch>><</widget>>
<<widget "have">><<switch $mc_vbP>><<case true>>have<<case false>>has<</switch>><</widget>>
<<widget "re">><<switch $mc_vbP>><<case true>>'re<<case false>>'s<</switch>><</widget>>
/* MC PRONOUNS */
<<widget "mcTheyThem">><<set $they = $mc_they[0]>><<set $them = $mc_them[0]>><<set $their = $mc_their[0]>><<set $theirs = $mc_theirs[0]>><<set $themself = $mc_themself[0]>><<set $They = $mc_They[0]>><<set $Them = $mc_Them[0]>><<set $Their = $mc_Their[0]>><<set $Theirs = $mc_Theirs[0]>><<set $Themself = $mc_Themself[0]>><<set $theyre = $mc_theyre[0]>><<set $Theyre = $mc_Theyre[0]>><<set $theyve = $mc_theyve[0]>><<set $Theyve = $mc_Theyve[0]>><<set $mc_vbP = true>><</widget>>
<<widget "mcSheHer">><<set $they = $mc_they[1]>><<set $them = $mc_them[1]>><<set $their = $mc_their[1]>><<set $theirs = $mc_theirs[1]>><<set $themself = $mc_themself[1]>><<set $They = $mc_They[1]>><<set $Them = $mc_Them[1]>><<set $Their = $mc_Their[1]>><<set $Theirs = $mc_Theirs[1]>><<set $Themself = $mc_Themself[1]>><<set $theyre = $mc_theyre[1]>><<set $Theyre = $mc_Theyre[1]>><<set $theyve = $mc_theyve[1]>><<set $Theyve = $mc_Theyve[1]>><<set $mc_vbP = false>><</widget>>
<<widget "mcHeHim">><<set $they = $mc_they[2]>><<set $them = $mc_them[2]>><<set $their = $mc_their[2]>><<set $theirs = $mc_theirs[2]>><<set $themself = $mc_themself[2]>><<set $They = $mc_They[2]>><<set $Them = $mc_Them[2]>><<set $Their = $mc_Their[2]>><<set $Theirs = $mc_Theirs[2]>><<set $Themself = $mc_Themself[2]>><<set $theyre = $mc_theyre[2]>><<set $Theyre = $mc_Theyre[2]>><<set $theyve = $mc_theyve[2]>><<set $Theyve = $mc_Theyve[2]>><<set $mc_vbP = false>><</widget>>
<<widget "mcXeXem">><<set $they = $mc_they[3]>><<set $them = $mc_them[3]>><<set $their = $mc_their[3]>><<set $theirs = $mc_theirs[3]>><<set $themself = $mc_themself[3]>><<set $They = $mc_They[3]>><<set $Them = $mc_Them[3]>><<set $Their = $mc_Their[3]>><<set $Theirs = $mc_Theirs[3]>><<set $Themself = $mc_Themself[3]>><<set $theyre = $mc_theyre[3]>><<set $Theyre = $mc_Theyre[3]>><<set $theyve = $mc_theyve[3]>><<set $Theyve = $mc_Theyve[3]>><<set $mc_vbP = false>><</widget>>
<<widget "mcEyEm">><<set $they = $mc_they[4]>><<set $them = $mc_them[4]>><<set $their = $mc_their[4]>><<set $theirs = $mc_theirs[4]>><<set $themself = $mc_themself[4]>><<set $They = $mc_They[4]>><<set $Them = $mc_Them[4]>><<set $Their = $mc_Their[4]>><<set $Theirs = $mc_Theirs[4]>><<set $Themself = $mc_Themself[4]>><<set $theyre = $mc_theyre[4]>><<set $Theyre = $mc_Theyre[4]>><<set $theyve = $mc_theyve[4]>><<set $Theyve = $mc_Theyve[4]>><<set $mc_vbP = false>><</widget>>
/* MC GENDERED NOUNS */
<<widget "mcPerson">><<set $person = $mcPerson[0]>><<set $people = $mcPeople[0]>><<set $kid = $mcKid[0]>><<set $kids = $mcKids[0]>><</widget>>
<<widget "mcWoman">><<set $person = $mcPerson[1]>><<set $people = $mcPeople[1]>><<set $kid = $mcKid[1]>><<set $kids = $mcKids[1]>><</widget>>
<<widget "mcMan">><<set $person = $mcPerson[2]>><<set $people = $mcPeople[2]>><<set $kid = $mcKid[2]>><<set $kids = $mcKids[2]>><</widget>>
/* MC GENDERS */
<<widget "mcNonbinary">><<set $gender = "nonbinary">><<set $gen = "nb">><<set $genderName = "nonbinary">><</widget>>
<<widget "mcFemale">><<set $gender = "female">><<set $gen = "f">><<set $genderName = "female">><</widget>>
<<widget "mcMale">><<set $gender = "male">><<set $gen = "m">><<set $genderName = "male">><</widget>>
<<widget "mcCustGen">><<set $gender = "custom">><<set $gen = "nb">><</widget>>[[Memories]]
[[CONTENT WARNING|CW]]
[[CREDITS|Credits]]
<!--FOR PRONOUNS-->
<<set $mcGenders = ["nonbinary", "female", "male", "pangender", "fluid", "agender", "neutrois"]>>
<<set $mc_they = ["they", "she", "he", "xe", "ey"]>>
<<set $mc_They = ["They", "She", "He", "Xe", "Ey"]>>
<<set $mc_them = ["them", "her", "him", "xem", "em"]>>
<<set $mc_Them = ["Them", "Her", "Him", "Xem", "Em"]>>
<<set $mc_their = ["their", "her", "his", "xyr", "eir"]>>
<<set $mc_Their = ["Their", "Her", "His", "Xyr", "Eir"]>>
<<set $mc_theirs = ["theirs", "hers", "his", "xyrs", "eirs"]>>
<<set $mc_Theirs = ["Theirs", "Hers", "His", "Xyrs", "Eirs"]>>
<<set $mc_themself = ["themself", "herself", "himself", "xemself", "emself"]>>
<<set $mc_Themself = ["Themself", "Herself", "Himself", "Xemself", "Emself"]>>
<<set $mc_theyre = ["they're", "she's", "he's", "xe's", "ey's"]>>
<<set $mc_Theyre = ["They're", "She's", "He's", "Xe's", "Ey's"]>>
<<set $mc_theyve = ["they've", "she's", "he's", "xe's", "ey's"]>>
<<set $mc_Theyve = ["They've", "She's", "He's", "Xe's", "Ey's"]>>
<<set $mcPerson = ["person", "woman", "man"]>>
<<set $mcPeople = ["people", "women", "men"]>>
<<set $mcKid = ["kid", "girl", "boy"]>>
<<set $mcKids = ["kids", "girls", "boys"]>>
<<cacheaudio "vibes" "ComfortableMystery.mp3">>
<<set $roundCounter = 0>><h1>It's a Codex!</h1>\
<h4>Oooh, and here are some lore entries</h4>\
* [[Important Lore|Lore]]\
<<button "Return" $return>><</button>><h1>Your Profile</h1>\
''Name:'' $name $surname
''Pronouns:'' $They/$Them
''Species:'' <<print $species.toUpperFirst()>>\
<center><h2>Stats</h2>\
<hr>\
<h3>Health</h3></center>\
<span class="health"><div class="stat-bar-group">\
<div class="stat-bar-container">\
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Health $health%</div>\
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\
<div class="stat-bar" id="health-stat"></div></div></div></span>\
\
<center><<if $health gt 0 and $health lte 5>>Okay, how are you still alive?<<elseif $health gt 5 and $health lte 20>>Eugh! You really need to get that checked out.<<elseif $health gt 20 and $health lte 50>>Meh... You should be fine.<<elseif $health gt 50 and $health lte 70>>All things considered, I think you're doing swell.<<elseif $health gt 70 and $health lt 100>>You look fantastic! Keep going!<<elseif $health is 100>>You are the picture of health. Go get 'em Heracles.<<else>>Well, great. You're dead. Now what am I supposed to do?<</if>></center>
\
<hr>\
<center><h3>Personality</h3></center>\
<<set $shy = 100 - $bold>>\
<div class="stat-bar-group">\
<div class="stat-bar-container">\
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Bold $bold%</div>\
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-right">Shy $shy%</div>\
<div class="stat-bar" id="bold-stat"></div></div></div>\
\
<<set $passive = 100 - $aggressive>>\
<div class="stat-bar-group">\
<div class="stat-bar-container">\
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Aggressive $aggressive%</div>\
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-right">Passive $passive%</div>\
<div class="stat-bar" id="aggressive-stat"></div></div></div>\
<<button "Return" $return>><</button>>!<span class="center">This interactive story was written and coded by <a href="https://petricakegames.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">''Laurie''</a></span>
----
!!!<span class="center">RESOURCES</span>
<ul><li><a href="https://gamesbyalbie.itch.io/character-page-tutorial" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Albie's Character Page Tutorial</a></li>
</ul>
!!!<span class="center">SUPPORT AN INDIE DEV</span>
<a href="https://www.ko-fi.com/petricakegames" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Ko-fi</a>
<<button "Return" $return>><</button>><h3>How Shadow-Selves Are Created</h3>\
Blah blah blah a bunch of useless knowledge that probably wouldn't be helpful.
<<button "Back">><<run Engine.backward()>><</button>><h1>Character List</h1>\
NOT AVAILABLE IN CURRENT VERSION OF GAME - 18.8.23
<u>Maddie</u>
<u>Agnes</u>
<<button "Return" $return>><</button>><center><i>for my Maddie. Will this help me move on?</i></center>
<<button "Next" "Round 1.2">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.2]]--><nobr>
<<set $roundCounter++>>
“Another round?” </nobr>
You’re back at Haven. Back at the bar. Its sticky countertop more familiar than the one in your kitchen.
Does your kitchen have countertops? It’s got to, right? It’d be a violation of some code if it didn’t.
An empty lowball glass sits in front of you. That explains the mental rambling.
“Sure,” you say. “I’m up for another.”
The bartender sets another glass in front of you, this one full of liquid salvation. It’s…
<ul>
<li>[[an old-fashioned. A personal fave|Round 1.3]] </li>
<li><font color ="grey">a Corpse Reviver no. 2 </font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">tequila on the rocks </font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">a bad idea </font></li>
</ul>Friday night at Haven. The music is a pressure wave, its vibrations mirrored by flailing limbs from an indistinguishable crowd. Humans, demons, everything in between writhe and stomp and shake their asses at the void because they’re here and they’re alive. Once upon a time, you found comfort in that collective of abandoned ego—a sort of relief in coexisting without consent.
Thank god that’s over. Now you find relief in avoiding the orange peel at the bottom of your glass. Like a normal human.
Anymore the mix of solar and nether energies gives you a wicked hangover. And the nirvana of releasing identity in exchange for a sick bass line never lasts as long as you’d like. In the face of self-loathing, an ironclad grip on your personality doesn’t waver.
You’re a shithead. But you’re <i>your</i> shithead.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.4">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.4]]-->
<<nobr>>
<<if ndef $mc_vbP>><<set _verbTense = "plural">><<else>><<if $mc_vbP is true>><<set _verbTense = "plural">><<else>><<set _verbTense = "singular">><</if>><</if>>
<</nobr>>\
<h3>''Subject:'' //It was nighttime when ''they'' returned.//</h3>\
<span class="sectionline"><span class="inputlabel">Uppercase</span><span class="namebox"><<if ndef $They>><<textbox "$They" "They">><<else>><<set _They = $They>><<textbox "$They" `_They`>><</if>></span></span>
<span class="sectionline"><span class="inputlabel">Lowercase</span><span class="namebox"><<if ndef $they>><<textbox "$they" "they">><<else>><<set _they = $they>><<textbox "$they" `_they`>><</if>></span></span>
<h3>''Object:'' //I keep seeing ''them'' in random places.//</h3>\
<span class="sectionline"><span class="inputlabel">Uppercase</span><span class="namebox"><<if ndef $Them>><<textbox "$Them" "Them">><<else>><<set _Them = $Them>><<textbox "$Them" `_Them`>><</if>></span></span>
<span class="sectionline"><span class="inputlabel">Lowercase</span><span class="namebox"><<if ndef $them>><<textbox "$them" "them">><<else>><<set _them = $them>><<textbox "$them" `_them`>><</if>></span></span>
<h3>''Possessive Adjective:'' //What is ''their'' new address?//</h3>\
<span class="sectionline"><span class="inputlabel">Uppercase</span><span class="namebox"><<if ndef $Their>><<textbox "$Their" "Their">><<else>><<set _Their = $Their>><<textbox "$Their" `_Their`>><</if>></span></span>
<span class="sectionline"><span class="inputlabel">Lowercase</span><span class="namebox"><<if ndef $their>><<textbox "$their" "their">><<else>><<set _their = $their>><<textbox "$their" `_their`>><</if>></span></span>
<h3>''Possessive:'' //This coat is actually ''theirs''.//</h3>\
<span class="sectionline"><span class="inputlabel">Uppercase</span><span class="namebox"><<if ndef $Theirs>><<textbox "$Theirs" "Theirs">><<else>><<set _Theirs = $Theirs>><<textbox "$Theirs" `_Theirs`>><</if>></span></span>
<span class="sectionline"><span class="inputlabel">Lowercase</span><span class="namebox"><<if ndef $theirs>><<textbox "$theirs" "theirs">><<else>><<set _theirs = $theirs>><<textbox "$theirs" `_theirs`>><</if>></span></span>
<h3>''Reflexive:'' //They preferred to work by ''themself''.//</h3>\
<span class="sectionline"><span class="inputlabel">Uppercase</span><span class="namebox"><<if ndef $Themself>><<textbox "$Themself" "Themself">><<else>><<set _Themself = $Themself>><<textbox "$Themself" `_Themself`>><</if>></span></span>
<span class="sectionline"><span class="inputlabel">Lowercase</span><span class="namebox"><<if ndef $themself>><<textbox "$themself" "themself">><<else>><<set _themself = $themself>><<textbox "$themself" `_themself`>><</if>></span></span>
<h3>What verb tense do these pronouns use?</h3>\
<ul><label><<radiobutton "_verbTense" "plural" autocheck>> Plural (they ''are'')</label></ul>\
<ul><label><<radiobutton "_verbTense" "singular" autocheck>> Singular (<<print either("she","he","xe","ey")>> ''is'')</label></ul>\
<center><<button "Confirm">><<nobr>>
<<if _verbTense is "plural">><<set $mc_vbP = true>><<elseif _verbTense is "singular">><<set $mc_vbP = false>><</if>>
<<run Dialog.close()>><<goto "3">>
<</nobr>><</button>></center>“Maddie!” Your friend Seven slaps your shoulder hard enough to throw you off balance. To send your awareness stuttering through the infinite layers of multiverse and all the possibilities that spin out from that collision of atoms.
Or maybe you’re a little drunk. Devil’s advocate, people smarter than you think the multiverse is real and that’s got to count for something.
Fuck. You’re feeling maudlin. Seven isn’t your friend–why would you call him that?--just a half-demon who spent enough time through enough years in your vicinity that people think you’re friends.
“Jesus, you look miserable. Who kicked your dog?” He slides onto the stool next to you but his boxy pupils are trained on the dancefloor, swinging red lights glinting across his overly-long incisors.
You turn away from him and take a drink long enough if it were a rope you could hang from it. “Thought you were headed to Cleveland.”
“That <i>was</i> the plan, yeah. But the guy I was gonna see about a fish turned out to be the horse and now I gotta start over from last Tuesday, yeah?”
Inscrutable.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.5">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.5]]-->This conversation is done and you’re done with it. You turn to leave.
“You’re looking awful lonely tonight.”
Your eyes trail daggers toward Seven but he’s scrolling through his phone.
“No, I don’t.” You drain the glass. “The fuck does that mean, anyway? How does someone look lonely?”
He shrugs. “Dunno,” he says, the unmistakable distending of a smirk behind his pursed lips. “There’s just a whole lot more only-one-person going on right now than usual. Been a minute, is all.”
“Alone doesn’t mean lonely, jackass.”
“Right.” He slips his phone back into his pocket. “That’s what all the songs say.”
Your knuckles crack as you flex into a fist because <i>fuck</i>...
He’s right.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.6">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.6]]-->It was June when you first saw her; Pride the pounding pulse of Haven. Music swayed her hips, the current of the crowd pushed her body and her rainbow eyes drew you in. Every last drop of you.
It was the end of you. Where you once stood, a new and terrified creature birthed from the void of your soul–mewling and vulnerable. A fatal mixture of adrenaline and whiskey took control of your legs, your mouth, the next seven months of your life and you walked toward her. Agnes soaked your thoughts.
All you had to do was convince her you were someone worth loving. And that was the thing about Agnes–she actually believed you were.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.7">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.7]]-->What an idiot.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.9">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.9]]-->Of course it was going to end in a hot mess. And now, here you are, wading through the shit show.
You shouldn’t be here tonight.
“So, not lonely. Just alone.”
What the hell is he getting at? You squint suspiciously at Seven as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. A hunger works its way up through your limbs. With practiced ease, he slips a cigarette between his lips and snaps his fingers to light it.
Demons get all the cool party tricks.
“And you’re at Haven for no particular reason tonight?” He offers you one of his smokes.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">No. You promised her you’d quit</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You don’t do that shit anymore</font></li>
<li>[[“Yeah. Why not. Thanks.”|Round 1.10]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Never accept gifts from demons. Take one from your own pack</font></li>
</ul>You let him light it up for you with the stupid trick you’re not jealous of and inhale relief.
“I’m single now. Can’t a girl just want to get laid, anymore?”
“Ah ha!” He slaps the bar between you. “I knew the rumor was true.”
“Rumor?”
“You and little Aggie. Kaputsky. Donerino. She dropped your ass so fast you–”
“Anyone ever tell you that you got a big, fucking mouth?” You spin the stool away from the bar and flex your fingers. “Don’t call her Aggie. She hates that. Who you been talking to?”
Who’s been talking about you and Agnes?
An itch starts just behind your ear and travels along your neck. Pinpricks like spider legs sensate your skin.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">There’s nothing there</font></li>
<li>[[Scratch your neck|Round 1.11]]</li>
</ul>Fingernails dig into flesh and come away with nothing. You can’t trust your own mind. How typical.
“Folks talk,” Seven says, failing to pretend that he isn’t loving every second of this. Gossipy bitch. “I heard it from Dante–”
“Yeah? Well, Dante also says the pope died four years ago and they keep cloning a new guy to wear the pointy hat.”
When you’re feeling really sorry for yourself, you can admit part of you hoped Agnes would be the one to save you. She got to know the shape of you. Fall apart with Agnes and she knew where all the pieces went. She could fix it.
Another bottle. Another pack. Another bump. 3am fuck it Agnes on speed dial Agnes knows the pieces Agnes knows what you could be if only you could get your shit together.
You tried to tell her what a piece of shit you are. She never believed you.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.12">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.12]]-->“S’pose so.” Seven waits a moment before grinning at you in side-eye. “But you are split with her, yeah?”
Smoke blows through your nose and the phantom tingle creeps to your forehead. “Yeah.”
“Guess Dante’s right about one thing, then. Why’d she dump you?”
Such a gossipy bitch. How you holding up, Maddie? You doing okay? Eating anything besides fish sticks?
“Who said she ended it?”
You scrape the bottom of the barrel trying to find some confidence in your soul and come up with shaking, empty hands. Why are you freaking out? It’s just Seven.
He laughs. “You’re joking, right?”
A ringing sounds in your ears.
“Dude, she’s Agnes. And you–well, no offense, love. You’re you.”
Rude.
Anxiety and anger war inside you and you can’t fault Seven but you still want to lay him flat.
You’re breathing heavy.
“Spill already. What went down?”
<<button "Next" "Round 1.13">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.13]]-->an <strike>interactive</strike> storyAll topics in this story are treated with respect. Those with sensitivities to the following subjects may wish to read with care:
<ul>
<li>self-loathing</li>
<li>substance use and abuse</li>
<li>depression</li>
<li>self-destructive behavior</li>
<li>break up</li>
<li>mild violence</li>
</ul>
<<button "Return" $return>><</button>><ul>
<li><font color ="grey"></font></li>
<li><font color ="grey"></font></li>
<li><font color ="grey"></font></li>
<li><font color ="grey"></font></li>
</ul>
<<button "Next" "Round ">><</button>><!--[[Round ]]-->Spotlight on your face. Laugh track and applause as a besuited man with more pomade than hair walks across the stage to sit at a large, empty desk.
Almost empty. There’s a coffee mug with no coffee in it.
Too many teeth when he smiles, all of them glistening, hungry for the hot goss.
“So, Maddie, is it?” He sets a microphone on the desk, pushing it toward you. A sting of reverb sounds somewhere backstage. “You and Agnes. Hot, hot thing. Seven months! Boy, my wife wishes I could last that long.”
Laugh track.
The insides of your elbows sweat.
“Tell us. How–I mean, you know it’s what we’re all here for. What they’re dying to know. Isn’t that right folks?”
His hand lifts up, drawing a swell of applause with it.
“We have got to know. How and when did–you don’t want to let them–your faithful audience–down, do you, Maddie?”
High-pressure silence. Someone clears their throat.
“Uh.” You squint against the stage lights and see nothing but silhouettes. You let everyone else down, why not them, too? “No.”
“‘Course you don’t. Atta girl. Then, tell us. Agnes? Beautiful girl. Kind as could be. An angel, really.”
Well–
“Why did it all fall apart? How’d you mess this one up, too?”
Another silence, longer than the first. You can’t see the audience but you see their teeth. Glittering.
“It’s not like…” You try to wet your lips but your mouth is dry. “I don’t really–all relationships are–”
“Relationship?”
Laugh track and the host guffaws along with them.
“Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
You shift on the hard pleather sofa. “What do you–”
“From how I hear it–you know, the rumor mill being what it is–you used the poor girl! Didn’t even try to hide it.”
“We both–”
“Oh, sure, sure. It takes two to burn a house down but you took all that goodness.” He taps notecards against the desk. “All that sweetness.”
Tap.
“And threw it back in her face.”
Tap tap.
“It’s not that simple.”
“All she wanted was to be loved. And what’s it say about a person that they can’t love goodness itself? ‘Cause that’s what they’re saying about you, Maddie.”
The laugh track sounds again. Loud and discordant.
“It wasn’t like that. She wanted–”
“A monster!” He laughs, harsh and braying and the audience feeds off it. “Get your pitchforks, folks! We’ve got a nasty, slithering, slimy waste of oxygen on our hands.”
“I couldn’t be–”
Growling laughter drowns you out.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.14">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.14]]-->
Shake your head. Pull yourself together.
“She committed the cardinal sin,” you say, hand shaking as sip from your empty glass. “She got needy.”
Seven is staring. You can feel it.
“Sure. Right. Yeah.”
You squint at him. “What?”
“No, nothing.” He cups his clawed fingers on the far side of the bar and leans back into a cat-like stretch. “It’s only, you were different with her.”
Not what you wanted to hear. “Stop it.”
“I know, crazy right?” He spins around faster than your eyes can track, leaning his elbows on the bar and staring at the room behind you. “You wouldn’t change. Not you. Not the unshakeable Maddie…huh, I don’t actually know what your last name is.”
“Let’s keep it that way.” You start to signal for another drink.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.15">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.15]]-->
“You’re the one the broke up with her, then, yeah? Cause of the neediness thing.”
“Genius deduction.”
“And you ain’t bothered by it? Already moved on to greener pastures?”
“Obviously.”
“So, it ain’t going to bother you that Agnes is here tonight. Sitting right over there. With her hand on Miles’s leg?”
Fuck.
“Hang on. When does the leg officially become crotch?”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Don’t look</font></li>
<li>[[Look|Round 1.16]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Leave the bar</font></li>
</ul>It’s a fucking renaissance painting. A tufted, horseshoe leather couch tucked into a corner offsides of the dance floor drips with high-fashion, barely dressed bodies of all genders. And like the camera’s doing a goddamn rack zoom, you see Agnes and the demi-human twat that calls himself Miles.
God, it’s so fucking sophomoric. Draped across her in full pieta, you haven’t seen a display like this since highschool when all those bodies and hormones bounced around, desperate for any excuse to touch each other. To be close to someone else’s tits.
And hers are on one hell of a display tonight. With a neckline cut nearly to her navel, the barely contained nipples more of a tease than Agnes herself ever could be. Not sweet, doe-eyed Agnes tonight. About as seductive as a kitten, she was the type of woman you wanted to snuggle on the couch with, each laundry-fresh breath of her a meditation. You’d been together a month before you slept together and only then because Agnes was horny.
Now, here she is, looking ready to sin. When did she get that dress? Did she wear it for him?
You exhale smoke through your nose and turn back to the bar. Looking was a mistake.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.17">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.17]]-->“You knew she was gonna be here. With him.”
The surprise in Seven’s voice is proof he doesn’t know you as well as he’d like to say he does.
“Why d’you say that?” You inhale the cigarette to the filter and flick your fingers toward him for another.
“Shit,” he says and complies. “And here’s me thinking I had some intel for you. Finally.”
“Intel? Who talks like that.” You light the new cigarette with the old and smash the butt into an ashtray. “Give it to me anyway. What’s your intel?”
“Right. So you and little Ag–you an’ Agnes been split for a minute now, yeah?”
Thirty-three days. “Yeah.”
“She was new on the scene when you nabbed her. Fresh vibes on the dance floor and all.”
Nabbed her. Like Agnes was some kind of prey and Maddie a fluorescent orange hunter.
“I heard someone say she’s angelicus born.”
“Angels aren’t real.”
“Well, maybe. Demons is real, so could be. One look at her anyway makes you think so. Eyes so big and that mouth–”
You stop him with a look.
“Right. Anyways, they’re also saying they been seeing her around a lot. With Miles. Private conversations and such. In back rooms. Either she’s makin’ a deal with him or they’re doing the kind of business that doesn’t need as much clothing.”
He seems to realize what he’s saying as the words come plopping out of his mouth–laying on the filthy nightclub floor and staring at you. Impossible to ignore, now that they exist.
“Erhm. Purely transactional. I-I assume. His horizontal mambo always is.”
“True, it’s the exchange rate I don’t trust. I doubt anyone gets their money’s worth.”
Miles is someone with just enough connections to be useful to the stupid, the wannabes and the desperate. Anyone that spent long enough at Haven knew of Miles–the guy to see when you’re in need. Cause that’s not menacingly vague or anything. All you know for sure is he’s a sleezeball. The type of person that takes advantage of people in need and does so with a hell of a lot of pleasure.
Why the hell is Agnes with him? What’s she trying to prove to you?
<<button "Next" "Round 1.18">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.18]]-->“Purely hypothetical scenario we’re talking about here. If it were the little lady that you’re here for–”
“I’m here for me.”
“Right, right, right.”
He doesn’t sound like he believes you. Double rude.
It’s a version of the truth, at any rate. You and Agnes were doomed. Never should’ve lasted as long as you did. You were the one that ended things and all the good reasons you had at the time haven’t changed.
But Miles is bad news. From what you’ve heard, the kinds of things he gets mixed up can do real damage. And he’s a user. Whatever reason Agnes is with him, he’ll have his own agenda. Is she in any state to safely navigate that?
If she deserved better than you she sure as hell deserves someone better than him.
“Hypothetical scenarios do better with more information.” Seven watches you with a hungry smile. “Wanna head over? Have a little chat. Press some flesh. Mingle.”
“Christ, you’re a gossipy bitch.”
But you’re already moving, drink clutched in your hand like it’s a body you’re dragging. Seven actually does a twirl as he follows after you, bouncing from one side of you to the other.
“What’s the plan? What’s our angle?”
You wish your racing mind had an answer for him.
“‘Cause I was thinking we go in. Fake like I’m interested in making a deal, yeah? Get the low down and all.”
God bless this demon.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” you lie.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.19">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.19]]-->The bass drops and your steps unconsciously fall in time with the beat. Sunken a full step below the dance floor, Miles and his entourage perch like they’re holding court. Everyone is grossly attractive and On Display.
Have you ever been the type of person that would be found here?
Eh, maybe in Miles’s spot. Deep down, you always thought you’d make a great cult leader.
Conversation quiets and eddies around your approach, whispers blossoming with each step closer to their figurehead. You don’t catch much of it but the word ‘heartbroken’ stands out. Word’s gotten around. Because why wouldn’t the worst parts of highschool be the ones to live on?
You might’ve been inclined to give them some nasty looks if your eyes weren’t so hopelessly locked on Agnes.
Seeing her is a sharper sting than you imagined it would be. Even though your thoughts are a dull, angry buzz, your body reacts. Your body doesn’t care that ending whatever it was between the two of you was the right choice. That the two of you were a train wreck together fighting and clinging to each other broken parts in equal measure. That all you’d ever be able to do would be disappoint her. Not good enough and not healthy enough for her.
Your body remembers curling around hers. Raw lips pressed into her shoulder as sleep overwhelmed her and that heady feeling of holding something precious in your arms.
Something you were bound to break.
You feel…
<ul>
<li>[[anxious. It’s been a month since you’ve seen her. Standing before her is harder than you thought it’d be. She must be thinking so many awful things about you. And you deserve them all|Round 1.20]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">pissed. You don’t want to be here, facing this group of Cruel Intentions rejects. When you closed a door it stayed closed. If it weren’t for Agnes getting mixed up with an asshat you’d be home. Maybe even getting laid</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">lost. It’s not the first time doing what was right by you left you feeling like shit. It’s just the longest that feeling’s ever lasted</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">nothing. You’re numb. Have been for ages. You weren’t right for her. Feelings don’t change facts. Apathy is the only thing that keeps you sane anymore</font></li>
</ul>
Deep breath, Maddie. Make it through tonight then drink until you forget you exist.
“People don’t realize, Whiteclaw is underrated.” Miles looks up from her lap and grins. “Hey, hey, there. Six, isn’t it?”
She’s not looking at you. It’s fine. That’s fine.
“Seven, actually.”
Miles snaps, wagging his finger as he spins into an upright position. “That’s it. You’re the one Six is afraid of.”
At least she’s not looking at him. You can handle the fact she’s not looking at you as long as she’s not looking at this moron.
Seven cocks his head to the side. “Why?”
<ul>
<li>[[You know the answer, but it’s beneath you to respond|Round 1.21]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">“You’ve never heard the joke before?”</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Enough jokes. Down to business</font></li>
</ul>
“Because seven ate nine!” Miles snickers and takes a long drink from his can. “Seriously, dude. That joke is old as shit. Where you been?”
Seven’s silent a moment before a huge grin spreads on his face. “Ohhh, eight like ate! That’s a good one!”
Miles doesn’t bother hiding his eye roll before turning to face you. “Maddie, isn’t it?” He leans back, sliding his arms behind Agnes and the twinky dude on his other side. Twinky dude looks thrilled by the attention. Agnes is indifferent.
Which is something new. Agnes hasn’t been indifferent about anything since the day you met her. From toast to trans rights, she’s got an opinion she’s happy to share–yes to both, by the way.
You’ve never seen her not care.
“I always wondered why our paths hadn’t crossed yet.” He drains the can and sets it carelessly on the floor. “After all, we’re both big players around here.”
Big players? Jesus. Stop living the fantasy that anyone cares about anything but themselves.
“Everybody wants something, right?” He keeps talking like some kind of starter quest villain. “We’ve all got needs. And I’m the guy to see when you’re in…need. Damn. I need a better tagline.”
He rests a hand casually on Agnes’s knee–and the knee of the twink next to him, but whatever. It’s a powerplay. An intentional move to signal he knows the score. He’s got what you want.
Damn it. Now you’re thinking in cliches. This isn’t a movie.
Agnes shifts so his hand falls to the couch between them. You try not to feel smug about that.
You don’t try hard.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.22">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.22]]-->
“Bit of a cynical look at the world, yeah?” Seven grins at the half-demon. “How come we couldn’t be coming over for some conversation? Maybe I’m looking for a new friend.”
The problem is, Miles has a fucking good quesiton.
What do you want?
<i>Agnes.</i>
No.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.23">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.23]]-->
“That’s sweet. The two of you thinking you’ll be friends with little old me.”
Miles’s sarcasm barely registers with you. You don’t put effort into something you don’t want, so why are you here talking to this douche? What the hell do you think you’re going to accomplish?
Agnes must hate you by now and you think you’re going to change her mind?
“Just one problem with that thought, though.” Miles reaches for the fresh can a waitress brings him. “Friendship isn’t real.”
Agnes cocks an eyebrow.
“All humanoid interaction is by its very nature transactional. Person A wants something–because they always want something–and go to Person B to get it. The success of the relationship depends on how good Person B is at meeting the need.”
With violence he cracks open the can. Foam sprays across his knuckles and he flicks it away. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that bits of bubbles land on someone’s shoe.
“Most of the time,” he continues, “that transaction is transactional. Person A wants directions, Person B supplies them, thank you very much, yadda ya.
“But when the itch Person A needs scratched gets down into those squishy bits–into whatever bit of cosmic inspiration clings to these meatsacks of ours–then it gets interesting.”
He’s really feeling himself now. He’s got the attention of his vassals and he’s loving it.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.24">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.24]]-->“When Person A feels lonely or wants their junk to feel nice for a few minutes or needs someone to prove their mother was wrong about them it doesn’t matter who Person B is. Just how long they last.”
Agnes is going to call him on his bullshit. She hates this kind of reductive, neoliberal approach to relationships. Anytime personal connections came up Agnes had something to say. Loudly. An argument for the personal and social benefits of compassion and connectedness.
You used to poke the bear on purpose just to watch her get fired up. To watch her care. No one got passionate like Agnes.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.25">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.25]]-->
But she sits there. Silent. Running a finger along the edge of her skirt.
“Person B never lasts long.” Miles enjoys his monologue, oblivious to the tempest inside you. “Dives like Haven wouldn’t last long if they did, am I right?”
This is bullshit. She shouldn’t be sitting there all aloof and disinterested. This isn’t Agnes. She’s supposed to be better without you.
Is she trying to punish you? A vicious and targeted silence mean to show you in no uncertain terms how much you fucked her up?
Then she shouldn’t have fucking relied on you to be someone you couldn’t.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.26">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.26]]-->
“Hells, that sounds exhausting.” Seven laughs, trying to kindle a bit of levity into the conversation. “What if I just want a sandwich?”
After a few months, you couldn’t stand the way she’d look at you. All that hope and expectation. Like you were someone that could save her. You couldn’t handle your own shit and god help anyone that trusted their heart with you.
Things were over the first time you made her cry.
“That’s the beauty of it, man.” Miles taps the side of his head. “Once you see it, the system is everywhere. You want a sandwich? Your Person B probably works at Subway. You just gotta figure out the rules and it gets so much easier to play the game.”
Agnes should be livid. Hell, you don’t give a shit and even you’re feeling pissed off at this guy. This is exactly the sort of thing that should send Agnes off–she can’t stand people that play games. There’s no way she’d get with someone like Miles.
Why is she just siting there?
This is fucked. You need to fix this.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Punch Miles</font></li>
<li>[[Get down to business|Round 1.27]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Fuck this guy. Tear him down</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Ignore him. Ask Agnes if the two of you could talk</font></li>
</ul>
“Nice sales pitch,” you say, your voice tight. “Especially if you’re surrounded by needy people.”
Agnes shifts. Fuck. You shouldn’t have said that.
“Nothing wrong with having needs.” Miles leans back with a smirk. “Everybody’s got them. Demon, human, all the bits in between. No reason we can’t mutually benefit.”
<ul>
<li>[[Try to bring it back. Keep it neutral|Round 1.28]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Punch him</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Seriously. Fuck this guy</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">For the love of god, just talk to her</font></li>
</ul>
“And I’m sure that’s always a fair <i>transaction</i>.” Conversation around the group dies and all eyes are on you.
No wonder the little prick gets off on this. Being centerstage is a bit intoxicating.
“If everyone’s satisfied then–”
“Then it doesn’t matter if the cost doesn’t match the value of the goods? Because here’s the thing. I can see how well you’ve called your shot. This little throne setup is a nice touch–playing king of the desperate. Makes you feel important, doesn’t it? Giving people what they want. Maybe then they’ll give a shit about you and want to keep you around. Tell me, which parent do you think your pathetic existence will prove wrong?”
You’ve crossed a line. You feel it as soon as the words are out of your mouth. You get a couple giggles and gasps from the people around you and you finish off the drink to avoid seeing the way they look at you.
The way Agnes looks at you. She doesn’t like cruelty.
Fuck. You didn’t mean to go that far.
The few smirks you see from people around you do little to ease the pang of regret. Miles slow claps but there’s a tightness around his eyes.
“Someone’s out for blood today.” He takes a drink from the Whiteclaw. “Fair enough. All business, then. What kind of Person B are you looking for today?”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Look at Agnes</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Apologize</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Fuck that. You’re pissed at yourself and him. Start a fight</font></li>
<li>[[Figure out what he’s up to|Round 1.29]]</li>
</ul>
“Sure. All business. Tell me more about this ‘valuable service.’ What’s the cost?”
What’s Agnes agreed to give up? Why?
He waves the question away. “Something worthwhile answers both. But that’s a boring question.”
You don’t take his bait. “What, no tiered package list? No menu to browse? Don’t have an Etsy page?”
He actually laughs at that last one. “I mean, I kind of like the idea of that but logistically it’d never work. My approach is a bit more…”
He ghosts a hand along the back of Agnes’s hair and smirks at you.
“Tactile.”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Pull her away from him</font></li>
<li>[[Seethe|Round 1.30]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Walk away</font></li>
</ul>
You take a deep breath. Not to calm yourself but to stoke the burning resentment within you.
Some part of you knows the smart thing to do is walk away. Your head’s a mess. You’ve had just enough to drink to quiet your Jiminy Cricket. Plus you’re ass over teakettle with how you’re thinking about Agnes. She’s not a prize, she’s a person. And even if her forgiveness is something you could win, you were the one that called things off.
But your thoughts are fuzzy and you never liked Miles anyway.
Seven scratches his head. “Okay, but like, what if I want tickets to the Knix game?”
Miles pats around his jacket a few times like he’s searching his pockets and looks around like he’s lost something. Eventually, he snaps his fingers and a fireball flashes leaving behind two tickets.
“Holy shit!” Seven rushes forward and grabs the tickets, staring at them in shock.
“You’re a full demon, Seven,” you say, annoyed because you’re impressed. “Can’t you do crap like this?”
“Manifest tickets to a sold-out game? Nah, dude. Maybe if you traded your soul or something but not just, like, POOF!”
A soul, huh? You glare at Miles. “And what’ll it cost him?”
Miles stretches and runs a hand along his sternum. “Seventy-five bucks.”
You both stare at him.
“What?” He shrugs, cool as can be. “I happened to have a couple tix I couldn’t use.”
“So, this wasn’t magic at all? Just happenstance?”
He shrugs. “No magic this time. Other than the fire. Gotta have a little flare.”
“Are all your deals this bogus?”
“I said no magic <i>this</i> time.”
“And us mere humans are supposed to just trust that you can actually deliver on your promises?”
Miles’s jaw juts to the side and he glares at you. “If you wanted to ride my dick so bad at least buy me a drink first.”
“Are you a petulant little prick because I hurt your feelings or does that come naturally?”
Agnes gets up and walks away.
Shit.
Miles watches her go and his smile gets meaner. “Oops. Looks like you put another nail in that coffin.”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Punch him</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Make a deal with Miles</font></li>
<li>[[Go after her|Round 1.31]]</li>
</ul>
You turn to follow Agnes and Seven grabs your arm.
“Hey, I’ll stick around and see what I can dig up on their deal, yeah? Go after your girl.”
“She’s not–”
“Whatever, dude. Just be less of a butthead, yeah?”
“Butthead? Are you for real?”
“Go!” And he pushes you toward the crowd Agnes disappeared into.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.32">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.32]]-->
Your heart hammers against your ribs as you push through the dancers. So far, tonight has been a fantastic object lesson in exactly why you’re not girlfriend material. You’ve fucked up at every possible turn.
Just being here tonight feels like a fuck up.
Could things have gone better? Absolutely. Although, if you were capable of making better life choices you wouldn’t be in this mess. You’d be at Agnes’s comfy studio apartment, watching Netflix while she tried to learn crochet for the seventh time.
If you could sit still for five fucking minutes and be content. But everything always goes to shit. That’s just the way the world works for you. Usually you’re better at steering the shitstorm.
The more people rely on you, the worse it gets. All that trust and expectation is more of a burden than you’re strong enough to handle. Eventually, you let them down. You always do. Then there’s nothing but disappointment and resentment.
Fuck that.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.33">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.33]]-->
It doesn’t matter how badly you wish you’d done something different. No matter what path you take, you’re always going to end up right back here. A fuck-up that only knows how to hurt people.
Agnes deserves better than you.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.34">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.34]]-->
Why are you chasing after her then?
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">It’s been a month and still, you can’t let her go</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You like pain. Feeling it. Causing it. Life is pain. If you’re in it you’re living and the sharper the better</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Maybe this is her way of punishing you…and you sure as hell deserve to let her do it</font></li>
<li>[[Just because you’re a selfish bitch doesn’t mean Agnes should suffer. You started things with her knowing she wanted more than you could give|Round 1.35]]</li>
</ul>
You don’t have time to process that thought before you see that electric blue dress of hers enter the hallway toward the bathrooms. Instinct has never served you well, but you follow it anyway and rush to catch up to her.
Hopefully your mouth figures out what to say by the time you reach her.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.36">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.36]]-->
“Agnes!” You push past a couple in the middle of making out. She must’ve heard you but she doesn’t stop. Lucky for you, there’s always a line for the women’s bathroom.
As you reach her, Agnes takes a deep breath. Doubt flickers inside you and you barrel past it.
“What the hell was that all about, Maddie?” She turns to you, wrapping her arms over her stomach.
God, you’ve missed the sound of her voice.
“What was that about? What the hell are you doing with a guy like Miles? All of that bullshit he was mouthing off didn’t bother you? He uses people.”
“At least he’s upfront about it.”
She might as well have slapped you.
<ul>
<li>[[You deserve that. Hell, you deserve a lot more than that|Round 1.37]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Oh, like she knows you? Like she understands?</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">This hurts. This hurts and you hate it. Leave. Let her fuck up her own life if she wants</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Pay attention. Agnes isn’t sharp like this. Something’s wrong</font></li>
</ul>Anger and guilt roil inside you and your mouth opens to say something you’ll regret when arms wrap around your waist and sticky, soft lips press against your neck.
“Maddie, baby. You been screening my calls?”
Shit.
You recognize the voice but can’t remember the name that goes with it. Agnes’s expression has gone stony. A woman slides around to stand next to you, one arm resting low on your hips as she leans into your leg.
“Angelica. God, hey, haven’t seen you in…”
Please let it be more than a year.
“A few months ago. Taylor’s party? That was a crazy night. I’m not surprised you don’t remember.” Her eyes trail along Agnes, resting a bit too long at the neckline. “She’s a cutie.”
You do remember that night. A too-small apartment packed with bodies and none of them were Agnes because you bailed on your plans with her. You’d had enough familiarity and craved the solitude of strangers. Except they pissed you off, too. At some point in the pre-Agnes times, you’d slept with Angelica–I mean, come on. Look at her–but it sure as hell wasn’t the night of the party. You’d snatched a bottle of Jack, driven out to a state park that doesn’t close its gate at sunset and slept off the night in your car.
Which is not the story Angelica is hinting at.
This is the last thing you need right now.
“Give us a minute, will you?” You rest a hand on her ass and press a quick kiss to her temple, knowing the attention will get you the reaction you want. “Find me at the bar. Later.”
It works. Angelica gives you both a satisfied smirk and saunters away.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Go on like nothing happened</font></li>
<li>[[“It’s not what you think.”|Round 1.38]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Maybe you’ll get laid tonight, after all</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You didn’t do anything wrong. Apologize anyway</font></li>
</ul>
Agnes stares at you and for one, aching moment it looks like she’s going to lash out at you. Finally. She’ll treat you like the piece of shit you are.
Will it be a relief to hear all the things you say about yourself from her lips? Will it end the undeniable regret you feel for doing what had to be done?
There wasn’t another choice. Not really. You burn until the oxygen’s gone and then you’d both suffocate.
Then a look of heartbreak comes back to Agnes’s face and the dullness of devastation dims the spark in her eyes.
“You have no idea what I think, Maddie.”
She pushes past you and you don’t stop her.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.39">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.39]]-->
Applause.
“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve got a special treat for you tonight. Once in a lifetime kind of thing. Please join me in welcoming the one, the only, the light in the darkest of days…AGNES!”
Sound crescendos, a tremulous thunder in the air. The marching of thousands of feet toward a battle that there’s no hope of winning.
She emerges from between thick, velvet curtains. Smiles and waves to an audience of shadows and grinning teeth. And that white dress she’s wearing.
Fuck.
They share a kiss, lips to cheeks and performative smiles. She joins you on the couch, ignores you entirely.
“The camera loves you, doll. Agnes, thanks so much for being here this evening.”
“Happy to be here.”
Why doesn’t your mouth work? All the words in your head have been meant for Agnes for so long and now that she’s here…silence.
“Now, this project you’ve been working on–it’s something special, isn’t it? I’ve been hearing a lot of buzz about it.”
“Oh, thank you. I’m quite excited.”
The audience claps.
“Lot of buzz.”
She coughs. “Yes, that’s great. Good buzz, I hope.”
Polite laughter.
Say something.
“Well, why?” The host chuckles, thick like cough syrup. “Are you saying there’s a chance it could be bad?”
Her laughter is water to your parched heart. “No, no, of course not. You’re right, though. It is something special. I really poured my heart into this one.”
“Fantastic. And I think we’ve got a clip to show?” He gestures toward an unseeable crew.
“No,” you say.
But the lights dim and the projector screen lights up. Doesn’t matter. You can’t change what’s happened.
<<button "Stop" "Round 1.39.1">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.39.1]]-->
How long are you going to keep lying to yourself?
<ul>
<li>[[Coming here was a mistake. You’re only going to hurt her more|Round 1.41]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Coming here was a mistake. You’re not in a place to handle the way you feel</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Coming here was a mistake. You shoulda gone somewhere else and found a quick hook-up to get her out of your system </font></li>
</ul>
“There you are.” Seven appears next to you and he’s got an actual notebook in his hands. “A’right, I’ve got some–oh, sweet, the john. I’ve gotta take a leak.”
He shoves the notebook at you and dashes away.
“Like trying to keep a flea focused.” You shake your head and flip through his notes. Not that it matters. You’re pretty much done for the evening.
Most of the notes are inscrutable. Either the handwriting is illegible, it’s written in some kind of code or it doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. The stick figure drawings are pretty straightforward, though you haven’t any idea how they relate to your current circumstance.
The only page you can decipher has COST written at the top with three underlines. Part of the page has a stick figure with a ghost coming out of its chest. The word sex is written, then crossed out and also has a ? next to it. And the word SELF is circled a few times.
Doodles of dollar signs are also scattered around the page, so who knows.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.42">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.42]]-->
Self. What could that even mean? Miles would give you what you want in exchange for…your identity?
Maybe he’s a cheap conman after all.
None of this touches on what it is Miles is actually offering, either. What could Agnes want from him? What would she give up to get it?
Hubris wraps itself around your ego. Could she be trying to get you back? People have been making up all kinds of shit about love potions for ages. Maybe there’s some truth to it.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Sounds like the biggest scam of all if that’s what she’s after</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Back? It’d be rich to say you were ever together. Seven months and you still wouldn’t commit to “girlfriend”</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">God, you’re self-centered</font></li>
<li>[[Agnes cares too much about free will. She wouldn’t do that|Round 1.43]]</li>
</ul>
<i>“You have no idea what I think, Maddie.”</i>
Maybe she’s right.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.44">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.44]]-->
“Oh, good. You read my notes.” Seven wipes his hands on his jeans and bounces excitedly. “Wild, yeah? What’re you gonna do?”
You hold up the notebook. “I have no idea what this means.”
“Seriously?” He looks crestfallen. “Dang, dude. I thought I did a good job.”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Poor guy. He tried. You don’t have the heart to give him shit about it</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Stare at him</font></li>
<li>[[Can’t he take anything seriously for once?|Round 1.45]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Doesn’t matter. There’s no point in trying. Go find Angelica</font></li>
</ul>
“Come on, man. I need you to take this seriously. What do these scribbles even mean?”
He knocks his fist against the side of his head a couple times. “Yeah, course. Sorry, dude. Okay. Whatever stock of demon Miles descended from had some mondo hefty magic going for them. All the human bits got rid of a bunch of it but dude’s got enough left to do some wild soul shit.”
“Soul shit?”
“Yeah. Wild, right?”
“No idea. What is it?”
“Oh, well, it kinda depends but it’s about…” He scrunches his face toward the ceiling and palms the air around an invisible blob in front of him. “Stuff about who a human is. As a person. If y’ain’t careful it can get caught up in destiny, too.”
“Destiny?”
“Yeah, dude. ‘The rule and measure of your days as layed out at the beginning of time.’ Destiny. It’s like, why you’re wearing the shirt you’re wearing right now. You got a lot of other options in the closet, yeah? But this shirt was what you picked and so it couldn’ta been anything other than this shirt. Destiny.”
It doesn’t sound like he’s joking but this is a pretty wild theory, even for Seven. The more you hear the more fake it sounds. So why are you still worried for Agnes?
You’re not nearly drunk enough to debate supernatural philosophy, though.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.46">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.46]]-->
“Fine. Sure. Shirt of destiny. What does his soul magic actually do?”
“Miles was pretty vague about it–”
“Of course he was.”
“But one of the groupies was an old client.”
Now you’re getting somewhere. “And?”
“Dude had gone to Miles ‘cause his dick was too small.”
You blink. “Agnes isn’t interested in penis enhancement.”
“I’ll file that intel away as Super Useful. Not what I mean, though. Miles can take a bad part, yeah? Something you wish was different.” He flips through his notes until he gets to a drawing a stick figure going super saiyan. “And turns it into something awesome. Dope, yeah?”
You flip to the next page and tap the word COST.
“Right. Yeah. That’s where it gets a bit weird.”
“That’s where it gets weird?”
“I dunno, man. This is where Miles butted in to the convo and started going on about equivalent exchange or something and then I started thinking about Full Metal and maybe Miles could turn me into a suit of armor and I couldn’t decide if that would be dope or not.”
“It’s not just money?”
“Nah. He takes some dosh but it ain’t the money that makes the magic work.”
“Does it? Work, I mean.”
The red hue of Seven’s face grows bright. “Uh. Yeah.”
“Are you blushing?”
“No!”
<<button "Next" "Round 1.47">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.47]]-->You pause and think, “The dick. You saw the D.”
His face goes even brighter. “Not, like, the actual thing. Dude’s got leather trousers on. Tight ones. And he, maybe, kinda let me feel it.”
Despite everything, you chuckle. “Damn, Seven. I leave you alone for ten minutes and you get to third base.”
“Over his trousers!”
“That’s what third base is.”
“Oh,” he says and looks confused.
“Get his number?”
Seven blinks at you then his eyes drift back to the dance floor. “No. Was he hitting on me?”
“Usually if someone lets you touch their junk they’re interested in something.”
“Maybe I should–”
You grab his arm as he steps away. “Later. We’re not done, yet.”
“Yeah. Course. Okay. Anyway, dude was huge.”
It seems like that’s the extent of the evidence he’s going to provide. You sigh. “All that proves is that the guy is hung like a horse.”
“But he went to Miles for–”
“How do you know he had a small dick to begin with?” you ask a little too loudly and get some odd looks from the women in line. With a huff, you drag Seven back a few steps toward the main floor of the club. You’ll have to shout in each others’ ears but you don’t want anyone else knowing Agnes’s business.
“It’s a classic con.” You have to stand on tip toe to reach Seven’s ear. “Maybe that guy always had a big dick and lied about the transformation. That way Miles looks legit and gets more clients.”
“Huh. Should I ask him for pictures or something?”
“No!” God, tonight has been weird enough. The last think you need is some rando dick pics to top it off. “What did Mr. Big Dick have to say about the price tag?”
“Worth it.”
You press your palms against your eyes. “Literally, anything else besides that?”
“Yeah, I don’t really get that part. Something about him that was, like, crucial to who he was as a person? Said he couldn’t smell lilacs anymore. Means jack shit to me but dude seemed real sad about it.”
An ache squeezes your chest. Equivalent exchange. In order to gain something about yourself to love you have to lose something you love? You don’t want Agnes to change. The world needs Agneses. It doesn’t need people with big dicks.
Well, maybe it needs both.
You run a hand through your hair and pull until it hurts. Shit. If only you knew what Agnes was after. If it was something small, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. Maybe she wants bigger tits. That’s be fine.
No. Agnes is perfect.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.48">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.48]]-->
You’ve got to stop her. At least try and reason with her. The idea of Agnes being Not Agnes is profane.
And if you don’t do something, it’ll be your fault.
She wasn’t supposed to suffer. Agnes is strong. She would get over you quick and move on to someone better for her. Some one that could love her right. And you could go on being the piece of shit you are.
That was the plan.
“I’ve got to find her,” you mutter and turn away.
“Dudes got a pocket dimension. Miles, I mean.”
You stop and pivot. “A what now?”
<<button "Next" "Round 1.49">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.49]]-->
Seven nods and points toward a door next to the bar marked STAFF ONLY. “He’s got some kind of set up here. With the owner, yeah? Pocket dimension. Gets a human closer to soul energies or some shit. I dunno. Didn’t really pay attention in demonology class. He does all his business there.”
Great. Just great. “How am I supposed to get in?”
“Go through door four. You just need something he loves. Then BAM! Pocket dimension. Rad, yeah?”
Something he loves. Where the hell are–
Your eyes snap back to the booth. Now empty of anyone you care about, your search lands on the bright white cans abandoned on the floor.
“Fuck me sideways.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just hoping Miles is as much of a douche as I think he is.” Betting on people being awful hasn’t let you down so far. “Why’d he tell you all this?”
Seven shrugs. “Eh, most folks is happy to yap and yap if you give ‘em space for it.”
You pause.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Seven is always happy to go along with whatever crazy shit you’re up to. Have you ever thanked him for it?</font></li>
<li>[[You’ve known Seven for a while now. How many secrets about yourself have you unwittingly spilled?|Round 1.50]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Miles probably played him. You shouldn’t put much stock in anything he’s said</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Seven seems lonely</font></li>
</ul>“Right,” you say, making a note to watch your mouth around him going forward. “Hey, do me one more favor.”
“Ain’t no thing, babydoll.”
“Two favors. One, never call me babydoll again.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
“And keep the bartender busy while I sneak back there.”
“Aw, hell yeah! You gonna infiltrate?”
You roll your eyes, already regretting what’s about to happen. “Infiltration. Sure. Why not?”
“Hells yeah. I am your man. No one’s gonna interfere. You will get that girl back!”
“I’m not–oh, forget it.”
And you’re off to grab the discarded Whiteclaw hoping it’s something Miles actually loves. The absolute freak.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.51">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.51]]-->
Maybe Seven will help, maybe he’ll blow it. As long as you’re not breaking into Haven’s backrooms to piss on furniture or distribute any other bodily fluids around you’ll be fine even if you do get caught.
Hopefully. You’d hate to lose Haven.
No one even notices you picking up trash. Seven’s at the bar, hands flailing wildly while he talks at the bartender. Nothing stands between you and the employee door.
Time to give destiny a smack on the ass.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.52">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.52]]-->
Striding toward the door, you cast one last glance at the dance floor and see Angelica dancing near others but alone. She’s a good dancer. Movements timed perfectly with the music and when she runs her hands over her chest your fingers twitch.
You swallow past the sudden lump in your throat.
<ul>
<li>[[You are too fucked up to handle any more complications tonight. She’s hot, but not that hot. Stay on target|Round 1.53]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Give up on Agnes. Hedonism is what you really want, anyway</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">It’d be nice for it to be that simple. Move on. Ignore all the problems you caused. Someone else can clean up the mess while you get lost on the dance floor</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You don’t stop long enough to think about it</font></li>
</ul>
Keeping your head down and eyes forward, you walk up to the staff door like you belong there. Shit, what if it’s locked? It would be annoying, as an employee, to deal with keys all night. If it were up to you–
The knob doesn’t turn but with a tug the door pops open.
–you’d tape the latch down. Lucky day.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.54">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.54]]-->
Beyond the door is a narrow hallway lined with numbered doors. If you stopped long enough to think, you’d wonder why this hallway existed behind the bar and if the geography of it made any sense.
But if you were stopping long enough to think you’d wonder what the hell you thought being here would accomplish. Or how exactly anything might go the way you want. Or why you think you can break into a pocket dimension and have any say in what Agnes does or doesn’t do with her life.
You made that choice already. You ended it. There’s no going back.
You caused the problem. Trying to fix it will just make it worse. Turn around and leave. Leave this city. Leave the state. Get as far as you can. That’s the Maddie thing to do.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Leave</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Get out</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You'll make it worse</font></li>
<li>[[There’s a number four on that door|Round 1.55]]</li>
</ul>
Fine. What’s the game plan? If you’re doing this, you’re doing this.
Bust through the door is an option. Maybe Miles’s true colors will show and you’ll find Agnes tied to train tracks ready to be rescued. You’ll be the big damn hero and…what then? Break her heart again?
Why do you keep showing up when you know it’s wrong?
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">You’re a masochist and the only love you know involves pain. Hurting someone is how you love them</font></li>
<li>[[You’re not. This is a one-time thing. You’ve fucked things up with Agnes and you’ve accepted that. The least you can do is stop her from doing something she’ll regret|Round 1.56]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Some part of you must want to be here. For her. With her. No matter what, it ends in tears. Is it so wrong to want a bit of peace?</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You have no idea why you do anything</font></li>
</ul>
Door four stands before you. Plain wood. Spray painted numeral stencil. It’s slightly off center and you are stalling.
Last chance to back out. To make a different choice
<ul>
<li>[[Stop kidding yourself. There was never a choice to begin with|Round 1.57]]</li>
</ul>
It doesn’t fill you with much confidence that your plan hinges on a sticky, half-empty can of Berry Bajargarita Blast Whiteclaw. There’s no way this’ll work. What else are you gonna do, though? If you open the door and you don’t walk into a pocket dimension, then destiny has made the decision for you.
Door number four swings easily onto an open, yawning void.
“Seriously? He loves this crap?”
You cross the threshold and the door closes behind you.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.58">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.58]]-->
Pocket dimensions feel a lot like those gaps in memory when you’re blackout drunk. A sort of humid sense of awareness without any sensory input. An uncomfortable feeling of waiting for something to happen to you.
Fingers crossed you don’t leap back to consciousness mid-vomit like usual.
There’s a glow in the distance and, in the absence of alternatives, you head toward it.
As if the idea of being there is a mode of transportation, you’re suddenly standing in the entryway of a desaturated simulation of Agnes’s apartment. Just by the front door. It all looks like pencil drawing on paper. Vague brushstrokes of the real thing.
Emotion catches in your ribs. Agnes has a nice place. It’s cluttered but cozy and full of little things that makes it hers. Who would you have become if you stayed?
What would you have turned Agnes into if you had? You left and she runs out to sell her soul to a demon.
Christ, is there anything you don’t ruin?
<<button "Next" "Round 1.59">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.59]]-->
“Sorry about all the legalese, there.” Miles is in full salesman mode, phony laugh and all. “Contracts, am I right?”
They’re in her dining room. Whatever you’re going to do, now’s the time to do it.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">The devil works hard but your loathing works harder. Go in wrecking ball style</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Sacrifice yourself. Make a counter offer to Miles so Agnes doesn’t do it</font></li>
<li>[[You’re here to save Agnes. Diplomacy is your best bet|Round 1.60]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Wait. Listen</font></li>
</ul>
Saving Agnes from herself is a hell of a lot easier than trying to save yourself. Probably.
You turn the corner and Agnes and Miles sit at her dining table table going over paperwork.
Not exactly the heroic entrance you envisioned.
“Unbelievable.” Agnes pinches the bridge of her nose.
Miles stands, looking uncertainly between the two of you. “Whoa, uh, hey there, Madds.”
“Don’t call her Madds,” Agnes says and a bit of your heart warms. You hate being called that.
“Right. Got it.” He pauses for a moment before snapping with both hands. “Welcome to the man cave. It’s not really–you shouldn’t–how did you get in here?”
You hold up the can and slosh its contents around.
“Oh, dude! I wondered where I left that.”
Heedless of anything yourself or anyone else might’ve done to the drink, he grabs it from you and knocks back the rest. What a charmed life he must lead.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.61">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.61]]-->
Agnes still isn’t looking at you. After all you’ve faced to be here tonight you’d hoped she’d at least be willing to see you.
Or have you let her down so badly the sight of you disgusts her?
God, you’re pathetic.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.62">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.62]]-->
“Look,” you say, pushing down the loathing you feel. “I’m not really sure what you’re about to do, but please just stop. Think about it.”
“Why do you think I haven’t?”
“Because no one in their right mind would trust any part of their soul to someone like him!”
You jab a finger at Miles.
“Ohhh, I see what’s going on here.” Miles crosses over to Agnes, leaning down over the back of her chair and lowering his voice. “She’s jealous.”
“Of you? Hardly.”
“She saw you moving on,” he continues like you’re not there. “Doing fine. Making choices for yourself. She’s just starting to figure out she’s not Person B anymore.”
“Anyone who thinks I’m Person B material is an idiot.”
But the seed of doubt is planted in both of you. Damn it, you can’t believe Miles is getting in your head.
Agnes finally looks up at you and all the resentment you expected is plain on her face. “I can text you for a week and get nothing but as soon as I’m the one indulging in self-destructive behavior then you feel the need to say something?”
Miles winces. “Self-destructive is a bit–”
“No.” She slaps a hand on the table and grabs the pen. “The whole point of this stupid thing is to stop being the weak and naive little girl that I am.”
“Hang on, you think making a deal with a demon–”
“Half-demon.”
“--is how you stop being naive?”
Tears shimmer in her eyes but that’s fine. Agnes is an easy crier.
That’s fine.
“You don’t get to come in here and start deciding how I live my life. For once, could you pick what you want me to be and stick with it? If the not-actually-dating we were doing is over then I need it to stay that way. I can’t take inbetween anymore.”
Stinging wetness wells in your own eyes and you can’t decide if you’re more mad at her or yourself.
“Hey, Agnes baby, it’s okay.” Miles gives her shoulder a squeeze and pushes the contract closer. “Soon, all of that won’t matter. You’ll shrug it all off and it’ll never bother you again.”
“What’s he talking about?”
“Apathy,” Agnes says dully. “All I have to do is give up my enthusiasm. Then shit like this won’t hurt so bad. I’ll be tough. Strong.”
<<button "Next" "Round 1.63">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.63]]-->
Memories flash through your mind. Agnes staring wide-eyed with joy when you got her a cupcake. Agnes forty minutes into a monologue about her favorite video game. Agnes stopping to share a few bucks and hot coffee with some guy and his cardboard sign.
Agnes crying at a van Gogh exhibit.
All of that about to be gone because of some jackass who loves Whiteclaw.
<<button "Next" "Round 1.64">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.64]]-->
“You can’t do that,” you say, not sure if you’re talking to her or Miles. “You’re not Agnes without enthusiasm.”
She sobs a laugh. “Because being Agnes has done me so much good. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to care so hard?”
How long has it been since you let yourself care about something? Or someone?
“No.”
“Exactly. All I wanted was to be important to you. For you to care about me. And it really sucks that this fucking moment is the first time I’ve ever really thought that you might.”
Hadn’t she seen you’d done everything you could?
And it wasn’t enough for her. There wasn’t any version of the world that you’d be good enough for Agnes.
Just another disappointment.
“Doesn’t have to be that way,” Miles says in her ear, hand sliding down her arm to rest over her fingers on the pen. “All the comfort and release of indifference literally at your fingertips.”
Your gaze turns to him and clarity strikes. The eassies solution can be found in the smallest part of the problem. No Miles, no contract, no dead inside Agnes.
<<button "Next" "The Choice">><</button>><!--[[The Choice]]-->You turn your attention fully toward Miles. “Who the hell are you to decide who someone gets to be?”
“Me?” He takes a step back from you. “Hey, I’m not deciding shit. If people–”
“Bullshit.You show up when people are low. When they’re desperate. You offer a choice that <i>maybe</i> they’d take you up on if they were thinking straight. But they’ll never know. And your promises are vague as hell.”
Leaning over the table, you grab Agnes’s hand. “I get that I’m the last person you want to hear from right now. Don’t let this asshat make things worse.”
“Hey!”
“Please. Let’s just go talk somewhere. Maybe I can–please.”
It’s the last thing in the world you want to do but you’re desperate. Tonight is out of control but if you can get her away from Miles you’ll have a minute to think.
At the very least she’ll be away from him.
There are tears in her eyes. Fuck.
“This last month…” She leans forward, takes a deep breath then freezes.
Some kind of look you can’t read comes over her face but it sparks panic in you. Something’s wrong. The little bit of influence you’ve managed is slipping away.
You move without thinking, pulling her into a crushing embrace and kiss her. It’s sloppy and desperate but if you’re kissing then you’re not talking, not feeling.
She goes stiff in your arms and pulls away. “You taste like cigarettes.”
Shit.
“I never said I’d quit.”
“You said you’d try. That you’d do your best.”
Shame keeps you from meeting her eyes.
“You were lying just now, weren’t you? Telling me what I want to hear?”
Fuck. You fucked this up. There’s gotta be something you can say. Something you could do differently. What’s the point of being so smart if you’re always such a colossal fuck up?
Then pen is in her hand and she’s signing the contract.
“Ugh. That got messy.” Miles pulls a vape pen from his pocket and flicks it. A golden glow bubbles up from Agnes, emerging from her chest to gather into a luminous cloud. The essence floats through the air like it’s being inhaled by his pen. “Hate the messy ones.”
It’s a relief when the world dissolves into darkness and you can’t see the expression on Agnes’s face anymore.
<<button "Next" "AnotherRound">><</button>><!--[[AnotherRound]]-->Agnes is too sweet for someone like Miles. He knows just where to push, just what to say to make her believe what he wants.
Not like it’s hard. Agnes comes pre-loaded ready to believe in people.
“What exactly do you do with all these soul bits? They, like, prize tickets in demonland? You’re saving up for the RC car, aren’t you?”
A muscle ticks in Miles’s jaw and he smiles tightly at you. “Little gouache to talk about that end of the business right now.”
“It’s her soul, isn’t it? She’s got a right to know what kind of perverted things you’re gonna do with it.”
Agnes sighs. “Maddie–”
“What the hell, man?” Miles pushes away from the table and squares off against you. “That’s a messed up thing to say.”
“Without transparency, people are gonna assume the worst.”
Good. You’ve got him rattled. Shake the cage a bit more. Then Agnes’ll see his true colors. He’s no better than you are. She should be able to recognize that by now.
“Never been a problem until you came along. All my clients got what they wanted from the deal. What’s your damage?”
There’s not a pocket dimension big enough to answer that question.
“Lucky for you, your clients aren’t in a great position to bargain. You can really cash in, huh? Got a referral program? Maybe I could send more people your way.”
Miles blinks at you then shakes his head. “Can’t change a deal that’s already been made.”
You turn to see Agnes has signed the contract.
“No.”
“How can you think this is about you?” She’s furious, hands shaking as she balls them into fists on the table. “Have I ever, <i>once</i> been a person to you?”
Your chest empties as you discover a whole new facet to see all the ways you’ve messed up.
“Christ, I”ll be glad when this one’s over.” Miles pulls a vape pen from his pocket and flicks it. A golden glow bubbles up from Agnes, emerging from her chest to gather into a luminous cloud. The essence floats through the air like it’s being inhaled into his pen. “Hate the messy ones.”
It’s a relief when the world dissolves into darkness and you can’t see the expression on Agnes’s face anymore.
<<button "Next" "AnotherRound">><</button>><!--[[AnotherRound]]--><nobr>
<<set $roundCounter++>>
“Another round?”</nobr>
You’re back at Haven. Back at the bar. Its sticky countertop more familiar than the one in your kitchen.
Two empty lowball glasses sit in front of you. That explains the fuzzy feeling in your head.
“Sure,” you say. “I’m up for another.”
The bartender sets another glass in front of you, this one full of liquid pergatory. It’s…
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">an old-fashioned. A personal fave</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">a Corpse Reviver no. 2 </font></li>
<li>[[tequila on the rocks|Round 2.1]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">a bad idea</font></li>
</ul>
Friday night at Haven. The music is a pressure wave, its vibrations mirrored by flailing limbs in an indistinguishable crowd. Once upon a time, you found comfort in that anonymous collective of bodies and desires.
Thank god that’s over. Now you find relief at the bottom of your glass. Like a normal human.
You’re a shithead. But you’re <i>your</i> shithead.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.2">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.2]]-->
“Maddie!” Your friend Seven slaps your shoulder hard enough to throw you off balance. To send your awareness stuttering through the infinite layers of multiverse and all the possibilities that spin out from that collision of atoms.
Shit, you’re already drunk.
“Jesus, you look miserable. Who kicked your dog?” He slides onto the stool next to you but his boxy pupils are trained on the dancefloor, swinging red lights glinting across his overly-long incisors.
You turn away from him and take a drink long enough if it were a rope you could hang from it. “Thought you were headed to Cleveland.”
“That <i>was</i> the plan, yeah. Turns out she–” He makes several exaggerated air quotes “--was actually a pineapple. Internet. Wild, yeah?”
Inscrutable.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.3">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.3]]-->
This conversation is done and you’re done with it. You turn to leave.
“You’re looking awful lonely tonight.”
Your eyes trail daggers toward Seven but he’s scrolling through his phone.
“No, I don’t.” You drain the glass. “The fuck does that mean, anyway? How does someone look lonely?”
He shrugs. “Dunno,” he says, the unmistakable distending of a smirk behind his pursed lips. “There’s just a whole lot more only-one-person going on right now than usual. Been a minute, is all.”
“Alone doesn’t mean lonely, jackass.”
“Right.” He slips his phone back into his pocket. “That’s what all the songs say.”
You wish he wasn’t right.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.4">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.4]]-->
“So not lonely. Just alone.”
What the hell is he getting at? You squint suspiciously at Seven as he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. A hunger works its way up through your limbs. With practiced ease, he slips a cigarette between his lips and snaps his fingers to light it.
Demons get all the cool party tricks.
“And you’re at Haven for no particular reason tonight?” He holds out the pack toward you.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">No. You promised her you’d quit</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You don’t do that shit anymore</font></li>
<li>[[“Yeah. Why not. Thanks.”|Round 2.5]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Never accept gifts from demons. Take one from your own pack</font></li>
</ul>You let him light it up for you with the stupid trick you’re not jealous of and inhale relief.
“I’m single now. Can’t a girl just want to get laid, anymore?”
“Ah ha!” He slaps the bar between you. “I knew the rumor was true. You and little Aggie. Kaputsky. Donerino. She dropped your ass so fast you–”
“Don’t call her Aggie. She hates that.”
Seven leans on the bar and scrutinizes your face. “But you don’t care because you’re over her?”
Of course you care. You’re just absolutely shit at it.
“Single and ready to mingle,” you say and immediately regret it.
Seven keeps staring.
You glare back. “What?”
“No, nothing.” He cups his clawed fingers on the far side of the bar and leans back into a cat-like stretch. “It’s only, you were different with her.”
You sigh. “Not different enough.”
“So, it’s not going to bother you that Agnes is here tonight. Sitting right over there. With her hand on Miles’s leg?”
Fuck.
“Hang on. When doe the leg officially become crotch?”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Don't look</font></li>
<li>[[Look|Round 2.6]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Leave the bar</font></li>
</ul>It’s a fucking renaissance painting. A tufted, leather couch tucked into a corner offset of the dance floor dripping with high-fashion, barely dressed bodies of all genders. He’s draped across her in full pieta. Probably just a poor excuse to touch her.
With the new dress she’s wearing she looks ready to sin.
Since when does Agnes have a dress like that? Who’d she wear it for?
Looking was a mistake.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.7">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.7]]-->
“You knew she was gonna be here. With him.”
“Yeah.” You inhale the cigarette to the filter, smash the butt into an ashtray and flick your fingers toward him for another.
“Shit,” he says and complies. “And here’s me thinking I had some intel for you. Finally.”
“Intel? Who talks like that.” You light the new cigarette with the old and smash the butt into an ashtray. “Give it to me anyway. What’s your intel?”
“Right. Folks have been saying they seen her around a lot. With Miles. Private conversations and such. In back rooms. Either she’s makin’ a deal with him or they’re doing the kind of business that doesn’t need as much clothing.”
He seems to realize what he’s saying as the words come plopping out of his mouth–laying on the filthy nightclub floor and staring at you. Impossible to ignore, now that they exist.
“Erhm. Purely transactional. I-I assume. His horizontal mambo always is.”
“True, but Miles’s exchange rate is garbage.”
Miles is a sleezeball. The type of person that takes advantage of people in need and does so with a hell of a lot of pleasure.
Why the hell is Agnes with him? What’s she trying to prove to you?
<<button "Next" "Round 2.8">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.8]]-->
“Purely hypothetical scenario we’re talking about here. If it were the little lady that you’re here for–”
“I’m not.”
“Right, right, right.”
You and Agnes never should’ve lasted as long as you did. And all the reasons you had for ending things with her haven’t changed.
But Miles is bad news. The kinds of things he gets mixed up can do lasting damage. Rebounding from you to him is a terrible turn of events.
Seven leans toward, head dipping down conspiratorally. “D’you reckon it’d be rude if we didn’t, y’now, go over. Say hi. Do some mingles.”
“Mingles isn’t a word.”
But you’re already moving, drink clutched in your hand like it’s a body you’re dragging. Seven actually does a twirl as he follows after you, bouncing from side to side to side.
“Oh, this is gonna be juicy!”
Seeing her will break you in two, but you just have to do it.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.9">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.9]]-->
Conversation quiets and eddies around your approach, whispers blossoming with each step closer to their figurehead. You don’t catch much of it but the word ‘monster’ stands out.
Your eyes are hopelessly locked on Agnes.
Seeing her sucks. Every nasty thought you’ve had about yourself and the way things went down with Agnes clings to your skin like mud. She’s pure and perfect and you just keep making a mess of things. But you can’t seem to let it go. Like a sore tooth you keep poking even though it hurts.
Your body, the traitor, remembers curling around hers. Raw lips pressed into her shoulder as sleep overwhelmed her and that heady feeling of holding something precious in your arms.
Something you were bound to break.
You feel…
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">anxious. It’s been a month since you’ve seen her. Standing before her is harder than you thought it’d be. She must be thinking so many awful things about you. And you deserve them all</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">pissed. You don’t want to be here, facing this group of Cruel Intentions rejects. When you closed a door it stayed closed. If it weren’t for Agnes getting mixed up with an asshat you’d be home. Maybe even getting laid</font></li>
<li>[[lost. It’s not the first time doing what was right by you left you feeling like shit. It’s just the longest that feeling’s ever lasted|Round 2.10]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">nothing. You’re numb. Have been for ages. You weren’t right for her. Feelings don’t change facts. Apathy is the only thing that keeps you sane anymore
</font></li>
</ul>
“Whiteclaw is underrated.” Miles looks up from her lap and grins. “Hey, hey, there. Fresh faces, love it. You’re Six, right?”
She’s not looking at you and a seed of fear blossoms into annoyance.
“Seven, actually.”
Miles snaps, wagging his finger and pivots to an upright position. “Seven! Right. Six is afraid of you.”
At least she’s not looking at Miles. You’re not sure what you’d do if she had eyes for him. Punch his stupid ass, probably.
Seven cocks his head to the side. “Why?”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">You know the answer, but it’s beneath you to respond</font></li>
<li>[[“You’ve never heard the joke before?”|Round 2.11]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Enough jokes. Down to business</font></li>
</ul>You roll your eyes. “Seriously, man? Because seven ate nine. It’s such a lame joke.”
A few of the surrounding groupies snicker and Seven scratches the back of his head, looking embarrassed.
Damn it. Why’d you say that? He’s the only one trying to help you here.
“And you’re Maddie.” Miles leans back and Agnes shifts to lean against him, staring disinterestedly to the side.
Wich is fucked up. You’ve never seen her not care. What point is she trying to make? Is this some silent treatment bullshit?
“Figured it was just a matter of time ‘til our paths crossed.” He drains the can and sets it on the floor. “After all, we’re both big players around here.”
Big players? Jesus. Stop living in a fantasy that anyone cares about you.
“Everybody wants something, right? We’ve all got itches to scratch. When you need some help with that itch, you see me.” He pauses and frowns. “Damn. I need a better tagline.”
He rests a hand casually on Agnes’s knee–and the knee of the twink next to him, but whatever. It’s a powerplay. An intentional move to signal he knows the score. He’s got what you want.
Son of a bitch.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.12">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.12]]-->
“Bit of a cynical look at the world, yeah?” Seven grins at the half-demon. “What if we just wanna be friends?”
It pisses you off that Miles is right. You do want something.
If only you could figure out exactly what.
Agnes.
No.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.13">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.13]]-->
You don’t put effort into something you don’t want, so why are you here talking to this ass hat? What the hell do you think you’re going to accomplish?
She still hasn’t looked at you. You think she cares what you want?
“Aw, that’s sweet. That really is.” Miles reaches for a fresh Whiteclaw a waitress brings him. “Only one problem. Friendship isn’t real.”
Agnes cocks an eyebrow.
“All humanoid interaction is by its very nature transactional. Person A wants something–because they always want something–and go to Person B to get it. The success of the relationship depends on how good Person B is at meeting the need.”
With violence he cracks open the can. Foam sprays across his knuckles and he flicks it away. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that bits of bubbles land on someone’s shoe.
“When the itch Person A needs scratched gets down into those squishy bits–into whatever bit of cosmic inspiration clings to these meatsacks of ours–then it gets interesting. That’s where I come in.”
He’s really feeling himself now. He’s got the attention of his vassals and he’s loving it.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.14">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.14]]-->Agnes is going to call him on his bullshit. She hates this kind of reductive, neoliberal approach to relationships. Anytime personal connections came up Agnes had something to say. An argument for the personal and social benefits of compassion and connectedness.
You used to poke the bear on purpose just to watch her get fired up. To watch her care. No one got passionate like Agnes.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.15">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.15]]-->
But she sits there. Silent. Running a finger along the edge of her skirt.
“Person B never lasts long.” Miles enjoys his monologue, oblivious to the tempest inside you. “Dives like Haven wouldn’t last long if they did, am I right?”
This is bullshit. She shouldn’t be sitting there all aloof and disinterested. This isn’t Agnes. She was supposed to be better without you.
“Hells, that sounds exhausting.” Seven laughs, trying to kindle a bit of levity into the conversation. “What if I just want a sandwich?”
After a while, you couldn’t stand the way she’d look at you. It was over the first time you made her cry.
“That’s the beauty of it, man.” Miles says. “You want a sandwich? Your Person B probably works at Subway. You just gotta figure out the rules and it gets so much easier to play the game.”
Agnes should be livid. Hell, you don’t give a shit and even you’re feeling pissed off at this guy. This is exactly the sort of thing that should send Agnes off.
Why is she just sitting there?
This is fucked. You need to fix this.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Punch Miles</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Get down to business</font></li>
<li>[[Fuck this guy. Tear him down|Round 2.16]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Ignore him. Ask Agnes if the two of you could talk</font></li>
</ul>
Tingling anger courses through your limbs and you finish off your drink.
“Must be easy for you,” you say, surprised by the coldness in your voice. “Sitting here with all your groupies. Just lousy with Person Bs.”
“Nothing wrong with having needs.” Miles leans back with a smirk. Does he want you pissed off? “Everybody’s got them. Demon, human, all the bits in between. No reason we can’t mutually benefit.”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Punch him</font></li>
<li>[[Keep digging the knife|Round 2.17]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">For the love of god, just talk to her</font></li>
</ul>
“And I’m sure that’s always a fair <i>transaction</i>.” Conversation around the group dies and all eyes are on you.
No wonder the little prick gets off on this. Being centerstage is a bit intoxicating.
“If everyone’s satisfied then–”
“Then it doesn’t matter if the cost doesn’t match the value of the goods? Because here’s the thing. I can see how well you’ve called your shot. This little throne setup is a nice touch–playing king of the desperate. Makes you feel important, doesn’t it? Giving people what they want. Maybe then they’ll give a shit about you and want to keep you around. Tell me, which parent do you think your pathetic existence will prove wrong?”
You’ve crossed a line. You feel it as soon as the words are out of your mouth. You get a couple giggles and gasps from the people around you and you set your empty glass down to avoid seeing the way they look at you.
You look at her, though. The way Agnes looks at you. She doesn’t like cruelty.
Fuck. You didn’t mean to go that far.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.18">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.18]]-->
The few smirks you see from people around you do little to ease the pang of regret. Miles slow claps but there’s a tightness around his eyes.
“Someone’s out for blood today.” He takes a drink from the Whiteclaw. “Fair enough. All business, then. What kind of Person B are you looking for today?”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Look at Agnes</font></li>
<li>[[Figure out what he's up to|Round 2.19]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Fuck that. You’re pissed at yourself and him. Start a fight</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Apologize</font></li>
</ul>
“Sure. All business. Tell me more about this ‘valuable service.’ What’s the cost?”
What’s Agnes agreed to give up? Why?
He waves the question away. “Something worthwhile answers both. But that’s a boring question.”
“What, no tiered package list? No menu to browse? Do you have an Etsy page?”
He actually laughs at that last one. “I mean, I kind of like the idea of that but logistically it’d never work. My approach is a bit more…”
He ghosts a hand along the back of Agnes’s hair and smirks at you.
“Tactile.”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Pull her away from him</font></li>
<li>[[Seethe|Round 2.20]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Walk away</font></li>
</ul>
You take a deep breath. Not to calm yourself but to stoke the burning resentment within you.
Some part of you knows the smart thing to do is walk away. Your head’s a mess. You’ve had just enough to drink to quiet your Jiminy Cricket. Plus you’ve got your head and your ass mixed up with how you’re thinking about Agnes. She’s not a prize, she’s a person. And even if her forgiveness is something you could win, you were the one that called things off.
“You’re a full demon, Seven,” you say. “This sound legit?”
“I guess, maybe. Kinda gets into soul magic territory, though. That shit gets weird.”
Soul magic, huh? You glare at Miles. “And what does this kinda weird shit cost?”
“Depends on the ask. Tickets to the game are one thing, getting rid of obnoxious exes is another level.”
“And us mere humans are supposed to just trust that you can actually deliver on your promises?”
Miles’s jaw juts to the side and he glares at you. “If you wanted to ride my dick so bad at least buy me a drink first.”
“Are you a petulant little prick because I hurt your feelings or does that come naturally?”
Agnes gets up and walks away.
Shit.
Miles watches her go and his smile gets meaner. “Oops. Looks like you added another nail to that coffin.”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Punch him</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Make a deal with Miles</font></li>
<li>[[Go after her|Round 2.21]]</li>
</ul>
You turn to follow Agnes and Seven grabs your arm.
“Hey, I’ll stick around and see what I can dig up on their deal, yeah? Go after your girl.”
“She’s not–”
“Whatever, dude. Just be less of a butthead, yeah?”
“Butthead? Are you for real?”
“Go!” And he pushes you toward the crowd Agnes disappeared into.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.22">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.22]]-->
What a clusterfuck tonight is.
It doesn’t matter how badly you wish you’d done something different. No matter what path you take, you’re always going to end up right back here. A fuck-up that does nothing but hurt people.
Agnes deserves better than you.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.23">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.23]]-->
Why are you chasing after her then?
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">It’s been a month and still, you can’t let her go</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You like pain. Feeling it. Causing it. Life is pain. If you’re in it you’re living and the sharper the better</font></li>
<li>[[Maybe this is her way of punishing you…and you sure as hell deserve to let her do it|Round 2.24]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Just because you’re a selfish bitch doesn’t mean Agnes should suffer. You started things with her knowing she wanted more than you could give</font></li>
</ul>You don’t have time to process that thought before you see that electric blue dress of hers enter the hallway toward the bathrooms. Instinct has never served you well, but you follow it anyway and rush to catch up to her.
Hopefully your mouth figures out what to say by the time you reach her.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.25">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.25]]-->
“Agnes!” You push past a couple in the middle of an argument. She must’ve heard you but she doesn’t stop. Lucky for you, there’s a short line for the women’s bathroom.
As you reach her, Agnes takes a deep breath. For the first time you start to doubt that you have any idea what’s going on in her head.
“What the hell was that all about, Maddie?” She turns to you, wrapping her arms over her stomach.
God, you’ve missed the sound of her voice.
“What was that about? What the hell are you doing with a guy like Miles? All of that bullshit he was mouthing off didn’t bother you? He uses people.”
“At least he’s upfront about it.”
She might as well have slapped you.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">You deserve that. Hell, you deserve a lot more than that</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Oh, like she knows you? Like she understands?</font></li>
<li>[[This hurts. This hurts and you hate it. Leave. Let her fuck up her own life if she wants|Round 2.26]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Pay attention. Agnes isn’t sharp like this. Something’s wrong</font></li>
</ul>
As you turn to leave, arms wrap around your waist and sticky, soft lips press against your neck.
“Maddie, baby. You been screening my calls?”
Shit.
You recognize the voice but can’t remember the name that goes with it. Agnes’s expression has gone stony. The woman slides around to stand next to you, one arm resting low on your hips as she leans into your leg.
“Angelica. God, hey, haven’t seen you in…”
A year at least. Damn, she looks good.
“A few months ago. Taylor’s party? That was a crazy night. I’m not surprised you don’t remember.” Her eyes trail along Agnes, resting a bit too long at the neckline. “She’s a cutie.”
Tempting, but this is the last thing you need right now.
“Give us a minute, will you?” You rest a hand on her ass and press a quick kiss to her temple, knowing the attention will get you the reaction you want. “Find me at the bar. Later.”
It works. Angelica gives you both a satisfied smirk and saunters away.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">“It’s not what you think.” </font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Go on like nothing happened </font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Maybe you’ll get laid tonight, after all</font></li>
<li>[[You didn’t do anything wrong. Apologize anyway|Round 2.27]]</li>
</ul>
“I’m sorry.”
Agnes stares at you and for one, aching moment it looks like she’s going to lash out at you. Finally, your wickedness will be punished. But a look of heartbreak comes over Agnes’s face and the dullness of devastation dims the spark in her eyes.
“Of all the things to apologize for, Maddie, that’s not even on the list. Don’t you know me at all?”
She pushes past you and you don’t stop her.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.28">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.28]]-->
How long are you going to keep lying to yourself?
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Coming here was a mistake. You’re only going to hurt her more </font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Coming here was a mistake. You’re not in a place to handle the way you feel</font></li>
<li>[[Coming here was a mistake. You shoulda gone somewhere else and found a quick hook-up to get her out of your system|Round 2.29]]</li>
</ul>
“There you are.” Seven appears next to you and he’s got an actual notebook in his hands. “A’right, I’ve got some–oh, sweet, the john. I’ve gotta take a leak.”
He shoves the notebook at you and dashes away.
“Like trying to keep a flea focused.” You shake your head and flip through his notes. Most of it is illegible. Or stick figures. Do you even care at this point? If you keep trying you’ll keep fucking up.
One page catches your eye–it has COST written at the top and further on the page is the word SELF circled a few times.
Self. What could that even mean? Miles would give you what you want in exchange for…your identity?
Maybe he’s a cheap conman after all.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.30">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.30]]-->
“Oh, good. You read my notes.” Seven wipes his hands on his jeans and bounces excitedly. “Wild, yeah? What’re you gonna do?”
You hold up the notebook. “I have no idea what this means.”
“Seriously?” He looks crestfallen. “Dang, dude. I thought I did a good job.”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Poor guy. He tried. You don’t have the heart to give him shit about it</font></li>
<li>[[Stare at him|Round 2.31]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Can’t he take anything seriously for once? </font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Doesn’t matter. There’s no point in trying. Go find Angelica</font></li>
</ul>
He frowns at the notebook. “Actually, that makes sense. Not to do a lore dump or anything, but the bloodline Miles comes from has some hefty ties to soul magic. All that human in him waters it down, but sounds like he can access some way weird stuff.”
Sounds fake, but what the hell do you know about demonology?
“Fine. Sure. What does his soul magic actually do, though?”
“Miles was pretty vague about it–”
“Of course he was.”
“From the sound of it, Miles can take a bad part, yeah? Something about yourself you wish was different.” He flips through his notes until he gets to a drawing of a stick figure going super saiyan. “And turns it into something awesome. Dope, yeah?”
You flip to the next page and tap the word COST.
“Right. Yeah. That’s where it gets a bit weird.”
“<i>That’s</i> where it gets weird?”
“I dunno, man. This is where Miles started going on about equivalent exchange, then I started thinking about Full Metal and maybe Miles could turn me into a suit of armor and I couldn’t decide if that would be dope or not.”
“It’s not just money?”
“Nah. He takes some dosh but it ain’t the money that makes the magic work.”
“Does it? Work, I mean.”
Seven goes a little red in the cheeks. “I mean, an old client of Miles’s seemed pretty satisfied.”
“That means jack shit!” you say a little too loudly and get some odd looks from the women in line. With a huff, you drag Seven back a few steps toward the main floor of the club.
“It’s a classic con.” You have to stand on tip toe to reach Seven’s ear. “Having someone in the crowd talk about how good your snake oil is sells more snake oil. That way Miles looks legit and gets more clients.”
“Oh. Yeah” Seven glances toward the couches with a curious look on his face.
“What did Miles say about the price tag?”
“That it had to be important. He could only take if something equal was traded.”
An ache squeezes your chest. Equivalent exchange. In order to gain something about yourself to love you have to lose something you love? You don’t want Agnes to change.
You run a hand through your hair and pull until it hurts. Shit. If only you knew what Agnes was after. If it was something small, maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.32">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.32]]-->
You’ve got to stop her. At least try and reason with her. The idea of Agnes being Not Agnes is profane.
And if you don’t do something, this will all be your fault.
“I’ve got to find her,” you mutter and turn away.
“Dude's in a pocket dimension. Miles, I mean.”
You stop and pivot. “A what now?”
Seven nods and points toward a door next to the bar marked STAFF ONLY. “He’s got some kind of set up with the owner. Does all his business in a pocket dimension back there.”
Great. Just great. “How am I supposed to get in?”
“Go through door three. You just need something he loves. Then BAM! Pocket dimension. Rad, yeah?”
Something he loves. What the hell could–
Your eyes snap back to the booth and land on the bright white cans abandoned on the floor.
“Fuck me sideways.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just hoping Miles is as much of a douche as I think he is.” Betting on people being awful hasn’t let you down so far. “Why’d he tell you all this?”
Seven shrugs. “Eh, most folks is happy to yap and yap if you give ‘em space for it.”
You pause.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Seven is always happy to go along with whatever crazy shit you’re up to. Have you ever thanked him for it?</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You’ve known Seven for a while now. How many secrets about yourself have you unwittingly spilled? </font></li>
<li>[[Miles probably played him. You shouldn’t put much stock in anything he’s said|Round 2.33]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Seven seems lonely</font></li>
</ul>
“Right,” you say, making a note to watch your mouth around him going forward. “Hey, do me one more favor.”
“Sure thing.”
“Keep the bartender busy while I sneak back there.”
“Aw, hell yeah! You gonna infiltrate?”
You roll your eyes, already regretting what’s about to happen. “Infiltration. Sure. Why not?”
“Hells yeah. I am your man. No one’s gonna interfere. You will get that girl back!”
“I’m not–oh, forget it.”
And you’re off to grab the discarded Whiteclaw hoping it’s something Miles actually loves. The freak.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.34">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.34]]-->
Striding toward the door, you cast one last glance at the dance floor and see Angelica dancing near others but alone. She’s a good dancer. Movements timed perfectly with the music and when she runs her hands over her chest your fingers twitch.
You swallow past the sudden lump in your throat.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">You are too fucked up to handle any more complications tonight. She’s hot, but not that hot. Stay on target </font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Give up on Agnes. Hedonism is what you really want, anyway</font></li>
<li>[[It’d be nice for it to be that simple. Move on. Ignore all the problems you caused. Someone else can clean up the mess. Get lost on the dance floor|Round 2.35]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">You don’t stop long enough to think about it</font></li>
</ul>
But why ruin an awful night with a good time?
Keeping your head down and eyes forward, you walk up to the staff door like you belong there. Shit, what if it’s locked? It would be annoying, as an employee, to deal with keys all night. If it were up to you–
The knob doesn’t turn but with a tug the door pops open.
–you’d tape the latch down. Lucky day.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.37">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.37]]-->
Beyond the door is a narrow hallway lined with numbered doors. If you stopped long enough to think, you’d wonder why this hallway existed behind the bar and if the geography of it made any sense.
But if you were stopping long enough to think you’d wonder what the hell you were doing here. Or how exactly you’d wonder why you were bothering to be somewhere you weren’t wanted.
You caused the problem. Trying to fix it will just make it worse. Turn around and leave. Leave this city. Leave the state. Get as far as you can.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Leave</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Get out</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You'll make it worse</font></li>
<li>[[There’s a number three on that door|Round 2.38]]</li>
</ul>
Fine. What’s the game plan? If you’re doing this, you’re doing this.
Bust through the door is an option. Maybe Miles’s true colors will show and you’ll find Agnes tied to train tracks ready to be rescued. You’ll be the big damn hero and…what then? Break up with her again?
Why do you keep showing up when you know it’s wrong?
<ul>
<li>[[You’re a masochist and the only love you know involves pain. Hurting someone is how you love them|Round 2.39]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">You’re not. This is a one-time thing. You’ve fucked things up with Agnes and you’ve accepted that. The least you can do is stop her from doing something she’ll regret</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Some part of you must want to be here. For her. With her. No matter what, it ends in tears. Is it so wrong to want a bit of peace?</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You have no idea why you do anything</font></li>
</ul>
Door three stands before you. Plain wood. Spray painted numeral stencil. It’s slightly off center and you are stalling.
Last chance to back out. To make a different choice
<ul>
<li>[[Stop kidding yourself. There was never a choice to begin with|Round 2.40]]</li>
</ul>
It doesn’t fill you with much confidence that your plan hinges on a sticky, half-empty can of Berry Bajargarita Blast Whiteclaw. There’s no way this’ll work.
Door three swings open easily onto an empty, yawning void.
“Seriously? He loves this crap?”
You cross the threshold and the door closes behind you.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.41">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.41]]-->
Pocket dimensions feel a lot like those gaps in memory when you’re blackout drunk. A sort of humid sense of awareness without any sensory input. An uncomfortable feeling of waiting for something to happen.
Fingers crossed you don’t leap back to consciousness mid-vomit like usual.
There’s a glow in the distance and, in the absence of alternatives, you head toward it.
As if the idea of being there is a mode of transportation, you’re suddenly standing in a desaturated simulation of Agnes’s apartment. Just by the front door. It all looks like pencil drawing on paper. Vague brushstrokes of the real thing.
Emotion catches in your ribs. Agnes has a nice place. It’s cluttered but cozy and full of little things that make it hers. Who would you have become if you stayed?
What would you have turned Agnes into? You left and she runs out to sell her soul to a demon.
Christ, is there anything you don’t ruin?
<<button "Next" "Round 2.42">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.42]]-->
“Sorry about all the legalese, there.” Miles is in full salesman mode, phony laugh and all. “Contracts, am I right?”
They’re in her main room. Whatever you’re going to do, now’s the time to do it.
<ul>
<li>[[The devil works hard but your loathing works harder. Go in wrecking ball style|Round 2.43]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">You’re here to save Agnes. Diplomacy is your best bet </font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Sacrifice yourself. Make a counter offer to Miles so Agnes doesn’t do it</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Wait. Listen</font></li>
</ul>
You square your shoulders, take a deep breath and turn the corner ready to start throwing shit.
Only to find Miles and Agnes at her dining table with some paperwork.
Not exactly the heroic entrance you envisioned.
“Unbelievable.” Agnes pinches the bridge of her nose.
Miles stands, looking uncertainly between the two of you. “Whoa, uh, hey there, Madds.”
You hate being called that.
He pauses for a moment before shooting finger guns at you. “Welcome to the domain. I don’t really–there isn’t–how’d you get in here?”
You hold up the can and slosh its contents around.
“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.”
Heedless of anything yourself or anyone else might’ve done to the drink, he grabs it from you and knocks back the rest. Gross.
<<button "Next" "Round 2.44">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.44]]-->
“Look,” you say, “Whatever you’re about to do, don’t. Take a minute to think about it.”
“Why do you think I haven’t?”
“Because no one in their right mind would give up part of their soul to someone like him!”
You jab a finger at Miles.
“Ohhh, I see what’s going on here.” Miles crosses over to Agnes, leaning down over the back of her chair and lowering his voice. “She’s jealous.”
“As if.”
“She saw you moving on,” he continues like you’re not there. “Doing fine. Making choices for yourself. She’s just starting to figure out she’s not Person B anymore.”
“Anyone who thinks I’m Person B material is an idiot.”
But the seed of doubt is planted in both of you. Damn it, you can’t believe Miles is getting in your head.
Agnes finally looks up at you and all the resentment you expected is plain on her face. “I can text you for a week and got nothing but as soon as I’m the one indulging in self-destructive behavior then you feel the need to say something?”
Miles winces. “Self-destructive is a bit–”
“No.” She slaps a hand on the table and grabs the pen. “The whole point of this stupid thing is to stop being the weak and naive little girl that I am.”
“Hang on, you think making a deal with a demon–”
“Half-demon.”
“--is how you stop being naive?”
Tears shimmer in her eyes but that’s fine. Agnes is an easy crier.
That’s fine.
“You don’t get to come in here and start deciding how I live my life. For once, could you pick what you want me to be and stick with it? If the not-actually-dating we were doing is over then I need it to stay that way. I can’t take inbetween.”
“Hey, Agnes baby, it’s okay.” Miles gives her shoulder a squeeze and pushes the contract closer. “Soon, all of that won’t matter. You’ll shrug it all off and it’ll never bother you again.”
“What’s he talking about?”
“Apathy,” Agnes says dully. “All I have to do is give up some enthusiasm. Then shit like this won’t hurt so bad. I’ll be tough and strong.”
<<button "Next" "Round 2.45">><</button>><!--[[Round 2.45]]-->
“You can’t do that,” you say, not sure if you’re talking to her or Miles. “You’re not Agnes without enthusiasm.”
She sobs a laugh. “Because being Agnes has done me so much good. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to care so hard?”
How long has it been since you let yourself care about something? Or someone?
“No.”
“Exactly. All I wanted was to be important to you. For you to care about me. And it really sucks that this fucking moment is the first time I’ve ever really believed that you might.”
Hadn’t she seen you’d done everything you could?
Of course it wasn’t enough for her. There wasn’t any version of the world that you’d be good enough for Agnes.
Just another disappointment.
“Doesn’t have to be that way,” Miles says in her ear, hand sliding down her arm to rest over her fingers on the pen. “All the comfort and release of indifference literally at your fingertips.”
Your gaze turns to him and clarity strikes. The easiest solution can be found in the smallest part of the problem. No Miles, no contract, no dead inside Agnes.
<<button "Next" "The Choice">><</button>><!--[[The Choice]]-->You turn your attention fully toward Miles. “Who the hell are you to decide who someone gets to be?”
“Me?” He takes a step back from you. “Hey, I’m not deciding shit. If people–”
“Bullshit.You show up when people are low. When they’re desperate. You offer a choice that <i>maybe</i> they’d take you up on if they were thinking straight. But they’ll never know. And your promises are vague as hell.”
Leaning over the table, you grab Agnes’s hand. “I get that I’m the last person you want to hear from right now. Don’t let this asshat make things worse.”
“Hey!”
“Please. Let’s just go talk somewhere. Maybe I can–please.”
It’s the last thing in the world you want to do but you’re desperate. Tonight is out of control but if you can get her away from Miles you’ll have a minute to think.
At the very least she’ll be away from him.
There are tears in her eyes. Fuck.
“This last month…” She leans forward, takes a deep breath then freezes.
Some kind of look you can’t read comes over her face but it sparks panic in you. Something’s wrong. The little bit of influence you’ve managed is slipping away.
You move without thinking, pulling her into a crushing embrace and kiss her. It’s sloppy and desperate but if you’re kissing then you’re not talking, not feeling.
She goes stiff in your arms and pulls away. “You taste like cigarettes.”
Shit.
“I never said I’d quit.”
“You said you’d try. That you’d do your best.”
Shame keeps you from meeting her eyes.
“You were lying just now, weren’t you? Telling me what I want to hear?”
Fuck. You fucked this up. There’s gotta be something you can say. Something you could do differently. What’s the point of being so smart if you’re always such a colossal fuck up?
Then pen is in her hand and she’s signing the contract.
“Ugh. That got messy.” Miles pulls a vape pen from his pocket and flicks it. A golden glow bubbles up from Agnes, emerging from her chest to gather into a luminous cloud. The essence floats through the air like it’s being inhaled by his pen. “Hate the messy ones.”
It’s a relief when the world dissolves into darkness and you can’t see the expression on Agnes’s face anymore.
<<button "Next" "AnotherRound">><</button>><!--[[AnotherRound]]-->Agnes is too sweet for someone like Miles. He knows just where to push, just what to say to make her believe what he wants.
Not like it’s hard. Agnes comes pre-loaded ready to believe in people.
“What exactly do you do with all these soul bits? They, like, prize tickets in demonland? You’re saving up for the RC car, aren’t you?”
A muscle ticks in Miles’s jaw and he smiles tightly at you. “Little gouache to talk about that end of the business right now.”
“It’s her soul, isn’t it? She’s got a right to know what kind of perverted things you’re gonna do with it.”
Agnes sighs. “Maddie–”
“What the hell, man?” Miles pushes away from the table and squares off against you. “That’s a messed up thing to say.”
“Without transparency, people are gonna assume the worst.”
Good. You’ve got him rattled. Shake the cage a bit more. Then Agnes’ll see his true colors. He’s no better than you are. She should be able to recognize that by now.
“Never been a problem until you came along. All my clients got what they wanted from the deal. What’s your damage?”
There’s not a pocket dimension big enough to answer that question.
“Lucky for you, your clients aren’t in a great position to bargain. You can really cash in, huh? Got a referral program? Maybe I could send more people your way.”
Miles blinks at you then shakes his head. “Can’t change a deal that’s already been made.”
You turn to see Agnes has signed the contract.
“No.”
“How can you think this is about you?” She’s furious, hands shaking as she balls them into fists on the table. “Have I ever, <i>once</i> been a person to you?”
Your chest empties as you discover a whole new facet to see all the ways you’ve messed up.
“Christ, I”ll be glad when this one’s over.” Miles pulls a vape pen from his pocket and flicks it. A golden glow bubbles up from Agnes, emerging from her chest to gather into a luminous cloud. The essence floats through the air like it’s being inhaled into his pen. “Hate the messy ones.”
It’s a relief when the world dissolves into darkness and you can’t see the expression on Agnes’s face anymore.
<<button "Next" "AnotherRound">><</button>><!--[[AnotherRound]]--><nobr>
<<set $roundCounter++>>
“Another round?”</nobr>
You’re back at Haven. Back at the bar. Alone. Like you deserve.
Three empty lowball glasses sit in front of you.
“Sure,” you say, leaning heavily on the bar. “I’m up for another.”
Fuck. Three in already. You don’t even remember what you’ve been drinking.
The bartender sets another glass in front of you, this one full of liquid damnation. It’s…
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">an old-fashioned. A personal fave</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">a Corpse Reviver no. 2 </font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">tequila on the rocks</font></li>
<li>[[a bad idea|Round 3.1]]</li>
</ul>
The Friday night crowd is heavy in the club and the pounding bass of the music sets a headache blossoming behind your eyes. Look at them all. Human, demons and everything inbetween all desperately seeking some kind of relevance. On the dance floor, with each other, it doesn’t matter. They cling to any little thing that’ll give them an excuse to keep existing.
Maybe you should join them.
<<button "Next" "Round 3.2">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.2]]-->
“Maddie!” Seven slaps your shoulder hard enough that a bit of your drink sloshes onto your hand. You glare at him.
“Jesus, you look miserable.” He plops onto the stool next to you and waves at the bartender before turning his boxy pupils toward the dance floor.
Of course Seven would show up to witness your downward spiral. Whenever anything important happens, he’s there to mix himself right in the middle of it. His interfering is the last thing you need tonight. Memories rush like feral waves to your mind and it’s all you can do to keep from growling as you take a swig from your glass.
“Not looking for company tonight, demon.”
“Hmmm, noticed that.” He grins and waves a hand around the empty stool on the other side of you. “There’s a whole lot more single person going on here than usual.”
<ul>
<li>[[And you like it that way|Round 3.3]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">You’re both better off</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Being with her was a mistake. A selfish, stupid mistake</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You were always going to disappoint her</font></li>
</ul>
“What’s your point?” you snap.
He laughs at you. “Ooh, someone’s feeling spicy tonight. I heard you and Agnes split. Didn’t think it’d make you so grouchy, yeah?”
Pulling a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, Seven expertly slips one between his lips and lights it with a snap of his fingers. Show off.
He extends the pack toward you.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">No. You promised her you’d quit</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You don’t do that shit anymore</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">“Yeah. Why not. Thanks.”</font></li>
<li>[[Never accept gifts from demons. Take one from your own pack|Round 3.4]]</li>
</ul>
You reach into your jacket pocket only to find it empty. Fuck. The last pack you had was a casualty of the penultimate fight with Agnes. Another thing she’s cost you. Begrudgingly, you take a cigarette from Seven and let him light it for you.
“So, why’d she dump you?”
Gossipy bitch.
“Who said she ended it?
“Dude. Come on. You’re a piece of shit and she’s Agnes. Girl’s, like, an angel.”
Rude, but fair. You fill your lungs with enough smoke to spark panic in your monkey brain at the lack of oxygen.
“I ended it.” The words feel like a noose around your neck. “She committed the cardinal sin. She got needy.”
<<button "Next" "Round 3.5">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.5]]-->
Seven spends a bit too long staring at you and it pisses you off.
“Shame,” he says and turns back toward the dance floor. “You were different with her.”
“Get fucked,” you mutter below the music.
“It won’t bother you that Agnes is here tonight, yeah? Right over there. With Miles. Got her hand on his leg and all.”
Fuck.
“Hang on. When does the leg officially become crotch?”
<ul>
<li>[[Don't look|Round 3.6]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Look</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Leave the bar</font></li>
</ul>
You’ve already seen her. Clocked her the minute you walked up to the bar. That blue dress she’s wearing is seared in your memory. Agnes is sending a message with that blatant display. She’s out here looking for sin tonight.
Did she know you’d be here tonight? To try and stop her from making the second biggest mistake of her life?
The first being getting involved with you, of course.
That does assume she’s wearing the dress for you and not for that twat she’s with.
“You knew she was gonna be here with him.”
Glaring at him, you smash the cigarette into an ashtray. If Seven actually knew you, he wouldn’t be surprised.
<<button "Next" "Round 3.7">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.7]]-->
Much as you wish it wasn’t the case, Miles has a way of insinuating himself in a lot of people’s business. Whatever kind of business he deals in has always felt sleazy. You’ve never looked too closely at the services on offer since you’re not part of his target demographic–the stupid, the wannabes and the desperate.
Why the hell is Agnes with him?
<<button "Next" "Round 3.8">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.8]]-->
“Guess it’s just coincidence, yeah?” Seven says, bouncing on his toes when you don’t answer him. “Not 'cause you have any ideas in that head of yours about getting involved in her business. Or anything like that, right?”
You roll your eyes at him and are already moving, drink clutched in your hand like it’s an axe you’re dragging. Seven punches a fist in the air and follows after you.
“Yes! What’s the plan? What’s our angle?”
Our? Adorable. You finish your drink on the way and leave the empty glass on a random table.
“Start shit.”
Seven falters then rushes to catch up. “Hey now, ain’t that followed by get hit?”
“Only if I’m lucky,” you mutter and take the couple steps down into the recessed seating area where Miles holds court.
<<button "Next" "Round 3.9">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.9]]-->
Seeing her up close is a sharper sting than you anticipated but whatever emotion pops up gets bulldozed by your anger. You don’t even look at her. Keep Miles in your sights, if it weren’t for him you’d be deep in a new lover by now and blitzed enough to make your ego call out sick for the night.
If it weren’t for this fucker taking advantage of peole like Agnes the world would be a lot better off.
<i>You still talking about Miles, right?</i>
You feel…
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">anxious. It’s been a month since you’ve seen her. Standing before her is harder than you thought it’d be. God, what awful things she must think about you. And you deserve them all</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">pissed. You don’t want to be here, facing this group of Cruel Intentions rejects. When you closed a door it stayed closed. If it weren’t for Agnes getting mixed up with an asshat you’d be home. Maybe even getting laid</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">lost. It’s not the first time doing the right thing left you feeling like shit. It’s just the longest that feeling’s ever lasted</font></li>
<li>[[nothing. You’re numb. Have been for ages. You weren’t right for her. Feelings don’t change facts. Apathy is the only thing that keeps you sane anymore|Round 3.10]]</li>
</ul>
“People don’t realize, Whiteclaw is underrated.” Miles looks up from her laps and grins. “Hey, hey, there–”
“What the hell are you doing?” You ask the question toward Miles though you don’t really mean it for him.
Miles’s eyebrows raise and he slowly pushes into a sitting position, glancing between you and Agnes. “Hm, bit blunt for my tastes but we can play ball. I’m guessing you’re not here to chat. You’re Maddie, right?”
Fighting words bounce around your head but before you can settle on any of them, Miles keeps talking.
“I always wondered when our paths would cross. Both of us are big players around here, after all.” He drains the can and drops it on the floor by his feet.
Big players? Jesus. Could he be any more delusional? No one gives a fuck about him.
“Fortunately for me,” he says like someone that gets off on the sound of their own voice. “Everybody needs things. And I do mean everybody. What is it you need, Maddie?”
He sets one hand on the thigh of the twink sitting next to him and the other rests on Agnes’s knee.
You need…
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">To calm down or this is going to escalate quickly</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Agnes as far away from this guy as possible</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Some perspective. Agnes can make her own choices. Walk away</font></li>
<li>[[To put this motherfucker in his place|Round 3.11]]</li>
</ul>
“It’s an impressive skill set,” you say and your voice sounds harsh, even to you. “Being able to meet anyone’s need? Sounds kind of improbable, actually.”
The mood around you shifts as all of his groupies realize there’s a charged atmosphere between you. Seven turns toward you but you’re not interested.
“I just mean, if it were something you could actually do, that’d be valuable.” You lean back on one leg and cross your arms over you chest, trying to look bored though tension leaves you feeling taught. “Sounds like you’d be important. Too important for a place like this.”
Miles smirks and grabs another Whiteclaw brought over by a waitress. “Isn’t this your favorite dive? You must not think highly of yourself for it to be your favorite.”
Now you look at Agnes. She’s the only one that knows how much you actually love Haven.
Her eyes stay fixed on the floor.
There’s not a doubt in your mind that this is personal. Maybe before you coulda talked yourself into thinking reasonably about this. But knowing that? Knowing Agnes shared your secret with him?
This wasn’t a fair fight to begin with.
<<button "Next" "Round 3.12">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.12]]-->
“Oh, I see what’s going on.” Your vision tunnels and the rest of the club fades around you. There’s only Agnes and this shithead. “You’ve got this whole throne set up going on here. Nice. Classy. But it’s kind of gone to your head, hasn’t it? See, when you make sure that everyone around you is a desperate son of a bitch, being the person to provide feels real good, doesn’t it?”
Miles settles back on the sofa, the unopened Whiteclaw resting on his thigh.
“Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. It’s good to feel important. To be useful to the people around you. But you’ve got to have learned by now that it never lasts. Eventually they figure out you're a fucking liar. You don’t actually give anyone what they need, do you Miles? You give them what they want which isn’t the same. But it makes you feel good for a while. Makes you think that maybe your pathetic existence might not be a complete waste of air.”
You still talking about Miles, right?
<<button "Next" "Round 3.13">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.13]]-->
Silence bubbles around your ears for one aching breath before it bursts and the thumping bass of the music pounds like a nauseating heartbeat.
Miles grins but there’s a tension to it. He shakes his head then leans over to Agnes, whispers something in her ear before getting up. “See you around, Madds. I prefer to have a good time when someone’s busting my nuts.”
<ul>
<li>[[Punch him|Round 3.14]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Punch him</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Punch him</font></li>
</ul>Seven grabs your arm and Miles continues on, unaccosted. Bastard.
“Hey.” Seven grabs your other arm and pulls you close–closer than is comfortable. “Dude. Hey, stop. What the hell, yeah?”
You look up into his inhuman eyes and adrenaline surges through you again. He doesn’t get it. No one understands. No one can understand.
You’re alone. You should be alone. However other people’s brains work it doesn’t match your own. Some thoughts settle in your mind that would never occur to a normal person. No one ever gets it. You can let them in all you like–each time with a hope as desperate as prayer to a non-existent god–it doesn’t matter.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">They</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Don't</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Get</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">It</font></li>
<li>[[She almost did|Round 3.15]]</li>
</ul>If Seven sees something on your face, you have no idea what it might be. “Maybe you should go home.”
Home? The only place that’s felt like home in an eternity is sitting on that damn couch and you’re about a thousand miles away from there.
“What I need,” you hiss, ignoring the rising whispers around you. “Is for that snake to be as far away from Agnes as possible.”
Seven sighs. “You’re not gonna rest until it’s settled, yeah?”
“You’re damn right about that.”
He sighs and an emotion you can’t parse crosses his face. Just as quickly, he’s squaring his shoulders and looking at the crowd of onlookers gossiping at Miles’s departure.
It’s only then you realize Agnes is gone, too.
“Okay, I get it, yeah? Go after your girl. I’ll find out what I can here. Go!” He pushes you toward the dancers and you spy a bright blue dress blending into the crowd.
<<button "Next" "Round 3.16">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.16]]-->
Bodies move around you like a current, all of them caught in the discordant rhythm. The smell is a battle royale of sweat, cheap body sprays and booze. You’re drowning in people and odors and your own inescapable shame.
Tonight isn’t going well and it’s your fault. As usual. Could you stop being such a fuck up for once?
It never seems to matter how hard you try. The choice you make is always the wrong one. After a lifetime, you think you’d be better at hiding all of the things that make you a terrible person. You’ll never be good enough for anyone. You’re not even good enough to fake it.
You couldn’t be what Agnes wanted you to be. If you hadn’t ended it with her, you’d just keep letting her down over and over again. And this wallowing pit of despair you’re feeling right now would become a permanent fixture.
Living like that would…there are some thoughts that are better off not finished.
<<button "Next" "Round 3.17">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.17]]-->
“Agnes!” You push past a couple crying on each other to reach her before she slips into the restroom. Oddly, there isn’t anyone in line.
As you reach her, Agnes takes a deep breath and turns to you with a horribly forced smile.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses.
That stops you in your tracks. God, you’ve missed the sound of her voice. Even her angry voice. “Me? What the hell are you doing with Miles?”
“We all have needs, Maddie.” She wraps her arms around her stomach and shifts away from you. “Needing things isn’t a sin.”
“Anything that Miles is going to give you isn’t worth it.”
“Why are you even here? Why do you care? You broke up with me. Which is extra crazy because you never wanted to officially date me.”
“I–”
“No,” Agnes says, heat darkening her face and tears distorting her eyes. “You shut up and let me talk. For all the real estate you take up in my brain do you even think of me? Do I matter at all?”
“We said casual. You knew what this was when we started.”
“So did you. But you keep showing up–you kept needing me. You’d break open like I was the only thing keeping you alive. Do you have any idea how much pressure that is? And the next day I wouldn’t mean a damn thing to you. And it’d take up so much fucking space in my brain I couldn’t function. And I wouldn’t tell you because I couldn’t handle knowing if you’d actually care or not.”
Agnes sighs and you watch as the burden of whatever she’s feeling stoops her shoulders.
“I was never really a person to you, was I? Just a distraction from yourself. It didn’t matter how much you hurt me because that was my problem to deal with.”
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">You deserve that. Hell, you deserve a lot more than that</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Oh, like she knows you? Like she understands?</font></li>
<li>[[This hurts. This hurts and you hate it. Leave. Let her fuck up her own life if she wants|Round 3.18]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Pay attention. Agnes is being real. She needs you</font></li>
</ul>
Time to go. This was a mistake. She’s right. Her pain is her own problem to deal with. You turn to leave.
“Fine,” she says, anger sharpening her words to knife points. “Slither back into your shame. Wallow like it’s penance. Tear yourself apart until I’m the monster for needing you. God forbid you take action to try and make up for anything.”
You pause, facing away from her and laugh once to yourself. “Wow. From the lips of angels falls hypocrisy. Like I always said, babe–relationships are transactions. All your arguing my points rings a bit hollow now, doesn’t it?”
“That’s not what–”
You turn back to her, angry. You shouldn’t be talking when you’re like this. You can’t stop yourself.
“No, that’s it exactly. You’re pissed because all the hours and emotions you invested in me haven’t paid off the way you want. You’re pissed that I’m not the person you want me to be.”
“People are not transactions!”
“Then why are staring at me like an ATM telling you there’s insufficient funds? Sorry, babe, your account's overdrawn.”
The tears finally break. Agnes pushes past you and you don’t stop her.
<<button "Next" "Round 3.19">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.19]]-->
An odd placidity settles on your mind. You’re a fuck-up in general but tonight could very well be your magnum opus. Your greatest destruction yet. There’s comfort to be found in that. Maybe tonight is peak pain and it’ll all be downhill from here.
You have no idea how long you stand there, numb to the passage of time. You exist somewhere outside your body, watching it like a child watches a worm and thinks about ripping it in half.
<<button "Next" "Round 3.20">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.20]]-->
At some point, Seven finds you.
“Maddie?”
“Yeah.” You turn toward him and frown. “Why are you holding two Whiteclaws?”
“Um, later. You look–not good.”
“Thanks.”
He pauses a moment and you don’t bother trying to read the emotions on his face. “Okay, well. I found out some stuff. About Miles, yeah? You still want to hear it?”
“Sure. Why not.”
Seven balances the two cans in one hand and pulls out a little spiral notebook.”Alright, so all that BS about people needing stuff? It kind of sounds like his inherited demon powers are around wish fufillment.”
Inherited demon powers. Sure.
“He’s only half-demon,” Seven goes on, “so it’s not like, mondo magic stuff. But still in the realm of soul transactions. Like, he’ll take something you don’t dig so much about yourself and turn it into something awesome, but it costs a bit of your soul to make it work.”
“Agnes is selling her soul?”
“Not, like, the whole thing. But yeah.”
“To change herself?”
Seven scrunches his face. “That’s on the vague side, but yeah. Like, physical stuff is a lot easier than personality stuff but still doable. I dunno. No one seemed to know what she’d made a deal with Miles about. Guess a lot of their meetings had been the closed door type.”
Where he was probably fucking her. As a necessary part of the process, baby, you’ve gotta believe me it won’t work otherwise.
Fuck.
“He do his business deals here?” You scan the couch you’d found him at but don’t see either of them.
“Yeah, that’s the wild part. He’s got a pocket dimension.”
You don’t even care about the absurdity anymore. “How do I get in?”
Seven sighs. “Figured you’d ask that. Behind that staff door by the bar. Go to the second door. You’ll need this.”
He holds out the can toward you and you take the mostly empty one. “Why?”
“Something the dude loves is the key. He loves this shit, yeah?”
A sort of buzzing starts in your ear as you settle back into your body. You’re Maddie the Destroyer. And you may have totally fucked up with Agnes, but whatever she’s about to do is gonna fuck her up even more. Change her.
You have a chance to stop that.
Fucking up Miles’s deal doesn’t hurt either.
<<button "Next" "Round 3.21">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.21]]-->
“Got it.” You turn to leave, the can of Whiteclaw denting in your grip.
“Hey.” Seven grabs your arm and tugs slightly. “I know you’re a badass that doesn’t need nobody.”
The words squirm in your guts.
“This thing tonight, I dunno, man. Your vibes are, like, way off. Maybe step away from this one?”
<ul>
<li>[[Seven is always happy to go along with whatever crazy shit you’re up to. Have you ever thanked him for it?|Round 3.22]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">You’ve known Seven for a while now. How many secrets about yourself have you unwittingly spilled? </font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Miles probably played him. You shouldn’t put much stock in anything he’s said</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Seven seems lonely</font></li>
</ul>
There aren’t a lot of people that have been in your life for a significant amount of time. Seven is one of the rare ones that’s bothered to stick around no matter how much of an ass you were. He’s probably as close as you’ve got to an actual friend.
Even that realization isn’t enough to stop you tonight.
“Thanks, man. I’ll think about it,” you say because it eases the frown on his face.
“Cool, cool. Find me at the bar later, yeah?”
“Sure thing.”
You watch him leave and fix your eyes on the door marked STAFF ONLY. You’re Maddie the Destroying and tonight you are feeling very thorough.
<<button "Next" "Round 3.23">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.23]]-->
The door’s already propped open, like it wouldn’t dare be an obstacle for you. Any other night, you might’ve been confused by the hallway of doors stretching out behind the bar but the idea of caring about anything stopped being in the cards for you tonight.
The choice is already made.
You see a door stenciled with the number two and head straight for it. If you stop you might think and that won’t do you any favors right now. With the same hand that clutches the sticky can of Whiteclaw, you twist the knob and the door swings open to a yawning void.
“I can't believe he actually loves this crap.”
You cross the threshold and the door closes behind you.
<<button "Next" "Round 3.24">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.24]]-->
Even the void wants to accommodate your anger. The inky darkness lasts only a moment before resolving into some kind of weird, VR version of Agnes’s apartment.
How fitting. This was where you’d broken her heart, apparently, by just being yourself. Time to fully wreck this house.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">Christ, is there anything you don’t ruin?</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You paid for a ticket on the dissociation train and this ain’t your stop</font></li>
<li>[[Doesn’t matter what this choice might cost you. You can’t let Agnes ruin her life because of you|Round 3.25]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">Why are you so scared?</font></li>
</ul>
“Not exactly the vibes I want for this kind of deal, to be honest.” Miles’s voice comes from the other room. “You sure about this, baby?”
There’s a dining table in that room. It’s Agnes’s favorite place to be. She’s probably got a puzzle half-finished taking up most of the space. Maybe a polymer clay monster in the process of being created.
You toss the Whiteclaw can on her sofa and with your hands balled into fists you turn the corner. Miles stands from the table looking concerned at your sudden appearance. Agnes stays seated, her eyes fixed on the only thing on the table–a stack of papers and a ballpoint pen. The word CONTRACT is printed in bold, red text at the top.
“Unbelievable,” Agnes whispers and more tears fall down her cheeks.
<<button "Next" "Round 3.26">><</button>><!--[[Round 3.26]]-->
“Whatever the fuck is going on here isn’t going to happen.” You glare at Miles. If it weren't for him–if it weren’t for assholes that took advantage of people’s pain, of people just trying to make it through their pathetic little lives you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have had to face Agnes tonight, to face how clearly all the ways you’d fucked things up. You should be numbing yourself until Agnes was a part of your past you didn’t remember.
“Sure, okay, I mean, it’s not really up to you, this is Agnes’s deal, but alright.” Miles has his hands raised for some reason and takes a couple sideways steps away from Agnes.
Agnes buries her face in her hands. “What do you want me to be, Maddie? Because I can’t figure it out. And I hurt. I just want to stop hurting. To stop caring so much. But worse than that, I want you to want me.”
“Same. But no one gets what they want in this life.”
<<button "Next" "The Choice">><</button>><!--[[The Choice]]-->
You act without thinking, like another force has taken over your body. The ball point pen is in your hand, clutched like a hammer ready to crush.
“Whoa, hang on.” Miles reaches out to you, but it’s too late.
With a wild arch, you swing your hand down into the table, jabbing the pen into the middle of the contract. It splinters through, cracking the space around your hand into prismatic shards of reality.
“Stop!”
You drag the pen toward you, tearing a jagged hole in the pocket dimension. The room around you melts and shatters, the clamor of it deafening. Your body stiffens and you glance to the side–an infinite number of Maddies stretch to either side of you, each in acts of violence, each judging the other.
“Please, stop,” they whisper.
The world decays into darkness and the last thing you see is the glittering of Agnes’s tears.
<<button "Next" "AnotherRound">><</button>><!--[[AnotherRound]]-->
You act without thinking, like an alien force has taken over your body. The ball point pen is in your hand, clutched like a knife longing to cut.
“Whoa, hang on.” Miles takes another step back, but it’s too late.
WIth a forceful lunge, you jab your hand forward and bury the pen into his stomach. It penetrates, plunging your hand to the wrist into him.
Behind you, Agnes stands and she’s screaming. Or is that sobbing?
You push the pen deeper and it’s like tearing through paper–a thunderous ripping sound assaults you. Your body stiffens and you glance to the side–an infinite number of Maddies stretch to either side of you, each in acts of violence, each judging the other.
“Please, stop,” they whisper.
The hole you’ve punched in reality continues to tear until everything is ripped apart and the last thing you see is the look of pity on Miles's face.
<<button "Next" "AnotherRound">><</button>><!--[[AnotherRound]]-->
<nobr>
<<set $roundCounter++>>
“Another round?”</nobr>
You’re back at Haven. Back at the bar. Where else would you be?
Four empty lowball glasses sit in front of you. You don’t even remember the first drink. Not a good sign.
“Nah,” you say and push back from the bar. “Think I should call it a night.”
<<button "Next" "Round 4.1">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.1]]-->
Friday night at Haven. At this point in your life, you’ve spent more time here than any of the single-room, cheapest rent you could find places you’ve technically lived. There’s something about Haven that keeps drawing you back. Sure at times it’s a cliche–generic trance music, people on the prowl or looking for a good time, watered down drinks and sticky surfaces–but some of the best nights of your life have been here.
You met Agnes here.
And even though things went like you expected with her, for a while it was good.
Really damn good.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.2">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.2]]-->
“Maddie!”
You smile as Seven squeezes your shoulder and slides onto the stool next to yours. Seven’s one of the few people that’s stuck with you through the years–even when you were an absolute shithead.
“Aw, what’s a matter?” He leans fully on the bar to look up at you with wide, hell hound eyes. “You look so blue!”
“Can’t a girl drown her sorrows in peace?” you grumble, but there’s no heat behind it. God, you feel exhausted.
He pokes one of the empty glasses. “Looks like you’re doing a pretty good job already, yeah?”
“You know me,” you sigh. “Gotta be the best at everything I do.”
Seven watches you for a bit but you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. Sitting still has always been tough for him. He tucks a bit of hair behind one of his little horn nubbins. Turns to face the dance floor then back to the bar. The whole time his foot hops like a bunny going nowhere.
Normally, all the motion would put you on edge, trigger your own constant need to fidget. Tonight, your body is molasses and annoyance failed to clock in for its shift.
“People been saying–well, kind of looks like the rumor is true, yeah?” Seven pulls a pack of smokes from his pocket and with practiced ease slips a cigarette between his lips, lighting it with a snap of his fingers.
Is Seven cooler than you? You think he might actually be cooler than you.
“It’d explain that country-song-sad look on your face.” He offers you one of his smokes.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">No. You promised her you’d quit</font></li>
<li>[[You don’t do that shit anymore|Round 4.3]]</li>
<li><font color ="grey">“Yeah. Why not. Thanks.” </font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Never accept gifts from demons. Take one from your own pack</font></li>
</ul>
There’s only so long you can keep making choices that hurt you.
“No, thanks, man. I’m…trying to quit.”
Seven blinks. “Oh.” He snubs the new cigarette into the ashtray.
“Whoa, hey, that doesn’t mean you have–”
“Nah, no worries, dude. Friends gotta be supportive, yeah?”
A bubble balloons in your chest and all you can do is stare at Seven. You should say something. People shouldn’t change what they want to do because of you. You’re a piece of shit.
But is it really fair of you to ask him not to? Doesn’t that change their behavior just as much?
“What’s this rumor you’re on about?” you say, trying to skirt past the thoughts circling your head.
“Ah, just some peeps talking about you and Agnes being not so much you and Agnes anymore.” Seven smashes the cigarette until it’s nothing but tobacco shreds and pushes them around with the filter. “Which kinda sucks, yeah? Agnes was alright.”
You feel a spark of anger that people are talking about Agnes, like they have any right but it’s quickly swallowed by endless despair of your soul.
Not that you’re feeling dramatic or anything.
“Yeah.” Shit. Your voice is tight. “She was alright.”
<<button "Next" "Round 4.4">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.4]]-->
“What happened, dude?”
You sigh and keep your eyes fixed on the glasses in front of you. You’re afraid to look out at the rest of the club.
“She wanted too…no, it’s not even that. I got scared. Couldn’t handle it.”
Your shoulders are tense and you’re holding your breath. You know what’s coming–the ridicule, the exasperation. Maddie couldn’t hack it. Again. Maddie wrecked a good thing. Again. Seven’s the last and only friend you have. He must be so sick of dealing with your shit and you just pile more on.
God, you’re so weak.
“Relationships are tough, dude. Tell me about it!” He sighs and shakes his head like you’ve just imparted sage wisdom. “Back at Haven, yeah? On the prowl. Ready to find something new?”
The tension eases from your body as the backhand you expected doesn’t strike.
“Not exactly.” You turn then and your eyes land on Agnes, sitting at a couch with a group of people that are so un-Agnes-like it’s laughable. Or it would be, if she didn’t have Miles draped across her legs.
Your chest squeezes painfully.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.5">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.5]]-->
Seven turns to follow your gaze and sighs. “Oh, little Aggie. Guess that rumor’s true, too.”
You both watch the scene for a bit.
“Sure things are really donesky between you?”
“Yeah. No. I don’t know.”
“What’re you doing here tonight, then? What’s the game plan?”
Whoever told you that Agnes and Miles were hooking up was just trying to stir the pot. They wanted the drama and didn’t care about the hearts involved.
Problem was, it worked.
“Didn’t really have a plan,” you admit. “Beyond fix Agnes and make her not sad about me anymore.”
Seven nods. “Mm, good plan.”
“Yeah,” you laugh.
He looks at you. Looks at Agnes. Back to you. “Let’s go over and talk, then. Ain’t nobody gets hurt talking, yeah?”
“Everybody gets hurt when I talk,” you say, but you’re already on your feet.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.6">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.6]]-->
“I mean, let’s dial back the absolutism but also let’s gooo.” Seven chases after you in some weird kind of prowl. “A’right, we are on a mission! Get intel, rescue the girl, defeat the boss.”
“You started playing Metal Gear again, haven’t you?”
“...maybe.”
Thankfully, Seven settles into silence as you make your way across the dance floor toward Agnes.
She hasn’t noticed you, yet. Which is probably a good thing. You don’t think you could handle it if you had to look into those big eyes of hers, remembering all the things you said last time you were together.
It felt so important at the time. You were so sure it was the right thing to do. Now, all your reasons feel like flimsy excuses.
What’s happened to you?
This is not the version of you that you know. That you trust. This is something new. Something terrifying.
She looks up and you bolt.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.7">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.7]]-->
The bathrooms aren’t far and you enter into the time-honored tradition of hiding in a flimsy stall to deal with your feelings. It’s like junior high all over again.
Your hands shake. If the floor were cleaner, you’d curl up into a ball on it. As it is, you settle for pushing your back as hard as you can into the black tile wall. All the fixtures in the bathroom are black–probably to hide how little they’re cleaned. But you don’t care tonight. It’s a cave you can hide in–that’s what matters.
What are you doing here? Not in this bathroom, at Haven tonight. What happened to your grand scheme of stopping whatever was going on between Agnes and that loser, Miles? You know it’s bad news. You know it’ll hurt her.
So why are you hiding in a fucking bathroom about it?
This kind of weakness is exactly the problem. Agnes doesn’t need someone that breaks down at every little thing.
She needs someone that’s not you. Someone better.
The door to the bathroom opens and two women tumble in, laughing as techno beats trail after them.
“Oh, my gawd, Angelica. I can not believe you just flashed the whole club!”
Angelica? Why do you know that name?
“Hey, if a man’s gonna doubt that I’ve got my nip pierced and tattooed then I don’t know what else a body expects me to do. I ain’t gonna be called a liar like that.”
Right. <i>That</i> Angelica.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.8">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.8]]-->
The unmistakeable sound of a lip gloss wand sounds through the small room. “Did I see that chick you dated for a bit? What’s her name–Angry?”
“Girl, you’re the worst. Her name’s Maddie. I think I saw her on the floor. Wouldn’t mind hitting that again. Dated’s a bit rich, though. More like we shared a bed and some drama. Sex was a hell of a lot better than the drama.”
“Drama not worth it?”
“Oh, more than worth it. If it were up to me, I’d still be hittin’ that. The things that woman could do to a pussy.”
“Ew. Gross.”
They both laugh. It’s annoying how smug the comment makes you feel.
“So, she dumped you? What the hell?”
“Nah, poor thing had so much going on in her head, I don’t think she knew what she was doing most of the time. Always stuck in that survival mode, you know? Near as I could tell–which wasn’t that near–she was terrified of being needed. Had this whole complex about letting people down or something.”
“What’s that got to do with sex?”
“That’s what I said! I dunno, maybe she caught feelings or something. Who knows? Not like she returned any of my calls to explain nothing to me.”
Damn it.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.9">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.9]]-->
“Kinda bummed me out, but mostly I felt bad for her. Imagine being so wrapped up in the idea of not being flawed, she couldn’t enjoy anything. We’d connect and then bam!--she’d ghost. Must be a shitty way to live.”
They head back toward the door. “You’d still let her get it, though, wouldn’t you?”
“In a heartbeat.”
Well, shit. Maybe you should’ve asked exes for advice a long time ago.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.10">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.10]]-->
You come out of the stall and lean against the now vacant counter. You’re in the mirror and leaning against the counter. Two versions of you, watching each other warily. If you look in your eyes long enough you can see it–that fear that drives everything you do.
It’s what keeps putting up those walls. The one that makes you be something you're not in front of other people. The one that says you are exactly as bad as you think you are. What keeps you running every time you slip and someone sees that terrified little girl inside you.
You’re so scared of anyone knowing she exists.
If they see her they won’t want you. They’ll know she’s the reason you’re never good enough. That you can’t meet their expectations.
The reason you’re not good enough.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.11">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.11]]-->
She’s just a kid. A fucking kid scared out of her mind at the world she’s been thrust into.
Maybe she deserves a break.
Maybe you both do.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.12">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.12]]-->
You leave the bathroom with an indescribable lightness in your chest. As if by finally noticing the scared girl she can take a break for a second. Maybe get an ice cream. You feel all the peace of dissociation but with the type of awareness you assume people find in meditation. Not that you’ve ever tried that shit.
Maybe you should. Maybe this is a whole new Maddie.
Would that be a bad thing?
<<button "Next" "Round 4.13">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.13]]-->
“There you are!” Seven jogs up to you, glancing at the door you’ve come out of. “Bathroom! Ah, yeah, that makes sense. I could not find you. Alright, dude, intel.”
He presses against your side and holds the notepad out for you to see. It’s entirely unreadable scribbles and stick figures.
“It was a little vague, the info they handed over, but I know a thing or two about demons anyway.” He taps a drawing of a stick figure crying. “A’right, that dude your girl’s with–Miles? I dunno what you know about him but he’s totally a selfish ass. Got a bit of demon powers down his bloodline and uses it to make gnarly deals.”
“Gnarly?” Worry creeps into your mind. What’s Agnes doing?
“Sorta, kinda. He’s into small time stuff, yeah? Like, he’s not the guy to go to if you wanna sell your whole soul for something, but if you wanna trade a bit of soul for, like, forgetting about being in love.”
In love. “There’s no way Agnes is in love with me.”
Seven sighs and tucks his notebook into his back pocket. He takes ahold of your shoulders and turns you to look him directly in the eyes. For the first time, he doesn’t look like the goofy demon that’s tagged along with all your stupid ideas.
He looks like a friend that’s worried about you.
“Maddie.” And he gives you a gentle shake with each word. “You don’t get to decide how other people feel.”
<<button "Next" "Round 4.14">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.14]]-->
You spend ages staring at each other in that bathroom hallway and godammit tears start to sting your eyes. Before you can second guess yourself, you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him in for a tight hug.
“Who, uh, hey there.” He awkwardly pats your shoulders and is maybe one of the worst hugs you’ve ever had. “Super flattered, yeah? But I’m pretty sure you don’t have a dick and that’s really what I’m about, so…”
Seven pushes you away and you laugh, smacking him on the shoulder. “Christ, you’re dumb.”
“Well, you are what you eat, yeah?”
You blink at him. “What?”
He frowns. “I–oh. No, hang on, you were supposed to say that I was being a dick and–dang, that joke was way better in my head.”
With a groan you push your palms against your eyes. “Oh my god, I can’t. Agnes. What’s going on with Agnes?”
“Depends. Do you want a second chance?”
“You can’t just ask–that’s not up–she can’t….”
The protests die on your lips and you fall silent. A second chance. No guarantees you’d be any better this time around. Hell, you might even do more damage.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.15">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.15]]-->
Closing your eyes, you imagine the scared little girl. She’s eating an ice cream sandwich–the kind you used to get from the ice cream truck that patrolled your neighborhood.
“Do we want to try again with Agnes?” you ask her.
She shrugs and nibbles at the chocolate biscuit. “It was nice there. I liked all the cartoons Agnes watches. She can’t fix us, though.”
You take a deep breath. “I know. And I can’t fix Agnes. But, it’d be nice to be around her while you and I figure it out, yeah?”
The little girl watches you for a minute, nibbling the bits of cookie around the ice cream. Eventually, she nods.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.16">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.16]]-->
You look Seven in the eyes. “Yes.”
A huge grin breaks on his face. “Awright! That’s my girl! Okay, we gotta act fast, yeah? Whatever deal she has going on with Miles is going down tonight, right here in the club. Miles has a pocket dimension.”
“A what?”
“No time for questions! Go with it.”
“Right.”
“Pocket dimension. Does all his trades there. Closer to the soul realm. No questions!” he shouts when you open your mouth.
“You gotta go through that door.” He points at a door near the bar marked STAFF ONLY. “She’s through the first door you’ll find. You’ll need these.”
He drops a set of keys in your hand. They look like car keys but weird. “For the door?”
“No. Well, yes. They won’t work in the door, but you need something he loves to get into the dimension. Dude like that has got to be obsessed with his ride, yeah?”
You shrug. “Actually, that makes a lot of sense. How’d you get these?”
“Picked his pocket.” Seven turns you around and pushes you toward the door. “Go. That’s as far as I can get you, dude. The rest is up to you.”
You take a step, pause and look back at him. “Seven?”
“Yeah?”
That weird bubble feeling in your chest pushes you into speaking. “I love you.”
A test run. For Agnes. Maybe. Eventually.
His eyebrows shoot up and a wicked grin spreads on his face. “Gaaaaaaay.”
You roll your eyes and keep walking.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.17">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.17]]-->
Thankfully, Seven rushes past you to distract the bartender, giving you free access to the Staff door. You tug on the door without thinking, surprised when the knob doesn’t turn but the door pops open anyways. Someone taped the latch down.
Lucky you.
A hallway of doors stretches out in front of you. You frown and glance at the bar side of the wall. Does this geometry make sense?
You don’t have long to question it because the second thing you notice, just beyond the door you’re clutching is a wooden door with a spray-painted numeral one, bold as could be on its front. No doubt about it. This is your door.
Closing the staff door behind you, the noises of the club fades away until they’re nothing but a distant wubba-wub sound. You don’t have a lot of information to go off of–but, you know the most important thing.
Agnes needs you.
And if your history has taught you anything, the fear of letting someone down isn’t a good enough reason to not show up.
You hope.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.18">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.18]]-->
Seven said the keys alone would get you through the door and you go to try them on the knob, but it doesn’t have a keyhole.
Fingers crossed, then.
With the keys clasped in one fist, you open the door to reveal a yawning void. The sight of it takes your breath away.
The idea of a realm beyond the one you live has always existed as a possibility in your mind–demons have been around forever, after all. But there’s a big difference between knowing the theory of something and having an endless chasm of darkness stretch out in front of you.
“Agnes needs me,” you whisper to the void and step through the doorway.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.19">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.19]]-->
You’re in Agnes’s apartment. A version of it, anyway. Everything is a kind of bluish color, so it’s easy enough to tell it’s not real. Doesn’t hit your heart any less hard knowing it’s a simulation.
The entrance to her apartment opens right into the living room. You spent a lot of hours on that couch–and strangely, all the times you made Agnes come isn’t the first that you think of. Instead, you think of the staggering amount of hours spent watching Ages’s favorite shows. You didn’t give two shits about the characters, but watching Agnes love something was entertainment enough.
This is Agnes’s home. Where she is most herself. It’s cluttered and chaotic and has way too many amigurumi dolls around. But it’s hers.
Miles doesn’t belong here.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.20">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.20]]-->
“Sorry about the legalese, there.” Miles is in full salesman mode, phony laugh and all. “Contracts, am I right?”
They’re in her dining room. Whatever you’re going to do, now’s the time to do it.
<ul>
<li><font color ="grey">The devil works hard but your loathing works harder. Go in wrecking ball style</font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">You’re here to save Agnes. Diplomacy is your best bet </font></li>
<li><font color ="grey">Sacrifice yourself. Make a counter offer to Miles so Agnes doesn’t do it</font></li>
<li>[[Wait. Listen|Round 4.21]]</li>
</ul>
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Aw, baby, why not? You saw Maddie, didn’t you? Man, she’s gonna mess with your head no matter what you do.”
“Yes. I mean, no. I did see her, but…” You hear her take a deep breath. “Am I really going to change?”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
The pause after that question lasts an eternity.
“I don’t know.”
You step around the corner.
Agnes’s eyes widen at the sight of you and Miles stands up from the table.
“M-Maddie?” she asks and wipes furiously at her eyes.
<<button "Next" "Round 4.22">><</button>><!--[[Round 4.22]]-->
“Whoa, uh, hey there, Madds.” Miles takes an uncertain step away from the table.
Agnes sits up straight and sets the pen she was holding down on top of the stack of papers marked CONTRACT. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asks, failing miserably to sound tough.
How long has it been since you’ve actually taken a look at Agnes? It was so easy to see her at Haven that first night–she shone like the brightest disco ball there could be. After that? It was all too easy to wrap Agnes in your idea of Agnes. To interpret every annoyed look, every lapse in communication as some attempt to punish you, to correct your behavior.
You stopped seeing the push pull. The ways you would tell Agnes things weren’t serious between you and then give her your entire fucking spring collection of baggage to deal with. And the ways she took it on, the ways she made you think life was worth living–in hindsight, a pretty blatant sign you wanted something more.
Will you ever stop being an idiot?
You open your mouth
<<button "Next" "The Choice">><</button>><!--[[The Choice]]-->You take a seat at the table, ignoring Miles completely.
“Agnes,” you say and then get lost in her eyes because, damn, she’s pretty. “I’m terrified.”
The scared little girl comes rushing forward. <i>No! You can’t say that. Can’t let her know! Don’t be small and weak. Nobody wants that. She won’t want you!</i>
“Everybody’s terrified.” She sniffs and stares at the papers between you.
You laugh. “I know it’s kinda hard to believe, but I’m just starting to figure that out.”
You take a deep breath, knowing the next part won’t come so easily.
<<button "Next" "Agnes04.1">><</button>><!--[[Agnes04.1]]-->
You take a seat at the table, ignoring Miles completely.
“Agnes,” you say and then get lost in her eyes because, damn, she’s pretty. “I’m terrified.”
The scared little girl comes rushing forward. <i>No! You can’t say that. Can’t let her know! Don’t be small and weak. Nobody wants that. She won’t want you!</i>
“Everybody’s terrified.” She sniffs and stares at the papers between you.
You laugh. “I know it’s kinda hard to believe, but I’m just starting to figure that out.”
You take a deep breath, knowing the next part won’t come so easily.
<<button "Next" "Maddie04.1">><</button>><!--[[Maddie04.1]]-->
“I…” Sigh. “I’m sorry. Fear isn’t a good enough reason to hurt someone. I wish I’d found a better way to tell you–to explain what I’m feeling.”
Tears flow freely down Agnes’s face and you hold the little girl’s hand when she tells you it’s your fault.
“I tried,” Agnes says through a sob. “I tried so hard to be who you wanted me to be. But I couldn’t figure it out. And I was always thinking about you–like, always. I tried to stop. To be strong enough.
“But everything was you. That wasn’t–I wasn’t healthy.”
You nod and fear has your heart racing. “Look, whatever you decide about this,” you tap the contract, “at the end of it, if you want, I’d like to try again. Any way it plays out though, I’m sorry I hurt you.”
The little girl wails. <i>We’ve done nothing wrong! We’re strong and alone. Nothing needs forgiving!</i>
Agnes stares at you, chest heaving. “Don’t you want me to change?”
Reaching across the table, you fit your hand gently into hers. “You gotta decide that for yourself, babe.”
<<button "Next" "Agnes04.2">><</button>><!--[[Agnes04.2]]-->
She grips your hand, her other pressed against her chest. You see the pain on her face–<i>your fault your fault your fault</i>–and you wait.
<<button "Next" "Agnes04.3">><</button>><!--[[Agnes04.3]]-->
Agnes pushes the papers aside and reaches for you across the table. You rise to meet her, hugging her desperately.
“I don’t want to change,” she cries. “I just want to be me. All of me and I want you to love me for that. God, I so pathetically want you to love me.”
You cling to her and let her cry. The little girl cries, too.
“Well, damn,” Miles mutters.
The dimension around you dissolves into nothingness.
<<button "Next" "Agnes End">><</button>><!--[[Agnes End]]--><i>Moving forwards, using all my breath.</i>
Sound comes back to you slowly, like hearing a radio from underwater. You feel like you’re floating.
Agnes is in your arms, swaying along with music on the dance floor at Haven–which has never played a slow song the entire time you’ve been coming here. Certainly not this dreamy cover of Melt With You.
“Are we alone on the dance floor?”
Sure enough, you have the floor to yourselves. Slowly drifting club lights flit around the smoky silhouette of the club which also looks vacant.
Alone in Haven. Now there’s a strange feeling.
Kinda romantic, though.
“Maybe it’s still the pocket dimension?”
But it doesn’t feel like it. Agnes feels very real in your arms and the world around you is odd but otherwise distinct.
You don’t really know and you don’t really care. The adrenaline that carried you through the night fades and you feel high and exhausted all at once. Your fingers tremble as you brush them through her hair.
“I love this song,” she says. “Always thought it was so romantic. <i>I’ll stop the world and melt with you.</i> That was, like, goals. Love has a way of consuming my entire brain.”
Familiar panic rises within you. The idea of being <i>so much</i> to some else is too much pressure. The odds of failure are absolute.
<i>Stop. Listen.</i>
“But it wasn't really love, was it? I was so fucking afraid of losing you it was like this constant, desperate struggle to make you happy. Make you love me.”
She leans back in your arms and searches your face with tear-glittered eyes. “That wasn’t fair to you. Or me.”
You sigh and kiss the top of her head. “Babe, I really suck at love. And all that…relationship stuff.”
The admission feels terrifying to say.
“Neither of us are gonna be perfect,” she says. “But I want to try and be better. For ourselves.”
“And each other.”
When you kiss her, the music swells in perfect timing and the lights spin wildly around the both of you.
“Back to my place?” she asks, breathlessly.
“Hang on. I’ve always wanted to try something.” You move your hands until they’re well-positioned to support her back. “I wanna dip you.”
Her eyes widen and her hands dig into your shoulders. “You won’t drop me, right?”
“One way to find out.”
You only wobble a little as you lean her back–like she’s midfall and you’re there’s to catch her. Your lips find hers again and it’s all too easy to imagine this movie-perfect second chance.
<center><i>End</i></center>“I…” Sigh. “I’m sorry. Fear isn’t a good enough reason to hurt someone. I wish I’d found a better way to tell you–to explain what I’m feeling.”
Tears flow freely down Agnes’s face and you hold the little girl’s hand when she tells you it’s your fault.
“I tried,” Agnes says through a sob. “I tried so hard to be who you wanted me to be. But I couldn’t figure it out. And I was always thinking about you–like, always. I tried to stop. To be strong enough.
“But everything was you. That wasn’t–I wasn’t healthy.”
You nod and fear has your heart racing. “Look, whatever you decide about this,” you tap the contract, “at the end of it, if you want, I’d like to try again. Any way it plays out though, I’m sorry I hurt you.”
The little girl wails. <i>We’ve done nothing wrong! We’re strong and alone. Nothing needs forgiving!</i>
Agnes stares at you, chest heaving. “Don’t you want me to change?”
Reaching across the table, you fit your hand gently into hers. “You gotta answer that yourself, babe.”
<<button "Next" "Maddie04.2">><</button>><!--[[Maddie04.2]]-->
She grips your hand, her other pressed against her chest. You see the pain on her face–<i>your fault your fault your fault</i>–and you wait.
<<button "Next" "Maddie04.3">><</button>><!--[[Maddie04.3]]-->
Agnes pushes the papers aside and reaches for you across the table. You rise to meet her, hugging her desperately.
“I don’t want to change,” she cries. “I just want to be me. All of me and I want you to love me for that. God, I so pathetically want you to love me.”
You cling to her and let her cry. The little girl cries, too.
“Well, damn,” Miles mutters.
The dimension around you dissolves into nothingness.
<<button "Next" "Maddie End">><</button>><!--[[Maddie End]]-->It takes a minute but you recognize the alley behind Haven. From the watery yellow glow in the sky, you guess it’s near dawn. The chill morning air keeps the usual odor of the alley at bay.
Small mercies.
“Are you on a motorcycle?”
Agnes stands next to where you are, indeed, astride a motorcycle. The logo on the chassis matches the one of the keychain Seven gave you. Handy.
“Huh,” you say and give the handlebars a squeeze. “Guess so. Feels nice. I always thought I’d look good on a bike.”
“Where’d it come from?” Agnes pokes it.
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” You sign and lean your head toward Agnes who–thank fuck–matches your movement until you bonk foreheads.
Here, in the crisp outside, the noise and tension of the club gone, and a lull in the emotional roller coaster ride the night has been, the adrenaline that carried you through it all fades. Your fingers tremble as Agnes slips her hand into yours.
“I slept with Taylor,” she says in a shaky voice.
That is so laughably low on the list of shit you care about right now, but you manage a deadpan voice to respond.
“How could you do something like that. Which one is Taylor?”
She leans back, searching your face. “The demi-human. WIth the purple horns?”
Actually, that’s impressive.
“Damn,” you say and kiss the top of Agnes’s head. “I spent a month last year trying to get with them. I got nowhere.”
Agnes scrunches her nose and leans her head against your shoulder. “You’re not their type.”
“Bullshit,” you say, breathing a sigh of relief as you settle your arms around her waist. “I’m everyone’s type.”
That was a more dramatic finish to the evening than you’d anticipated. When you think of all the things that could’ve gone wrong or all the idiot choices you could’ve made, well, makes this moment feel even more miraculous.
“I don’t know how to love you.” The admission feels terrifying to say aloud. “Hell, I don’t know how to love anyone. My own mom was…well, I want to learn how. I want to try.”
You pause to let the wave of fear and self-loathing work its way through you. “But I may not be that good.”
Agnes takes a deep breath and you feel her shoulders tremble. “It’s one thing for me to say I don’t have expectations but when I get mad that you don’t act a certain way or do a certain thing the way I want you to, kinda makes me full of shit, doesn’t it?”
You lean back to look in her tear-filled eyes, fighting back the panic at the sight of them. “Neither of us are gonna be perfect. But it’s worth trying. For ourselves.”
“And each other.”
You nod and your eyes drop to her lips. “I’m gonna fuck up sometimes.”
Agnes squirms and a frown creases her brow. “I guess, maybe, statistically, it’s likely I’m gonna fuck up, too.”
“What?” You laugh and pull her a little closer. “Perfect Agnes admits she might be wrong?”
“Oh, shut up and kiss me.”
And you do.
“Back to my place?” she asks breathlessly and climbs up behind you. “You know how to drive one of these, right?”
With a turn of Miles’s key, the engine purrs to live underneath you and Agnes giggles.
“One way to find out.”
You only wobble a little as you pull out of the alley and into the world beyond.
<center><i>End</i></center>
<i>“Surprise!”
“Agnes?”
“Hi! You must be Maddie’s brother.”
“What are–how did you find me?”
“I saw the notification on your phone. Lunch with bro. I thought it’d be fun if we all met up.”
“This is not cool, Agnes.”
“Why–oh. He…he doesn’t know who I am.”
“Why would he? Hey, I’ll be right back, man.”
“Sorry. I assumed…why haven’t you told your family about me?”
“To avoid a lot of annoying questions. I can’t believe you went through my phone.”
“Don’t make it sound weird. I didn't go through your phone.’ It went <i>bing</i> and I looked at it.”
“And read it.”
“Yeah.”
“And showed up uninvited.”
“Which was a bad idea. I get it. I just thought you might want me to be here. It genuinely never occurred to me you wouldn’t have talked to your family about me.”
“We’re not dating.”
“Are you sure about that? ‘Cause we’ve been not dating for seven months.”
“Wow. Seriously?”
“All I want is to figure out what <i>you</i> want!”
“How can I make it clearer? I don’t want to date.”
“But you keep coming over when–when things are bad and telling me you need me. That sure as hell sounds like dating to me.”
“Hey, I just thought of something else I need. Space.”
“What?”
“This is out of hand. You’re too–we shouldn't see each other for a while. Or, like, ever.”
“No. You can't...what about all the things I–”
“Whatever you decided to do was just that–your decision.”
“Fine. Sure. Whatever you <i>need</i>. Enjoy lunch. I hope you gag on it.”</i>
<<button "Next" "Round 1.39.2">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.39.2]]-->
The screen goes dark. The audience claps, louder than before, a sound like lips smacking over eager jaws.
“Marvelous,” the host says, tapping queue cards on his desk. “Killer performance. Both of you. And how’s it going so far? Are you gagging on it, Maddie?”
He laughs and the audience growls with him. And Agnes smiles and she smiles.
“Near enough.”
<<button "Next" "Round 1.40">><</button>><!--[[Round 1.40]]-->
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<<if $roundCounter is 1>>[["''Another round?''"|Round 2.0]]
<<elseif $roundCounter is 2>>[["''Another round?''"|Round 3.0]]
<<elseif $roundCounter is 3>>[["''Another round?''"|Round 4.0]]
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<<elseif $roundCounter is 4>>[[CHOOSE AGNES|Agnes04]] <</if>></li>
<li><<if $roundCounter is 1>>[[CHOOSE YOURSELF|Maddie01]]
<<elseif $roundCounter is 2>>[[CHOOSE YOURSELF|Maddie02]]
<<elseif $roundCounter is 3>>[[CHOOSE YOURSELF|Maddie03]]
<<elseif $roundCounter is 4>>[[CHOOSE YOURSELF|Maddie04]] <</if>>
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