Euphoria didn't want him to think she was at his beck and call, so she was at least an hour late. She almost didn't come. Alas, she needed his help and he needed to torment her. It was the perfect arrangement, the few times the stars aligned. The neon sign of the club was jittery and broken. The magenta woman could never bring her leg down to rest. It was stuck in an eternal high kick between 10 and 9. The broken sign still strobed to a beat, so half of the time she didn't have a leg at all.

She'd kill him for choosing this place - some seedy, strip club that'd seen better days. Posters of new dancers were plastered over the old ones; the powder-blue door was never repainted. What little light illuminated the staircase to the underground was gone now. A magenta glow bled through the doorway at the bottom of the treacherous slope and Euphoria followed it down. The sign said this place was heaven, but it felt like descending into hell. The music grew louder until it was vibrating her skin. All the hairs on her arms stood on end. This place smelled like bubblegum and something bad. Euphoria lit a cigarette to help fend it back.

A second bouncer patted her down, then stepped aside to let her pass. "20 credit minimum," he told her. He meant the bar. Strip clubs were one of the few places that handled paper money. Wiring credits to a hottie never felt the same as sticking them in their thong. Of course, the paper came with a steep exchange rate.

"I'm meeting someone," Euphoria said, killing time in the doorway to peel her gloves off. She eyed the full room and took in the smell of sweltering pigs. Hmmm, maybe she should keep them on. The bouncer didn't seem interested in small talk. When your job was peeling slime off beautiful people, holding their wigs, and fetching them cola, you'd start glazing over for even pretty girls too. His was the same soul-sucking drudgery as any other 9 to 5 am. Mouthy customers were the bane of his existence. Euphoria had to snap him back to attention. "Big guy. Looks like he should work here."

"Ah, I see," the bouncer said. And he had seen. He knew exactly the man she was talking about. He stood out in the sea of greasy men, women, and enby-tweeners. His tits were bigger than any of the dancers. Euphoria had already noticed her patron, she just wasn't eager to slip into the VIP booth with him.

She rolled "20 credit minimum" around in her head like a mantra. 20 credit minimum. That's how much free booze he owed her. She'd at least double that. She'd empty his pockets faster than any of these dancers could. She wouldn't even have to take her shirt off. That's how you knew you were in the big leagues, and that you'd been swindling simps for too long. Her simp was sitting back in a leather booth that was too crusty for its own good. The smell of his cologne cut through the cheap bubblegum perfume, the sweaty pork, and even the cloud of smoke she brought with her. He hadn't even taken off his glasses. He never took off his glasses. The red lenses glowed in the direction of the center stage. On the table was an open bottle in an ice bucket. Mostly melted. "How thoughtful of you to pour me a drink," Euphoria said, leaning over the table and taking the only glass available. Which was his. She drank it all in one gulp. She didn't even leave him any of her backwash.

"I didn't keep you waiting too long, did I, Irons?" She was being a bitch. She knew exactly how long she made him wait.
This message was last updated by the player at 16:28, Wed 22 Feb 2023.

Irons used the extra time Euphoria's lateness afforded him to really glam himself up. He wouldn't have minded showing up shirtless - and it wouldn't be the first time it won him a drink - but the club had a dress code. As in, if you weren't a dancer, you had to be dressed. So, Irons clad himself in a black silk shirt, equally shiny leather pants, and even shinier thin gold chains. They draped across his neck beneath his popped collar and deep V. They coiled his arms as bracelets and then out of view, up his elbow-length sleeves. Even the dragon embroidered on his shirt was in chains.

Irons looked up from his fourth double vodka and NuCola Zero to see Euphoria finally grace his vision. “Euphoria! You made it, I thought I was going to have to make my own fun.” He chuckled, but it was edged like a threat. “I’m so glad you showed up. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” He had. “That’s my friend I was waiting for.” He informed a waitress passing by. Irons’ eyebrows hiked up his forehead as Euphoria slammed the rest of his drink. “Whoo! Slam that Zero!” Someone in the bar responded with a ‘you’d be so lucky!’

“Naw, an hour is about right for you. I did think the location would’ve gotten you here faster, so I did get here thirty minutes ago myself, but hey, you showed up, and this place isn’t half bad!” Irons’ glasses flashed at Euphoria. He swept away a house-of-sugar-packets with the back of his hand. “Well, don’t just stand there drinking. Sit here and drink, brosephina. I kept this bottle of vodka full and chilled!” Mostly full. Maybe missing enough for a few drinks, but it was still a bottle the approximate size of a fire extinguisher, and there was plenty of ice. Irons pulled a can of NuCola Zero out of a box of mini-cans he'd openly smuggled in. He chucked it underhand to Euphoria. “We can order something to go with it. We'll ask them for more glasses, too. You remember what’s good here?” Irons vogued while pretending to read the cocktail menu.

“So, how’re you doing? How’s the boss? You take her crown yet?” He asked it as flippantly as one might ask about the weather. “Me? I’m doing good, having a great time, really. Enjoying my endless days of swoleness and glory. But my mind keeps pulling back to you. Nobody else is quite as fun. And I might just have some fun in mind.” Irons let his gaze drift lazily across the room. It drifted over the myriad dancers and scant-clad waitstaff. It was like he was searching for something.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:29, Wed 22 Feb 2023.

Too late Euphoria realized she was chugging diet NuCola. She tuned Iron's cheering out to enjoy what she could and still ended up gagging. She caught the can he threw in mid-air, just before it hit her face. He was testing her. On top of her patience. "You'd ruin perfectly good vodka with this shit? God, I hate you," Euphoria hissed. Just in time for the waitress passing by to hear. Yeah, dude, they were such good friends. She was just impressed Irons wasn't lying to save face. Nothing sadder than a guy hanging out in a strip club alone.

"Expect to buy another bottle. I need to be way drunker to deal with you," Euphoria said and she slammed the glass down on the table. The can she placed out of his reach, in a vain attempt to save him from his own bad taste. "And I'm already drunk," See? She even had an excuse for being late and everything. Empowered by the vodka's warm tingle, Euphoria slid into the booth next to Irons. He took up like half of it. Euphoria took a long drag on her cigarette and exhaled it on his face to ward him away. She knew how much he hated them. Nothing was more insulting than killing yourself slowly when you could die in a blaze of glory. As if she would live long enough to get cancer.

Irons asked about her boss like your buddy asked about a nagging wife. Which wasn't inaccurate. She was hiding from her in a strip club, and that wasn't totally cliche or anything. Euphoria chose to ignore his question. She wasn't here for small talk. "Oh yeaaaah I bet you're life's just so fulfilling these days. That's why you've been spamming my com since 3 in the morning," Euphoria said. She had to be a little mean to him (well meaner) because she was humoring him with her presence. These things had to balance themselves out. Euphoria shook his stolen glass under his nose, expecting him to serve her. "If you put soda in it, I'll kick your ass." She almost stopped herself from threatening him, because she knew he'd like it. Too bad, she just couldn't help herself. That's probably why he leeched onto her like gum to a shoe. One day she'd learn some self-control and then he'd be sorry.

"Strip clubs aren't super well known for their food. Ever consider taking me somewhere that isn't trash?" Euphoria said. His prying for her expertise wasn't lost on her. The fact he chose this place - of all places - already had her on edge. What was his game? Did he really think they were bros, getting lap dances together while they talked business? Even then, there were a hundred strip clubs in the red-light district. Better ones. The Paradise was hot once, but now it was a sad shell of itself. Just like all the dancers were. Euphoria pointedly avoided eye-ass-tit contact with them. And she famously loved tits and ass. "The fried pickles are pretty ok, though," Euphoria relented. She was feeling kinda nauseous.

"What kind of fun did you have in mind? You promised me a sweet gig, and I was nice enough not to leave you on read," Euphoria said, following the gaze of his gleaming red sunglasses. She acted coy like she wasn't already interested in his plan. Like she hadn't willingly followed him down to this fresh layer of hell. "Unless you were lying for attention. In which case, let's just skip to the part where I drive my sword through your chest." Her enticing threat came with flip of her hair and a bat of her eyelashes.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:41, Wed 22 Feb 2023.

“What? I like it.” Irons beamed with misplaced pride. “It’s almost exactly like something we had back on my old world, before, well… you know.” He flexed a bicep to the memory of his glorious victory. Visions danced in his mind of a column of fire miles wide that licked the very surface of the moon. The ghosts of that divine heat glowed in his chest, smoldering for just a moment, then snuffed out, leaving a cold and bitter chill in its passing. “Anyway, it’s basically, like, the greatest, most enduring encapsulation of the modern age. Reflected and inevitable in every universe where money outweighs drinkable water and the public good. And it’s zero-cal! Whoo!” Irons crushed an empty can against his forehead. It clattered onto the table, impossibly flat.

“Way ahead of you, my brosephina. I prefer to be drunk with dealing with me, too.” Irons flagged down a waitress and held up the bottle and raised two fingers. Three bottles? Why not? Whatever he didn’t finish, he’d enjoy when he stumbled out into the world. Maybe he’d get in some fights and make his drinking money back. A perpetual bender machine. He poured Euphoria a glass of vodka and zero, no zero. He opened up another can with a hiss and sipped from it, before pouring vodka directly into his gaping mouth. He pushed an ice cube past his lips. A waitress who witnessed this quickly brought him a glass, and reluctantly brought him the other two bottles he’d ordered. It wasn’t that he worried her, he was just hard to look away from, yet equally hard to watch.

”Yeah, this place is trashy, but it’s fun. Reminds me of your toxic 'tude.” Irons shot a wink deserving not just a dodge, but a counterattack. Thankfully, he turned his gaze to making his next drink in a glass, like a normal person… who brought a box of soda to a strip club. “Ehn, you were worth the wait. I didn’t want to miss you; on the off chance you showed up. Worst case scenario, I take in a good show and stir up some aspartame-fueled trouble. Trouble’s been good business lately.”

“You’ve been enjoying some trouble yourself it seems.” Irons lounged deeper into the booth and sipped at his drink. “Got to slake some bloodthirst? Tallied a few more kills? Gurl, I want deets.” Sure, he’d heard all about it, but he needed to hear the warrior’s tale from her own lips. “You know, as your patron, this is what I live for.” Irons flagged down the peeking waitress and pantomimed the shape of a pickle in the air, then he mimed chopping and frying the unseen pickle. She was concerned that she’d managed to interpret the performance, but she had, so she put the order in. “We’re having you a victory party. Whatever and whoever you want here. I’m rolling in fight money I’m looking to lose.”

“Now. Goss for goss. Tell it well enough, and I might just have a treat for you. And trust me, it’s exactly your sort of prize. So, come on. Weave me a war story to go with our drinks, o' poet. Here in this place you’ve risen so high above. After that, you'll find out whether or not I've been lying this whole time. How about it?” He clearly wasn’t going to spill until he got what he wanted. "There'll be time for impalement later on."
This message was last edited by the player at 06:45, Fri 24 Feb 2023.

"I didn't know these were so sentimental to you," Euphoria said, picking up the NuCola can Irons tossed her. She inspected it, feigning a look of sympathy in memory of the fabled soda. "That's the downside to destroying the world-" and there was much less sympathy this time, "-you don't get to enjoy it anymore." Euphoria opened the can with a fizzy hiss and dropped her cigarette butt into it. Being the first of (she suspected) many cigarettes, she ordained it her new ashtray. "Poor baby," she told Irons. "You're having to deal with consequences and everything." She was definitely taking the piss out of him now.

This disrespect didn't phase Irons. He was already crushing cans on his head and whooping like he saw someone score a goal. Scratch that. He cheered like he watched someone get a concussion. He poured diet soda and vodka into his open mouth in lew of waiting for a cup and ordered two more bottles. Euphoria raised one scathing brow. Irons almost missed it under the crazy mop of bangs, which matched the rest of her crazy hair, long and wavy like black flames. What would he even do with that much booze? Sometimes it was so obvious he wasn't a human, just something wearing the skin of one. A cartoonish approximation of a man - a Frankenstein monster stitched together from too much brain-melting television and propaganda.

"Yeah, this place is trashy, but it’s fun. Reminds me of your toxic 'tude."

"Whatever," Euphoria scoffed like some petulant teenager. He struck a nerve. The pot was calling the kettle black. They were both stained with the soot of all the lives they burned down. Euphoria avoided thinking about that too much. "You eat it up with a spoon. What's that say about you?" There was only one language Irons truly understood and she spoke it fluently. That's why she wasn't surprised when he asked her to recount her latest kill. Or that he already knew about it. A few days was more than enough time for gossip to spread like wildfire. It was no secret someone called a hit on the Matriarch of the Olympians, or that the poor hired mercs failed miserably. The only secret left was where the bodies were dumped.

"Fishing for the grizzly details, huh? You really are a sick fuck," Euphoria said. But it wasn't the weirdest request she ever got. Not even from him. "You're gonna be disappointed. Most of them didn't even make it to me. Their idiot leader was vaporized by the security system. That place is set up like a goddamn fortress," she said, meaning the Olympian court and home-sweet-home. A prison was a more apt description but the mercenaries luckily died and didn't have to stay there. Euphoria knew this wasn't enough to satisfy Irons or deter him, so she kept going. On to the juicy bits. "The ones who did were something else, though. I don't know who these Starlight Raiders were, but they got their hands on some sick tech. That one guy - uuuuh, the red one - was a fast little shit. Gave me a run for my money... until I cut his leg off." Euphoria wore a cruel smile. It looked right at home on her pretty face. At least, it used to be pretty. Now an "x" scared her right cheek, stretching across her nose and into her eye. Not that it mattered. She didn't need that pretty face anymore. In fact, it seemed to attract a new breed of suckers. The ones she affectionately called "sick fucks".

"Then there was the pink one," And that was when Euphoria stopped to think, lost for words. "She got all up in my face. I don't think she was even scared to die. I think she was pissed to. You know I like the spunky ones. So I gave her a chance to escape. I asked her what she thought was faster, her gun or my sword. She spat on me and shot me point blank." Euphoria fell silent for a moment, weighed down by something unsaid. "She was a sore loser. I liked that about her." Then she kicked back the rest of her drink, only to refill it with another. "At least I've got a wound to remember her by..."

"It's a really bad one, actually," Euphoria mused. Something shifted in her demeanor. "The bullet went in real deep. I had to have it dug out of me piece by piece..." You'd think she was describing something else the way it dripped with honey. "It's still fresh and it hurts like a bitch. Definitely going to leave a scar. I could show you..." She swirled the vodka in her glass hypnotically, only to harshly slam the cup back on the table.

"But I won't," Euphoria said with a smirk. Now it was her turn to dangle what Irons wanted in front of him. "Not until you tell me why you brought me back to the Paradise." Her smirk never wavered, even as her eyes bore into him with an icy glare. She wanted to know exactly why he knew about her old club, and who gave him the balls to use it as leverage.

“I AM having to deal with consequences, Euphoria. The consequences of other people’s failures! How could they not withstand me? Was their world not worth getting good over?” Irons opened another NuCola and raised the fizzing can in tribute to his countless victims. “It’s fucking tragic, Euphoria. Fucking tragic.” He took a mournful sip. “It was a great world. They really should’ve cared more. I’d hate to see it, if I wasn’t winning so hard back then. Now, with the benefit of retrospect and maturity though, I do hate seeing it.” He was silent for a moment, like he’d said something profound. “Not like you though, you’re awesome. You’re doing great.”

“Eat it up with a spoon? I’d dispense it right into my mouth if I could, brosephina. And what it says about me is that I’ve got great taste. You’re my chosen little violence-doer. I’m the sickest fuck you know, so I want those deets. I wanna feel like I did it myself.” Irons let Euphoria weave her story of righteous combat. He hissed a laugh through his teeth at the mention of vaporization and dismemberment. “You cut his leg off? Did he roll? I bet he absolutely ate shit.”

Irons steepled his fingers as Euphoria regaled him about the pink merc. A guttural chuckle escaped his clenched grin, as though he was biting back a personal delight. He studied Euphoria’s expressions. “Oh? A new souvenir?” Irons perked up, following every detail with rapt attention just to be immediately shut down. “That’s cruel, Euphoria. Denying me to get what you want sooner? Tactical brutality. Love it.”

“I brought you here because I know it’s a place that was important to you. Was? Is? Hmm.” Irons chuckled. “Either way, I thought you’d find some… novelty? Being on this side of the counter, that is. Or maybe stage? Either way.” The alcohol was finally starting to set a warm glow in Irons’ blood. Another self-satisfied chuckle escaped him, and the dumb galoot was grinning ear-to-ear. He was clearly holding something back very poorly. “I’m sure with all the time you spent here, having to endure all those gainsless slobs, high on the fleeting power they can buy. Not you, though. You deserve your place on this throne. None of these slimeballs dress a booth like you. How’s it feel?” Irons gestured to the surprisingly crowded midday menagerie. “All these no-gainers, taking a break from the taxing power structures of their upper or upper-bottom crust lives. To sit on the station of others. By being sat on. Hella poetic and shit.”

There was a presence at the periphery. Since she’d brought Irons the absurd denominations of theme-park-priced alcohol, the waitress had been unable to peel her eyes away from their table. At first, she was sure they were going to bolt, grabbing the bottles and amscraying. And at these prices, they’d be right to do so. But then he just kept… drinking it. It kept just disappearing into him. Like a writer overusing a drink prop between a character’s every action. He somehow got through the first bottle and Becky had decided she’d had just about enough of… whatever this was.

“Oh, wow!” Becky chimed in as she lifted the empty first bottle. “Someone’s thirsty tonight!” She inspected the bottle; it was the one she’d brought him. And she couldn’t find something he’d’ve poured it out into. “Let me get these empty cans of outside drinks out of the way for you.” There were already so many. And being this close, seeing this man, those were the sort of pinup-ready muscles you had to get really dehydrated to capture. He wasn’t even cola-bloated. Were the cans empty when he brought them? “So, like, are you a magician or something? Is this a prank for like, content or something?” Becky tried to sound chipper, but a clear agitation was setting into her voice. Becky was a fresh face at the Paradise and she was clearly not ready for shenanigans. She wasn’t going to take kindly to prank-vidding magicians in her work shift. And he’d been doing this for half an hour already.

“Magician? I’m known for some muscular sorceries, perhaps, but no. I’m just thisty.” The word had an unsavory emphasis that ran adjacent to Becky’s realm of expectations. Not quite within, but adjacent enough to unclench her a little. “Buuut, I’ve been drinking slow, so these got warm.” Irons held up the other two bottles. “Do you have any that are chilled?”

“Do we…” A dullness set in Becky’s eyes. “No. Sir. People don’t usually buy it… by the bottle. We keep it on a shelf.” Was this a joke? Was he making a fool of her? Worse, was this a test from management? Becky wasn’t going to lose to… whatever was happening here. He was buying three bottles, he wasn’t getting away, and it was going to be a huge sale. “But! For you, I’ll chill this one.” She picked up one of the unopened bottles. It hadn’t been tampered with. Neither of them had been. Alright. “And I’ll bring you some ice for this and two big glasses so you can pour your outside drinks.” She was going to nail this fucker. He was going to drink this bottle, on her terms. Her glass, her ice.

“What nice service.” Irons turned his attention back to Euphoria. “I’m digging the tension. Must be close to showtime. Speaking of showtime, why I brought you here is swiftly unfolding, so way I see it, I held up my end. Let me see that battle-wound. Is it bigger than a quarter?” He was fixated. “If you show me, I’ll tell you some juicy news about that pink merc who gave it to you.”

Speaking of, speaking of showtime. The lights of the house dimmed ever so slightly and the stage flooded with hot, yellowed light. The dancers had not even taken the stage before the wolf-whistling began. Someone shouted something greasy and unrepeatable. There had to be something in the drinks; the patrons were riled and rowdy. Slowly, one by one, the dancers sauntered to their places. Each was shrouded in a plastic, velcro-secured fire fighter jacket, shiny plastic fire fighter helmet. Each held a prop; two hefted a long firehose between them, one had a bucket, another hefted an axe.

Irons joined the cacophony of whistling that pierced every ear in the house. “Wow. You gotta love the flapping paper fire in the back. That’s dedication to theming. I’ve been waiting for this since I got here.”

Tactical brutality was a phrase you could use to describe Euphoria. Just calling her a reckless thot was more accurate. She learned young her greatest weapon was her body. This body of her's served her well all the years she flaunted it shamelessly. She used it to bludgeon anyone who threatened her survival. She wielded it to carve whatever else she wanted out of people's hearts. She didn't know yet what Irons was really after, just that stealing the heart of a God might have been her most reckless idea yet. It was decided if she was already damned, she might as well milk that heart for all it was worth. The magical sword was a good start, but there was always more Euphoria could squeeze out for her troubles.

As Irons revealed his true reason for bringing her here, Euphoria felt a great, and powerful desire wash over her. It grew with every word that fell out of his mouth. The same violent choice that brought her here in the first place. It was to slowly lean over the table, carefully cram her hand inside his goddamn chest and pull out his fucking heart! "Important to me?" Euphoria choked. There was something else there, mixing into the rage, making it far more toxic. It was the bile spat out by her own festering wounds. Shame. Regret. The deep, hollow pit where all her tears long dried up in. Euphoria lit up another cigarette. Her hands were shaking.

"You really think I wanted to see this shit hole again? You can't be that stupid, Irons," she hissed, offering him what little credit she could stomach. She easily inhaled half the cigarette just to calm herself. "But you are that much of a jackass." Carefully, Euphoria pulled the cigarette from her mouth. Slowly, she reached over the table and crammed the smoldering end into his hand. "You chose this place for one reason," Euphoria said. "To piss me off!" Her scathing glare dared him to wretch away in pain. Knowing him, he wouldn't. Not for something as tame as this. Damn, if it didn't feel good to get out of her system, though.

That's about when Becky showed up. She politely didn't comment on Euphoria using Irons as an ashtray, and in turn, Euphoria politely didn't ask anything else of her. Becky had enough on her plate complying with Iron's ridiculous requests. Euphoria could practically feel the miasma of frustration radiating off her. Same girl. Same.

Euphoria hid her face in her hand, not because Becky would ever recognize her, but because Irons was trying to flirt with the poor girl. "Yeah, she's nice not to kick us out. I'd be so lucky..." Euphoria said once Becky was out of earshot. She retreated to fume in the sticky throne Irons was so proud of placing her on. He was already whining about the battle wound again. "You've already dug around in my dirt," Euphoria huffed. "What makes you think I'll let you go digging around in anything else?" Bigger than a quarter... What kind of bullets did he think she was out there getting hit with? She was dead set on not whipping out her nasty stitches until he mentioned yet more secrets he was keeping from her. About the Starlight losers nonetheless. "What use is a dead woman's business to me?" Euphoria said. Unlike Irons, she didn't get off rifling through other people's baggage. She'd be lying if she wasn't curious, though. And that was before it was revealed just how much his news would change things.

With a frown, Euphoria slipped a hand into her dress shirt. All the while the next dance number sparked to life on stage, cheered on by the ruthless attention of the crowd. It was a much better dance than hers, all considered. "About the pink loser," Euphoria said. "Start talking or I'll button it right back up." She slid the shirt off her shoulder as he divulged the juicy deets. Just as Irons hoped, the wound cut deep, inches from the vital artery in her throat. It had stitches and a faint ring of inflammation around the edges. "That do it for you? You know the rules here, no touching the merchandise." Someone wolf-whistled, but it wasn't at her nasty wound.

On stage, the dancers swayed to the building music in one coordinated line. The long prop hose was also swayed between their legs. The axes and fire extinguisher weren't props. It was cheaper to grab whatever was in the storage closet than to have props made. Since when did the Paradise ever care about the safety of its dancers? Or its clientele? Arms reached up, paper money flying in the air, some waving expectantly. One hand grabbed for someone's heel and much to Euphoria's surprise, was kicked between the eyes with a pointy toe. The customer went down and was left to writhe on the dirty carpet. No one bothered to pick him up. Just more screaming. More howling. More animal noises than Euphoria hadn't heard bouncing off these greasy walls in a long time. The dancing wasn't even all that good. Everyone on stage had that sloppy teeter of being bought too much drink on someone else's dime. Or more likely, were on killer drugs to get them through the shift. Euphoria blinked slowly. Two more people tried their chances crawling onto the stage. Their hands and arms and faces were trampled on by six-inch heels still in step with the dance. Was she seeing things? Maybe she was the drunk one.

Euphoria met Iron's gaze behind the sunglasses, and they doubled into four red lenses as her eyes crossed. "This place's gone fuckin wild since I dumped it," all the screaming of horny and battered beasts melting into the background. The only thing she could focus on was Iron's stupid grin. God, she wanted to smack it. "No wonder you wanted to come here." No that wasn't right. He brought her here to fuck with her. They had a whole conversation about it and everything. A feeling welled up inside her that made her sick to her stomach. Her heart started to race in her chest, even though everything felt painfully sluggish. To quell it, she helped herself to the last of the vodka bottle. It did not help. Euphoria teetered over the side of the booth and threw it back up.

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MuseMania! rolled 10 using 2d10. Resist Frenzy. 1 Willpower spent attempting to resist corruption.

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This message was last edited by the player at 22:31, Tue 28 Mar 2023.