Multiple Settings Brave Enough - A Werewolf: the Apocalypse Quest

[wonderandawe]

Since many players asked about what Pure Breed is and wish to be spoiled about it, here is an Explanation of Pure Breed in Werewolf: the Apocalypse.

Spoiler

In Werewolf, Pure Breed is the werewolf equivalent of nobility.  You have high social standing based on your heroic ancestors.  A Werewolf with High Pure Breed will have more respect than a “Mutt” werewolf.  However, more is expected out of a Werewolves born of Noble bloodlines.


In the quest, no one will use the Term “Pure Breed”, as this is a game mechanics term.   Instead they will talk about being “born of heroes” or their bloodlines.  

 

[wonderandawe]

Brave Enough will update on Thursdays until the Site Maintenance is complete.   (Just hedging my bets in case the Maintenance doesn't happen next week.)


Afterwards we will go with the planned Monday updates.  

 

[wonderandawe]

In a few steps, your mother’s warm embrace enfolds you. As your mother hugs you, you bury your nose into her shoulder. The scents of paint and herbal soap bring you back to the countless nights she comforted you as a child. She would come into your room, after you had a nightmare, dried paint still under her fingernails. The memory of her lullaby brings tears to your eyes. “I'll protect you from harm, and you'll wake in my arms.” A tension you didn’t realize you had leaves your body. Everything will be okay now your mother is here.

Your mother pulls away and examines you head to toe. She brushes hair from your face to get a better look at your face. “Are you okay? That boy didn’t hurt you, did he?” she asks as if you were the one injured and put in the hospital.

“That boy didn’t get a chance to touch her.” A woman comments, her voice tinged with pride. At the sound of her voice, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your mother grabs your hand and together you face the woman.

Despite the summer heat, the woman wears a burgundy pantsuit. Her straightened hair brushed back into a severe bun and her dark skin shines in the streetlights. Straight backed, head held high -the woman’s entire demeanor screams military to you. Her jacket bulges at the shoulders - her gun, you realize. Your mother is a head taller than this woman, but there is no doubt in your mind who is more dangerous. She didn’t look old enough to be a detective; she couldn’t be more than twenty-five. “Are you a cop? I mean, police officer?” You didn’t want to offend this woman.

A close-lipped smile creeps across her face. “No, I work for your father.” Your father runs the Crying Rock Wilderness Preserve, a private wildlife refuge in your mother’s hometown. Whatever this woman’s skill set is, you doubt she nurses baby animals back to health. What the fuck does your father need with former military? Are poachers shot on sight?

“My name is Andrea Jordan.” Andrea holds out her hand. You want to take a step back from Andrea, but some instinct tells you to stand your ground. Don’t show this woman weakness. You take the offered hand and give it a firm shake. Andrea’s smile grows warmer and she squeezes your hand before releasing it. She is doing her best to seem non-threatening.

“What do you do at the Wildlife Preserve?” You ask.

Andrea does not expect this question. “It’s complicated to explain.” She rubs her earlobe as she considers her answer. “I suppose I am Crying Rock’s firearms and demolitions expert.”

“Like explosions? That’s so cool!” Curiosity erases your unease. You never met anyone who blew shit up for a living. “How did you get into that field? Were you in the military?”

“Sigrid, don’t badger Andrea with questions.” Your mother squeezes your hand tight; her own hand slick with sweat.

“I dropped out of boot camp.” There must be a story about this, but Andrea’s tone warns you not to pry. “My father was a Marine. He taught me everything he knew about guns. ” Desperate to escape this conversation, Andrea’s eyes dart behind you. You follow her gaze to the two men talking at the other end of the parking lot.

You recognize the grey suited man from the police station. He stands before a tall tanned man dressed in a brown sports coat and jeans. The man in the sports coat reminds you of a father on his way to pick up his kids from day care. Not the type to be having clandestine meetings with shady politicians in police parking lots.

The man in the sports coat crosses his arms and listens to the grey suited man speak. The grey suited man pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes sweat from his brow. After he is finished speaking, the grey suited man waits like a mouse hiding in the grass. Finally, the man in the sports coat nods. The grey suited man hands over your orange folder and a post it note. He retreats into the police station.

“Greedy bastard,” the man in the sports coat mutters when he joins your group. He hands Andrea your orange file folder and sticks the post it note to the palm his hand. He pulls out a high end smart phone and takes a picture. The man crumbles the post-it note in his fist. He frowns, at a lost on what to do with it. The man shrugs and puts the crumpled note in his pocket. “That’s done.” He says with a satisfied sigh. “Do you need help moving, Caroline?”

“Moving? Where are we moving to?” you ask. There was no time to move; school starts in a few days. Though not having to face the other students held a certain attraction. “How soon can we move?”

“Kirksville.” Kirksville is your mother’s hometown. And your hometown too, though you haven’t been there since you were five. Barely two thousand people live in Kirksville, a good third of them your mother’s relatives. “And we will talk about this later.” You mother only used this tone when ordering you to stay out of sight from your sleazy landlord. You clench your jaw and stay silent.

“School starts on Monday, so we have to move you this weekend.” The man takes off his sports coat and tosses it to Andrea. She catches it with an irritated grimace, but folds it over her arm. “Between Andrea and I, it shouldn’t take too long to pack your stuff into a truck.”

“We can handle it, Greg.” your mother says. “You must be needed back in Kirksville.”

“I’m needed here more.” Greg rolls up the sleeves on his dark blue shirt. “You and Sigrid can’t move all your furniture by yourself. If you got help, why not use it?”

“We don’t have much to pack.” Your mother counters. “Our current apartment came furnished so we only have clothes and dishes and pots and pans. Sigrid and I can handle it.” Furnished was a generous description for the particle board shit the landlord gave you.

“You aren’t bringing any furniture with you?” Andrea asks surprised.

Your mother shakes her head no. “We will be fine. I have a taxi coming to pick us up.”

“Taxi? You having car trouble?”

“I just need a new battery.” It’s painfully obvious your mother wants these people to leave her alone.

“You don’t need a taxi. We can give you a ride. I don’t know much about cars, but I’m sure I can google how to change a battery.” It is also painfully obvious Greg plans on helping your mother despite what she says.

“Or rent you a car after Greg fries your electrical system.” Andrea reassures your mother.

“I have the van at the shop….” Your mother begins. You doubt your mother had the van towed in the hours since you last saw it.

“If it is only a dead battery, why is your van in the shop, Caroline?” Greg asks through gritted teeth. Caught in a lie, your mother falls silent and looks towards the street. Fingering his wedding ring, Greg takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Caroline, I thought we agreed on the best course of action.”

“I know. We did. Just give me a few days….”

“Because, I’m starting to think you don’t understand how dangerous your situation is. The last thing I want is for you get hurt.”

Whoa. Is this Greg guy threatening your mother? You stand in front of her and confront Greg. “Are you fucking threatening my mother?” You weren’t going to let some soccer dad disrespect your mother.

“Sigrid! Don’t!” Your mother grabs your arm, but you shake her off.

You get into this Greg’s face. It didn’t matter he was older than you, taller than you, and outweighed you. “You don’t fucking talk to my mother that way or I’ll kick your ass!” You stare him down, trying to cow him like you did with the grey suited man earlier. Yet unlike the sour politician, Greg holds the stare until the intensity of it forces you to break off first.

“Please!” your mother begs. “She is just a child. She doesn’t know what she is doing.” She reaches out to you, but Andrea holds her back in a firm grip. Your mother clenches her hands uselessly.

“I know Sigrid didn’t mean any harm.” Greg reassures your mother. Which is bullshit. If you weren’t standing in a police parking lot, you would have demonstrated to Greg what you did to Scott earlier. Greg’s face could use a little rearrangement.

“Sigrid, I won’t hurt you or your mother. Don’t you agree that bailing you out of jail proves I’m here to help?” Greg speaks to you as if you were a small child who didn’t know any better. You scowl and don’t answer. “Sigrid.” He prompts you to answer.

“Yes. Fine. Whatever.” You can’t leave that as the last word. “Can you stop freaking out my mother, please? We can take care of ourselves.”

“I’m sorry, Sigrid.” To your surprise, Greg sounds contrite. Greg scratches the back of his head. “Sometimes I forget my assistance isn’t always wanted. Would you rather your Aunt Anne help you move?”

Anne was your mother’s oldest sister and one of the few family members your mother still talked to. Suddenly you realize who this Greg is. Last year, your Aunt married some California tech guru. You remember finding the wedding invitation, long past the ceremony date, in the trash. Gregory Wright was the name.

Shit, that cop bitch was right. You do have rich relatives. And to thank him for bailing you out of jail, you threatened your new rich uncle with physical violence. Great fucking first impression.

“Yes, I’ll call her tomorrow morning.” your mother agrees, relieved. “We will be in Kirksville by Monday.” She promises.

Greg, you guess Uncle Greg now, nods. “We will be in Austin for the night. Here is my card in case anything else happens.” Uncle Greg offers your mother his business card. Your mother hesitates. “It’s just a card. Nothing more.” He reveals identical cards in his steel business card holder. “You can pick one if you’d like.”

“I’ll take a card.” You say, as a peace offering. Your uncle did bail you out of jail and someone needs to pay for your lawyer. It’s not like anyone else in your family has money. Though did you even need a lawyer? People who post bail didn’t immediately move to another city. Actually, you are sure staying in town is a condition of posting bail. You glance at the orange folder in Andrea’s arms. Uncle Greg must have bribed the police into releasing you.

Uncle Greg fans out his business cards and you pluck a card from his hand. The bright white card has a fine matte texture. In gleaming black ink, it reads “Gregory Wright, Environmental Consultant.” Listed underneath is a phone number and email address.

“Environmental Consultant?” You question. “I thought you were a computer guy.”

“I wear many hats.” Uncle Greg slips his business card holder back into his pocket. “You can call anytime, Sigrid. Day or night.”

“Your father’s not shy about it.” Andrea grumbles.

“Hush, Thunder.” Uncle Greg growls, as his phone lights up. “Hello? Hey, we were just talking about you…. Yeah, she’s here. She’s fine. We are still in the parking lot of the station…. Of course, it’s safe. They are too busy counting their money.” Uncle Greg snorts. “It’s a figure of speech, Frank. Where am I going to get that much cash at this time of night?..... No, I didn’t tell her anything. You said you’d want to talk to her yourself.”

Uncle Greg offers you his phone. “It’s your father.”

What is your relationship with your father like?

• Non-existent. This is the first time you have had contact with him in years.
  
• Distant. You have not spoken to your father since you made the obligatory call to thanked him for your birthday present.
  
• One-sided. You and your father interact through Facebook. Or rather he attempts to interact with you and you ignore him. About once a month or so, he will comment on every photo you post. You are positive the only reason why he has an account is to follow your life.
  
• Close. You and your father have spent countless hours playing games online. And by games you mean chess… on Yahoo Games. Your dad’s kind of old school. You suspect he only uses the computer to play chess with you.
  
• Other. Be sure to describe your relationship with your father.
  

 

[Howdyparker]

Non existent!

 

[Jairain]

One sided. We keep him at arms length but know he's there if we ever really fuck up. He's not a bad guy really but we are a mama's girl and a side had to be taken.

 

[JayTee]

Distant, but due to circumstances rather than any intention on either person's part. Dad was always too busy with work to really develop a close relationship with, but he was always there for you when you needed it most, and you appreciated that about him.

 

[Fadence]

One-sided.  You and your father interact through Facebook.   Or rather he attempts to interact with you and you ignore him.  About once a month or so, he will comment on every photo you post.  You are positive the only reason why he has an account is to follow your life.

 

[wonderandawe]

FYI, the board will go down for maintenance starting on Sunday and will be down for a few days. The next post will be the Monday after maintenance. 

 

[Erinys]

I'll just second JayTee's vote:


Distant, but due to circumstances rather than any intention on either person's part. Dad was always too busy with work to really develop a close relationship with, but he was always there for you when you needed it most, and you appreciated that about him.


With the addition of following us on FB.

 

[wonderandawe]

Let me clarify the choices a bit.


Non-Existent - Choose this choice for Maximum family drama.  This man is a stranger to you.  There will be relief on his side for finally being able to talk to you after all these years.  


Your parents will have an awful relationship, but you will start fresh with your father.  


Distant - You and your father fulfill the obligatory interactions of family members.  He sends a birthday/Christmas present.  You call him to thank him.   You aren't really a part of each others lives.  He has other things on his mind besides his daughter.  He is busy at work and assumes your mother has the raising of you well in hand.   For this phone call you recognize his voice, but you aren't really sure how the conversation is going to go.  There may be some anger here on your side for him not attempting to have a relationship with you.  


Your parents will have a tense relationship.  Your father has dug himself a big hole with his relationship with you.  He's going to have to win your trust back.  


One-Sided - Your mother doesn't like you talking to your father.   Since you are a momma's girl, you keep such interactions to a minimum.  Yet, he still tries to interact with you.  You haven't encouraged the relationship to grow, so he doesn't interact much.  Only after a horrible day at work, does he sit down at a computer and go though your Facebook.  Like knowing your happy brings him joy and gives him a reason to get up in the morning.  This choice also include the birthday/Christmas presents and phone calls.  For this phone call you recognize his voice, but you aren't really sure how it is going to go.  There may be some guilt here on your side for ignoring him.  


Your mother will have a smug relationship with your father, since she won the divorce parent wars.  You will have a chance to repair your relationship with your father or you can continue to prefer your mother.  


Close - You talk on almost a weekly basis.  You got a hobby in common (chess).   You got inside jokes you refer to.  You get presents (sometimes outside of birthdays/holidays) and interact on Facebook.  You probably send him presents back.  Your father is a remote yet important part of your life.  For this phone call, you are comfortable with talking to him.  There may be some confusion as to what is going on.  Maybe anger for hiding things from you.


Your parents will have a tense, but working relationship.  You already have a good relationship with your father, which your mother may feel threatened by.  You will have to walk a tight rope between the two of them.  


Note these are all starting points for the relationship and how I predict things going in the future.  Your future choices will also have an impact on how things go with your parents.  

 

[wonderandawe]

The site is going down tomorrow and will be down for 2-4 days.  I will close voting on Thursday morning, so I hope the site will be up by Tuesday/Wednesday.   We need more votes to break the tie.  If not, I'll randomly decide between Distant and One-Sided as those two choices are tied as of right now. 


Here is how the voting stands:


Non-existent
Howdyparker


Distant
JayTee
Erinys


One-Sided
Jairain
Fadence

 

[buggybran]

I vote distant. 

 

[wonderandawe]

I'm going to open up voting until sunday morning at 7 AM CST. I got a few people who were interested in the game, so I want to give them time to vote.

Also, I feel I should note that Kirksville, TX (which is a fictional town) is about an hour and half away from Austin, TX. Austin is where Sigrid and her mother live right now.

Votes as of right now

Non-existent
Howdyparker


Distant
JayTee
Erinys
buggybran


One-Sided
Jairain
Fadence

 

[Atraxia]

In a few steps, your mother’s warm embrace enfolds you. As your mother hugs you, you bury your nose into her shoulder. The scents of paint and herbal soap bring you back to the countless nights she comforted you as a child. She would come into your room, after you had a nightmare, dried paint still under her fingernails. The memory of her lullaby brings tears to your eyes. “I'll protect you from harm, and you'll wake in my arms.” A tension you didn’t realize you had leaves your body. Everything will be okay now your mother is here.


Your mother pulls away and examines you head to toe. She brushes hair from your face to get a better look at your face. “Are you okay? That boy didn’t hurt you, did he?” she asks as if you were the one injured and put in the hospital.


“That boy didn’t get a chance to touch her.” A woman comments, her voice tinged with pride. At the sound of her voice, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your mother grabs your hand and together you face the woman.


Despite the summer heat, the woman wears a burgundy pantsuit. Her straightened hair brushed back into a severe bun and her dark skin shines in the streetlights. Straight backed, head held high -the woman’s entire demeanor screams military to you. Her jacket bulges at the shoulders - her gun, you realize. Your mother is a head taller than this woman, but there is no doubt in your mind who is more dangerous. She didn’t look old enough to be a detective; she couldn’t be more than twenty-five. “Are you a cop? I mean, police officer?” You didn’t want to offend this woman.


A close-lipped smile creeps across her face. “No, I work for your father.” Your father runs the Crying Rock Wilderness Preserve, a private wildlife refuge in your mother’s hometown. Whatever this woman’s skill set is, you doubt she nurses baby animals back to health. What the fuck does your father need with former military? Are poachers shot on sight?


“My name is Andrea Jordan.” Andrea holds out her hand. You want to take a step back from Andrea, but some instinct tells you to stand your ground. Don’t show this woman weakness. You take the offered hand and give it a firm shake. Andrea’s smile grows warmer and she squeezes your hand before releasing it. She is doing her best to seem non-threatening.


“What do you do at the Wildlife Preserve?” You ask.


Andrea does not expect this question. “It’s complicated to explain.” She rubs her earlobe as she considers her answer. “I suppose I am Crying Rock’s firearms and demolitions expert.”


“Like explosions? That’s so cool!” Curiosity erases your unease. You never met anyone who blew shit up for a living. “How did you get into that field? Were you in the military?”


“Sigrid, don’t badger Andrea with questions.” Your mother squeezes your hand tight; her own hand slick with sweat.


“I dropped out of boot camp.” There must be a story about this, but Andrea’s tone warns you not to pry. “My father was a Marine. He taught me everything he knew about guns. ” Desperate to escape this conversation, Andrea’s eyes dart behind you. You follow her gaze to the two men talking at the other end of the parking lot.


You recognize the grey suited man from the police station. He stands before a tall tanned man dressed in a brown sports coat and jeans. The man in the sports coat reminds you of a father on his way to pick up his kids from day care. Not the type to be having clandestine meetings with shady politicians in police parking lots.


The man in the sports coat crosses his arms and listens to the grey suited man speak. The grey suited man pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes sweat from his brow. After he is finished speaking, the grey suited man waits like a mouse hiding in the grass. Finally, the man in the sports coat nods. The grey suited man hands over your orange folder and a post it note. He retreats into the police station.


“Greedy bastard,” the man in the sports coat mutters when he joins your group. He hands Andrea your orange file folder and sticks the post it note to the palm his hand. He pulls out a high end smart phone and takes a picture. The man crumbles the post-it note in his fist. He frowns, at a lost on what to do with it. The man shrugs and puts the crumpled note in his pocket. “That’s done.” He says with a satisfied sigh. “Do you need help moving, Caroline?”


“Moving? Where are we moving to?” you ask. There was no time to move; school starts in a few days. Though not having to face the other students held a certain attraction. “How soon can we move?”


“Kirksville.” Kirksville is your mother’s hometown. And your hometown too, though you haven’t been there since you were five. Barely two thousand people live in Kirksville, a good third of them your mother’s relatives. “And we will talk about this later.” You mother only used this tone when ordering you to stay out of sight from your sleazy landlord. You clench your jaw and stay silent.


“School starts on Monday, so we have to move you this weekend.” The man takes off his sports coat and tosses it to Andrea. She catches it with an irritated grimace, but folds it over her arm. “Between Andrea and I, it shouldn’t take too long to pack your stuff into a truck.”


“We can handle it, Greg.” your mother says. “You must be needed back in Kirksville.”


“I’m needed here more.” Greg rolls up the sleeves on his dark blue shirt. “You and Sigrid can’t move all your furniture by yourself. If you got help, why not use it?”


“We don’t have much to pack.” Your mother counters. “Our current apartment came furnished so we only have clothes and dishes and pots and pans. Sigrid and I can handle it.” Furnished was a generous description for the particle board shit the landlord gave you.


“You aren’t bringing any furniture with you?” Andrea asks surprised.


Your mother shakes her head no. “We will be fine. I have a taxi coming to pick us up.”


“Taxi? You having car trouble?”


“I just need a new battery.” It’s painfully obvious your mother wants these people to leave her alone.


“You don’t need a taxi. We can give you a ride. I don’t know much about cars, but I’m sure I can google how to change a battery.” It is also painfully obvious Greg plans on helping your mother despite what she says.


“Or rent you a car after Greg fries your electrical system.” Andrea reassures your mother.


“I have the van at the shop….” Your mother begins. You doubt your mother had the van towed in the hours since you last saw it.


“If it is only a dead battery, why is your van in the shop, Caroline?” Greg asks through gritted teeth. Caught in a lie, your mother falls silent and looks towards the street. Fingering his wedding ring, Greg takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Caroline, I thought we agreed on the best course of action.”


“I know. We did. Just give me a few days….”


“Because, I’m starting to think you don’t understand how dangerous your situation is. The last thing I want is for you get hurt.”


Whoa. Is this Greg guy threatening your mother? You stand in front of her and confront Greg. “Are you fucking threatening my mother?” You weren’t going to let some soccer dad disrespect your mother.


“Sigrid! Don’t!” Your mother grabs your arm, but you shake her off.


You get into this Greg’s face. It didn’t matter he was older than you, taller than you, and outweighed you. “You don’t fucking talk to my mother that way or I’ll kick your ass!” You stare him down, trying to cow him like you did with the grey suited man earlier. Yet unlike the sour politician, Greg holds the stare until the intensity of it forces you to break off first.


“Please!” your mother begs. “She is just a child. She doesn’t know what she is doing.” She reaches out to you, but Andrea holds her back in a firm grip. Your mother clenches her hands uselessly.


“I know Sigrid didn’t mean any harm.” Greg reassures your mother. Which is bullshit. If you weren’t standing in a police parking lot, you would have demonstrated to Greg what you did to Scott earlier. Greg’s face could use a little rearrangement.


“Sigrid, I won’t hurt you or your mother. Don’t you agree that bailing you out of jail proves I’m here to help?” Greg speaks to you as if you were a small child who didn’t know any better. You scowl and don’t answer. “Sigrid.” He prompts you to answer.


“Yes. Fine. Whatever.” You can’t leave that as the last word. “Can you stop freaking out my mother, please? We can take care of ourselves.”


“I’m sorry, Sigrid.” To your surprise, Greg sounds contrite. Greg scratches the back of his head. “Sometimes I forget my assistance isn’t always wanted. Would you rather your Aunt Anne help you move?”


Anne was your mother’s oldest sister and one of the few family members your mother still talked to. Suddenly you realize who this Greg is. Last year, your Aunt married some California tech guru. You remember finding the wedding invitation, long past the ceremony date, in the trash. Gregory Wright was the name.


Shit, that cop bitch was right. You do have rich relatives. And to thank him for bailing you out of jail, you threatened your new rich uncle with physical violence. Great fucking first impression.


“Yes, I’ll call her tomorrow morning.” your mother agrees, relieved. “We will be in Kirksville by Monday.” She promises.


Greg, you guess Uncle Greg now, nods. “We will be in Austin for the night. Here is my card in case anything else happens.” Uncle Greg offers your mother his business card. Your mother hesitates. “It’s just a card. Nothing more.” He reveals identical cards in his steel business card holder. “You can pick one if you’d like.”


“I’ll take a card.” You say, as a peace offering. Your uncle did bail you out of jail and someone needs to pay for your lawyer. It’s not like anyone else in your family has money. Though did you even need a lawyer? People who post bail didn’t immediately move to another city. Actually, you are sure staying in town is a condition of posting bail. You glance at the orange folder in Andrea’s arms. Uncle Greg must have bribed the police into releasing you.


Uncle Greg fans out his business cards and you pluck a card from his hand. The bright white card has a fine matte texture. In gleaming black ink, it reads “Gregory Wright, Environmental Consultant.” Listed underneath is a phone number and email address.


“Environmental Consultant?” You question. “I thought you were a computer guy.”


“I wear many hats.” Uncle Greg slips his business card holder back into his pocket. “You can call anytime, Sigrid. Day or night.”


“Your father’s not shy about it.” Andrea grumbles.


“Hush, Thunder.” Uncle Greg growls, as his phone lights up. “Hello? Hey, we were just talking about you…. Yeah, she’s here. She’s fine. We are still in the parking lot of the station…. Of course, it’s safe. They are too busy counting their money.” Uncle Greg snorts. “It’s a figure of speech, Frank. Where am I going to get that much cash at this time of night?..... No, I didn’t tell her anything. You said you’d want to talk to her yourself.”


Uncle Greg offers you his phone. “It’s your father.”


What is your relationship with your father like?

• Non-existent. This is the first time you have had contact with him in years.
  
  
• Distant. You have not spoken to your father since you made the obligatory call to thanked him for your birthday present.
  
  
• One-sided. You and your father interact through Facebook. Or rather he attempts to interact with you and you ignore him. About once a month or so, he will comment on every photo you post. You are positive the only reason why he has an account is to follow your life.
  
  
• Close. You and your father have spent countless hours playing games online. And by games you mean chess… on Yahoo Games. Your dad’s kind of old school. You suspect he only uses the computer to play chess with you.
  
  
• Other. Be sure to describe your relationship with your father.
  

Close

 

[Nutmeggera]

Finally got logged in! Distant. I vote distant!

 

[wonderandawe]

Your father.

You haven’t seen your father since your parents signed the divorce papers years ago. Despite living less than two hours away, he never visited Austin. He was always busy with work. Your only contact with your father was over the phone. You called on your birthday and Christmas to thank him for the presents he sent.

And he called when you fucked up. And this time you fucked up big time. You are dreading this conversation. Before you could lose your nerve, you put Uncle Greg’s phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Sigrid?” Your father’s deep voice rumbles despite the tiny cell phone speaker. “You okay?”

The edges of the cell phone bite into your hand, as you squeeze. Your naked photos were all over the internet and you spent the last six hours in a urine soaked jail cell. How did he think you feel? Yet, when your mother asked the same question, you didn’t bit her head off. You swallow your anger, not willing to set him off. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Your father doesn’t immediately answer. You wait in anticipatory silence for the screaming to start. To your surprise, your father says, “If you are worried about the pictures, I had your Uncle Greg take care of them.” There is an awkwardness to his words. Fatherhood is a part he rarely plays.

“Um…” The idea of both your father and Uncle Greg seeing those pictures makes you want to crawl under the parking lot and pull the asphalt over you. Maybe they had a way to delete them without looking at them. “Thanks?”

Your father grunts in reply. You start to worry. Did you fuck up so bad you went right past anger into concern already? Would you escape the inevitable explosion?

“What the fuck were you thinking, Sigrid!?” The cell connection crackles unable to contain your father’s rage. It was almost a relief to hear your father raise his voice. “Your mother and I didn’t raise you to be stupid.”

“Stupid!?” Your father’s words ignites your own temper. “What did you expect me to do?! Scott disrespected me…”

“I’m not talking about the boy,” Your father brushes off your assault of Scott as unimportant. “Why the fuck did you take pictures of yourself and put them on the internet?!”

“I didn’t put them on the internet!” You defend yourself against your father's accusation of stupidity. “Scott did.”

“Sigrid. As soon as you took those pictures with your phone, they were on the internet.” Your father lectures. “Once things go on the web, anyone could gain access to them. Even if you hadn’t send them to this Scott.”

“But…”

“No excuses, Sigrid!” Your father pauses for a moment and continues in a softer tone. “We have all done stupid shit. God knows I have. You have to be more careful, Cupcake.“

Cupcake. When you were born, your father saw you swaddled with a little pink hat on top your head. “She looks like a little cupcake.” He told your mother. Cupcake has been your father’s pet name for your ever since. You would have died if anyone heard you be called ‘cupcake’. You would have killed anyone else who called you ‘cupcake’. But it was your father and it was one of the few things you shared.

“I know.” You shuffle your feet. “I’m sorry I caused so much trouble.”

“Don't worry about it, Cupcake. I took care of it.” Your father reassures you. “It could have been worse.”

“How?” You have no clue how this situation could have been worse. You were in jail.

“I know you have a lot of questions. Sometime next week, I’ll pick you up after school and we can talk, okay? I can show you around Crying Rock and you can see what I do all day.”

“Or you could tell me now.” Between the police bribery and the demolitions expert, your father’s work was not what it seemed. What did he really do? Grow pot in the forest? Transport cocaine for the Mexican Cartels? Run one of those survivalist militia groups?

“No,” Your father’s tone bore no argument. “Best I tell you in person.”

You considered pushing him for more information. Yet a police parking lot was not the best place to be having this conversation. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Work may keep me… ”

“No.” You will not wait all week for your father to show up. “Don’t give me the work bullshit. Bambi can wait.”

“Monday.” He promises. “Don’t let your temper get the best of you.”

Your father of all people is not allowed to lecture you on your temper. “Show up on Monday and it won’t.”

He chuckles. “I love you, Sigrid.”

You bite your lip, conflicted. Part of you didn’t want your father’s love. It would be easier to hate him for choosing his work over his only child. Still you answer you father honestly. “I love you too, dad.” It was the only answer you can give.

“Now, give the phone back to Sparks.” His tone brisk and nonsense. “I need to talk to him.”

“Sparks?” Did your father give everyone weird nicknames?

“Shit.” Your father curses. “I mean your Uncle Greg.”

You hold out the phone to Uncle Greg. “My father wants to talk to you, Sparks.” You test out the name to see Uncle Greg’s reaction.

To your disappointment, Uncle Greg does not react to the nickname. He takes the phone. “Hello? That could have gone better….” He walks out of earshot. You observe your Uncle Greg, wondering if he too works at the Wilderness Preserve.

Monday… Usually weekends race by, but now Monday afternoon seems a long way off.

An old raven caws. He sits on an electric line, towering over the crows resting beside him. His patchy black feathers shine in the streetlights. Despite his scarred appearance, the raven was not weak. He earned those scars by fighting off hawks and winning. When he opens his hooked beak to caw again, the crows continue to sleep undisturbed.

You recognize this raven. He followed you as long as you could remember. As a child, the old raven sat on the electrical line outside of your school. You dreamed he stared at you from the foot of your bed and watched you sleep. In the morning, the Raven was outside on the electric lines, as usual. You even named him - Toddy. Okay, not the best name, but you were six at the time.

Your mother couldn’t see Toddy, though she warned you never to tell anyone about the raven. They will think you were crazy, seeing things, she said. For your whole life, no one reacted to anything Toddy did. Yet when Toddy cawed, Uncle Greg turned and looked up at the old raven.

What do you do?

• Interrupt Greg and your father’s conversation to ask about the Toddy the Raven.
  
  
• Talk to your mother again. Maybe she knew more about Toddy then she was letting on.
  
  
• Pump Andrea for information. She already let the demolitions thing slip. Maybe you can find out more about the Wildlife Reserve.
  
  
• Eavesdrop on Uncle Greg talking to your dad.
  
  
• Other

Out of Character Commentary
((Our first action decision point! Don’t worry, we got other character creation decision points coming up. ))

((I tried to find a happy medium between the less hostile version of distance and the more angry version of Distant I had planned.))

Out of Character Commentary

 

[buggybran]

While the other adults are distracted Sigrid should attempt to get information out of Andrea. She seems involved, but has a big mouth and is somewhat distant from the situation, so Andrea may not be as concerned with the secrecy as the family adults.

 

[Atraxia]

Your father.

You haven’t seen your father since your parents signed the divorce papers years ago. Despite living less than two hours away, he never visited Austin. He was always busy with work. Your only contact with your father was over the phone. You called on your birthday and Christmas to thank him for the presents he sent.

And he called when you fucked up. And this time you fucked up big time. You are dreading this conversation. Before you could lose your nerve, you put Uncle Greg’s phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Sigrid?” Your father’s deep voice rumbles despite the tiny cell phone speaker. “You okay?”

The edges of the cell phone bite into your hand, as you squeeze. Your naked photos were all over the internet and you spent the last six hours in a urine soaked jail cell. How did he think you feel? Yet, when your mother asked the same question, you didn’t bit her head off. You swallow your anger, not willing to set him off. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Your father doesn’t immediately answer. You wait in anticipatory silence for the screaming to start. To your surprise, your father says, “If you are worried about the pictures, I had your Uncle Greg take care of them.” There is an awkwardness to his words. Fatherhood is a part he rarely plays.

“Um…” The idea of both your father and Uncle Greg seeing those pictures makes you want to crawl under the parking lot and pull the asphalt over you. Maybe they had a way to delete them without looking at them. “Thanks?”

Your father grunts in reply. You start to worry. Did you fuck up so bad you went right past anger into concern already? Would you escape the inevitable explosion.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Sigrid!?” The cell connection crackles unable to contain your father’s rage. It was almost a relief to hear your father raise his voice. “Your mother and I didn’t raise you to be stupid.”

“Stupid!?” Your father’s words ignites your own temper. “What did you expect me to do?! Scott disrespected me…”

“I’m not talking about the boy,” Your father brushes off your assault of Scott as unimportant. “Why the fuck did you take pictures of yourself and put them on the internet?!”

“I didn’t put them on the internet!” You defend yourself against your father's accusation of stupidity. “Scott did.”

“Sigrid. As soon as you took those pictures with your phone, they were on the internet.” Your father lectures. “Once things go on the web, anyone could gain access to them. Even if you hadn’t send them to this Scott.”

“But…”

“No excuses, Sigrid!” Your father pauses for a moment and continues in a softer tone. “We have all done stupid shit. God knows I have. You have to be more careful, Cupcake.“

Cupcake. When you were born, your father saw you swaddled with a little pink hat on top your head. “She looks like a little cupcake.” He told your mother. Cupcake has been your father’s pet name for your ever since. You would have died if anyone heard you be called ‘cupcake’. You would have killed anyone else who called you ‘cupcake’. But it was your father and it was one of the few things you shared.

“I know.” You shuffle your feet. “I’m sorry I caused so much trouble.”

“Don't worry about it, Cupcake. I took care of it.” Your father reassures you. “It could have been worse.”

“How?” You have no clue how this situation could have been worse. You were in jail.

“I know you have a lot of questions. Sometime next week, I’ll pick you up after school and we can talk, okay? I can show you around Crying Rock and you can see what I do all day.”

“Or you could tell me now.” Between the police bribery and the demolitions expert, your father’s work was not what it seemed. What did he really do? Grow pot in the forest? Transport cocaine for the Mexican Cartels? Run one of those survivalist militia groups?

“No,” Your father’s tone bore no argument. “Best I tell you in person.”

You considered pushing him for more information. Yet a police parking lot was not the best place to be having this conversation. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Work may keep me… ”

“No.” You will not wait all week for your father to show up. “Don’t give me the work bullshit. Bambi can wait.”

“Monday.” He promises. “Don’t let your temper get the best of you.”

Your father of all people is not allowed to lecture you on your temper. “Show up on Monday and it won’t.”

He chuckles. “I love you, Sigrid.”

You bite your lip, conflicted. Part of you didn’t want your father’s love. It would be easier to hate him for choosing his work over his only child. Still you answer you father honestly. “I love you too, dad.” It was the only answer you can give.

“Now, give the phone back to Sparks.” His tone brisk and nonsense. “I need to talk to him.”

“Sparks?” Did your father give everyone weird nicknames?

“Shit.” Your father curses. “I mean your Uncle Greg.”

You hold out the phone to Uncle Greg. “My father wants to talk to you, Sparks.” You test out the name to see Uncle Greg’s reaction.

To your disappointment, Uncle Greg does not react to the nickname. He takes the phone. “Hello? That could have gone better….” He walks out of earshot. You observe your Uncle Greg, wondering if he too works at the Wilderness Preserve.

Monday… Usually weekends race by, but now Monday afternoon seems a long way off.

An old raven caws. He sits on an electric line, towering over the crows resting beside him. His patchy black feathers shine in the streetlights. Despite his scarred appearance, the raven was not weak. He earned those scars by fighting off hawks and winning. When he opens his hooked beak to caw again, the crows continue to sleep undisturbed.

You recognize this raven. He followed you as long as you could remember. As a child, the old raven sat on the electrical line outside of your school. You dreamed he stared at you from the foot of your bed and watched you sleep. In the morning, the Raven was outside on the electric lines, as usual. You even named him - Toddy. Okay, not the best name, but you were six at the time.

Your mother couldn’t see Toddy, though she warned you never to tell anyone about the raven. They will think you were crazy, seeing things, she said. For your whole life, no one reacted to anything Toddy did. Yet when Toddy cawed, Uncle Greg turned and looked up at the old raven.

What do you do?

• Interrupt Greg and your father’s conversation to ask about the Toddy the Raven.
  
  
• Talk to your mother again. Maybe she knew more about Toddy then she was letting on.
  
  
• Pump Andrea for information. She already let the demolitions thing slip. Maybe you can find out more about the Wildlife Reserve.
  
  
• Eavesdrop on Uncle Greg talking to your dad.
  
  
• Other

Out of Character Commentary
((Our first action decision point! Don’t worry, we got other character creation decision points coming up. ))

((I tried to find a happy medium between the less hostile version of distance and the more angry version of Distant I had planned.))

Out of Character Commentary

Eavesdrop

 

[Howdyparker]

I say talk to mom

 

[Jairain]

I second pumping Andrea for info but keep an eye on toddy.

 

[wonderandawe]

In case anyone cares, I prettied up the first post of the quest.

 

[KymmeSeven]

INTERROGATE ANDREA. DO IT.

Also, that first post looks really good! If only my posts could be so gloriously incandescent.

 

[Natasha Fatale]

Clearly EAVESDROP is the most teenagery thing to do.

 

[Amerikia1126]

(hello I is new if that is okay)
Interrogate Andrea, interrupting the conversation or spying on it probably wouldn't help our relationship with uncle Greg.

 

[wonderandawe]

(hello I is new if that is okay)

Of course it's okay. Everyone is welcome.