Chapter 4: Rain Dogs

Link to article: Chapter 4: Rain Dogs.

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[[include :scp-wiki:theme:dark]]
[[=]]
+ //Chapter 4: Rain Dogs//
[[/=]]
Riordan, you poor, dumb fuck.

For a month now, the condemned apartment complex where the Fox trapped you has been your home. You have spent your days nervously pacing around the hallways for hours on end. 

Dr. Fenwick promised that if you were ever lost, she would trace your ankle bracelet to come and get you - so where //is// she? But after you broke your promise, does she even want anything to do with you in the first place?!

Questions for later. You're miserable. You don't need to eat, but you've never been hungrier, and the rebar you've been chewing on has lost its flavor.

To make matters worse, the wrecking crew came, so you have to find a new home. Which meant that you were woken up this morning by a nasty man in a yellow vest and hard hat. His raspy voice startled you out of your sleep so viciously that you came within microseconds of letting a yelp loose - before just barely suppressing it.

...which brings us to the worst part of all: your weekly stay-quiet medicine. Whenever you took it, it always left a lingering, bitter taste on the back of your tongue for the rest of the day, like if "beige" were a lollipop flavor. The pill itself was too small to chomp in any satisfying way. 

But now that you've had no access to it for a month, you miss it terribly.

The sensitivity of your nerves has tripled, and the struggle to stay silent is now a full-blown war with your five senses. The pebbles under your bare feet dig into your flesh with sharp, dry stings. You found an old nine-volt battery the other day and tried to dampen your sorrows with a little snack -- but without your medicine, sucking out the innards of the battery gave you none of the tangy goodness that it usually did. It burned, and it only burned, and it took everything you had not to scream.

...

Well, you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. 

------

> +++ ☐ Go outside.

You plod through the smashed-open doorway to the apartment complex. The pathway is flanked by two lines of construction workers, glaring at you. It reminds you of one of the movies you had to see when you were younger. There was a scene where a soldier was drummed up and cashiered out of an army. You cling to your shirt anxiously - you aren't about to let any nasty generals rip the hard-earned mustard stains off your uniform.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##white|Yeah, that's right. Getcher arse outta here. We'll ring the police next time.##}}
[[/div]]

You sheepishly hold up your whiteboard.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|I'M SORRY! :(##

++ ##purple|DO YOU KNOW ANYWHERE ELSE I COULD GO?##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##white|Well, for one thing, you could go eat a dick.##}}
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|GREAT! THANKS!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

> +++ ☑ Go outside.

------

> +++ ☐ Eat a dick.

...you do not know what a dick is.

> +++ --☐ Eat a dick.--

------

> +++ ☐ Figure out where you are.

You spend thirty minutes aimlessly wandering through winding city streets. The majority of buildings are soulless glass monoliths. You have to quietly remind yourself not to look up at them - their height makes you feel like either you'll fall over or the towers are going to eat you. Or maybe both!

Exhausted, you rest against a lamppost at a six-way intersection. You can see a huddle of old men and women, only about half as grimy as yourself, holding up cardboard signs: "I'M JUST HUNGRY." "ANYTHING HELPS! JALAKÅRA BLESS YOU!" "CLASS WAR VETERAN LOOKING TO FUND MY ONE-MAN REVOLUTION!"

What an excellent idea! Just crowdsource for your location by holding up your whiteboard in public. Better show the sign guys your appreciation.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|THANKS FOR THE IDEA, SIGN GUYS!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
++++ {{##white|//**PISS OFF, GOBSHITE!**//##}}
[[/div]]

What an interesting word! You've never heard it at Site-6800.

So, you turn to face the near-endless stream of passers-by and hold up your new message:

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|WHAT CITY IS THIS??##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

...

An hour passes, and no one pays you any mind.

Seems you'll need to update your strategy. Maybe you can blend in with the locals by updating your vocabulary.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|WHAT CITY IS THIS, GOBSHITES??##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

...

Another hour passes.

Just as you're about to add a few more swears for good measure, a well-dressed family of four passes you on their way from church. The youngest daughter, no more than six, glances at your sign.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##white|You're in Sydney!##}}
[[/div]]

You quickly scribble up a response before the family pulls her away.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|SIDNI?? WHERE'S SIDNI???##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##white|Sydney, New South Wales, Australia!##}}
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|GREAT! THANKS, YOU LITTLE GOBSHITE! :)##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

Her father power-walks up to you.

...

In hindsight, you're not sure how you managed to avoid screaming for all five minutes of being curbstomped. But you're awfully proud of yourself for such restraint.

So... Sydney, Australia? You've seen that place in your movies! 

But something feels different about //this// Sydney. Maybe it's the levitating trolleys in the middle of the road. Maybe it's all the little dragonfly-shaped robots you see in the air, delivering packages. 

And besides that, you don't remember exactly what the Australian flag looks like, but you know it involves that blue-and-red X thing that England likes -- and you haven't seen any of that. The main flag you see is a black, white, and teal thing with three orange crescent moon symbols. 

Most of all, you were always under the impression that Australia had 73 kangaroos per square meter - and you haven't seen //one!//

So either that kid was lying , or this is the same city...

> +++ ☑ Figure out where you are.

------

> +++ ☐ Figure out //when// you are.

...but a different time.

That'll be easy enough. You've eaten enough Site-6800 employee newsletters to tell you that newspapers always have the date on the front page. 

You meander down the street, scanning every bright and shiny storefront for an indication of newspapers. And just as you're about to give up this strategy and move on to something else, you see a sign on top of a dingy little booth: "SOO YUN'S VINTAGE NEWSSTAND - KEEPING PRINT ALIVE SINCE 2140!"

Behind a mountain of magazines, there's a tired old woman reading a Korean-language novel.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|HELLO YOU GOBSHITE! COULD YOU TELL ME - ##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

Wait! That's the get-curbstomped word. But you still feel like it needs something that'll help you blend in.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|HELLO YOU 73 KANGAROOS! COULD YOU TELL ME WHAT YEAR IT IS?##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

She doesn't lift her head, only her eyes. The corners of her lips curl a few millimeters downward. As if pulled up from a marionette string, a limp, withered hand covered in age spots is drawn in front of her. She flicks her hand twice in an unspoken "shoo, shoo."

Joke's on her, there's still a mountain of newspapers and magazines within your reach. Slapping your fingers through front pages, you come across all sorts of headlines...

> Prefect Gainsborough: South America "On Track" to 30% Biome Restoration by Fall 2300

> Poll: 57% of Australians are Tired of the Three Moons Initiative's Occupation of the Earth during the Post-##orange|**Tarrare**## Restoration

> "We Have Bridges to Rebuild" - Perdition Committee Removes Worship of ABBAD of the Red Crater from List of Class-L Heresies

> Opposing Perspectives: Does our Direct Communication With the Afterlife Cheapen the Concept of Death? 

...

Tarrare.

That's the first time you've seen that name outside of your dreams. Outside of asking about it. Outside of being brushed off.

Maybe this is a coincidence. Maybe there was a different thing called Tarrare.

Because the alternative is that Tarrare is - or, at some point //was// - real. 

You don't know how to feel about this.

...

Oh, and it's December 12th, 2287. Neat.

Your wrenching, stabbing hunger can no longer be ignored. When's the last time you had real food? Something that's meant for human consumption?

> +++ ☑ Figure out //when// you are.

------

> +++ ☐ Eat something.

There's a restaurant on the next corner over. "Bubba Gump's Shrimp Company." The sign has a nice little shrimp-thing who's smiling at you.

Your eye twitches. Shrimp are definitely human-grade food.

You scramble forth. You no longer caring about the icky way the concrete feels under your fingertips. It'll be the first real food you've had in a month! You can eat it! You MUST eat it! You're going to have a meal! You're going to put food in your mouth and bite it and bite it and bite it and swallow!

Run. Run. Jump.

Your overgrown fingernails dig into the brick wall on the side of the restaurant. 

Climb. Climb. Climb.

You bite the shrimp.

Turns out shrimp tastes like a sign. Who knew?

...

After being dogpiled by waiters and busboys, they drag you to the employee break room "until the police arrive."

Are you scared of the police? //Should// you be? You've seen too many conflicting depictions of the police in your movies to really know what reaction to have.

> +++ ☑ Eat something.

------

> +++ ☐ Figure out if it's the same "Tarrare."

There's a TV on for the employees. A rerun of a talk show is starting...

> **Jerry Springer:** Hello, and welcome to After-Lifestyles! I'm your host, Jerry Springer, recording live (as it were) from Luna Major in Corbenic. Here, we take an in-depth look at the eternal rewards of cultural icons across the ages!
> 
> //(Title theme - a bubbly, jazzy, major-key rendition of Beethoven's Funeral March in E Flat from Op. 55. Montage of various dead celebrities enjoying luxurious amenities in the various afterlives of Corbenic.)//
> 
> First up is a decorated war hero - the man who fired the shots heard around the world during the grisly Tarrare Incident of Earth-2V. The man who, single-handedly, saved the human race of 2V from the city-devouring monstrosity of the Threll Dominion. Everyone, please put your hands together for the one, the only... Captain Moises Peterson!
> 
> //(Wild applause. The band plays// [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5319 Homo Sapiens Invictus]. //Cpt. Peterson enters the stage and shakes Springer's hand. They sit down. Peterson is obviously drunk.)//

...

You dreamed of history without even seeing it. Did Dr. Fenwick know you had this power?

> +++ ☑ Figure out if it's the same "Tarrare."

------

> +++ ☐ Escape.

Well, now that you've got both your meal and some useful information from this Bubba Gump establishment, it's high time you said goodbye before the police come and skip saying "hello."

There's a rather large line cook behind you, holding your shoulders in place. He was nice enough to let you still have your whiteboard.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|I'M GOING TO ESCAPE NOW! GOODBYE!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##white|Sorry mate, you're not goin' anywhere until the police get here.##}}
[[/div]]

That didn't work. Perhaps you should make an addition to clarify things.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|I'M GOING TO ^^BITE YOU AND THEN^^ ESCAPE NOW! GOODBYE!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[=]]
++ {{~ //Chomp.// ~}}
[[/=]]

Biting people is always a delicate science. The idea of actually //injuring// anyone makes your heart feel like wet popcorn. But a good chomp that barely leaves a mark is one of life's greatest pleasures.

But you're an expert. You've had 19 years of training on the staff of Site-6800. 

So when you give his thumb a good nip, the cook is angry enough to let you go, but not scared enough to call an ambulance.

Once he's clasping his left hand instead of your body, you tumble out of the chair, bash open the door to the back alley with your forehead, regret doing that immediately, rub your aching forehead, and scamper off into the darkness.

> +++ ☑ Escape.

------

The next ten minutes are a blur of alleyways, jaywalking, and hoping nobody sees you. There's a dark, concrete alcove in the back of a department store -- ostensibly to shelter their HVAC unit, which is in a fenced-off area.

You squat in a corner, waiting for the sound of police sirens to die down.

And they do!

But by the time that happens, you're still squatting in the corner - because you're still not sure what your next move should be.

Is this alcove the new replacement for the condemned apartment?

...

It's getting dark. A dull, brownish-orange light bulb flickers from the ceiling. This little concrete cave will have to do for now.

You stay there, frozen in the same spot, until something new happens.

And three hours later, that something turns out to be some//one//...

------

[[=]]
[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 100px; margin-right: 100px"]]
[[image caseyboss.png]]
[[/div]]
[[/=]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|//You.//##}}
[[/div]]

What's this? 

There's a young man in in the alley. He's wearing a big, yellow raincoat. There hasn't been a drop of rain today. His pink hair and piercings remind you of some scary people you saw in music videos.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|Oi, you!##}}
[[/div]]

And for some reason, he's aggressively telling you about his favorite letter of the alphabet. (You're more partial to "R".)

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|//I'm TALKIN' to you!//##}}
[[/div]]

...not only does he talk to the letter U, he also just pulled a kitchen knife out of his pocket. Maybe you've finally met someone who could out-weird you.

You take a half-second to make sure the whiteboard is visible in the light, then start writing. He half-lowers the knife, awaiting your response.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|HELLO! I'M RIORDAN!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|If I gave //less// of a fuck what your name is, I'd be legally pronounced dead.##}}

{{##FAFF91|I thought I told you and your friends to leave us alone. I guess keyin' your fuckin' Mercedes wasn't enough.##}}
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|WHAT'S A MERSADEY??##

++  ##purple|AND WHY DO YOU THINK I HAVE MORE THAN ONE OF THEM???##

++  ##purple|OH, DO YOU MEAN MY MUSTARD STAINS???##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|...what in the name of God's left tit are you on about?##}}
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|...I DON'T THINK I UNDERSTAND THIS GAME!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|Does this look like a game to you?!##}}
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|KINDA???##

++ ##purple|LIKE, YOU WIN A JUICE BOX IF YOU SAY THE WEIRDEST THING??##

++ ##purple|BECAUSE IF WE ARE, FRIBBLEDY SNOO!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|SHUT UP! JUST SHUT THE //FUCK// UP, I CAN'T LISTEN TO YOUR SHIT TONIGHT!##}}
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|LISTEN?? DO YOU READ WITH YOUR EARS??##

++ ##purple|I WANNA LEARN THAT TRICK!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

You're starting to like this guy. Maybe he senses that, because he's stomping right up to you. Maybe you'll even get a hug!

And just before you can write "ARE WE HUGGING NOW??", he snags by the collar with his free hand. You don't know what you smell on his breath, but you've smelled it before in empty cans.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
++++ {{##FAFF91|WE TOLD YOU TO FUCKING LEAVE! THAT THIS WAS //OUR// SPOT! WHY DIDN'T YOU LEAVE?!##}}
[[/div]]

You pull up your whiteboard to respond.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|THAT'S REALLY INTERESTING! BECAUSE I HAVE __NO IDEA__ WHO YOU ARE!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

He slaps the whiteboard out of your hand. It clatters against the wall. (Perhaps that wasn't the time to say something clever.)

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
++++ {{##FAFF91|WHY?! WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!##}}
[[/div]]

Your fingers start shaking. Your ears flush with heat. You haven't felt so violated by a real person before. (Maybe that fox from earlier, but you're still wondering if he was real to begin with.)

Dr. Fenwick always said that the whiteboard is the one thing that no one's supposed to take away from you. No matter what privileges you lost from bad behavior, you //needed// it.

Your fangs grind into one another. 

Whatever you're feeling right now, the important thing is that he has a knife, and needs a response.

Carefully -- //carefully!// -- you mouth your response, without vocalizing, without even breathing... "I CAN'T TALK WITHOUT MY WHITEBOARD."

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|I can't read lips, trust-funder. Speak up.##}}
[[/div]]

"I. CAN. NOT. TALK. WITH. OUT. MY. WHITE. BOARD."

He presses the tip of the knife onto your throat.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|Last chance. //Why are you still here?//##}}
[[/div]]

...

You know what?

[[=]]
++ {{~ //Chomp.// ~}}
[[/=]]

In a frenzy, you latch onto him, hissing and biting his neck. 

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
+++ {{##FAFF91|//GAAAH!##//}}
[[/div]]

He staggers backward for a few steps. You both fall on the ground.

...

What a curious feeling. You've just come to the realization that you fell //on his knife.// The other end is sticking out of the back of your neck.

Your whole body shivers. This is not a familiar pain. It's nothing like anything before.

You need to scream.

You can't scream. 

You are going to scream.

...

No more thinking. Move.

You pry yourself up. The knife slides out of your neck. The blade glows from your body temperature. You slap both hands over your mouth.

Crawl away. Stagger up. Run. //Run.//

Stumble. Burning. //Searing.//

//React.//

Tears stream down your face. You would sell all 162 of your fangs forever for just one more of your weekly pills.

Your instincts are taking over.

//React!//

You will hear your voice. You will hear your voice and it will kill you. You will die. Dr. Fenwick never told you about what death is like. You were not trained. You would be very bad at dying and that would disappoint the //shit// out of Dr. Fenwick.

//REACT!//

One last idea.

You shove your entire right fist into your mouth. Down your throat...

...

...

...you made it.

You //did// vocalize a little -- but only a smidgen more than you do when you cough. The sound was almost completely muffled by your fist.

It still hurts, but the worst of it is over. You touch the entry-point of the knife. Where there was a slit a few seconds ago, there's only a pinhole. The doctors always said you were very good at "bouncing back", whatever that means.

You smile weakly in relief. Now you have a backup plan for screaming-emergencies, at least.

But something's off. You did hear the faintest mumble of your voice, in a way that you've never heard before. So why does it sound so //familiar?// ...questions for later.

You turn toward your attacker. Even in the darkness, you can see that all the anger is gone from his face. There's only bewilderment, and maybe even fear. ...no, on second thought, that's guilt.

The knife, still glowing red-hot, drops from his hand.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|Why... didn't you bleed?##}}
[[/div]]

------

Both of you sit in the alcove. You've got your whiteboard back - the raincoat man gave it to you. It's been ten minutes, and he's still apologizing. But there's one word he's been saying a lot in his myriad explanations...

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|WHAT'S THIS C-WORD YOU KEEP TALKING ABOUT??##

++ ##purple|THE ONE THAT ISN'T "CUNT"! I THINK I KNOW THAT ONE ALREADY!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|What, "crusties?"##}}
[[/div]]

You nod.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|You don't know what a crust punk is?##}}
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT MY FEET WERE UNTIL THREE YEARS AGO!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|How should I put this...##}}

{{##FAFF91|A crustie is... someone who goes all "look, mate, I don't need a reason to be here -- 'cos I'm already here. Fuckin' deal with it." That's been my motto from day one, really.##}}

{{##FAFF91|I've got three other friends with the same motto. We backpack from town to town, livin' off what we can shoplift and sneakin' into music festivals.##}}

{{##FAFF91|We've been livin' this way for upwards of about five years or so. Pros: it's the only way we feel truly free. Cons: cops, hunger ... and the Greensleeves.##}}
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|DO GREENSLEEVES BITE PEOPLE??##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|Probably not, but they'll do everything else to ya.##}}

{{##FAFF91|They're a street gang. A //rich// street gang, so they're not out to rob people -- just to hurt 'em. Makes 'em feel powerful, I guess. And their favorite punching bag of a demographic are the homeless.##}}

{{##FAFF91|And it's not like the law's gonna stop 'em. Their mums and dads all work for Three Moons.##}}
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|GREENSLEEVES SOUND UNPLEASANT! I WOULD LIKE TO BITE THEM!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|Heh, yeah, me too...##}}

{{##FAFF91|That's why I attacked you. Their gang colors are green and silver -- same thing you're wearin'.##}}
[[/div]]

He picks up the knife used earlier, indicating how clean it is.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]

{{##FAFF91|But Greensleeves //bleed.// One of their few redeeming qualities, really, 'cos it makes stabbin' em all the more satisfyin'.##}}

{{##FAFF91|But you? You just made the knife //hot//.##}}
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|SORRY TO DISAPPOINT! :(##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]

{{##FAFF91|Nah, mate, I shouldn't have hurt you in the first place.##}}

{{##FAFF91|But I've never met someone who doesn't bleed. What //are// you, anyway?##}}
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|I'M RIORDAN!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|Not your name, I mean, like, are you a human like me?##}}
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|I'M STILL FIGURING THAT OUT!##

++ ##purple|ALSO, WHAT'S //YOUR// NAME?? YOU NEVER TOLD ME!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|Right, I didn't...##}}

{{##FAFF91|My first name's Casey. My last name belongs to some cunts what disowned me for no reason, so... just Casey.##}}

{{##FAFF91|So, REAR-din (That's how you pronounce it, right?) -- what brings you to Sydney?##}}
[[/div]]

You give a thumbs-up to the first question before answering the second.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #000000; background:#FFFFFF; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
[[=]]
++ ##purple|I WAS STRANDED HERE BY A TALKING FOX WHO WOULDN'T LET ME DRINK HIS PAINT THINNER! I NEED TO GET HOME TO FOUNDATION SITE-6800 SO I CAN ONE DAY EAT A PEAR!##
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|...naturally.##}}

{{##FAFF91|Well, while you figure out how to get back...##}}

{{##FAFF91|One: You'll need help gettin' around, like, to find food and places to sleep. (And a change of clothes with less awful meanings.)##}}

{{##FAFF91|Two: My friends need some extra muscle to fend off the Greensleeves.##}}

{{##FAFF91|And Three: I need to make it up to you for the stabbin'.##}}

{{##FAFF91|Whaddaya say? //Partners?//##}}
[[/div]]

He reaches out his right hand. 

You reach out in response.

[[=]]
++ {{~ //Chomp.// ~}}
[[/=]]

Though his hand quivers in your mouth, he grins.

[[div style="border:solid 1px #ffffff; background:#000000; padding:10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px"]]
{{##FAFF91|...it must be fate. You shake hands like a natural-born crustie.##}}
[[/div]]

[[=]]
+++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dyfscp0013/offset/4 Two weeks later, you ditch the green shirt for a black denim vest...]
[[/=]]