I think the "sljgs;lja;eoria;shd" [ how are you making that noise with your mouth, crow? ] is gibberish. No idea what was said after it, but it looks like actual words-- and now something about bear keys?
[ ... ]
We're at a school where the principal is literally a bear. At this point I'll take anything.
[ ... ] And then suddenly going into neat looking things that make sense? I dunno. It seems kind of weird to me. As much as I'm tempted to say "let's wait and see what it says next week", maybe we don't have the luxury of time.
[ -- also while he's here, he'll just, uh, mention something. ]
Also, I couldn't talk about it last week, buuuuut, thanks for helping me with some extra credit! [ i hate this man. ]
We’re not supposed to talk about it, but it’s still kinda obvious, huh? Ichiro punched me out of nowhere and was super apologetic afterwards. Kind of a giveaway.
[ Anyway, before we can go down that line of conversation, something else unravels around them.
By the time you're six, it only takes you two sips to realize that your drink is poisoned. It has to be your drink, because the food is served in platters, everyone at the dining table—your father, his wives and advisors, and all their children—all eating from the same dishes. But drinks are served individually, wine and brandy for the adults, juice and water for the children. You'd requested a beverage made from black currants, realizing too late the sharp bitterness of the fruit could hide any other flavour.
And suddenly, it feels as though each and every eye is on you. Waiting for you to react, to spit out the mouthful sitting on your tongue or swallow and grimace against the fever burning up your spine. You imagine them laughing as you struggle to keep hold of your cup.
Perhaps they think you're really a fool, and that you'll tell your mother your suspicions. As though the bruises from the last time you did aren't still fresh on your back.
You let the poison sit in your mouth, taking a breath before swallowing. And then you eat a piece of bread, some meat, even the vegetables. You eat and eat and eat until someone makes a comment about it, and you have to groan about being full, a discomfort in your belly from eating too quickly.
And then you shuffle off to your room, throw it all up, help yourself to some water, and catalog the taste and effects to the best of your memory in your journal, next to all the others.
The taste lingers on Claude's tongue even after the memory fades, given the face he's making. ]
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[ ... ]
We're at a school where the principal is literally a bear. At this point I'll take anything.
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I just assumed it was the Bear lamenting his inability to type.
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[ ... ] And then suddenly going into neat looking things that make sense? I dunno. It seems kind of weird to me. As much as I'm tempted to say "let's wait and see what it says next week", maybe we don't have the luxury of time.
[ -- also while he's here, he'll just, uh, mention something. ]
Also, I couldn't talk about it last week, buuuuut, thanks for helping me with some extra credit! [ i hate this man. ]
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Yeah, I figured that's what it was. Or you had some nefarious plan to get me wet and vulnerable and in your room.
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[ pff. ]
Oh you sussed me out, clever you.
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[ Leans an arm on Crow's shoulder, leaning into the act. ]
To think you almost had me in your trap.
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[ pff. ]
Woe to me then, I guess I'll just have to get more creativ--
[ whoopsie (30:39 - 33:40) ]
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[ Claude finishes, voice a murmur, dazed by the memory that had flashed before them. ]
Looks like you were cooking up quite a bit of trouble there.
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... Yeah, well. I had plenty of time to plan for it.
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She didn't catch you, did she?
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Nah. She tried but it didn’t stick.
[ … ]
Oh I definitely had my reasons.
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[ he's nosy ]
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[ hmmm. ]
I owed the guy I shot for something he did. That was my gift to him.
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[ ... ]
Although knowing more of what we do now, maybe he was kind of a masochist.
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[ Anyway, before we can go down that line of conversation, something else unravels around them.
And suddenly, it feels as though each and every eye is on you. Waiting for you to react, to spit out the mouthful sitting on your tongue or swallow and grimace against the fever burning up your spine. You imagine them laughing as you struggle to keep hold of your cup.
Perhaps they think you're really a fool, and that you'll tell your mother your suspicions. As though the bruises from the last time you did aren't still fresh on your back.
You let the poison sit in your mouth, taking a breath before swallowing. And then you eat a piece of bread, some meat, even the vegetables. You eat and eat and eat until someone makes a comment about it, and you have to groan about being full, a discomfort in your belly from eating too quickly.
And then you shuffle off to your room, throw it all up, help yourself to some water, and catalog the taste and effects to the best of your memory in your journal, next to all the others.
The taste lingers on Claude's tongue even after the memory fades, given the face he's making. ]
Ugh.
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...
Is this like when they say in order to get over a fear, or a trauma you can try to immerse yourself in it? That why you're into poisons now?
[ sir. ]
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[ He rubs his head. ]
I just found that poisons were an effective way to get revenge.
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I definitely prefer a sniper rifle.
... other people didn't work on their poison tolerance like you, hm?
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