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Ein	This one's a strange one. A world that 'doesn't exist' but definitely does, filed away in Paladin records from the Before Times has put out a call for... 'The Union... or something?' to assist in a difficult investigation in the Land of Grit and Lamps. A "known unknown" place, the Land of Grit and Lamps was one of the worlds involved in Afterus - a place of questions and darkness, of manly johns and womanly dames. A hard boiled place, where the only place to find color was under the golden halos of lamplight scattered around the only major location: New Lamp City. The request leads any requesters through a warpgate that spits people out into a backlot of a dim alley washed out in monochrome. On the first floor of the squat building is a locked backdoor for a bar - or speakeasy, as the case may be - and up a metal stairwell is a wooden door with a frosted glass pane and a brass handle. Extra classic - and extra classy. The door purports this establishment to be the BLIND EYE DETECTIVE AGENCY, with an image of a simple eye, closed and lashed, with a strange 'spiralling hash' from the outer ring giving the impression of a symbol - or the pupil underneath - in vague character. The window reveals a light on inside - and the door handle isn't locked. The bustle on the streets is lit by golden halos of lamplight, where dark shapes shuffle in suits and ties and jackets, slouched and unknowable. Extras in the true crime drama of their lives. Once they pass under the lamplight, however, their dark suits are revealed to be a riot of colors - and their skin a hellish scaled red. How odd!
Arthur Lowell	Arthur's experience in the black and white landscape lends itself well to this. Two eternities and he still hasn't forgotten this Land -- though the Long Memories are a tad blurred and fuzzy. His best Detectiving Suit takes the form of re-formed god robes calibrated into a snazzy suit with his space-symbol as a tie-pin. Only the softer red accents of the outfit display under lamplight.     He swaggers his way in, and he's one of the first to swing that door wide, unfazed by the unusual Land not for lack of its exotic aspects, but for the fact that this is how it is when it's in /less/ weird states! Seriously, you don't want to see anything like the heist of the LOGAL Stock Exchange or anything like that.
Roxas	Under ordinary circumstances, Roxas makes a -- if often half-hearted -- deliberate effort to "go someplace". To do something, and to be present. In this case though, the Corridor of Darkness that he's using to go to a gas station he particularly liked just happened to spit him out someplace it hadn't before. Or more precisely, he came upon a place with so many exit portals that he got disoriented just trying to navigate it. So he just staggered out of one, looking distinctly annoyed. In the monochrome gloom of the alley, Roxas finds himself gazing upon a really... stylized, two-note world. It's like somebody took a couple of traits, randomized some settlements, and then copy/pasted locals until they had a functional population. In his dark coat and deep hood, Roxas only really sticks out when you realize his gloominess just isn't as CLASSY. He's just a dork in Xemnas's Hot Topic-Inspired Safety Gear. Tugging his hood down, he wanders into the nearest door that doesn't look like a facade, because that's what you do when you're lost in a weirdly homogenous darkness dimension. "Oh, hey Arthur." Comes out of Roxas's mouth before he fully consciously recognizes the Mage. He's just such a natural sight no matter where he goes. "What /is/ this place?" He asks immediately afterwards, blinking rapidly as he tries to get used to this specific brand of weird lighting.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Elucidate     "Oh, THIS PLACE? Shit dawg! It's the LAND OF GRIT AND LAMPS." Arthur explains. "An old... It's an old SBURB THING." He waves his hand, trying to avoid getting his mind too stuck on one topic or another. "We did HELLA ADVENTURES around here. Like, MYTH HEROISM sometimes. GOOD SHIT. Watch out for all the ORGANIZED CRIME FAMILIES."
Ein	The door to the BLIND EYE DETECTIVE AGENCY is opened! A firm handshake is given to the door handle, and for a cool cat so cool he's ice cold, the door grants ingress to the Mage of Space with the creaking swing of a period accurate ungreased doorhinge. The inside is archtypically old school. A quick INVESTIGATE of the area reveals: * A secretary's desk gathers dust just inside, near an inner door. A phone with a single set of handprints in the grey-on-grey patina of time. The dialpad only has signs that the number '0' was used. The chair, however, looks well-used. There's shoeprints on the lip of the desk. Some sort of dried insect shell sits discarded in the trashcan. * The INNER DOOR sits adjar, with an OBJECT jammed into the lower frame to keep it from moving. * Past the inside door is a large desk in front of a large WINDOW. The window reveals a rainy cityscape full of color and light. A LARGE EXECUTIVE SWIVEL CHAIR sits facing the window. An ashtray on the desk is piled with a veritable mountain of spent butts, and someone is smoking slowly in the chair, facing away. There is a desk lamp on the table, illuminating a DUSTY SET OF PAPERS. They look as unused as the PHONE on the SECRETARY'S DESK. * A CONFUSED DAME stands in the corner, quietly, out of the light, trying to get your attention. She's bad at it.
Doctor Strange	Strange bobs his head in time with the music drifting from his earbuds. Papers rustle as he shuffles them, searching through copies of old files. Across from him, a portal idly burns in the air, revealing a cross section of a Paladin copy room. A staffer idly drinks from a mug of coffee, unconcerned with the Seneschal visible through the other side. This is a normal occurrence.      His disinterested skimming halts, upon seeing the U word. He's still got the same frown, but there's an eyebrow raised. Totally different expression. "See ya, Phyllis," idly calls the Doctor, closing the portal. Strange rises, and the whole of the Sanctum rushes past him. He pauses for a moment, deliberating once everything comes to a stop. Before him lies a semicircle of tall doorways, each seemingly leading to a solid wall. In between the doorways are a number of smooth orbs set into the wall, roughly as large as a hand.      The right adjustments can create doorways to a number of worlds. He summons a book from thin air, pulled from across the Sanctum. It takes him a minute or two to search through the index. He doesn't know this world. Never been. After some brisk page-flipping, he manages to find it. "Land of Grit and Lamps. There we go."      The Sorcerer Supreme adjusts one of the dials. Appearing from thin air in the backlot there is a rectangle of space, within which stands Doctor Strange, bobbing his head, white cables trailing down from his ears into his sorcerous apparel. He steps out of the doorway, which closes behind him.      The song ends, and he removes the ear buds as he strides up to the door of the BLIND EYE DETECTIVE AGENCY. There's a brief look over his shoulder, to make sure he hasn't been seen by anything unfriendly. No... just some reptile people in... really loud suits. And... Arthur. Strange tucks the copy of the archived report under his arm and initiates the Wizard Handshake. It's a lot of spacebending and general tomfoolery, but done with a completely deadpan expression.      "Hey man." There's little further pretense. He's interested in what's here. It's new... and old, in a way.      "Anybody home?" He hasn't noticed the CONFUSED DAME. She's kind of bad at getting attention. "We're with 'the Union or something.'" The quotes are audible. Strange approaches the desk which the chair. "You can dramatically turn around now. Go ahead and get it out of your system."
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: WIZARD HANDSHAKE     He does it. Fast, twisty, and flashy. A dap slams through an exotic plane of reality and he doesn't even care. He continues it through the foyer and into the rest of the area, past the abandoned secretary's desk and through the pre-opened door he assumes they've been invited through. Then he notices the chair. This looks important. It looks full of relevance and likely to contain mostly someone who his friends /probably/ don't want to get barraged by annoyance. >Arthur: Pester the DAME instead of the CHAIR     Yeah, Strange probably has that covered. "WHAT'S POPPIN', HOMIE?" Arthur approaches the CONFUSED DAME and begins to pester her, because wallflowers are great to bully and harass.
Roxas	"Oh! That's okay. Organized crime families are pretty easy to get along with. Except the police. Demyx says you should never talk to the police." Roxas replies to Arthur, genially. It's impossible to tell if he has actually taken whatever he was told at face value. It can go either way with him. "What is Sburb, though?" He asks, just cranking open the canned PTSD without a second thought in the world. Doctor Strange's appearance causes him to perk up a little. Roxas raises a hand and waves at the Sorcerer. But something that Strange says does seem to trigger something in him. "With the... Union?" Roxas repeats, his eyes becoming a little glassy and unfocused. Something about that phrasing makes him really uncomfortable. Apparently content not to think too much about his troubles, Roxas wanders over to the secretary's desk, picks up the phone, and dials 0 just to see what happens. Do crocodiles run the telephone service?
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Explain Sburb concisely     "What? No, that shit's IMPOSSIBLE." Arthur says to nobody in particular. >Arthur: Kind of explain Sburb a little bit     "Oh, uh, Sburb's like..." His hand makes little circular motions. "Videogame-shaped universe genesis ritual. It FUCKIN' SUCKS. But it was what I did way back in the day, with..." His mouth suddenly seems to go dry. "I PLAYED IT, LONG WAY BACK." He explains. "This was one'a the CHALLENGE PLANETS that ya had to SOLVE to make a UNIVERSE."
Ein	* THE CHAIR! THE CHAIIIIIIIIR Invited to turn around, the OMINOUS HIGH BACKED CHAIR lingers facing the colorful rainy cityscape, smoke clouds curling contemplatively to either side in slow puffs. "Welcome... To the Blind Eye Detective Agency. Mysteries, enigmas, riddles, puzzles, quests and questions solved. Where would you like..." The voice is bassy, male, and dignified like a narrator must be. Ominously, the chair turns around to reveal... A shitty red crocodile in a suit. He's got big tinted sunglasses on, and a lit white cigarette speared by a tooth in the corner of his long snout. "To turn a Blind Eye towards, naknak?" The glasses'ed crocodile finishes, in a nasally moron voice. Smoke curls from his noseholes. "I'm Glasses. Nak to meetcha!" A big police-like badge clipped to his suit declares him as 'GLASSES' with the subtext 'STAND-IN IDIOT'. * The DAME is pestered, and leans into the light, revealing... Another goddamn crocodile, this time in a corset and bustier that pushes up literally nothing. "Naknak, I lost my self esteem! You've gotta find it for me, before it's--" She gasps. "Too late! Nak." She announces, before bringing out a fan to address the CASE OF THE VAPORS the crocodile gains from being talked to with any intensity. * The SECRETARY'S PHONE is not plugged in. The phone cord is obviously torn or cut and dangles off the edge of the desk. Still, picking it up gets a dial tone (with a bit of extra sound, like hearing the drone of a phone through a fishtank). Dialing ZERO plays a set of four rings, and then dead silence. Then a phone rings in the drawer of GLASSES' desk, which the crocodile reaches a stubby arm over to open and pick up. "Naknak. Blind Eye Detective Agency. This is Glasses! Your call got forwarded to me because I'm the Senior Branch Manager. I'm nakkin' important, see? Got any DAME problems? Naknaknak."
Roxas	"This whole planet is just a /part/ of a ritual?" Roxas wonders, oblivious to the fact that he's speaking into a phone as he does so. He stares at Arthur open-mouthed for a moment, then concludes, "I guess you'd need at /least/ a planet-sized ritual to make a whole universe... but that sounds like it would take /forever/, and probably have a pretty good chance of just killing you and blowing up the planet." He finds himself watching a dumb red crocodile turn around, answer the phone, and talk to him. Roxas makes eye contact with the nakkadile as it speaks twice into his ear, blinking slowly. Hanging up, he asks, "Why is your telephone number just '0'? How is it useful to turn a /blind/ eye onto something? Shouldn't..." He waves both hands animatedly towardst he DAME, "Shouldn't you be finding her self esteem, or... something?"
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Relate your crippled self-esteem to the current situation     Arthur can't relate CRIPPLED SELF-ESTEEM because he can't access PSYCHOLOGICAL UNDERSTANDING of CRIPPLED SELF-ESTEEM right now! >Arthur: Relate crippled self-esteem to bullying     "DAMN, HOMESLICE, you DROP IT in a STORM DRAIN or WHAT?" Arthur says, yanking out a lollipop and jamming it into his mouth as a substitute for a cigarette. "I'da LOST MINE if I LOOKED LIKE YOU. When did ya last have your SELF-RESPECT? We talkin' some DIRE SHIT here? 'Cause if you lost your SELF-ESTEEM around the HIGH-SCHOOL TIMES, I ain't even CLOSE on EQUIPPED for SOLVIN' THIS PUZZLER." >Arthur: Explain history     "THREE YEARS, or about that." Arthur replies to Roxas. "FOUR PLANETS." Then the moment he mentions a blind eye, he jams a finger towards the door; specifically, his index finger alights on the weird outer-whorl, reminiscient of his own eight-pronged galactic spiral. "It's VOID-ASPECTED." He explains. "VOID ASPECT is..." He makes a long, sustained sort of "ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" noise that communicates "I don't know really?" But in a long, drawn-out syllable. "VOID ASPECT is about using NOT KNOWING THINGS to GET AHEAD. INVISIBILITY was one'a the STOCK THINGS. STEALTH, INTANGIBILITY-- Basically, gettin' that NON-INTERACTION so you can MOVE SOMETHING RIGHT. BLIND EYE is pro'lly all about the VOID ANGLES. Man, FI' would LOSE HER MIND knowin' that VOID ASPECT finally started SHOWIN' UP on the CULTURE SCENE." He laughs briefly, then sighs rather heavily.
Raphael Cousteau	ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I'm serious. If there ever was a door to get into, it's this one. Inspector Raphael Cousteau is in a world that, apparently, 'doesn't exist'. It's taken him a while to work this out, primarily because every last one of his skills is particularly interested in every goddamn thing. INLAND EMPIRE: We walk on discarded eggshells, a placenta of a greater birth. A grave, but a grave of a beginning. ============> RAPHAEL: Enter the Blind Eye Detective Agency. And so he does, showing up with his trademark, immovable sad-eyed grin. "Oh, hey, sorry I'm late," He says. "I had some... *investigation* to do. On *side-cases*, that I am sure will be incredibly relevant to whatever it is we're doing here." He winks. Then again. Then it just happens a few times, like he's having a hard time stopping it. "What's the *lowdown*?"
Roxas	"Three years and four planets? That seems like a really good rate of exchange, actually... but man, it must have been hard to keep it up for the whole time." Roxas comments, still only seeming to half get-it. He's relating it to more conventional knives and circles rituals, and doesn't have the perspective to observe things like the GIANT FROG out in the Multiverse. The explanation of what the BLIND EYE and this place in general /are/ however, immediately unnerves him. Roxas presses two fingers together, fidgetting nervously as he turns it over in his head. A faint tug on his being that ordinarily goes unnoticed in a manner not dis-similar to not being conscious of breathing comes to his attention. "Oh. I... usually... don't get too close to spiritual elements of nothingness. I mean, I've heard of /using/ it, but..." He paces towards the opposite side of the room, "It's sort of like oil to o-- my fire." The Nobody perks up at the arrival of somebody new, and thus a distraction. He quickly ceases to be aware of the fact that he is manually existing, "Hey, Mr. Cousteau. Um... I think this person needs us to find her self esteem..." Roxas points at the DAME. "And... actually, /is/ this the person who asked for help...?"
Doctor Strange	"Hey, Roxas. What's up." He says it as if it were a sentence and not a question, but it isn't unfriendly. Just Strange's usual, un-usual baritone deadpan. "Don't worry about the U word," he says dismissively, then nods along with Arthur. On the subject of Sburb, he pipes in, "It's a powerful tool for creation, wrapped in layers absurdity and video game jargon. Everything is weird and quirky, but don't let that distract you from how dangerous it can be."      As for Glasses, well... it's /right there/ on his badge. He has to say it. "Nak to meet you too, Idiot," says Strange with a solemn nod. "I'm Doctor Strange, this is Roxas, and Arthur. We're here because of this." He holds up the copy of the report in his hand. Sensitive information has been blacked out, where necessary, but it conveys the gist: someone asked 'the Union or something' for help.      "And here's Inspector Cousteau," says Strange, looking over his shoulder as the Inspector wanders in. "For him, it's the first time we've met, but he catches on quick."      To Roxas: "I thought it was this guy, but it could be her. Either would track, with the general... vibe this place has."
Arthur Lowell	>==>     "Oh, yeah, I got like NO SLEEP. And we went right up against the DEADLINE." Arthur rubs his face at the recollection, further chattering with Roxas. "Shit was fucked." Oh, hey, here's RAPHAEL! "Few more years of that, and I'da looked like HIM." He jams a thumb. "WHAT UP, RING-TALKER?" He greets the man with his usual assortment of insisting handshake motions.     "Yeah, no worries about the VOID THING around here. There's only ONE PERSON I know who ever really got into the HEAVY USE, and it ain't somethin' gonna..." Vague gestures. "BLEED OUT, you know? INK in the PEN, not all over the DESK."
Ein	* (This is stupid). GLASSES stares at Roxas as he puts down the phone. GLASSES puffs on his cigarette. "Oh. Naknak. They hung up." He, too, places the phone back in the drawer, leaning over nearly 90 degrees in the OMINOUS HIGH-BACKED CHAIR to slide the drawer shut. * >INTERROGATE GLASSES ABOUT PHONE BUSINESS "Nak? The phone rings when people have..." Glasses points at the door. "Mysteries, enigmas, riddles, puzzles, quests and questions, solved. Can't you read? Naknaknaknak!" The crocodile clearly starts verbal-tick laughing at Roxas, before becoming dead serious. "Because I can't, nak. Is that right?" It's right. * QUESTION the DAME. Arthur tries to use LOGIC and REASON and EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE on the DAME. What he recieves is. "Nak? It's a thing. My self-esteem, naknak. Pure white nak beautiful." "I can't leave without it!" * ============> Enter the Blind Eye Detective Agency This place has character, enigmatic presence like the feeling of a room that someone's smoked in since the dawn of time. Soaked into the walls is a darkness like a warm blanket, timed to the ticking of a clock. But here, now, the blanket is cold from disuse, and the clock ticks with a disappointing regularity. PERCEPTION: Is that... a small shoe stuck in the door? It feels important. In fact, in the shoe, there's a doorstop. There really shouldn't be a doorstop inside a shoe, being used as a doorstop. * CALL GLASSES BY HIS TITLE "Hello nak, I'm the Idiot." Glasses responds with an instant, rote reflex. Looking at the report, and squinting behind the large sunglasses he wears at all times, especially at night, Glasses nods. "Yep! That's some nice nakkin' paper. Want to take this DAME's case?" Glasses still can't read. At the head of the desk, Stephen Strange notices that the rainy cityscape is a very realistic painting, and not at all a window. Glasses was just staring at it, because as stated on the badge: He's an idiot.
Raphael Cousteau	AUTHORITY: 'First time we've met?' Is he making fun of you?! Tell him you absolutely remember the /actual/ first meeting! ENCYCLOPEDIA: Actually, I'm pretty sure this *is* the first time! LOGIC: It tracks. Our amnesia starts /pre-Unification/, so it wouldn't make sense. Something here is off. INLAND EMPIRE: A man walks along a path, looping back on itself. We cannot follow him. Right. Back to focusing on what's going on. Raphael pulls out his copy of the report, looking at it thoughtfully. VOLITION: You *really* should have read that before showing up in the room. ESPRIT D'CORPS: The Paladins as a whole generally do prefer that reports are read. It would be best not to express any activity to the contrary. "Alright, so we're trying to find *self esteem*, huh?" He flicks his copy with the back of his hand, a couple times. He thoughtfully rubs his chin with his thumb, considering the situation. > Alright, two red crocodiles, a wizard guy who's met us before, INLAND EMPIRE: After. He's met us after.)] > ...Arthur, and who's that last one? INLAND EMPIRE: Nobody. It's nobody. LOGIC: It can't be nobody. INLAND EMPIRE: He is nobody. I promise. And then, the ultimate challenge. Arthur extends a hand. INTERFACING CHALLENGE (CHALLENGING): Succeed in navigating the complex handshake ritual. [:.:][::] Somehow, he manages to keep up. There's a unique maneuver that Raphael even manages to throw into the works; a distinctly Revacholian form of high five that is, in fact, underhand. It dates back literal decades. +1 MORALE "Things are absolutely *jiving*. I'm absolutely ready to solve some *crime*. Even if, in this case, it's a stolen...or lost..self-esteem. A white, beautiful one."
Doctor Strange	Strange nods. It's his title. He probably worked hard to become an Idiot. It'd be disrespectful not to call him one, really. The paper burns in his grasp, until nothing remains. He can't be bothered to throw it away, and honestly, it's an apt metaphor for how this conversation is going. "Right."      "Sure. Why not," he says to Raphael. He must prepare himself to ask this question. It's the question everyone always asks, and it never helps. Ever. But, it does get people to ask questions that actually are helpful. With a sigh, he approaches the DAME.      Where was the last place you remember having it?" His tone is insincere and resigned.
Ein	* Ask the dreaded question to the DAME. "Nak... nak." Comes the thoughtful interstitial reply from the DAME. "I last had my Self-Esteem at the..." A truck horn sounds in the distance. "The nakking garage." Glasses dives under the desk. "Anywhere but there!" In the distance, the sounds of an absolutely thunderous automotive crash happens. Horns, squealing tires, crunching metal, and a terrible explosion. The pressure blast rattles the office a little. "Yes. The nakking garage. That is the thing I said." An identical tremendous car wreck sound happens. The building rattles again. "But nakbody in New Lamp City can drive!!!" Glasses protests, from under the desk. "Your self-esteem is nakkin' doomed!"
Roxas	"I /can/ read," Roxas says, not quite reaching true indignity, "I just... you know. Didn't." He seems to broadly expect the Nakkadile to relate to this. He turns back around and checks the door. Sure enough... "Yeah, that's what it says." His attention swivels back to Arthur. Roxas scratches his head, "I guess I /kind/ of get that... I'm supposed to kill so many Heartless a day. Most of the time it's not too bad. But I don't know when I'll need to stop, and I do get to go do other things if I want to. Like right now." "Oh! I'm not worried about it bleeding out," He says a to Arthur, a little too cheerily, "I'm worried about falling in." It doesn't make much more sense. Except to the part of Raphael's brain that noticed he's forcing himself to exist, but it's unclear whether it counts or not. "Heyyy... /you/ can drive." Roxas points at Raphael, "You did it when we had to escort those people to the creepy mountain temples full of sad people. You should teach these crocodiles how to use their cars."
Raphael Cousteau	Raphael takes in a breath. INTERFACING: Hey. We can drive. We're absolutely good to drive, because we're dead sober. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Which, seeing as though we just heard two car crashes in seconds, implies driving's incredibly dangerous. You should -absolutely- get sloshed right now so you don't have to risk it. "...Hey, yeah, I can absolutely, uh, drive. Is the garage that far away? I still don't really have a replacement motor carriage of my own, right now, so I'd need to borrow a car. It's alright! I'm good." He throws a couple fingerguns.
Arthur Lowell	>==>     Nice success on that handshake. Arthur learns a new SHAKETECH, which he adds to his ABSTRACTED SHAKEORIUM. This is even clearly visible, though it's harder to read because it's stuck in black and white. >Arthur: Assist with tremendous competence     "I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO DRIVE." Arthur declares, with a broad, almost boastful(???) gesture. Then he says, "We wanna GATE OVER to the GARAGE?" He's already mustering one up the Gate and readying to deal with whatever nightmarish Maximum Overdrive type of challenge he's gonna have to deal with. Or, knowing this place, more likely being required to disassemble an elaborate parking nightmare in an esoteric recreation of ThinkFun's notorious Rush Hour(tm) game.
Doctor Strange	Wow, that actually worked? Well. First time for everything.      There's a fifty-fifty chance here. Either they really do need to drive, in which case Raphael... might be able to help. Or they don't, and this is just more nakkadile... well, idiocy. "Where is..." Don't say it. There's gonna be an accident again. Maybe a yowling cat for good measure. "/It?/" Strange would incline his head, but these guys aren't gonna get it. So he just appends, "The place where you left it. Wh--" No, they won't know that. He opens his mouth. No, that's gonna be a dumb answer. He closes it, furrows his brow. Then, "Which direction is it in?" He asks, at last. That should be simple enough. Right?      But it might not be. Before he's even finished, a (grey) eye burns in the air. It's a stylized thing, carved into being from mystic gestures made by the sorcerer. It 'looks,' or appears to--but doesn't see the room. It sees what Strange directs it to see--the city outside. Where's the nakkin' garage, anyway?      "It's not all it's cracked up to be," says Strange to Arthur, gesturing with scarred hands to direct the scrying spell. "Sure, take point on this one. Gate us."
Ein	* DECIDE to DRIVE "You can drive?" Glasses peeks over the lip of the desk. "Oh. Then you'll nak these." A set of KEYS is placed on the desk. Car afficiandos will notice the fob bears the symbol of ROLLS ROYCE. The key fob is AGGRESSIVELY RED, even outside of the lamp-light. "And this." Glasses puts a GUN on the table. It appears to be loaded. The safety is on. Inspection reveals it to be a Colt 1911 A1. * Ask for Directions. "Oh! Naknak, I forgot. Here." A SHITTY CRAYON-DRAWN-ON MAP is placed on the table. It declares itself to be the SELF-ESTEEM HEIST. It's a leaflet for a nearby parking garage with an extremely elaborate breaking and entering plan drawn all over it in crayon. Held under lamp-light, it's actually useful intelligence - apparently even if they CAN'T READ, the locals can PLAN A MEAN HEIST. Glasses seems nonplussed by any items being taken - or left. Raphael understands intimately that keys will get him something Electrochemistry wants.
Raphael Cousteau	INLAND EMPIRE: There are several weapons and a single key on the table. LOGIC: There are several /keys/ and a single weapon on the table. INLAND EMPIRE: Also correct. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: ...We need the keys. Trust me. Oh man, trust me. This is gonna be -great-. I can feel it in my hypothetical bones. Raphael reaches forward, pulling the set of keys into his pocket. INLAND EMPIRE: You're well armed, but how will you open the car? Baffled, and perplexed, Raphael slowly draws the ring of keys out. They're still a set of keys, right? They haven't /mysteriously transmogrified/ in his inventory.
Ein	* Raphael acquires the KEYS. This model of KEYS is quite possibly the most iconic, best classic KEY Colt ever produced. It is staggering that such a beautiful set of KEYS have been in the possession of an inept crocodile like Glasses. * Raphael acquires the ROLLS ROYCE FOB. It's a single silver key, well-worn, with a very red fob. It is exactly as advertised: A key to use a car.
Roxas	"Uh..." Roxas walks back to the table. He frowns, looking between the map, the keys -- taken by Raphael, and the gun. He picks up the gun and offers it to the others, "Do any of you know how to use one of these? I don't need them, and they're really loud, so..." "... I really just don't think the crocodiles should have them." He admits, in a whisper that's not really quiet enough that Glasses can't hear it. He does not understand the metaphysics of this place, and cannot conceive that the GUN is anything but a gun.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Use MAP on GATE     Arthur will captchalogue the GARAGE HEIST MAP, unless someone else urgently needs it. He intends to skip the walk over to, at least, the start of the BREAKING AND ENTERING ENTRANCE. "We gonna HIT THAT ROAD?" He says, cracking a grin as he dives deep into his nostalgia.
Ein	* ENGENDER A GUN-TAKING PILEUP Raphael acquires a fine, classic set of KEYS. Glasses puts another Colt 1911 A1 on the table. Roxas takes the GUN. Glasses puts another Colt 1911 A1 on the table. Inspection reveals he has an entire drawer full of loaded HANDGUNS//KEYS.
Doctor Strange	Strange takes the SHITTY CRAYON MAP, once Roxas is finished with it. "Thanks, Idiot." Had to get one more in there. He shows it to Raphael and Arthur in whatever order they'd like to see it. He's fine with it being captchalogued.      To Roxas, "Hand it to me if no one else wants it. There's a good chance it's more than what it looks like." He'll send it to the Sanctum if it's offered to him. Whether he's entrusted with it or not, he nods at Arthur. "Ready when you are."
Raphael Cousteau	Raphael nods to Arthur, cracking his knuckles. "Yes. Let's get to this, uh...heist. Is that really police work? I--" INLAND EMPIRE: WAIT. Raphael stops, suddenly. INLAND EMPIRE: Listen to me very, very carefully. I need you to take the gun from the table, and put it on the floor. Confused, but willing to trust his instincts, he steps over, taking the gun and putting it down. INLAND EMPIRE: OK, now take the next one and do the same thing. Watch the height of the pile of guns, and tell me if it stops from getting taller. > What does that even mean? INLAND EMPIRE: We're going to pull some deep, embedded levers in the universe. Just trust me.
Roxas	Roxas stares at Glasses for a moment. Without missing a beat he picks the desk up, pulls it back, and turns it around. His keyblade comes out in a ringing flash. He continues to stare at Glasses as he pushes the drawer shut with the tip of the keyblade, and ultimately locks it. Pocketing the original GUN and leaving the SECOND GUN for Raphael to claim, he maintains unblinking eye contact with the nakkadile (which is futile, because it is a crocodile) as he backs out towards Arthur, keenly alert for any further shenanigans on their way to SUB-QUEST PROGRESSION.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Comment on minutiae     "It ain't that LITERAL." Arthur calls out to Raphael as he finishes cranking one more space-lever and finishes up wherever the Gate can take them. "'IMMERSIVE SIMULATION' was an advertising line, not a real thing. It'll just run outta GRIST if there's anything MAKIN' 'EM in there. It's probably just a FUCKLOAD OF IDENTICAL THINGS, 'cause of ALCHEMY-BASED RESOURCE ECONOMIES."
Ein	* Thank Idiot "You're welcome, naknak." Glasses replies happily. The DAME is besides herself in fanning and appreciation. She would glow happily, but unfortunately, this is film noir, so instead she vapors positively at the party. * BEGIN STACKING THE KEYS. Thankfully, these are blocky, bulky pieces that are easy to stack. He gets to about six before, when he places the seventh, the stack seems to shrink. He cannot take any more to test this strange effect, because ROXAS... * Lift the Desk, lock the drawer. The Gun Drawer has five identical pieces, and room to place a sixth at the front. The drawer is closed and locked, and Glasses climbs up into the HIGH-BACKED CHAIR to wiggle his mismatched feet at the party. One of his SHOES is missing, and it's just a sad, shoeless three-toed red lizard situation. * Blow this popsickle stand: ... Loading...
Roxas	"Oh." Roxas looks at the KEY stack, then back at the desk and drawer. "Do you... do you need me to..." He gestures at the KEY DRAWER he just locked.
Raphael Cousteau	The pile does, in fact, stop from getting taller. There is a general sense of contentment from this newfound knowledge and gained experience. Something like a twentieth of a level's worth of experience. Pity we're not counting that anymore. "...I didn't understand about *most* of that, Arthur. But, also, I get the feeling it doesn't remotely matter, so I'm not going to ask."
Arthur Lowell	>==>     "Yeah, that's most shit I say." Arthur says, giving Raphael a thumbs-up for his particular take on Arthur's input.
Ein	The PORTAL finalizes its Loading..., having to cut through a lot of interference before - thanks to the HEIST MAP - formalizing into a yawning gateway. On the other side isn't a parking garage so much as a full-on military checkpoint, with retractable spike strips, pneumatic metal cylinders risen out of the ground to stop someone from driving through, sand bags, machine gun emplacements, and guard towers. It is also three tired and concrete, like a very fortified office park parking structure. At the checkpoint is a single, black-and-slightly-shiny gorilla of a figure in a tight suit and set of slacks, probably 80% torso and shoulders by volume. He wears a WW2-style american GI helmet, under a grey fedora. He appears to be watching the gate. Just inside the checkpoint and ramp, there's a CHERRY RED VEHICLE that burns with color even outside of lamplight. From the entrance, there's a visible menagerie of vehicles inside the structure, from period vehicles to Sherman tanks and military jeeps. A few nakkadiles in a motley of GI uniforms and business suits meander around aimlessly, holding conversations entirely comprised of 'nak' and nothing else.
Doctor Strange	Strange lays eyes on the... well, de-militarized zone. The nakkin' garage. "Yeah," he says to no one in particular, nodding. "Okay." Well. The gate is being watched by a cartoonishly built being. He's even got a little GI helmet. Under a film-noir fedora kinda thing.      "Got an idea. It's just stupid enough to pass for normal around here," he says. Under the command of arcane finger gestures, reality bends. An illusion is conjured before the guard's eyes. The gate that this figure watches simply lifts up and floats away.      "Five bucks says he chases it," says Strange to Arthur.
Ein	* Make the Gate 'go away'. With a big meaty fist, the gorilla mf'er reaches up to grab the gate, but cannot find purchase on the illusion. So the next thing that happens is the shiny black gorilla getting out a trench gun and slam firing it six times into the rising gate. When THAT doesn't work, the shiny suited gorilla goes to the booth to call it in. On the rotary phone inside, he carefully dials 0. "Yeah. Got an enigma. Yeah. The gate flew away." "Yeah. Again." "I'll hold." The guard seems utterly content to wait, on the phone, for Glasses to remember he exists. He no longer is watching the gate area.
Raphael Cousteau	Raphael follows through the gate. PAIN TOLERANCE: Whoa, that...I was actually expecting that to hurt. Sorry. Just kinda seemed like a thing. I'll be quiet now. LOGIC: I was told this was a garage. Why is it so heavily guarded? INLAND EMPIRE: This is the inverse of a garage. It reaches around, twice, unto itself, becoming itself. It's all very mobius. Doctor Strange successfully makes it appear that the gate has vanished entirely. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: HOLD IT. That car. Get in that car. Get in that sweet, sweet looking car, right there. INTERFACING: --Yes. Actually. That car looks amazing, and I want in. LOGIC: ...Its..inexplicable...chromatic aberration, sigh, is probably worth investigation. Unfortunately, the gate is still /technically/ there, but that's not going to stop Raphael. He is an ex-gym teacher. He is just going to climb over the Invisible Gate.
Arthur Lowell	>==>     Arthur emerges from the Gate. Then, he swears under his breath. "I FUCKIN' KNEW IT." He says, regarding the complex grid puzzle. Wait, is that a classic UNDERLING? Man! It has been... not ages at all! Underlings really frequently get into Arthur's house. But still! Nostalgia, kinda! He moves quick when the opening is made. He's not really a /climby/ sort of guy, so he picks one of the gaps in the gate and then quickly sort of "resizes" it into a door-shape to dash through, until he's inside, offering passage for the others as well.     From here... They probably need to figure out the guard towers and check fortifications, right? "Can someone run through keepin EYES OFF our ABSCONDING? We gotta get the GATE OPEN, keep from startin' a CAR CHASE, then I--..." Ugh. UGH. PLEASE DON'T SAY HE HAS TO SOLVE THE SPACE PUZZLE. >Arthur: Solve the space puzzle     FINE. Arthur tries to process which movements are necessary to clear a path for the red vehicle, you /asshole/.
Roxas	"Hey, Arthur..." Roxas begins, as he observes the unfolding stupidity beyond the LOADING ZONE. "Are all of the planets like this? I mean... is it a rule that these guys..." He gestures towards the nakkadiles, "Are dumb? Are they on all the planets, or just this one? And if it's just this one, then... why?" "Was the challenge to navigate dense people, or..." He banishes his Keyblade into nonbeing, turning into a beam of light momentarily to follow Raphael across quickly and easily. "Also..." He continues talking, "what about that guard? He doesn't look like a crocodile..."
Ein	* Get up all IN that ur-garage mobius strip of stupid. The Car beckons. Raphael Cousteau, of the Revachol Citizen's Militia, mantles an invisible gate like god's gift to the invsible Olympics, going for the CHROMATICALLY LOUD car. And what a car it is. Parked in the closest space (a RESERVED) parking space, the only one in the entire lot, a 1960 Rolls Royce Silver Shroud II Convertable in that eye-searing red, all leather interior, original upholstery, lovingly maintained. It is COMICALLY overparked. There's at least three tanks in the way, and as you all know, TANKS take up THREE SPACES in a line! Raphael spots an entire unopened bottle of TOP SHELF WHISKEY on the passenger seat. He smells FINE CIGARS in the glovebox, from a distance of at least 20 feet. The RED FOB calls for its use. He was born to drive this vehicle. A nakkadile in one of the guard towers sweeps a spotlight up and down the street. Doing so causes a vehicle accident as blinded drivers careen into oncoming traffic. The level of shredded metal and broken glass on the side of the road notice the party that this is probably ENTIRELY NORMAL. Two flaming wrecks casts monochrome flickers of dim white light in the distance. * SOLVE THE SPACE PUZZLE Ohhhh man. Are you COOL ENOUGH to move tanks? Probably.
Raphael Cousteau	ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Get in. Get in that car. Look at that whiskey. Do you see that? You can practically smell the oak barrel aging from here. That's going to go down as smooth as if you shaved. SUGGESTION: On a side note, please never shave. You would look ridiculous. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You know how you wouldn't look ridiculous? With one of those cigars in the glovebox. Get that car, and get out of here. VOLITION: Listen, we're not -here- for the drugs and alcohol, we're here for the 'self-esteem', remember? Now... [:.][:] VOLITION: Never mind. I'm not winning this one. Just don't get completely sloshed. Please. Raphael absolutely presses the key fob to open up the red car to get ahold of some of the sweet loot on the inside. Obviously, his job is going to be to drive it back and forth for everyone else.
Doctor Strange	Damn. He's glad no one took him up on that. Technically he isn't chasing it at all, even if there was shooting. Strange briskly strides through the opening that Arthur has made. "Yeah, on it," says the Sorceror to the Mage, in a hushed tone.      He begins tracing grey lines of energy through the air, which softly illuminate his face and hands.      What to do, what to do? Distract them and send them all running somewhere else? Nah. They didn't really care about the horrendous accident, and if that passes for normal, there's not much that'd likely drag them away from their post. But, there is /another/ classic that might work.      The old 'project the appearance that no one is here and everything is fine' trick. It's like the magical equivalent of looping the camera feed. As long as none of the underlings or nakkadiles cross through the illusion, they won't see anything's amiss.
Arthur Lowell	>==>     Arthur answers questions in order. "Yeah, they're ALL DUMB AS HELL." He mutters. "Well, a COUPLE can be SMART. SOME can be REAL SMART, but they're RARE." He briefly thinks back to Sburb. To times when he was facing those challenges specifically. What was the challenge? What, back then, really /was/ the challenge? His breath is very, very briefly strained and his magic wavers just slightly. "You're not there for the animals." He almost whispers. "It's just infrastructure for your friends. The challenge is..."     He trails off and focuses on the last question. "Can't tell in this light. Think it's an UNDERLING. Old MONSTERS we had to FIGHT to get GRIST. There's still a FUCKLOAD left, but they ain't STOCKIN' BACK UP since ECHIDNA moved out."     Did they not get the keys for these tanks? If not, maybe he can just kinda... take the regions of space in the parking garage, and TILT the gravity to move the ones he wants? By forming tank-wide zones of slanted gravity? Maaaaybe? At the very least, his supernatural SPATIAL REASONING should be able to solve all this on a puzzly level.
Ein	The FOB is not a press. The FOB is simply called that because it is not a set of KEYS. Raphael also has a set of KEYS. Would he like to use the KEYS on the ROLLS ROYCE? * Sexually, sensuously slide the key into the door lock. Raphael hears a click. The door opens. The top starts retracting. The bottle is virginal - unopened. The glove box opens with a single stroke of the catch, revealing... A single wooden cigar box, reeking of the finest tobacco leaves cured with love. A silver trimmer and a jet lighter are tucked under the box. The steering wheel is cold, and the leather smells like history. The cigar box has the weight of a life. * Do the TANKS have KEYS? No, silly, they're tanks. Of course they're completely unlocked. The Jeeps do, though, but your KEYS work on the jeeps. ... Somehow. * BAMBOOZLE THE LOCALS Strange loops the camera feed on existance. Some of the Nakkadile locals are on the inside, and just continue doing nothing special - milling about and nakking to themselves. Mostly they check the tires on the cars, and mark them. Others move through to unmark the tires with the same deliberance of a dayjob. There's one particular shitty crocodile on the outside who has an entire conversation... with itself. In the loop.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Move the tanks normally, using their driving     There's like six pedals in here! >Arthur: Just lightly tap the right trigger     Arthur gently taps his RIGHT TRIGGER, which, through circuitous mechanisms, permits very gently accelerating the tanks. The jeeps are similar, though since Arthur Lowell is a worthless fucking millennial, he can't drive stick, so he won't be going very fast.     With this, hopefully he can find the solution to clear RAPHAEL'S path. He also waves over Roxas. "Hey, KEYDUDE. Can you do KEYTHINGS on the PARKING LOT GATE to OPEN IT so we can GET OUT? I can probably solve this WEIRD PUZZLE BULLSHIT in a HOT SECOND."
Ein	* PLAN A GETAWAY, DRIVER Arthur calls over to Roxas about opening the gate. Roxas' GATE-INVESTIGATION reveals: * The guardpost next to the gate has a set of controls to raise it. The gorilla mf'er is still on hold inside, back turned towards the gate. * There's a PARKING LOT TICKET machine on the 'out' gate. It appears to be functional. * The ROYCE appears more real than nearly anything else encountered in the entire world, and could probably just drive the heck over the the gate. It is built more solidly than the TANKS in the parking structure.
Roxas	"That's kind of sad. But I guess I get it? They kind of remind me of Heartless, but Heartless are usually a little more... bestial." Roxas says, both of the Nakkadiles and of Underlings. Briefly, as Arthur is DOING HIS THING, he considers simply opening portals to the Corridors and dumping the tanks there. He immediately realizes that this will inevitably result in a boss fight with a TANK TORNADO though, and decides against it. "Huh? Oh! Yeah, sure. I've never tried it on a /parking lot gate/, but I'm sure it'll work since it's... you know. Still a kind of entry way." Roxas answers, gaining a little livelihood and energy that he didn't /quite/ seem to have in him a moment ago. He looks around for the gate itself, and once again turns into a streak of light to go over to it. Once he's there, out comes both Keyblades. This is because Roxas wants to see what Oathkeeper and Oblivion look like in the unique lighting of LOGAL. He's just about to open the gate with the keyblades when he notices the ticket machine. Away goes the keyblades. He circles around to the ticket machine, obtains a TICKET, and just... takes it to the ROYCE. "This place is kind of game-ified, right? You should try this. It might make things easier." He says, waving the parking ticket at Raphael through the car's window.
Raphael Cousteau	ELECTROCHEMISTRY: This is the promised land. Everything has built up to this moment. This is your new home now. You're welcome. Raphael doesn't guzzle the whiskey just yet. He -does-, at least, need to get this car out of the way. The cigar is fair game, though. Everyone knows nicotine helps you think better. So he immediately appropriately trims and lights the cigar, only occasionally caressing the whiskey bottle while petting the steering wheel. His mind drifts, for a moment. SHIVERS: Years ago. > Wait, what? Where am I? SHIVERS: A war was fought in this city. INLAND EMPIRE: Lights blink out from the eyes of the fallen, that a greater light may yet brighten. SHIVERS: A battle that lasted for an eternity, and then fell fallow for another one. The city grew in slumber, all to-- INLAND EMPIRE: A lamp banished the greater darkness from the world. SHIVERS: This car...belonged to someone. Not a soldier, but one in act. Four men died in this car, leading the battle for the city. It's a very important automobile. Images flash through Raphael's mind, and he holds his head in one hand. CONCEPTUALIZATION: Yes. This car has a very important history. That's it, isn't it? The self-esteem. The self-esteem is the esteem of the people who live here. This is all allegory. Metaphorical. We're here to bring something back to this world. It's just got layers of abstraction. He absentmindedly takes the ticket. "...Just give me the word for when to drive this baby out of here," He says. Roxas gets a conspiratory click of the tongue and a wink. Raphael Cousteau's got this. Absolutely. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You know, technically, it's not drunk driving unless you go over a certain amount of alcohol per pound of bodyweight.
Doctor Strange	Strange notices the first Nakkadile a moment too late. "Damn it," he mutters. Well, what can he do now? Nothing... except. "Hey! Psst." He whispers to the nearest Nakkadile. "Get out of here, nak. We're on strike." It's the only thing he can think of. A little further out, he sees Roxas waving the ticket at Raphael. The Sorcerer Supreme nods. Tapping his finger to an ear, he speaks over the local broadband. "Good thinking, Roxas."      Then, generally, to everyone. "Some of these guys slipped the dragnet. Hopefully that ticket gets us out of here without them freaking out."
Ein	* Start a strike! Those beady little eyes look up at Doctor Stephen Strange. They blink, out of synch, one and then the other. "Got it, nak nak. Nak the boss-man." The retarded crocodile becomes extremely competent in a head-spinningly short amount of time, drawing a molotov out of his jacket, lighting it with his cigarette, and immediately firebombing the gate house. "NAK OFF, COP!" A few other, unrelated crocodiles from across the street draw straps and start shooting the guard house for no apparent reason. One of them has a tommygun and just starts tearing through the drum magazine. The gorilla in a suit on the phone sighs, pinching the bridge of a nonexistant nose. "I'll call you back." Roaring and leaping through the shattered glass of the guardhouse window, the OGRE - you can see his name now, it's just OGRE, on his badge - roars and charges down the nakkadiles across the street while rolling up his sleeves.
Ein	* WHERE'S THE ESTEEM? The vague area of the entrance is circled with scribbles that spell out 'THE STUFF' underlined twice and circled once. That encompasses the gate house, a randomly parked tank, and the ROYCE.
Doctor Strange	The silhouette of Stephen Strange is motionless as chaos unfolds before him. Locked in place, he tries to find some explanation--not only for the sudden shift in competence, but the sheer scope. In a word, it's incredible. He must accept that he understands only that it is incredible--for now. "Okay. Let's get the hell out of here. Fire it up, Inspector."      "Arthur, you mind doing the honors?" Arthur will know what he means.
Raphael Cousteau	The sudden change of events is mostly lost on Raphael. He's busy sorting through psychic visions and desperately trying to resist doing more than smoking a cigar. One hand keeps stroking that glass bottle of whiskey, now safely in the passenger seat, his other hand on the steering wheel. 'Fire it up, Inspector.' INTERFACING: It's a car. This is trivial. You have the keys. And so he turns the key, hopefully roaring the engine to life. As soon as the portal opens, he's going to gun it out of there.
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Fondly regard relation     Arthur wants nothing more than to never, ever, ever look at that car again. Four Guardians died in it. He could resist thinking of Adrian Lowell previously, as a divergent Scratched Mirage, but not now. He wraps up the last of his clearing of the cars when he hears what Raphael had to say, and good thing too: That just wrecked his mental focus almost entirely.     He clambers out of the jeep he was nudging out of the way, looks at the vehicle with a profound, heart-wrenched distress, and takes several deep breaths. He can't -- shouldn't, really -- get the Gate inside the parking space, but he can re-activate the dormant Gate he had outside, that they arrived with. He looks like he isn't going to board the car, for whatever reason, unless or until invited. Is he just planning on... going home on his own? Maybe he just isn't thinking. >Arthur: Get in the car     The thought doesn't cross his mind. Traffic's too busy on that road. He seems suddenly, profoundly upset in ways that he hasn't been all day, or in fact, in weeks or many months.
Ein	* TURN THE FOB. Hear that engine purr. It's ready. Ready for a night on the town, ready to be driven into battle. This car was born to roar. It is a hungry beast, hungry to chew up pavemet and make distance as nothing. * Get really uncomfortable! It's OK, Arthur. You don't have to get in the car. The car understands. * HAVE A TICKET, USE A TICKET. Because the ticket was just acquired, the parking fee is: . Nice! Free parking. The gate raises, and the bollingers lower. The path's open! * Enter - The Doughnut Patrol! Stephen Strange's impromptu class war finally has a consequence, as a pair of squad cars (driven by pageboy capped little shiny black shits) roll up. On top of the car, attached by stubby arms and teeth, is a Nakkadile in a police cap. "YA WANT A NAKKIN' BRAWL, NAK-LE HEADS? WEEWOOWEEWOO naknaknak." Shouts the Copodile, as more police ogres pile out of the car. A dozen of them, clapping billyclubs against their palms in unison. They are immediately lit up by the local nakkadiles in incoherent, frothing action and military assault tactics. It rapidly becomes an epic shootout as a side-show.
Roxas	"Thanks! I just hope it was... you know, what I was supposed to do." Roxas replies to Doctor Strange. "Hey-- what's wrong? It's not like you to get so quiet." He remarks to Arthur, who is neither EXPLAINING or COOL KIDDING at them on the cusp of completing this SUB-QUEST. The nobody himself has a slightly lopsided grin, as if he was pretty satisfied with where things were going but noticed that something wasn't /quite/ right. Off-handedly, he raises a hand in the general direction of the arriving cops and the ogres piling out of their car, a gleam of light emanating from the palm of his hand. It is at this exact moment that big stupid columns start spawning in the streets, sweeping in LARGE RECOGNIZABLE PATTERNS but having truly ludicrous damage values. These would be relatively easy for a REAL PERSON to evade, but PCs always have smaller character models than OGRES, so they can't actually fit in the gaps. They could probably jump over, though.
Raphael Cousteau	Raphael's foot rests on the gas pedal. There's a breath. The car has roared to life. It's time. Of course, you can't just rip out of a place like this. You have to say something. You have to make it a *moment*. Raphael taps his cigar out the window for a moment, allowing fiery red embers to fall to the ground. "DISCO INFERNO, BABY!" He finally settles on, slamming on the gas. He's getting this car out of here. Seriously, he's the only one in this group who *can't* teleport. He's going right through Arthur's gate.
Ein	* Gain Wanted Stars! Roxas begins blasting away at Ogres with boss templates, which they are sorely unready for. These are ugly, tough sons of bitchs but as SOON as they start, the entire formation breaks and they just start sprinting (and action-rolling, somehow) away, absolutely not willing to handle this. The locals start cheering - including the Copodile, who just chews on the roof of the car, since he's kind of stuck - and go back to milling around like NPCs. They seem nonplussed by the EXTRA WASHED OUT lightblasts. * Fucking gun it. Raphael drives the ROYCE out the open gate and through the Teleporty Gate, disappearing. Thankfully, Arthur is The Best at Space, and manages to not land the car in the alley, instead Raphael peeling into a perfect parking spot just in front of the bar they started in. Outside, Glasses and the DAME stand in the street. "Wow! Sweet ride, naknak. But where's the, uh... Naknaknak... SELF-ESTEEM?" The DAME fans herself furiously.
Raphael Cousteau	Raphael Cousteau ...tilts his head. DRAMA: My liege, if I might? Raphael Cousteau clears his throat. "Why, my lady, it was *inside you all along*."
Arthur Lowell	>Arthur: Explain     Arthur answers Roxas a bit on the way out. "It's-- They fixed it." What he says quietly, as they board up, is, "Someone fixed the car after Dad died in it. Someone fixed it." >Arthur: Abscond     He remains behind. The battle is beginning outside, but he seems oblivious to it. The Mage of Space sees his own way out momentarily onto familiar sorts of streets haunted by familiar Consorts and Underlings.
Roxas	"Oh." Roxas regards Arthur quizzically. He says, "I don't have parents, so I guess I don't understand. But I guess I know how it feels to get prodded about something you don't have anymore when you're not really expecting it." "You should eat something that makes you feel good and go do something else for a while." Roxas frowns up at the floating UI that indicates, in fact, he has /wanted stars/. He doesn't understand what that means offhand, but he'll probably figure it out at some point in the future. Either that or they'll go away before he has the chance. It's hard to tell. He sweeps into the portal behind Raphael and the car. He takes a moment to unlock the drawer he sealed, apparently recognizing at this point that GUNS and KEYS are interchangeable here. Briefly, he wonders if that means he can shoot his Keyblade. Just as he's about to try and find out, he hears the DAME ask an important question and comes back out. "Uh..." Roxas rubs at the back of his head with his free hand, "I don't know, I feel pretty good about myself? But I think I might be the only one. This was kind of gloomy for Arthur, and I think Doctor Strange is used to bigger things..." He looks expectantly towards Raphael.
Raphael Cousteau	By the time Roxas has his eye on Raphael, he's already got the bottle of whiskey tilted upwards, taking a huge swig of it. Maybe, just maybe, this is not the finest beacon of self-esteem. Who knows? Maybe the self-esteem is in the trunk. It would make sense.
Roxas	Roxas looks at the bottle of whiskey, and shakes his head, "But that's /courage/, not self-esteem..."
Ein	* Drama: Get there. Raphael critically hits the DAME's heartstrings. She's touched, the fan snapping shut and dropping, as soulfully beady crocodile eyes stare into The Expression. They are calmed by the cigar-smoking man. "Inside me all along? Naknak. Ok!" The Nakkadile opens wide its maw, toothy, like a step-opened garbage can and starts rummaging around. Glasses, in a startling display of lucidity, notices ROXAS. "Nak. Hey. Kid." The tinted sunglasses gestures Roxas towards the DAME. Then a little crocodile mitt swipes the PARKING TICKET he got from the machine on exit and tosses it in the DAME's mouth. With a crocodile-click-rattle of joy, the DAME finds the PARKING TICKET in her mouth. "Ah! My self-esteem naknak! This one, nak, is even better! See, it's validated!" She waves the slobbery ticket around, which has in big block letters, the stamp of 'PARKING VALIDATED'. Glasses turns around. "Another mystery solved, naknaknak. I gotta guy on hold." And toddles back into the alley.