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hso_hammer_horror...since we kind of have to post this for posterity.
The other night (Friday), we put all of the best scenes and conversations from our respective versions of the story into a single Google Doc, ran a word count, and found that we had run up nearly double the allotted word count, which is an impressive feat in itself. We decided to panickedly tear out large sections of the story, aiming for minimalism at any expense.
At an unspeakable hour of the morning, our work was finished.
WE WILL WRITE THE BEST SADSTUCK, we'd said.
WE WILL PUNCH OUR READERS IN THE FEELS, we'd said.
We looked upon what we had done, and whispered to ourselves in horrified tones,
"Oh no... it's hilarious."
and so, this is our first "final draft" of I Can Barely Sleep In This Casino: a perversion of and affront to the practice of writing itself that may literally be the funniest thing ever composed. Alternatively, a fine collection* of sentences that average out at a length of four words, conversations that are flat enough to slide under a door, and... whatever else this is. It quickly begins to defy explanation.
*using a loose definition of this phrase
The other night (Friday), we put all of the best scenes and conversations from our respective versions of the story into a single Google Doc, ran a word count, and found that we had run up nearly double the allotted word count, which is an impressive feat in itself. We decided to panickedly tear out large sections of the story, aiming for minimalism at any expense.
At an unspeakable hour of the morning, our work was finished.
WE WILL WRITE THE BEST SADSTUCK, we'd said.
WE WILL PUNCH OUR READERS IN THE FEELS, we'd said.
We looked upon what we had done, and whispered to ourselves in horrified tones,
"Oh no... it's hilarious."
and so, this is our first "final draft" of I Can Barely Sleep In This Casino: a perversion of and affront to the practice of writing itself that may literally be the funniest thing ever composed. Alternatively, a fine collection* of sentences that average out at a length of four words, conversations that are flat enough to slide under a door, and... whatever else this is. It quickly begins to defy explanation.
*using a loose definition of this phrase
Hee hee.
GG: SHHHHHHHHHH!
GG: please dont rose, i know you are angry but you arent thinking straight
TT: But I am.
TT: I'm fully aware I'll probably die and fail. Scratch happens, we start fresh. No recollection, no problem.
GG: but i also dont think we are all on the same page
GG: i mean, theres a white text guy telling you all sorts of things now and feeling like he can butt into conversations apparently??
GG: and all this stuff about the scratch i am hearing for the first time...
TT: And mine too.
GG: and johns! if he even knew
TT: Bringing details attendant to the Scratch to John's attention hasn't exactly been relevant.
GG: i guess but
GG: aaarggh!!!
GG: ok what i am saying is, i would just rather you hold off on trying to take on jack until the guys know what is going on too
GG: please rose?
GG: ...:(
GG: can you at least promise me you wont go find jack RIGHT away?
TT: I can.
GG: :O!
TT: John's been trying to get a hold of me for about as long as you.
TT: I'll tell him the news. Turn him to the same grim page as us, for better or for worse.
GG: ohhhh ok
GG: ... will you get back in touch?
TT: I'll pencil it in.
GG: heheh good
GG: well
GG: i guess i should let you go and
TT: Yeah. We'll talk later.
GG: good luck <33333333
-- gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --
You stay idle for a good five minutes.
OPTION 1: Pinpoint John's location on the Battlefield and head there to tell him yourself.
OPTION 2: Have him come to you.
OPTION 3: Pester now; vault over that bridge; PROCEED.
You go with 3.
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] --
TT: Hi.
EB: whoa there you are!
TT: Sorry for the delay. I've been busy and preoccupations therein have led me to believe a change of plan is in order.
EB: wait, right now?
TT: Ideally.
EB: oh man.
EB: uh...
TT: Anyway, let's tackle the
TT: Practical aspects first:
fucking hell why is this so hard
TT: Have you managed to retrieve The Tumor yet?
EB: thaaat's actually what i've been trying to message you about!
TT: Oh?
EB: yeah, see...
EB: i decided to use my windy powers to drill to the center of the battlefield.
EB: oh!!! you know about that right? the windy powers and such?
TT: I do. Go on.
EB: well... there was no tumor.
TT: What.
EB: uughh, wait, hold on,
EB: The Tumor.
EB: there! correctly capped and blackified for pompous game purposes.
TT: ...
TT: John, that is precisely the least relevant aspect of what's wrong here.
EB: ......... yeah.
TT: This can't be right.
TT: There's no conceivable way you could have missed it once you arrived though...
TT: Are you certain you drilled to the center? The very center?
EB: definitely! it was the most cavernous part in there, easy.
EB: believe me i checked.
EB: ... rose?
TT: I need you to come here.
TT: Message me when you arrive at LOHAC and I'll tell you where to find me.
TT: We'll confer more then. Understood?
EB: i... guess?
TT: Safe travels, then.
EB: wait rose, what
EB: dammit.
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] --
EB: AAAGGGH.
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] started pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --
TT: If you’re still jonesing for a casino-flavored escapade, I would be happy to assist.
TG: hell yes i am totally down for preserving this time loop
TG: if by assist you mean storm in with needles blazing which lets face it is exactly what you mean
TG: using dark magic to summon the choicest of cards like bam royal house every goddamn time
TT: I believe the term is “royal flush”.
TG: with your ill gotten royal houses you set yourself up some kind of suburban kingdom
TG: sburban kingdom
TT: At the center of the neighborhood, there is a gigantic bomb. The moment it explodes, meteors destroy the entire country. Everybody perishes.
TG: no fuck that
TG: everybody lives rose
TG: anyways youre actually going to do this now
TT: If you have,
TT: The time.
TG: that is some really funny shit these casino douches wont even know what hit em
TG: you will be the brawn i will be the brains naturally
TT: Believe whatever you wish, Strider.
The casino is nicer than expected, with high ceilings and spindles arching into sharp corners. A lava waterfall runs down the obsidian wall facing you. Pretty impressive, you think as you pull out your knitting.
Dave shows up after several minutes and snorts when he sees you. "Fucking typical. Talking with giant monsters from paradox space, pulling together a cult, dark magic, and knitting. How many yarn balls do you even have there?"
You shrug and say nothing.
“All right, so are we doing this?” He turns his back for a moment and that's all you need.
“Well. I am, at the very least.”
He turns.
Dave's face, meet ball of yarn. Oh, you are already acquainted? Fancy that.
[picture]
You expected it to be cooler when you stepped inside, but if anything, the temperature has risen. You chalk it up to the decorative lavafalls and pools. You always imagined casinos as brightly lit places with ladies in fancy dresses and men in expensive suits. Here, you almost feel like a trespasser.
Based on your repeated rejections, I was under the impression that you did not consider this conducive to reaching your goal.
Here’s trouble.
TT: You lied to me about The Tumor.
I never lie.
TT: Then why couldn't John locate it?
There you go again, acting the storyteller, filling in where your lack of omniscience blinds you.
I told you the circumstances under which you should find The Tumor. No more, no less.
TT: Then what about the Green Sun? What gain could there be from misleading me about something you said would forward your plans?
You certainly are living up to your role, Seer. However, the questions you ask leave something to be desired.
I am more interested in the implications of insisting that my words are offensive only to you.
Don't you think this perfectly reflects the self-serving attitude you've displayed throughout the game?
TT: What?
TT: Everything I did was to help secure the safety of my friends.
Which is how you were so ready to initiate a Scratch poised to erase your friends from existence, and why you guided your friend to a bomb without fully informing him of the repercussions.
Meanwhile, you are under the impression that your secrecy has increased the odds of your collective group's survival.
Someone with unlimited knowledge and the skills to obscure information at will, such as myself, would find this amusing.
TT: I think I'll just choose not to speak to you from now on.
TT: It's obvious you can't engage others without attempting to demoralize them.
I see.
In that case, I propose a more effective and less painfully-onesided method of torment.
“Would you like to play a game?”
You turn off your headbandtop to see a small figure with a huge cueball head standing at a large casino table in the middle of the room, shuffling cards.
When you don't object, he continues, “The stakes are simple: the loser discloses a secret.”
“So if I beat you...?”
“Yes.”
“And if you beat me?”
“Nothing. What could you possibly tell me that I don’t already know?”
“You already know the outcome of this game.”
“Don’t you?”
You narrow your eyes; his face is infuriatingly blank and his body perfectly still. Every statement he makes screams some hidden meaning you’re sure you should know and it’s driving you mad.
But this may be your only shot at some answers.
"...All right. I accept your terms."
“Rose!”
Your surroundings shift in subtle ways – different advertisements on the screens, lighter colors, more blues and greens. But you hardly notice as you turn to see John traipsing about slot machines and roulette tables to reach you, one hand raised in a wave.
He looks glad to have found you, but you nearly stop breathing. You suddenly understand the knowing tone in Scratch’s voice.
"Excellent," your host says. "Your friend can join the game as well."
"We're playing a game?" John says, and asks you quietly, "Who is this guy?"
"My informant," you say shortly.
“Oh, so we're like, collecting information? Okay, I’ll pla–”
“John, no–”
Scratch places the deck on the table. “He has already accepted.”
You and John take your seats at the table. You raise an eyebrow when you receive only two cards. "We're playing blackjack?"
"This is your handicap, Seer." He tents his fingers and leans forward. "I shall not be gambling in this game.”
You want to scream. “You said you would play.” Your fingernails pinch into your palms.
“I understand how you got that impression. But I’ll remind you that I am not a gambling man.” He pauses. “That said, I believe a change in wardrobe is only fitting.” He snaps his fingers and wow, aren’t you dapper.
Is your roulette-themed outfit supposed to be commentary? Aesthetically speaking, you do like it (but it’s always motives with you). John appears to be pleased with his poker chip suit and spats.
“Incidentally, feel free to call me Scratch.”
[picture]
For the first four hands you both deliberately bust, effectively tying.
Then the next comes and John pauses, give the cards a careful look, and says, “I stand.” With a hand of twenty.
You stare at John as Scratch reveals his own. Nineteen.
He returns the look, triumphant and surprised, and you find your tongue. "Why did you do that?"
John shrugs. "If we want to end this stupid game, we might as well shake things up a bit. So, um... tell me a secret!"
"Our parents are dead."
John gapes at you. You stare back, mortified. Scratch shuffles his cards in the background.
“Hit.” You don’t even look at Scratch as he places a card in front of you. Instead, you observe John as he pointedly stares at his own cards. What could he be thinking right now? Is he angry? Resentful? Disappointed in you?
“John, I…”
“You still have to look at your card.” His gaze shifts from his cards to the slot machines lining the sides of the room.
“Oh, I apologize for wasting your time then." You look at the newest card and clench your jaw. It’s a bust. “I suppose you'll want to be rewarded with another highly-coveted Lalonde secret.”
John seems less than enthralled with the idea. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Instead of responding to your messages, I preoccupied myself with shaking our charming dealer down for information.” You resist the urge to grimace at what you just said.
Leaning across the table, he whispers angrily, “Wait, what? You could have been telling me what was going on, but... what?!”
“Sorry, John, but I believe the rules only grant one secret per win.”
John throws up his hands in frustration and leans back again.
As Scratch collects the cards, he chuckles. “I’m flattered that you have finally acknowledged my charm.”
“…Yes. That's certainly a thing that appears to have. Occurred.” You wish this whole game would end. You want to actually talk to John, provided he's willing now.
The next round, John busts. You might be anxious, had you not resigned yourself to the fact that John has nothing positive to say about you presently.
"You know, Rose," he begins, still refusing to look at you, "I really don't like how you act so high and mighty because you think that you know more than everyone. And you think you're doing what's right for everyone! Well, you're not."
"It's good to finally know your true feelings about me." You find it hard to focus your gaze on John. Or on anything. It really shouldn't surprise you to know that he can't actually stand you. He's finally opening up, after all. You resolve to follow his lead, regardless of the outcome.
You don't feel any better for it, though.
The next rounds pass quickly as you take turns losing and sharing your innermost thoughts.
"I've never appreciated how you are always so quick to divert attention from your negative emotions. One might assume you are trying to hide something."
"Well, 'one might assume' that your fancy language is to distract others from what you’re thinking! I hate that you don't tell what's really on your mind!" John shoves his cards back towards Scratch, and glares at the slot machines.
You can't help but think about your mom as Scratch deals out the next cards. John seems more melancholic than frustrated now. You start to wonder why you felt the need to lash out at him.
You ask for a hit. Bust. This time, you try a different tactic.
"Once, when I was younger, my mother took me to a casino. She taught me the basics of gambling by winning back seven hundred dollars that she had originally lost after her seventh martini. Plus interest, of course."
With each round lost, you begin to wonder why you always fail when it's most important. You can't save your mother, you can't protect John. You wonder if he still considers you a friend.
John looks down at the table and mutters his next secret when you win again. "My dad never complained about how I never addressed my fears and anxieties. He was just... there for me. I guess I just thought that's what everyone else expected, too." He looks at you, and you almost move from your seat to hug him and apologize for everything.
Instead you tell Scratch, "Hit."
He chuckles. "You've already won the round, Seer. There is no need to continue."
You ignore him.
You take a deep breath, and hesitate before leaning across the table to grab John's hand. "I really only ever wanted to keep you out of harm's way. I thought I could handle everything but... I couldn't. And I'm sorry."
“Well, you were right. When you told me about my dad I kind of just... wanted to talk about something else. So...”
You stare at him. "John, when I told you about your dad, you didn't say anything."
"Yeah I did, we were over there by the slot machines and... wait..." Now he looks confused. "Weren't we?"
"No, we were right..." The words die in your mouth as something clicks. “This happened before.”
You look around the room, trying to remember. “I was here, or somewhere like here, investigating when you arrived.”
“But he wasn’t here.” John gestures to Scratch.
“No, which is why things went differently.” You hesitate. “I intended to incapacitate you.”
He looks somewhere between hurt and indignant. “Why?”
Your first inclination is to brush it off, say it doesn’t matter, but you look at how many cards you’ve already played through and realize you can’t keep doing this.
“Because I thought it was dangerous,” you say, and continue before he can react, “It backfired. We argued. I was frustrated and unintentionally revealed what happened to our parents. You were upset.”
He rubs his arm. “I didn’t want to think about it, I guess. So I asked what you were doing instead, and wanted to go with you…”
“You were making things difficult. I attempted to knock you out with a ball of yarn, but-”
“-I did the windy thing to stop it. But the wind dislodged that slot machine, and it… almost fell on you, except…”
[ANIMATION]
“…You pushed me out of the way.”
When he speaks again, his voice is nearly a whisper. “I don’t remember anything after that.”
You swallow. “It was heroic, John. And I was… distraught. Distraught enough that when Jack appeared, likely seeking out one or both of us, I fought him. And lost.”
It’s gone quiet. Around you, screens flash and lights blink, but the sounds you’d expect from a casino, the jingling of coins and chips and the beeps of machines, are missing. Scratch has also vanished.
John’s eyes are blank and white and quietly sad. “It wasn’t even heroic,” he says. “I couldn’t save you.”
“I suppose it was the sentiment that mattered,” you say. But you won’t pretend to understand how the game works. Not anymore.
After a long while, you say, "But it's not your fault. You did what came naturally to you, while I..." Every part of you resists saying this, but John has heard plenty of confessions tonight; one more can't hurt.
"The Horrorterrors told me how the dreambubbles... react to one's memories and mind. ...How desperate do you have to be for your mind to take the form of someone you don't even trust so you can have something to blame? How fucked up do you have to be to subconsciously pit yourself against a friend just so you can dismantle his psyche?"
Suddenly John’s arms are around you. "You can't help it," he mumbles over your shoulder. "And I played along without thinking. I just wanted you stop acting so aloof for once."
You wrap your arms around John's back and stay there for a while, lost in your own thoughts.
Eventually he pulls away. "So... what do we do now?"
"I suspect our respective dreambubbles will part eventually, so... I suppose there's nothing we can do but make the most of what time we have left."
He smiles - at least, he tries - and takes your hand.
[picture]
GG: SHHHHHHHHHH!
GG: please dont rose, i know you are angry but you arent thinking straight
TT: But I am.
TT: I'm fully aware I'll probably die and fail. Scratch happens, we start fresh. No recollection, no problem.
GG: but i also dont think we are all on the same page
GG: i mean, theres a white text guy telling you all sorts of things now and feeling like he can butt into conversations apparently??
GG: and all this stuff about the scratch i am hearing for the first time...
TT: And mine too.
GG: and johns! if he even knew
TT: Bringing details attendant to the Scratch to John's attention hasn't exactly been relevant.
GG: i guess but
GG: aaarggh!!!
GG: ok what i am saying is, i would just rather you hold off on trying to take on jack until the guys know what is going on too
GG: please rose?
GG: ...:(
GG: can you at least promise me you wont go find jack RIGHT away?
TT: I can.
GG: :O!
TT: John's been trying to get a hold of me for about as long as you.
TT: I'll tell him the news. Turn him to the same grim page as us, for better or for worse.
GG: ohhhh ok
GG: ... will you get back in touch?
TT: I'll pencil it in.
GG: heheh good
GG: well
GG: i guess i should let you go and
TT: Yeah. We'll talk later.
GG: good luck <33333333
-- gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --
You stay idle for a good five minutes.
OPTION 1: Pinpoint John's location on the Battlefield and head there to tell him yourself.
OPTION 2: Have him come to you.
OPTION 3: Pester now; vault over that bridge; PROCEED.
You go with 3.
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] --
TT: Hi.
EB: whoa there you are!
TT: Sorry for the delay. I've been busy and preoccupations therein have led me to believe a change of plan is in order.
EB: wait, right now?
TT: Ideally.
EB: oh man.
EB: uh...
TT: Anyway, let's tackle the
TT: Practical aspects first:
TT: Have you managed to retrieve The Tumor yet?
EB: thaaat's actually what i've been trying to message you about!
TT: Oh?
EB: yeah, see...
EB: i decided to use my windy powers to drill to the center of the battlefield.
EB: oh!!! you know about that right? the windy powers and such?
TT: I do. Go on.
EB: well... there was no tumor.
TT: What.
EB: uughh, wait, hold on,
EB: The Tumor.
EB: there! correctly capped and blackified for pompous game purposes.
TT: ...
TT: John, that is precisely the least relevant aspect of what's wrong here.
EB: ......... yeah.
TT: This can't be right.
TT: There's no conceivable way you could have missed it once you arrived though...
TT: Are you certain you drilled to the center? The very center?
EB: definitely! it was the most cavernous part in there, easy.
EB: believe me i checked.
EB: ... rose?
TT: I need you to come here.
TT: Message me when you arrive at LOHAC and I'll tell you where to find me.
TT: We'll confer more then. Understood?
EB: i... guess?
TT: Safe travels, then.
EB: wait rose, what
EB: dammit.
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] --
EB: AAAGGGH.
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] started pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --
TT: If you’re still jonesing for a casino-flavored escapade, I would be happy to assist.
TG: hell yes i am totally down for preserving this time loop
TG: if by assist you mean storm in with needles blazing which lets face it is exactly what you mean
TG: using dark magic to summon the choicest of cards like bam royal house every goddamn time
TT: I believe the term is “royal flush”.
TG: with your ill gotten royal houses you set yourself up some kind of suburban kingdom
TG: sburban kingdom
TT: At the center of the neighborhood, there is a gigantic bomb. The moment it explodes, meteors destroy the entire country. Everybody perishes.
TG: no fuck that
TG: everybody lives rose
TG: anyways youre actually going to do this now
TT: If you have,
TT: The time.
TG: that is some really funny shit these casino douches wont even know what hit em
TG: you will be the brawn i will be the brains naturally
TT: Believe whatever you wish, Strider.
The casino is nicer than expected, with high ceilings and spindles arching into sharp corners. A lava waterfall runs down the obsidian wall facing you. Pretty impressive, you think as you pull out your knitting.
Dave shows up after several minutes and snorts when he sees you. "Fucking typical. Talking with giant monsters from paradox space, pulling together a cult, dark magic, and knitting. How many yarn balls do you even have there?"
You shrug and say nothing.
“All right, so are we doing this?” He turns his back for a moment and that's all you need.
“Well. I am, at the very least.”
He turns.
Dave's face, meet ball of yarn. Oh, you are already acquainted? Fancy that.
[picture]
You expected it to be cooler when you stepped inside, but if anything, the temperature has risen. You chalk it up to the decorative lavafalls and pools. You always imagined casinos as brightly lit places with ladies in fancy dresses and men in expensive suits. Here, you almost feel like a trespasser.
Based on your repeated rejections, I was under the impression that you did not consider this conducive to reaching your goal.
Here’s trouble.
TT: You lied to me about The Tumor.
I never lie.
TT: Then why couldn't John locate it?
There you go again, acting the storyteller, filling in where your lack of omniscience blinds you.
I told you the circumstances under which you should find The Tumor. No more, no less.
TT: Then what about the Green Sun? What gain could there be from misleading me about something you said would forward your plans?
You certainly are living up to your role, Seer. However, the questions you ask leave something to be desired.
I am more interested in the implications of insisting that my words are offensive only to you.
Don't you think this perfectly reflects the self-serving attitude you've displayed throughout the game?
TT: What?
TT: Everything I did was to help secure the safety of my friends.
Which is how you were so ready to initiate a Scratch poised to erase your friends from existence, and why you guided your friend to a bomb without fully informing him of the repercussions.
Meanwhile, you are under the impression that your secrecy has increased the odds of your collective group's survival.
Someone with unlimited knowledge and the skills to obscure information at will, such as myself, would find this amusing.
TT: I think I'll just choose not to speak to you from now on.
TT: It's obvious you can't engage others without attempting to demoralize them.
I see.
In that case, I propose a more effective and less painfully-onesided method of torment.
“Would you like to play a game?”
You turn off your headbandtop to see a small figure with a huge cueball head standing at a large casino table in the middle of the room, shuffling cards.
When you don't object, he continues, “The stakes are simple: the loser discloses a secret.”
“So if I beat you...?”
“Yes.”
“And if you beat me?”
“Nothing. What could you possibly tell me that I don’t already know?”
“You already know the outcome of this game.”
“Don’t you?”
You narrow your eyes; his face is infuriatingly blank and his body perfectly still. Every statement he makes screams some hidden meaning you’re sure you should know and it’s driving you mad.
But this may be your only shot at some answers.
"...All right. I accept your terms."
“Rose!”
Your surroundings shift in subtle ways – different advertisements on the screens, lighter colors, more blues and greens. But you hardly notice as you turn to see John traipsing about slot machines and roulette tables to reach you, one hand raised in a wave.
He looks glad to have found you, but you nearly stop breathing. You suddenly understand the knowing tone in Scratch’s voice.
"Excellent," your host says. "Your friend can join the game as well."
"We're playing a game?" John says, and asks you quietly, "Who is this guy?"
"My informant," you say shortly.
“Oh, so we're like, collecting information? Okay, I’ll pla–”
“John, no–”
Scratch places the deck on the table. “He has already accepted.”
You and John take your seats at the table. You raise an eyebrow when you receive only two cards. "We're playing blackjack?"
"This is your handicap, Seer." He tents his fingers and leans forward. "I shall not be gambling in this game.”
You want to scream. “You said you would play.” Your fingernails pinch into your palms.
“I understand how you got that impression. But I’ll remind you that I am not a gambling man.” He pauses. “That said, I believe a change in wardrobe is only fitting.” He snaps his fingers and wow, aren’t you dapper.
Is your roulette-themed outfit supposed to be commentary? Aesthetically speaking, you do like it (but it’s always motives with you). John appears to be pleased with his poker chip suit and spats.
“Incidentally, feel free to call me Scratch.”
[picture]
For the first four hands you both deliberately bust, effectively tying.
Then the next comes and John pauses, give the cards a careful look, and says, “I stand.” With a hand of twenty.
You stare at John as Scratch reveals his own. Nineteen.
He returns the look, triumphant and surprised, and you find your tongue. "Why did you do that?"
John shrugs. "If we want to end this stupid game, we might as well shake things up a bit. So, um... tell me a secret!"
"Our parents are dead."
John gapes at you. You stare back, mortified. Scratch shuffles his cards in the background.
“Hit.” You don’t even look at Scratch as he places a card in front of you. Instead, you observe John as he pointedly stares at his own cards. What could he be thinking right now? Is he angry? Resentful? Disappointed in you?
“John, I…”
“You still have to look at your card.” His gaze shifts from his cards to the slot machines lining the sides of the room.
“Oh, I apologize for wasting your time then." You look at the newest card and clench your jaw. It’s a bust. “I suppose you'll want to be rewarded with another highly-coveted Lalonde secret.”
John seems less than enthralled with the idea. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Instead of responding to your messages, I preoccupied myself with shaking our charming dealer down for information.” You resist the urge to grimace at what you just said.
Leaning across the table, he whispers angrily, “Wait, what? You could have been telling me what was going on, but... what?!”
“Sorry, John, but I believe the rules only grant one secret per win.”
John throws up his hands in frustration and leans back again.
As Scratch collects the cards, he chuckles. “I’m flattered that you have finally acknowledged my charm.”
“…Yes. That's certainly a thing that appears to have. Occurred.” You wish this whole game would end. You want to actually talk to John, provided he's willing now.
The next round, John busts. You might be anxious, had you not resigned yourself to the fact that John has nothing positive to say about you presently.
"You know, Rose," he begins, still refusing to look at you, "I really don't like how you act so high and mighty because you think that you know more than everyone. And you think you're doing what's right for everyone! Well, you're not."
"It's good to finally know your true feelings about me." You find it hard to focus your gaze on John. Or on anything. It really shouldn't surprise you to know that he can't actually stand you. He's finally opening up, after all. You resolve to follow his lead, regardless of the outcome.
You don't feel any better for it, though.
The next rounds pass quickly as you take turns losing and sharing your innermost thoughts.
"I've never appreciated how you are always so quick to divert attention from your negative emotions. One might assume you are trying to hide something."
"Well, 'one might assume' that your fancy language is to distract others from what you’re thinking! I hate that you don't tell what's really on your mind!" John shoves his cards back towards Scratch, and glares at the slot machines.
You can't help but think about your mom as Scratch deals out the next cards. John seems more melancholic than frustrated now. You start to wonder why you felt the need to lash out at him.
You ask for a hit. Bust. This time, you try a different tactic.
"Once, when I was younger, my mother took me to a casino. She taught me the basics of gambling by winning back seven hundred dollars that she had originally lost after her seventh martini. Plus interest, of course."
With each round lost, you begin to wonder why you always fail when it's most important. You can't save your mother, you can't protect John. You wonder if he still considers you a friend.
John looks down at the table and mutters his next secret when you win again. "My dad never complained about how I never addressed my fears and anxieties. He was just... there for me. I guess I just thought that's what everyone else expected, too." He looks at you, and you almost move from your seat to hug him and apologize for everything.
Instead you tell Scratch, "Hit."
He chuckles. "You've already won the round, Seer. There is no need to continue."
You ignore him.
You take a deep breath, and hesitate before leaning across the table to grab John's hand. "I really only ever wanted to keep you out of harm's way. I thought I could handle everything but... I couldn't. And I'm sorry."
“Well, you were right. When you told me about my dad I kind of just... wanted to talk about something else. So...”
You stare at him. "John, when I told you about your dad, you didn't say anything."
"Yeah I did, we were over there by the slot machines and... wait..." Now he looks confused. "Weren't we?"
"No, we were right..." The words die in your mouth as something clicks. “This happened before.”
You look around the room, trying to remember. “I was here, or somewhere like here, investigating when you arrived.”
“But he wasn’t here.” John gestures to Scratch.
“No, which is why things went differently.” You hesitate. “I intended to incapacitate you.”
He looks somewhere between hurt and indignant. “Why?”
Your first inclination is to brush it off, say it doesn’t matter, but you look at how many cards you’ve already played through and realize you can’t keep doing this.
“Because I thought it was dangerous,” you say, and continue before he can react, “It backfired. We argued. I was frustrated and unintentionally revealed what happened to our parents. You were upset.”
He rubs his arm. “I didn’t want to think about it, I guess. So I asked what you were doing instead, and wanted to go with you…”
“You were making things difficult. I attempted to knock you out with a ball of yarn, but-”
“-I did the windy thing to stop it. But the wind dislodged that slot machine, and it… almost fell on you, except…”
[ANIMATION]
“…You pushed me out of the way.”
When he speaks again, his voice is nearly a whisper. “I don’t remember anything after that.”
You swallow. “It was heroic, John. And I was… distraught. Distraught enough that when Jack appeared, likely seeking out one or both of us, I fought him. And lost.”
It’s gone quiet. Around you, screens flash and lights blink, but the sounds you’d expect from a casino, the jingling of coins and chips and the beeps of machines, are missing. Scratch has also vanished.
John’s eyes are blank and white and quietly sad. “It wasn’t even heroic,” he says. “I couldn’t save you.”
“I suppose it was the sentiment that mattered,” you say. But you won’t pretend to understand how the game works. Not anymore.
After a long while, you say, "But it's not your fault. You did what came naturally to you, while I..." Every part of you resists saying this, but John has heard plenty of confessions tonight; one more can't hurt.
"The Horrorterrors told me how the dreambubbles... react to one's memories and mind. ...How desperate do you have to be for your mind to take the form of someone you don't even trust so you can have something to blame? How fucked up do you have to be to subconsciously pit yourself against a friend just so you can dismantle his psyche?"
Suddenly John’s arms are around you. "You can't help it," he mumbles over your shoulder. "And I played along without thinking. I just wanted you stop acting so aloof for once."
You wrap your arms around John's back and stay there for a while, lost in your own thoughts.
Eventually he pulls away. "So... what do we do now?"
"I suspect our respective dreambubbles will part eventually, so... I suppose there's nothing we can do but make the most of what time we have left."
He smiles - at least, he tries - and takes your hand.
[picture]
