Eff off? You've got a to-do list, God-damnit, and you don't intend to budge until you see it fulfilled. Madrigal's face is locked in a sort of rictus. "Hello? You're not fucking off!"
You straighten. "Why would I?"
"I swear to god, I will—" She makes a strangling motion. Her tears are forgotten. "You are the worst. The absolute— do you understand why Monty has such an incredible hard-on for you? Because I try, and I try, and I cannot wrap my head around it! You're awful in so many exciting ways!"
"Um," you say thoughtfully. "I reminded him of his younger self, I think."
"Gullshit. That's fucking gullshit. Fuck you." Madrigal looks like she wants to stand, but doesn't— she's got a picture to badly conceal. "That's— fuck you. Monty's a hardass, but he's nice. You're—"
"He's the one who said it."
"He's delusional, then!" She throws up her hands. "If it were up to me, you'd never have got a tent, you realize? I take one look, and I think 'this bitch is psycho.' And you know what? I was right!"
You're trying to keep your voice in the safe zone between 'placating' and 'patronizing.' "Is this about the whole—" (You gesture to your cheek.) "—situation?"
"Gee, I don't know, is it about the fact you knocked my lights out, dragged me into the woods to die, and wandered off? Maybe?"
?Charlie, I really don't know why you had to go do all that. Look where it got you.?
"I didn't drag you in to die, that's just melodramatic. I just—"
"Oh! Sorry, Charlotte! Guess I couldn't come up with any other reasons to drag my unconscious body into the underbrush where it couldn't be seen and could be eaten! Why don't you tell me your fantastic reason why!"
"I'm not sure why you have to take that tone," you say. "Isn't it awfully childish? I thought you were 40?"
You're pretty sure she's 30-ish, but it's effective. The rest of Madrigal's face is turning the color of her bruise.
"Anyhow, I dragged you into the underbrush because..." And this is where you stop, because you don't entirely remember. You've got a vague recollection of 'it's good practice,' but this does not seem plausible or appealing. "…It seemed like a good idea at the time?"
"Yesterday. At the time I was unconscious."
"That'd be the one, yes."
Madrigal closes her eyes. She doesn't seem to have anything to say.
You scratch your neck. You feel like there was a point to this, but it's been lost in the tussle. "So…"
She cracks one eye open. It's still bloodshot. "Hoped you were fucked off."
You'd hoped you'd remember the point in the space between the "so" and the rest of the sentence, but this has not come to pass. "Guess not."
"Damn."
Damn indeed. You return your hands to your pockets.
"Are you gonna?"
"Gonna what?"
"Fuck off?"
?This is asinine. It's your to-do list. You forgot the to-do list. I'd say to ask her about the things on your to-do list, but you've gone and shot that well to pieces.?
You tug at the sleeve of your coat. God, he's right. Extracting information from Madrigal now is bound to be excruciating, but what are you going to do— leave? Absurd!
?Just start talking.?
Oh, like it's easy. Fine. Whatever. "No, I'm not going to— look, I did come here for a reason. Two— three— two reasons. Which are, ahem, as follows. By any case, do— you—" Your voice hitches (your spine is hot), and when it restarts it's oleaginous. You want to buy whatever you're selling. "—are you friends with C.M.S. Garvin?"
Madrigal looks suspicious. "I… not 'friends.' I've met the guy, like, twice."
"Really? He claims you're good friends."
"That's Garvin for you, I guess. Guy's never heard of 'boundaries'. He..." She stops herself, shakes her head, holds up a hand. "You're supposed to be fucking off?"
"I've also made a major discovery regarding the Ellery situation," you(?) continue smoothly. "I thought you might be interested in it."
For a moment, you think Madrigal might cry again. She affects nonchalance instead. "I don't… maybe. It might depend on the type— what discovery?"
The paper and mirror shard are already in your hand. You hand Madrigal the paper. She scans it and looks back up to you. "Is this Ellery's? How'd you—"
"It is, and my methods are immaterial." ('Immaterial' is definitely not a word that belongs to you.) "Have you any idea what sort of writing this is?"
She returns to the paper. "Oh. Shit. Is this mirror writing?"
You can feel Richard's disappointment compounding your own. "Er… yes."
"God dammit. Where'd he get his grubby fucking hands on a mirror? It wasn't me: I keep that locked down. God, I bet he's been… snorting ground mirror bits, just to see what happens. Or whatever. Because he does that."
"I found no evidence of him owning a mirror…" you attempt.
"It's mirror writing, dumbass, you need a mirror to do it. I bet it's Keith."
"…Pardon?"
"Keith. I bet Keith sold him the mirror. I fucking hate Keith."
>[1] Enough about Keith. Show her the translated version— dated three months ago.
>[2] Try to tactfully bring up Eloise's story of the mirror writing being… unintentional, however that works.
>[3] Inquire about mirrors. She clearly knows of them in a business sense— anything else?
>[4] Madrigal's guard is down, kind of. Luckily, you've got more case questions for her. (Which? Various suggestions can be found throughout the clue bin linked early in the thread.)
>[5] Write-in.
"Er," you say, "yes. Right. So, at considerable personal expense, I managed to translate it into regular—"
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"Oh man. Did you go letter by letter? You didn't have to do that, I could've—"
You show her the shard in her palm.
"Oh, shit." Madrigal furrows her brow. "Why's it red?"
"…It came that way."
"Huh." She's already slid on thin gloves. You suppose they must've been in the pocket of the jacket. "That's— give me the mirror? No, wait." She slides the mystery picture out from under her leg and tucks it in her waistband, then ducks under the cot. She comes out wielding a loupe in her left eye. "Now give me the mirror."
She takes it from your palm and holds it up to the loupe. "Huh," she says, then "hmm," then "oh, shit, that's interesting." She removes the loupe and waggles the shard. "It's genuine, all right, but it's a weird one. Discounting the whole red thing, even. The edges aren't uniform. It came this way?"
"Y…es."
"You got a hand-cast one, not mass-produced. Way less valuable. How much did you shell out for this?"
"I didn't ask for an appraisal." You'd rather keep 'I picked this up off the ground from a corpse' to yourself. "Just translate it, would you?"
"You got scammed, gotcha. You're welcome. Hold on."
She holds the mirror to the paper. "'Log of 12 Kite—'" She closes her eyes. "Charlotte. This is from 12 Kitemaker."
"I'm glad you can read?"
"That's three months ago? Three months after the Incident? Which was Fifthsday? On the 23rd? Of Netmaker?"
You're not sure which is more pathetic: 'the Incident' or her carbon-dating of it. "What time?"
"Mid-morning." (You smirk to yourself.) "But that's not— the point is, how the shit is this relevant? Did you just pick a random one from the stack?"
?As I recall, you did.? Richard's back, loose around your shoulders. You were wondering where your unction had gone. ?Excellent work, detective.?
Detectivess. "You haven't even read it!"
"For god's sake." But Madrigal keeps reading. "'Woke up again. Coughed up more silver'— what did I say? He's been snorting the stuff; I'd bet my eye on it. 'Not sure what I did to me'— oh, good. Cryptic."
Like it's a bad word.
"'Thought it might be the 10th, but went and checked the notice board. M—'" Madrigal's voice cracks. "'Maddie wasn't there like last time.'"
She covers her eyes with her hands, drops her head to her lap. You don't have the heart to say anything.
Finally, she raises her head, wipes her nose, resumes. "'Two days gone'— what does that mean? 'Lionfish toxin'…"
Again, to the lap. Her voice is again thick when she rises. She speaks to the paper. "Fucking moron."
"Uh," you say. "What?"
"Lionfish toxin kills." Back to you. "It fucks up your heart. And everything else, but— the heart's the important part."
You hadn't known that. "Oh."
"'Oh.' 'Oh.' Fuck you, Charlotte." Madrigal wipes her nose again.
You're not sure how to handle this. "Maybe he didn't know it was…"
"Fucking moron. Of course he knew."
"Well…" You tug at your neckline. "I mean, it wasn't fatal, right? He's… still…"
You can't finish the sentence.
"He knew, and he did it anyways." It doesn't matter whether you finish. You might as well be wallpaper. "He knew. It's not carelessness. It's not— it's recklessness, but it's not— he usually—" Her bottom lip trembles minutely. "It's all my fucking fault."
Every instinct in your body is telling you to get out before a Scene happens— it's only a curdled brew of disgust and curiosity that keeps you rooted to the spot. "What's all your fault?"
You might as well have asked why things fall down, not up. "All of it!"
"It's probably not all of it," you say sagely. "It's probably only some of it."
"He's chugging venom, you psycho! He's coughing up gunk! He's— do you think this'd be happening if I were still—?"
Yes? "It's Ellery."
"Fuck you! He's impulsive, not sui—"
She cuts off hard: hunches her shoulders, presses her fist firmly against her nose and lips, shuts her eyes, says nothing. "Madrigal?" you say, but she says nothing. You poke her: she digs her nails into your palm. Uh-oh. Your lizard brain is telling you to run for the hills.
?I'll give you some credit. You could only have predicted a good 75% of this.?
But you are nobler than your lizard brain, and you stay put! "I don't think," you say a little desperately, "I don't think he was suicidal, was he? That's no kind of suicide note. He said he shouldn't do it again, I mean."
"Not— he wouldn't— he wouldn't see it that way." She's mumbling into her fist. Her throat seems clogged. "He'd— ask him. Ask him. He'd be all... fuckin'... 'what's wrong, Maddie? I didn't die, did I?' But that's not— just because you're not doing the shooting, dodging in front of a fuckin' hail of bullets is still—"
"Or not trying to dodge the bullets?"
"Uh-huh."
You would not like to think about the unpleasant thing you just thought about. "Maybe," you say a lot desperately, "maybe you've got it sort of backwards. Maybe he thought he'd survive? The fatal toxin?"
"Why would he…" Madrigal cracks her eyes open. They're wet. "That's stupid."
Is it stupid? Maybe it's stupid. It's probably stupid. You expect Richard to tell you how stupid it is any second.
?It's not that stupid.?
"It's not," you protest. "That stupid."
"Fuck you. Yes it— he's not a fucking goo-thing, Charlotte. He's not immortal, Charlotte. Fuck you— why did you give me this?"
"The… paper?"
"Yes! You knew what was on it, didn't you! You gave it to me so you could— so you could fucking laugh at me. Because you're a psycho. Look at you!"
But that's wrong! Is your bemusement reading as amusement? Are you cursed forever to look attractively smug? "I'm—" you fumble, "I'm not—"
"Then why did you give me this? Do you possibly expect me to believe it's relevant?"
>[1] Tell the embarrassing truth: you didn't think the implications through. No more, no less.
>[2] Is it relevant to the breakup angle? No? But that wasn't the original question. The original question is 'what's wrong with Ellery,' and this provides some excellent answers.
>[3] You think she's being a little ungrateful here, really. Doesn't this capture her attention? Doesn't she want to know *why*? So it doesn't answer everything at once— so what? You're working hard out here.
>[4] To be fair, she's missing quite a lot of context regarding this note… and where you originally found it. You're going to have to tell her about the manse. [Specify how much. Specify if you want to let her in on your various theories.]
>[5] She's focusing way too much on one part of the note. The cryptic "what did I do to me" — that seems to link up with Eloise's story of Ellery's confusion, right? Relate that to her.
>[6] Listen to your lizard brain and GTFO.
>[7] Write-in.
weird and janky and underbaked" stage, and we have yet to advance to the ABSOLUTE CINEMA stage, which is coming. Trust me!
THE CHARACTERS OF DROWNED QUEST, AS DRAWN BY OTHER PEOPLE #6
@eteroutsider, who beautifully depicts their, uhhhh, relationship. I love the shading here! And Charlotte's sharp teeth! No, she doesn't have sharp teeth yet. Forget you saw that! Then remember you saw that 54 chapters from now. You can do that for me, right?
Weigh in as an impartial observer with developed social skills!
