pt-pp-f01 Crossed Wires

[Warren 0]

Ulterior motives.

Oscar had them, Warren was just a cog in the machine.

At least, now, the man was being more direct about what he needed. Something about the incident with the Orphanage changed the man. Everyone had heard about it. No one talked about it. They didn't talk about how Oscar seemed to be just a bit too cheerful after the fact. Smug, even. Like he'd won something. Like he always knew more than he was willing to tell anyone. Except, he'd always been like that. At least as long as Warren had known him. One does not simply give for free. Everything had a price. No one knew better than Oscar's ward. The request had come with a name, a location, and a simple one-line order.

Quote

Kyra. Town of Beginnings. Make sure the good doctor makes it home safe.

Warren had had his misgivings about stalking someone. And even now, he still had them. His daily observations, recorded in his journal, had become the only real way he knew to mark the passage of the days within their digital prison.

Day One - No Incidents.

The days progressed. Warren slowly began to see the sense in the instruction. She was helping people. How many dour faces crossed her threshold only to emerge relieved? Light. Of course someone like this would make Oscar's list. Because at the end of the day, with all of his secrets and the bodies that Warren didn't even have to check the Monument to know the man left in his wake, Warren would not have stuck with the man for this long if he wasn't good. Or at least some force of stability in the chaos that quickly burned through Aincrad. The rest of the floors could turn to ash, but Warren knew in his bones that this place would remain a haven for those who sought it.

And someone who could fight inner demons was just a necessary as those who fought on the Front.

So, he sat at a cafe across the way from Kyra's office. Warren never stuck around too long. Arriving like clockwork fifteen minutes before she usually left for the day. He would enjoy a single cup of coffee, perhaps a danish if he was in the mood. Warren was, after all, a slave to habit. Perhaps that, too, was why he was asked to do this. The only problem was, he still didn't feel good about it. It killed him to hang back and keep eyes out over anyone, much less a woman. He wasn't ignorant of the implications there. Lord forbid his presence ever be noticed. That would be an awkward conversation.

And he would throw Oscar all the way under the bus.

He opened his journal as he took a sip from his coffee. The absolute worst part was it was such a boring thing to do. His eyes trailed down the page, reading each and every line. All the way down to yesterdays.

Day 56 - No Incidents.

"God I'm such a fucking creep," he lamented to himself as he pulled a smoke and a light from his breast pocket.

Spoiler

"Name: Warren
True Tier: 3
Level: 22
Paragon Level: 0
HP: 440/440
EN: 62/62

Stats:
Damage: 19
Mitigation: 119
Accuracy: 4
Stealth Rating: -5
TAUNT
REGEN: 18

Equipped Gear:
Weapon/Armor/Trinket: 
  - <<Queen's Guard>> T1 Perfect OHSS | ACC III
Armor/Trinket: 
  - <<Heavy Overcoat>> T3 Perfect Heavy Armor | MIT III
Shield/Armor/Trinket: 
  - <<Nebula>> T1 Perfect Shield | Taunt, Regen II

Combat Mastery:
  - Combat Mastery: Damage R3

Combat Shift:
  - 

Familiar Skill:
  - 

Custom Skill:
  - 

Skills:
  - Heavy Armor R5
  - Straight Sword R5

Extra Skills:
  - Block R5

Inactive Extra Skills:

Addons:
  - Ferocity
  - Precision

Mods:

Inactive Mods:

Battle Ready Inventory:

Housing Buffs:
  - Extended Workshop: +2 Crafting EXP per crafting attempt and +1 crafting attempt per day
  - Mega Slime Farm: +10% EXP to a thread. Limit one use per month. Must be used on a player's first post in a thread. Cooldown begins counting down when used in a post.

Guild Hall Buffs:
  - Trading Hall: Reduce LD needed for Salvage by 5 (10+ for Alchemist crystals, 6+ for everything else). +2 EXP per craft. Rank 9 crafters and Rank 4 merchants/performers receive +1 crafting/identification attempt per day. Rank 10 crafters and Rank 5 merchants/performers receive +2 crafting/identification attempts per day.

Scents of the Wild Totem:

Wedding Ring:

Crafting Profession:

Gathering Profession:
"                                                                                                                            

 

Edited August 12 by Oscar

[Kyra 0]

The pen clattered to the desktop, rolling over once before coming to rest atop a sheet lined paper. It was covered in neat, precise cursive, detailing the many observations that Kyra had made during and after her most recent session. Phrases such as "discussed implementing new mechanisms for coping with anxiety", "addressed concerns from last session," and "investigated source of abandonment issues" devolved into "noted increased tension at mention of speaking with another professional," and "observed numerous attempts to shift closer, and multiple 'accidental' points of contact during welcome and farewell."

Pages and pages of similar patterns filled the folder titled simply "Dazn."

Kyra blew out a long breath, pressing her fingertips to her tired eyes, as if the faint pressure there might drive the headache out. She had been meeting with Dazn for months now, and she felt that she was making absolutely no progress whatsoever. Every week, he showed up with a new laundry list of concerns, ranging from horrifying nightmares to debilitating fear of insects. Each time, she did her best to work with him, but he only grew more and more agitated as the session went on. He would leave, and then return the following week with a cheery demeanor and a new slew of issues to discuss. One week, he swore Aincrad wasn't real. The next, he was convinced his shop was haunted. 

One common thread was his tendency to draw Kyra herself into the discussion. He constantly asked her if she had similar experiences, and made off-handed comments such as, "I would be less afraid with you by my side," and "I'm sure you would know what to do if you were there with me." Once, he even went so-far as to observe how she would make someone a "wonderful wife" one day.

Kyra was many things. She was patient, and kind, and perhaps a little too much of both. But she wasn't stupid, and besides, it didn't take an advanced degree in psychology to figure out what was going on. It would have been easy to dismiss him outright, but his multiple references to ending his life gave her pause. Was this all an elaborate ruse to get her attention? Or was Dazn truly as unstable as he presented himself?

Thunder rumbled overhead, drawing Kyra back to her pretty office. She picked up the china teacup that sat beside her notes, and drank the last of the floral tea that it held. The liquid had gone cold hours ago, but there was no point in letting it go to waste. Another whip-crack of thunder had her moving with a bit more urgency as she put away her notes, cleaned and stowed her cup, and snagged her umbrella from the stand by the door. This storm hadn't been expected, but Kyra kept one in her office for situations precisely like this one.

The walk to and from her apartment on the outskirts of Starting City wasn’t a short one, taking upwards of half an hour, but Kyra found solitude in the journey. It allowed her time to mentally prepare herself for the day ahead, or decompress from it, when she returned home. She usually enjoyed the scenery, and the people-watching that came with life in a busy town. Today, however, felt different.  Perhaps it was the weather, or the fact that dark had fallen while she hid away in her office, but tendrils of unease were working their way up the back of her neck. Did the streets seem less lively than usual? Of course they’re empty, Kyra silently scolded herself. That could be attributed to the weather and the dark, too. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Perhaps that was why she didn’t appear surprised when Dazn stepped out from a doorway in an abandoned side-street. His clothes were dry, as if he’d stood beneath the overhang for hours, but the rain began to quickly soak through the worn denim of his jean jacket. Kyra, on the other hand, remained dry beneath her umbrella, though the hand holding the handle shook ever so slightly.

“Dazn,” she greeted politely, inclining her head, and speaking first in an attempt to take control of their interaction.

The expression he wore, a smile teetering on the edge of a sneer, perfectly matched his tone as he answered, “Long time no see, Kyra.”

The use of her given name flipped her stomach, but she kept her own expression neutral. “I believe we parted ways not too long ago.”

“It’s been hours,” he retorted. “I’ve been waiting here for hours. I was starting to wonder if you were going to come at all. You always go straight home after your afternoon appointments, and I’ve never seen you get home after dark. I almost went back to check on you.”

The words he spoke, and the flippant way in which he delivered them, sent a chill up her spine. He had been watching her - following her - for how long? Weeks? Months? Long enough to establish her routine. And for what?

“It was kind of you to worry, Dazn. But no, I’m quite alright. Just working late.”

“Tough patients, huh? I bet none of them are as tough as me.” He chuckled to himself. “Fortunately for you, none of that shit I told you was actually true.”

Well that answers one question, Kyra thought to herself, but brings up so many more. She tightened her hold on her umbrella. “May I ask why you shared all of it with me then?”

“Sure you can.” He grinned. An expectant silence fell between them, as he apparently waited for her to ask. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Finally, he rolled his eyes, and drawled, “Because you’re hot. Always walking around in those high heels and little fuck-me pencil skirts.”

It was difficult to keep her tone even when she replied, “You visited my office dozens of times over the course of six months, because you appreciated my fashion sense?”

“Yes! I mean, no!” His sneer became a scowl as he shook his head. “I thought you looked good, so I wanted to get to know you better.”

“Through posing as a client?”

He shrugged. “It was fun. I did theater in middle school, so it was easy to play the part. And why not? There’s nothing else to do in this shit hole.”

Kyra drew in a long, slow breath, the sound drowned out by the incessant pitter-patter of rain on the lilac umbrella. “Alright, Dazn,” she began, “you’ve come clean. Now what happens?”

“Now what happens is you come to my place. I’m tired of waiting, and asking nicely. So now I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

Kyra’s jaw worked as her mind raced through possibilities. She considered potential solutions to her problem, throwing them out as she deemed them impossible or inadequate. All the while, her lavender eyes remained on Dazn. “We’re in a safe zone,” she finally reminded him, her words clipped, her voice measured. “You can’t hurt me.”

That sneer of his returned, and when his brown eyes flashed hungrily, Kyra’s racing thoughts slowed to a crawl. “I know people. Bad people. And I know ways to hurt you that even the game can’t stop.”

Spoiler

 

Kyra | HP: 20/20 | EN: 20/20 | DMG: 2 | MIT: 0 | ACC: 0 | EVA: 0 

Level 1
Stats: Novice 1HSS
Gear: Vanity Sword, (3) Starter Healing Potions (Heals 50 HP)

 

 

[Warren 0]

The good doctor was certainly taking her sweet time. She normally left more or less around the same time every day, after her afternoon appointments were wrapped up. Today, however, Warren was left waiting hours. Well into the evening, even past the cafe’s closing time. It would be odd, he realized, if he were sitting in front of a shop with darkened windows in the middle of a storm once she’d finally decided to leave the office. 

Good thing there was another restaurant nearby, this time with umbrellas to keep him dry.

As the hours wore on, Warren decided he would treat himself to dinner in front of this warm delicatessen. The smells wafting out through the cracked windows were enough to make him salivate and he realized that he’d not eaten all day. Except for that pastry, which was hardly satisfying. While he waited, he called over one of the workers. From cursory observation, it seemed as if it was a mother-daughter Player duo running the shop. A brown-haired girl with bright eyes and a brighter smile dashed over, huddling under the umbrella with pen and paper. Sammie. Or so it said on her name tag.

“Hi, could I have a chicken parm, please?”

Sammie nodded, smiling the entire time. “Of course! But uh… Are you sure you don’t want to eat inside? It’s really coming down out here.”

Lightning flashed overhead, a crack of thunder giving credibility to her question.

Warren simply shook his head. “I appreciate it, but I like the rain. It’s relaxing. Besides…” He patted his right breast pocket, bulging with the square package containing his now-dwindling supply of cigarettes. “I don’t want to offend your customers with the smell. Oh! And a coffee, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“You got it! And I don’t mean to brag, but I’m a Grandmaster Alchemist. It’ll be the best cup you ever had,” she replied.

“Oh? I can’t wait then,” Warren said with a slight smile.

And she was right. His food and drink came in quick order. The smell of the coffee alone was divine. The taste was beyond incredible. He would make a mental note to come back here more often. It made him think about what other hidden gems existed on this floor. He picked his sandwich up off of his plate and just as he was about to take a bite, he saw movement at the good doctor’s threshold. She had finally seen fit to go home, but with the worst possible timing. Warren placed his sandwich down on the plate, a small pouch of Col next to it and drained his coffee.

The coffee would get the proper reverence, but he would mourn that sandwich.

But stalkers didn’t really have much right to complain.

He rose from his seat, wiping his mouth on a napkin and struck off into the rain. He had a bad feeling almost immediately. Maybe it was the departure from the routine that had him feeling disquieted. No, that wasn’t it. It might have been a long time since he listened to his instincts, but there was that sharp pang in his gut. That quiet anxiety right before an operation. Warren had long since learned to listen to his gut.

So he stayed closer than usual. Kept to the shadows, used the rainfall to cover his steps. One could only step so lightly in combat boots, but the good doctor didn’t seem to notice.

And it was a good thing he did. Out stepped a man - his posture screamed familiarity. Warren stepped into a cut, close enough to hear their conversation even over the rainfall. A patient of hers. Dazn. He almost relaxed. Almost. He spoke of his lies with a sociopathic glee. Warren was no professional, but he knew enough to see that malicious glint in his eye.

“Because you’re hot. Always walking around in those high heels and little fuck-me pencil skirts.” 

He held himself back from drawing Queen’s Guard. They were in a Safe Zone. It wouldn’t do much.

Regardless, he made his approach. Each word out of the man’s mouth set his blood boiling, his teeth on edge.

“I know people. Bad people. And I know ways to hurt you that even the game can’t stop.” 

Warren gently pressed his hand against Kyra’s shoulder, pushing her behind him. He towered over Dazn, looking down at him with an icy gaze. He said nothing to the good doctor. It wasn’t mission-critical. And he would have preferred not to make contact in the first place. But he knew two things.

One, that he was the lesser of two evils. And two, that whatever bad people Dazn knew, Warren almost assuredly knew a worse one.

“What was that,” Warren asked coolly. “I didn’t quite hear you. Speak up, son.”

Dazn met his gaze and he could see that his facade was beginning to crack. From one stalker to another, it was hard to keep up the dangerous ruse when you’re being stared down by someone a foot taller than you. Warren hoped that the boy would simply disengage and he could go about his business without incident. Maybe come up with some right place, right time excuse.

But Warren was never quite so lucky. Realization dawned on Dazn, his eyes went wide and that sneer reappeared on his face.

“I know you! You’re that weirdo that follows her home every day!” He leaned over to the side, locking eyes with Kyra. “You really should be more careful. Never know who might be hiding in the shadows.”

Dazn turned his attention back to Warren. “You know, we really should be on the same side. I’m willing to share. I think if you grab her arms I can -”

Queen’s Guard flashed to Warren’s hand. The tip of the blade was mere inches from Dazn’s face. 

“This is a Safe Zone. You can’t hurt me,” he said, echoing Kyra’s words.

“True,” Warren replied. “But you’re not the only one who knows how to hurt people in ways the game can’t stop. Did you know you can actually overwhelm the pain dampeners? I’ll have to wail on you for quite some time. But, you know, I think I can make time for it.”

Warren actually had no idea if that would work, but it absolutely sounded like it would. It was better than the alternative. Dazn had no idea exactly what he’d stepped into.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite,” Dazn spat.

“Yes. Now take a walk.”

Seconds ticked by, each feeling like an eternity. Finally, the boy let out an exaggerated sigh and threw his hands up in the air. “Whatever.” He tried to lean over again, tried to speak to the good doctor one last time. Warren slammed the butt of his blade into Dazn’s nose. No damage, but a sparking sensation that would have him rethink his plan.

“Nope. You’re done,” Warren said. “You’ve lost your shrink privileges.”

Dazn let out a curse and stepped backward down the alley as he clutched his face. “For now. Warren, yeah? I’ll remember that name.”

Warren kept his weapon level until Dazn turned a corner. With a sigh, he dismissed the blade and shook his head. “Yeah, go fuck yourself,” he mumbled.

It didn’t really dawn on him that he’d been outed. He didn’t really care. Without a word, he pulled a smoke from his pocket and lit it. He took a long drag, turning his head skyward and expelled the smoke. It hung heavy in the humid air, the haze forming a wreath around him.

“So, you probably have questions. Why are you following me? Why the fuck are you here?” Warren gesticulated, rolling his wrist and leaving tendrils of smoke in his wake. “I promise I’m not a stalker. Got a good reason and I’ll answer any questions you got. As soon as we get out of this rain.”

Edited Friday at 11:47 PM by Oscar

[Kyra 0]

The threat was enough to send a pulse of cold panic through her. How could it not, given the gleam in his eye, like light off the blade of a sharp knife. Not to mention the absolute certainty with which he spoke the words. If nothing else, he believed them. And a man who believed he could commit violence, regardless of whether or not he truly could, was still dangerous.

She’d seen his acting skills at work, and despite his long and storied middle school theater career, he wasn’t THAT good. No, Dazn meant her harm, in one way or another. If he couldn’t bring down her health bar, he could surely find other ways: harassment, stalking, threatening her patients and friends. A vice clamped over her heart at the thought of the vulnerable Sanctuary survivors facing down another delusional man.

Lessa. Her racing mind came to rest on the face of the woman who had saved them all once. She would know how to protect her people from Dazn, and whatever horrible company he kept. If only she could get a message out, warning Lessa that-

She registered the weight of the hand on her shoulder only seconds before she heard his voice - he commanded attention even without increasing in volume. Kyra was behind the man, and out of Dazn’s line of fire, in a matter of seconds. Though she had no idea who the tall, white-haired stranger was, she was grateful for the assistance, and content to simply witness the conversation she’d been removed from.

That was, until Dazn drew her back in.

Never know who might be hiding in the shadows.

Again, she heard the truth ringing clear in the man’s voice. He hadn’t been lying about hurting her, and he wasn’t lying about her supposed savior’s stalking. And when he didn’t deny it, she had her answer. It unnerved her far more than Dazn’s offer to “share” her.

Her lips drew together in a tight line as she silently watched the newcomer chase Dazn off. Threats were exchanged, and a weapon was drawn, but she offered nothing until the man called Warren addressed her. Even then, she paused to shoot off a quick message to her friend first.

To: Lessa
Please keep an eye on the Sanctuary community tonight. There is a possible threat to their safety. I’ll explain soon. Thank you.

”’Stalker’ seems a pretty apt title for a person who follows someone else without their knowledge or consent,” Kyra finally replied coolly. Then she exhaled slowly through her nose, recognizing a pissy response when she heard one. The man had rescued her from an uncomfortable situation - there was no reason why she couldn’t remain civil. Perhaps she owed him that much, but he hadn’t exactly earned anything else from her.

She inclined her head slightly. “I have questions, yes. I will wait to ask them, but I won’t be inviting you back to my apartment.” Her expression and her tone remained neutral, but her eyes were hard as the met and found his. “It may be a moot point, as if you’ve truly been trailing me, you know where I live. I’d rather not dwell on that though.”

Kyra lifted a hand to motion further down the street. “There’s a restaurant around the corner. We’ll find a table, and then you can explain yourself.” Without waiting for his confirmation, she walked briskly toward their new destination, water sloshing over the sides of her coral stilettos with each step she took. It was an uncomfortable feeling, having wet feet inside high-heeled shoes, but it didn’t hold a candle to the idea that a man had been stalking her without her knowledge. And that that man followed her now, into the cozy restaurant, with its low ceilings, dancing candlelight, and scent of rich tomato sauce and Italian spices.

Moving to a table in the corner, Kyra instinctively took the seat that allowed her to watch the rest of the room with her back against the wall. She propped her damp umbrella against the edge of her chair, then gracefully lowered into it, clasping her hands atop the crisp, white tablecloth. Once Warren had also found her seat, she began.

”I suppose that who you are and why you’ve been following me is an appropriate place to start.”

[Warren 0]

Warren winced as she said the word. Stalker. As if he hadn’t been grappling with the same accusation these past fifty-eight days. He shuddered at the accusation, his body rejecting it down to his very bones. “I much prefer security,” he said. “Closer to the truth, really. Don’t much like to be lumped in with that dude.” He gestured vaguely down the alley, pointing with the lit end of his cigarette. Still, his shoulders slumped forward. It wasn’t exactly something he could deny now. Not that he would have, had the cat been let out of the bag under better circumstances.

“But fair enough. We’ll go with stalker, if you prefer.” Warren said flatly. Whatever made her more comfortable with the situation. Honestly, he didn’t even know where to begin to empathize with her situation. The fucked-upedness of it all to find out you had two people watching you from afar had to be a heavy thing. He couldn’t help but laugh, though, when she mentioned her unwillingness to invite him back to her place.

“Correct,” he said in a monotone voice. “I don’t care to see the inside of your apartment, either.”

His intent had been, of course, to draw a clear line in the sand. His detail ended when she entered her home. As uncomfortable as this whole situation was, he could only hope that she would find some solace in the knowledge that her sanctuary went unviolated. At least by him. Warren was still working out just how far Dazn had gone and would be willing to go. Perhaps he should send a message to Oscar. Get one of his shadow-shrouded goons to disappear the offending party.

But a part of him thought that might be admitting defeat. He had very little skin in the game, but there was no way he was going to let that little shit get the better of him.

Make him launch nukes when a pistol would do the trick.

Warren let her lead the way, back the way he came and back to the restaurant where he had abandoned his sandwich. There was hope, now. Perhaps he would not need to grieve very long for the loss of what would be a glorious dining experience. Of course, he needed to keep his head in the game. Starting with the start.

 ”I suppose that who you are and why you’ve been following me is an appropriate place to start.” 

Warren nodded. And just as he was opening his mouth to speak, Sammie was by their table.

“Warren! Was something wrong with your food? You rushed off so fast.”

He pivoted, doing his best to keep a neutral expression even as the barbs of her interruption dug under his skin. “No, I uh… Saw a friend,” he said as brightly as he could. Which wasn’t very bright. He was cold, wet and wearing egg on his face. He nodded in Kyra's direction. Because, he was that. Or at least someone who didn't mean her any harm. A low bar, but it was the best he had. “We hadn’t seen each other for a minute, so priorities,” he added with a shrug. It was a smooth lie. And it almost surprised him how easily it came. But you really couldn't take the Operator out of the man.

“Well I’m glad you came back. You paid too much. Five grand for a coffee and a sandwich? Sure you didn’t tack on an extra zero?”

“It seemed appropriate. I don’t dine out often,” Warren admitted. Since it was truth time, it was a good opportunity to point out that he simply didn’t know the value of money in this game.

“Well let me get you another round?”

Warren nodded. “And whatever my friend is having. And if you have precisely one mixing bowl, just fill it with that coffee of yours and we’ll call it even.”

Sammie laughed. “Told ya. I’ll keep ‘em comin’ for you.”

She lingered at the table, making sure to jot down Kyra’s order before dashing off. Warren gave Kyra a sheepish smile, sinking down into his seat. “Sorry, security’s hungry work. Where were we?”

The start.

Where to even fucking begin?

“You heard about the orphanage right? How the children and the staff were all abducted in broad daylight? One of the Players involved has taken a more active approach when it comes to protecting the town,” Warren said. As he spoke, he fiddled with the coffee creamers. He paused for a moment, focusing solely on placing the capstone onto the small pyramid of dairy he had created. It toppled almost immediately. A frown flashed to his face as he looked up and met Kyra’s gaze. This was the closest he’d ever been to her and it was the first time he’d ever looked her in the eye. He hated to admit it - or agree with Dazn on anything - but she was quite pretty. Almost stunningly so.

“And you landed on his radar and he asked me to make sure you made it from your office to your home without being harassed or - Lord forbid - abducted. Ideally, you would have never even found out. The entire point was to be as unobtrusive as possible.” Warren let out a heavy sigh. “Leave it to an actual crazy person to make my job harder and you uncomfortable.”

 

Edited Monday at 05:51 AM by Oscar

[Kyra 0]

The waitress' arrival caught Kyra by surprise. An odd thing, given they were in a restaurant, and waitresses arriving was a part of the typical experience. But the girl's familiarity with the man seated across the table was something Kyra hadn't expected. Selecting a place at random, only for Warren to have a relationship with the owner? Did he frequent all of the eateries in this part of town, or did she just luck out? Well, regardless, at least she now had confirmation that his name was Warren. Unless... it wasn't. And he'd simply given a false name to everyone he met.

She studied him, and his interaction with the other player, in silence. The ease with which he lied didn't go unnoticed, and gave credence to her theory that the man simply could not be trusted to tell the truth. It would be easy to interject, insisting that Warren was full of shit, and they were far from anything remotely resembling friends. But what would that accomplish? It wasn't as if it changed anything, aside from the girl's opinion of him, and that wasn't really any of Kyra's concern. If she had learned anything as a practicing psychologist, it was that the power of simple observation often went unappreciated. She would watch and learn, and make a final decision when the situation finally called for it.

There was also the not insignificant fact that the man was possibly very dangerous. He had gone toe-to-toe with Dazn, matching his threat with one of his own. All of Kyra's notes on dangerous men just as easily applied to Warren. Who was to say that he wouldn't enact some sort of revenge on her or her loved ones if he didn't get his way?

Despite the storm of anxiety brewing behind Kya's eyes, she returned the waitress' smile. "Do you have a hot tea?"

The girl (Sammie, wasn't it?) tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling as she tried to remember. "Uhhh, I think we have Earl Grey, maybe?"

With a small nod, Kyra answered, "That would be lovely, thank you."

As Sammie scurried off, the doctor turned her attention back to Warren. "I'm familiar with the incident, yes." She had actually spoken with a handful of the children and staff members regarding their experience, but if he hadn't uncovered that fact in his research, she didn't see a reason to offer it. 

"You must see how a 'player taking a more active approach when it comes to protecting the town' sounds a bit like vigilante justice," she stated when Warren quieted to construct his creamer pyramid. "Has he discussed his intentions with the people of the city? What about his methods? Does he throw people he deems unworthy in jail? Or worse? And whose rules does he follow? His own?" Though her voice remained even, her eyes betrayed the annoyance that mounted with each question she asked. They always had been the one thing she couldn't mask.

She sat back in her chair, the candle flickering between them casting shifting shadows across her face. "I've seen my fair share of superhero movies, but that whole system is pretty problematic when you really think about it." An alert signaled in her HUD, notifying her of a new message, but she ignored it. "Should I be grateful I landed on this mystery man's radar? Because I'm not. And frankly, I'm surprised that you're blaming Dazn for my discomfort right now."

[Warren 0]

"Of course I do," Warren said as she finished speaking. He paused, Sammie had returned to place their order in front of them. Perhaps whatever charge was in the air was infectious. It certainly put the lie to Warren's 'old friend' excuse. There was an obvious an palpable lack of laughter and joy that accompanied two friends. Only blank faces and frowns, if they were particularly unfortunate. She made a quick get-away. Whatever it was, she clearly didn't want to be apart of it. Warren took a sip of his coffee before continuing, the warmth blooming from his chest as it passed down his throat at odds with the cold wetness of his clothing.

"But you must also see how we don't have police. Or a government. Or infrastructure," Warren continued, placing emphasis on each relevant word. It was folly to bring the real world into Aincrad. Things that they took for granted - or simply just didn't need to worry about - were not present here. "I don't concern myself with the hows and the whys. And I certainly haven't sunk my sword into anyone's chest. Besides, if he did discuss his intentions with the people, they would assume that he was making a power grab at best. At worst, they would do nothing but worry over threats held at bay. What if he fails? What if the net breaks? I think most people know anyway, for what it's worth. They just don't talk about it."

Warren lifted his sandwich from his plate, holding it between his hands. "How many high level Players really hang out on Floor 1? It's real fuckin' weird, right?" He took a bite. Immediately, his former thoughts had been validated. This was a dish worth mourning. He was grateful for the second chance to enjoy it. He chewed his first bite, simultaneously savoring it and giving Kyra a chance to digest his words. He swallowed and placed it back down on the plate in front of him.

"Don't get it confused, doc. We wouldn't be having this conversation if not for him. You'd have remained blissfully unaware - therefore no discomfort. Though I guess I don't have to hide anymore. So that's a plus."

Edited 12 hours ago by Oscar