>>6049036
> Grab and load your crossbow, because apparently armed and in underwear is how you answer doors now.

Welcome back, QM

>>6049036
>>Grab and load your crossbow, because apparently armed and in underwear is how you answer doors now.

>>6049107

You nudge the door open with a foot and step back, crossbow held tight, with just with presence of mind to not point it directly at the person on the otherside. The too tall, too thin, figure sighs.

"Hunters. Can you put that down so I can check your stitches?"

You narrow your eyes, your voice croaking. A mix of vomit and liquor smells wafts from your mouth to your nose. "How do you know I have stitches?"

The figure sighs again. "I put them in. This is what passes for gratitude I suppose."

You glance at the neat stitches on your hand, then back at the figure.

> "Alright, come in."
> "Nope, I'm going back to bed."

>>6049166
Well, we're probably not winning a fight anyway and we don't wanna get infected so

> "Alright, come in."

>>6049170

"Alright. Come in." You lower the crossbow and flip on a lamp. The figure walks in, fuck must be seven feet tall and rail thin, and death pale.

"Take a seat please and show me the stitches. It was your on your hand."

You comply, grinding your teeth as your head continues to throb. The figure, his face ambiguous and odd and androgenous, seizes your hand, turning it over. "These look good. I shall return in two days to remove them, or you can come to my office."

"Uhm..."

"Yes, I am a elf." He sighs and mutters. "Hunters."

"Uh, I don't know where your office is actually. But that's neat?" You wince as your stomach twists.

The elf...doctor? Stares as you for a moment. "I shall leave a card. And a compound for headache and nausea. Good day."

The very tall, very thin elf walks stiffly away, closing the door behind him. On the counter sits a neat business card.

Valen - Traditional Medicine - 730 Legion Road

Atop the card is a small pouch of crumbled leaves. In faint letters the words "Stir into water and drink" are written on the pouch.

> Bottoms up?
> Nope, hair of the dog
> Ugh, better stick to water and aspirin

>>6049193
> Bottoms up?
It's basically tea

>>6049196
>>6049170
+1

>>6049209
>>6049196

You give it a sniff and immediately wish you hadn't, your stomach lurching in response. Not as bad as the chemo though. You dump the plants into a glass, fill it water and give a quick swish before you can remember how stupid drinking plants given to you by a stranger sounds.

Still, your stomach does settle by the time you fall into bed again, and the edge does fade from your headache. Maybe you should pick up a few of those. Assuming you aren't poisoned and dying.

Morning, ruthless fucking morning, comes for you, and with it another day of wage slavery.

> Jog to work? Extra effort is a foreign land to your body, but it might do some good.
> Just take the bus and slip in another twenty minutes of sleep.
> Fuck it, call off work. Wander around the city park.

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>>6049267
>jog
we are a toxic Jeb retard. We need to be in top form the next time we greet a stranger in our onesies.

With a cocked crossbow in one hand and our cock in the other.

>>6049267
>> Fuck it, call off work. Wander around the city park.

>>6049267
>> Jog to work? Extra effort is a foreign land to your body, but it might do some good.

>>6049271
>>6049355
>>6049387

You take a moment to review your life. You are the unfortunately bearer of the name Chrysanthemum Jones, because apparently your mother wanted to soften the blow of her death by giving you an absolutely awful first name. You're an unhealthily thin young woman, comically out of shape, and probably an alcoholic. Suicidal ideation? What suicidal ideation?Until recently you were mostly penniless.

Now you kill monsters as a side gig. Sure, you're pretty sure you cracked a rib doing that, and there's a lot of stitches on you now, but hey, the pay is good, and you can always drink the trauma into oblivion right?

---

https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6000901/

>>6049496

You check your phone and wince, trying to work up the courage to just...start running. Probably show up to work a hot reeking mess but eh, fuck it. Ok, route set, the half of your earbuds you can find in, and off you go.

A couple blocks later and you're gasping for air, stumbling to a walk. Fuck, you are seriously out of shape. How far would you make it if you had to outrun something on the hunt? The memory of the troll and it's pack of goblins on your heels convinces you to drag down another breath and keep moving.

> Fuck, this sucks. There's gotta be something better to do with your mornings.
> Keep at it. Make it a habit. If you're going to be running for your life sometimes, better be good at running.

>>6049505
>Keep at it. Make it a habit. If you're going to be running for your life sometimes, better be good at running.

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>>6049496
(that link was a shitshow)
(i love it)

>>6049505
>Keep at it. Make it a habit. If you're going to be running for your life sometimes, better be good at running.
Pacing!

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>>6049505
>fuck, this sucks, there's got to be something better to do with your mornings
>maybe wear ankle weights and just walk the last three bus stops instead
>I still can't run but if it has a crotch I'll kick the mother loving shit out of it

>>6049505
>Chrysanthemum
>the shortest possible form is Cum

>>6049505
>Keep at it. Make it a habit. If you're going to be running for your life sometimes, better be good at running

>>6049505
>> Keep at it. Make it a habit. If you're going to be running for your life sometimes, better be good at running.

>>6049505
>> Keep at it. Make it a habit. If you're going to be running for your life sometimes, better be good at running.

>>6049522
>>6049548
>>6049559
>>6049833
>>6049962
>>6049963

It hurts. Why does it fucking hurt to breath, like there's a long needle rammed down your throat? Then there's the ache of your hand, the jabbing of your ribs. But yeah. You need this. Can't run out of breath while some freaky dog is chasing you. So you'll keep pushing. Every fucking morning, no matter how much it sucks.

Work is shit, as usual, made a little worse by the layer of barely wiped off sweat, but no one has the balls to call you out on the fact that you smell like a gym bag. And hey, the sight of the stitches on your hand is enough to freak out the pain in the ass customers. Not a single granny whined about how you handled their bananas.

Two day stretch of work ahead. Your attention wanders to what you'll do during the evenings....

> Take it easy. Heal.
> Practice your crossbow some more.
> Stake out with cheap tuna to try and bag some Jorhounds. Should be easy money if you can ambush them.
> Do a couple stakeouts with some Tuna and

>>6050489
> Take it easy. Heal
Can't hunt with a broken body

>>6050489
>> Take it easy. Heal

>>6050489
>> Stake out with cheap tuna to try and bag some Jorhounds. Should be easy money if you can ambush them.

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>>6050489
>take it easy
If we keep smelling like a gym bag and have stitches, we are inviting staph. Wash up, and be human for a little.

Since we are a wagie we should at least know what's on discount, maybe stack a staff discount if we have it. Eggs, pasta and ketchup on cheap for dinner. Maybe one dented beer.

>and
try out various positions for the quiver for best draw while running, and practice loading and nocking blind. We'll need to manage this mindless, so we can save brainspace for thinking and panicking.

>>6050489
> Take it easy. Heal.

>>6050496
>>6050505
>>6050512
>>6050652
>>6050859

Maybe it's best not to push it. Jog in the morning. Try not to snap and start throwing eggs at customers. Get home and rest, let your body heal.

Do it all again. Seriously contemplate 'accidently' throwing a container of mayo at a wall. Rest.

Pay your share of the rent, holy fuck rent is expensive. Ok, you've got twenty bucks, you get paid five hundred tomorrow, you've got five eye stones, which is basically five hundred bucks, or... something from Norse God Amazon apparently. You'll get paid again before rent is due and as long as you keep to cheap food and cheep liquor...

Maybe you could end the month ahead even? If you find something to hunt anyway. Tomorrow is your day off after all.

> Weren't you supposed to drop by and get your stitches out that day?
> Maybe you should burn a stone or two on something?
> Time for the stakeout, the Jorhounds won't know what hit them

>>6051233
> Weren't you supposed to drop by and get your stitches out that day?

No reason to take unnecessary risks- if we wanna last in this business, we gotta take very good care of our health

>>6051233
>get your stitches out
Dr Elf has a work ethic that will make him rap our hovel door at 5AM. If we stress him less he might dislike us less. And if stitches get left in too long they get pus-y. Let's not do that in case we need to chase something down the sewers.

In passing, ask Dr Elf how to get fewer stitches. From Jorhounds, say. And sexy men with Mesmer powers.

And the grass muck he gave us worked wonderful. Does he have anything helpful in surplus from his doctor's bag? A little expired but still good? Maybe we can scurry for him a little in payment.

If we pick up some faerie first aid knowledge and supplies from Dr Elf we'll be more well rounded when "what's the worst that can happen?" happens, which seems to be the typical Saturday night for us.

>>6051233
>> Maybe you should burn a stone or two on something?

>>6051246
+1

>>6051233
>> Weren't you supposed to drop by and get your stitches out that day?

>>6051246
>>6051332
>>6051361
>>6051445
>>6051608

You stare at the address on the card and sigh. Yeah, better drop by, rather than getting woken up at 5AM again. You take a bus halfway and then continue through a shabby part of town, eventually finding the plain looking building with a dull brown sign stuck to the door. Traditional Medicine. You step in, just a little worried, was this really the place you wanted taking out your stitches? It occurs to you that maybe it would have been smarter to have seen a doctor, not that you really had the money for it. Big Mart definitely wasn't big on health insurance.

The inside reeks, a collection of herbs, leather and a slight tinge of blood. A couple actual fucking oil lanterns in the middle of the room were the main light, though further in you can see the flash of sunlight, though wasn't it cloudy today? Cheap looking plastic shelves loaded with new age junk fill the room, crystals and herb packets, good luck charms and dream catchers and trinkets hacked off of a dozen religions and cultures. A bright eyed and almost comically short woman pops up, brown hair spilling around her face and over her shoulders.

She speaks, bouncing a little, smiling nervously. "Hiya! Sorry about the light, Valen, my boss, doesn't really like electric light, which is kind of cool, but...uhm, anyway, is there anything I can get you?" You practically flinch from the Morning Person energy.

> "I'm here to see Valen about some stitches?"
> God this sounds stupid, "Do you have healing...potions?"
> "Are you part of the...hunting business?" Is there a codeword or something? Slang? Is there supposed to be a guild or something?

>>6052281
> "I'm here to see Valen about some stitches?"
> Groan. "Everything about this has to do with Norse myth or something. So who are you supposed to be?"

>>6052281
>> "I'm here to see Valen about some stitches?"

>>6052281
>stitches?
Stitches first. Since we got the address, revisiting for inventory and information should be okay.

unless this shop runs on an Ye Olde Antique Shoppe teleportation device.

anyway, obey the doctor.

>>6052281
>> "I'm here to see Valen about some stitches?"

>>6052284
>>6052407
>>6052507
>>6052688

"Alright, which weird Norse thing are you?"

"Uhm...I don't know? Is there a quiz for it? I don't really know-"

The doctor himself ducked into the room through a curtain. "She doesn't know. Please don't upset my assistants." The too thin elf holds up a hand and blows a fine powder into the woman's face. Her eyes unfocus and her face goes neutral. "Come along, let's get those stitches out."

You follow, glancing back at the woman. "Uh...is she?"

"Harmless." The doctor lifts up your hand and sets to work with a pair of scissors, snipping and removing each thread one by one. "Just a moment of confusion and then her mind just clears out things that don't make sense. Like you."

"A lot of weird has happened lately."

Valen sighs. "I keep telling them you can't just drop a quill and an eyestone on someone's desk." He grabs one of his business cards and scribbles an address onto it.

1707 North Lane. The Blinded Crow.

"I stay out of hunter business, except for patching them up. But you'll find more of your kind there." He pulls the last stitch out, leaving your hand tingling with little pinpricks.

> Head out
> Ask about combat medicine
> Ask about hangover cures
> Ask about you getting those stitches in the first place, you don't even remember that!

>>6052933
> Ask about you getting those stitches in the first place, you don't even remember that!

>>6052940
+1, the gesture is appreciated of course but how did you know I was dying?

>>6052933
>> Ask about you getting those stitches in the first place, you don't even remember that!

>>6052940
>>6052944
>>6052953

"How did I even get the stitches? I don't really remember much from that part of the night."

Valen snorts. "Hunters. Show up delirious from blood loss, cut up from head to toe with goblin knives, Mag-" He coughs sharply. "And doesn't even remember. I should charge more than a couple stones, you apparently don't even remember paying."

You shake your head. Valen sighs and his expression softens for just a moment. "Be mindful that the affairs of the gods are dangerous. I charge extra for broken bones."

"I'll try. Gotta pay the bills though." You head out, pondering the rest of the day.

> Check out the Blinded Crow
> Stake out a spot for some Jorhounds
> Wander the city park, maybe you can find something a bit bigger

>>6053055
>Stake out a spot for some Jorhounds

Let's get that bread

>>6053055
>Stake out a spot for some Jorhounds

>>6053105
+1

>>6053115
>>6053105
>>6053095

You glance at the address of the Blinded Crow and frown. Wasn't the whole thing with ravens? Visions of viking bros drinking and getting way too far into your space come to mind. Yeah, maybe later, but tonight you're hunting alone.

But where?

> Home. Spread some cheap tuna in the allyway and perch on the fire escape with your crossbow. Easy. Hopefully you'd get something other than racoons.
> Head down to the docks. There's bins and bins of fishy refuse, if jorhounds like fish, no where better.
> Into the park. There's a little patch of woodland you could lurk in. Rumors of bears are just rumors, right?

>>6053335
> Into the park. There's a little patch of woodland you could lurk in. Rumors of bears are just rumors, right?
Do not be near the home. Avoid being near mystery warehouses for a while

>>6053412
+1

Not going near the docks. Seabeasties are always the worst of their age and size category.

>>6053335
>Home. Spread some cheap tuna in the allyway and perch on the fire escape with your crossbow. Easy. Hopefully you'd get something other than racoons.

>>6053412
>>6053424
>>6053574

You gear up. Crossbow, your last twenty, bolts firmly secured in your purse, your biggest kitchen knife, just in case. You stare at your wardrobe for a bit indecisively, then shrug and toss on your usual jeans and a threadbare hoodie. Should you get some body armor or something? A proper melee weapon? Maybe later. You set out into the night, a few cans of tuna in your purse, and catch the last bus toward the park, keeping your eyes open. Getting mugged on the hunt wouldn't exactly help.

The city part is definitely a different place after sunset. The trees loom, with only the occasional flickering light casting little islands of light in the dark. You skirt around a hobo staring vacantly into the distance, briefly considering asking if he'd seen anything, then deciding against it. Probably just babble-

The hobo speaks abruptly. "Big Bear is sniffing about. Wondering who slept in his bed." His gaze never turns toward you. Ok...that's creepy. You hurry on, find the 'wild' trail that cuts through the forest and cut into the wild. You scatter some tuna on the path, then realize you have no idea where you're going to wait. Shit.

> Up a tree. That's how normal hunters do it, right? Waiting in a tree?
> Hide in a bush? Not exactly comfortable, but at least you won't break your arm falling off a tree branch
> Just lurk off the path. No need to make it complicated.

>>6053603
> Hide in a bush? Not exactly comfortable, but at least you won't break your arm falling off a tree branch
No arm-breaking please. Also we see Big Bear, we RUN

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>>6053725

You find a bush just off the path without any trees in the way and awkwardly force your way into it, immediately regretting your decision. Years of Gamerstation games have definitely led you astray, the inside of a bush is a thousand stiff jabbing branches, and you're definitely not bursting out without making a giant racket. You finally find a spot where nothing is jabbing anything too sensitive and settle in, crossbow loaded and ready.

Five minutes later and you're stiff as fuck, and nothing has shown up. Ten minutes later, nothing. Then a rustling that freezes you stiff...and a cat. A stray fucking cat walking down the path without a care in the world. It finds the tuna, snags a piece and scampers away. Shit.

Your back is killing you. You're just about to call it quits when something else rustles through the undergrowth, something bigger. You hold your breath, then breath out slowly as a pair of Jorhounds walk out into the open, sniffing the air.

> Take the shot
> Wait

>>6053767
> Wait
They still didn't start eating, hold your horses

>>6053767
>Wait

>>6053767
>wait
static targets are at least 2x easier to hit than moving ones, even at a stroll.

If they charge straight at us, we're definitely getting at least one: target size increases and no need to adjust for lateral displacement.

>>6053778
>>6053951
>>6054071

Your finger twitches as you become slowly aware of your pulse. Soft breaths. Wait. Patience. Two is good, but is it just two? Let them prowl around the bait, moving slowly, maws raised up like they're sniffing the air. A third emerges from the undergrowth, hesitant, it's eyeless face turn away from both you and the bait. A claw paws at the ground even as its packmates start eating the bait.

> Take the shot
> Wait

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>>6054104
>take the shot
The alert one first. The other two will be confused, turning to look at it when it roars at being hit, allowing us a second unguarded shot at them. We can down 2/3 before a real fight even begins.

We are a wagie.

We specialize in cheap.

>>6054104
>> Take the shot

>>6054104
>> Take the shot

>>6054116
+1

>>6054104
>> Take the shot

>>6054116
>>6054239
>>6054253
>>6054263
>>6054569

You adjust slightly, lining up a shot at the third hound. Are they smart of enough for sentries? Does it hear something? No, no more hesitation.

Click. Thwip. The bolt buries into the shoulder of the beast and it lets out a screech that sends birds scattering into the air above, a thousand black silhouettes against the dim and distant lights. Your heart jams firmly into your threat but you ignore it and heave the crossbow back into the loaded position, racing against the two hounds who are jerking and spinning, snapping at lunging at every bit of underbrush nearby. You hear more rustling, a lot more rustling, further away but manage to level your crossbow, take a breath, and release.

Click. Thwip. The bolt buries directly into the throat of a second jorhound and it drops without a sound. It's partner jerks back from the cooling corpse, its eyeless gaze staring directly at you for a moment, then it turns and bolts, not away from you, but past you at an angle. The snapping of branches draws closer, and something big, twice your size at least, lumbers into view, a thick coat of long dark fur. A massive clawed paw reaches out and pulls a jorhound to it, then up. Crunching, shredding, chewing noises fill the air, bits and blood drop down. Then it pauses and you hear snuffling and sniffing and it shifts an unsteady step toward you, then another.

> Fight
> Flight
> Freeze

>>6054666
> Fight

>>6054668

Your instincts scream and pull in a hundred different directions. Hold still, hope it doesn't notice you. Run. Run and don't look back. As a sizable chunk of bloody jorhound leg drops to the forest floor you bite down hard on your lips as the scream starts to rise up in your throat. That thing was fucking huge, and it was eating a jorhound like it was a piece of fried chicken. Then you look down at your hands, slowly, carefully pulling back the crossbow, arms trembling at the strain of doing it slowly. Hands? What the fuck are you doing hands? Why are we lifting the fucking crossbow hands?

You get a grip on the scream in your throat, throttle it down, and take a deep breath instead. The hulking beast lets out a soft growl, from entirely too far above you.

> Aim high, if you're lucky you'll get it right in the head.
> Aim middle. Best to do something rather than miss.
> Aim at a leg. It's about same size as a damn tree trunk anyway, and maybe it'll slow it down.

>>6054692
> Aim middle. Best to do something rather than miss
We might end up with a few more stitches soon, but we got rent to pay

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>>6054696

The disappointed face of Dr. Valen flashes into your head for a moment. Sorry doc, but you've got bills to pay. The crossbow clicks, the bolt launches and vanishes into the dark of the beast. It jerks and grunts, then snarls angrily. There's a feeling of tension, of muscles bigger than you rippling and contracting, tightening up, mirrored by your own body tightening into a single taunt string. Then the apartment sized bear lunges forward and swipes a single massive paw, shredding undergrowth and tree branches.

You don't even have time to panic. "Well fuck me."

The paw, miraculously, mercifully, the paw and not the claws at their end cutting through tree trunks like paper, slams into you and hurls you like a ragdoll through the air, bouncing and twisting off tree branches, through brambles, over the path, and into the forest on the other side. The air shudders as the bear roars into the sky. Ok, maybe mistakes were made. Maybe attacking a giant bear wasn't the brightest decision you ever made. But that thing...it was definitely a monster of the hunt right? Probably, you hadn't read a Wokopedia article on bears recently or anything. And if it was a monster, that size? You could probably buy a whole fucking case of vodka with that thing's bounty. Or you know, spend it on something other than alcoholism.

If you lived anyway. You reload your crossbow and watch the massive bear bring down a tree across the path as it angrily stomps your way.

> Hit and run is the only reasonable option, right? How fast can it really move if it has to smash through the tree and the underbrush the whole time?
> Actually, if we're being reasonable, getting the hell out of here might be the best move. That thing is fucking huge.

>>6054714
> Actually, if we're being reasonable, getting the hell out of here might be the best move. That thing is fucking huge.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjHGTeTtaac

>>6054714
> Hit and run is the only reasonable option, right? How fast can it really move if it has to smash through the tree and the underbrush the whole time?
Let's get that bread. Or die. Either way, we don't have to worry about the bills(tm)

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>>6054714
> Hit and run is the only reasonable option, right? How fast can it really move if it has to smash through the tree and the underbrush the whole time?

That two-room ensuite sized bastard was right behind us. We would have been sushi if we waited one more turn.

(aren't we glad we rested up and got the stitches out? Now we can panic in peace.)

Crawl through the undergrowth, relying on shadows. Try to slow it down, hit the shoulders, rump, limbs. We got all of 17 bolts and a halfblunt piece of kitchen cutlery to bury in its ass.

If we live past this maybe we should get a gatt for when William Tell larping doesn't work. Something stupid heavy with a stupid wirestock firing a stupid round. And insect spray, if not actual bear formula pepper spray.

>>6054714
>> Actually, if we're being reasonable, getting the hell out of here might be the best move. That thing is fucking huge.

>>6054714
>Hit and run is the only reasonable option, right? How fast can it really move if it has to smash through the tree and the underbrush the whole time?

>>6054714
> Hit and run is the only reasonable option, right? How fast can it really move if it has to smash through the tree and the underbrush the whole time?

>>6055969
>>6055032
>>6055009
>>6054906
>>6054743
>>6054740

You line up a shot at the hulking form of the bear, release and sprint as the roar shakes the woods. Wood splinters as you hide behind another tree, fumbling with the crossbow. The ground shudders as the beast storms across the path. You whip back out of cover, just in time to see an eye the size of a softball narrow at you from just a few yards away.

The crossbow shot sends a line blood and fur into the air just over the eye of the beast, then before you can think "shit that thing is fast", it charged you. Your legs move before your brain, twisting and diving, a wall of coarse dark fur intercepting your body. Things pop and crack, your body goes flying.

There is a sudden short stop, and a wave of pain shoves your consciousness firmly into the gutter.

---

Your eyes flutter open to birdsong and sunshine, then stay open. Everything hurts. And you're definitely in a tree. Your phone is buzzing insistently from your purse, which itself is dangling from another branch. At least you're alive? Fuck, what time is it, you might need to get to work.

> Check the phone, who the hell is calling?
> Just take a minute, everything is still spinning a bit.
> Fuck it all, drop everything to the ground, yourself included and sort it out there.

>>6056030
> Check the phone, who the hell is calling?
Honestly, I'm considering quitting the job and doing this almost getting killed by supernatural entities thing full time

>>6056030
>"Wait I'm alive..."
>"Oh shit I'm alive!"
>Check the phone, who the hell is calling?

>>6056030
QM is merciful. We should be reincarnated into a hashtag for our lifechoices already. That wasn't a bear that attacked us, that was six bears forming a Voltron.

>oh my fuggen head
>everything hurts
>so that bear happened right and then...
>...I need to get to work
Oof.

>drop to ground first
If it's Dr Elf (somehow) he'll keep ringing anyway. If it's a total stranger delivering bad news the bombshell might topple us off the branch. If it's the boss telling us we're getting our second reprimand for lateness, he can wait a few minutes more. Always receive possible bad news in a supported seated position.

>>6056030
change my vote from >>6056034
to backing >>6056061

>>6056033
>>6056034
>>6056061
>>6056062

Nope, you aren't dealing with this shit in a fucking tree. You wiggle forward, grab the branch with your purse and pull it down, letting your purse and phone tumble downward, wincing as they bounce off several branches. A six year old tube of lipstick, your phone, a handful of crossbow bolts, two pounds of loose change, and a thousand receipts flutter loose and drop to the forest floor.

You discover very quickly that your left arm is NOT happy about any amount of pressure, and very carefully lower yourself to the ground and start collecting your junk. Well the quarters anyway. Eventually you reach your phone, still angrily buzzing on the sixteenth call from...yup, Big Mart. And yup, it's definitely ten past the start of your shift.

> Yeah, fuck no, they can just keep on wondering where you are. You'll get there when you get there.
> Pick up the phone. Maybe you can play it off as getting hit by a car? Sure as fuck feels that way.

>>6056201
> Pick up the phone. Maybe you can play it off as getting hit by a car? Sure as fuck feels that way
A bear is just like an SUV

>>6056201
>> Pick up the phone. Maybe you can play it off as getting hit by a car? Sure as fuck feels that way.

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>>6056201
>Pick up the phone. Maybe you can play it off as getting hit by a car? Sure as fuck feels that way.
The arm is offline. We're picking up the dogballs if we can find any, then going to Dr Elf's. If he can give us a med cert declaring us fukt, swell. If he can't, we still got awful bruises on the abdomen, back, and bush scratches all over; just livecall and show BigMart bossman.

If that's not enough, he can eat shit; since he's calling nonstop it means he can't find any other loser to do our shit job. We can apologize, offer to come in late and help do closing, or he can fire us right now and find another loser willing to do in-stock on Saturday mornings.

Wagie jobs are fairly easy to find; now that we've got an alternate income, we need only to do half a week of midshifts or just half shifts.

Also, we just fought a dire bear at midnight and lived. This petit bourgeois capitalist piglet got nothing.

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>>6056201
>six year old lipstick
>a thousand receipts
Lord. Why does this hurt worse than the roidbear.

>>6056201
>> Pick up the phone. Maybe you can play it off as getting hit by a car? Sure as fuck feels that way.

Not dead, just tired.

>>6058858
Don't worry, we'll keep paying the bills

>>6056301
>>6056313
>>6056403
>>6056485

"You're late."

"I got hit by a car."

There is a long pause, then your bitch of a manager actually fucking sighs.

"Yeah, ok. When are you going to make it in? You're late for your shift."

It's only every part of your body hurting as you breath in to scream that convinces you to try to strangle the phone instead. Fucking bitch.

"When I fu-find my way there. Oh, need to talk to the cops, bye!" You miss when phones could be snapped shut, but you settle for a vindictive jab at the hangup button. Fuckers. You scoop up the rest of your stuff (sadly your 5/5 sandwich shop punch card for the next town over was not recovered) and start the slow stiff walk out the park.

Then you pass by one of the trees reduced to splinters by the bear. Holy shit what were you thinking?

> Ah fuck it, you'd probably try again sometime. With a bit more planning.
> Yeah, that was dumb and you were lucky to survive it.

>>6061710
> Ah fuck it, you'd probably try again sometime. With a bit more planning
We can do it
We can secure the kill
The bear has no medical attention capability but we do
Next time we aim for the head

>>6061710
>> Yeah, that was dumb and you were lucky to survive it.

>>6062554
>>6061867

It just seemed...right. Like a calling. A destiny. To apparently get yourself mauled and eaten. You sigh as your thoughts spin round and round in circles, not getting anyway. You don't exactly have to figure it out right this second. Buried daredevil instinct? Another impulsive suicidal thought? There was definitely something...serene sounding about being ripped in half and bleeding out on the forest floor. God you're fucked in the head. You laugh in spite of the stabbing feeling in your chest. Fight bear, go to work, sleep, do it all again?

You finally drag in. You give your best dead inside stare as your manager's tirade dies in her throat and she just numbly let's you get to work. Customers stare. Coworkers stare. Eventually you use the bathroom and see your face. Holy shit you look like half a panda set on fire.

The pain is definitely getting worse by the time you get off work, and you definitely need a drink.

> To the One Eyed Crow! A bear mauling gets you a free drink?
> The usual hole in the wall. The bartender doesn't cut you off until the world spins.
> Home drinking is best drinking.

>>6062877
>To the One Eyed Crow! A bear mauling gets you a free drink?

>>6062877
>To the One Eyed Crow! A bear mauling gets you a free drink?
Let's see what this hunter joint is like

>>6062877
>> Home drinking is best drinking.

>>6062903
+1

>>6062897
>>6062903
>>6063153
>>6063425

The One Eyed Crow definitely isn't trying to bring in the foot traffic. You check the address twice before descending the stairs that lead to the basement entrance. A crude drawing of an eye is spraypainted onto a wall, with a line running through it. The door stands out, subtly at least, looking more solid than the walls surrounding it, though that was a low bar to be sure. You tell the voice in the back of your head to fuck off and knock twice.

A panel slides open, though no face rises to look through it. A few exposed pipes are visible on the other end, and warm babble of voices leaks out. "Yeah?" A voice asks.

"Is this is the One Eyed Crow?"

"Hmm. I dunno. You someone's girlfriend or something?"

"Is this one of those stupid things where I have to kick your ass to get in? Cause I just wanted a drink."

There's a clatter on the other end, then a different, female voice speaks up. "Get out of the way jackass and let me take a look at her...holy shit did one of our guys do this to-"

"It was a fucking bear! Fuck! Can I get a drink or is there a fucking secret password I need first?"

There's a long pause. "What kind of bear?" The woman asks slowly.

You glare at the opening. "The kind the size of a house."

"Holy shit. How did you let that thing sneak up on you?"

You grimace. "I...might have taken a shot at it with my crossbow."

There is another long silence, then in unison. "Holy shit."

"Can I get a drink or not?"

The familiar rhythm of bolts, chains, and a chair being removed sounds out. The door finally opens, revealing a tall pair of redheads that you'd bet your last twenty on being siblings. The woman, a solid foot taller than you, grins and grabs your hand. "Hey, you tell the story of surviving a fucking arkson and I'll buy the drinks all night." She practically drags you down the hall, past exposed pipes and dusty shelves until you're surrounded by conversation and laughter, the clink of glasses, and a lot of fucking muscle. Yeah, you're definitely the shrimp of the crowd. Your guide drops you at a plain wooden table and comes back with a pitcher of beer and a pair of glasses.

"The name's Helen, and I'm just gonna say it right now, how the hell did you get into hunting? You aren't exactly the type you know."

You take a drink, a blissfully strong drink. "Not really sure to be honest. I'm just a cashier, and a jorhound showed up at my job. Next thing I know I'm beating it to death with a golf club."

Helen barely catches herself mid swallow before laughing. "A golf club? Did my first kill with a spear out in the woods, with my dad. How'd you go from that to taking shots at a fucking arkson of all things?"

> Tell the tale
> "Wait, this is a family business for you?"

>>6064525
>Tell the tale

>>6064525
>Tell the tale
GIVE US A STORY LASS

>>6064525
>> Tell the tale

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>>6064525
>tell the tale
Boasting rights.

>>6064525
>"Wait, this is a family business for you?"

>>6064526
>>6064535
>>6064548
>>6064557
>>6064751

"It started easy enough. I was staking out a spot in the park for Jorhounds, baited a spot with some tuna-" You paused as Helen's smirk grew. "Hey, it worked! Lured in three of them real quick."

"You're just lucky they didn't track it back to you. They're smarter than they look you know."

You shrug. "Anyway, I shot two of them no problem, then I see tree branches moving out the way. Next thing I know I just see a paw the size of a car shuffling forward."

You spend a moment dwelling on that memory, then you and Helen both drain a glass. Helen speaks first. "And you thought to yourself, yeah, I'd win. Did you hear the song?"

"The song?"

Helen grins, leaning forward, her eyes shining. "They say when you get real close to death on the hunt, you can hear the Valkyries singing nearby, waiting to see if you die."

"Not this time. I kind of wonder...well I kind of wonder if it wasn't really trying."

"You... you have seen a mirror right?"

You laugh and immediately regret it as your ribs ache. "Yeah, guess it just wasn't my time." You get a few more beers in and keep telling your tale, of desperate shots and wild dodges, ending with the arkson shattering trees and hurling you into the trees. You're feeling warm and happy, half listening to Helen tell the story of a mountain troll hunt, when a door slams loudly.

"Which one of you damn fools went and stirred up a fucking ARKSON!?" A giant of a man, at least by mortal standards, stomps into the room.

Helen glances at you and gives a tight shake of her head.

> Yeah, keep your mouth shut.
> Nah, you're just drunk enough to think this is a good idea

>>6065353
>Nah, you're just drunk enough to think this is a good idea
In our defense Bearzilla spawned in front of us, no noise, no smell, nothing, and just processed a jorhound into ragu. It was almost my kill too.

We paid good eyeball for this crossbow; we're not getting turned to bear shit with a full quiver. Ok it's a shitty plaid leather purse with arrows poking holes in the bottom. Just pretend it's a quiver ok.

>>6065366
+1

>>6065353
>> Yeah, keep your mouth shut.

>>6065353
> Yeah, keep your mouth shut

>>6065776
>>6065764
>>6065453
>>6065366

You see faces visibly pale as you scoot your chair back, the scraping noise incredibly loud in the quiet room. You...you have had an incredibly long day. And this beer is absolutely phenomenal shit. Like top marks, you feel amazing now. Hulking alpha norse male pissed off because you might have literally poked a giant bear? Not Your Fucking Problem today. Put that on a t-shirt damn it.

You striking a pose with one foot on the chair is somewhat ruined by missing the chair, twice. The giant norseman, definitely intimidated by your sheet audacity, stares. You only get one chance at a first impression damn it, and you aren't wasting...wasting...

The half of your brain not marinating in alcohol realizes what you're doing. The crippling surge of anxiety hits your stomach and twists. Oh. Oh dear. Your eyes flick down onto the table, onto a concerning number of empty pitchers. Your mouth mangles three or four different sentences.

“Yeah! So what if my uncle's third cousin, god damn this is good bears.”

You thrust out a dramatic finger, lose your balance and promptly give yourself a concussion and a blackout on the hard floor.

***

You wake up to the smell of herbal tea, a melted ice pack making a mess, and a handwritten note.

That was AWESOME. Not sure if you'll remember this, but in two weeks we're going hunting! Bring a big knife!

-Helen


What...what have you gotten into exactly? You go on a quick scavenger hunt in your pounding head. You find more drinks, a lot more drinks. Then some vague details swim up between the aches in your head.

> Something about challenging her dad to a mountain troll hunt?
> You remember, with concerning clarity, a discussion on knife fighting underwater.
> There were pictures of squirrels. Chewing a man's face off. Big squirrels.

>>6066705
>You remember, with concerning clarity, a discussion on knife fighting underwater.
Seems like a good skill to have

>>6066707
+1

>>6066705
>You remember, with concerning clarity, a discussion on knife fighting underwater.

>>6066705
>> There were pictures of squirrels. Chewing a man's face off. Big squirrels.

>>6066705
>You remember, with concerning clarity, a discussion on knife fighting underwater.

>>6066707
>>6066726
>>6066772
>>6067251
>>6067499

Oh. Oh god. Like a fish head bobbing out of the water, there was the memory, the promise, the detailed description of how important it is to take into account reactive force when stabbing a sea serpent and avoid getting spun and disoriented. Advice you remember clearly despite hearing it while emptying your stomach of bile into a toilet. There was... yup there's a memory of you making a promise to go with her on a boat, to a patch of rocky flooded caves. What the fuck were you thinking?

That's it for this thread, getting busy unfortunately. See you around.

>>6067527
Archive it

It's fucking dead, it's so over

>>6081613
I'm pretty fond of Miss Jones and her misadventures, but I am pretty busy unfortunately.

It's a little bizarre, I'm pretty sure being able to run quests more consistently is on my list of reasons to become filthy rich.