[Nothing extremely bad has actually happened. It's been little things: tripping over obstacles he definitely looked for and didn't see which then appeared under his feet at exactly the right moment; dropping things, ranging from drinks to weapons — including his bullets, of which he's lost a full 16; he's pulled a couple muscles and stubbed his toe about seven billion times.]
[Most of the ghastly warfare has been celestial, however. Fours keep turning up. All of the buttons on his bracer are fucked up except for the four, which makes it largely nonfunctional for Mistas. He keeps stumbling across fours, too, which may be a coincidence and may not be; he doesn't think it is, of course, and with the four-way forks in the road in the mines and the little extra sprinkling on top, plus the relatively bad luck, he can feel something bigger coming down the pike.]
[So it was in a fit of fidgety desperation that he decided to ask for help. He feels kind of shitty about it. Last time Maya talked to a ghost, she got pretty fucked up over it, and the last thing he wants to do is spread this luck to her. But the ghost seems to hate him specifically for disturbing its chest house, and this is all he can think of to do to get his message across.]
[Still.]
Are you sure you're okay with this? You can still back out.
[They're in the mines, now, back where the remains of the chest is still lying. He can't say why this feels like the right place to do it, only that it is. There's a bullet embedded in the floor just past the chest. His arms are crossed tightly, protectively, over his chest.]
wildcard
[Nothing extremely bad has actually happened. It's been little things: tripping over obstacles he definitely looked for and didn't see which then appeared under his feet at exactly the right moment; dropping things, ranging from drinks to weapons — including his bullets, of which he's lost a full 16; he's pulled a couple muscles and stubbed his toe about seven billion times.]
[Most of the ghastly warfare has been celestial, however. Fours keep turning up. All of the buttons on his bracer are fucked up except for the four, which makes it largely nonfunctional for Mistas. He keeps stumbling across fours, too, which may be a coincidence and may not be; he doesn't think it is, of course, and with the four-way forks in the road in the mines and the little extra sprinkling on top, plus the relatively bad luck, he can feel something bigger coming down the pike.]
[So it was in a fit of fidgety desperation that he decided to ask for help. He feels kind of shitty about it. Last time Maya talked to a ghost, she got pretty fucked up over it, and the last thing he wants to do is spread this luck to her. But the ghost seems to hate him specifically for disturbing its chest house, and this is all he can think of to do to get his message across.]
[Still.]
Are you sure you're okay with this? You can still back out.
[They're in the mines, now, back where the remains of the chest is still lying. He can't say why this feels like the right place to do it, only that it is. There's a bullet embedded in the floor just past the chest. His arms are crossed tightly, protectively, over his chest.]