[MODERATED - player memory] [CRITERIA: defeat NPC(s), find the linchpin] [RESERVED: Armani & Chanel Addams]
"I'm sorry." It's a young voice, and while being escorted up a solemn staircase, the boy catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Dark hair, glasses, perfectly pressed clothing. The house is grand and dark, and very, very quiet. Just him and the man with a hand on his shoulder.
"You know the rules, Laszlo." He doesn't look down at his son, and his face never quite comes into view. "I don't have any use for your apologies now."
Laszlo falls silent. Outside the sun is hanging low in the sky. Trees stretch on for miles outside, with no signs of other people nearby. The pair pass the window swiftly, clinically, and Laszlo hardly drags his feet at all. He's stopped trying to see his father's face, and just lets himself be led.
"You could have gotten us discovered. Broken the statute. Or were you planning on leaving with those children?" His father's voice is less calm now, more desperate.
"I was—I was going to—tell— I would tell them it was—private property, and—"
"Enough, I am too busy to listen to you stammer."
They reach a door, and his father opens it. A small, plain room. No toys, just books. Some plants. A window nailed tightly shut. Laszlo turns around, perhaps to try and say something, but the door is already shut. He hears it being locked behind him.
MEMORY: Rulebreaker
[CRITERIA: defeat NPC(s), find the linchpin]
[RESERVED: Armani & Chanel Addams]
"I'm sorry." It's a young voice, and while being escorted up a solemn staircase, the boy catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Dark hair, glasses, perfectly pressed clothing. The house is grand and dark, and very, very quiet. Just him and the man with a hand on his shoulder.
"You know the rules, Laszlo." He doesn't look down at his son, and his face never quite comes into view. "I don't have any use for your apologies now."
Laszlo falls silent. Outside the sun is hanging low in the sky. Trees stretch on for miles outside, with no signs of other people nearby. The pair pass the window swiftly, clinically, and Laszlo hardly drags his feet at all. He's stopped trying to see his father's face, and just lets himself be led.
"You could have gotten us discovered. Broken the statute. Or were you planning on leaving with those children?" His father's voice is less calm now, more desperate.
"I was—I was going to—tell— I would tell them it was—private property, and—"
"Enough, I am too busy to listen to you stammer."
They reach a door, and his father opens it. A small, plain room. No toys, just books. Some plants. A window nailed tightly shut. Laszlo turns around, perhaps to try and say something, but the door is already shut. He hears it being locked behind him.