New muse, less than desired.

[talkyoudead]

Oh, a journal to myself and Dear Mun, even--you do realize you're rapidly losing any credibility in insisting you don't want me here, don't you? I imagine you think you're terribly clever, giving me this journal name. I assure you I am no more a fool than I have wings, though I expect you've succeeded in your goal of inventing a name that no one but the two of us will ever understand.

You still have reservations. Not sure whether you want to post this? You're only pretending to watch the television; in truth, you stopped typing in favor of picking at your fingernails. It's a rather obvious nervous habit. You'd do well to remedy that.

So you're nervous--why? Because you think you can't be me? You can't. I'm sure that's not surprising to you; you were hardly attempting to become a different person in the first place. All you're trying to do is produce a reasonable enough facsimile to convince the average roleplayer. Trust me, that's a far simpler task.

You're biting your lip. Replace one nervous habit with another, it doesn't make a difference. But you've gotten this far, which either means you're far more of a fool than I am, or you think you can pull it off.

Go ahead--impress me.

Comments

[talkyoudead]

She likes unraveling things. I suppose that could be either.

[1_truth]

Well, that's better than the poor guys that get picked up just to be 'shipped' with someone else, I guess.

Mine's an actual mystery junkie, so I got lucky, I guess.

[talkyoudead]

You're a detective, too, then.

[1_truth]

Of course!

My mun nice enough to me in a game with a mystery setting. Was yours planning on putting you somewhere?

[talkyoudead]

Unlikely, unless she decides she isn't terrified to have me interact with that many strangers.

That game you're in--what is it?

[1_truth]

Mayfield. It's a small town in the States set in the fifties-at least at first appearance that's what it is.

[talkyoudead]

"At first appearance"?

[1_truth]

You know that things are never quite what they seem, right? Well that's basically what I mean. The stereo-typical 1950's residents are known as drones aren't really alive and talk in an eerily empty voice.

Death isn't permanent [ Which is insulting for a detective ] and the milkman is deranged and regularly poisons the supply of milk.