etraya | un: kidomega

alright mr "concerned citizen," assuming you're not bullshitting me like everyone else has been so far

pal of mine snooped around and found a spooky mystery box. oo wow cool shiny so mysterious. and what does everyone want to do when they find a mystery box? open it, obviously. i want to open it, and i need the help of allllll the good little boys and girls of etraya, by which i mean like 8 of you fucks, to do that. doesn't that sound like fun? sure it does.

and in your infinite wisdom you don't think that might be a trap? can't say i blame you for the curiosity.

got any answers yet?

oh it's definitely a trap. everything here is a trap. but what kind of trap is the question.

so far? 2. and a half. kind of.

sounds to me like there's too many questions in this whole ordeal. some are better left unanswered.

what are they?

ehhh that's boring though.

10 questions total. 1 is somebody from another version of my world. easy. we got 2 more answers from some guys who weren't actually JACKASSES. everybody else either hasn't shown or is being a pain in the ass.

alright. let's say i'm one of those fellers listed, but i ain't interested in revealing myself before knowing what's being asked.

so, how about you stop being cagey about all this and just say the questions.

you know what? fine. i'll take it.

ignoring all identified parties, here's what we've got

what rank esper is accelerator?
what is john reese's birthday?
what is arthur morgan's favorite father's name?

alright buddy which "feller" are you?

[Oof, that makes his chest tighten to read. For the first time he's glad that this is over the network and through text. Not that he's incapable of steeling his expression when necessary, but...]

strange questions.

good luck getting your answers.

[He could use a drink.]

why am i not surprised

you wanna know what gets me? why not just lie? "hey what's your mom's name?" "oh it's sharon." i mean it's not like i'm gonna bother checking. why does every single person get bent out of shape about these stupid questions like they've gotta spill their entire life story when they can make some shit up? look let's try it.

mr reese you were born december 2, is that correct?

and when the answer don't work you're gonna be right back here crying for the correct ones so you can access your little magic box. lying just delays the inevitable, and i'm more a man to deal with matters head on if i got to at all.

you making wild guesses would work just as well as us lying, so why don't you just save us all a headache and try something yourself? or you can make answering you worthwhile. you're the one who needs something from me, not the other way around.

[because then it wouldn't be my fault when it's wrong is what Quentin starts to write. Huh. Yeah, backspace all of that. He's not sending that embarrassing self report to a stranger on the network. He's also definitely not going to do the amount of self-reflection it would take to unpack that train of thought. Yikes.]

okay so what would make answering "worthwhile"?

[A little self-reflection can go a long way, but Arthur's not exactly interested in helping this squirrelly guy figure his shit out. Probably.]

i don't know, what are you good for?

[Quentin avoids self-reflection whenever possible. It's a whole thing. And yes, this has caused many problems for him in his 22ish years of life. It's fine. He's very normal and well adjusted and not a dumpster fire of a person.]

well i read minds, fly, world class telekinetic, genius, 1000 brilliant thoughts per second, superhero, and i make a mean beef wellington

[Look, Arthur has no room to talk when it comes to being a bit of a dumpster fire of a person, but he has had a bit longer to be one at the age of 36. As well as a bit longer to reflect on his questionable life choices. Maybe Quentin will get there quicker than Arthur did, what with that big brain of his.]

you read minds, are a genius, and can fly? if that were the case why would you need to do this whole song and dance to get answers? well, i guess that ain't too important now.

look, i ain't too sure what a beef wellington is, but i could eat. if it's as mean as you say then i'll be more agreeable to talk.

[This man didn't know what spaghetti was, classic English dishes that are considered fairly luxurious are not really going to be in his mental catalogue when he's more of a grill-meat-on-a-knife-over-the-fire kind of guy.]

uh because spoilers, people generally don't like it when you dig around in their brains for shit. plus you got people with fucked up heads, psychic resistance, blah blah blah. it's a whole thing.

but sure, i'll whip you up a wellington. why not. better than getting bitched at.

cidolfus outed you btw. also said i should crack your head open with a rock. i won't, in case you're wondering. that guy seems a few fries short if you catch my drift.

Super genius, superhero, and gourmet chef doesn’t know what a metaphor is. Sorry for giving up your alibi, Art.

But I didn’t say anyone should come kill you with a rock, least of all this particular fop.

Don't know how to keep your mouth shut, do you? Supposedly he can do all sorts of things with his mind, but that's what all bookish sorts try to tell me. Never helps much when a fight happens, though.

Edited 2026-04-26 19:41 (UTC)

What can I say? I’ll try to make it up to you. Supposedly he can fly, but the only thing he’s not hesitant to do is cook another man dinner.

I'll hold you to that.

Maybe he likes cooking more than he likes flying or prying. Can't say he's much too good at the latter.

Hey, I've been in plenty of fights!

[Read: he's lost plenty of fights. Dude is a glass cannon.]

But more importantly, is that what your voice sounds like? Dude, can you say "bub" for me? Or, uh. [He mimics a gravelly tone that absolutely does not fit with his nasally voice.] "I'm the best there is at what I do, and what I do ain't nice." I just wanna check something.

Oh, right, you can show up at the, uh. The Institute. Big fuckoff mansion in Charronway near the trolley, you can't miss it. I gotta vent some pent up aggression on a certain sanctimonious prick before I finish up here, but I should be free in, I dunno. A few hours?

Oh, I don't doubt you've been in fights. Winning them is another matter. And getting me to speak on command like some dog ain't gonna be one you win.

[There is a thread of irritation in his voice, but it's otherwise restrained. Somehow he's not surprised this kid lives in a big mansion, who else would act like such an entitled brat while trying to get him to say phrases for his amusement.]

Maybe you'll have better luck against the sanctimonious prick, seems more your type. I'll catch you later.

[He will be showing up for that promised dinner, though. Irritation be damned, a well cooked homemade meal is nothing to sniff at.]

I know what a metaphor is. I was being deliberately obtuse. Willfully ignorant. Facetious.

The art of humor truly is dead.

[Cid also tells jokes for the benefit of no one but himself.]

Oh, save it. I can tell when someone is trying to make another man think worse of him.

[But he doesn’t sound like he means it.]

sure.

[He doesn't really believe much of this. There's definitely strange things here, that he won't deny, but a lot of the specific supernatural stuff is a little hard to swallow until he sees it for himself.]

it's gonna take something harder than a rock to get through this fool's skull, but it seems cid weren't being so literal. i'll take the beef over the stone, just let me know when and where to be for dinner.

Edited 2026-04-26 19:44 (UTC)

un: kidomega | text

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