Jocasta’s Sketch
MutantsMichael — 7/17/24, 9:42 AM
Jocasta's sketch
MutantsMichael — 7/17/24, 9:44 AM
@Leonard @Madness Dossier
[9:46 AM]
In an attempt to jog her memory about her acid flashback-tinged encounter with the weird businessman who unwittingly intercepted her message drop to the SLA last month, Jo heads back, clear-headed, to the parks where she'd camped out those couple of days, homeless. In an aid to her memory, Jo can definitely use Meditation-18 to help bring forth her own memories, then Artist (Drawing) to come up with a sketch. Normally Artist is 17, but on a successful Meditation roll it'll be an 18.
[9:48 AM]
https://www.san-narciso.com/scenes/the-drop
Operation URIEL
Jocasta attempts to scope out an SLA drop point and vows to the Underwater Panther that she will kill a businessman who was rude to her.
Leonard used
roll
Dice GolemAPP — 7/17/24, 10:04 AM
@Leonard rolled
3d6:(6+4+6)= 16Leonard — 7/17/24, 10:05 AM
Jo really hates this guy
MutantsMichael — 7/17/24, 10:06 AM
That's a success, so Artist (Drawing)-18 to make the sketch.
Leonard used
roll
Dice GolemAPP — 7/17/24, 10:06 AM
@Leonard rolled
3d6#artist:(2+2+1)= 51
MutantsMichael — 7/17/24, 10:06 AM
But yeah, Jo's mind is more turbulent than might be expected as she tries to clear her head.
[10:09 AM]
The sketch though... she can remember thanks to her weird acid flashback and communion with Underwater Panther, every crag on his face, every wrinkle, every perfectly coiffed strand of hair, his glasses... down to the least detail. By the time an hour or so has gone by here on this cool gorgeous May Wednesday, Jocasta has a detailed, and what's more incredibly accurate, image of this man.
MutantsMichael — 7/17/24, 10:15 AM
Now the question becomes, what to do with it. A few possible avenues, any or all of which Jo can utilize: • We get Sophie to check it against some of SANDMAN's facebooks by hand; check against folks who could be in the finance/business sector of San Francisco thanks to his looks, his attitude, his quoting Plautus, and Underwater Panther's unfettered hunger for him. • We go the faster route, which is sending his image to Granite Peak where they can use their patented TL 7+1 technology on the image, compare him against the faces of the rich and famous and well-to-do. Quicker, but has the added problem of some technician or technicians in the computer section seeing Jo's query. • We use the metaphysical route: remote viewing from Pat and/or Mitch; given we don't know how their scene will end yet, it'll need to wait until after they're down off the mountain. • Or hell, just showing the picture to Marshall, Archie, and/or Viv and having them use their various Savoir-Faires and Area Knowledges and Current Affairses to see if any of them know who he is. Whatever the case, the next stop is probably Kearny Street to post/telefax the image and get URIEL people's take on it.
Leonard — 7/17/24, 10:56 AM
Jocasta sits, making some minor adjustments to the drawing; extending a line here, erasing one there, adding a little brush of hair. You're getting pretty good at this, Joey, she thinks, the gifted-child voice in her head never far away. She briefly considers sticking him in the portfolio she's getting ready to mail to 666 5th Avenue in New York as some kind of super-villainous mastermind, but she remembers something Saša Nikolić told her back in Belgrade: don't make martyrs of your enemies. Twirling a long strand of grass around in her fingers, momentarily distracted by the kids out on the lawns skipping school, she thinks. Okay, Jo. Think about this. What do you want out of this? Acing some random suit-and-tie guy just because he gave you a hard time can't be the story here. You're not that petty. But does he mean something? Is he somebody or something? You called the Panther, true, but he showed up; he can't be so thirsty for thieves that he'd come for every corporate clown who lied on their expense accounts. If the Panther wanted him, the Panther will get him, but I have to know why. I have to be smart. So what does that mean?
Leonard — 7/17/24, 11:44 AM
She thinks for a bit. It occurs to her to simply go back to where she saw him the first time; after all, he was probably on his lunch break or something. He might make regular appearances there. But that seems too...obvious a coincidence. Too serendipitous. Too...Mitch. She can't rely on that magic, and she's not at her best when she's unprepared. Still, think differently. Think differently. It would be easy enough to get SANDMAN to pull his data and then just wax him from a distance, which makes it...exactly the sort of thing SANDMAN would do, or, more precisely, what the Control Working Group would do. This is more complicated. There's so many markers of something below the surface here -- the Panther being so hungry for him, him quoting that Roman who I never paid enough attention to in school, those fucking gnomes talking about the red eye of the bull -- that it has to be something more than a chance meeting. (You're being paranoid, Jocasta; you're seeing strings that aren't connected to anything,, her dexter brain tells her. So what else is new?, her sinister brain answers.) But it won't do to just treat this like a stain that needs covering up. If the universe is trying to tell you something, it's using language you have to decode. She packs up her sketchbook and heads back into the city. She's still tempted to just have SANDMAN handle all this, but if it's something in URIEL's purview, the universe will reveal how. She drives across the bay to the office services building of UC Berkeley and makes a copy of the drawing, then types up a quick note on a page from a sheaf of Army Intel letterhead she keeps for just such occasions. GENTLEMEN - ANYTHING ON THIS P.O.I.? IT MAY BE NOTHING, JUST TAKING CARE OF SOME DUE DILIGENCE. THANKS AS ALWAYS FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE. HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE WHISKEY. She puts it in an envelope and has it couriered over to the San Francisco F.B.I. office, care of Padden and Hall. The number on the letterhead is her personal line at Livermore, so that's her final destination for the day (leaving word for Sophie to pick up the line if it rings), but first, a few more stops in the city: City Lights, to pick up a Penguin Classics edition of the works of Plautus; a Chinatown butcher shop, to get a steer's head; the main library on Morgan Street for a copy of the newspaper from that day; and her favorite Chinese herbalist, for some moon sign incense. She takes the paper, the steer's head (with its eye facing her), and the book, and arranges them in an arc in one of the quieter outbuildings of the Livermore campus. Then she lights the incense with the flame from three crumpled one-dollar bills, goes into a meditative state, and drops a tab of Uncle Sam's finest lysergic acid diethylamide, waiting to see what the universe shows her. (edited)
1
1
@Leonard
She thinks for a bit. It occurs to her to simply go back to where she saw him the first time; after all, he was probably on his lunch break or something. He might make regular appearances there. But that seems too...obvious a coincidence. Too serendipitous. Too...Mitch. She can't rely on that magic, and she's not at her best when she's unprepared. Still, think differently. Think differently. It would be easy enough to get SANDMAN to pull his data and then just wax him from a distance, which makes it...exactly the sort of thing SANDMAN would do, or, more precisely, what the Control Working Group would do. This is more complicated. There's so many markers of something below the surface here -- the Panther being so hungry for him, him quoting that Roman who I never paid enough attention to in school, those fucking gnomes talking about the red eye of the bull -- that it has to be something more than a chance meeting. (You're being paranoid, Jocasta; you're seeing strings that aren't connected to anything,, her dexter brain tells her. So what else is new?, her sinister brain answers.) But it won't do to just treat this like a stain that needs covering up. If the universe is trying to tell you something, it's using language you have to decode. She packs up her sketchbook and heads back into the city. She's still tempted to just have SANDMAN handle all this, but if it's something in URIEL's purview, the universe will reveal how. She drives across the bay to the office services building of UC Berkeley and makes a copy of the drawing, then types up a quick note on a page from a sheaf of Army Intel letterhead she keeps for just such occasions. GENTLEMEN - ANYTHING ON THIS P.O.I.? IT MAY BE NOTHING, JUST TAKING CARE OF SOME DUE DILIGENCE. THANKS AS ALWAYS FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE. HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE WHISKEY. She puts it in an envelope and has it couriered over to the San Francisco F.B.I. office, care of Padden and Hall. The number on the letterhead is her personal line at Livermore, so that's her final destination for the day (leaving word for Sophie to pick up the line if it rings), but first, a few more stops in the city: City Lights, to pick up a Penguin Classics edition of the works of Plautus; a Chinatown butcher shop, to get a steer's head; the main library on Morgan Street for a copy of the newspaper from that day; and her favorite Chinese herbalist, for some moon sign incense. She takes the paper, the steer's head (with its eye facing her), and the book, and arranges them in an arc in one of the quieter outbuildings of the Livermore campus. Then she lights the incense with the flame from three crumpled one-dollar bills, goes into a meditative state, and drops a tab of Uncle Sam's finest lysergic acid diethylamide, waiting to see what the universe shows her. (edited)
MutantsMichael — 7/17/24, 12:37 PM
(All right. I'll handle the Padden and Hall rolls if you don't mind, because I feel like those would mess with the vibes of the Knissomancy attempt I imagine you're attempting here. Obviously, Oracle is another situation where I roll, but I want to kind of ease into the dice.) So as Jo waits for the LSD to come up, she flips to the page in the 1964 Penguin Plautus's "A Three-Dollar Day" (the Trinummus) and basks in the dead gaze of Taurus's eye. Men joking about swapping wives, nothing new under the sun, Jocasta thinks to herself, as she eases into the acid coming on. Figures this guy would like this play. Finders keepers, better the devil you know. Women: commodities to be joked about over drinks and old school songs at the Club. (Let's do the hallucinations check first: HT-9 to resist the hallucinogenic qualities of the acid, that's already with Fit taken into consideration.)
Leonard used
roll
Dice GolemAPP — 7/17/24, 1:04 PM
@Leonard rolled
3d6#HT:(2+3+4)= 91
MutantsMichael — 7/17/24, 1:05 PM
Well, she's gonna ride this acid with very few detrimental hallucinations, very nice.
[1:05 PM]
Fitness pays off once more
Leonard — 7/17/24, 1:09 PM
[Cut to Jocasta, 1979, talking to a bunch of kids as part of the President's Council on Physical Fitness. She is chain smoking Virginia Slims and out of her mind on acid and weed. Her car is filled with empty chip packets and Burger King wrappers.] "Remember, kids, fitness pays off"
1
MutantsMichael — 7/17/24, 1:33 PM
The Chronicle from April 18 sits in front of her: Watergate, Patty, the Israeli-Syrian war, bad economic tidings. The business pages. Jocasta arranges the business pages and the stock listings in front of her in an acid-induced flurry. As the three dollar bills that lit the incense curdle into brown-green ash, Jocasta could swear she hears a faint voice, pitched kind of like those gnomes, cawing out like a bird of prey. In the ashes, Jo sees a tiny tiny owl's face on the obverse side of one of the bills peeking out from behind the numeral "1," crying out in pain as it dies in flames. The three gold coins paid in full. Fire. Jo sees fire everywhere, fires behind the smoke of the moon incense, a nimbus of fire around the head of the steer, just like a kusarikku, the fires that Mitch (Mitch? who is Mitch? Jo thinks amidst the acid to herself before remembering him just as she always has) lights with his mind. The fires of the god Mars flaring up like the forges of all the world's arsenals as Aldebaran and Mars conjunct over her own birth thirty-four years ago. War, fire, blood. The redwoods, the mighty ancient redwoods themselves on fire, Genevieve fleeing from them naked like the little girl in the photo from Vietnam. Truffaut's (or Bradbury's, whichever you prefer, but this trip is so visual and olfactory, Jo finds herself thinking of the sleek European film more vividly) Fahrenheit 451, where the firemen don't put out fires but light them, and falsely trace their censorious lineage to Ben Franklin. The moon sign incense for Jo is, of course, dedicated to Aquarius, which gives Jocasta the option to douse these hallucinatory flames with the cool imaginative fall of a cleansing spring rain. Ordinarily this series of images would be a fucking horrorshow, a bad trip supreme, but Jo takes it all in in stride, because there is shared meaning here. The business pages speak to her now—an ad for American Express's new toll-free information line, complete with the company's new logo: the old centurion out in favor of a sleek modern logotype. Stories about mergers overseas, foreign investment funds buying out American companies with the economic slump underway and the aftereffects of the Yom Kippur War and OPEC embargo. The clues are all here: fire; protection from fire; rewriting history as one sees fit to match one's ideology; Owls on and in the money; the new global corporate world superceding the old local one; the engines of war; all this lying inside the bull's eye. The sketch of the bespectacled old businessman looks down wryly at all Jo has assembled, as if to brag about his personal centrality to all these concepts.
Leonard — 7/17/24, 10:34 PM
Okay, so, he's not nobody, Jo thinks, her mind turning over and over as the psychedelics course through her but strangely around her, painting a picture without fully immersing her in its images. At the very least he's a spider at the center of one important web, maybe many of them, stretching out all over
[10:34 PM]
(a world wide web)
[10:36 PM]
And he's part of the new Bohemians, the moneymen, the 'enlightened' elites who see the only future as a kind of controlled surrender to chaos and domination, a situation where they get a seperate peace purchased by letting the rest of the world burn, a globe on fire, everything sacrificed to their greed and ambition
[10:36 PM]
(put out the fire)
Leonard — 7/17/24, 11:14 PM
Who am I talking to?, she wonders, a bit of the old ego death and dissociation creeping into her consciousness. Am I supposed to put out the fire, or just convince Mitch not to start it? I didn't start the fire, after all. (Mitch? What the hell does Mitch have to do with this? Where is he, even?) Don't get lost in space, kid. Focus up. So he's worth looking up. Where is he, and how do I get to him? Do I ask for sanction or move on my own and hope it works out? What do I do with him? (Who will survive, and what will be left of them?) She looks closer, into the cool smoke, into the past that's not even past, into the eye of the kussarikku (wouldn't be the first time), and lets herself dive deeper into the vision. Come out, spider. (He serves none but himself, and troubles the unhappy world.) Show yourself. And she waits. (edited)
July 18, 2024
@Leonard
Who am I talking to?, she wonders, a bit of the old ego death and dissociation creeping into her consciousness. Am I supposed to put out the fire, or just convince Mitch not to start it? I didn't start the fire, after all. (Mitch? What the hell does Mitch have to do with this? Where is he, even?) Don't get lost in space, kid. Focus up. So he's worth looking up. Where is he, and how do I get to him? Do I ask for sanction or move on my own and hope it works out? What do I do with him? (Who will survive, and what will be left of them?) She looks closer, into the cool smoke, into the past that's not even past, into the eye of the kussarikku (wouldn't be the first time), and lets herself dive deeper into the vision. Come out, spider. (He serves none but himself, and troubles the unhappy world.) Show yourself. And she waits. (edited)
MutantsMichael — 7/18/24, 7:10 AM
Jo returns to the vision of the burned redwoods. She sees, behind the plumes of incense smoke, a large stage, flanked by a giant owl effigy, its features blackened and softened by the soot brought by the rains that have doused the flames. The trees are damaged, but something in Jocasta's acid-tinged Naturalist awareness tells her they'll be all right. They have thick bark, tannic hides. The strongest do survive. The campsite Jo sees/inhabits right now is so clearly the Bohemian Grove of all the urban legends, all the childhood whispers of old rich white men playing out their hi-jinks 50 or so miles from Jo's childhood home, that Jo's been suffused with since she was a girl growing up on the north side of the Bay. They've always been around, of course; Jo's dad could talk your ear off about their filthy, lazy souls. He always thought they didn't work enough anymore, that the αγγλοσάξονες lived off their dead capital and had turned soft. But always there was that Greek first-generation immigrant envy of their massive wealth to it as well. Viv is here. Not naked and fleeing anymore like Phan Thị Kim Phúc, but in a pale green sweater and brown corduroy slacks, hugging herself against the unexpected cold mist. She speaks, compellingly but stiltedly, imitating the voice and cadence of a TV news anchorman. "The Governor says he will not budge on his stand—the interests of the lumber industry must be respected." "You know I chained myself to one of these once? Not one of these of course, these are 'protected.' Up the coast a ways. Didn't do much good. They THE OWLS THE SPIDERS ended up cutting them down for 'aye'-grade lumber. Maybe those boards went on to house poor people desperately in need of shelter." Viv states unconvincingly. "I don't know." This acid-Viv is listless, tired, enervated from the fight. "But you do know where we are right now, right?" In the seats all around her, which in Jo's acid-infused "peripheral" vision had previously been implied as empty, Jocasta suddenly sees scores of burned corpses and skeletons: as if a whirlwind of fire had blown through the grove like the anger of God and killed every single one of these men. (edited)
Leonard — 7/18/24, 11:08 AM
Jocasta's mind, too, is a whirlwind. A thousand thoughts race through her chemically rewired brain and trail off in a thousand different directions. You did good work. Heroic work, she (thinks? says?) to dream-Viv. Never think we don't know how good. And I know you want to rest. I know you want to push that work onto someone else now, and relish the time you have now with your family. You deserve it, God knows. But there's no time to rest now. We're so close. So close to* what? What exactly are we close to, and how does this vision get us even closer to it? It's all so murky. Just like all those years chasing conspiracies out on the street: so many hints of answers, so few actual answers. Who is this man, after all? Should I have just taken the easy route and turned his image over to the finders of lost persons at Granite Peak? Look at him: I remember him exactly, down to the indentation his glasses made on his nose, but he's...different. He has an aura about him, whatever that is. He's sinister to me now rather than just...shitty. He even seems older. Old enough to... Wait. He's not - he couldn't be - that's not him, surely? He's not...flamboyant enough. Not even the right age (like I can do math in this condition). He's too square to be Alpha Leonis. But there's a taint to him...maybe they've met? Maybe they just have common interests? (Maybe you're paranoid.) She surveys the carnage around her, the blackened bones and the skin crisped to ash, waiting for a light breeze to blow it away like ash from the tip of a cigarette. She has an ugly recollection of Vietnam and what the jellied gasoline was supposed to do to the peasants. What a terrifying way to die! But...are we supposed to prevent this, or to cause it? Focus on what you know owe. You have power now, and you have duty to match that power. You are not one. You are five. Maybe more, too - the number doesn't have the power, the unity has the power. You have work to do. The fallout from the CWG has just metastasized into the OWLS THE SPIDERS THE WOLVES THE SERPENTS THE LIONS THE LION THE DEV Bohemians. Power is awakening in so many people and they need you (they don't need you) to guide them. No time for turning things over and over (intelligence analysis is literally your job); it's time for decisive action. But what? She can feel the sour energy of a bad trip seeping into her consciousness, and her paranoia throbs as her self-control ebbs. She notices consciously what she has been doing unconsciously for who knows how long (what time is it? what day is it?): with a pinch of soil from the park lawn, which her brain seems to think is the charred remains of one of the Grove attendees, she is making the sign of the cross. Fingers and thumb, right to left: just like her mother, who didn't grow up in the Church, taught her. That's how I remembered, Joey. You'll remember too. You're a smart girl. She takes what's left of the rich, almost black dirt and smears it on her head like it was ash. (It is ash.) Do it, says a voice. She is going to attempt to Telesend something to Mitch. Wherever he is. Whenever he is. Not a word, not a sentence, not a question: an image. She'll try to send this image -- of the Grove in ruins, its masters incinerated and its trees ready to sweep away the folly of its existence -- right into his brain. Like a telephone that can take pictures. DO IT. (edited)
1
MutantsMichael — 7/18/24, 11:30 AM
(Go ahead and roll Telesend... the scene I've been doing with Mitch and Pat takes place six days prior to this but I'm more than happy to bend time a little bit given Mitch was just piggybacking off of Pat. Maybe when Pat wakes up and Mitch and he are on their way down the mountain, or maybe just in six days after Mitch and Pat have had time to process all this. Let's see how things go in the other scene, but in the meantime I'll have acid-Viv bestow one last little piece of Jo's internal voice.) Viv looks at the fiery carnage dispassionately. "What could these men have been, had they not been born to be masters of the world? If as boys they'd been taught to cooperate rather than to compete and conquer? Stupid question, probably. They weren't, and that's that." The finality of Viv's assessment leaving Jo cold, and the last of the incense smoke intervenes now, its scent drawing Jo back from the Grove, and something like... a fire alarm? No, it's the ringing of a bell, a telephone, ringing nearby: the one in this disused building a few hundred yards from the old URIEL offices. Jo gave Sophie the number in case anything urgent came through. Jo looks at her watch: it's been a couple of hours, the incense is burned down to the floor. "Jo? It's Sophie. Tom Padden called. Your person of interest is one Frederick H. Merrill, aged 67, born February 6, 1907, Nephi Utah, alumnus and trustee of Stanford University, of late Director and Chairman of the Executive Committee of American Express, prior to that CEO and Chairman of the Board of the Fireman's Fund Insurance Company. Retired as of 1972. All around nabob and grandee of old San Francisco; on the board of Del Monte, Pacific Medical Center, the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco, about two dozen other corporate boards, clubs, and charities... and of course long-time member of the Bohemian Club. I believe Marshall had a line on him back when he infiltrated the Club last month, was thinking about sending Archie after him considering the City business and Utah connections."
Leonard — 7/18/24, 11:34 AM
(Yeah, fuck with the time as much as you want, or make it contemporaneous - Jo is literally shooting in the dark here.)
Leonard used
roll
Dice GolemAPP — 7/18/24, 11:34 AM
@Leonard rolled
3d6:(4+4+5)= 131
MutantsMichael — 7/18/24, 11:36 AM
(I knew given the Padden/Hall roll that you'd eventually get his identity down so I wanted the Oracle to give you something more, something else)
Leonard — 7/18/24, 11:53 AM
"Thanks, Soph. I'm sure he doesn't have any kind of record, but pull everything you can on him, and get an address or a known whereabouts on him if you can. I'm going to write up a quick report and bring it over to you [this will be Jo's experience meeting this guy, and then what she saw during this oracular trip] to send to Marshall and Arch, eyes only. Call Tom, too, and give him my thanks; if Merrill has kids or grandkids, tell Tom they should be put on high alert for another possible Hearst or Getty situation - there's nothing to it, I just want to sow a little chaos in the man's life, you know? Keep me posted on any developments. I'm going to drive up to Shasta before I head back to L.A."
1
MutantsMichael — 7/18/24, 11:54 AM
(Doesn't it feel like we're heading towards an all-hands meeting at some point soon? )
1
July 19, 2024
@Leonard
Jocasta's mind, too, is a whirlwind. A thousand thoughts race through her chemically rewired brain and trail off in a thousand different directions. You did good work. Heroic work, she (thinks? says?) to dream-Viv. Never think we don't know how good. And I know you want to rest. I know you want to push that work onto someone else now, and relish the time you have now with your family. You deserve it, God knows. But there's no time to rest now. We're so close. So close to* what? What exactly are we close to, and how does this vision get us even closer to it? It's all so murky. Just like all those years chasing conspiracies out on the street: so many hints of answers, so few actual answers. Who is this man, after all? Should I have just taken the easy route and turned his image over to the finders of lost persons at Granite Peak? Look at him: I remember him exactly, down to the indentation his glasses made on his nose, but he's...different. He has an aura about him, whatever that is. He's sinister to me now rather than just...shitty. He even seems older. Old enough to... Wait. He's not - he couldn't be - that's not him, surely? He's not...flamboyant enough. Not even the right age (like I can do math in this condition). He's too square to be Alpha Leonis. But there's a taint to him...maybe they've met? Maybe they just have common interests? (Maybe you're paranoid.) She surveys the carnage around her, the blackened bones and the skin crisped to ash, waiting for a light breeze to blow it away like ash from the tip of a cigarette. She has an ugly recollection of Vietnam and what the jellied gasoline was supposed to do to the peasants. What a terrifying way to die! But...are we supposed to prevent this, or to cause it? Focus on what you know owe. You have power now, and you have duty to match that power. You are not one. You are five. Maybe more, too - the number doesn't have the power, the unity has the power. You have work to do. The fallout from the CWG has just metastasized into the OWLS THE SPIDERS THE WOLVES THE SERPENTS THE LIONS THE LION THE DEV Bohemians. Power is awakening in so many people and they need you (they don't need you) to guide them. No time for turning things over and over (intelligence analysis is literally your job); it's time for decisive action. But what? She can feel the sour energy of a bad trip seeping into her consciousness, and her paranoia throbs as her self-control ebbs. She notices consciously what she has been doing unconsciously for who knows how long (what time is it? what day is it?): with a pinch of soil from the park lawn, which her brain seems to think is the charred remains of one of the Grove attendees, she is making the sign of the cross. Fingers and thumb, right to left: just like her mother, who didn't grow up in the Church, taught her. That's how I remembered, Joey. You'll remember too. You're a smart girl. She takes what's left of the rich, almost black dirt and smears it on her head like it was ash. (It is ash.) Do it, says a voice. She is going to attempt to Telesend something to Mitch. Wherever he is. Whenever he is. Not a word, not a sentence, not a question: an image. She'll try to send this image -- of the Grove in ruins, its masters incinerated and its trees ready to sweep away the folly of its existence -- right into his brain. Like a telephone that can take pictures. DO IT. (edited)
MutantsMichael — 7/19/24, 9:59 AM
(Re: the Telesend, there are distance modifiers there of course but I can assume you'll take Extra Time as needed.)
Leonard — 7/19/24, 10:19 AM
Yeah, of course
[10:19 AM]
Should I reroll? (edited)
MutantsMichael — 7/19/24, 10:19 AM
No, no, it's a success all around!
[10:20 AM]
I'm going to wait to see how Mitch's meditation roll goes, I may slip this in anachronistically depending on how it goes
1
[10:20 AM]
(I can't rely on any roll, even a 17 skill, being a success these days IT SEEMS)
Message "[I9] Jocasta's Sketch, Intersection of the Panhandle and Golden Gate Park, Wed May 29, 1974"