#stuff dump

Random murder drones sturff

minidump

I’ve been contemplating skipping days to avoid the  ‘I dont wanna write about all the past few days’ feeling I get every time I consider updating this.  We’ll see. 

“Oh God, thank you so much!” She clutches desperately at my hands, hands that had pulled her from the path of a speeding car only moments before. “Don't mention it.” I said shortly. She shook her head adamantly, still clutching my hands. “No really, I have to do something to thank y--” “Pride runs in my family.” Five simple words and she immediately drops my hands and backs away, her expression shifting into knowing sympathy. “Ah, well, you were great, but...ah, the 43 puppies that you didn't save this morning and all that, you know?” She babbles, but the thanks still shone from her eyes. She turns to make a hasty retreat, waving nervously over her shoulder, not wanting to be the cause of my Fall. It was always like that with Pride. It was one of the worst of the Seven to Fall to, one of the easiest to creep in from just about anywhere. Some argue that Sloth is worse, turning afternoon naps into the Great Slumber, but for me, Pride will always win hands down. I idly track her form until it disappears around the corner, then I physically shake off the doldrums from the impromptu encounter, straighten my weather-worn but much beloved hat, shove my hands in the pockets of my trench coat, and continue somewhat dubiously into the rundown building in front of me, eyeing the peeling paint and the partially lit open sign with trepidation. I got the tip anonymously, which is not unusual, but the roach motel that I was directed to was less that what I expected, given my usual clientele. I'm not being Prideful, just honest. I have been a Confessor a long time, far longer than most last. The elite favor me, and their fingers suffering from the stiffness signaling the onset of Greed means that they pay well, so in turn I favor them. Its a dangerous job, but I'm good at what I do. It's not easy to help people out of a Sin, but I have a knack for keeping volatile situations from going straight to Deadly. I am one of the only Confessors in the business that has a nearly spotless track record and I intend to keep it that way. I open the door to the downtrodden little motel room and study the gentleman in front of me in order to avoid looking at the dismal state of the rented room. He has come to me for help, the light green tinge of Envy already present on his skin making it clear why I'm here. Upon closer inspection, I notice his skin had slipped and was sagging off him like an ill fitting coat underneath what was once no doubt a well tailored suit. Oh God. Envy and Lust. You almost never see two Sins in one person, but when you do, it isn't pretty. He didn't have long. He knew it and I knew it. “Have you thought about the convents?” He shook his head adamantly, skin swaying sickeningly with every movement, “I've got kids you know, I can't provide for them if I go in there.” “You can't provide for them if you're dead either,” I stated bluntly. “You don't understand! I should be good enough! I should be able! I can best this!” The man dissolves into somewhat inarticulate murmurs after that and I feel my stomache drop straight to my shoes. Wrath. My inner voices shriek in terror. He's also got Wrath. More than enough to Explode. And Pride. He's filled with it, plenty enough to Fall. I've been set up--sweet merciful Heavens, how? This isn't someone that needs help, this is a trap. He's a time bomb, full of so many Sins that its only a matter of when he'll become Deadly and who he'll take with him. I pray to God its not me. I have to think quickly. He is between me and the door—stupidity and overconfidence on my part—and a glance out the window reveals why I'd been sent to this particular room in the seedy motel—no fire escape. With a calm I did not feel I reach for the room's phone. “Want a beer?” I posed the question casually, as if I did not realize how close he was to Deadly. He paused in his ramblings and I saw it, there in his eyes. “Food too” he demanded, licking his lips. “Food too then.” I agreed amicably, forcing the triumph in my gut down, willing myself to remain visibly impassive. Gluttony and Wrath are rather similar. Sometimes, if a fellow is particularly lucky, he can redirect Wrath into its gentler cousin, forcing one to Pop rather than Explode. It was more messy, but less dangerous. Within moments a knock sounds at the door followed by a soft call of “room service.” I cross in front of where he had settled on the bed with a mutter of “Its on me, of course.” I can see the Envy in his eyes, jealous of my means, war with the Gluttony spurred by the promise of food. I open the door before he can make up his mind and quickly grab the food tray. “Smells delicious,” I lie, setting the food down on the rickety bedside table and removing the top with flourish, waving my hands over the plate like it was a magic trick. He is on it before I have even fully moved away, devouring the tray with both hands. I back towards the door slowly, stepping out of the room. My hands shake as I look down at the empty paper wrapping for the sleeping powder I'd slipped into the food. With so many Sins in him already, he would be more vulnerable to one more. My hope is that the Great Slumber will take him before he finishes eating. At this point it would be the most painless death I can offer him. I hurry down the hall and out of the building, one thought echoing on repeat. Someone had set me up, and I won't rest easy until I know who.