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Old June 14th, 2013 (11:52 AM).
Cutlerine Cutlerine is offline
Gone. May or may not return.
 
Join Date: Mar 2010
Location: The Misspelled Cyrpt
Age: 21
Gender:
Nature: Impish
Posts: 1,030
> But I think the first priority is Elm. Has anybody got any ideas? How deep is it attached to him? Can Jasmine pull it off? Can Vesta burn it off? (carefully of course)
Oh- can we use a master ball on it? will that teleport it off of Elm?
> However, Rock types are weak against Steel type moves. After going through all other possibilities (and I mean all other possibilities), try using your Highly Persuasive Handgun if the polyp is still on Elm's neck.


“Right,” you say. “Hold still. I'm going to try and burn it off.”

Burn? I like burning.

“Yes, Vesta,” you say. “Time to burn.”

You grab Elm's shoulder, and he blanches.

“The hell are you doing?”

“I'm going to try and burn it off you.”

“It won't come off,” he said. “I can feel its tendrils in my neck – they go right round my throat.”

“But you said—”

“I meant get the coral off the helicopter, so I can get the laptop out without being eaten alive,” he tells you. “You do want to be able to finish decoding the inscription, right?”

Ah. Well. You certainly feel stupid.

Though in your defence, he didn't exactly make it clear.

> I want to ask Jasmine what she can do (Our first encounter with her left me thinking she had powers of some sort - how did she know you needed the lift sent down? Did she go and press the button then run back to her dark corner or can she control other metal things? I don't know - I could be completely wrong and deserving of one of the Narrator's quips but I'm putting it out there)

Of course you're deserving of one of the Narrator's quips, because the Narrator considers everyone deserving of one of his quips. But don't let me get ahead of myself; let's wait a minute.

“Jasmine,” you say. “Do you have any powers? Like, the ability to use Steel moves or something?”

She gives you a look.

“WHAT? WHY WOULD I BE ABLE TO DO THAT?

“Well, y'know,” you say, shifting uncomfortably. “I mean... you knew I needed the lift, and you seemed to send it down without moving from the spot...”

“YOU LEFT THE LIFT DOWN THERE LAST TIME,” she reminds you. “I OPENED THE DOOR, YES – USING THE MAIN LIFT CONTROL PANEL UP IN THE LIGHT ROOM. I KNEW YOU WERE COMING BECAUSE I HEARD YOU. I HAVE GOOD HEARING, REMEMBER?

“Oh yeah,” you say. “Heh. I knew that.”

You totally didn't. And she knows it.

Damn, Othodox. This is the only girl you've met who isn't made of fire. Don't screw this one up.

> Well, since everyone else spoke a few of my concerns, here's the other one: remove the coral from the chopper.

“Right.” You turn to the chopper. “There's... no way we're getting all of that off, is there?”

“I don't think so,” says Elm. “The weight has bent the rotors right out of shape, and the tail's sagging – no, I'm afraid to say it's not flying anywhere else. We just need to clear a path to the laptop so I can get it out of there. The generator's screwed now, but I'll work until the battery runs out.”

“OK.” You turn to Jasmine. “Can you rip that stuff off? You seem... strong.”

I could burn it
, suggests Vesta.

“I don't think that'll work, Vesta,” you say gently. “Coral doesn't really burn. Especially not Water/Rock type coral.”

Could we try? she persists.

“Oh, OK,” you say. “Have a quick go.”

“I'LL TEAR IT OFF AFTERWARDS,” says Jasmine to you in a low voice, or what passes for a low voice for her. She's smiling; perhaps she finds the way you humour Vesta sweet. You certainly hope she does. “YOUR FIRE IS ADORABLE.”

You beam at her.

“Isn't she?”

Vesta interrupts any further conversation by shooting a jet of flame at the helicopter's flank; it hits the coral and dissipates almost immediately.

Aw, she says, disappointed. It doesn't burn...

“Never mind, Vesta,” you say consolingly. “There'll be other things to burn.”

Jasmine steps forwards and brings one slender hand into the morass of coral on the helicopter's floor; it shatters with an unearthly and wholly unexpected shriek, and the rest of it seems to flinch away from her, crawling over the surface of the metal like spilled ink.

“YOU KNOW,” she says, “I COULD JUST GO IN AND PICK UP THE LAPTOP. I THINK THE CORAL MIGHT BE SCARED OF ME.”

“Well, do that then,” says Elm. “But be careful! I mean, it grew over the helicopter. Don't let it grow on you.”

Jasmine nods and puts one foot carefully inside the helicopter.

The coral shrinks away.

“I THINK IT'S OK,” she says, pulling her other foot up. “YES. IT'S NOT ATTACKING.”

She picks up the laptop and tugs out the power cord. Then she jumps back out, landing on the road with such force that she cracks the tarmac asunder.

“HERE,” she says, waving the laptop. “GOT I—

The coral shoots up her arm—

Jasmine sighs and swats it like a fly. It cracks open and falls in chunks to the floor, waving its little tendrils madly. The remnants clump together desperately on her bicep, but she keeps brushing at it; there is colossal strength in her metal fingers, and soon there is nothing at all left but the polished steel gleam of her bare muscles.

“THAT WAS INCONVENIENT,” she says – of an attack that would have killed you faster than you could blink. “HERE'S YOUR COMPUTER, PROFESSOR.”
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