Each knock on the door approaches your brain one at a time and prying apart the plates of your skull to slip in. Your skull slams back together, the sound of the knock echoing inside your head. You groan and shift from your bed, bottles clinking. The knocking on the door continues, insistent, like it was prepared to do this all night.It takes a moment for the red blur in your eyes to focus into the shape of 5:00AM. God, fucking, fuck was someone at your door at 5AM!? You've got work in two hours, a hell of a hangover, your stitches ache and some fucker is at your door, STILL KNOCKING.> Somewhere in these bottles is enough oblivion to get to the start of the work day> Wait it out. They have to stop eventually, right?> Grab and load your crossbow, because apparently armed and in underwear is how you answer doors now.
Tranny spammer quest
>>6049036> Grab and load your crossbow, because apparently armed and in underwear is how you answer doors now.Welcome back, QM
>>6049036>>Grab and load your crossbow, because apparently armed and in underwear is how you answer doors now.
>>6049107You nudge the door open with a foot and step back, crossbow held tight, with just with presence of mind to not point it directly at the person on the otherside. The too tall, too thin, figure sighs. "Hunters. Can you put that down so I can check your stitches?"You narrow your eyes, your voice croaking. A mix of vomit and liquor smells wafts from your mouth to your nose. "How do you know I have stitches?"The figure sighs again. "I put them in. This is what passes for gratitude I suppose."You glance at the neat stitches on your hand, then back at the figure.> "Alright, come in."> "Nope, I'm going back to bed."
>>6049166Well, we're probably not winning a fight anyway and we don't wanna get infected so> "Alright, come in."
>>6049170"Alright. Come in." You lower the crossbow and flip on a lamp. The figure walks in, fuck must be seven feet tall and rail thin, and death pale. "Take a seat please and show me the stitches. It was your on your hand."You comply, grinding your teeth as your head continues to throb. The figure, his face ambiguous and odd and androgenous, seizes your hand, turning it over. "These look good. I shall return in two days to remove them, or you can come to my office.""Uhm...""Yes, I am a elf." He sighs and mutters. "Hunters.""Uh, I don't know where your office is actually. But that's neat?" You wince as your stomach twists.The elf...doctor? Stares as you for a moment. "I shall leave a card. And a compound for headache and nausea. Good day."The very tall, very thin elf walks stiffly away, closing the door behind him. On the counter sits a neat business card. Valen - Traditional Medicine - 730 Legion RoadAtop the card is a small pouch of crumbled leaves. In faint letters the words "Stir into water and drink" are written on the pouch.> Bottoms up?> Nope, hair of the dog> Ugh, better stick to water and aspirin
>>6049193> Bottoms up?It's basically tea
>>6049196>>6049170+1
>>6049209>>6049196You give it a sniff and immediately wish you hadn't, your stomach lurching in response. Not as bad as the chemo though. You dump the plants into a glass, fill it water and give a quick swish before you can remember how stupid drinking plants given to you by a stranger sounds.Still, your stomach does settle by the time you fall into bed again, and the edge does fade from your headache. Maybe you should pick up a few of those. Assuming you aren't poisoned and dying.Morning, ruthless fucking morning, comes for you, and with it another day of wage slavery. > Jog to work? Extra effort is a foreign land to your body, but it might do some good.> Just take the bus and slip in another twenty minutes of sleep.> Fuck it, call off work. Wander around the city park.
>>6049267>jogwe are a toxic Jeb retard. We need to be in top form the next time we greet a stranger in our onesies.With a cocked crossbow in one hand and our cock in the other.
>>6049267>> Fuck it, call off work. Wander around the city park.
>>6049267>> Jog to work? Extra effort is a foreign land to your body, but it might do some good.
>>6049271>>6049355>>6049387You take a moment to review your life. You are the unfortunately bearer of the name Chrysanthemum Jones, because apparently your mother wanted to soften the blow of her death by giving you an absolutely awful first name. You're an unhealthily thin young woman, comically out of shape, and probably an alcoholic. Suicidal ideation? What suicidal ideation?Until recently you were mostly penniless. Now you kill monsters as a side gig. Sure, you're pretty sure you cracked a rib doing that, and there's a lot of stitches on you now, but hey, the pay is good, and you can always drink the trauma into oblivion right?---https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2024/6000901/
>>6049496You check your phone and wince, trying to work up the courage to just...start running. Probably show up to work a hot reeking mess but eh, fuck it. Ok, route set, the half of your earbuds you can find in, and off you go.A couple blocks later and you're gasping for air, stumbling to a walk. Fuck, you are seriously out of shape. How far would you make it if you had to outrun something on the hunt? The memory of the troll and it's pack of goblins on your heels convinces you to drag down another breath and keep moving.> Fuck, this sucks. There's gotta be something better to do with your mornings.> Keep at it. Make it a habit. If you're going to be running for your life sometimes, better be good at running.
>>6049505>Keep at it. Make it a habit. If you're going to be running for your life sometimes, better be good at running.
>>6049496(that link was a shitshow)(i love it)
>>6049505>Keep at it. Make it a habit. If you're going to be running for your life sometimes, better be good at running.Pacing!
>>6049505>fuck, this sucks, there's got to be something better to do with your mornings>maybe wear ankle weights and just walk the last three bus stops instead>I still can't run but if it has a crotch I'll kick the mother loving shit out of it
>>6049505>Chrysanthemum >the shortest possible form is Cum
>>6049505>Keep at it. Make it a habit. If you're going to be running for your life sometimes, better be good at running
>>6049505>> Keep at it. Make it a habit. If you're going to be running for your life sometimes, better be good at running.
>>6049522>>6049548>>6049559>>6049833>>6049962>>6049963It hurts. Why does it fucking hurt to breath, like there's a long needle rammed down your throat? Then there's the ache of your hand, the jabbing of your ribs. But yeah. You need this. Can't run out of breath while some freaky dog is chasing you. So you'll keep pushing. Every fucking morning, no matter how much it sucks. Work is shit, as usual, made a little worse by the layer of barely wiped off sweat, but no one has the balls to call you out on the fact that you smell like a gym bag. And hey, the sight of the stitches on your hand is enough to freak out the pain in the ass customers. Not a single granny whined about how you handled their bananas.Two day stretch of work ahead. Your attention wanders to what you'll do during the evenings....> Take it easy. Heal.> Practice your crossbow some more.> Stake out with cheap tuna to try and bag some Jorhounds. Should be easy money if you can ambush them.> Do a couple stakeouts with some Tuna and
>>6050489> Take it easy. HealCan't hunt with a broken body
>>6050489>> Take it easy. Heal
>>6050489>> Stake out with cheap tuna to try and bag some Jorhounds. Should be easy money if you can ambush them.
>>6050489>take it easyIf we keep smelling like a gym bag and have stitches, we are inviting staph. Wash up, and be human for a little. Since we are a wagie we should at least know what's on discount, maybe stack a staff discount if we have it. Eggs, pasta and ketchup on cheap for dinner. Maybe one dented beer. >andtry out various positions for the quiver for best draw while running, and practice loading and nocking blind. We'll need to manage this mindless, so we can save brainspace for thinking and panicking.
>>6050489> Take it easy. Heal.
>>6050496>>6050505>>6050512>>6050652>>6050859Maybe it's best not to push it. Jog in the morning. Try not to snap and start throwing eggs at customers. Get home and rest, let your body heal. Do it all again. Seriously contemplate 'accidently' throwing a container of mayo at a wall. Rest. Pay your share of the rent, holy fuck rent is expensive. Ok, you've got twenty bucks, you get paid five hundred tomorrow, you've got five eye stones, which is basically five hundred bucks, or... something from Norse God Amazon apparently. You'll get paid again before rent is due and as long as you keep to cheap food and cheep liquor...Maybe you could end the month ahead even? If you find something to hunt anyway. Tomorrow is your day off after all.> Weren't you supposed to drop by and get your stitches out that day?> Maybe you should burn a stone or two on something?> Time for the stakeout, the Jorhounds won't know what hit them
>>6051233> Weren't you supposed to drop by and get your stitches out that day?No reason to take unnecessary risks- if we wanna last in this business, we gotta take very good care of our health
>>6051233>get your stitches outDr Elf has a work ethic that will make him rap our hovel door at 5AM. If we stress him less he might dislike us less. And if stitches get left in too long they get pus-y. Let's not do that in case we need to chase something down the sewers.In passing, ask Dr Elf how to get fewer stitches. From Jorhounds, say. And sexy men with Mesmer powers.And the grass muck he gave us worked wonderful. Does he have anything helpful in surplus from his doctor's bag? A little expired but still good? Maybe we can scurry for him a little in payment.If we pick up some faerie first aid knowledge and supplies from Dr Elf we'll be more well rounded when "what's the worst that can happen?" happens, which seems to be the typical Saturday night for us.
>>6051233>> Maybe you should burn a stone or two on something?
>>6051246+1
>>6051233>> Weren't you supposed to drop by and get your stitches out that day?
>>6051246>>6051332>>6051361>>6051445>>6051608You stare at the address on the card and sigh. Yeah, better drop by, rather than getting woken up at 5AM again. You take a bus halfway and then continue through a shabby part of town, eventually finding the plain looking building with a dull brown sign stuck to the door. Traditional Medicine. You step in, just a little worried, was this really the place you wanted taking out your stitches? It occurs to you that maybe it would have been smarter to have seen a doctor, not that you really had the money for it. Big Mart definitely wasn't big on health insurance. The inside reeks, a collection of herbs, leather and a slight tinge of blood. A couple actual fucking oil lanterns in the middle of the room were the main light, though further in you can see the flash of sunlight, though wasn't it cloudy today? Cheap looking plastic shelves loaded with new age junk fill the room, crystals and herb packets, good luck charms and dream catchers and trinkets hacked off of a dozen religions and cultures. A bright eyed and almost comically short woman pops up, brown hair spilling around her face and over her shoulders. She speaks, bouncing a little, smiling nervously. "Hiya! Sorry about the light, Valen, my boss, doesn't really like electric light, which is kind of cool, but...uhm, anyway, is there anything I can get you?" You practically flinch from the Morning Person energy.> "I'm here to see Valen about some stitches?"> God this sounds stupid, "Do you have healing...potions?"> "Are you part of the...hunting business?" Is there a codeword or something? Slang? Is there supposed to be a guild or something?
>>6052281> "I'm here to see Valen about some stitches?"> Groan. "Everything about this has to do with Norse myth or something. So who are you supposed to be?"
