Mate, the way Hickey was talking about it, I think he'd let the bear ride him if it asked nicely. He's obsessed. Thinks it's like, some ultimate power he can control and not some fucked up grizzly bear or something.
There is a certain level of crazy bastard I'm willing to tolerate - and you're lucky there is, or I probably wouldn't be your warden - but a fucking bear cult is well beyond the pale.
[...no, that's deflecting and he knows it. There's a moment's quiet as he takes a drink and just sighs.]
If I'm not gonna let him wallow in his self-loathing sacrificial bullshit, by virtue of being one of the only people who can call him out on it properly, he's not gonna let me wallow in mine.
Do you know how hard it is to get that man to say anything good about himself? At least you have some shallow sense of self worth. In that you know you look good in tight t-shirts. He doesn't even have that.
Why is it that I, the literal bad guy here, is the one who has zero self esteem problems?
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A mutineer cannibal virgin who can't drive.
A mutineer cannibal with a worse name than Hickey, which, granted, is almost impossible.
I don't know. I could go on.
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[He just wants Jacobi to suffer in that knowledge.]
Second, everything you've got is absolutely wrong, because the correct answer is mutineer cannibal evil-murder-ghost-bear cult leader wannabe.
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But also.
What?
Tim. Tell me more right now.
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And Hickey...also no.
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[There's the tell-tale hiss of a beer bottle opening in the background.]
There's this giant fuck-off god-bear. That actively hates everyone and can commit murder in the first degree. Premeditated murder.
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That's amazingly terrible.
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So you know how Blanky wants to be your friend now? The bear ripped his entire fucking leg off.
Hickey said it killed something like half their crew.
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So he hates this thing, right?
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What a lunatic.
Glad you found that out now, buddy.
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And also nearly decked the little twat for slagging off about you.
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Why waste the energy when I can do it myself but harder and better? Also, you're a warden. You shouldn't be starting fights.
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Hey. Speaking of insecurity.
Fucking Jon.
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Fucking Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
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Told him I'd help him out, too. Since you seem to have it covered for the moment.
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I told him about what turned the other me into an avatar. Seems like it was a pretty juicy one since he had the energy to tear into me afterwards.
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[...no, that's deflecting and he knows it. There's a moment's quiet as he takes a drink and just sighs.]
If I'm not gonna let him wallow in his self-loathing sacrificial bullshit, by virtue of being one of the only people who can call him out on it properly, he's not gonna let me wallow in mine.
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Do you know how hard it is to get that man to say anything good about himself? At least you have some shallow sense of self worth. In that you know you look good in tight t-shirts. He doesn't even have that.
Why is it that I, the literal bad guy here, is the one who has zero self esteem problems?
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CW language lmao
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