The Crowning Of Clara Murphy

[etcircenses]

Who| Everyone.
What| The Crowning of Clara Murphy
Where| A refurbished former-medical building within Capitol. 
When| Starting from late afternoon, going into the evening and late night.
Warnings/Notes| Don't forget, peacekeepers are on high alert and will notice any rebellious activity or odd behaviour. 

The theme of the ceremony is corruption and dystopia, with a distinct nod to futuristic aspects and, of course, robots. The room is stark, clean, and foreboding, all done in metallics, crisp whites, and the occasional bit of robotics set up as art. It speaks as an unholy cross between a medical office, a military base, and an extremely well kept prison.

The ceremony is both a chance for Capitolites to have fun and be grateful for the grand and glorious Panem which in no way exemplifies any attributes of dystopia, while also working as a not so subtle reminder to the troublemakers out there of what can happen when things get out of line. Which they surely won't, with all the peacekeepers around.

Tributes are dressed in all manner of thing incorporating chains, rope, caution tape, muzzles, bars and cages, prison stripes, and uniform orange-- all things reminiscent of imprisonment and restriction. Some tributes may be made to look scuffed up, like cartoon-ish depictions of hardened thugs. There are a few references to robotics, and that of evil and corrupt military men and police officers, but all tributes will be marked by some manner of cuff or chain that clearly denotes them as “criminals”.

They’ll also be given a “prison number” that is actually indicative of their district association and an arbitrary letter next to it, for example, someone from district six will have 06 and the first letter of their name. It will be temporarily tattooed somewhere visible on their skin. It can be washed off but it will take more scrubbing than would be done in a single day, let alone a crowning.

The only exceptions to these rules, are those who have been brought to the winner’s table; all those who can be deemed as cyborgs, scientists, and of course, the victor herself. Her throne sits at the head of the table, a robotic contraption that appears almost as though it might encase her. For a crown, Clara has been given one that seems to bear resemblance to a white picket fence, which, when made into a crown, looks far sharper than the idyllic home setting it’s meant to represent.

Avoxes are all dressed as members of the corrupt Detroit military police. The uniforms are naturally given a more sinister edge. None of them are comfortable. All of them are serving “Detriotto” staple foods.

Around the crowning, flat hologram projections of hockey games can be seen. They show the games of a team called “The Rouge Wings” and alternate that with the less spectacular showings of what appears to be a young boy’s hockey team. Commercials fill the times between promoting the work of Capitol’s peacekeepers, showing appreciation for them on an individual level, encouraging obedience in citizens with pleasant clips of peacekeepers speaking to children, and suggesting recruitment in the truly good and noble of Panem. Capitolites may nod along to these as they giggle at the sight of decorative signs, that are most certainly from Clara’s lesser world, about obeying, consuming, and so on, to a less than favourable government. A few posters feature Clara Murphy’s face in four colour palettes, all humorous jabs at dystopia proclaiming; “MOTHER MURPHY IS WATCHING YOU”.

But hockey games are not the only things that can be seen on the projection screens; if tributes take the time to look, they may see their own face projected above in profile and facing forward views like that of mug shots. Though, how the capitol has managed to get these pictures may be entirely a mystery. Besides these mugshots, criminal records are displayed, listing crimes from “lied to their parents” to petty theft to murder. Whether these records are true or not may be up for much debate.

In the mean time, there are plenty of things for party go-ers to do, such as take part in the David For A Day egg and spoon race, in which tributes will all have a chance to dress up (with wigs and matching clothing of all sizes!) as the mysterious David, compete against others, and should they win, be dubbed David For A Day, winning themselves a banner they can wear and a spot at the victor table.

There is also an obstacle course available dubbed the "Clarence Boddicker Memorial Prison Funhouse" designed to look, you guessed it, like a prison. Fun for all ages and demeanours!

For those looking for retreat, there’s a small section cut away from it all, designed to be a pleasant backyard patio setting opened to a starry night sky and small surrounding garden, in stark contrast to the rest of the place. There’s a small area for dancing in, that can really only accommodate one couple at a time, but is nevertheless perfect for a romantic scene. Only two songs play over speakers here, one perfectly fitting, the other a little more jarring. It’s also here that party go-ers can get their picture taken with a life sized ED-209. Many more much smaller ED-209’s can be seen around and within the crowning party. As well as the occasional roomba, which fans of the last arena will surely get a chuckle out of.

As the crowning nears it’s end, those at the victor’s table will be given paintball guns filled up with red paint. They will be ordered to bring the criminals to justice! The criminals being all the other tributes. Those hit with paint will be made to wait within the Memorial Prison Funhouse until all the criminals are apprehended and forced to do their time! No one will be allowed to go back to the tribute tower until all the criminals are caught.

Comments

[69problems]

There's something almost sweet about this that the Signless can't entirely explain. Pure joy and delight isn't something he's used to seeing from the Initiate; in fact, he hasn't seen him this happy since before the arena when they were flinging paint at each other. It really drives home just how young he is, something so easy to forget when he's in a more negative mood.

"Of course." It makes sense that he'd want to keep close to him anything that reminded him so strongly of home, something so integral to his faith.

"And are you going to drink all of it on your own?"

He isn't sure if a very drunk Fraysong would be a good thing or a bad thing. Probably a bit of both.

[carnagecarnival]

What Signless may or may not know is that it is impossible to get drunk off of a mere soda. As least, it is for most humans, and it is for this troll's lot. All that bliss of him is entirely his own. Something pure and good and sweet as that of chocolate. Something what gets worth melting up into even when it ain't doing no thing or other, really.

The Initiate blinks up at Signless. Then at the soda around.

"WELL... YEAH. Yeah I motherfucking was. BUT I AIN'T GOT TO." He reaches over for a bottle and then, with little warning, tosses it.

"Elixir always tastes the motherfuck better when you's getting to be kicking it back with a motherfucker."

[69problems]

Signless's reflexes are thankfully good enough that he just barely manages to lift his hands in time to catch the bottle, the metal chain of his left cuff clacking against the plastic. He turns the bottle around in his grip to inspect the label. Huh.

Sugar has always effected him differently than alcohol; it's not entirely the same sort of intoxication. Alcohol is more intense, sugar is more just a temporary loftiness. It stands to reason that it would be different from troll to troll (and it might have a lot to do with his small frame and how very infrequently he drinks either sort of drink).

"Ah. Thank you?"

He's tempted to ask just to be sure that it wouldn't be rude or blasphemous for a non-believer to drink it, but then, it's being offered by the most pious troll he knows. That's answer enough. With only a little trepidation he uncaps it and lifts it to his lips.

Oh, wow. He can confidently say it's unlike anything he's ever tasted, and that surprise is written all across his face.

"... I can see why you hold this sacred. It's... something."

[carnagecarnival]

"YOU'RE MOTHER FUCKIN WELCOME."

The Initiate is perfectly content to just sit back, settling into his elixirs like a king on throne or just a troll what's totally at peace for this short sweet moment. His eyes close in that moment, but one of them peaks open a short second later, as he watches the Signless expend far more nervousness than is truly needed of a simple soda.

Motherfuckers is just so goddamn nervous about the motherfucking things. He's part amused and part utterly baffled by it all.

Sure enough, with a taste, he's hooked the brother in and he grins. On over to him goes the thumbs up. You did it Kankri Vantas. You sipped the motherfucking soda. Good for you.

"It's sweet," He says, with a bob of his head. "AS HOW THE MIRACLES AND ALL OF LIFE AND OTHERWISE SHOULD GET THE FUCK AT TO UP AND BE. It's something beautiful is what."

[69problems]

In some ways he's more the Beforan Kankri still than he realizes. Being overly-worried about offending those he cares for is one of those ways. Especially knowing how important the Initiate's faith is to him, it's no wonder he does his best to tread lightly around it.

Now that he has the go-ahead and has discovered that the wicked elixer is in fact delicious, he doesn't bother treading lightly at all.

"That's a nice way to think of it," he says as he takes another, much less cautious sip. "I really am beginning to think that I need to learn more about your religion in earnest. So far most everything you've told me I've liked."

Removed from the influencing claws of a corrupt empire, the cult of the mirthful messiahs is almost... nice. Who knew.

[carnagecarnival]

His head tilts to the side. He peers at Signless that way, a grin pulled up on one side and a brow raised. "YOU MOTHERFUCKING SERIOUS, BRO?"

Damn. Holy bitchtits of a motherfucking ninja legit.

Did he really just snag a possible convert of Alternia's most infamous and notorious motherfucking heretic?

"Well shit, motherufucker, what all is you wanting at to know?"

[69problems]

Not a convert -- at least, he has no intention of donning the facepaint himself at the moment. He can't really see that changing no matter how fascinating he finds the Initiate's religion. On the other hand, he's been surprised before.

"Anything. Everything. You know best where someone ought to start if they want to learn, I'd assume."

[carnagecarnival]

Where to start if someone wanted to learn? Well, one didn't just waltz on into carnival without believing what things was legit. Motherfuckers could make nice on the little things all they wanted, but it didn't make them Mirthful.

"WE BELIEVE IN A PROPHECY. Scared shit be held true up in our blood pushers. IT IS A MOTHER FUCKING PROPHECY BEING OF THE MINSTRELS TO RISE. With the coming of a paradise planet, the Capricious Minstrels will arise and guide the chosen to the promised Shangri-la. THEY WILL DISCOVER FOR THEMSELVES THE WORK OF THE MESSIAHS AND BE LED BY THE HOLY TWO ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING WAY. It is duty of the faithful to serve them entire, and to clear the path to shangri-La." He speaks with one hand folded over his heart. He's straightened up his back, sitting cross-legged on the floor, and all elixirs have been set down.

"THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS ARE BEINGS OF PERFECT BALANCE. They rule over the many worlds as opposing elements working in motherfuckin unison. DESTRUCTION AND CREATION BOTH. No part more important than the other."

[69problems]

So... a scripture of balance and equality, of all parts of the universe being integral to the whole. It's not exactly what he used to picture when he knew so little of the faith.

"And what marks someone as chosen? Is it the presence of belief that guarantees one a place in your paradise, or can someone find themselves called to serve the Messiahs even with little knowledge of the faith?"

[carnagecarnival]

What a wonderful question. It shows clear that the Initiate is delighted by it. This is the exact sort of thing what he enjoyed.

"BOTH!" He says, with a laugh. "Messiahs have many whom they speak unto. IT BE NOT UNHEARD ENTIRE THAT A PROPHET KNOWS TOO OF THEIR PREACH. Many trolls are Messiah blessed without even their motherfucking fathom. THE TRUE PARADISE STILL LIES AHEAD, MY BROTHER, NOT EXCLUSIVE TO AFTERS. You see, there is much to be done, paths what all must be followed, tasks fulfilled. ONLY THEN WILL STEPPING CASINGS ON AT TO TRUE PARADISE BE CLEAR FOR THY FEET TO TREAT THE MOTHERFUCK UPON, AND IT'S WAY WILL BE MARKED WITH THE SOUNDING OF HORNS."

It is hard to talk of the church without going into sounding like a preacher. He always gets doing the hand gestures up and on for them. But of all people, the Signless is the last what to judge, he figures.

"We who are chosen are but their most loyal and faithful," He continues. "WE ARE CHOSEN AS FOR BEING THEY WHO ARE THE MESSIAHS HANDS. It is only manner on being so faithful to the Messiahs' word that we are chosen. IT IS TO US OUR TRUE MOTHERFUCKING SELVES BE REVEALED! And so we paint face with the revelation as what are souls is to be. MOST CERTAINLY, BELIEF CALLS UPON EASY ENTRY THROUGH THE GATES OF THE DARK CARNIVAL. But believe I do, should a motherfucker be open enough in hear and mind, they may hear their word on anyways as all they meet the ticket taker."

[69problems]

Oh, of course the Signless can't judge, not when he does the exact same thing. He's well-acquainted with slipping into an entirely different way of speaking when he's trying to explain something near and dear to his bloodpusher, used to not just speaking with his hands but pacing as he does it, so it barely registers to him that that's what the Initiate is doing. Of course he is. Why wouldn't he be?

"So that is what the paint is for. I was never sure how to ask -- I knew it was a marker of the faith but not its significance. Is there a particular reason you chose the design that you did? Or was it given to you?"

[carnagecarnival]

"DON'T YOU GOT AT FOR KNOWING YET?" He laughs. "Of both things was it like to be. A MIRTHFUL SEEKS THEIR PAINT AND CHOOSING, MAKING ON FOR THE RITE MANY A TIME TO BE OF FINDING THE RIGHT. It is moments of revelation, that paint is chosen as what will be worn the rest of a faithful's life. IT IS IN MOMENTS OF HALLOWED MOTHERFUCKING DIVINE REVELATION THAT THE MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS BESTOW THEIR TRUTHS FOR WHAT IS TO BE AND WHO YOU REALLY ARE AND GET AT TO BEING." He's still grinning away as he goes on. "Every paint's got meaning. OR IT'S SUPPOSED TO. You can tell, with some, just by looking. MY OTHER SELF OF BEFORUS CLAIMS POISE AND PRECISION. A determination on what things be done and clever covering but to those who look close to find meaning. AND ABOVE ALL THINGS, A KNOWING OF DEATH. This can be seen just by looking. MY DESCENDANT, BROTHER, WAS OF LAUGHTER. His paint is mirth and amusement in the face of all things. THE BAD AND THE GOOD, ALWAYS A SMILE UPON HIM."

He lifts a hand up to his painted face, gesturing to the whole of it, from mask part and where is comes away looking like the tendrils of some eldritch thing or a hungry unearthly flame, to the toothy grin of fangs beneath. He says, all serene, "My true face is fear. FEAR BE THE FALL OF THE UNPREPARED, CREATURE CROWNED CONSUMING. But still it is more. FEAR IS A SURVIVAL INSTINCT. It will save your life, inspire protection of those what you motherfucking care for, and be important for the overcoming when you find that which must be motherfucking faced. FEAR IS A HOLY THING. A miracle what ain't proper appreciated, but I got my fondness natural. CONTROL, CREATION, DESTRUCTION, FEELING OF SOULS THROUGH THE CHUCKLEVOODOO. Got all lot of good at to it." He doesn't expect Signless to understand. He'd not expect anyone without the holy fear in them to get it, and even then.

There, he breathes deep. He's still not yet explained how it came to be. That part is trickier and easier all at the same time. "I FOUND ON MY COUNTENANCE CLEAR SOME SWEEPS BEFORE I CAME ON ACROSS YOU. Don't know if you ever saw or heard of it, but there's a thing what's called the travelling church. THE MOTHER FUCKIN TRAVELLING CARNIVAL. Goes all over Alternia. HOLDS THE BEST OF THE BEST BUT FOR THOSE IN THE COURT OF THE GRAND HIGHBLOOD THEIRSELF. It's a glory to behold, so full of beauty." He dreamed endlessly of a travelling Carnival like that. Somewhere, somehow, being Grand Highblood got being more important. He can't remember why, except that... "NEVER BEFORE HAD I LEFT MY HIVE SO LONG. The old goat and all, y'know." Except the goat. Then Kankri. Then settling into an immobile throne after the cull of his lusus, according to a book what told his future.

He laughs suddenly, a little hollow sounding. "THIS AIN'T BEING A STORY JOYOUS AND ALL OF TRIUMPH DONE UP. I ain't mind telling but I don't know if as you'll like it." Signless ain't a beacon of purity and goodness. He knows that. And in the real way now, not where he just mistakes it all for a treacherous lie. All the same, he shies from judgement on times of his youth.

[69problems]

He gets it perhaps more than Fraysong might think, appreciating fear. Fear has often kept him alive, particularly on Alternia where fear of discovery led him to keep his work and his talks so carefully-guarded that they were able to continue for as long as they did. He understands the value of keeping in mind the dangers that that world holds. He even understands fear of the self -- how many times has he been terrified of hurting someone else, of making a situation worse, of irreparably damaging something because of his own failings? It's not quite the same, but it's better than not understanding at all.

"I'll listen if it's a story you'd like to tell, but you needn't feel as though you have to. You can leave it at that and I'd be content."

Still, he's curious.

[carnagecarnival]

He says yes. He says it's being alright to continue. Just as much as it is to stop, and for a second, he considers doing it. Maybe it'd be better. Keep it all safe and settled that way. Let the reason of his paint stay a quiet secret kept only with him.

But Signless is listening. He's got the motherfucker right here getting a listen on, and some part of him hopes that, maybe, it won't be so bad to tell this to him. So he tries.

"I WANNA TELL IT. It so happened, while I was being gone, my hive had been free for the taking, and so it had motherfucking been," He starts up again. "THEY WAS ALL GETTING BEING ON MAD PARANOIAS GONE FOR EVERY MOTHERFUCKING THING COMING DOWN ON HIM. Everything but me. HE WAS AFRAID MY DA WOULD COME AND EAT HIM, IF HE CULLED ME. So I knew, when he found out it was just being me, I was over. I HEARD THE MESSIAHS. I picked up scripture. GOT HIS NUGBONE CRACKED DOWN ON AS ALL THE MOTHERFUCKER TURNED ROUNDWAYS MINE."

He sniffs, making a face like he's not sure how to tell this is calm and plain as he wants it to be. He'd forgotten this. For so long he had forgotten, not the details of the events, but the feeling of it. The knowing that before then hadn't all been just the same.

He says, "That was my first cull. THOUGHT FOR A WHILE THERE MUST HAVE BEEN MORE BEFORE. But naw, truth got on me that that was being that. AND ALL THAT MOTHERFUCKING TIME, WHAT I THOUGHT WAS, IF THIS MOTHERFUCKER HAD FEARED ME HE'D NOT BE DEAD. If this troll had feared me, we'd both be alive. I PAINTED MY HIVE WITH HIM. And I painted my face with what visions the Messiahs blessed me. BOTH WOULD PROTECT ME. Both would keep me motherfucking safe. AND THEY WOULD DO SO BY SCARING THE SHIT OUT OF THEM WHAT OUGHT KNOW BETTER. And it would remind I couldn't make friendly my whole way through life."

He looks down, upon the floor and his scarred up hands. He can almost feel the blood again. The bruises from holding the book so tight.

"IT WAS A LESSON LEGIT. Even if I went too far with it in some ways."

[69problems]

Hm. For a long moment the Signless just mulls that over. Truth be told it wasn't what he expected to hear from an indigo, from a subjugglator-in-training, even knowing what Fraysong was like as a younger troll. It cements a lot of his assumptions: namely, that Fraysong is not the kind to cull for the sake of culling and never has been. If this troll had feared me, we'd both be alive is not something someone who relished murder would say.

He really had misjudged the troll his best friend had grown into and privately he's grateful to have had the chance to learn better.

"So your paint is a warning, as much to protect other trolls as it is to protect yourself." Maybe it's a generous way to interpret it, but he doesn't think it's too far off the mark.

[carnagecarnival]

Never had been pushed it. He'd certainly grown to relish. It has certainly come to be a thing what he enjoyed. What drew a twitch from his digits in needing. That little memory had been marred and mussed. All left to become a point among many, and not a true start of it all. Even then he'd tried to convince himself, because that's what trolls did. They culled and loved to.

But he's back to the start, back to being aberrant again. He'd been painted as long as he had known the Signless, no one knew what he'd been before then. Now, instead, the get to see.

"I GUESS THAT IS BEING WHAT IT IS. What intentions that was had back then up at least." He looks up, tilting his head, furrowing his brow. "THAT AIN'T BOTHER? You never liked this brother cull-colored. YOU NEVER LIKED MOTHERFUCKERS WHAT WAS." Does it bother you knowing I'd been dirtied before I touched you? Maybe he ought to keep his stupid mouth shut, but he has to ask.

[69problems]

He shakes his head, takes another sip of faygo.

"One one level it bothers me as all culling bothers me, but logically I understand that sometimes on Alternia culling was the only choice someone might feel they had open to them. It's the same here in a lot of ways. A person who culls out of necessity, who culls because it's the only way they can see to survive -- how can I judge them for that? To hold everyone else to my own standards, to expect them to choose death over survival simply to avoid having blood on their hands, would be unfair of me."

[carnagecarnival]

He gets it logically, even if it still bothers the other way. He supposes that's as fair as all it could be. Afterall, he gets on both to the rampant atheism about him, but he's hardly about to do none at of it.

He nods, quiet. At least up on that note.

"So, anyway, that's what the paints being up and about. IT'S WHO YOU ARE. By the Messiahs. BY THE FAMILY WHAT'S IN THE CARNIVAL. By your own motherfucking self. IT'S WHO YOU IS TRUE AND THUS LAY ITS MATTERING!"

[69problems]

"Thank you for telling me all of this. I'm glad --"

Glad that we're at the point where we can talk freely. That we can have a normal, even personal conversation without it being ruined by one of us jamming our foot into his mouth.

"Glad to know the truth of things, and not just what I've been guessing." He's quiet for a moment, during which he takes another sip of Faygo.

"...Do you ever wonder what you might have been like if the Messiahs hadn't called upon you?"

[carnagecarnival]

"...Not really," He admits, with a frown. What he might've been without the Messiahs? The thought really never up and occurred. But that ain't proper what Signless is asking, no. It goes further than that.

"WOULD BE DEAD, LIKELY," He says. And wasn't that the truth? Too many times had the Messiah's direction steered him right. He'd only just finished telling of one instance. "If not dead then... a real sad lonely motherfucker." Imagining it without the Messiahs, all what seemed as to be hard but livable, even normal, became unbearable all at once. He imagines that hive being colorless, as well as empty. He imagines feeling nothing, not a presence at all. It feels of a hole in him.

"DON'T THINK AS I'D HAVE SURVIVED UP WITHOUT," He says. "It's family, and hope. PURPOSE AND BEAUTY. It gives me something what all to fight for. WHAT WOULD I EVEN BOTHER FOR WITHOUT THE MESSIAHS?" He truly doesn't know. "...Maybe if I found something the fuck else as to believe. MADE I'D HAVE FOLLOWED YOU SOONER." And died with him, or suffered whatever fate the Empire deemed fit of a defecting heretical highblood.

[69problems]

"Maybe you would have."

It sounds poetic -- a troll with a life completely devoid of color and meaning until a strange mutant with strange ideas came along and changed everything. It sounds like one of Karkat's novels is what it sounds like -- and he wouldn't wish that on anyone, that empty kind of existence.

"Maybe you would have given up fighting long before I'd even had a chance to meet you. I wouldn't ever want to replace your church. My words were never meant to be a religion anyway." He smiles ruefully.

[carnagecarnival]

He thinks about that. He had a lot of chance as all to simply give up. There was a point he just about had, even with the Messiahs. He'd been already to face the beauty of the afters and all too tired with the world around. Rage saved him then (and slaughtered three trolls in the process). Kept him from sacrificing the miracles what he'd been blessed.

But he thinks about following Signless too. It still sounds empty without the Messiahs, but he imagines leaning against Kankri, bare feet kicking in the sand, making idle pictures of nothing nonsense for what all ever looks beautiful. He closes his eyes. Opens them, back all to white tile.

"I knew that," He says, "Somewhere inside I'm being at to think... AT LEAST, I REMEMBERED SOME ALL FOR IT. Always wondered at them what thought you the new Messiahs." Wondered probably put it lightly. But he makes all to smirk then. "OH SEER, OUR MOTHERFUCKING LORD, HOW ALL EVER MAY WE BE TO UP AND FUCKIN LAUD THINE PLACE OF TREAD AND TRAIL," He teases. He shakes his head. "Never thought you a god... WELL, WONDERED IF AT... perhaps a sign or messenger unknowing... NEVER A GOD THOUGH."

[69problems]

He gives an odd sort of smile at the teasing, somewhere between a grin and a pronounced wince. 'Embarrassed' isn't quite the right word, but it's something like that.

"Good. I don't want to be anyone's god. I never asked to be anyone's god." He frowns down at his soda.

"You know your future. How do you deal with the thought of people worshiping you, thinking of you as some conduit to the answers to all of their questions and the solution to all of their problems? I think about people seeing me and seeing some kind of divine savior and I can't even begin to wrap my pan around it."

[carnagecarnival]

"Deal? FUCK, BROTHER, THAT'S..." He lifts a hand to rub at his neck, all wrapped in bandages as it is. He goes to fidget with the beads slung around him.

"See, I was kinda looking forward to it, if you get me? I WAS MESSIAH CHOSEN TO THEIR BE THEIR MOTHERFUCKING VOICE. I was being destined natural to see to the faithful and their foster. FINDING ANSWERING AND BESTOWING SUCH. Was all to be a part." Mind blowing to most of the troll population he's sure. A Highblood whose duties involved more than just the cull? Impossible.

With a hand extended, doing exactly what he's speaking of without realising, he says, "YOU WERE CHOSEN THEIR PROPHET. If you were not, would merely mean to say the truth, brother. YOU AIN'T TO KNOWING. You got your own riddlebox what to be solving, and they too must tend at to their motherfucking own. YOU WERE NOT THE MAKER OF PATHS. Only one singular choice in guide-illumational. JUST AS ANY MOTHERFUCKER ELSE COULD MAKE AT TO BE."

[69problems]

He hmms, looking very hard down at his hands.

"But that makes it my responsibility when people take the inspiration of my words and do terrible things in my name, doesn't it? Even if I never directly told them to. I still put the idea in their pan."