Round 178 Transcript

Security guards, their flashlights casting eerie shadows on the shed walls, step cautiously inside. One guard's eyes scan the area, his gaze lingering on the stack of pallets and oil drums. The other guard's attention focuses on Jeane, now clad in a thin towel, her teeth still chattering with cold. "Looks like they're just trying to warm up," he mutters, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engines from the nearby emergency services. The guards exchange a skeptical glance, their hands resting on the grips of their stun guns.

Jeane shivers violently under the thin towel, her pale skin still covered in goosebumps. I'm not putting on a show for these perverts! She hisses at Silra, They don't need to see me half-naked! She tries to cover herself with what little remains of her dignity, but the cold is making it nearly impossible to stay upright. Her shield magic flickers dangerously as she struggles to maintain focus. Just... just keep them talking and distract them somehow! I can barely hold this shield much longer! Her crimson eyes dart between Silra and the security guards, calculating risks and possibilities. If they come any closer, we're fucked—my magic won't last. We need a distraction or an escape route before these assholes decide to 'help' us out of our clothes!

Silra's fingers curl into fists, her mind racing through options. These fuckers are here for paperwork, not heroism. She mutters, "If they touch us, we fight dirty—no magic, no weapons, just.". She scans the workbench again—a heavy wrench catches her eye.*

The cold makes her hands clumsy as she tries to grip it subtly. They'll expect gratitude or embarrassment, not coordination. We play innocent victims long enough for them to lower their guard. Her voice drops to a stage whisper, "Jeane, trust me for thirty seconds and act terrified." She deliberately shivers, teeth chattering convincingly—hypothermia aftereffects helping the performance. "Officers! Please help us!" Her tone is pitched just right—a mix of relief and shame.*

Her hands are visible and open as she faces them, "We got separated from our group in the collapse. We just found this shed and were trying to stay warm." She gestures vaguely at their state—soaked clothes, huddled position. The wrench is now behind her back, grip firm despite cold fingers.*

The hypothermia makes her coordination off but her mind remains sharp, "We're so grateful you found us. We were so scared of the water pressure building up..." Her teal eyes widen with convincing innocence as she lies smoothly.