Round 6 Transcript

The abandoned church looms ahead, its stone facade weathered by time and neglect. The moon hangs heavy overhead, casting long shadows across the overgrown grounds. Jeane steps forward with a nervous energy, her hand lingering near the hilt of a dagger she barely knows how to use. The others hesitate behind her, their breaths visible in the cool night air. A faint sound comes from within—the creak of floorboards settling perhaps, or something else entirely? Clarice's eyes widen. "We should go back—this place is clearly haunted!"

Jeane stands before the altar in the abandoned church, her dark wings half-spread for balance. This place has potential — isolated, plenty of surface area, the echoes will carry sound beautifully if properly amplified. She traces a sigil on the stone floor. We need to secure it first though. Clarice mentioned neighbors who wander this side of town. Unwanted visitors during… delicate rituals could be problematic.

Jeane glances at her exhausted companions. You two look like you've been run over by a carriage full of dildos, but we don't have luxury of rest yet. The authorities might already be sniffing around — that priest's body isn't going to explain itself away. We need alibi and we need it fast.

Jeane walks to the window, peeking out through the dusty glass. Julia at the bar mentioned a city council meeting tomorrow night. If we can place ourselves there, visibly tipsy and gossiping about nothing important, that buys us time. But we need witnesses who'll corroborate our story without knowing what it's really for.

Jeane turns back to the group, her crimson eyes gleaming with mischief. Here's plan: we sober up fast, then we get drunk in public again. Very publicly. Julia owes me favors — I can get us into that meeting as 'concerned citizens.' We ask stupid questions about streetlights or something, make sure everyone remembers our faces and voices.

Jeane starts pacing, her nude form moving with predatory grace. While we're doing that, I'll cast detect magic on the entire church. If there's any lingering traces of what happened here tonight, I need to know exactly what we're dealing with before Clarice shows up tomorrow. She runs a clawed finger along an ancient candelabra. This place is supposed to be haunted — maybe there's truth to that, and maybe it's relevant.

Jeane stops, fixing her companions with a serious look. And someone needs to keep watch outside while we're in the meeting. We can't afford another surprise visit from anyone — or anything. I'm counting on you two to actually pay attention this time instead of getting distracted by your own bodily fluids.

Jeane smirks, though there's an edge to it. As for Clarice… I'll handle the recruitment pitch tomorrow evening. But we need to prep this church like it's a fucking boudoir — clean, smell nice, candles lit, maybe some soft music if we can manage it without drawing attention. We want her excited and curious, not scared off by priestly ghost juice.

Jeane moves to the door, one hand on the handle. Thoughts? Suggestions? Or are we just going to stand here marinating in our own filth while the noose tightens?

I catch Clarice's nervous eyes darting between us, her fingers twisting the fabric of her borrowed coat. The church air is heavy with humidity and anticipation—she's either excited or terrified, maybe both. Julia stands closer now, radiating heat like a radiator on high.

"Wait," I say to Julia, holding up a hand without breaking eye contact with Clarice. "We need her clear." My gaze lingers on the young woman's face, noting the flush creeping up her neck and the way she's leaning forward slightly despite herself. "Clarice—you're here because you want this? You understand what 'corruption' means in this context?" I pause, then add with a smirk, "Or do we need to explain the birds and bees to you?"

Julia makes an exasperated noise behind me, but I ignore it. Clarice opens her mouth, closes it, then finally speaks in a rush: "I—yes. I want to try. But not if it's going to hurt anyone." Her eyes flick to Julia again, curiosity and jealousy warring across her features.

"Hurt? Darling," I chuckle darkly, stepping closer with calculated nonchalance, "the only thing that'll hurt is your inhibitions." I glance back at Julia—she's watching us with barely restrained impatience, arms crossed over her chest. Time to move this along before she loses what little patience she has left.