The Sharpesvale Chronicles, Chapter 503

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In which a fire is bon.

Theresa: Everything set for this afternoon’s engagement?
Cory: Oh, yes. We’re gonna school them but good.

What’re we talking about?

Cory: WE are talking about GYPSY KIDNAPPERS. I don’t know what YOU’RE talking about.

I pity the handheld gamer who hasn’t got a 3DS or a Switch.

Cory: I pity all nerds equally.

Theresa: Alright, our contact faxed me the address.
Cory: …”faxed”?
Theresa: Our contact is old, she thinks email is just fancy fax.

Theresa: You ready to go, fancyfax?

Cory: Let me ingest some gypsy-killing fuel first.

Theresa: Play your cards right, and later on, I might ingest y-

NO

Theresa: You’ve let worse statements proceed.

Theresa: I’m glad we sprung for the low-key, subtle sports car option.

Cory: I might be a secret agent, but I’m not avoiding the finer things in life for anybody.

Cory: Go away, lady, you’re just Theresa with different hair.

Cory: I like Theresa’s better.

Where IS Theresa?

Theresa: In the trunk.


Cory: Alright. If our information is good, I’m speaking very loudly outside a building full of very angry cultural appropriators who probably shouldn’t be alerted to our presence or things will go very badly so I’m gonna stop.

Theresa: And if MY information is good, about GUNS, we are POINTING OUR GUNS AT EACH OTHER.

Cory: Fair point, fair point

Cory: FUCK IT, IT’S RAINING

Cory: RAINING LEAD

Hallelujah.

Cory: CORRRRYYYYYYYY a-HUFFFFFMANNNNNN

Brenda Bertino: WAIT! I’M TOO MANY MINORITIES TO DIE!

Starla Bertino: Bertinos, ASSEMBLE!

Brenda: THAT’S SOME KICK-BACKY SHOOTINS YOU GOT THERE, BUDDY

Cory: DUE PROCESS, BITCHES

Starla: Wait! Shouldn’t we swordfight instead?
Theresa: No, the warehouse full of fake gypsies is already a lot for people’s suspension of disbelief, thanks very much.

Theresa: Thanks very much for EATING MY BULLETS

The Grim Reaper: AH, I SEE THE HARVEST FESTIVAL HAS BEGUN.

The Grim Reaper: THIS ONE’S STILL TWITCHING, YOU MIGHT WANNA PLUG HER AGAIN

Marion Sell: SELL YOUR LIVES DEARLY, MY DEARIES!

You guys really wanna go out on name-based jokes?

Theresa: They lived their lives as clothing-based jokes, so why not.

♪ Now my advice for those who die ♪

♪ Declare the pennies on your eyes ♪

Cory: ♪ ‘cuz I’m Attacks Man! ♪

Cory: ♪ Oh yeah, I’m Attacks Maaaaaannnnnn ♪

Cory: ♪ And you’re sticking… your… sword, through… your… head…? ♪

Marion: ADMITTEDLY NOT MY FINEST MANEUVER

Cory: The bullets seem a bit superfluous, at this point.

Kiera: Just ONE swordfight.
Theresa: *sigh*
Kiera: Pleeeeeeease?

Theresa: Alright, but I reserve the right to get fed up and start shooting.

Aiyana: Do you hear a ticking sound?

Theresa: I’d be surprised if you ALL didn’t.

Marion: I’m GOING TO THAT BIG CARAVAN IN THE SKY, FOLKS

Just, fucking… stop it, would you?

Cory: No, let it continue. Live as a racist caricature, die as a racist caricature.

Theresa: I’m glad we’re killing them all.
Kiera: That’s an awfully bold prediction.

Theresa: At most you’re gonna injure my wardrobe.

Kiera: That so.

Theresa: …maybe should’ve followed through with that?

Cory: Goddamn sweaty palms…

Aiyana: TIME TO SING YOUR SWEATY PSALMS!
Cory: Full points for trying.

Theresa: No further points awarded.

Theresa: Oh, is that your “Stab me! Please!” pose?

Theresa: Let me take you a hand.

Kiera: Wait! Lose by the sword, die by the sword!

Theresa: …the ticking stopped.
Kiera: Lousy discount bombage.

Theresa: Yeah, when you shop explosives, you go government.

Theresa: There’s nothing to blow down there, dearie.

Theresa: And everything to blow over there.

Kiera: …oh! You mean blow UP.

Kiera: Took me a moment.

Aiyana: Kinda want to see what’s about to happen.
Cory: Yeah, don’t stab me for a minute.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

Kiera: I think you mean “a second.

Cory: I didn’t see it. Was it cool?
Aiyana: It was pretty cool, yeah.

Theresa: So, there’s a minimum safe distance for those things! Good to know.

Theresa: I’ll put it in my report.

Cory: OOF.
Aiyana: OAF.

Aiyana: So…are you… protecting me, or…
Cory: I am protecting in relation to you.

Aiyana: You’re gonna stab me, aren’t you.
Cory: Unless I think of something cooler to do.

Cory: Or something HOTTER

The Grim Reaper: DAMMIT. I JUST HAD THESE ROBES DEFUMIGATED.

Cory: DANCE
Aiyana: What?

Cory: ♪ INTO THE FIRE ♪

Cory: I’ve always wanted to do that.

Aiyana: Come on in! The fire’s lovely.

This looks like a mid-2000s movie poster.

Cory: May I please have my weapon back.

Cory: So, that’s a “no,” then.

Cory: Can’t say I blame you.

Aiyana: Good news! The bullets are exploding.

Cory: Good news! Ghosts can’t shoot guns.

Theresa: Good news! I’m not dead.

Theresa: Which is rapidly becoming a distinguishing characteristic around here.

Theresa: Oh, Cory. I love what we’ve done with this place.

The Grim Reaper: PLEASE DON’T LOOK.

Theresa: This doesn’t mean I don’t think you still might be evil.
Cory: I would never think anything would mean something that hard to say.

Theresa: Speaking of HARD.
Cory: GIRLS DON’T GET HARD

Cory: …DO girls get hard?

Cory: I have a bad feeling about this.
Theresa: You’re thinking babyque?

Cory: I’m thinking LIVE BABY.

Cory: Yep! Dangit.

Cory: Then again! It’s a free Ember sex-ticket.

Cory: Then again again, pretty much everything is a free Ember sex-ticket.

Theresa: Do you think they mistreated her?
Cory:
Theresa: …yes, okay, the barbecue. Yes.

Cory: Speaking of THE BARBECUE.

Theresa: Do you think we got them all?
Cory: Oh, yeah, definitely.

Next time: the work is not enough.

This chapter depicts gameplay from 21 February 2013.

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