[Player leaves Embry alone for 10+ years]
The diner is dimly lit, clearly closed, and empty, save for one inhabitant, a familiar simian girl behind the bar, slowly cleaning up. Your footsteps echo oddly on the tile floor and through the garish decor as you walk in.
"It's been a long time."
Her words are soft, spoken in her familiar voice. Her voice is the cadence you remember, but weighed down now with … something. Regret? Sadness?
She turns, and in most ways she's the Embry you remember. Tall and slight, with wide eyes under gentle curls of pink hair. She sets down her tray with motions and delicacy that are the result of both repetition and deliberate practice.
And in some ways she's not the Embry you remember. There's some sandiness to the pink of her hair now, and her cheeks are less full than they used to be. You remember her delight in wearing bright colors and dresses, and the pale blue of her simple dress is a color, yes, but it's a far cry from the sunshine she once clad herself in.
Most of all, though, you remember her brightness, an overflowing delight in not just the world, but in you. In seeing you.
You try to casually strike up a conversation, asking her how she's been.
"I came to a realization a while back, while you were away again for years," she says, wiping down the counter.
You mention that it's only been [time] since you've last seen her. She looks up at you as she pulls a gray plastic bin from under the bar.
"Sorry, I guess that's an exaggeration. Sometimes it feels like it's been a year, sometimes ten years," she says absently. She sweeps past you, the tub in hand as she sets to work clearing the tables.
"When I met you, I was in awe," she says, clearing the bottles from a table. "You were this big space hero and you'd been on all these adventures I'd only read about. Flying through the stars, fighting monsters, exploring forbidden planets."
"And here I was, a waitress from nowhere, and you wanted to talk to me," she sets the tub down, and closes her eyes, sinking into the memory. "And my god, that made me feel amazing. Like this amazing galactic hero wanted to spend time with me? Me! It made me feel special, like you did all these s-spectacular things, but still thought I was w-worth talking to? And you liked me–as a woman–as I am–it was like every dream I ever h-had was c-coming true."
For just a moment, she's the Embry you remember. Bright and full of star dreams and romance and shy laughter. For a moment, she's still, face tilted up, lit by the buzzing light above her, a warm smile on her face as she rests her arms on the tub of dishes. And then the light overhead flickers, and her eyes open, the smile sliding off her face.
"Do you know what love-bombing is, Steele?" she says, picking up the tub and moving to the next table. "It's when you shower someone with gestures of affection so much that you break their brain. They can't handle it and mistake all the feelings they're having as love."
"And then when you take it away, well, they've already gotten addicted to affection. They want it back, and they're willing to do anything to get it." She pushes past you angrily, so rapidly that you slide back quickly to get out of her way and bump a table behind you.
You turn just in time to see a bottle topple from the table, the sound of breaking glass twinkling through the empty diner.
Embry looks up, her wide, expressive eyes flat and resigned. "I'm sure it wasn't intentional," she says, and you're not sure if she's referring to the bottle or … something else. Wait, is she blaming you for something? Accusing you of this?
You open your mouth to defend yourself, and she holds up a hand.
"Listen," she says, her head hanging sadly. "It's whatever now. I know who you are a little better now. You skip around the galaxy f-fucking whoever and whatever. That's you. I made up this fantasy of a space hero who would take me up to the stars with them for happily ever after and it's on me for thinking that was you."
"It's my own fault for thinking that was real …" she mutters. She heads back behind the bar and returns with a dustpan and broom.
"Listen, I still have to close up. Did you have anything you needed to say, or can I get back to work?" she stands, one hand holding the dustpan, resting on her cocked hips, the other on the broom.
[whatever]
[what happened to you?]
[can we try again?]
You figure she's said everything she needs to say and tell her goodbye.
"Goodbye, Steele," she says. Her tone is wistful, full of regret and yearning. But the lock still clicks into place as you walk out the door.
You ask her what changed, why she's so … so this now.
She quirks an eyebrow at you. "Sorry, were you expecting a warmer welcome?" She touches her fingers to her throat and coughs once or twice, clearing it. "Ohmygosh, it's Steele, the space hero!"
She crouches down to sweep up the broken bottle. "Puh-please excuse the mess! I'm just finishing up a double shift, but I'm suh-still ever-so bright and perky for you, you virile galactic hottie! I hope you don't glance up my skirt, tee hee!"
She dumps the broken glass in the bussing tub, then twirls, the hem of her powder-blue dress twirling slightly. "Now I need to go clean out the 500 spent condoms in the delightful nightmare that is the restroom," she says, in the same affected tone. She flashes you a smile, an echo of the one you remember. "But don't w-worry. I'll be all cleaned up for our date later!"
You raise a hand, telling her that you get it. The mockery of her coming from her is bizarre, and heartbreaking in a way you can't quite explain.
"Steele, you can only deal with groping customers and a horrible job for so long," she explains, picking up chairs one at time and flipping them onto the tables. "Especially when someone keeps dangling the promise of 'taking you away from all of this' in front of you. And it never. Fucking. Comes." The last three words are punctuated by a rapid slamming of the chairs.
"Now is there anything else you needed, or can I get back to my awful, fucking job?" she asks.
You ask her if you can start over, if you can take her away from all of this.
She freezes, looking you over, then lets out a very long sigh.
"You know, Steele," she says, locking eyes with you. There are lines at the corners of her eyes, and creases in her expression from where life's unhappinesses have worn grooves. Her voice is soft, full of longing, and almost tender, "If I thought you were serious, I would take the offer."
"And I hate how pathetic that makes me. God!" she throws her hands in the air and stalks away.
She returns, kicking a small automated cleaner bot to the center of the floor. "Congratulations, Embry, you win Worst Sad Sack of [game year]! Because even after falling head over heels for someone and getting abandoned by said someone, you're still madly in love with them. Good. Fucking. Job!" she says, punctuating each word with another kick to the robot.
"Oh Embry, how do you do it? Oh, it's easy if you have zero respect for yourself." Her voice is singsong as she mocks herself. The robot beeps sadly and she glares at it. "Don't you fucking start!" she snaps at it.
You wait until she stops panting to ask her if that's a yes.
"Steele, think about what you're asking," she says. "You want me to join your collection of space fuck buddies? To go into the waifu closet to be pulled out whenever you want shy girl monkey sex? Because the answer is no."
Her voice is tired. All of her is tired, really–in the way she carries herself and talks and moves. The life that she lives has worn her down.
You ask her if her life now is better than what you're offering.
"No," she admits wearily. "It's not. But I deserve a better ending than that," she straightens up, a bitterness in her voice sharp enough to cut. "I deserve someone who chooses me, not just collects me," she says.
You're not quite sure what she's saying and ask her to clarify.
"For gods sake, Steele, I'm asking you to pick me first. Not your endless missions, your abstract quests, or the hundreds on hundreds of space trysts. Me," she says, collapsing onto a booth seat.
"I waited so long for you, Steele," she said. Tears well up in her eyes as she buries her face in her hands. "You left me without a word and I waited and waited and waited. And I knew it was because you had bigger fish to fry, bigger things to do, people you wanted more than me."
She looks so small there, curled up against herself in the red vinyl booth, crying softly under the cheap fluorescent lights. "Every day you chose someone else was a realization of how little you cared about me. It killed me, Steele–it kills me to this day. I wrote stories about you coming back to sweep me off my feet, hoping it would …"
She trails off, grabbing a handful of napkins from the dispenser to blow her nose. "But after a while, I couldn't write those any more. I couldn't write anything anymore. It h-hurt too much to keep reminding myself of what was never going to happen. But you know the stupidest thing?" she takes a long, shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. "The st-stupidest thing is that I never stopped loving you, even when I realized that you never loved me."
She looks up at you, her face wet with tears, her makeup smudged and trailing. "So f-forgive me if I don't believe you can actually ch-ch-choose me," she says. "I've had ten years of evidence to the contrary."
[I guess you're right]
[good end]
You blink, stunned and a little hurt by Embry's words. It's not like you were purposefully ignoring her all this time. The galaxy is just full of things that need doing.
Instead, you bid her farewell, unsurprised by her silence.
As you slip out the door, you hear her soft voice behind you. "Goodbye, Steele."
The diner is dimly lit, clearly closed, and empty, save for one inhabitant, a familiar simian girl behind the bar, slowly cleaning up. Your footsteps echo oddly on the tile floor and through the garish decor as you walk in.
"It's been a long time."
Her words are soft, spoken in her familiar voice. Her voice is the cadence you remember, but weighed down now with … something. Regret? Sadness?
She turns, and in most ways she's the Embry you remember. Tall and slight, with wide eyes under gentle curls of pink hair. She sets down her tray with motions and delicacy that are the result of both repetition and deliberate practice.
And in some ways she's not the Embry you remember. There's some sandiness to the pink of her hair now, and her cheeks are less full than they used to be. You remember her delight in wearing bright colors and dresses, and the pale blue of her simple dress is a color, yes, but it's a far cry from the sunshine she once clad herself in.
Most of all, though, you remember her brightness, an overflowing delight in not just the world, but in you. In seeing you.
You try to casually strike up a conversation, asking her how she's been.
"I came to a realization a while back, while you were away again for years," she says, wiping down the counter.
You mention that it's only been [time] since you've last seen her. She looks up at you as she pulls a gray plastic bin from under the bar.
"Sorry, I guess that's an exaggeration. Sometimes it feels like it's been a year, sometimes ten years," she says absently. She sweeps past you, the tub in hand as she sets to work clearing the tables.
"When I met you, I was in awe," she says, clearing the bottles from a table. "You were this big space hero and you'd been on all these adventures I'd only read about. Flying through the stars, fighting monsters, exploring forbidden planets."
"And here I was, a waitress from nowhere, and you wanted to talk to me," she sets the tub down, and closes her eyes, sinking into the memory. "And my god, that made me feel amazing. Like this amazing galactic hero wanted to spend time with me? Me! It made me feel special, like you did all these s-spectacular things, but still thought I was w-worth talking to? And you liked me–as a woman–as I am–it was like every dream I ever h-had was c-coming true."
For just a moment, she's the Embry you remember. Bright and full of star dreams and romance and shy laughter. For a moment, she's still, face tilted up, lit by the buzzing light above her, a warm smile on her face as she rests her arms on the tub of dishes. And then the light overhead flickers, and her eyes open, the smile sliding off her face.
"Do you know what love-bombing is, Steele?" she says, picking up the tub and moving to the next table. "It's when you shower someone with gestures of affection so much that you break their brain. They can't handle it and mistake all the feelings they're having as love."
"And then when you take it away, well, they've already gotten addicted to affection. They want it back, and they're willing to do anything to get it." She pushes past you angrily, so rapidly that you slide back quickly to get out of her way and bump a table behind you.
You turn just in time to see a bottle topple from the table, the sound of breaking glass twinkling through the empty diner.
Embry looks up, her wide, expressive eyes flat and resigned. "I'm sure it wasn't intentional," she says, and you're not sure if she's referring to the bottle or … something else. Wait, is she blaming you for something? Accusing you of this?
You open your mouth to defend yourself, and she holds up a hand.
"Listen," she says, her head hanging sadly. "It's whatever now. I know who you are a little better now. You skip around the galaxy f-fucking whoever and whatever. That's you. I made up this fantasy of a space hero who would take me up to the stars with them for happily ever after and it's on me for thinking that was you."
"It's my own fault for thinking that was real …" she mutters. She heads back behind the bar and returns with a dustpan and broom.
"Listen, I still have to close up. Did you have anything you needed to say, or can I get back to work?" she stands, one hand holding the dustpan, resting on her cocked hips, the other on the broom.
[whatever]
[what happened to you?]
[can we try again?]
Whatever
You figure she's said everything she needs to say and tell her goodbye.
"Goodbye, Steele," she says. Her tone is wistful, full of regret and yearning. But the lock still clicks into place as you walk out the door.
What happened?
You ask her what changed, why she's so … so this now.
She quirks an eyebrow at you. "Sorry, were you expecting a warmer welcome?" She touches her fingers to her throat and coughs once or twice, clearing it. "Ohmygosh, it's Steele, the space hero!"
She crouches down to sweep up the broken bottle. "Puh-please excuse the mess! I'm just finishing up a double shift, but I'm suh-still ever-so bright and perky for you, you virile galactic hottie! I hope you don't glance up my skirt, tee hee!"
She dumps the broken glass in the bussing tub, then twirls, the hem of her powder-blue dress twirling slightly. "Now I need to go clean out the 500 spent condoms in the delightful nightmare that is the restroom," she says, in the same affected tone. She flashes you a smile, an echo of the one you remember. "But don't w-worry. I'll be all cleaned up for our date later!"
You raise a hand, telling her that you get it. The mockery of her coming from her is bizarre, and heartbreaking in a way you can't quite explain.
"Steele, you can only deal with groping customers and a horrible job for so long," she explains, picking up chairs one at time and flipping them onto the tables. "Especially when someone keeps dangling the promise of 'taking you away from all of this' in front of you. And it never. Fucking. Comes." The last three words are punctuated by a rapid slamming of the chairs.
"Now is there anything else you needed, or can I get back to my awful, fucking job?" she asks.
Can we try again?
You ask her if you can start over, if you can take her away from all of this.
She freezes, looking you over, then lets out a very long sigh.
"You know, Steele," she says, locking eyes with you. There are lines at the corners of her eyes, and creases in her expression from where life's unhappinesses have worn grooves. Her voice is soft, full of longing, and almost tender, "If I thought you were serious, I would take the offer."
"And I hate how pathetic that makes me. God!" she throws her hands in the air and stalks away.
She returns, kicking a small automated cleaner bot to the center of the floor. "Congratulations, Embry, you win Worst Sad Sack of [game year]! Because even after falling head over heels for someone and getting abandoned by said someone, you're still madly in love with them. Good. Fucking. Job!" she says, punctuating each word with another kick to the robot.
"Oh Embry, how do you do it? Oh, it's easy if you have zero respect for yourself." Her voice is singsong as she mocks herself. The robot beeps sadly and she glares at it. "Don't you fucking start!" she snaps at it.
You wait until she stops panting to ask her if that's a yes.
"Steele, think about what you're asking," she says. "You want me to join your collection of space fuck buddies? To go into the waifu closet to be pulled out whenever you want shy girl monkey sex? Because the answer is no."
Her voice is tired. All of her is tired, really–in the way she carries herself and talks and moves. The life that she lives has worn her down.
You ask her if her life now is better than what you're offering.
"No," she admits wearily. "It's not. But I deserve a better ending than that," she straightens up, a bitterness in her voice sharp enough to cut. "I deserve someone who chooses me, not just collects me," she says.
You're not quite sure what she's saying and ask her to clarify.
"For gods sake, Steele, I'm asking you to pick me first. Not your endless missions, your abstract quests, or the hundreds on hundreds of space trysts. Me," she says, collapsing onto a booth seat.
"I waited so long for you, Steele," she said. Tears well up in her eyes as she buries her face in her hands. "You left me without a word and I waited and waited and waited. And I knew it was because you had bigger fish to fry, bigger things to do, people you wanted more than me."
She looks so small there, curled up against herself in the red vinyl booth, crying softly under the cheap fluorescent lights. "Every day you chose someone else was a realization of how little you cared about me. It killed me, Steele–it kills me to this day. I wrote stories about you coming back to sweep me off my feet, hoping it would …"
She trails off, grabbing a handful of napkins from the dispenser to blow her nose. "But after a while, I couldn't write those any more. I couldn't write anything anymore. It h-hurt too much to keep reminding myself of what was never going to happen. But you know the stupidest thing?" she takes a long, shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. "The st-stupidest thing is that I never stopped loving you, even when I realized that you never loved me."
She looks up at you, her face wet with tears, her makeup smudged and trailing. "So f-forgive me if I don't believe you can actually ch-ch-choose me," she says. "I've had ten years of evidence to the contrary."
[I guess you're right]
[good end]
I guess you're right
You blink, stunned and a little hurt by Embry's words. It's not like you were purposefully ignoring her all this time. The galaxy is just full of things that need doing.
Instead, you bid her farewell, unsurprised by her silence.
As you slip out the door, you hear her soft voice behind you. "Goodbye, Steele."
