Tuesday, March 15, 2011
"Would you mind pointing me in the direction of the nearest pub?" asked the man in the duster.
You have a sense of security when you hear his voice. You can't put your finger on it, but you can trust this gentlemen. Perhaps it's the way his duster flows in the Chicago wind, though that probably isn't it - you aren't even in Chicago.
You travel with him to the pub.
"Y'know somethin'?" he asks you, slurring his words, "you're the best friend I've ever had."
Even though you two have just met, you can still somehow tell he's a genuine man. Not one of those half-man half-machines that is revealed only at the end of the story, and not one of those fake men that takes off a wig or a mask and reveals that he was actually a group of mischievous rodents in a clever disguise.
No, Tootie Carbunkle is most definitely not that.
Shortly after destroying his liver and leaving the pub, Tootie decides that you will be giving him a ride home. You don't have a car, but by the time you mention this he has collapsed to the floor. He is breathing, but despite his stylish duster he surely will not survive the night in the cold Denver air - though you aren't in Denver.
Call a cab for the both of you and let him crash on your couch. He seems too vulnerable to leave to the elements.
Look through his wallet for some money and his address in order to call a cab to drop his cold lifeless body at his doorstep. Whatever happens from there is not your fault.
Steal his wallet, watch and duster and leave him to die. Because fuck him, right?