INVENTORY FILTHY JACKET - 1257
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Filthy Jacket: As you hold it in your hands, it makes an uncomfortable crunching sound...
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You: Why did I fondle the shit jacket again?
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Filthy Jacket: There is no why.
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You: Man, how did this jacket get so disgusting?
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You: Let's not think about that right now. [Put the filthy jacket away.]
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You: On second thought, let's *do* think about it.
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Filthy Jacket: It occurs to you that you're not even *holding* the jacket itself, but rather the thick crust of jetsam and seagull shit that ensconces it.
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You: What happened once someone put it on the railing?
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Filthy Jacket: The crust is hard. This jacket spent at least a day baking in the sun. Who knows what happened to it then?
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Shivers: *SPLAT*. An explosion of white on a man's shoe. A curse goes up, but the birds do not hear.
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You: I feel like I really understand this jacket now. [Put the jacket away.]
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You: Why did I just spend all this time thinking about seagull shit?
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Variable["inventory.filthy_shivers_seagulls"]
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Variable["inventory.filthy_shivers_seagulls"]
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!(Variable["inventory.filthy_shivers_seagulls"])
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Shivers: They are like the bombardiers of the aerostatic brigades, gliding above a *target-rich environment*...
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You: I'm just going to pretend I didn't think about any of this.
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Filthy Jacket: It's probably better that way.
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Composure: What? No! Then it'll just be on your *pants*. This is a disaster. You'll never get the smell out.
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Filthy Jacket: Good choice. The less you think about the jacket, the better.
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You: [Put the filthy jacket away.]
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Perception (Smell): It smells like a dead sea creature, tangled in grey strands of seaweed. It must have spent quite some time in the water before the tide deposited it ashore...
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Composure: It's too late! You've already thought about it. And now your hands are covered in muck!
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You: Let's just put it away then.
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Filthy Jacket: Somehow it was carried or dragged to the boardwalk, if not by human hands than perhaps the feral dogs that prowl the beaches at night...
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Visual Calculus: The faint impressions of many footprints are also present, though it's impossible to tell what kind or how many. Suffice to say, the jacket spent some time on the ground before someone draped it over the railing...
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Composure: Some secrets are better left uncovered. Don't even try, seriously.
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You: Don't think about it.
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You: Think about it.
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You: Maybe if I wipe my hands on my pants?
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You: Okay, but what's the crust *made* of?
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Composure: Now you're just flicking that shit everywhere! This is a disaster. You'll never get the smell out.
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Filthy Jacket: It's a sordid, filthy tale, not for the weak. Are you sure you can stomach it?
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Shivers: All of a sudden, the bomb bay doors open, and their white glittering payload rushes to the ground...
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You: Gross.
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Composure: Why, why did you think about it? Look at your hands -- They're covered in muck!
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You: Ew, ew, ew! (Flick your hands.)
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Shivers: Somewhere, high above the city, a pair of seagulls trace loops through the air...
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You: Okay, that's pretty disgusting. I've had enough.
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