The Broken Mirror Part Three: Dark Side of The Moon

When last we left the face-shifting amnesiac known only as the Talented Mr. Ripley, he had half a dozen holes in him, had murdered a handful of Chicago cops, and managed to make his escape into the shadows. It was a pivotal moment in his development, though he didn't quite know it yet. After all, his familiarity with guns, blades, and blood would be enough to worry anyone who had misplaced their memories, and when you're down in the gutter, any outstretched hand will do.

Even one that comes out of the sewer.

Before continuing on, make sure you're caught up on the previous installments of the story below.

The Broken Mirror Part One: The Talented Mr. Ripley
The Broken Mirror Part Two: Through The Mirror Darkly
The Broken Mirror Part Three: The Dark Side of The Moon
The Broken Mirror Part Four: The Moon Court Madman
The Broken Mirror Part Five: Madness Comes Home to Roost

Finished? Lovely! Because this is around the time that things start getting good... or bad, depending on your perspective.

A Carrot on a Stick

When I initially created the Talented Mr. Ripley, I had no real direction I wanted to go with him. He was a jack of all trades, and the only thing he was truly a master of was blending in and going relatively unnoticed. It was one of the few times I, as a player, allowed my character to be shaped entirely by the events that happened to him.

Then my storyteller opened his big, fat cake socket.

Once you're here, there's no going back.

Game had finished for the night, and we were all at a local restaurant getting fuel in us for the drive home. My storyteller, appropos of nothing, mentions that he's had a plot kit for months now, but no one has shown any interest. My ears perked up, and I asked what it was for. In an off-hand tone, he told me it was a kit for characters to get recruited into the Moon Court.

I jumped on that like Mario on a toadstool.

Life-Saving Initiation

Ripley, as someone who is a killer and not a fighter, is losing blood fast. Though he managed to escape, he passed out in a gutter somewhere. He awoke to the sound of rubber gloves, and to a man standing over him. Ripley's first instinct was to reach for his own face, which sent lances of pain through him. The man, wearing a bloody apron, just smiled at him.

Don't worry... everything's going to be just fine.

The back alley miracle worker, a mysterious man named Puck, said he saw Ripley's entire performance, and it would be a shame for someone like him to die broken on the busted concrete. Ripley was still raw, of course, but he showed talent. If someone could put an edge on it, then he could really come into his own. That was when he explained the philosophy of better living through Disgust, and told Ripley that if he wanted to find a place with open arms, the Moon Court would take him... once he passed a simple test.

Nothing hard, really. He just needed to play a trick or two to show his devotion.

A Dark Seed Grows A Twisted Tree

It was my goal, as a player, to see which of the courts would reach out to recruit Ripley as a member. Winter seemed the likeliest court, especially given his recent services, but they didn't rescue him from his predicament. Puck did. More importantly, though, Puck gave Ripley the most dangerous message the mirrorskin could have received; there's nothing wrong with you. Your broken face and murderous hands? Be proud of them! The filth and squalor you've been forced to sleep in? Don't hide that, it's a badge of survival! If other people see you, and recoil, that proves they aren't capable of handling your truth. The dark side of the playground is where the monsters hold sway, my friend, and we're all monsters who came back from that place.

Even Jeff. Especially Jeff.

It seems harmless at first... but Ripley's mind proves fertile soil. His entire perception of the world is like looking through a spider-webbed crack at the best of times, and now he's being told that he's right. Right to feel resentment for his treatment. Right to feel wrath at the smallest of injustices. Right to take what he needs without thought or worry, because that is what monsters do.

All he has to do is play a trick or two. It takes a few months, and just the right set of circumstances, but he manages. Accosted by a man with knock-out darts, Ripley does some bloody business with the knife he keeps up his sleeve. Of course, the stripling mirrorskin keeps his peepers open, while one of the Summer Court's heavy hitters is left unconscious and snoring on the ground. The big warrior is completely vulnerable, and has no idea what happened around him, so Ripley leaves a tiny note explaining both his dereliction of duty and cowardice, and walks away whistling through his own yawns.

That little piece of paper caused fires of rage to spread through the Summer Court, but it was rage fueled by shame. Trying to control it was like putting out a grease fire with a water bottle; all it did was spread it around.

Puck, slow-clapping and smiling, used that as a chance to officially induct Ripley into the Moon Court. It was the first step off of a long, long drop.

This is, of course, not the end of the tale. If you want to keep up on all my latest stories, or submit some of your own, make sure you check out the rest of Table Talk. And, if you'd like to help support Improved Initiative, why not drop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page? All it takes is $1 a month to help keep the content coming your way, and all new members will receive some sweet swag just for choosing to support me! Lastly, if you haven't followed me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter yet, now would be a great time to change that.

The Broken Mirror Part Two: Through The Mirror Darkly

This week we delve deeper into the mysterious tale of The Talented Mr. Ripley, a darkling with no memory of who he is, or what he was. The Mirrorskin seems to be nothing more than a pale reflection of those around him, slipping into the background of any conversation or scene with total ease. Of course, there's more beneath his cracked surface than meets the eye, as we find out in the second installment. If you missed any of the previous installments, get yourself up-to-date with this list.

The Broken Mirror Part One: The Talented Mr. Ripley
The Broken Mirror Part Two: Through The Mirror Darkly
The Broken Mirror Part Three: The Dark Side of The Moon
The Broken Mirror Part Four: The Moon Court Madman
The Broken Mirror Part Five: Madness Comes Home to Roost

All caught up? Grand! Now then, to continue our tale...

A Cold Heart, and a Cold Job

Mr. Ripley has been lurking around the freehold, trying to find some way to establish himself. He's light-fingered, and though his presence barely registers, his honeyed words can often get people to change their minds, while still thinking it was their idea in the first place. He's surviving mostly as a grifter, changing his face and look whenever he needs in order to move unseen, and unnoticed.

He might have kept on like that, never really asking what was lurking beneath his surface. Of course, when money comes calling, empty pockets sit up and listen.

Dirty work always leaves the glass smudged, but the smoker's hands completely clean.

A Winter courtier in town, owner of several high-class establishments, had recently been hassled by a pack of bent cops. Business-as-usual in the Windy City. She tried to buy them off, but they wouldn't take her money. Humiliated, offended, and with her pride severely smudged, she wanted payback. She wanted to send a message, but she wanted that message sent by someone else.

Someone disposable.

As soon as he was alone with her, Ripley became little more than a magic mirror, reflecting calm chill as she told him what she wanted done. He nodded, and didn't turn so much as a hair when she offered him $10,000 per head to take out the lot of them. He asked for a small, up-front cost to cover his needs, and told her it would be done. They shook, and he walked into the night with murder on his mind.

Have You Done This Before?

Mr. Ripley was not a fighter. Thin and light, he was easy to mistake, or overlook. His hands knew their business, though, and as soon as he picked up a zip gun he examined the mechanism, checked the rounds, and slipped it up his sleeve. Next he acquired a vest, and a clipboard. Then he found out all there was to know about the targets he'd been assigned. Three of them were married, and lived in the suburbs. One was single, and had an apartment in the city. The four of them got together at least once a week for a night of garage poker.

The ducks were in a row, and all he had to do was burn them down.

Hello? Mr. Gas Man calling...

The apartment dweller was first. Ripley waited until he was home, and getting ready for his night out, before knocking on the door. The cop answered the door shirtless and in jeans, and when Ripley offered the clipboard he took it to examine the form. While he was reading, Ripley lifted the .22 street heater he'd bought off a gutter-dwelling gun runner, and double tapped him in the forehead. Two spurts of blood, two sharp cracks, and no witnesses.

Ripley stepped into the apartment, and tidied up. He dragged the body into the Hedge, leaving it there before he started dressing himself in the dead cop's clothes. Keys, wallet, badge, jacket, and especially his gun. Ripley stood in front of the mirror, and slipped into the other man's skin, checking every facet of himself until he fit just right. Then he drove across town to the poker game.

It was a typical guy's night. Scotch was being poured, beers were being drunk, and every round someone was putting in too many chips. Ripley kept his smile going, and kept the drinks flowing, too. He waited, and waited, but there was never a moment when the guys started getting really sloppy. So, when the host's wife was 20 minutes from home, Ripley got another beer. Then, distracting the table by setting it down with one hand, he started shooting with the other.

His card buddies were shocked, but they recovered fast. One went down with a round in the head, and another took two to the chest before he fell over. The third managed to put a slug through Ripley's shoulder before the Mirrorskin returned fire, emptying the rest of the clip into him. All the men dead, and Ripley just barely managing to hold onto his face, he stuffed a wadded shirt against the wound to maintain pressure, and drove with sirens blaring back into the city. Once he got there, he parked in an alley on the south side, and drenched the car in liquor. He opened the gas tank, stuffed the bloody rag way down into the fill hole, and fired it up.

Then he stumbled into the darkness, his face creaking and cracking. He didn't know it, but he was crying. If you'd asked him why, he probably wouldn't have been able to tell you.

This is, of course, not the end of the tale. Far from it, in fact. Next time, though, you'll find out that friends, and enemies alike come out of the woodwork when the blood starts flowing. So, stay tuned for The Broken Mirror: Dark Side of The Moon!

As always, if you liked this week's installment of Table Talk, then why not spread the word? Like it, share it, and tell all your friends about it. Also, if you're feeling generous, why not stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to toss a little bread in my jar? All it takes is $1 a month to keep the content flowing, and you get some sweet swag on top of it! Lastly, if you haven't done so yet, why not follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter, too?

The Broken Mirror Part One: The Talented Mr. Ripley

I've mentioned in a few previous posts that, in addition to being a fiend for tabletop games, I'm not averse to the occasional LARP. While I've been to my share of boffer-style games, along with Vampire, Werewolf, and more than a few home-brewed house games, Changeling: The Lost has a special place in my heart. With it's dark whimsy, beautiful madness, and the ability to make practically any character concept work in a mechanical sense, Changeling is a game I am always down for playing.

No matter how bizarre the game gets.

I will freely admit, though, that I have a problem as a LARPer. In short, I'm that guy who constantly comes up with new character concepts, and will abandon a character I have if it isn't getting the sort of action I was hoping for. Part of this was because, as regular Table Talk readers have seen, I've had a lot of dungeon masters who rarely ran more than five or so sessions before we switched up to something else. As such, I'm used to starting from scratch at a moment's notice. Another part of it was because I had to adjust to the idea of a long-term game in a live action format.

This is a tale about the first character, in any format, I managed to keep in play for more than a year, and the terrible, awful things that turned him into the kind of monster every PC risks becoming in a game like this.

Also, since this 5-part series is now complete, here's the full index in case you want to go through the entire tale.

The Broken Mirror Part One: The Talented Mr. Ripley
The Broken Mirror Part Two: Through The Mirror Darkly
The Broken Mirror Part Three: The Dark Side of The Moon
The Broken Mirror Part Four: The Moon Court Madman
The Broken Mirror Part Five: Madness Comes Home to Roost

Part One: The Talented Mr. Ripley

When I originally sat down with the Changeling: The Lost book, I read the whole thing cover-to-cover in the span of a weekend. The Darklings were what appealed to me most, but I couldn't decide which variety to use. Finally I settled on a Mirrorskin, because I liked the idea of a blessing that didn't cost anything for me to use. That, and most of the games I attended took place in the evening, so the Seeming's curse would have minimal effect. I focused primarily on dexterity and manipulation, and with skills in investigation, empathy, weaponry, and subterfuge, I ended up with a consummate mimic. He had no real presence, and he wasn't particularly smart, but he could fake it with the best of them.

The problem I was experiencing, as the player behind the controls, was that I didn't know who I wanted him to be. I had some details of his background, and I knew that his shifting visage was often painful to watch and listen to thanks to the grinding bones and popping cartilage, but I had very little else to hang on the frame. He was fresh from the Hedge, and couldn't remember a thing about who he'd been in Arcadia or before he was taken. He was homeless, courtless, and without so much as a single acquaintance in the city I was playing in. So I seized upon a unique method to buy myself some time.

Stop copying me! No, you stop copying me!

Mr. Ripley, a name he'd taken from a movie he'd watched in an old, run-down art theater, was not a character with a defined costume or personality (at least, not when he first showed up). He wore a black suit with a white, button-down shirt, and a black fedora that he'd taken out of the Hedge. His voice had no tone, and his body had no posture. He was blank... until he was around people, anyway.

The first person he met was a hulking frost giant from the Summer court. Stolid, serious, and stoic, he met the newcomer gravely. So, when Ripley shook his hand, he did so with a serious cast to his features, and cold, closed-off body language. As the gathering grew, though, and the various cliques separated off into their own groups, Ripley became a chameleon.

As he crossed the room toward Spring's corner, where the beautiful people held court, he slipped two silver rings onto his fingers, untucked his shirt, and undid the top button. A simple slip of the collar, and he'd gone from bland and silent, to the sort of person who belonged on the club scene. His movements were languid, his smile slow, and he slipped in without anyone truly noticing. When he was called to meet Winter, his wardrobe shuffled again as he clipped on a black tie, straightened his lapels, and put a steel rod into his spine. He was formal, a little charming, and there always seemed to be an undertone to what he said. When he found himself in the presence of the two dominant Autumn courtiers, he became deliberately silent, and off-putting. His face was constantly in shadow, and his grin showed more teeth than it had before. The tone of his voice altered, and it was like he was one of their own.

It was an interesting performance, and one that caught a lot of my fellow players off-guard. As gimmicks go, I thought it was fairly clever. It couldn't last, though, because sooner or later Ripley was going to have to remake himself into a new man. Of course, since this was the World of Darkness, that began with a terrible event...

Which I'll share with you in Part Two of The Broken Mirror!

If you liked this week's installment of Table Talk, then share it with your friends, and leave a comment! If you'd like to share your own story, good or bad, I'm always willing to feature other people's tales, if you're willing to send them in. Also, if you'd like to help keep Improved Initiative going, then why not stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page? All it takes is $1 a month to help me make the content you love. Lastly, if you haven't done it yet, why not follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter?