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Lithuania's Room, Wednesday Night Week Nine
Nice try.
Doris got in deeper than she ever should have. Don't make the same mistakes.
If you want your people safe, play your part. You can keep playing the clueless angle for now, but when they find the medal, give them a good show. Sell it well enough, and we can forget that you lost us a host.
[Lithuania has read the card five-six-seven-eight-nine times, which is fitting for the number of weeks he's been trapped here. Now he's pacing, though his room is too small for it, half-frantic and trying to ignore how his stomach seems to be doing its best to stab itself through with pain, how his heart hammers in his chest, how desperate he feels, how trapped he is. Doris took a chance for him and it got her killed and now--now they know, right, and his people--his people--
Slowly, limply, Lithuania sits on the bed. The panic slides off of his face to be replaced by a perfectly blank mask. It's more than the emotionless haze of the previous week; this expression slips past that and into the inhuman. He tried to reach for an option that wouldn't involve this. He'd gotten hopeful--and now that option was gone.
Lithuania is out of options. There's no player dead or alive that he spoke to and didn't lie to, if only by omission. Lithuania is alone and miserable and frightened. Doris's fate feels like his fault, too, and he has so much guilt. He doesn't want to die. Lithuania can't do this. He can't keep the emotions out of his voice and off of his face. There's so much despair he doesn't know what to do with.
So Lithuania will have to go away. For the rest of this game, Lithuania is a burden, laden with too many feelings and sympathies. Because, ultimately, Lithuania doesn't matter. Lithuania has never mattered. His people are in danger, and before that his one individual self is nothing.
Whatever Lithuania cannot do, Lietuvos Respublika can. If they want a show, he will provide one.]
Doris got in deeper than she ever should have. Don't make the same mistakes.
If you want your people safe, play your part. You can keep playing the clueless angle for now, but when they find the medal, give them a good show. Sell it well enough, and we can forget that you lost us a host.
[Lithuania has read the card five-six-seven-eight-nine times, which is fitting for the number of weeks he's been trapped here. Now he's pacing, though his room is too small for it, half-frantic and trying to ignore how his stomach seems to be doing its best to stab itself through with pain, how his heart hammers in his chest, how desperate he feels, how trapped he is. Doris took a chance for him and it got her killed and now--now they know, right, and his people--his people--
Slowly, limply, Lithuania sits on the bed. The panic slides off of his face to be replaced by a perfectly blank mask. It's more than the emotionless haze of the previous week; this expression slips past that and into the inhuman. He tried to reach for an option that wouldn't involve this. He'd gotten hopeful--and now that option was gone.
Lithuania is out of options. There's no player dead or alive that he spoke to and didn't lie to, if only by omission. Lithuania is alone and miserable and frightened. Doris's fate feels like his fault, too, and he has so much guilt. He doesn't want to die. Lithuania can't do this. He can't keep the emotions out of his voice and off of his face. There's so much despair he doesn't know what to do with.
So Lithuania will have to go away. For the rest of this game, Lithuania is a burden, laden with too many feelings and sympathies. Because, ultimately, Lithuania doesn't matter. Lithuania has never mattered. His people are in danger, and before that his one individual self is nothing.
Whatever Lithuania cannot do, Lietuvos Respublika can. If they want a show, he will provide one.]