Quest Sample – Susurrus
Art by Duncan Eagleson
A snippet from a quest I wrote for the interative fiction game Susurrus: Season of Tides, in which your character, newly working with the Gandolfini crime family faction, receives a call from Tomaso, an outcast of that family. You’ve previously reached out to him as a favor to your partner in the faction, Cheryl, who grew up idolizing her uncle and now seeks his help. I’ve eliminated the choice-based elements in order to present it as a simple narrative sample.
***
A Call You’ve Been Waiting For
”Hello?” You’ve tried some other clever sign-ons, but you can tell they annoy Ferri enough to be dangerous. There’s only so many times a Consiglieri can call you and hear “Tony’s Pizza” before they come over and shoot you in the face.
”This is Tomaso,” says a cool voice.
Holy shit, you think, but don’t say.
”Oh. Hello, sir,” you say instead, sure you sound like an idiot, but everything you know about this man pulls that ‘sir’ out of you.
”Yes, you already said that part,” he says, his voice wry but still dangerous. “Now why am I talking to you?”
You’re half a sentence in to recounting your visit to his office when he cuts you off. ”Believe it or not,” he says, in that same chilly tone, “I know that part, too. Would be odd for me to be calling the number on this card if I didn’t, no?”
Crap. You’re flubbing this one.
”Apologies,” you manage. “I’m hoping we can meet. Again, I mean. We, um. Met. Briefly, when I called you from Julian’s phone.” You keep the details vague this time.
”Ah yes,” he says. “And I believe I told you at that time that you’d do best to pretend you hadn’t.”
”Yes,” you manage, after a swallow. “But much like that time, the matter is rather... personal.” You know Tomaso’s patience won’t last much longer. “Your niece, Cheryl, wanted to talk to you.”
The silence that meets this is hard to judge over phone lines, but is complete enough that you hear your own heart in your ears.
Finally you hear an outbreath, a sigh of... resignation? Annoyance? It brings your heart rate down a tick, at least.
“Cheryl,” he repeats.
“She sent me to set up a meeting. Said she needs your help.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, not big enough to drive a truck through, but maybe a Fiat.
“So you’re working with Cheryl, huh?” he says. His tone is casual, nearly affectless, but you can hear the tension of concern in his voice, a slight tremor he can’t hide. “What trouble has she gotten herself into this time?”
“No, ah, specific trouble, sir,” you manage. That ‘sir’ again! “She... enlisted me to help find you. She thinks that you can help her with... a thing.” A few months with the Gandolfinis have taught you that when you have something sensitive to discuss, you under no circumstances mention it where someone else might be listening, and if you must refer to it, all such things become “a thing” or “the thing.”
There’s another short pause, perhaps motorcycle-sized.
“I see. So it’s a thing, then.” He says it without quotation marks. “I do specialize in things.”
“That’s... good to hear, sir.”
“I just got one question.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Who. The fuck. Are you, exactly?”
You decide to chance it. “Someone with a hell of an offer for you.”
To your surprise, he laughs. “An offer! Really. Okay, what does Gandolfini Goon #3 have to offer me today?”
His amusement at least provides an opening, so you let it spill out before the door can close again. “Cheryl wants your help in retaking control. Of the family. She -”
”Take it easy, there, genius, Christ, how green are you? Slow down. What did she actually say to you? Without selling the farm, I mean.”
You take the only thing you’ve got left that might work. “She said... she said your puppy-girl wants to talk.”
This pause you could drive a truck through. A truck carrying explosives, probably.
At last you hear the intake of breath and Tomaso says, “Meet me. Chez Nous. 7. Yes, I can get a table.”
“How will you know me?” you begin, but he’s already off the phone.