• Solo • Catch the rainbow! Skin the Rainbow

[Oram Mednix]

3rd trial of Cylus, Arc 720

Oram frowned glumly as he ran his hand over Wether’s shorn coat, and the goat looked up at him with quiet, wounded pride. His other goat would have been complaining loudly about this indignity, and Oram half-wished that Wether would show some spirit and kick up a more Ornot-like protest. This one had always been the more dignified, though, and today was no exception.

The rainbow colors weren’t as pronounced with the coat short like this, the hunter thought. He wondered if perhaps it would grow back normally now. Oram allowed himself a quiet curse at his sister-in-law’s decision to do this without his permission, even if she had given him most if not all the money she had gotten from selling the dazzling multi-colored wool that had simply appeared on Wether’s body the trial before. To tell the truth, it was a goodly sum of nels, too. He could almost forgive Signy for being tempted to do such a thing. And yet, as he regarded the poor goat, looking so naked and thin and cold, Oram felt somehow violated, as if Signy had cut *his* hair while he slept.

But the main problem here was not the violation; it was that, with his coat cut short, Wether could not be taken out into the Cylus-chilled countryside on Oram’s next hunting trip. And that meant that the hunter needed to change his plans of what and how to pack for the outing. Grumbling, he rose to do just that when his brother arrived, holding a blanket. ”He’ll be alright,” Osric told Oram, looking back and forth between his brother and the shaved goat. ”I promise, Oram, we’ll take good care of him.”

Oram glared, and said nothing. Osric was only slightly less out of his favor right now than Signy. His brother at least pretended to feel badly about what had happened to Wether. He held out the blanket like some sort of truce flag. ”This should help Wether keep warm.” Osric ventured a couple steps closer, then lowered the blanket to look more squarely at his brother. ”There’s another thing I came to talk to you about, something that might help with your next outing.”

”Is it another good pack goat?” Oram asked coldly. Osric winced, as if he had expected and dreaded such a response. ”No, I mean I talked to someone today who is looking for help trapping foxes closer to town. It promises to pay well, and you wouldn’t need to take Ornot or Mule out to freeze with you in some campsite.”

Oram’s frown shifted from an annoyed one to a puzzled one. ”Foxes? I’ve not trapped foxes before. Who would want my help with that?”

”Groom Peavers” Osric liked saying the name about as much as Oram liked hearing it. Groom was an unpleasant man who didn’t know the difference between insult and banter. He also came from a moneyed, “good” town family, and made no secret of looking down on travelers like Oram and Osric. But worst of all, Groom was a notorious womanizer, and the only thing he respected less than the women he pursued was the marriages they were in. The man joked callously that to him it was just a different sort of fox hunt.

But that crass joke alluded to the one bit of good news here: there were few people in Scalvoris more skilled at catching fox than Groom Peavers. That last thought, though, just made Oram frown even more. ”Why would Groom Peavers want my help, or anybody’s for that matter, catching a fox?”

Osric made a wry face. ”You know Groom’s reputation with other men’s wives, right? Needless to say, that makes people reluctant to hire him to work on their estates. Including one person name of Daltrik.”

Oram gaped. ”Daltrik? I’ve met him! I did some work for him!”

Osric nodded. ”I know you have. And apparently, somehow, so does Groom Peavers. Groom figures Daltrik trusts you and might offer you the job he wouldn’t give him.”

”Daltrik wants help catching a fox?” Oram asked, still confused. Osric nodded again. ”There’s been a notice on the notice board since the last trial of Zi’da, and so far Groom’s the only one to respond. And even then, Daltrik said no, which should give you an idea of how much he mistrusts the man.”

That bit Oram could certainly understand: that Daltrik might prefer to live with the predations of a fox than deal with those of Groom Peavers. While he was thinking, Osric added. ”Anyway, I thought it was something that might help with your…problem.”

Oram shot his brother a sharp glance. ”A problem your wife created,” he pointed out.

Osric nodded, then held out the blanket once more. ”What can I say? I’m sorry. This is what I can do to try to make it right.”

Oram sighed and took the blanket. ”Thanks,” he muttered, more mollified than he wanted to admit. He spread the blanket carefully over Wether, who accepted it as calmly and graciously as he did everything else. After a moment Oram realized that Osric was still there. Guessing at what the older brother was waiting for, he told him: ”I’ll think about it.”

[Oram Mednix]

Put it there, pal

Groom Peavers was tall and broad-shouldered. Groom Peavers was handsome. Groom Peavers was well-groomed and obviously from money. Oram could believe that he was a womanizer; he could even see some of those woman being receptive to his advances. Until the man opened his mouth.

”You’re Oram?” he asked, as if that were the most disappointing thing he had discovered all season. ”I imagined you’d be taller, like your dad. Assuming you’re really Oleg Mednix’s son.”

Oram tamped down on his anger. Doing so was hard; what made the insulting suggestion that much more galling was the casual and cheerful way Groom said it, as if he thought Oram ought to find it droll. ”I am,” the traveler answered curtly. ”And I ain’t.” He allowed himself a defiant glare. ”And I am.

“What do you know about my dad, anyway?” he demanded. ”Have you met him?”

Groom grinned, seemingly amused by Oram’s response. Finding humor in things that weren’t really funny was something he was annoyingly good at. ”Aye, I met him. Wasn’t much more than, oh, twelve trials old. I was out hunting in the Sweetvine with my own dad when we crossed paths. We talked a bit, traded information the way hunters do. Seemed a good sort, that Oleg.”

Oram said nothing, and there was a pause that dragged on a for a few more trills than was comfortable. Finally, Groom sighed. ”Right, so I have a business proposition for you, Oram,” he said, forcing a cheerful tone. ”You know a farmer named Daltrik?” The tone of the question suggested he already knew the answer. Oram just nodded silently.

”Right,” Groom continued. ”So, anyway. Daltrik. He’s been having problems with a fox, apparently, and is looking for help catching it. I have some experience catching foxes, it turns out, so I offered my services. But unfortunately, Daltrik doesn’t seem to want to offer me the job for some reason. Said he didn’t like or trust me. Apparently I have some sort of reputation.” He held up his hands, as if this were some revelation that surprised and mystified him.

Oram knew exactly what that reputation was, and he was sure Groom did, too. Before the traveler could dwell long on such thoughts, though, the other hunter resumed: ”I’d heard that you did some work for Daltrik last season, and I reckon he’d give you the job if you asked for it. Unless you did something we don’t know about, eh?” He said the last with a wink and a nudge, as if he and Oram were sharing some sort of confidence. Oram was still considering whether to respond when Peavers resumed: ”So anyway, since your brother happens to work with the blacksmith I buy my traps from, I figured I would ask him to ask you if you wanted to partner up. You get the job from Daltrik, be seen doing all the work. I’ll provide the trap and show you how to set it. We split the money, and you learn a thing or two about how to hunt fox. What do you say?”

Oram stared at the man, really wanting to say no. But he had to admit that, apart from the fact that he would have to work with Groom Peavers, it sounded like a good opportunity. After a moment, the traveler said: ”We split the money *evenly*.”

Groom spread his hands in a generous gesture. ”Of course evenly! Wouldn’t have it any other way. So…” he extended one of his hands towards the traveler. ”Deal?”

Oram looked at the hand, still wanting to say no. But after a trill, he reached out and took Groom Peavers’ hand. ”Deal,” he said, his voice strained because Groom Peavers was one of those who see a handshake mainly as an occasion to show off their powerful grip.

[Oram Mednix]

Walk like a Norwegian

The snow was deeper now than it had been the last time Oram had hunted, and trudging through it was made all the harder by the fact that he was trying to keep up with a taller man who was using snowshoes. Groom Peavers paused, some twenty paces ahead, and watched with an infuriatingly amused grin as Oram labored to catch up. ”You should really invest in some snowshoes,” he observed, once the smaller hunter was close enough. ”That is, if you have the money, of course.” Oram could only glare and pant. Before he had had more than three trills to catch his breath, Peavers was off again, gliding across the snow with speed and ease.

The pair were following along an old stone retaining fence on the Daltrik farm. The farmer had been unsurprised to see Oram, so much so that for a moment the traveler wondered if Daltrik had seen through Peavers’ scheme. Apparently, though, he had expected to see Oram all along from the moment he had posted the notice. They had agreed to a price, with Oram saying things that Groom Peavers had prompted him to say, about the going rates and other ins and outs of fox hunting. It turned out that the pair need not have bothered with all the planning and rehearsing they had done for this interview; Daltrik was desperate to be rid of his pest, and had decided Oram was someone he could trust to do it. The only challenge now -apart from actually catching the fox- was keeping Groom Peavers out of their employer’s sight.

The man himself was doing little to meet that challenge. He glided carelessly through open, snow-covered fields while Oram stumbled after, well within sight of the farmhouse. From time to time the traveler would glance nervously at the house, just waiting for Daltrik to emerge shouting angry threats and brandishing a pitchfork. Thank the Immortals, it had not happened yet.

”There.” The voice startled Oram, as he did not realize he was so close behind Groom at that moment. The taller hunter looked back at him and then pointed down at the snow near the base of the wall. The tracks were easy to see when one wasn’t preoccupied with trying to keep up on foot with a snowshoer. ”Foxes like to run along straight boundaries like fences, irrigation ditches, or hedgerows,” Peavers explained, as he indicated the course of the track. He looked along the wall thoughtfully, then pointed down the direction they were heading. ”I’d bet the fox follows this all the way around to the chicken coop. Tell you what…”

Peavers leaned his back against the retaining wall and started to untie one of his snowshoes. ”I need a breather. Why don’t you take these and see if you can track the fox’s spoor. Snowshoes are easy, especially on level snow that’s not too powdery, like this. It’ll take some getting used to, but just walk normally, maybe pick your feet up just a little more. No special techniques.”

[Oram Mednix]

Walk like a Norwegian, Part To

‘No special techniques’ Groom said. Nonetheless, after Oram had tied the snowshoes onto his feet and taken the poles, he found “normal walking” to be quite difficult. Nor did the comments of Groom Peavers help.

”That’s not how you walk,” the man said, as Oram stumbled over and fell on his side into the snow just a few paces on. ”Are you sure you’ve walked before?”

The traveler muttered a curse as he got up and resumed his laborious trudge forward in the strange shoes. It wasn’t until a few tries, along with a few more ‘helpful’ hints from Peavers, that Oram found a roughly normal gait that carried him forward. He had just started to get the hang of it when he reached the corner of the fence, and realized he needed to turn, whereupon he crossed the toes of his shoes and fell down again. He couldn’t quite hear what Peavers said as he heaved himself up once more,, but he was sure the man had said something.

Once he had righted his course, Oram realized that he was walking right over the fox tracks he was trying to follow, so he paused to take a couple steps out from the wall before continuing. He almost fell over then, too, but he was pretty sure that his partner hadn’t seen him this time. This side of the wall brought the hunter most of the way to the barnyard, and by now he was confident that Groom Peavers was right, that this was the route the fox liked to take. Glancing back at the blatant furrow he had carved in the snow with the awkward shoes, he could only hope the fox would continue to use it.

It was not hard to see the damage the fox had done to the chicken coop. The wicker had a big hole torn in it, and some of the wooden slats had been knocked askew. Oram came closer to examine the inside, which was lined with hay. Sniffing it, the traveler found that the hay was far from fresh; with the chickens gone, there had been little point in replacing it.

Oram’s legs were already starting to stiffen by the time he got back to Groom Peavers and told him what he had seen. The other hunter, still lounging casually against the same spot of wall as before, nodded. ”Alright, we’ll use that hay, then, to make the hay set; we’ll make it right around that corner, just before where you fell down -the third time.” Groom grinned. Oram gritted his teeth.

Peavers then pointed at the treeline, where his horse was tethered. ”Go get the sled and bring it back; use it to load the hay on from the chicken coop, then bring it back here.”

Oram looked at him sourly. ”And you’ll stay here, right?”

Peavers’ grin broadened. ”Of course. Can’t have your customer seeing me, right? Though maybe his wife would like to catch a glimpse of a real man for once. It must get lonely for her, you know, shut in out here.” Oram trudged off towards the horse so as not to have to listen to any more.

[Oram Mednix]

Are traps hay?

Once more, Oram trudged grumbling towards the ruined chicken coop, with additional freights of irritation and a sled. The absence of chickens did nothing to reduce the smell from the coop, and the traveler nearly gagged as he bent in to rake out the hay inside. That hay was damp, and ripe with the smells of urine, feces, and rot. Such smells were, Groom Peavers had assured him, beneficial. They wanted their set to resemble the fox’s favored target, after all.

Having raked out as much as he cared to, Oram picked the foul stuff up and dropped it into the sack laid out on the sled; he had carried the thing on his back, but would tow it back now, loaded with the hay. Pulling the sled along with a rope tied round his waste was easier than lugging the thing on his back, the hunter had to admit, though not very dignified. And he was getting better with the snowshoes by the break.

”You make a good pack animal,” Peavers joked when Oram returned, grinning mischievously. The traveler gritted his teeth and said nothing in response, focusing with extra care on untying the rope from his waste, then presenting the sack of hay to his unpleasant partner.

Groom Peavers opened the sack and his eyes watered. ”Oh, yes,” he gagged out, ”this is perfect. Our fox will love this! Now lets find a trap site.”

Oram surprised him by suggesting a spot he had picked out while retrieving the hay: a clump of scrub that Daltrik had not completely cleared away from his fence. He was gratified when Peavers looked at it and approved. And then, for the first time since they had met, Groom Peavers set earnestly to work himself.

”Watch and learn, young Oram,” he said patronizingly, as he knelt down next to the scrubs and looked about for something. After a moment, he seemed to have found it, and started shoveling snow aside with a spade. ”Here,” he announced after a moment, ”the snow’s not too deep.” He rummaged through his pack and pulled out a long iron spike attached to a length of chain.

”What’s that for?” Oram asked as Groom Peavers began to hammer the spike into the frozen ground his digging had uncovered.

Peavers paused and looked up, his face flushed with the exertion. ”Eh? Well, we need to make sure the trap’s secure, now don’t we? No good catching a fox if the li’l vixen just runs off with my nice trap latched onto one leg.”

Oram nodded, understanding, and Peavers finished fastening the stake. He was starting to spread hay around the spot when Oram thought of another question: ”So the fox will be trapped alive?”

Peavers answered without pausing his work this time. ”Oh, yes. I haven’t got a monstrous body grip trap like the one your brother is trying to sell for wolverines. You’ll have to club the thing.” He shot Oram a nasty grin. ”Easier than a wolverine, though, eh?”

Oram nodded glumly as he watched Groom Peavers place the trap atop the hay. Finishing off a fox would indeed be easier, but not much more pleasant. Then the older hunter paused and looked at him. ”Come, young Oram, I need to show you how to set this trap. Did you remember the bait?”

Started from his reverie about clubbing foxes, Oram grunted and hefted the bag he had brought containing the dead rats. Trapping rats had continued to come in surprisingly useful.

[Oram Mednix]

You press the middle valve down

As Oram reached for his bag of rats, Groom produced a somewhat larger, heavier-looking bag that clanked noticeably when he set it down. From it he produced a metal contraption, semi-circular. ”You know what this is?” he asked.

Oram peered at it a moment and then nodded. ”That’s a foot-hold trap. Bit small for wolves, but it’d do for a lynx or a fox.”

Groom grinned and nodded. ”Aye. It’s about the length of my hand.” He demonstrated by holding his gloved hand flat against the base. ”Of course, I have big hands. And you know what that means, eh?” He gave Oram a leer and a wink that made his skin crawl. ”The women like a man with big hands. Heh.”

”Can we get to the part where you show me how it works?” the traveler asked irritably.

”Ooh! Manners and patience, my young friend! Manners and patience! Tsk!” Groom Peavers pursed his lips and shook his head in a show of reproach that may or may not have been genuine. After a moment he relented with a sigh. ”Very well then, my impetuous and ill-mannered colleague. Watch closely.”

He presented the trap, and pointed at two winglike loops that stuck up to either side of the semi-circle like ears. ”These are the levers that pull on the spring that powers trap. You pull ‘em down like so.” He slid the loops down along the opposite sides of the semi-circle until they extended flat along the line of the diameter.

”Once you’ve got the levers pulled down, the jaws should push down easily,” he continued. Groom’s manner for once was serious and businesslike as he focused on handling the trap. He flipped the jaws down easily so that they lay flat. Gripping the trap carefully, he nudged a small metal tongue on the rim of the trap under the jaws. ”This is called the dog. Once the jaws are flat, you flip the dog up over like so,” he did so with an easy flick of his thumb, ”…and then under the pressure plate like so.” Again he did this with his thumb.

Groom then set the trap down carefully. ”And now it’s set. Just like that. Oh! Nearly forgot.” He fumbled for the length of chain attached to the spike he had just nailed into the ground. He twisted off a small winged nut attached to a bolt along the base of the trap, threaded the last link of the spike’s chain over the bolt, then screwed the nut back on over it. ”There. Now give me the bait.”

Oram handed over the frozen rat. Groom looked at it appraisingly, then after a moment started fumbling in a pocket of his coat, until at length he pulled out a vial. Carefully, he began to apply the syrup liquid it contained onto the bait. The traveler gaped.

”Is that poison?” he asked. ”I thought you said we’d need to club the fox once it was caught.”

Groom didn’t look up until he had finished with the poison and had replaced the stopper on the vial. For all his leering and vulgar jesting, Oram had to grudgingly admit, Groom Peavers was thorough and professional when it came to his actual trade. Once the stoppered vial was securely back in the older hunter’s pocket, however, the nasty grin returned. ”You may well still have to club it,” he said. ”Poison isn’t magic. They don’t always die as convenient as you like. But let’s hope, eh? Now of course there’s the last bit. We carefully set some hay over and around the trap itself” Groom did so and then placed the bait. He stepped back and looked appraisingly. ”There. That’s good. Take a look, Oram, what do you think? Look carefully, because you’re doing it yourself from here on out. Can’t have Daltrik seeing somebody else setting ‘your’ trap for you if he looks.”

Oram looked carefully. Groom had done a good job with the set, stuffing it into a slight hollow in the snow so that the fox would most likely have to approach the bait from the direction he wanted. It was a subtle funnel that Oram couldn’t help but admire. ”Looks good,” he said at last.

Groom watched him appraisingly. ”Think you can set this again yourself from here on out?”

Oram nodded. ”I think I’ve got this. Thanks, Groom.”

[Oram Mednix]

The music goes round and round and round

His hips ached. Snowshoeing worked one’s legs in ways Oram wasn’t used to, and those legs let him know this when he woke up the next morning. In spite of the soreness, the traveler was eager to check the trap he and Groom had set the trial before. He was both curious and apprehensive. He hoped that he did not find either a still-writhing fox or a destroyed trap when he returned to Daltrik’s farm.

The sky was just lightening -as much as it ever did in Cylus, at least- when Oram loaded up Mule, mounted, and set out. He had Groom’s poison with him, and his sled, in case he needed to get more hay from the chicken coop. For some reason, the older hunter thought he might need to do that. When he arrived at the set, Oram saw why. Straw lay scattered everywhere. In the middle of the destruction lay a motionless, reddish-brown form. It did not move as the hunter carefully approached it. In fact, it was quite stiff when Oram nudged it carefully with his spear.

Although it was over now, the fox had not succumbed quietly. The hay set was unrecognizable, and the animal had dug itself a wide shallow hole in the snow as it had struggled with the leg trap. Sometimes, foxes or wolves would chew off their legs to escape from a leg trap, and when he saw the amount of damage on this fox’s ensnared leg, Oram thought at first that it had tried to do just that. But he saw on closer inspection that it had simply injured itself trying to pull free. It had also vomited twice before finally dying. The poison, Oram realized. Using a rake borrowed from Daltrik’s chicken coop, Oram cleaned it away from the set along with the fouled straw.

Groom had apparently done an excellent job pegging the trap down; the stake had worked no more than a finger’s breadth free from the earth for all the fox’s struggles, and had stayed in place. Oram hammered it back in somewhat with his hatchet, and checked the chain connecting it with the trap. This had held up as well.

Recalling what Groom had showed him, Oram carefully pried the levers from the sprung trap away from the ruined leg and then gingerly re-opened the jaws to extract his quarry, so that he could show it to Daltrik.

The farmer was glad enough to see him, and even happier to see the dead fox, although he made a face when he saw the gory leg. ”Didn’t die quickly, I guess,” he observed. His tone suggested distaste, but not regret. Oram shook his head. ”That it did not,” he agreed. ”Tore up my set in the process, too.”

Daltrik was already counting out the nels. ”Will you need to set it again? Do you think there are any others?” he asked.

The traveler shrugged. ”We’ll see. I plan to set the trap again. Vixens often hunt for their kits as well as themselves; dogs like this one often hunt alone.” Or so Groom had told him yesterday.

Daltrik handed him the money for the bounty. ”Well, if you need any more straw from the coop, help yourself.” A bitter note crept into his voice: ”It’s not like the chickens will be needing it.”

Oram took his leave from the farmer and went straight to the coop behind Daltrik’s farmhouse, where Mule and his gear waited. There were only a few handfuls of straw left inside the structure, the interior of which still smelt as badly as it had yesterday. The hunter raked out the straw and piled it onto the sled, then headed back to the site. There he recreated the set as best he could, although with less straw to work with he did not think it looked as good as the set Groom had made the trial before. He applied the poison to the bait, then armed the trap itself, pulling down the levers, then the jaws, and then setting the dog. Carefully he sprinkled the last bit of straw over the trap, then stood up and stepped back to regard his handiwork. Deciding after a moment that it would do, he gathered up his things and rode back into town to find Groom.

[Oram Mednix]

It’s the end do do do do do do

Groom Peavers smirked as he examined the fox. ”Really fought didn’t it?” he asked as he examined the mauled leg. ”Ah well. Furriers don’t care about the legs, anyway. Only trophy hunters do. What did the set look like?”

Oram spread his hands out. ”He detroyed that, too. I barely had enough straw left from the coop to make a second set.”

Groom looked at the traveler. ”I wouldn’t worry about that. In fact, I’m off right after this to retrieve my trap. I got another gig. Out near Egilrun” He leaned towards Oram conspiratorially. ”And he’s got a daughter a damn site prettier than Daltrik’s wife, too. Better hunting all around. Heh.” Oram struggled to keep his composure when the other hunter winked at him.

Groom leaned back up and resumed a more businesslike tone. ”Meet me at Knight's Rest this evening. I should be able to sell the fox by then, and I can give you half. You got the bounty from Daltrik already, right?” Oram nodded.

”Right. So you give me half of that. Fair is fair.”

Whatever else Oram may have thought of Groom Peavers, he kept up his end of the business. The price he had gotten from the fox pelt was higher than Oram would have gotten -obviously the man had connections the traveler did not- and was furthermore more than the bounty. And yet, instead of simply leaving Oram with the smaller prize while he kept the larger, Groom showed up on time to exchange Oram’s half of the fee for his half of the bounty. ”You ran out of hay, didn’t you,” he observed, as he sat down to join Oram at the Knight’s Rest Inn and Tavern. ”Not the best hay set I’ve seen. But you did what you could with what you had, I imagine.”

Oram gritted his teeth. He still didn’t know Groom well enough to tell whether the man was putting him down, offering truly helpful criticism, or just bantering. And he disliked the man enough that he inclined to assume the first. Yet, the man had come as promised, and had given Oram his money. Wordlessly, the traveler nodded, then pulled out the bounty purse and counted out his partner’s share of the nels.

Groom took them with a satisfied sigh. ”A couple more gigs like that, and you’ll be able to get yourself a proper trap like me,” he said, slapping Oram on the back with a heartiness that he didn’t share. ”Pleasure doin’ business with you, Oram Mednix.”

Oram nodded and forced himself to grumble something vaguely gracious in return. Groom rose and took his leave. ”You might learn to talk while you’re at it,” he said in parting. ”Better for business.”

As he watched Groom Peavers walk away, Oram grumbled something far less gracious.

[Pig Boy]

Oram

Experience: 10 no magic xp

Knowledge:

Knowledge:

[Hunting] Foxes like to raid henhouses. Who knew?
[Hunting] Foxes also like to follow boundaries, such as walls and fences.

[Trap Making] How to set a typical metal leg trap.
[Trap Making] How to make a hay set for trapping fox.

[Fieldcraft] Walking in snowshoes is tricky, if you aren’t used to it.
[Endurance] Walking in snowshoes is tiring, if you aren’t used to it.

[Non-skill] Groom Peavers is a jerk, but he knows his fox-hunting.

Renown: 5

Skill Usage: Appropriate to level

Loot/Losses: none

Injuries/Conditions: none

Consequences: none

Comments: This is my first Oram thread I'm reviewing, but I gotta say I'm very impressed with the amount of detail and volume in this solo. The characterization of Oram and his temporary mentor Groom Peavers is very well expressed. Groom Peavers... I just like that name, it reminds me of Dickensian naming schemes. Of course, he's as much of a jerk, free with the insults as you would believe having heard it from Oram first. I wonder what kind of process he uses with the women he seduces? Does he flatter them as well as he insults other people?

I appreciated the technical details of all the trapping going on here. There was no vague glazing over the process, and in turn I feel like I've learned a few things as a result. Great thread and enjoy your points and knowledge.

If you have any concerns about this review, please PM me about them.