Disco Elysium thinky thoughts & fic concept

[tozette]

Not to get toooo sexy on main but

I actually played an intensely cerebral Harry Du Bois in Disco Elysium, but there's repeated comments about his physicality—girthy biceps, 60kg lifts, the apparent cardiovascular endurance of an ultrarunner—that kind of make me think thinky thoughts about this other, implied kind of Harry.

There's this dynamic of Harry having no episodic and patchy semantic memories, poor impulse control, poor judgment and serious mood instability, while Kim is 98% of the critical thinking as well as, variously, both an enabler and the brakes on Harry's... less prosocial impulses.

I would like... horny disco elysium fic in which Harry really relaxes into being a thoughts-free semi-feral attack dog for Kim. Kim—a man who thinks it's ideal that the mechanics of his gun mean he has to think about every single bullet he loads—has complicated, sexy feelings about being in this much control of someone who is very, very dangerous under the right circumstances. And Harry gets to look upon him with blind trust and feel powerful and impressive and useful and like a good boy. Can't make decisions for himself without them going to shit, anyway. Isn't it nice to be on the leash?

(Also I hope Jean gets him back and has a complete meltdown about it because that would be funny to me, thank you.)

But I also think it is unreasonably sexy that your Harry can roll certain very physical skills, dig a bullet out of a week-old corpse's soft palate, and then give it to Kim like a carefully-wrapped, hard-won trophy. That's good work, Kim says, and some quiet voice in Harry's head goes: oh, he's really pleased.

Yeah he is.

---

I was just thinking about this yesterday and I think it would be fun to do a whole horrible case like this.

I've never really tried writing with the skills before so it's interesting to see how much character information you can leverage into a short scene. There's probably stuff I'd do differently if I was putting this in a longer form story but it sure is interesting

——

DERELICT SEASIDE WAREHOUSE—It is dim, draughty and cold. Sand and grit gather in the corners of this abandoned warehouse. It looks, and smells, as though it hasn't seen daylight in years. Not until you broke down the door today.

The light is still bad.

DOCKWORKER—He's a man, blond, and in his mid thirties. In the dimness of the warehouse your eyesight is poorer than usual and his large nose is a smeared red centrepiece, the stump of a felled tree in thr otherwise featureless plain of his face.

He looks at you with open hostility.

Hmm.

YOU—"We are only here to ask questions." You clasp your hands behind your back and stand up straight. Somehow, you do not think this will be a notebook kind of conversion.

DOCKWORKER—"I'm not so inclined to providing answers, piggy."

His mouth shuts, click. His pointed silence is a performance: he has nothing to say to the RCM in general and to you in specific. When he bares his teeth it's a slash of off-white you can see even in the dimness.

He peels back the flap of his jacket to pocket his hand—a gesture that draws attention to the long knife on his belt.

YOU—This blade is almost ten inches long. Its reveal is intended to intimidate. You revise your assessment of his intelligence. Downwards.

VISUAL CALCULUS (Trivial: failure)—You've got nothing. As usual.

PERCEPTION (Easy: success)—You feel Harry shift behind you, following you in through the broken door. His body is a mountain and it is neither silent nor unobtrusive when he moves. His restlessness is... tectonic.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) (Easy: failure)—The dockworker's face changes. You do not know what expression he is making. It is easy to see that it is Harry who has his attention.

The dockworker is uneasy. He is already regretting his unwise recalcitrance.

With a flash of insight you realise he didn't expect two of you at all. This is understandable: precinct 41 is so under-resourced that cops in Jamrock often work alone.

DERELICT SEASIDE WAREHOUSE—The waves crash outside. They sound angry.

INLAND EMPIRE—The floor creaks beneath Harry's feet. The potential for violence is a physical weight in the room: petrichor before a storm.

LIEUTENANT DOUBLE-YEFREITOR HARRIER "HARRY" DU BOIS—His restlessness is not truly restless. It is aggressive.

EMPATHY (Trivial: success)—The dockworker has upset him. He doesn't like him flashing his knife at you. Deep in the meat of his body, his heart thumps hard, a red machine keeping time in his chest.

AUTHORITY (Medium: success)—Suddenly you know without a doubt: if you say the word, he will kill this man.

EMPATHY (Challenging: failure)—How will he feel about it in the grey light of dawn? It is impossible to say.

AUTHORITY—Impossible to say, and irrelevant. It is your finger on the trigger.

HALF LIGHT—Pull it.

YOU—"There's no need for that."

SAVOIR FAIRE (Medium: failure)—Without looking away from the highly suspect—and armed—dockworker, you reach out to grab Harry by his hideously patterned tie, before he can go right past you and do something that will end in paperwork. It will be a restraining hand, you think, only more literal.

Your peripheral vision is poor. You miss spectacularly and your fingers slide on the old satin of his shirt instead. Beneath it, a rug of thick hair lies in coils. You imagine you can feel the heat of his skin clean through your gloves.

LOGIC (Trivial: success)—That's impossible.

INLAND EMPIRE—So you say. Is it?

LIEUTENANT DOUBLE-YEFREITOR HARRIER "HARRY" DU BOIS—He goes still anyway. You do not need to pass a check to restrain him.

COMPOSURE (Legendary: failure)—You are painfully aware of the fine trembling in Harry's body. You blink slowly.

AUTHORITY (Easy: success)—He *wants* to obey.

EMPATHY (Legendary: success)—He wants to obey *you*.

This thought is an immediate and tremendous distraction.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY—Mon Empereur, vous êtes adoré. Put him out of his misery. Push him to his knees. Pull him—

VOLITION (Heroic: success)—Ask your questions. Before this deteriorates.