Xenoverse origins / R-058
Daisy DunkOrigin story
Daisy Dunk: The Splash That Arrived Early
A demonstrator who promises predictable entertainment must stop a tank from turning possible embarrassments into scheduled events.
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Daisy Dunk could identify a dissatisfied customer by the way they folded a ticket. A single crease meant disappointment; several meant a refund campaign. She preferred to prevent both. Her demonstrations always delivered exactly the advertised splash, at exactly the advertised moment.
A splash arrives before its target falls, and Daisy discovers that her attraction has started taking reservations from tomorrow.
Then a councillor in the front row became soaking wet while Daisy was still sitting above a perfectly undisturbed tank.
A prediction isn't a booking.
From the dossier
Prologue — Guaranteed Entertainment
The councillor stood up slowly. Water dripped from his ceremonial collar onto a plaque reading DRY VIEWING SUPPLEMENT. Daisy checked the target, the seat and the green surface below her. Nothing had moved.
“An atmospheric preview,” she announced.
She regretted the phrase immediately. The councillor liked it.
Daisy was the Dunk Tank Demonstrator at the Amusement Park outpost. The Goblin Council knew her as the worker who made unpredictable crowds behave like timed deliveries. She knew which councillors complained quietly and which required an audience before they could experience discomfort. This one belonged firmly to the second category.
He requested another preview. Daisy declined on grounds of atmospheric scarcity and closed the attraction for polishing.
Inside the tank, beneath the ordinary waterline, another Daisy appeared. This reflected figure wore a paper crown and looked furious. Around her, indistinct spectators raised their hands. A yellow ticket floated upward through the image and dissolved against the glass.
The tank's new enchantment had arrived that morning in a jar marked EXPECTATION ENHANCER. Daisy had approved it because customers complained less when something was promised twice. She had poured in the entire jar.
Her assistant, a goblin who sorted tickets by probable argument, read the label's underside.
“May contain imminent outcomes.”
“May contain is not the same as does contain.”
The reflection put on a second paper crown. Daisy turned the jar over again, hoping to find a smaller problem in the remaining print.
Act 1
Tomorrow's Queue
Act I — Tomorrow's Queue
By noon the attraction had acquired a queue of people who had already experienced it. One customer insisted the demonstration was excellent. Another demanded compensation for an insult Daisy had not yet delivered. A third arrived carrying a replacement hat, although his original was still on his head.
Daisy lined them up by ticket colour. Order helped her think. Unfortunately, it also helped the tank.
Each time she assigned a place, a scene sharpened beneath the water. The customer with the hat would lean over the rail. The customer expecting an insult would accuse her of favouritism. The pleased customer would laugh at both of them.
Daisy could see an easy solution. She would prevent each little disaster before it happened and turn the attraction into the most reliable entertainment in the outpost.
She asked the hat owner to stand back. He took offence and leaned closer to demand an explanation. His hat dropped into the tank.
She complimented the second customer's patience. He assumed she was mocking him. The third customer laughed so hard that he bought another ticket.
The tank accepted the transaction with a deep, satisfied bubble.
Her assistant stopped sorting. “It likes a tidy queue.”
“So do I.”
“Yes,” he said, with an irritating absence of admiration.
The councillor returned in dry clothes with two colleagues. He wanted to see his preview completed. Daisy explained that the attraction was temporarily unable to distinguish events from reservations.
“Then give the events numbers.”
This was exactly the sort of suggestion she would ordinarily have welcomed. Daisy looked at the numbered queue, the sharpened reflections and her own hands arranging tickets into little stacks.
For the first time, neatness looked less like control than cooperation with something that should not have been encouraged.
Act 2
The Queen of Certain Failure
Act II — The Queen of Certain Failure
The paper crown appeared on the counter at closing time. Nobody claimed to have brought it. Across its front, in dripping ink, were the words DAISY KNOWS BEST.
Under the water, her reflection stood beneath a banner promising THE PERFECT DEMONSTRATION. She watched herself predict every throw, every laugh and every complaint. The reflected crowd grew bored. Then it began chanting for a mistake.
Daisy tried draining a little water into a display bucket. The future moved with it. Now there were two crowds demanding a mistake, one small enough to carry. She set the bucket down without spilling another drop.
The Council proposed selling private predictions. Daisy could name tomorrow's winners, price tomorrow's disputes and keep the attraction open overnight. Her own next failure would be billed as a premium event.
She had spent so long preventing disappointment that the suggestion initially sounded like a promotion. Then she pictured working every shift twice: once to see what went wrong, once to be blamed for allowing it.
“A prediction isn't a booking,” she said. “No.”
The councillor tapped his damp sleeve. “You sold me a preview.”
“I sold you a dry seat. That was ambitious enough.”
Daisy brought the paper crown to the front of the tank. She admitted to the waiting customers that she had used too much enchantment. Several looked disappointed; they had hoped for a grander explanation involving ancient enemies or unusually poor procurement.
She offered refunds. Half the queue left. The reflections of those customers thinned but did not vanish. Possibility, apparently, disliked being dismissed merely because money had changed direction.
The remaining spectators wanted their guaranteed demonstration. Daisy removed the guarantee sign from its hooks. In the water, the reflected banner tore along the same seam.
Her assistant noticed first. “It can't promise what you haven't promised.”
Daisy looked at the empty hooks. She had been trying to change outcomes. Perhaps she could change the invitation.
Act 3
An Unreserved Seat
Act III — An Unreserved Seat
She put a blank board above the target and asked the remaining spectators to decide what they would like to do. Not what they wanted to see her do. What they wanted to do themselves.
The question produced an offended silence. They had paid to avoid responsibility for the afternoon.
Daisy stepped away from the seat. One spectator suggested singing. Another said absolutely not. Someone offered to throw the crown into the tank. The councillor demanded a schedule for this discussion.
Beneath the surface, the reflected crowd split into overlapping shapes. A dozen possible demonstrations competed for the same little rectangle of water. None had enough agreement to become an appointment.
Daisy picked up a ball and passed it to her assistant. He passed it to a customer. The customer put it in his pocket and asked whether it was included in the ticket. Laughter broke out, unhelpful and unplanned.
The prediction below them blurred.
Then Daisy sat on the ordinary bench beside the queue. She did nothing. This was the hardest part. She had no joke prepared, no guarantee to offer, no polished explanation for the wait. When somebody complained, she let the complaint exist without immediately building a future around it.
The tank gave one final splash. It soaked the empty ceremonial seat.
After that, its glass reflected only whoever stood in front of it.
The Council removed Daisy's reliability commendation and charged her for the councillor's second cleaning bill. She kept her job, but her demonstrations now included a small sign admitting that results could vary. The ticket clerk said it was terrible advertising. Daisy said it was the first promise she intended to keep.
During the next rainstorm, yellow tickets began appearing in the gutters around the attraction. They carried no names and no dates.
Each was stamped RESERVED.
Daisy gathered them before opening, leaving them unsorted in a bucket. Above the park, a cloud took the shape of an empty grandstand and waited for someone to announce the weather.
The attraction that promises too much
The Amusement Park outpost sells surprises in carefully priced portions. Daisy's demonstration becomes dangerous when a novelty enchantment mistakes the audience's expectation for an instruction about what must happen next.