So, I believe it has been decided.  My personal assessment of the situation at the mall (which I compiled while working the counter at the store - not having Worker 8 or Gafgarion is... hurting business, I'm sure) is that one fellow is of particular concern: Mr. Jecht.

So, the current plan is to find Mr. Jecht (which shouldn't be too difficult at all), and use this gift of "commanding" people to have him to (willfully) relieve Dr. Cid of the bell.  I may not even have to resort to the "command" - I can reasonably offer my own submission to Jecht (I'm not going to beat the man in a fight - he's a brute).  It is my theory that the "strength" he draws from those who submit is merely physical, and not the submitter's actual personal strength.  If the latter -were- the case, then all would be doomed should be gain access to all of my considerable skills!  But alas, it is a risk I must take.

So, Mr. Jecht, may we arrive at a deal, or must I bend you to my considerable will?  I assure you, in my professional opinion, that the ill effects you might suffer from possession of the bell would only minimally hinder your quest.

Whoever our mysterious benefactor-slash-torturer is, he at least had good taste in assigning gifts and/or penalties.  Worker 8 is a blank slate, it seems (which was a bit of a mess yesterday, but it was quickly sorted out).  Gafgarion has a chance to do what he does best, and scramble to achieve monetary gain.  Dycedarg has been gifted the power he constantly craves.  And I, most fittingly, have been given the gift of control.  My restrictions are slight, but potent.  It is as though I am given the ability to be the "chessmaster" of this whole event, and I will serve in that capacity as admirably as I do all others.  I -was- captain of my seminary's chess team, you'll note.  And I -did- lead us in a still unsurpassed flawless victory against -both- of our competitors and rivals.  This will be the same, though now my opponent is simply the event itself.  Or perhaps my opponent, in a grander sense, is fate.  Perhaps the universe!  Surely this will set the groundwork for a best selling novel (my publisher insists that my first book, "Germonik Scriptures for Dummies," has just not found its market yet).  I am reminded, however, that I still have yet to publish the research I completed at Dycedarg's behest regarding the other local inhabitants.  Perhaps when this newest mess is over and done with.

Out of all of this, the only bit that I find distasteful is the apparent punishment of our new friend, and fellow professional, Dr. Cid.  I am contemplating finding another poor soul more deserving of that fate, and using my own gift to force them to willingly accept Dr. Cid's burden.  Unfortunately, I see two hurdles at the moment.  First, I am uncertain if that is how this "power" works - whether it will actually allow me to make someone "willingly" do anything.  And second, I am uncertain of who to inflict that punishment upon.  I fear I do not have a great amount of time to make that decision if the removal of the curse from Dr. Cid does not reverse the mental damage.  Perhaps I shall choose one of those who are most likely to attempt interference with Gafgarion's little money-making venture (of which I am entitled to a portion).

Decisions decisions.  But again I must emphasize, they are in the right hands.

Having talked to several other mall residents, it seems I may have been the only one teleported to monday's party in the nude.  Apparently other unfortunate guests arrived with swimming shorts magically adorning them.  This perhaps requires some investigation - my current hypothesis is that there was some interference from my large... intellect.  Perhaps I have able to better -resist- the magics of this place.  Unfortunately, this will be extremely difficult to actually -test -.  Unless, of course, more events unfold.

In other investigative news, Dycedarg is insisting that I "interrogate" our new neighbors and associates.  I believe he, too, was dragged to the party against his will.  While he will not disclose his purpose for my investigation, it is my professional opinion that he is simply lashing out in futility, looking for a way to channel his anger at his brother.  Honestly, I don't understand -why- he insists on holding a grudge against the boy.  I'm not even certain the youngest Beoulve boy -understood what he was doing- at the time.  He's never struck me as a -bright- boy.

It appears there was a party last night.  I... discovered this during my evening bath, just as I had settled down to read a book.  Suffice to say, by some magical marvel, I appeared at the place of the party, fully nude and dripping wet.  The mall's keeper, Mr. NORG, demanded a gift, and with nothing else, I handed him the book.  The situation was made more uncomfortable when NORG depanded a "birthday hug."  Given my state of dress... I... if I weren't a psychotherapist myself, I would have to seek counselling, I'm certain.

Someone loaned me a towel, and that served as my clothing for the night.  I showed some of these younger kids a thing or two about mixing drinks.  It's been a long time since my training as a bartender, but my skill remains great.  Overall, the party was good, if a bit of a surprise.  I admit, I went to work slightly hung-over today.  The dark of the back room was... comforting.

Perhaps tonight I can bathe undisturbed.

Without me, I remain confident that this place (along with its residents) has no hope for survival.

Dycedarg became ill this morning.  He somehow -ingested- one of these so-called "muffins" that is making everyone vomit.  I must admit, the reaction to actual -consumption- of the muffin was intriguing.  Dycedarg vomited continuously for several hours.  There was obviously a supernatural element to this, as he expelled more material than could possibly have been present in his body.  I assured him that, given this observation, he would most certainly be fine.  I don't believe he took my assurance very well.  When his sickness toned down slightly, I had Worker 8 take him home.  On his way out, I took mild advantage of the situation, and had Worker 8 use Dycedarg as a makeshift fire-hose, spraying the ever-present mob with projectile vomit.  That certainly did the trick.

With Dycedarg ill and Gafgarion babysitting our manager, it was left to Worker 8 and I to run the store.  I think things went swingingly, though sales were certainly -lower- than they were the last few days.  The only cause I can think of is Worker 8 not putting in as much effort today as he has been.  Because it certainly wasn't any fault of -mine-.

I find the locals to be simply bewildering.  A long-term case study of the mall's social structure may be in order.

First, through some kind of time magics (though I'm not yet certain -what- kind, or what the source of the magic might be), our manager is a child of 10.  Her state really has no impact on our day-to-day work though, so it is really of little concern.  I believe Dycedarg had Gafgarion take care of it.  Still, the oddities of this locale are astonishing.

Second, and much more significant, was a mob outside of our store.  It seems many of the local mall patrons are unhappy with our replacement of the prior employees.  I attempted to quiet their concerns, explaining my own expertise in the field of employment law, and noting that the former female employees had made the mistake of signing contracts without a "for cause" limitation on termination.  Bottles were thrown in response, and I believe at least one torch.  It reminded me of my younger days, as a neophyte priest back home.  As I resolved to return to my business in the store, and leave Dycedarg to deal with the irrational crowds, I heard someone shouting about us "knocking the girls out."  I want to clarify, here, for my conscience, that I only rendered -one- of the girls unconscious via force, and it was only as a result of her utter -refusal- to leave the store.  Additionally, none of the women had negotiated a "no clubbing me over the head, then tossing my body out into the trash heap behind the mall" clause into their contracts, so legally, we were in the right.

Ah, finally, some peace.

As I noted earlier, Dycedarg had me looking for apartments for our stay here.  He didn't really shop around much, after learning of the "almost satisfactory - but far more satisfactory than the rest" reputation of this Empire Estate.  As our attorney and real estate agent, it fell to me to perform the actual -work- of the transaction.  I had my people (by which I mean me) get ahold of their people, and we did lunch.  Or I did lunch.  Their people (or person, as the case may have been) did not eat.  He kept explaining how "perfect" their community was.  I, in turn, suggested that, while the place certainly is impressive, he really shouldn't brag - there's always room for improvement.  I don't believe the poor man believed me, but I assured him that all could be made well enough by allowing the -right- kind of people to dwell here - namely, my companions and I.  I drafted a contract for us all, and the man signed.  Well, I think he signed.  He may have only written "Must Obey the Empire Estate," but it's not completely clear.

With -that- taken care of, Dycedarg had our mechanical companion move us all in. 

I wasn't certain of where Gafgarion had gotten off to for most of the day, until he brought us all several employment applications, and said he'd found a place for us to work.  Sometimes I think that man may be some kind of idiot-savant.  Perhaps I could publish a case study on him.  Hm, I'll have to take a note of that.

His choice of venue was... enlightened.  While Dycedarg balked at the idea of working in a "Lingerie Shop," I jumped at the opportunity.  It was too perfect a chance to pass up: I could easily make it clear that the store's management either accept our applications and hire us, or face several hefty discrimination charges.

As it turned out, the store's proprietor, one Ms. Ultimecia, had no choice.  Perhaps I should add "contract negotiator" to my resume.  Hm, not a terrible idea, really.

We went through orientation this evening.  I don't believe Dycedarg is too happy with our employment choice, but I confided that we two may not have to work very dilligently, as Gafgarion and Worker 8 seem to have taken quite readily to our new "sales" position.

My good friend Dycedarg Beoulve has, again, decided to kill his brother.  Big surprise.  Some therapists would feel that this speaks poorly as to their skill, but I really do believe that Mr. Beoulve is making progress.  At least he seems willing to personally confront his issues, rather than... poisoning them.

Suffice to say, in my professional capacity (as his therapist, attorney, accountant, campaign advisor, and priest), I have decided to accompany Dycedarg.  When I mentioned this to Gafgarion, he decided to come as well.  I know he gets lonely and all, but... sometimes I worry about that man.  He... hasn't been the same since therapy.

The Mallboro mall is an... intriguing place.  Its a big collection of... some of the strangest people I've ever met.  Just from my brief contact, I would venture that many, if not -most-, are in dire need of my professional services.  Dycedarg has expressed interest in staying in the area, and I believe I'll stay as well.  Work to be done, and all that.


In other news, Dycedarg conned me into entering into a virtual reality fighting tournament.  I lost quickly, in my first match.  No real surprise - "fighting" isn't exactly one of my specialities (not to say I'm not quite talented in that regard - I am simply out of practice).  I was told to watch Worker 8 while Dycedarg and Gafgarion entered the second round.  Gafgarion seems to be moving further on, but Dycedarg was quite handily eliminated.  We've decided to go apartment shopping this weekend, and while I'm certain Dycedarg will demand final word, as a practicing real estate agent I feel it's my duty to examine all of the local options.