Mary will slam a subpoena down on the table in front of you, but since it’s a subpoena and therefore not very big she’ll less “slam” it and more “slap” it down. It’ll make a whooshing sound and make you stab yourself with a needle, prompting an effete wincing sound and a quick wrist flick after you pull the needle out.
“What the fuck, Mary?” you’ll ask. She’ll tap her finger on the subpoena twice, as if it’s supposed to mean something off the bat. You’ll tentatively open it with your injured hand and start flipping through.
Apparently you’re being kicked out for sexual harassment. Women have complained about being groped in the supply closet, and since you’re the only dude in the sewing club it wasn’t long before blame fell upon your slightly-wider-than-your-contemporaries shoulders.
You know you didn’t molest anyone in a dark closet. You’re incredibly gay and a perfect gentleman aside. But if you come out to the police with this information you’ll lose your “straight boy” scholarship and have to go back to selling yourself to lonely people in their fifties who want to have a crack at a hot, tight gay boy.
As such you’ll have to uncover information about the sewing club in order to determine just who the real molester is so that you can clear your name and avoid finding a new place to sew, along with a spot on the sex offender registry.
Unfortunately the police won’t accept “trying to find out who really did these terrible acts” as a reason for visiting your sewing club, and after a brief conversation they’ll remove you from the building and toss you out on the street, hungry for justice and a place where you can be yourself and darn your socks in peace.
Congratulations on Being Kicked Out of Your Sewing Club!
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