11
« on: December 24, 2009, 01:05:07 AM »
A Bus rocketed down the Shelby Highway. Not one of those Greyhound buses, one of those big, old city buses, with natural gas engines that struggle to get uphill on a .003% incline. Night time had struck whilst you were asleep, and now the Moon sat high above, its light cascading across the shiny pines that lined the roadside and dotted the slowly rolling hills beyond.
You look forward down the road, similarly reverberating the Moon's shimmer. A great, jagged mountain shoots across the horizon, splitting the roiled hills and the barely-lit town below. You check your watch again - 12:28 AM - and glance through your bus schedule that your parents had so kindly given you before speeding away in their new Chevy Malibu, wondering quietly why the 7377662 Bus from Gotham was the only bus to the small town in the distance scheduled for the next six months. You decide to put it out of your mind and look through the light reading about the town.
Chaucer's Town, a bizarre little slum in the middle of the forest, began with a gas station, intended to be one of three waypoints between Gotham and Lin City to the east. The other two were never built, and so the middle station, bereft of proper repair supplies, became host to a wide variety of ruffians and hooligans who had been stranded by their broken transports. Its largest claim to fame was having played host to the single largest 'Hooverville' in the United States during the Great Depression, in part due to the inadequate repair facilities and peoples' general lack of money to buy gas with. Andrew Carnegie had created a very nice preparatory school in the town in his later years, one which continued in relative wealth but with very little notoriety outside of a select number of the upper classes. The variety of grey buildings had appeared in or around 1956 when-
This is boring the hell out of you. You toss the booklet aside and turn around in your seat, placing your head on your backpack and your legs on your skateboard. The slow thumping of the road against your back slowly lulls you to sleep...
You sort of wake up later, sitting upright in front of a limousine of sorts, adorned with all sorts of drinks and leathers and, prominently, a slouched, balding, long-nosed man in a black suit (with an amazing mustache-beard combo) alongside a table and a very large-haired man (with a less impressive goatee) who for some reason is dressed in a blue sailor suit. The Baldo makes a majestic flourish.
"Welcome," he hisses in a most white manner, "to the Velvet Roo- this is a car, what am I smoking. My name is Ig-- Smi-- hold on." He leans over and whispers to the other man. 'What did we agree on?"
The man shrugs. "I don't know, man, I'm just the book keeper. Why'd you make me dress this way goddamn-"
Baldo shoves his hand in the man's face and turns back to you, spitting "let's just say I am a... benefactor of yours. You've got quite a journey ahead of you. I can tell, because I'm magic. As I have a... vested interest in seeing how people with... unique talents such as yourself conduct themselves in a hostile environment, it is probably wisest to do all I can to keep you alive. Don't ask me why I have such an interest in people such as yourself. I just do. And I can offer services that may prove... important in your future affairs."
He spreads his hands outwards. "But, as a businessman, it is important that every deal have rules. What deal? Why, it is simple: I help you with your inbound predicament, and in exchange, you let me... examine how you and your associates conduct themselves. Where was I? Ah, yes, it is important that this deal has rules. As such, I have taken the liberty of writing up a fairly loose contract. Sign at your leisure, there's no rush. We have all the time in the world."
He tosses you a sheaf of paper coated in writing. It is difficult to decipher, and even harder to comprehend, but it seems to say:
-All actions will be arrived by general interpretation of post consensus and mood of the involved.
-The minimum number of posts needed to resolve an action is seven. If a vein of thought seems to cause particular discussion, this limit may be expanded.
-It is important to post even if you are simply agreeing; otherwise it is impossible to gain a common consensus.
-Having said that, please to try to think of creative options. However, things such as 'bend her over and fuck her right here' will be discarded.
-Given speech options are not the only speech options; if you have an idea for something else to say or do, post it.
Befuddled, you sign it with a magically appearing pen and hand it over.
"Good, now then, -- oh, what was your name again?" Baldo stares over at the large-haired man, who simply shakes his head.
> What is your PROTAGONIST'S NA- you know what fuck this
>>Your PROTAGONIST'S NAME is DOMINIC.
"I see. Well then, our business should be concluded; I shall give you this," he holds up a small black device with two buttons on it, "magic garage opener, which will allow you to return here at your leisure. With that, Mis-Mister-Misses- Oh damn, forgive me, this incredible baldness has obscured your gender!"
> What is your PROTAGONIST'S GENDER?
MALE
or
FEMALE
INITIATE.
