Scene II – SplitscreenWe now interrupt your regular broadcast with… Other Things™! Kinda.
Boom.
The Power of Dreamland explodes inside the donkey’s mouth! His jaw is blown off, and his body jolts back, letting out a sad howl of mistreatment. Where did it all go wrong? The Mobster Godfather mourns the death of the donkey. You mourn the death of your hand. It’s looking pretty bad. You should probably fix it. An assortment of spirits, liquors and liqueurs (you don’t actually know the difference) stand before you in the speakeasy.
Ah ha, reality is still somewhat broken, I can use that.
I do a repetitive action until reality decide to compress me, I use artifact from that to gain superpowers.
Reality compresses you! Your superpower is just that – being compressed. You guess you can fit through smaller places now? You aren’t actually sure how compressing a living, solid being works. It probably works just as you want it to work.
...As I noticed what I was doing I facepalmed internally, I assumed I grew past that phase already. Anyways before I go after the Godfather I go over to do a quick check on the Constable (AKA the Police intern) to see if he's dead. Seeing as he is I grab his gun and check it for damage I also check my 3 stats, Vim, Imagination, and Pulchritude to see where they stand at the moment.
"A, Speakeasy huh...well uh, that'll be a good place to increase my Imagination."
I say uncertainly as I start to approach the Hole in the wall.
The Constable (better name, thank you) is, indeed, dead! You pilfer his gun with your quick and roguish fingers, and it appears that the gun actually runs on bullets made of liquor candy, of which there are currently three loaded. Great. The police department doesn’t really have the money to supply every intern with a proper gun.
You check your stats, but notice that you do not currently have any VIM, PULCHRITUDE, or IMAGINATION! You instead inspect your REALITECH, HEXACIOUSNESS, and your own personal third stat, TELEPATHY!
[Insert intricate chart of stats that is too confusing to understand, and which I was too lazy to make.]
As you approach the speakeasy, you notice a slight spike in your HEXACIOUSNESS! It appears that something is influencing it from the inside. You feel a little bit more compelled to kick a certain Mobster’s ass.
Aw...
Hug the goat back, and try to use the healing power of HUGS on its wounds.
Then he looked around, and well, he liked this Godfather guy and could probably do with a drink.
"Hey, I'll take that drink!" he says, going with the Godfather into the speakeasy.
Maybe they had clothes that fit in there.
You hug the dead donkey. Suddenly, from beyond the seven abysses, his soul returns to his body! He slowly rises from the ground, looking twice as tall as before, and a thousand times as mighty. His mane, the very same that limply flailed in the weak winds of the city, now spreads as a flame kindled from the ashes of a phoenix, bursting and shifting with nothing but pure might. He looks straight into your eyes - no, deeper yet - he looks into your very
core.
“
My soul shimmers with the power of your mighty hug. Imbued with the boiling warmth of the hottest pools of magma deep in the core of this forsaken land, and the purest love felt by a billion mothers to their newly born children all in unison, I have been dragged back to impose divine justice. I see it now, the world moving together as one, my thoughts running deep like roots to every corner. Thank you.” His voice resonates through every bone in your body and every crevice in your mind. You can’t muster any words. He nods understandingly, and lets out one last triumphant hee-haw. You have no doubt that you will remember it for eons to come.
…
Then you snap out of it. Whew. That was something. You walk into the speakeasy. The Mobster Godfather quickly turns around and grabs a drink, trying to look as cool and mysterious as possible, but seeing as how the speakeasy is deserted, only appears to look goofy. “
Hey, you said you need some clothes? Fine. Guess I’m recruiting. You lot are a lot more trouble than I thought.” he frowns, and hands you a shirt and a hat. Both are too big. Way too big. You guess that you’re just cursed in the clothes department. Oh well, the Godfather is watching intently, and it would feel really awkward to just walk away. You reluctantly put both on, and- wait a second. You notice that “I <3 MG” is emblazoned in big and bold letters on both the shirt and the hat. You assume MG stands for Mobster Godfather? God, this guy really likes to lay it on thick. “
Now go stab someone or somethin’, I don’t know.” he commands you.
I watch in horror as the noble apprentice lawman is trounced by the savage donkeybeast. I crumble to the ground, covering my eyes and repeating prayers of light and justice as fast as the words would come to my mouth.
Hesitantly opening my eyes again, I see the fuzzy outline of a mysterious figure hover briefly over the fallen lawman, before going after the donkeybeast and its unholy rider into the dark crypt ahead. Another lawman?... or perhaps someone else?... I can only hope that the same fate does not befall them. Gathering my courage, I follow after the brave soul, careful not to be spotted by any of the crypt's lurking residents, most especially the donkeybeast.
A figure? Surely, there is no figure! It’d be absurd for there to be someone who was unaccounted for, especially when- wait, what is that sound? You swiftly spin on your heel, and catch another glimpse of a figure in a trench coat! He appears to have just entered the bathroom of the speakeasy. The donkey and the Godfather both are standing idly in the very center of the establishment. Getting past them will be tricky indeed.
Steal WyrdByrd's identity. My actions will now be regarded as WyrdByrd's, and WyrdByrd's actions are attributed to a nameless non-entity.
Charge into the fray. Use my shadow-puppet abilities to give the flock of birds extra legs, and make the legs kick all the carnival-goer's asses./b]
You… successfully pull that off, somehow! Seeing as how you now have access to WyrdByrd’s- Uh, I mean,
your shadow-puppet skills, you successfully hop on the (now revived) donkey’s back! You are now the rider of the night. What you do with your newfound steed?
Mindmeld with the donkey and become the donkey, then bite off TricMagic's arm.
You are now the donkey of the night, and atop you sits your newfound rider. However, you have a mind of your own, a mighty mind at that (especially after dying and being revived with the power of HUGS) and your will won’t bend! You charge straight at TricMagic and bite off his remaining hand, seeing as how the first one already exploded in his post. What a shocking turn of events!
In F or F, you chose for flight, much to my dismay
You dissapointed everyone by attempting an entree
into the speakeasy, that foul and vile, accursed place.
Therefore and thus, you must be stopped with violence to your face.
I'll knock the teeth right out your jaw, tear vocal chords from neck.
because you miss the means to speak, you'll never pass their check.
They won't admit a mute like you; it's really for the best.
for if you can't speak easily then there you cannot rest!
You use the fabled powers of PUNTECH to prevent the Godfather from speaking! As such, the speakeasy becomes the speak-difficult, and the Godfather takes 2 damage from the torn vocal chords! His vocal chords, however, seem to be able to talk on their own! “Hey, it’ll take a lot more than that to make someone with a mouth as big as mine shut up for good!” his vocal chords laugh, and then tangle themselves across your arm in some sort of weird tentacle-esque hold.
Steal WyrdByrd's identity. My actions will now be regarded as WyrdByrd's, and WyrdByrd's actions are attributed to a nameless non-entity.
Charge into the fray. Use my shadow-puppet abilities to give the flock of birds extra legs, and make the legs kick all the carnival-goer's asses./b]
You re-steal your identity! The other WyrdByrd, formerly IndigoFenix, is now attributed as the Nameless Non-Entity, at least until he finds some other identity. The post above is not impacted, however! Nevertheless, you find that even though you technically submitted two actions in this round (one action being performed by IndigoFenix with your identity), the game registers them anyway, considering there was never a rule prohibiting more than one action, or any rules at all, for that matter.
You do not have access to the skill that allows IndigoFenix to assume control of a flock of birds, seeing as how you are WyrdByrd. IndigoFenix’s power is still attributed to his identity, even if nobody on the field currently assumes it! You do manage to conjure up some stray puppet legs to kick a few asses in the carnival, and take delight in the plethora of sad hee-haws generated from this mischievous act. Suddenly, you see a hysterical mob conflating from within the carnival, torches and pitchforks and all. Oh my god. They’re wearing PETA shirts. It seems as if excessive asskickery has summoned the rage of PETA! You should be careful if you don't want them to destroy you. The power of angry activists trumps all in this miserable little world.
Well, it seems like you want a war! Call the Wehrmacht to my aid, and Albert Speer the donkey through its behind.
You dial 1488. Unfortunately, it is most likely that the local fascists are too busy jamming out at the yet-to-be-manifested caverns of the vast abyss, seeing as how this game takes place in some sort of weird amalgamate of America in the 20s! An intern is sent instead. Yes, somehow, even the Nazis have interns. "HALLO. GIBST ES EIN PROBLEM?!" he shouts in a horrid and raspy voice fit for Lovecraftian abominations. Even by just standing there, he releases a vile and malicious BRAINWASHING HYPERMAJYYK that you can only infer to be a healthy supply of the infamous FRAME stat. “
Crap! The Gestapo!” the Godfather yells hysterically, and jumps under one of the speakeasy tables.
You suddenly realize that you have been caught in a classically TrickleJestian callback via a crappy rendition of the response to MeimeFan88’s post in the first update. This revelation is so groundbreaking that you fail to Albert Speer the donkey. Definitely not because the GM doesn’t know who Albert Speer is or what he did. Did I mention how great my knowledge of history is?
somehow reappear from the shattered reality with the Malefic Girl from that reality. Attempt to cast resurrection on her!
You reappear, dragging the corpse of the Malefic Girl. Somehow, through the bullshit magic of cross-universal hyper-bullshit travel, the Malefic Girl is revived! “
AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!” she shrieks, her body suddenly jolting awake. “
Oh my god. I-I swear I just saw a pool of lava, and-and a bunch of, like, little red people with horns and shit! They were walking around with knives and stabbing each other and shit! Fucking knives! Really sharp ones! Oh god… Oh my god… I was in Hell!! I… I actually literally went to Hell! Holy shit! No, no, there’s no way that I’m actually- I mean, Hell’s for, like, Nazis and stuff! There’s no way I’m that bad!” she gasps, panting for breath. She runs one hand through her hair, which looks a bit disheveled from the ride here, and takes deep breaths. In, and out. In, and out. She exhales deeply one last time, and places both of her hands on her knees. You look at her a little puzzled.
“
I… I need to turn my life around! Yeah. I can’t go to Hell again. I need to, like, do virtuous stuff, like giving hair to cancer charities and feeding orphans. Damn it! Why is being not malefic so hard? Where are we, anyway?” she stands up, frowning slightly, and brushes off some dust from her shirt. “
My dad always told me that if I get stranded, the first thing I should do is start a cult. We should totally start a cult. WAIT! Are cults evil? Not all cults, right? Religion is practically a cult! You know, I’m sure it’s fine. They’ll probably give me a pass anyway.” she looks around, and starts heading in the direction of the speakeasy. You shrug and follow behind her.
seeing the Mobster Godfather's hostility, I hurriedly explain that no, I just don't have a clue what a speakeasy is -is it even a word? i feel like that's spelled wrong-, and was a bit distracted from it. If he has any idea how I can buy myself a realty- bootleg or otherwise- I'd love to do business with him.
Otherwise, i'm mostly here to watch. bound to be amusing!
While explaining this, I kill one of the microbes in my body. naturally, it has a soul, and Death comes to pick it up. without moving an inch, I smile and wave at Death. I ask it what the price is for a pocket reality around here. one quid? two grand? something without an ambiguous or esoteric currency-related term? I'm listening, mate. Gotta talk to the competition, you understand! helps keep prices low.
“
It ain’t spelled wrong! And who the hell doesn’t know what a speakeasy is?!” he shouts at you. It seems that timeframe shenanigans make certain words appear completely alien to you, while the Mobster Godfather treats it as an everyday occurrence. You ask him how you can buy “realty”, and he looks at you with a bit of a puzzled expression. “
I guess… I guess you’d need a real estate agent for that? Not really sure why you need realty, but whatever floats your boat.” he says.
You try to summon death, but instead summon a real estate agent! He explains to you that there’s a mansion you can buy just across the street for the whopping price of seven souls! Realty is expensive these days, you know.
The Man is still patrolling the speakeasy! His revived donkey (mind-melded with KingZultan), back from the gaping abyss, stands beside him. A shady man appears to have snuck by into the bathroom of the speakeasy. From the impacts of the battle, smashed bottles of alcohol create a horrid stench on the now-shard-littered floor of the shady establishment. It almost creates a thick fog of drunkenness, difficult to maneuverer in, and harder yet to escape from! The Mobster Godfather appears to be impervious to these effects.
The players aren’t looking very hot, either. Both of TricMagic’s hands have been lost to the deadly grip of the donkey. WyrdByrd and IndigoFenix appear to be having a metafictional showdown of wits! Also, fascists! Yes, you heard that right, there’s literally a Nazi intern on the field. Reality appears to be grumpy, and frowns in a curmudgeonly manner at the variety of FUN and EXCITING options, pointing at the Mobster Godfather with a huge and vile finger. Reality can really be a killjoy at times.
Suddenly, reality pauses in its tracks, noticing the Malefic Girl, alive and well! After a good few seconds of dramatic pausing, it stares at Dustan Hache in a “what have you done” sort of manner! Dustan appears oblivious. Reality would scream, but it has no mouth, and no actual features for that matter, aside from the ones ascribed to it by the author of this miserable tale. What a travesty to the balanced and non-conflicting order of universes!
SpeakeasyMobster Godfather: 49/50 HP. Currently patrolling the speakeasy!
AlleywayDonkey of the Night: 7/7 HP. He is the one who kicks.
Fascist Intern: 5/5 HP. I’d rather not comment on this one.
Malefic Girl: 5/5 HP. About to start a cult!
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Topic: Conductor's Jubilee (Read 8791 times)