>>174
Guess what you can't do to things from the app store on any platform.
>>174
If they GPL their fork, it's perfectly within their rights. Though if they choose to charge for it while you have the same software e.g. on git for free, people will probably prefer your free-as-in-free-beer version.
If they don't GPL it then you have legal grounds to get them to cease and decist distributing it until they comply with the terms of the GPL. Also, what >>175-san said. There are not many free as in freedom apps in any of the major mobile app stores to begin with because those companies prefer to have both developers and users under the control of their proprietary systems (with regards to Google, technically, Android/Linux is free software, but it is almost always distributed with the Google Play app which is not freedom respecting.)
>>169
Bring the bread, sausages, et al back to the camp. And grab the papers too. Look over them on our own later.
>>170
You spend a few minutes carefully converting each and every one of the sheets of paper into miniature unpiloted aircraft. You make sure to include a range of designs, from the traditional glider to more exotic shapes, including even asymmetrical ones. You feel a childlike glee as you reappropriate these dull documents into instruments of flight. For those precious moments your delusion becomes your reality, and you are able to forget your unenviable circumstances.
Once done, you launch them one at a time into the looming twilight. Finally, with the last faint light of the evening, you march out and seek the out the specimen that made it the furthest. You find one around ten metres from the launch site. The darkness is almost complete, and even if there were any further away you doubt you'd be able to find them. You unfold and try to read your new testament, this document upon which the rest of your life will rest, but alas it is too dark. Your feeble diurnally suited eyes cannot resolve the tiny, ornate letters. More troublingly, the paper is quite damp, and you suspect the ink may have begun to run.
>>171
Whyever did that blessed bird abandon you? Was it because of your misguided comments regarding free software? It was, wasn't it? Oh, cruel fate! Those traitorous words that spilled out of your mouth, light as feathers, have shackled you to a future of isolation and solitude. Your happiness - that brightest, most delicate of things - has taken wing and left, perhaps forever, and there is nothing you can do about it. You plead your case to the indifferent greyish foliage as though, somewhere out there, there might be some god with even a flicker of benevolence left listening, but your heart isn't in it.
>>172
You wish you could leave it at this, but, in some heart-lurching display of masochism, you continue to torture yourself. Struggling even to force out each word, you further expound the inherent contradictions in the very idea of free software in a world as sick as ours.
>>173
Why? What did you do to deserve this? Unable to bear the torment any longer, you throw yourself headlong into the stream. The cold, black water rushes into your mouth, causing you to splutter and pause in the midst of your tirade on the relative merits of software licences.
>>174
Still, it is not enough. You must still this sinner's tongue for good. You push your own head under the surface, time and time again, but every time you find yourself forced back up again by some primordial instinct of greater will than yours. Not once do you hear the chorus of angels, singing to you of the path of forgiveness and redemption - nor, as might even be greater comfort, the cajoling of demons, recounting your every sin and telling you what perdition awaits you. Instead, unspeakably worse than either or anything else, all you hear is your own voice, arguing with yourself - with yourself! - about legality and software redistribution.
>>175
Hands shaking, you grasp a large, firm pebble from the streambed, lie down on the bank, raise it above your head and bring it down onto your skull. There is a faint crunch and an intense flash of pain, but still your mouth continues to enunciate every cruel word. Again you raise the stone, again you bring it down, again there is a flash of pain. It is not enough, you think frantically; a single word - a single syllable - nay, a single phoneme more on the topic of computing, programming, coding, or anything even tangentially related would be enough to tear away that last torn, battered garment of sanity with which you clothe your fragile psyche.
>>176
You scream, an unending, unholy sound exploding out of you from some hidden fold so deep within you that you could never have known it lay within you. Every ink-black spectre of inhumanity that lay, silently, within your heart is released at once, and tears forth from your mouth in a ceaseless, breathless torrent.
Like a gift from Heaven, the stone falls from your palsied hands and collides with your skull, mercifully putting an end to every unspeakable machination that had been born within its bounds. You die.
GAME OVER
Deaths: 3
(Continuing from most recent saved game: >>178)
You find yourself holding the remains of a paper aeroplane, in a clearing in a rainforest. A light rain is falling. Night has come, and you cannot see anything at all.
>>177
You have no idea how to get back to the camp without a guide. The papers are scattered all across the damp ground, quietly soaking into obscurity, and it is beyond hope to find them all now.
Stay the night in the abandoned camp and set off randomly the next morning. Quicksave.
Also be sure to bring the food with us.
Move your ass to shit on this gay cock.
Make sure to read our new testament at the first light of day.
Make sure our testament is free as in freedom.
>>180,181,183
Displaying, thankfully, some modicum of common sense, you crawl into the meagre shelter you found earlier, curl up on one side and attempt to fall asleep. It is not easy. Firstly, the structure seems to have been built by/for someone of substantially shorter stature than you, leaving your feet outside in the rain and mud. Your ribs are still sore from the corporal punishment you received earlier, back at the camp, meaning you struggle to find any position to lie in which doesn't put weight on at least one of your sore points.
What truly keeps you from sleep, however, is the noises from outside. A few times you hear long, low rumbling noises, as of distant thunder, but which last for thirty seconds at a time and seem to Doppler slightly as you listen, as though the source of the noise is moving. Three times you are shocked awake by the high-pitched chattering and howling of wild animals, once very nearby indeed.
At last, the sky is reclaimed by sunlight and you are forced awake. Through aching eyes and a faint headache, you crawl out of your abode to inspect your surroundings. The rain has ceased at last, only to be replaced by a dull, white haze through which the rays of the morning sun filter, like bad coffee. You begin by reading the crumpled, water stained sheet of paper that had been by your side all night. It is written in black ink, in enormous, looping ornate letters. It seems to be a letter, but the salutation, valediction and much of the contents are illegible. You manage to work read:
--eve--
--inforest. Should be eas--
--irborn--
--econnoitre. We shouldn't be far from one another geographically, but the possibili--
--ffect may last for mere seconds, or it might be permanent; you can never tell with these damn quantum things. Too many variables for my tastes. At any rate, you should make full use of this phenomenon. The initial slate we used was enough to get us here, but no--
--re limits, naturally. You can'--
--ssume was a gift from y--
--ad our differences, I trust that we are past that now. The bird in question is currently doing reconnaissance, trying to locate you, or summon any mooks that we can sacrifice to further ou--
--at you realise th--
--ove y--
--t die in a fire, but I--
--hy you fear the n--
--ow them ju--
--ss--
You aren't quite sure how to interpret your new bible, but interpret it you must. Is this letter addressed to you, as a disciple? What is this "slate" that is mentioned? What is the significance of the bird? Was there some suggestion of self immolation? Suddenly, you aren't so sure about this new religion of yours.
In an act of serendipity, you decide, completely at random, to follow the nearby brook upstream. Unfortunately, you find that it is beyond your ability to carry all the food at once along with the rest of your inventory, so you settle for taking only four each of the foodstuffs. Even this is awkward to manage while traversing jungle.
>>182
Despite a thorough search of your inventory and immediate surroundings, you cannot locate any farmyard animals whatsoever, including donkeys and cockerels. Furthermore, you aren't entirely sure how you'd go about entertaining the chicken in question enough to reach the prerequisite gaiety, nor how you'd then arrange the donkey so as to defecate directly onto it.
>>184
You weren't planning to charge for access to your newly discovered religious text, nor particularly to conceal it from others, but make the conscious decision to keep things that way as far as possible.
After much walking, you reach a faint, poorly defined path crossing the stream, with a makeshift bridge consisting only of a wooden door. To the Southeast, a short distance uphill, there is a two storey building made of red brick. Every visible window is smashed. There is a banner hanging between two windows reading "DO NOT ENTER". To the Northwest, the path continues unabated. As you are standing deliberating over the dilemma, you hear the chattering noise again, from the West.
Enter with a proud strut in defiance of the banner.
contemplate the origins of the universe
>>185,186
Offer some food to whoever is in the building as a gesture of goodwill.
Lift up shirt and present chest as a gesture of goodwill.
Spread the good word of the sacred Eve Inforest.
>>186
Given the choice between not entering the building (and being blindly obedient to perceived authority) or entering the building (and being easily manipulated by reverse psychology (or just very stupid)) you go ahead and choose the latter. As it is on the opposite bank to which you are currently on, you try to cross the bridge. Unexpectedly, the door snaps in half as you put your weight on it, making a loud noise and dampening your feet. The animal noises which were, until now, fairly subdued, suddenly swell into a raucous, rapidly approaching chorus of shrieks and howls.
Not feeling particularly in the mood for company, you make your way up the valley side towards the building. You find a second banner draped across the ground in front of the building; seemingly a continuation of the first, which has fallen from place. It reads "YOUR PARENTS WOULDN'T LIKE IT". To one side of the main entrance is written, in shaky handwriting, "FREE SWEETS INSIDE".
Inside, you a fairly large, L shaped room. It has been entirely emptied; judging by the marks on the floor, even the carpet has been taken up, leaving bare floorboards. On the East and North facing walls are doorways that have been entirely bricked up. Also on the North facing wall is a stairwell, with stairs leading both up and down. The ascending staircase has been blocked by a pile of miscellaneous furniture; you think you could probably negotiate it, but it would take some time, and two free hands. All around the descending staircase are large signs with messages such as "CUTE KITTENS DOWNSTAIRS", "ADORABLE PUPPIES TO PLAY WITH IN THE BASEMENT" and "FREE TOYS FOR ALL UNATTENDED CHILDREN". The stairs slope away into darkness, but you can just make out what appears to be a beartrap at the bottom.
>>187
You find this to be the perfect moment to consider the truly great, unanswered questions of your existence, beginning with the beginning: where did this entire reality come from? Was it, as is the scientific consensus, simply a random, inexplicable explosion of matter? If there was a big bang, was that the absolute beginning, or could there have been something before that? How does this contend with issues such as causal closure or baryonic asymmetry? Is it even possible to know the answers to questions like this, when you cannot rule out the possibility that your entire existence is nothing more than the collective daydream of a set of beings of some inconceivably higher level of consciousness, laughing at your exploits as one might those of a confused kitten on YouTube?
>>188
Your musings are interrupted by four creatures, making loud, aggressive vocalisations, entering from behind you. On closer inspection, they appear to be human - in fact, they are identical in appearance to the so-called grunts earlier, though these specimens seem to be a lot less passive. They block the entrance and holler at you. Terrified, you toss a spare sausage at the nearest, who jumps back, then grabs it and tears into it, devouring it in seconds. Rather than appeasing them, the gesture appears only to have inflamed their desire for the rest of your food.
>>189
You are not wearing a shirt; you are only wearing a full body grey jumpsuit. You bare your chest at them, which seems to them to indicate attempted dominance, rather than compassion. They are kept at bay momentarily, but still seem as though they might charge at a moment's notice.
>>190
You babble something nonsensical about the Abrahamic creation myth, and how Eve lived in a forest. The creatures interrupt you with various screaming and howling. At that moment, you notice that there is a fifth member to their party: a young girl, with long, tousled hair and wide, brown eyes, clothed in what you think might once have been a seifuku. She bares her teeth at you, appearing every bit as savage as her companions.
Your only clear exit is blocked. You can either try to distract or frighten your assailants, stand and fight - armed only with a pair of scissors and a lighter - or run away downstairs.
Say to the girl, "Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jump over the candlestick"
Be nimble, be quick, and jump over the candlestick. If no candlestick is available, settle for jumping over the bear trap at the bottom of the stairs and hoping one of the assailants gets caught in it.
Severly hiss at girl.
adopt the girl in the seifuku as our daughteru
>>192
At that moment, the nearest of the barbaric creatures lunges towards you, grasping avariciously towards your hard-earned comestibles. Like some prayer or mantra from a dimly recalled childhood, you quickly mutter under your breath a nursery rhyme you barely remember. The girl yelps at the sound of the first word and grabs the foremost brute by the scruff of the neck, dragging him back behind her. She then scolds the creature with a series of harsh barking sounds.
Slowly, cautiously, she pushes in front of her associates and takes a few steps towards you. She reaches for a loaf of bread, making slight cooing noises, as though asking permission. You hesitate, and a gleam appears in her eye, as though she just sensed some inner weakness.
>>193
You aren't sure quickness or nimbleness can really be considered binary states, but are happy to consider yourself quick and nimble until proven otherwise. You can't locate any candlesticks, so you take the most logical course of action and try to jump over the half-glimpsed instrument of ensnarement downstairs. Unfortunately, you failed to notice that there was a tripwire installed at the edge of the landing, and are sent tumbling head over heels into the darkness below. You land headfirst on the beartrap, which springs closed onto your neck. You die instantly.
GAME OVER
Deaths: 4
(Continuing from most recent saved game: >>196)
>>194
In an effort to defuse the tension between you and the girl, you blow air through your teeth in a manner similar to the act of severance. It doesn't seem that that particular nuance is conveyed to your audience, but you never know.
>>195
A warm, affectionate emotion wraps itself around your heart like a handmade scarf. Succumbing to your parental instincts, you smile encouragingly and offer some bread to the girl. A fleeting smile flashes across her lips as she grabs the loaf from your hands and turns to retreat. The others take her signal and run away back into the jungle. At the doorway she pauses and turns, looking over her shoulder at you, a look of curiosity on her face. If you're to keep your daughter from running away, you have to act now.
Shout, "Jack be with you" and let her go.
Lure her back with more food, keep repeating "Jack" since she seemed to respond to it earlier.
Say, "Slippery Jack"
>>197
Though she is only a metre or two from you, you feel the need to shout your odd dismissal in her face. She flinches and runs away, bread hanging from her mouth like the epitomic schoolgirl late for her first day of school. You watch her go, heart swelling with pride. What a fine, upstanding young lady you've brought her up to be, you think to yourself.
>>198
Mere moments later, you feel yourself struck by the infamous empty nest syndrome. You simply don't know what to do with yourself, now that she's gone. And shouldn't you have prepared her better? I mean, you've got all this food, and you only offered her one measly loaf of bread. Also, what about those suspicious gentlemen she's been keeping company with?
Utterly distraught, head spinning in disarray, you leave several trails of breadcrumbs up to the building where you last saw the girl. Before you know it, you have used up all of the bread you had found. You sit at the doorstep, simply saying the word "Jack" to yourself, over and over again. The sun passes its zenith overhead and begins its slow, inevitable descent. Cumuliform clouds accumulate on the horizon. Still, there is no sign of your precious daughter.
>>199
Then, a familiar face appears before you. The red bird from earlier alights nearby and begins nonchalantly to peck at your breadcrumb trail. "Slippery Jack!" you say to it. It stares at you, long and hard, head cocked slightly to one side, then flies away again to the South. You soon lose sight of it.
Perhaps ten minutes later, you become aware of another presence nearby. Levitating a metre or so from the ground is a young girl dressed in an immaculate, ornate lilac dress. She is carrying a frilled off-white parasol in one hand, and a purple handbag in the other. The red bird is perched on her shoulder. She is watching you, smiling a little too wide.
"Pah!" she exclaims in mock annoyance, rolling her eyes, "You're not Jack at all! Silly bird, why did you go and get my hopes up?" The bird bobs its head apologetically. She floats down to land a metre or so from you, and carefully inspects you and the possessions by your side. "My my, have you been taking things that aren't yours? Why, I was looking forward to a nice bit of sausage for my supper, and you went and stole it all! I almost think you ought to be punished for that."
Eat the cumuliform clouds, politely inviting the young lady in lilac to partake along with you.
Claim to know Jack's location. Offer the information in exchange for immunity and more sausage.
use Jedi mind tricks to convince the girl that these aren't the sausages she is looking for
Duck and cover.
>>201
You take the appearance of the eccentric levitating young mistress to be a sign that things are about to take a turn for the surreal. In all likelihood, she probably isn't even real. Maybe you're in the midst of a lucid dream, or maybe you accidentally imbibed some sort of hallucinogenic earlier, or maybe you're simply losing your mind and she is the embodiment of your guilt over robbing some innocent person's camp earlier.
"Never mind that, won't you join me in partaking of some of those delectable looking clouds instead?" you suggest conspiratorially. You try to will yourself to start flying away towards the horizon, but remain obstinately earthbound. "As you wish," the girl says, carefully enunciating each word, her smile growing unnaturally wide.
Next thing you know, your vision goes entirely white, and you feel a cold, damp sensation across your entire body. Air rushes into your face, flowing ever ever faster, until suddenly you find yourself several hundred metres above the ground, plummeting towards the ground at terminal velocity. As far as you can see is nothing but rainforest, broken in places by occasional rivers, lakes, mountains, and the roofs of a few concrete buildings that look rather out of place.
By your side, keeping pace with you but seemingly unaffected by the precipitous descent, is the girl in lilac. She has a little tuft of cloud wrapped around one finger, which she sticks into her mouth, sucks on, then comments "Doesn't taste like candyfloss at all, does it? How disappointing."
You continue falling until at last you collide with the unsympathetic ground. You strike the earth so hard that several of your limbs are detached entirely, and parts of your anatomy end up distributed across a not entirely unimpressive area.
GAME OVER
Deaths: 5
(Continuing from most recent saved game: >>200)
>>202
Eager to escape retribution, you claim to know the location of her apparent quarry, whom you suspect to be the semi-feral girl you met and adopted earlier. Technically, you don't know her location precisely, but you know she must be somewhere nearby. You claim you will only divulge the information if offered a) her word that she will not harm you, directly or indirectly and b) at least one more sausage.
She raises her eyebrows in surprise, but complies. "So be it," she says offhandedly. She rummages around in the bag by her side and draws out a large piece of Hungarian téliszalámi, offering it to you. "Now, as agreed, kindly tell me where Jack is." she demands, her voice taking on a slightly steely tone.
>>203
"These aren't your sausages," you tell her slowly and confidently, gesturing to the meat products by your side. "Well, they're not yours either," she counters. "In fact, I have reason to believe they were a gift from the very lady I'm searching for. Speaking of which, where is she?"
>>204
You cave in to the stressful line of questioning and throw yourself to the ground just inside the doorway, covering your face and the back of your neck as best you can. You lie perfectly still, waiting for the threat to pass. Though you could now resist the worst of the radiation of a thermonuclear explosion, you have no defence from the young lady you have attempted to deceive.
She takes the hint, however, and offers cheerily "Well, seeing as you aren't feeling talkative just now, how's about this: meet me back here at midday tomorrow, with Jack. If you fail this task," she says, as her smile expands as though threatening to leave her face entirely, "I'll track you down and kill you, slowly and painfully, for my own amusement. See you tomorrow!"
And with that, she vanishes, just as suddenly as she appeared. It is currently mid-afternoon. Within the building is a dangerous looking basement and an almost inaccessible upstairs area. Outside, you could follow the brook downstream to the small abandoned camp or upstream into the unknown, or follow the path Northwest.
Find the nearest suitable drawing implement and sketch the girl in lilac eating a penis, literally masticating it.
Find a sharp rock. Cut the tripwire by the stairs.
Carefully disable bear trap. Trigger it with a medium-sized object if necessary.
Take bear trap and set off into the forest, looking for tracks.
Exclaim, "Jack, you moron, I'm going to be killed because of you!"
>>206
Despite a thorough search of the room you're in, the blockade on the stairs and the area immediately outside the building, you turn up nothing that could easily leave at least a semi-permanent mark on a surface. Lacking anything more suitable, you attempt to engrave an image into the wall using the nail file you picked up earlier. The result is a faint, scratchy, angular affair, almost entirely unrecognisable even as a human figure, let alone as an image of the girl in lilac, let alone her engaging in some sort of act of erotic cannibalism.
>>207
You cannot find any sharp rocks - the stones in the streambed of the brook are all worn perfectly smooth, and the masonry of the building, though unexceptional, is not poor enough to yield usable broken pieces. Lacking anything more suitable, you attempt to cut the tripwire using the nail file you picked up earlier. You succeed.
You begin to descend cautiously, but, focussed as you are on the beartrap, you fail to notice that one of the steps has been waxed. Overbalanced by the canned meat and other miscellanea you are carrying, you slip and hurtle forwards into the eagerly awaiting jaws of the trap. You die.
GAME OVER
Deaths: 6
(Continuing from most recent saved game: >>209)
Having failed to acquire the beartrap, you pack up and wander off into the rainforest, walking more or less directly Westwards. The air is warm and muggy and clings to your skin in an unpleasant manner. The trunks of the trees are generally sparser than where you were earlier, but they are also taller and the canopy thicker, meaning you soon lose sight of the sun. The foliage underfoot is thick and luscious, interspersed with occasional flowers, small and large. Various exotic insects zip through the thick, warm air, some of them momentarily settling on you.
Despite the recent rain, the ground is not particularly muddy, and you fail to find any sets of tracks. After much walking, you find yourself at the top of a cliff, running North-South, around five metres in height, commanding a good view of the surrounding topography. You see smoke rising steadily from a small clearing to the West, not far from the base of the cliff. Further to the West, you see a broad river. Curiously, it seems to stop abruptly in one place, and is swallowed up by the surrounding vegetation.
On the opposite side of the river is a small white building, beside which is some sort of metal framework tower, similar to a radio tower or an electricity pylon, as well as a large radar dish. Beyond this is a fairly steep mountain ridge. Upriver you can see a large, sprawling grey concrete building, which you suspect to be the place where you began your quest. The sun is low in the sky, especially given the inconveniently placed ridge. You probably have an hour or two until nightfall.
>>208
Doing your very best to evade all personal responsibility, you verbally express your frustration with your daughter at her implicit act of patricide.
Be Jack.
Go to the white building and take shelter.
Jack off
Fall down and break your crown.
>>210
You are now playing as Jack, an animalistic, savage young girl, annealed in the hostile, unsympathetic forge of this unnatural jungle. You find yourself surveying the sacred pyre in the middle of the clearing where your tribe - of which you are the high priestess - holds its ceremonial functions. In front of the pyre is the immense carved stone slab you found in the jungle, currently in use as an altar. Its every surface is covered in intricate, arcane inscriptions and images, the meaning of which you cannot even guess at.
You look at the stone knife in your hand. For the life of you you can't remember where you found this, or why it seems to command such significance to you. It feels perfectly moulded to the palm of your hand, and is beautifully weighted such that you can slash or slab with it as though it were an extension of your own body. And like Chekhov's Gun, its very presence seems to beg its usage.
You used it in last night's ceremony, which, naturally, must be repeated tonight. You cast a sweeping gaze around the fire at the ring of ghostly, identical faces, all facing inwards, all looking at you. You wonder which will be tonight's sacrifice.
>>211
You have only seen two constructed buildings in living memory, not counting the crude huts your tribe lives in, and neither of them were white. Yesterday you actually entered one for the first time, and, moreover, encountered another - seemingly harmless - person. And what an odd person they were too. You'd rather not have anything to do with them.
>>212
You amuse yourself by imagining that you have some sort of inbuilt on/off switch, as though you could simply say "Jack off" or Jack on" and you would fall unconscious or wake up, just like that. It would be nice, given what trouble you have had sleeping recently. You "Jack off" and try to fall asleep where you are.
>>213
You collapse in a heap beside the altar, as though you had just lost consciousness. Your subjects appear troubled, but none dare to approach you. You are disappointed to find that you lack any sort of diadem to break - which reminds you, you must arrange some sort of headdress. With feathers, and flowers, and... and...
You awaken with a start. Night has fallen. It is a mostly clear night, and the waxing gibbous moon is already quite high. You must have been asleep a few hours. A long, slow groaning noise comes from somewhere you cannot place. You scramble to your feet, staring piercingly into the shadows between the trees, daring some unknown foe to show themselves, to take form, but they do not.
After a minute or so of silence, you relax enough to look back. A grunt has laid himself down onto the stone slab, ready for the ritual. He looks terrified. For that matter, they all do. Everyone in the tribe is staring at the knife in your hand, simultaneously knowing and not knowing exactly what must happen next.
The ceremony last night was the very first one, and it was a strange, almost trancelike affair. This time your wits are a little sharper. You are aware that whatever you do right now could well become subsumed forever into the procedure, which, for all you know, might be repeated night after night for years, might be passed on unchanged through countless generations, and might become the backbone of an entire civilisation. Every breath, every step you take feels immensely heavy. The ritual must begin.
Prance and pirouette around the sacrifice while singing: "I've got a brand new pair of rollerskates, you've got a brand new key, I think that we should get together and try them on to see!"
On "see" cheerily slam the knife into his heart with both hands and twist it. Take some blood and put it on our lips like lipstick, then lovingly kiss the sacrifice goodnight.
Be Jack's nipples. Contemplate our existence.
celebrate christmas
Decapitate corpse, shove head into the crotch void of doom.
>>215
You lose yourself to forces far beyond your control, or even comprehension. You find yourself singing at the top of your lungs a hymn to the ancient spirits you are invoking, promising that you have means of locomotion - that you are willing to move, to change, to do whatever it takes - if only they'll offer you the key to unlock your true potential. You humbly suggest a symbiosis.
You terminate your odd spinning, spiralling dance with a single thrust of your knife into the sacrifice's breast, into which it descends without a sound. You moisten your lips with the flat of the blade, then lightly kiss the lifeless body on the cheek, leaving a bloody mark.
For killing a sapient being in a ritualistic manner you have gained two skill points and 100 mana. You currently have four unspent skill points and 200 mana.
>>216
You cannot be Jack's nipples; you can only play as members of your current party.
Momentarily oblivious to the immense gravitas of your situation, you try to think about your existence itself. Despite being no expert in philosophical scepticism, you are quite aware of the insidious unreliability of your own perception, and how actual knowledge of anything at all is a dubious proposition at best. On the other hand, as your good friend Descartes reminds you, the very fact that you are thinking about your own existence proves your own existence, though it doesn't mean that you exist in the way or form you think you do.
After careful consideration, you conclude that at least two things exist, because, as you exist (somehow) at least one thing exists, and if only one thing existed then it wouldn't be able to perceive anything else, because that would be something else, even if it wasn't real. It almost looks like you're making progress on working out this whole existence business.
But wait! If everything else is unprovable and unverifiable, why should your own logic be exempt? Mathematics (and, by extension, logic) certainly seem to be infallible - in all honesty, they might well be - but then things like Russel's paradox or Gödel's incompleteness theorems rear their unwelcome heads and you have to question whether logic really owes it to you to be internally consistent. Conclusions such as those you have made seem to make perfect sense, but perhaps this very semblance should be questioned at least as much - if not more so - than what you perceive through the senses.
So, there you have it. Your state of existence is nothing but uncertainty, meaningless, empty promises, simulacra, phantoms, sea foam and shadows, all wrapped into one big package that looks sort of like a little girl.
>>217
But enough of that, you think to yourself. This ritual you've been performing needs a name. You decide to bestow upon it the name "christmas", as it's a word you just made up, and you're fairly sure it doesn't mean anything else, least of all some sort of other religious festival. You are pleased to be a part of the second ever celebration of christmas, and hope for many further recurrences.
>>218
In the midst of this bustling, everyday modern life of being trapped in a sinister, endless jungle, it is easy to lose track of the truly important things in life. You take a moment to reflect upon the true meaning of christmas. Which is, of course, gratuitous corpse mutilation. With several vicious hacks of the stone knife, you forcibly remove the corpse's head and sit on it. It disappears up your skirt without a trace.
And with that, christmas is over for tonight.
Spend points on Liberal Art. Spend some mana pondering the meaning of life but not too much.
Spend some mana learning how to poop.
Spend remaining skill points on matrimony.
gfsdvbn
enter our PIN number at the ATM machine to withdraw some USD dollars while loling out loud in irl life.
List abilities.
>>220,221
You try to use your newly acquired skill points as currency in order to purchase the trivium and quadrivium; grammar, rhetoric, logic, arithmetic, geometry, music and astronomy. Unfortunately, it seems that these are all abstract concepts which you cannot lay claim to, not even through bartering using similarly non-real currency.
You begin to carefully probe the subject of the meaning of life. Why are you here at all? You are not a follower of any particularly well-defined religion, so you don't have any comforting doctrine to tell you why you should wake up tomorrow morning. Popular answers to the question include being nice to people, gaining knowledge, passing on one's genes and perpetuating the human race as a whole, all of which seem like reasonably sensible things to do, but none of which seem like an actual justification of your existence. If humanity didn't exist, after all, none of these would make its creation necessary.
In fact, you can't think of anything that fits the criteria, nor even a starting point to look for one. Perhaps the most obvious answer is correct after all; that there is no particular meaning to life. But then why keep going? You can always fabricate a meaning to your life, but it seems rather hollow and vacuous in the greater scheme of things. Maybe you should keep living just in case a meaning to life that you overlooked shows up somewhere - or maybe you should embrace the demoniac madness and take solace in the fact that your life isn't running on rails, that no matter what you do you cannot fail at life.
>>222
You are already as familiar as you need to be with the theoretical portion of scatology. The practical application, of course, is a different matter.
>>223
It seems that matrimony is not an available skill - how odd. Your available skills are, instead, aerokinesis, geokinesis, biokinesis, hypnosis, technomancy and ailuromancy.
>>224
That would be wholly, sickeningly inappropriate. You mightn't be the most ladylike of ladies, but even you must draw the line somewhere.
>>225
You have a general understanding of what automatic teller machines are - even if you've never seen one - and they seem to be artificially manufactured. Presumably, there is a machine which builds ATMs: an ATM machine. Similarly, if there are personal identification numbers, there must be a finite number of PINs in the world: the PIN number. Were you to enter this PIN number into an ATM machine, perhaps you could even use it to withdraw some fanciful currency of which each unit is the entire combined worth of the United States Dollar: USD dollars. While committing such a megalomaniacal act, it would only be appropriate to laugh out loud, aloud (if allowed).
Needless to say, this is an entirely academic exercise, as no such machine exists in your vicinity - at least, not in in real life life.
>>226
You begin listing abilities in your head. Not any abilities in particular, just abilities that might exist. Like flying, or kissing your own spine, or teaching a young child the general principles of vector calculus, or reading a silly story on the internet.
At that moment, with a violent rustle of leaves, a human figure emerges from the forest, screams and falls flat on their face in front of the fire. They were carrying, amongst other things, four cans of meat and four sausages, which are now spilled all over the floor. The other members of your tribe appear very agitated at the sudden arrival of this stranger.
be as-yet nameless protagonist-kun
draw up the adoption papers and take our new daughter home
Jack: level up ailuromancy
Everything on ailuromancy, it seems incredibly important!
Slap Jack.
Put negative skill points into aliuromancy, it seems incredibly dangerous!
But you like danger! Approach the fallen stranger and see if your newly acquired skills in felinology can help them.
>>228
You are now playing as Nameless Protagonist.
You find yourself absolutely terrified out of your wits, in mortal fear and unable to form any coherent thought. You have spent hours lost in the rainforest in absolute darkness, feet ensnared by creeping tendrils, face and hands marred by vicious barbed branches, falling on your face time and time again. Though you saw nothing, you heard and felt things that you still cannot come to terms with. The things that watched, the things that followed, and the things that whispered have robbed you of all composure and agency.
Having finally made it to the warmth and relative safety of the brightly lit clearing, you pass out in relief, without even having been able to formally adopt your beloved daughter. Your last thought, as your consciousness slips away like a startled rabbit, is that as your legal descendant your daughter will have to share your surname, making her Jack Protagonist.
>>229,230
You are now playing as Jack Protagonist.
By a quirk of logic that, oddly, evades you when you reflect upon it later, you come to the conclusion that this ailuromancy business is certain to be the perfect solution to your current predicament. You allocate all four available skill points to ailuromancy. You have unlocked the following skills:
>>231
You try to slap some sense into yourself. What were you thinking?
>>232
You haven't a clue what aliuromancy (not to be confused with the quite toothless ailuromancy) is, and that makes it all the more dangerous. Levelling it up may force upon you knowledge or power beyond that which you are equipped to deal with; beyond that which any mortal should possess. To ensure that this never comes to pass, you should do everything in your power to prevent yourself from becoming even a novice in this no doubt perilous, catastrophic craft.
Thankfully, aliuromancy isn't real, so you cannot assign or unassign skill points to it.
>>233
Then again, you'd make a rather poor high priestess if you were put off by any hint of danger. You walk over to greet your uninvited guest, but he seems to be quite unconscious. You have no particular reason to assume that the presence of a cat and/or a weather forecast is going to change anyone's life for the better.
>>234
You glare penetratingly at the back of the stranger's head, trying to force your way into their brain by sheer force of will. Your gaze is not quite piercing enough to actually physically penetrate anything, however.
Jack Protagonist: use cat affinity evaluation on Nameless Protagonist. If it is positive, summon a cat.
put protagonist otou-san's personal items in a safe place until he wakes up
[thanks for these threads, they are highly entertaining]
Summon a cat, perhaps a big and black one like a panther if you get to choose. Reclass to a witch.
Summon lots and lots of pussy.
Order the grunts to carry protagonist to our hidden shelter. Follow them there.
[Also, what >>238 said.]
>>236
On closer inspection, you note that your visitor is the same person who kindly gave you bread yesterday. Of course, that doesn't make him trustworthy in the slightest. Perhaps an analysis of his feline disposition will be enlightening. A quick expenditure of 15 mana reveals that Nameless has a cat affinity index of -87, whatever that means.
>>237
You gather his accoutrements - four sausages, four cans of meat, a pair of scissors, a lighter, a nail file and a radio - from the ground and pile them on top of the altar, beside the decapitated corpse.
>>239
You spend 100 mana, leaving you 85 remaining, and feel something furry crawl out from between your thighs, of all places. A medium sized tortoiseshell with thick white fur on its underside lands feet first beneath you. It takes a few uncertain steps forward, tail twitching in curiosity. It looks at the surrounding rainforest, at the fire, at the grunts, at you, then, the second it catches a glimpse of Nameless, it screeches violently at a volume you didn't even think it was capable of, jumps backwards so hard it almost backflips, twists in midair, lands on its side, scrambles to its feet and bolts away into the undergrowth.
>>240
You try to entice the poor frightened pussycat - or any other cats that happen to be nearby - with offers of sausage and cuddles, but fail to attract anything but odd looks from the grunts.
>>241
You think that has been enough excitement for tonight. Leaving the grunt work to the grunts, you retire to your own hut alongside Nameless. Despite being by far the best constructed in the tribe, your hut is still a rather ramshackle affair, and cramped even for one person. Nameless regains consciousness inside, and, after taking a few moment to calm down, insists upon sleeping outside, based on some strange cultural taboo against sleeping beside relatives, or something like that. All the more legroom for you.
After another long night of broken sleep, you return to your senses in the mid-morning. You make your way back to the clearing that was the site of last night's christmas. The fire has burnt down to the cinders, and the remains of last night's sacrifice have been cremated to leave only charred bones. The altar is still draped in congealed blood.
Nameless is pacing back and forth nearby. He appears rather agitated about something.
Ritually sacrifice Nameless; he has negative cat affinity and scared away your pretty pussy, so he must be evil.
Protagonist: inform Jack that you were threatened by some weird being to be killed, err, today (probably!) unless you find Jack.
Jack: Ask Nameless for a piggyback ride.
>>243
Well, you decide, christmas has come early for Nameless. As soon as he sees you he starts talking hurriedly at you about something, but you quickly silence him by brandishing the bloodstained knife and pointing sternly at the altar. He stutters pathetically and pleads for his miserable life. On closer inspection, you see that he is in rather poor shape; his every piece of exposed skin is covered in cuts and sores, and the dark bags under his eyes suggest he slept even worse than you last night.
He backs away from you, still begging for mercy, until he is right next to the altar. You shove him onto his back. Tears are forming in the corners of his eyes. You raise the stone knife as high as you can, and plunge it towards his breast, ready to offer his feeble existence to whatever dark gods thirst for his blood.
>>244
You are now playing as Nameless Protagonist.
You shout desperately that you need Jack's help, and that your life is in danger. More danger, that is. To your surprise and relief, she stays her hand, knife mere centimetres from your skin. She narrows her eyes in suspicion and demands that you explain yourself. Between sobs, you recount your encounter with the girl in lilac and the deal you struck with her.
Conveniently and bizarrely enough, the stone slab you are currently lying on actually has an illustration that looks a lot like the girl in lilac, right down to the parasol - as well as another girl who looks a bit like Jack herself. They are surrounded by various paraphernalia, abstract shapes and patterns, and text in a script you cannot read. You use the image to illustrate what the girl looked like.
>>245
You are now playing as Jack Protagonist.
The mention of this girl in lilac has piqued your interest. You have next to no knowledge of the denizens of this strange world, and this seems an excellent opportunity to learn. You know precisely where she will be at a given time, making this an excellent opportunity to lay an ambush. She doesn't exactly sound very threatening; you can probably disable her with your ceremonial knife alone and interrogate her at your leisure. Perhaps she'd even make a good sacrifice for tonight's christmas.
Careful not to give away your true intentions, you agree to Nameless's plan, on the condition that he act as your vehicle. You can't have him getting ahead of himself, after all. He is very grateful and thanks you profusely for sparing his life. He gathers as many of his meagre possessions as he can carry, lets you onto his back and heads into the jungle, following your directions.
He proves rather poor at his job, lurching and stumbling frequently and even inconsiderately letting low hanging foliage get in your face. You berate him in a manner befitting such human filth, and he begs forgiveness every time. The air is extremely humid and feels oddly heavy, and the stridulation of the insects is deafening. After a long walk, you come out onto the path, which you follow down to the brook with the broken door. On the opposite side of the valley you find the building where you first met Nameless. You are pleased to see that the girl in lilac is not here yet, leaving you time to lay your trap.
There is an enormous cumulonimbus forming on the horizon, with an incus spreading across much of the sky. You can see multiple nascent cells forming on the leading edge.
Tell Nameless that he is a bad man for scaring away your pretty pussy. Use your best Dominatrix voice.
Jack: summon the cutest, most pitiful looking kitten we can and put it in a box. All little girls love kittens so when Cassandra goes to investigate it, sneak up behind her and bash her face in.
Nameless: Lift Jack up and look up her skirt.
Nameless: on the score screen put AAA as your name.
Nameless: Change name to Aaron A. Aaronson.
>>251, alternatively: Aaron Aaronovitch Aaronov, immigrant from Eastern Republics.
>>247
You aren't sure what a Dominatrix is or what sort of vocalisations it makes, but it sounds like a fearsome beast indeed. Employing a deep, booming voice, you make it clear to Nameless that you are not amused with his prior conduct, especially with respect to the cat. It was new to this universe and he went and scared the poor thing away into the endless jungle in the middle of the night. Who knows what has become of it now? Nameless hangs his head in shame.
>>248
You require 100 mana to use the summon cat ability. You currently have 85 mana.
You don't have a box either. But, you remind yourself, necessity is the mother of invention. You take one of the cans of meat that Nameless kindly brought with him and demand that he scratch into the side "CUTE KITTEN TRAPPED INSIDE", using that odd little metal tool he has. He complies. You set the can on the floor, just inside the doorway, leaving you room at the side from which to spring your ambush.
>>249
You are now playing as Nameless Protagonist.
You are quite nervous about the upcoming exchange of goods (Jack in exchange for your continued living). Human trafficking is a rather distasteful affair and not one you are particularly happy to be a part of, even to save your life. Your angst is partially relieved by the fact that Jack has given her informed consent to be part of this, though her relative eagerness to be given over makes you wonder if she has fully understood what is to happen. For that matter, you doubt that you have fully understood what is to happen.
To ensure that there are no problems with what you are about to hand over, you perform a general inspection. Her hair is rather messy - if only you had a comb, you could make her a little more presentable, though that would still do nothing for her hopelessly tatterdemalion clothing. She is gripping a bloodstained stone knife in one hand, which is just ever so slightly offputting, but you certainly aren't going to try to take it from her.
Last but not least, you need to check that she isn't smuggling anything under her skirt. As she is your daughter, of course, there is nothing lewd about you seeing her pubic region; you'd've seen it anyway bathing her when she was younger. You gently but firmly grab her by the waist and lift her off the ground. She screams and hacks you in the clavicle with her stone knife, but it is too late.
The lines demarcating her nubile thighs converge upon a small aperture, about the size of one's palm. You can see within a beautiful starscape, rich and intricate in ways that defy imagination or description. The view expands to fill your entire vision and your entire mind. You are awash with a sense of inner calm and tranquillity. The stars sing to you, inviting you to join them, to become one of them. You are consumed entirely by Jack's crotch, never to be seen again.
GAME OVER
Deaths: 7
(Continuing from most recent saved game: >>253)
>>250
You locate the patch of wall where you earlier engraved a crude likeness of the girl in lilac engaging in a shockingly unladylike activity. If you think about it, this is a screen of sorts, and you did score the image into it, so it could probably be described as a score screen. For the benefit of future archaeologists, you sign the picture "AAA", scratching the letters in at the bottom left using your nail file.
>>251
Your name is now Aaron A Aaronson.
As your daughter, Jack is now called Jack Aaronson.
>>252
Your name is now Aaron Aaronovitch Aaronov.
As your daughter, Jack is now called Jack Aaronov.
You hear a woman clearing her throat outside. The girl in lilac is standing outside the building. She is holding a parasol in one hand and has the red bird on her shoulder as before, but this time she is also carrying a rather familiar tortoiseshell cat in her arms. As soon as it catches sight of you it hisses and tries to jump out of her hands, but she calms it down by cooing "There there, Theodore. It's okay."
She turns to you and smirks. "Well, you seem to have neglected to bring Jack with you, haven't you? Most inadvisable." Jack is hiding just out of sight on the other side of the wall, hence her misunderstanding. "In fact, I-- Oh no! The poor kitten!" She wails in distress as she catches sight of the crudely modified meat can on the floor. She drops her parasol and Theodore, shoves you aside and rushes towards the building. Now is your last chance to stop her, if you're going to.
Take parasol. Close parasol and wield it as a weapon. Whack the woman over the head with it after Jack pounces on her. Continue whacking as necessary.
>>254
Actually, using proper East Slavic naming conventions, her name should be Jack Aaronova, not Jack Aaronov.
Be Jack. Punch that cunt in her fuck.
Whack with extreme prejudice.
Throw her into the bear trap.
Think of a new year's resolution and watch fireworks.
be passive-aggressive
>>255
In a blinding flash of deduction, you realise that Jack was actually not trying to willingly hand herself over, but in fact planning to attack the girl in lilac. On the one hand you have no particular reason to wish to offend this girl in lilac, who, for all you know, could prove a valuable ally; on the other hand, this seems the perfect opportunity, both literally and figuratively, to stab her in the back for your own benefit.
You drop everything and grasp the discarded parasol in both hands, wielding it as a lance. Despite its delicate, befrilled appearance it has a rather vicious point at its vertex. You begin to charge but an angry, screeching mass of fur and claws leaps towards you and attaches itself to your face. You cannot help but feel that this cat is really not fond of you. By the time you manage to free yourself from Theodore's assault, the battle between Jack and the girl in lilac is already in full swing.
>>256
"Jack!" you exclaim over the fray, "Your surname is actually Aaronova, not Aaronov!" For reasons you cannot fathom, she gives every impression of not caring in the slightest.
>>257
You are now playing as Jack Aaronova.
Your ambush is a partial success. You clearly catch her off guard, and thus manage to knock her over and pin her to the ground, face down. She produces a startled warbling sound, but makes no apparent counterattack. You are about to declare your victory, but are momentarily distracted by that halfwit outside shouting something to you. The girl escapes from your grasp, yet instead of attacking you or running away she instead dives towards the can and frantically begins trying to open it.
Still hesitant to use lethal force, for the sake of a living sacrifice for tonight, you throw a punch to the back of her head. The girl squawks inelegantly, puts her arms up in a plaintive gesture. "No, Jack!" she exclaims weakly.
>>258
You keep hitting her in the head until she stops moving. What a feeble opponent, you think to yourself; hardly befitting your martial talents. Indeed, you aren't at all sure why she didn't even try to fight back.
>>259
You pick her up - she isn't as heavy as she looks - and throw her off the top of the staircase into the trap-laden basement. Bizarrely enough, she doesn't fall, but simply floats, like a ragdoll, through the air before coming to a rest against the ceiling.
>>260
You have absolutely no idea what the date is today, but for all you know it might be the new year - or at least a new year, in some calendar. You feel the need to turn over a new leaf, and to find some way to better yourself for the coming year. You solemnly vow that this year you will ritually sacrifice more innocent people than last year.
Though not strictly speaking fireworks, a severe thunderstorm is just breaking outside. You spend a few moments watching the enormously powerful, yet evanescent bolts of lightning.
>>261
"Well," you say, turning to Aaron, who has just arrived sheepishly at the doorway, carrying a folded parasol, "I'm glad one of us knows how to defend themselves." He stares glumly at his feet, blood welling from his feline induced facial lacerations.
The first rain of the storm is just reaching you now, and immediately begins to fall in sheets, buffeted to an angle by the strong wind. Thunder is calling from outside, coming so frequently the sound seems continuous. Looking around, you find Theodore standing, back arched, a little way down the path leading to the brook, looking unhappy at being wet but not willing to join you inside with Aaron nearby. The red bird is nowhere to be found. The girl in lilac is floating in midair above the staircase, a purple handbag hanging from one shoulder, and a can of meat in her grip. She appears to be unconscious for now, but you have no idea when she might wake up.
be Aaron
peek at unconscious girl's panties
Aaron: err on the side of irony without putting on any airs.
Aaron: use parasol to get the can of food down from the air, using it like a javelin if necessary. Take can of food.
spinebuster
Stop prefixing instructions with who we currently are.
Get funky
>>263
You are now playing as Aaron Aaronovitch Aaronov.
Embodying every negative stereotype ever projected onto the male sex, you take advantage of the poor defenceless young lady to satisfy your own sick, lecherous desires. You lift aside the girl's ample petticoats with the tip of the parasol, lean in close, and just catch a glimpse of her innermost undergarments - pale fuchsia in colour, with a tasteful seigaiha pattern in white - before your foot catches against an inconveniently placed tripwire, causing you to overbalance and setting you on a trajectory towards the beartrap at the base of the stairs.
>>264
Even as you tumble towards your doom, you blurt out that you weren't seriously trying to peek at her pantsu, that it was just a joke; an imitation of what a real pervert would do in this situation. You hope that this isn't misconstrued as you pretending to be someone you are not, especially as these will likely be your last words. You then have less than a second in which to reflect upon the absurdity of your final moments, to deem them oddly appropriate to your equally absurd life, to repent your sins, to forgive those who wronged you and to come to peace with your fellow human beings. Then the beartrap snaps shut, like a red curtain drawing closed across the stage of your life.
GAME OVER
Deaths: 8
(Continuing from most recent saved game: >>262)
>>265
You carefully jab the parasol into the supposedly kitten packed can of meat. Actually, for all you know, it really might contain kitten meat; the label on the outside (barring your defacement) gives no hint as to the precise nature of its contents. Even in her unconscious state, the girl grips the tin with all her might. Her apparent devotion to rescuing that fictional kitten is quite commendable. You succeed in plucking the can from the air, but the girl comes with it. You set them both down in the middle of the room.
>>266
Jack is currently standing at the doorway looking out at the storm, muttering something about getting home in time for christmas. Though your daughter is very dear to you, you are also aware that this is a dangerous world, and you must teach her to be ready for any threat - even from someone she thought to be her ally. She must never let her guard down.
Though it breaks your heart, you rush up to her, grab her about the waist, jump and bring her down, coccyx first, onto the ground. She screams in rage and strikes you in the temple with the pommel of her knife. It hurts.
>>267
You haven't given many instructions recently - on the contrary, you've mostly been following them - and even when you have, you don't recall prefixing them with your name. That would be silly, and would lead to misunderstandings as it would sound like you're addressing yourself. Having not showered in quite a while, and being thoroughly damp and sweaty, you suspect that you are probably emitting quite enough funk for one person already.
The girl in lilac stirs, slowly sits up and rubs her eyes sleepily. In place of her usual smug expression is a blank, innocent look that you wouldn't've expected her even to be capable of. The can of meat drops from her hands and rolls along the floor. "Wh... who are you?" she asks, cocking her head and staring at the two of you. She looks around the room in a wide arc. "Where am I? I... I can't remember anything..."
Introduce ourself as her father. Name our new unconcious daughter "Erin."
Jack: Ask Erin if she wants to play tea party.
check new party member Erin's inventory and skills
>>269
"I'm your father," you explain. You neglect to mention that you mean adoptive father. She appears quite taken aback, as one probably would in her position. "And your name is Erin." you continue. She puts one finger to her chin, thinking, then replies "No, I don't think that's quite right. My name is... my name is... I think it was Penelope, or was it Ariadne? Yes... yes, that's right! It was Ariadne. I'm pretty sure, anyway."
>>270
You are now playing as Jack Aaronova.
Though you may be a murderous savage, you don't want to be seen to appear entirely uncultured. Plus, naturally, you wish to lull the girl into a false sense of security to render her docile, after which you can decide what to do with her at your leisure. That's why you propose a tea party. Not because you want to make friends with her or anything - how preposterous!
Poor Ariadne looks quite lost, in more ways than one. Upon your suggestion she breaks into a smile, but expresses concern at the lack of necessary tea making paraphernalia. The two of you have to make pretend, using cans of meat instead of cups and slices of sausage instead of biscuits. Aaron joins in as well, and the three of you quite enjoy yourself, momentarily able to forget the wailing tempest outside and the vacuous nature of your very existence.
Without warning, Ariadne gives a loud squeal of distress. She rushes over to the doorway, where Theodore has reappeared, fur completely soaked and sticking to his skin in a most unflattering manner. Ariadne coos over the poor creature and dries him off as best she can with the front of her dress. Theodore maintains a cold stare towards Aaron throughout the entire exchange.
>>271
You are now playing as Ariadne Aaronova.
You look over your possessions, seeing them almost for the first time. You are currently wearing an elaborate frilly lilac dress. You cannot tell what material it is made of, but it is soft to the touch and extraordinarily comfortable. You are also wearing several layers of underwear; you aren't sure why. Theodore is currently lying curled up in your lap.
You have a purple cloth handbag hanging over your left shoulder. You lift the outer flap and investigate the contents, but within the opening is simply a black void. You cannot see anything at all. Feeling about inside, your hand doesn't encounter anything - not even the walls of the bag, even when you put your arm in up to the shoulder. How odd.
You're sure you have some sort of "skills" or something like that, but you just can't quite remember what they are.
Sleep until stamina is regained. Sleep close together for warmth. Except for Aaron, who has to sleep away from the cat.
Aaron: be a gentleman for once and stand watch while the two girls are sleeping.