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In Progress [LP CYOA] Tower
- Thread starter treave
- Start date
Tigranes
Arcane
- Joined
- Jan 8, 2009
- Messages
- 10,350
I have remained a stalwart A>C
- Joined
- Sep 25, 2012
- Messages
- 29,923
So you are not flopping for hello friend 's sake either.
hello friend
Arcane
hello friend
Arcane
dammit
- Joined
- Sep 25, 2012
- Messages
- 29,923
Sorry bro. I am dead set on B.
Oh there we go.
hello friend
Arcane
Well, this is fine too. B was my original choice.
hello friend
Arcane
Baltika9
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2012
- Messages
- 9,611
Actually. I want us to start at rock bottom - 1% BAC, in a barfight over someone looking at us wrong and at least three outstanding warrants for our arrest.
Orbit
Scholar
- Joined
- Jun 4, 2017
- Messages
- 108
FTFY
ChumBucket
Augur
- Joined
- May 16, 2010
- Messages
- 349
Or better yet come out of a blackout behind the yoke of a biplane.
- Joined
- Jul 6, 2008
- Messages
- 11,370
Prologue I: “Anything is fine as long as it kicks hard enough.”
In the black night, the giant ocean liner steams steadily through the waves. Painted on the black hull in large, white letters was the ship’s name: MAURETANIA. Nearly 800 feet long, it is a behemoth like few other, a veritable palace of luxury that ruled the seas. Yet even this ship pales in size to its towering destination, the faint line in the distance that stretches up into the heavens like a modern-day Tower of Babel.
It is there that your next assignment awaits, though you are quite certain that your family has sent you there to drink yourself into a coffin instead of harboring any hopes that you could miraculously redeem yourself. Out of sight, out of mind. Then again, you should probably be grateful that you escaped the court-martial and the inevitable noose thanks to some timely string-pulling on their part. Granted, they did it out of a desire to cover up the crimes you were accused rather than out of any form of familial love, but as a result you are still alive right now. Even though you really should not be.
None of that is your pressing concern, however.
What concerns you more is the fact that the bar in your room is now emptied of anything interesting, and that you are entirely sober right now. It hasn’t even been two days since the ship departed from Europe, and you had run out of alcohol. That must be a personal record of some sort. You groan and flop down on the bed, sinking into its softness. Looking up, the cherubs painted on the ceiling of your cabin seem to mock you with their twisted little smiles. You could languish in your room, engage in a battle of glares with the cherubs, and just do absolutely nothing for another day or two until the ship arrives at its destination. Or you could get up and go down to the larger bar they have right next to the ballroom, which surely wouldn’t be empty yet. That was tempting, though the fact that it means you would have to possibly, maybe, perhaps be around a lot of other people gives you pause.
You ponder this terribly crucial decision, all the while enduring the taunting grins of the little bastards on the ceiling, for about five seconds. The fact that it is already late at night seals the deal.
You get up, straighten out your shirt, and make your way to the door. You had jammed it shut with a chair for some reason you don’t remember, but it must have been for a good reason.
***
“May I get you something… sir?”
The bartender eyes you, clearly hesitant to offer you anything at all yet obligated to do so out of sheer duty. It is, after all, his job.
You force a smile back at him, blinking your all-too-dry eyes, and say, “Anything is fine as long as it kicks hard enough.” You did not slur that too badly to be nigh unintelligible… probably.
“I… see. Very well, sir.” He turns away from you and to the shelves of sweet nectar behind him, the lack of hurry in his dusky hands betraying his reluctance to become an accomplice to your obvious indulgence. Still, you are confident he is a fine enough bartender to deliver what you wish, and you wait. Hopefully, you will not have to wait too long. Your fingers are already tapping restlessly on the polished mahogany of the bar counter.
“So, you’ve finally deigned to grace us with your presence?”
You look to your left, at the woman next to you. She seems about your age, or perhaps slightly older, with brown hair tied into a short ponytail. An eye-patch covers her right eye, and her left is a striking blue. Her features are pretty, and the long scar running across the bridge of her nose does not mar her looks but rather enhances it, granting her the sort of regal, strong beauty that you would expect to see in olden warrior queens told of in legend such as Boudica or Zenobia. Her outfit tells you that she is most definitely not a proper lady of the Old World; while stylish, her dress is quite clearly function over form, with more pockets and belts than your military uniform did. In fact, she would probably cut a rather more courageous figure than you would on the battlefield.
“And you are…?” you ask.
The bartender places a shot of whiskey in front of you before she can answer. And before you can drink it, she snatches it from under your nose and gulps it down. You frown at her, about to protest, before a withering glare from her makes you rethink that course of action.
“Booze really rots your memory, huh?” The woman scowls at you. “I’m your bleeding escort. We met at the port before you locked yourself in your room to drink yourself silly for three whole days.”
“It was only two-“
“Three! Today is Sunday!”
You look down at your fingers and tick off the days. She is right, you must have lost a day. And you do vaguely remember someone similar to her talking to you when you boarded the ship, through the haze of inebriation. Maybe.
“I don’t need an escort anyway,” you mutter under your breath while gesturing to the bartender to get you another drink.
“Oh, good Lord, first time I’m back to the Tower in years and this is what I’m saddled with…”the woman sighs. “You’d be dead in an Espanolan bar within hours without an escort, I’m sure of it. Besides, my debt’s only going to get written off if I deliver you right to the mansion’s doorstep. I swear, if this wasn’t the only job I could find offering an all-expenses paid luxury liner passage back to the Tower…”
“You’re a Hunter, aren’t you, madam?” inquires the bartender as he places yet another shot of whiskey down on the counter. You reach for it only for the woman to beat you to the punch yet again, her hand snaking out faster than your eye can catch.
“Hey!” This time you muster up enough courage to protest, but she ignores you as she converses with the bartender.
“Yeah, I’m one. How did you know?”
“Rare as it may be, we had the occasional Hunter either departing or returning to the Tower on our ship before the war broke out. Their presence is quite unmistakable, madam, just like you.”
“He means you dress like you’re geared for war at all times and act like it too, instead of being a proper lady,” you snort derisively, glaring at the shot of whiskey in her firm, strong grip that you have no hope of snatching back at all.
“Better than being a rich brat pretending to be a soldier,” she scoffs, glaring right back at you. “There’s not a single scar to be seen on you. Why, did the enemy’s attacks land on your back or your bum?”
“Say what you want.” You twitch and look away. There is no point explaining yourself to this stranger. It’s far too late in the night to be sober, and it is wearing upon your nerves. But just as you are about to give up and leave, the bartender places the third shot on the table. You stop and turn around slowly, looking at the glass, then at the woman. She looks back at you, grinning infuriatingly. You just know she’s going to try and drink this too.
“Why are you even doing this?”
“Got paid to make sure you don’t drink too much too. Sure, I figure I failed at doing that the moment you went into your room but I still gotta do some of what I got paid for. Also, you locked me out of the cabin and I had nowhere to sleep for two nights! Two nights of having the staff look at me out of pity as I sat outside the door to our room! I think you deserve a little payback, don’t you?” Having blurted that out, you can tell that she is actually rather upset.
You did wonder why there were two beds in the cabin.
***
A. You attempt to take the shot of whiskey by force. Even though she may be a Hunter, native to the Tower, you are a trained soldier and she clearly underestimates what you are capable of.
B. You attempt to convince her to let you have the shot of whiskey.
1. You negotiate for it by promising her more money.
2. You get down on your knees and beg for it.
3. You threaten to report her misconduct to your family if she does not give it to you.
C. You attempt to distract her before snatching the whiskey while her attention is elsewhere.
D. You give up on the whiskey. And she can give up on the room too. You go back to your cabin and lock yourself in. There are enough rations in there to last you till the voyage ends… but there is no booze.
In the black night, the giant ocean liner steams steadily through the waves. Painted on the black hull in large, white letters was the ship’s name: MAURETANIA. Nearly 800 feet long, it is a behemoth like few other, a veritable palace of luxury that ruled the seas. Yet even this ship pales in size to its towering destination, the faint line in the distance that stretches up into the heavens like a modern-day Tower of Babel.
It is there that your next assignment awaits, though you are quite certain that your family has sent you there to drink yourself into a coffin instead of harboring any hopes that you could miraculously redeem yourself. Out of sight, out of mind. Then again, you should probably be grateful that you escaped the court-martial and the inevitable noose thanks to some timely string-pulling on their part. Granted, they did it out of a desire to cover up the crimes you were accused rather than out of any form of familial love, but as a result you are still alive right now. Even though you really should not be.
None of that is your pressing concern, however.
What concerns you more is the fact that the bar in your room is now emptied of anything interesting, and that you are entirely sober right now. It hasn’t even been two days since the ship departed from Europe, and you had run out of alcohol. That must be a personal record of some sort. You groan and flop down on the bed, sinking into its softness. Looking up, the cherubs painted on the ceiling of your cabin seem to mock you with their twisted little smiles. You could languish in your room, engage in a battle of glares with the cherubs, and just do absolutely nothing for another day or two until the ship arrives at its destination. Or you could get up and go down to the larger bar they have right next to the ballroom, which surely wouldn’t be empty yet. That was tempting, though the fact that it means you would have to possibly, maybe, perhaps be around a lot of other people gives you pause.
You ponder this terribly crucial decision, all the while enduring the taunting grins of the little bastards on the ceiling, for about five seconds. The fact that it is already late at night seals the deal.
You get up, straighten out your shirt, and make your way to the door. You had jammed it shut with a chair for some reason you don’t remember, but it must have been for a good reason.
***
“May I get you something… sir?”
The bartender eyes you, clearly hesitant to offer you anything at all yet obligated to do so out of sheer duty. It is, after all, his job.
You force a smile back at him, blinking your all-too-dry eyes, and say, “Anything is fine as long as it kicks hard enough.” You did not slur that too badly to be nigh unintelligible… probably.
“I… see. Very well, sir.” He turns away from you and to the shelves of sweet nectar behind him, the lack of hurry in his dusky hands betraying his reluctance to become an accomplice to your obvious indulgence. Still, you are confident he is a fine enough bartender to deliver what you wish, and you wait. Hopefully, you will not have to wait too long. Your fingers are already tapping restlessly on the polished mahogany of the bar counter.
“So, you’ve finally deigned to grace us with your presence?”
You look to your left, at the woman next to you. She seems about your age, or perhaps slightly older, with brown hair tied into a short ponytail. An eye-patch covers her right eye, and her left is a striking blue. Her features are pretty, and the long scar running across the bridge of her nose does not mar her looks but rather enhances it, granting her the sort of regal, strong beauty that you would expect to see in olden warrior queens told of in legend such as Boudica or Zenobia. Her outfit tells you that she is most definitely not a proper lady of the Old World; while stylish, her dress is quite clearly function over form, with more pockets and belts than your military uniform did. In fact, she would probably cut a rather more courageous figure than you would on the battlefield.
“And you are…?” you ask.
The bartender places a shot of whiskey in front of you before she can answer. And before you can drink it, she snatches it from under your nose and gulps it down. You frown at her, about to protest, before a withering glare from her makes you rethink that course of action.
“Booze really rots your memory, huh?” The woman scowls at you. “I’m your bleeding escort. We met at the port before you locked yourself in your room to drink yourself silly for three whole days.”
“It was only two-“
“Three! Today is Sunday!”
You look down at your fingers and tick off the days. She is right, you must have lost a day. And you do vaguely remember someone similar to her talking to you when you boarded the ship, through the haze of inebriation. Maybe.
“I don’t need an escort anyway,” you mutter under your breath while gesturing to the bartender to get you another drink.
“Oh, good Lord, first time I’m back to the Tower in years and this is what I’m saddled with…”the woman sighs. “You’d be dead in an Espanolan bar within hours without an escort, I’m sure of it. Besides, my debt’s only going to get written off if I deliver you right to the mansion’s doorstep. I swear, if this wasn’t the only job I could find offering an all-expenses paid luxury liner passage back to the Tower…”
“You’re a Hunter, aren’t you, madam?” inquires the bartender as he places yet another shot of whiskey down on the counter. You reach for it only for the woman to beat you to the punch yet again, her hand snaking out faster than your eye can catch.
“Hey!” This time you muster up enough courage to protest, but she ignores you as she converses with the bartender.
“Yeah, I’m one. How did you know?”
“Rare as it may be, we had the occasional Hunter either departing or returning to the Tower on our ship before the war broke out. Their presence is quite unmistakable, madam, just like you.”
“He means you dress like you’re geared for war at all times and act like it too, instead of being a proper lady,” you snort derisively, glaring at the shot of whiskey in her firm, strong grip that you have no hope of snatching back at all.
“Better than being a rich brat pretending to be a soldier,” she scoffs, glaring right back at you. “There’s not a single scar to be seen on you. Why, did the enemy’s attacks land on your back or your bum?”
“Say what you want.” You twitch and look away. There is no point explaining yourself to this stranger. It’s far too late in the night to be sober, and it is wearing upon your nerves. But just as you are about to give up and leave, the bartender places the third shot on the table. You stop and turn around slowly, looking at the glass, then at the woman. She looks back at you, grinning infuriatingly. You just know she’s going to try and drink this too.
“Why are you even doing this?”
“Got paid to make sure you don’t drink too much too. Sure, I figure I failed at doing that the moment you went into your room but I still gotta do some of what I got paid for. Also, you locked me out of the cabin and I had nowhere to sleep for two nights! Two nights of having the staff look at me out of pity as I sat outside the door to our room! I think you deserve a little payback, don’t you?” Having blurted that out, you can tell that she is actually rather upset.
You did wonder why there were two beds in the cabin.
***
A. You attempt to take the shot of whiskey by force. Even though she may be a Hunter, native to the Tower, you are a trained soldier and she clearly underestimates what you are capable of.
B. You attempt to convince her to let you have the shot of whiskey.
1. You negotiate for it by promising her more money.
2. You get down on your knees and beg for it.
3. You threaten to report her misconduct to your family if she does not give it to you.
C. You attempt to distract her before snatching the whiskey while her attention is elsewhere.
D. You give up on the whiskey. And she can give up on the room too. You go back to your cabin and lock yourself in. There are enough rations in there to last you till the voyage ends… but there is no booze.
Baltika9
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2012
- Messages
- 9,611
What a character we are!
Okay. So first she takes our drink. Then she insults us. Then she takes our other drink. And then she insults us again.
And now she's threatening to take our third drink.
We're not a mopey drunk. We're an angry drunk. Fuck off, lady. You want a bar fight, you got yourself a bar fight.
A
Baltika9
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2012
- Messages
- 9,611
She took our alky though. There's a line that you don't cross.
- Joined
- Nov 6, 2020
- Messages
- 17,656
C - women are like cats, dangle a shiny object in front of them and they'll be distracted long enough for you to get what you want. Any *hicc* true gentleman knows this. 
Tigranes
Arcane
- Joined
- Jan 8, 2009
- Messages
- 10,350
OK, a good entrance by Mr Heineken. But "fights everybody and is amazingly dumb when drunk, and is durnk all the time" isn't the best use of the character, is it?
Let's try C and see if he has a little bit of brain left above the residual alcohol soup.
I am also interested in B2, in fact, because maybe it's the kind of absurd performance we can learn to pull off in the future - oh noes i am a pathetic drunk you have nothing to worry about, yes!
Let's try C and see if he has a little bit of brain left above the residual alcohol soup.
I am also interested in B2, in fact, because maybe it's the kind of absurd performance we can learn to pull off in the future - oh noes i am a pathetic drunk you have nothing to worry about, yes!
Baltika9
Arcane
- Joined
- Jun 27, 2012
- Messages
- 9,611
Honestly, this is more about boundaries and the respect thereof. She can badmouth us all she wants (we're a useless piece of shit, we deserve it
) but you don't touch a depressed man's drink. C'mon now. We gotta nip this shit in the bud, or we might spend the rest of our time with her sober.
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