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Text Adventure Game Emulator #1

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Regrettable Juvenilia

09:03 / 07.12.07

You sit up and look around. You are on a sandy beach. You feel a sense of deja vu - haven't you seen this beach before? Although you'd wager you're quite a way little further South of where you first saw the magical horse.

Here's what you can see: the beach continues to the North. The way South is blocked by a large rocky outcropping. The sea is to the East.

To the West the beach slopes upwards and you can see a small set of stone steps leading up to a road that runs parallel to the beach. There is a single building by the road.

By the position of the sun in the sky, it looks like you were unconscious for the whole night. It's early morning.

Your stomach rumbles.

You assume the Ardha Padmasana and regulate your breathing. The morning sun has already dried the back of your t-shirt, but your jeans and shoes are still uncomfortably wet; however, as you perform Pranayama, you can feel such dualities as hot/cold and dry/wet fade away. The stresses of the last two days are gone. Once your body feels totally comfortable and your mind free and at peace, you move into Utthita Ashwa Sanchalanasana and then finish by assuming Adho Mukha Svanasana. You no longer feel hungry.

You stand up, and check your inventory.

You have:

- Milton's locket, now washed clean around your neck;
- Robert's watch around your left wrist;
- a typed memo about your financial worth
- a crude map on a slip of paper
- a note saying SOME OF THEM ARE PROGRAMMED TO THINK THEY ARE HUMAN
These three are inside:
- the envelope Robert gave you before his untimely death.
You also have
- a money clip containing 77 dollah.

All of these paper items are now quite soggy. There is a penknife in your back pocket.

Finally, you have one .45 pistol shoved down the front of your jeans. The one in the back must have fallen out.

All your other items were in your satchel, and are now lost.

09:16 / 07.12.07

Examine the pistol to see if the water's banjaxed it. Then go North.

Regrettable Juvenilia

09:42 / 07.12.07

You take your pistol apart, shake out any water, wipe it dry with the corner of your t-shirt and reassemble it. The mechanism seems to be working fine and you are confident that it will be able to fire both of the bullets you have left.

You walk North, becoming increasingly aware that the tide is coming in.

You are still on the beach, with the sea to the East and more beach to the North (although you'll have to head North-West if you want to avoid wading through water). To the West the beach slopes up towards a road running parallel to the beach.

09:48 / 07.12.07

Oh, very well. South, then West, climb the steps and let's have a look at this building.

Regrettable Juvenilia

10:32 / 07.12.07

You walk back down the beach a little, veering South-West towards the road. You ascend the steps, your wet sneakers squelching on the worn, sand-strewn stone.

You are standing on the edge of an asphalt road that runs South and North along the seafront. To the West, on the other side of the road, is dense, impenetrable jungle. From within it come the cries of macaws.

Directly North in front of you is the entrance to a low, flat-roofed, boxy building, with long windows looking out to the sea-front. There is a neon sign on the roof, currently unlit, that says simply Diner. The door in front of you has a window, on which the words "Live Free and Dine!" are painted in red cursive. There is a small sign hanging in the same window that says WE'RE OPEN!.

10:46 / 07.12.07

Enter diner.

10:49 / 07.12.07

Conceal gun as best as possible.

Regrettable Juvenilia

11:43 / 07.12.07

Your gun is concealed down the front of your jeans and under your t-shirt.

You push open the door and enter the diner. A bell tinkles to announce your arrival.

The interior of the diner is decorated in the classic American chrome and stainless steel style that has remained unchanged for over 50 years. It smells agreeably of food, and your stomach rumbles again.

Running down the Eastern side of the diner are booths by the windows that afford a view of the beach and sea. There is a solitary patron in one of the booths, reading a paper.

Running down the Western side is the counter, with fixed stools in front of it as one would expect. There is a menu on the counter.

There is a man behind the counter, working the griddle. He has his back to you.

A door to the far North is signed BATHROOM.

Near the entrance, immediately to your East, is a jukebox.

'Don't Stop Believing' by Journey is currently playing.

11:45 / 07.12.07

Sit in the booth with the solitary patron, facing opposite hir.

Regrettable Juvenilia

12:12 / 07.12.07

You sit down in the booth facing the solitary patron. They turn a page of their paper, but do not lower it to look at you.

12:22 / 07.12.07

Say "When I was 13 years old I became convinced that beards were in fact alien parasites, and all men who wore them were being controlled via a series of millimetre thin tendrils that penetrated the pores of their skin and travelled up through the muscles to the brain. Obviously at the time I didn't know what a millimetre was, I just thought they were really small. Anyway, one Christmas my parents took me to see Santa Claus, and as I sat on his lap I saw a gap between his skin and his beard, and therefore an opportunity. I grabbed it and yanked it off his face and jumped up and down on it shouting 'You're free! You're free!' And that's why I never got that little drum kit I wanted."

Regrettable Juvenilia

13:20 / 07.12.07

The person sitting opposite you ruffles their paper, but does not lower it to look at you or say anything in response to your story. Perhaps they are listening to music on headphones.

The guy who was working behind the counter comes to stand by your table. He's a tall, genial man with a handlebar moustache, wearing an apron.

"Mornin', pal. Like to see a menu?", he asks, offering you one.

13:27 / 07.12.07

Thank him and read the menu.

Regrettable Juvenilia

13:39 / 07.12.07

"Yes, thanks", you say, and take the menu.

"No problem - just give me a yell when you're ready to order."

He goes back behind the counter. You examine the menu. It lists pretty much everything one might possibly want to order for breakfast, at reasonable prices. A piece of paper stuck to the first page announces Today's Special: Johnny Cakes - 5 dollah.

14:26 / 07.12.07

Give the man a yell;

'Hey bro, can I order a beer? And what are these jonny cakes? I've never heard of them before. Are they good? '

16:09 / 07.12.07

Read the headlines on the paper.

Regrettable Juvenilia

18:42 / 07.12.07

You catch the attention of the cook, waiter, and apparent sole member of staff working at this diner today, and he comes over to your table.

"Hey bro, can I order a beer?"

He frowns in mock disapproval.

"A little early isn't it?" Then his face creases into a smile. "Nah, just kiddin', pal. You just worked a night shift, right? You got that look about you. Lemme guess" - he looks you up and down appraisingly, and seems to notice for the first time that you look like you've just washed up on a beach after a night at sea - "one of the big fishing boats out of the harbour?"

"Um... yeah", you say, trying to act as natural as possible, "The night shift... on a fishing boat... from the harbour... That's right!"

"No problem", he says. "Local brew okay? It's good stuff."

You nod your assent and add "And what are these Johnny Cakes? I've never heard of them before. Are they good?"

"Pancakes made with white cornmeal. A New England special'ty! They're delicious. A little butter, local syrup... I gotta warn ya, they're addictive."

You tell him you'll go for it. He turns to the person sitting opposite you and asks:

"'Nother coffee for you?"

The person puts the paper down on the seat next to them before you have the chance to glimpse anything more than just the headline DOLLAR SINKS TO NEW LOW AGAINST DOLLAH. The person sitting opposite you is revealed to be a very elderly, white-haired man with twinkling eyes and a neatly-trimmed white moustache, dressed in a tweed suit, checked shirt and bowtie. He smiles at you, and then at the cook. In an accent you can't place beyond it being European he says:

"Very well then!"

20:45 / 07.12.07

Reply;

'Hey man, it's almost as if I wound up next to Henry Kissinger, on a plane! I'm totally nursing a boner! What thoughts does your magnificence have to offer a dude like me?'

And then ... Oh what's the point, knife the funny little man in the throat.

21:03 / 07.12.07

Then stare down the Johnny-cakes man

'Ain't you never done nothing you're ashamed off? You prick? You musta seen stuff like this before ... So, a side order a maple syrup with Johnny cakes, the beer, and the sausages. Motherf***er.'

Regrettable Juvenilia

21:16 / 07.12.07

You cannot 'reply', since the man sitting opposite has not addressed you, only the cook. As a compromise, you say:

"Hey man, it's almost as if I wound up next to Henry Kissinger, on a plane! I'm totally nursing a boner! What thoughts does your magnificence have to offer a dude like me?"

"I'm sorry, have we met?", asks the man. He doesn't seem to understand the idiom of your second sentence, which may well be for the best (although the cook raises an eyebrow).

You think about stabbing him in the neck, but your penknife is in your back pocket and you're sitting down. And anyway, the impulse seemed to come from some dank, stunted, irrational part of your brain, some evolutionary dead-end best dismissed entirely.

"Anything else for either of you guys?", asks the cook.

"Could I get a side order a maple syrup with the Johnny Cakes... and some sausages?", you ask him politely.

"Sure thing." He goes back behind the counter.

The old man in front of you takes from his jacket a calculator, a small notepad and pen, and a pair of half-moon spectacles. He begins to do what look like financial calculations, studiously.

21:35 / 07.12.07

Ask old man about calculations.

22:32 / 07.12.07

Keep a shy eye on that counterman. Damn, he knows how to work a skillet!

Look forward to savoring his hot, greasy sausage.

22:35 / 07.12.07

Say to customer, "I wish there was someone I could ask for advice."

Regrettable Juvenilia

23:21 / 07.12.07

You ask the old man about his calculations.

"Business." He doesn't bother looking up. "Always business." You glance over at the cook, and watch admiringly as he tosses, stirs, pours, and so on. The food smells great, and you can't wait for some sausage.

You say, almost to yourself: "I wish there was someone I could ask for advice."

This gets the old man's attention. He looks up at you, and takes off his spectacles.

"Advice?", he says, cautiously, but with interest. "What subject do you need advice on?"

06:55 / 08.12.07

Mention hopes for a pastoral, 'end of credits' type of early retirement, in which self, finally, has the space to roam free under wide open skies, like a younger, less disillusioned Tom Cruise. On a motorbike. In a short leather jacket and Aviator sunglasses. Without people trying to kill self the whole time.

Add, brokenly;

'I can't play by Their rules no more ... So, how to finance this? Or is it all just a stupid dream?'

10:09 / 08.12.07

Suggest that you have high hopes for finding some HONEST VENTURE in which a man might PROFIT by the labor of his INVESTMENTS.

11:25 / 08.12.07

Stress the importance of not 'doing time' courtesy of the socialist UK government, as a possible result of whatever plan's on offer. Because we're too delicate for that.

12:06 / 08.12.07

(And, seeing as we've been waiting over twelve hours for the house special, the Johnny cakes, think about e-mailing Gordon Ramsey's production company about this f****** s***hole of a diner.)

Regrettable Juvenilia

17:34 / 09.12.07

You tell the old man:

"I find myself hoping for a pastoral, 'end of credits' type of early retirement, in which I finally have the space to roam free under wide open skies..."

He nods earnestly and says:

"I understand. It's what we all want, yes? It's why we get out of bed in the morning."

He furrows his brow as you continue:

"But I can't play by their rules no more... So, how to finance this? Or is it all just a stupid dream?"

The old man shrugs.

"There are many ways to make a living in this world, my friend. There is always some honest venture to be found in which a man might profit by the labor of his investments. Why, I might know of some honest work a person such as yourself could do this very day, and be rewarded richly for your efforts!"

"That's what I'm hoping for... But I don't want to go to jail..."

He smiles and shakes his head.

"None of us want that. And there are many ways we can make sure that does not happen. Politicians, police officers... They too are merely human beings. They want the same things you and I want. And many of them are my friends."

He stops talking as the cook comes over, and sets down in front of you a plate of Johnny Cakes and sausage links, with a little jug of maple syrup, a dish of butter and a bottle of beer. The order has not taken very long at all to arrive and looks delicious, so you feel thoroughly satisfied with the service.

The cook puts in front of the old man the tiniest cup and saucer you have ever seen in your life. Stean rises from the potent-looking black liquid inside (but it smells good, unlike Professor Winter's special coffee). The old man picks up the cup by finger and thumb, his pinky finger extended daintily, and inhales the coffee's scent.

"Now my friend", he says. "I have a delivery that needs to be made. Can I interest you in this job, for honest pay?"

22:18 / 09.12.07

Ask for more information.

22:43 / 09.12.07

Then eat some of the Johnny Cakes before they get cold.

Regrettable Juvenilia

09:15 / 10.12.07

You lean forward and, in a low voice, say:

"Tell me more."

Then you sit back, and turn your attention to your food. You spread butter thickly on your pancakes, pour on a generous helping of maple syrup, and dig in.

Hunter S. Thompson once wrote: "anybody with a terminally jangled lifestyle needs at least one psychic anchor every twenty-four hours, and mine is breakfast." You can't remember when or where or why you read that, but you're reminded of it now, munching on your Johnny Cakes and sausages, that counter-intuitive yet brilliant mix of savoury and sweet that typifies the American approach to breakfast. You take a swig of your beer. It's good. Today is going to be a better day; you can just feel it.

The old man reaches down next to him and produces a parcel wrapped in brown wax paper and string. He places it on the table between you. It is roughly 30cm x 20cm x 15cm.

"I need this package delivered to the Bar of the Dancing Bear Inn by five o'clock today. Give it to the man who works behind the bar, and in exchange he will give you an envelope. Inside this envelope will be five hundred dollah. That is all. It is a simple thing! Do this for me, and I will have more honest work for you do, with greater renumeration."

ONLY NICE THINGS

10:07 / 10.12.07

Exam options.

ONLY NICE THINGS

11:34 / 10.12.07

Accept INEVITABLE and PACKAGE.

Regrettable Juvenilia

11:51 / 10.12.07

You consider your options. Why the hell not? What's the worst that can happen? You take the parcel and put it on the seat next to you.

"Very well then!" says the old man, and downs his coffee in one. He takes a white cloth bucket hat from the seat next to him, unfolds it, and places it on his head. "You can always find me here in the mornings if you are looking to exchange your labour for funds. Come back tomorrow and, if you have delivered this package successfully, we can talk about future exchanges."

The old man places a few dollah bills on the table and stands to leave, tucking his paper under one arm.

"Oh, and if anyone asks, tell them the German sent you. Although of course" - here he chuckles and taps the side of his nose knowingly - "I'm not even German!"

The German leaves, the bell above the door tinkling as he exits.

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