Start of a transcript of Cragne Manor An Anchorhead tribute by various authors Release 10 / Serial number 181208 / Inform 7 build 6M62 (I6/v6.33 lib 6/12N) Identification number: //1A586AF4-661C-4879-ADFF-7DDE35836AF1// Interpreter version 1.3.5 / VM 3.1.2 / Library serial number 080126 Standard Rules version 3/120430 by Graham Nelson Cragne Suite version 2 by Ryan Veeder (including Basic Screen Effects and Modified Exit by Emily Short, as well as modifications by Andrew Plotkin of Epistemology and Conversation Framework by Eric Eve) Plus modified versions of: Optimized Epistemology by Andrew Plotkin Conversation Framework by Eric Eve >* We're headed into the meatpacking plant this time, so it feels like it's once again appropriate to You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >gird loins That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >se Christabell bids you well, as you depart. Outside the Plant (Chandler Groover) Smoke pours into a bruised sky, rising from chimneys that crowd the Cragne Meatpacking Plant. Its bricks are soot-stained, its stenciled walls weathered by acid rain. A hole is smashed into its side. To the northwest, a hill begins to climb toward Cragne Manor. >in The meatpacking plant (Kenneth Pedersen) You are standing in the center of the main room of the meatpacking plant. An open doorway leads west from this huge room to somewhere darker, while some rickety stairs lead up. A long row of meat hooks are hanging from the ceiling parallel to a bloodstained table. It is not too late to leave yet, by going out the front door. >* Hey, one I know! I've played a couple of Kenneth's games (many of which are in ADRIFT) and would say they'be got a old school kind of vibe, without being annoying or punishing You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* I really enjoyed his Grandpa's Ranch, in last year's ParserComp, You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* One nice thing about this more stripped-down prose style is things aren't super gross (yet) That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x door The door is ajar, so you can quickly leave this terrible place. >* One the one hand, that's nice, on the other hand, from the outside that door looks like a smashed-in hole, so it's actually maybe the creepiest anomoly here! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x hooks The meat hooks are rusty, stained and out of reach. They are all empty except for a hook at the southern end of the room, which holds the body of a dead animal, hanging from its legs head down. >x animal This dead animal is some sort of dog of a breed unknown to you. There is something disturbing, twisted about this dog. It hasn't been dead for long. Especially you notice its stomach which seems particularly big and hard, as if there is something inside of it. >* ick That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x stomach This dead animal is some sort of dog of a breed unknown to you. There is something disturbing, twisted about this dog. It hasn't been dead for long. Especially you notice its stomach which seems particularly big and hard, as if there is something inside of it. >take hook (the meathooks) The meat hooks are out of reach. >open stomach If you want it open, you'll have to cut it with something. >i You are carrying: a cast iron spire loose bricks Tolerating An Asinine God a clipboard a black business card a trophy for a dog race a half-full styrofoam coffee cup a glass shard a familiar gold wristwatch a giant milkweed leaf a label an antique locket (closed) a backpack features guide a glass jar containing an insect a book list the diary of Phyllis Cragne a postcard of Big Ben The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three Twin Hearts Between the Planes a Jansport backpack (open) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) Peter's jacket a brass winding key a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a pull-string doll a waterproof flashlight a repaired page a wad of cash a moldy, waterlogged journal a library card a grimy rock a long hooked pole a soggy tome an employee ID card a shard of shattered carapace a fungal powder some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal an aluminum key a pamphlet of home listings a hovering spark (haunting you) >cut stomach with spire The cast iron spire isn't quite what you need to cut the dog. >* fair That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >cut stomach with shard Which do you mean, the glass shard or the shard of shattered carapace? >glass The glass shard isn't quite what you need to cleave through this dead dog. >cut stomach with shattered The shard of shattered carapace isn't quite what you need to cleave through the meat of this dead dog. >* I see where you're going with this (there's a cleaver on the table, huh?) You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x table This is a very long wooden table running the full length of the room from north to south. It is stained with old blood. >* oh, maybe it's elsewhere You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x blood As this is a meatpacking plant, bloodstains are to be expected. Nevertheless it does freak you out a bit. >look under table You find nothing of interest. >* ah, I thought LOOK UNDER might be needed here You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >look behind table You can't see any such thing. >search table You find nothing of interest. >search hooks You find nothing of interest. >stand on table That's not something you can stand on. >* ah well That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x coffee The swirls in your cup form a sailboat. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return. >* OK, the cleaver's somewhere else You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x me You look yourself over and realize that you are a mess right now. You wonder how it came to this. >* Well, first I sliced open the distended belly of a dead sheep, then I realized I was going to have to slice open the distended belly of a dead dog You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x dog This dead animal is some sort of dog of a breed unknown to you. There is something disturbing, twisted about this dog. It hasn't been dead for long. Especially you notice its stomach which seems particularly big and hard, as if there is something inside of it. >hug dog You can't see any such thing. >kiss dog You can't see any such thing. >* huh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >hug animal You can't see any such thing. >close door Just leave it ajar as it is, so you can quickly leave if needed. >* Good call That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* west or up? I'm guessing the bathroom isn't immediately up That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >u Dusty office (Matthew Korson) This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust. >* Another person of mystery! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x window A few small shards of glass remain around the edge of the window; otherwise, the frame is empty. >x shards A few small shards of glass remain around the edge of the window; otherwise, the frame is empty. >take them You can't see 'them' (nothing) at the moment. >take shards You'd cut yourself. >* That's OK! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Dusty office (Matthew Korson) This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust. >x floor It is covered in a thick layer of dust. >x factory floor Machines line the factory floor below. You can only guess at their function. >* ...you mean the hooks? Maybe Nitocris suffered some off-screen head trauma That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x detritus Junk is piled up in the corners and around the edges of the room. It is scattered haphazardly, as if someone has ransacked the place. But if so, it was long enough ago that a thick layer of dust has accumulated. Who knows if anything of value is left? >search it You rummage through the junk. You find a brass nameplate among all the dust. Dust blows into your face. >x nameplate "Charles Cragne, Owner" >* Another cragne! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >take nameplate Taken. >search junk You rummage through the junk. You find a diagram scratched into the floor among all the dust. The movement raises a thick cloud of dust. You cough. >x diagram Circles and lines scratched into the floorboards. It almost seems like it should mean something, but you can't quite grasp it. >grasp diagram That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* ah well That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Dusty office (Matthew Korson) This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room. Dry dust floats in the air here, and it is already visibly settling on the surfaces you have cleared. You can see a diagram scratched into the floor here. >search junk You rummage through the junk. You find a broken knife handle among all the dust. Dust swirls into the air. >take handle Taken. >x it A broken wooden knife handle. The blade is long gone, but there are dark stains at one end. >x stains You can't see any such thing. >put shards in handle (first taking the window) You'd cut yourself. >put glass shard in handle (the glass shard in the broken knife handle) That can't contain things. >* OK, wrong track You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l Dusty office (Matthew Korson) This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room. Dust is landing on your skin, seeming to draw all the moisture from you. You can see a diagram scratched into the floor here. >search junk You rummage through the junk. You find a piece of yellowed newsprint among all the dust. The dust you come in contact with cakes onto your skin. >x newsprint The article seems to be an exposé of poor working conditions and sanitation at Cragne's meatpacking plant. You scan quickly through descriptions of horrific accidents among the workers and nauseating adulterants in the meat. One item catches your eye. In a section describing the vermin infesting the plant, the writer mentions a superstition held by the workers concerning a "Boss Rat". Apparently this rat was three times the size of the usual pests and would direct the other rodents where they may forage. Those that found favor with the Boss Rat were allowed to gorge themselves from the heaps of meat kept in the plant's storerooms for later processing, while those who fell out of favor were forced to run among the workers' legs to snatch scraps falling from the mincers. Many workers believed that anyone who saw the Boss Rat would suffer a fatal accident, and the writer notes that several deaths and disappearances that occurred during his time investigating the plant were attributed to that very cause. >take it Taken. >* That... could be worse? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* I mean, three times the size of a usual rat isn't *great* but again, could be worse You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l Dusty office (Matthew Korson) This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room. You inhale dust with every breath. It fills your nose and throat. You can see a diagram scratched into the floor here. >search junk You rummage through the junk. You find an enormous dessicated rat corpse among all the dust. Dust blows into your face. >x corpse It's the size of a large cat or a small dog, but it is definitely a rat. It is completely dried and its tail is missing, but it shows no other signs of decay. Dust is matted in what remains of its fur. >* here it is! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >clean corpse You make a futile attempt to clean the enormous dessicated rat corpse. The dust you come in contact with cakes onto your skin. >x me There is dust in your hair, dust in your eyes, dust in your nose, dust in your mouth. If you stay here much longer, you may turn to dust yourself. >* nah, we're a ghoul, not a vampire You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x tail You can't see any such thing. >take corpse Taken. >* yoink! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Anyone seen the taxidermist around Backwater? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Dusty office (Matthew Korson) This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room. You inhale dust with every breath. It fills your nose and throat. You can see a diagram scratched into the floor here. >search junk You rummage through the junk. You find a thin steel key among all the dust. Dust swirls into the air. >take key (the thin steel key) Taken. >x it A thin steel key with a somewhat old-fashioned look. >* handy! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* This junk is the gift that keeps on giving That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >put corpse on diagram Putting things on the diagram scratched into the floor would achieve nothing. >* ah well, thought it was maybe like a magic circle that could revitalize the fellow You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* He could be another sidekick! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >search dust (the fungal powder) You find nothing of interest. >search hunk You can't see any such thing. >search junk You rummage through the junk. Dust blows into your face. >g You rummage through the junk. The movement raises a thick cloud of dust. You cough. >g You rummage through the junk. The dust you come in contact with cakes onto your skin. >g You rummage through the junk. The movement raises a thick cloud of dust. You cough. >x floor Circles and lines scratched into the floorboards. It almost seems like it should mean something, but you can't quite grasp it. >clean floor You make a futile attempt to clean the floor. The dust you come in contact with cakes onto your skin. >clean dust (the fungal powder) You rub the fungal powder. >l Dusty office (Matthew Korson) This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room. Dust hangs so thickly in the air that you can hardly see to the other side of the room. You wheeze and choke every time you take a breath. You can see a diagram scratched into the floor here. >x table The only remarkable thing about it is that it is still standing. >push talbe You can't see any such thing. >oops table It would most likely fall apart, and there is no need to make the mess in here any worse. >pull table It would most likely fall apart, and there is no need to make the mess in here any worse. >break table Violence isn't the answer to this one. >stand on table That's not something you can stand on. >take table It would most likely fall apart, and there is no need to make the mess in here any worse. >* what's with all these non-load-bearing tables? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x cabinet The sides are painted exactly the same color as the dust that covers everything in here. >open it It seems to be locked. >unlock it with steel key You unlock the filing cabinet. >* ding! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >open it You open the filing cabinet, revealing a torn notebook. >x torn Many pages are torn out, and those that remain are mostly smudged or otherwise illegible. One, however, stands out because it appears to have been pasted into the notebook. It looks like a letter. "September 21, 1908 "...les Cragne, Rufous Alderman, "I was pleased to hear of your success with ... of the ritual... "...Sinclair's pamphlet will bring unwanted atte... ...ven to your remote operation. I hope I need not remind you ...tance of ... role ... "... can get ... blood befo... ...crifice must be complete by the coming full moon... Vaadignephod will... "Yours in fraternity "... of the Variegated Court" The facing page contains the notation "Cattle: 10 gal, 200 / hr, 24000 gal Hog: 5 gal, 500 / hr, 30000 gal Man: 10 pt, 1 / day, 10 pt" >* Hey another court member! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Also this is an *astonishing* amount of blood, but at least the people are getting off relatively easy You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* how big is the killing floor if they can put through 200 cattle and 500 hogs per hour??? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x coffee The swirls in your cup form a perfect fern, just like in a fancy latte. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need. >* OK, maybe something with the diagram? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x corpse It's the size of a large cat or a small dog, but it is definitely a rat. It is completely dried and its tail is missing, but it shows no other signs of decay. Dust is matted in what remains of its fur. >hug corpse You can't see any such thing. >clean it You make a futile attempt to clean the enormous dessicated rat corpse. Dust blows into your face. >g You make a futile attempt to clean the enormous dessicated rat corpse. The dust you come in contact with cakes onto your skin. >g You make a futile attempt to clean the enormous dessicated rat corpse. The movement raises a thick cloud of dust. You cough. >g You make a futile attempt to clean the enormous dessicated rat corpse. Dust swirls into the air. >lick it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Dusty office (Matthew Korson) This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room. Dust hangs so thickly in the air that you can hardly see to the other side of the room. You wheeze and choke every time you take a breath. You can see a diagram scratched into the floor here. >taste it Ugh, it's all covered in dust. >x diagram Circles and lines scratched into the floorboards. It almost seems like it should mean something, but you can't quite grasp it. >put corpse on desk You put the enormous dessicated rat corpse on the small table. >take it Taken. >i You are carrying: an enormous dessicated rat corpse a thin steel key a piece of yellowed newsprint a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a cast iron spire loose bricks Tolerating An Asinine God a clipboard a black business card a trophy for a dog race a half-full styrofoam coffee cup a glass shard a familiar gold wristwatch a giant milkweed leaf a label an antique locket (closed) a backpack features guide a glass jar containing an insect a book list the diary of Phyllis Cragne a postcard of Big Ben The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three Twin Hearts Between the Planes a Jansport backpack (open) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) Peter's jacket a brass winding key a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a pull-string doll a waterproof flashlight a repaired page a wad of cash a moldy, waterlogged journal a library card a grimy rock a long hooked pole a soggy tome an employee ID card a shard of shattered carapace a fungal powder some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal an aluminum key a pamphlet of home listings a hovering spark (haunting you) >x handle A broken wooden knife handle. The blade is long gone, but there are dark stains at one end. >hit corpse Violence isn't the answer to this one. >open corpse It isn't something you can open. >x nameplate "Charles Cragne, Owner" >put nameplate in diagram That can't contain things. >put nameplate on diagram Putting things on the diagram scratched into the floor would achieve nothing. >clean diagram You make a futile attempt to clean the diagram scratched into the floor. The movement raises a thick cloud of dust. You cough. >read diagram Circles and lines scratched into the floorboards. It almost seems like it should mean something, but you can't quite grasp it. >x it Circles and lines scratched into the floorboards. It almost seems like it should mean something, but you can't quite grasp it. >l Dusty office (Matthew Korson) This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room. Dust hangs so thickly in the air that you can hardly see to the other side of the room. You wheeze and choke every time you take a breath. You can see a diagram scratched into the floor here. >read newsprint The article seems to be an exposé of poor working conditions and sanitation at Cragne's meatpacking plant. You scan quickly through descriptions of horrific accidents among the workers and nauseating adulterants in the meat. One item catches your eye. In a section describing the vermin infesting the plant, the writer mentions a superstition held by the workers concerning a "Boss Rat". Apparently this rat was three times the size of the usual pests and would direct the other rodents where they may forage. Those that found favor with the Boss Rat were allowed to gorge themselves from the heaps of meat kept in the plant's storerooms for later processing, while those who fell out of favor were forced to run among the workers' legs to snatch scraps falling from the mincers. Many workers believed that anyone who saw the Boss Rat would suffer a fatal accident, and the writer notes that several deaths and disappearances that occurred during his time investigating the plant were attributed to that very cause. >x junk Junk is piled up in the corners and around the edges of the room. It is scattered haphazardly, as if someone has ransacked the place. But if so, it was long enough ago that a thick layer of dust has accumulated. Who knows if anything of value is left? >search it You rummage through the junk. Dust swirls into the air. >g You rummage through the junk. Dust blows into your face. >g You rummage through the junk. The dust you come in contact with cakes onto your skin. >g You rummage through the junk. Dust blows into your face. >g You rummage through the junk. The dust you come in contact with cakes onto your skin. >g You rummage through the junk. Dust blows into your face. >g You rummage through the junk. The movement raises a thick cloud of dust. You cough. >g You rummage through the junk. The dust you come in contact with cakes onto your skin. >g You rummage through the junk. The movement raises a thick cloud of dust. You cough. >g You rummage through the junk. Dust swirls into the air. >g You rummage through the junk. Dust blows into your face. >g You rummage through the junk. The movement raises a thick cloud of dust. You cough. >g You rummage through the junk. Dust swirls into the air. >* OK that's probably maxed out on dust That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Dusty office (Matthew Korson) This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room. Dust hangs so thickly in the air that you can hardly see to the other side of the room. You wheeze and choke every time you take a breath. You can see a diagram scratched into the floor here. >cut corpse Cutting it up would achieve little. >* OK, not that You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x wall You can't see any such thing. >x cabinet The sides are painted exactly the same color as the dust that covers everything in here. In the filing cabinet is a torn notebook. >take torn Taken. >* yoink That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x cabinet The sides are painted exactly the same color as the dust that covers everything in here. >x coffee The swirls in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person. >* Ah, that's all there was to do! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >d You quickly climb down the stairs, eager to get away from all of that dust. The meatpacking plant (Kenneth Pedersen) You are standing in the center of the main room of the meatpacking plant. An open doorway leads west from this huge room to somewhere darker, while some rickety stairs lead up. A long row of meat hooks are hanging from the ceiling parallel to a bloodstained table. It is not too late to leave yet, by going out the front door. >* no more putting it off That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >save Ok. >w Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There's a bathroom stall (which has some graffiti written on it), a urinal, a sink with a mirror over it, and even a shower for those days at work when meat debris happens. Perfectly normal bathroom. You can see a pentagram on the floor here. >* Several Chris Jones candidates here - there's the Tex Murphy one, and I think one who created AGS? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* Not much of an IF-specific paper trail as far as I can tell That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Anyaway, this is all perfectly normal, I'm sure it'll be fine You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x me You fight down the urge to compulsively examine the comparative size of your knees in relation to one another. It's a compulsion that pops up when you're under stress, has done since the knee fetishist you dated before Peter dumped you in college. You want to look right now but it just feeds the compulsion. No, no, you mustn't look! You won't! They're still the same size, Naomi. Your knees are still the same size. >* Worst case scenario, we'll just shell out for knee enhancement surgery You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x mirror A perfectly normal bathroom mirror: one of those big frameless dealies that they hang on the wall above the sink. In it you can see the bathroom reflected: the stall/toilet, the urinal, the shower, all floating in a terrifying dark void filled with unfamiliar stars. Wait what. There's a sign on the corner of the mirror that says "Mirror Temporarily Out of Order - mgmt.". >* ha, tha'ts a good joke! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* we'll come back to the terrifying void That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There's a bathroom stall (which has some graffiti written on it), a urinal, a sink with a mirror over it, and even a shower for those days at work when meat debris happens. Perfectly normal bathroom. You can see a pentagram on the floor here. >x stall A walled bathroom stall in the corner of the room. Someone wrote "Beware Horse" on the side of the stall in marker. For some reason. Below that, someone has written "Don't use the shitter, bro!", also in marker. Pretty wide existential gap between those two graffiti but okay. Anyway the door to the stall is slightly ajar. >* umm, also not wanting to investigate that immediately You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x urinal A stainless steel trough in the floor, presumably for pissing into. There's a blue urinal cake at the bottom. Right about head-height above the urinal, the words "Do Not Shit Here Either" are scratched into the wall. Just below that are the words "stop telling us where not to shit, dude" in smaller letters. And just below that is the word word "No". So much drama. >x cake A small blue urinal cake. It's basically a post hoc urethral perfuming agent made of chalky poison chemicals fashioned in the shape of a hockey puck. >take it You're not touching the urinal cake. >pee on it Enh, you don't feel like it right at the moment. >* ha, nice catch! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* well the urinal seems fine That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There's a bathroom stall (which has some graffiti written on it), a urinal, a sink with a mirror over it, and even a shower for those days at work when meat debris happens. Perfectly normal bathroom. You can see a pentagram on the floor here. >x sink A perfectly normal stainless steel sink set into wall below the mirror. Looking at it reminds you of how much awful and/or weird stuff you've been touching with your bare hands, recently. And how covered in other peoples' germs you must be at this point. There's a tap on the back with a handle that turns on the water. Just above that tap handle, someone has scrawled the words "Stop Shitting In The Sink" with a marker. Okay maybe not the *best* sink to wash your hands in, but a sink nontheless and they're in short supply in this town. >wash hands (in the pamphlet of home listings) You don't feel like washing your hands with that. Or can't. Or both. >wash hands in sink You turn the tap and hold your hands expectantly under it. Finally! You can wash your hands!... ...but all that comes out is noise. A weird, horrifying and terrible noise from somewhere behind the walls. A long wet meaty sound with some kind of mechanical whine behind it, like a car was trying to peel out on a street covered in greasy bacon. That's... not a sound that a sink should make. You turn off the tap (almost pulling the tap loose from the sink in the process, damn thing wasn't screwed in properly or something) and the horrifying noise stops. Dammit, you really wanted to wash your hands. Well, maybe something else in here works; lord knows it's been a while since you used a restroom properly. >* Could have been worse! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There's a bathroom stall (which has some graffiti written on it), a urinal, a sink with a mirror over it, and even a shower for those days at work when meat debris happens. Perfectly normal bathroom. You can see a pentagram on the floor here. >x shower A chrome showerhead hanging from the ceiling in one corner of the room, presumably for the plant employees to wash various species worth of meat and meat byproducts off their filthy bodies. Directly below the showerhead, there is a large metal grate over a drain in the floor. On the wall between, there's a single shower knob that says "warm". Above the knob, someone has scratched the words "Don't Shit In The Shower Anymore Bro!" into the wall. What the hell is wrong with the savages that use this bathroom? >x grate You see nothing special about the metal grate. >open grate It isn't something you can open. >take grate You try pulling on the grate, but it's extremely heavy. >* ho hu That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x knob They like their showers simple in Vermont. >x showerhead A chrome showerhead hanging from the ceiling in one corner of the room, presumably for the plant employees to wash various species worth of meat and meat byproducts off their filthy bodies. Directly below the showerhead, there is a large metal grate over a drain in the floor. On the wall between, there's a single shower knob that says "warm". Above the knob, someone has scratched the words "Don't Shit In The Shower Anymore Bro!" into the wall. What the hell is wrong with the savages that use this bathroom? >turn on shower You turn on the water, but all that happens is a horrific banging sound starts up in the pipes. A wet, sloshing banging noise, like a bunch of hams were being tossed about in a washing machine. You remember your Uncle (the plumber, not the one that went to prison) telling you that pipes in buildings would do this sometimes when the air gaps were backed up. But then he also told you to always keep a bucket in your car to shit into just in case a toilet didn't work somewhere. You turn the shower knob off (almost accidentally unscrewing it in the process, damn thing is real loose for some reason) and the horrible noise stops. >take knob You unscrew the single shower knob and take it with you. Now the meat-stained workers of this plant will never be clean. Right after you take the knob, a horrific banging sound starts up in the pipes. A wet, sloshing banging noise, like a bunch of hams were being tossed about in a washing machine. You remember your Uncle (the plumber, not the one that went to prison) telling you that pipes in buildings would do this sometimes when the air gaps were backed up. But then he also told you to always keep a bucket in your car to shit into "just in case there's no toilet all of a sudden". Whatever that meant. So who knows. >x knob You start to turn away from shower, but then a new sound emanates from the bathroom appliance. The new sound is so strange that you pause: "br-rn-nn-nn-nn-nn.". Like an engine on a car or a lawnmower turning over. "br-rnn-nn-nn-nn-nn". It's coming out of the shower. Your Uncle never mentioned this plumbing noise. You start to turn away from the shower again, and suddenly the noise jumps 50 decibels: "br-RN-NN-NN-NN!!!" It sounds like a car engine right behind you and you whirl. There's only the shower. But you notice something: Something is oozing out of the drain. Something brown, and flabby. Meatlike. Something meatlike is backing up out of the pipes like sewage And it has a pair of LIPS. Big equine-looking lips and gums on a long flabby snout, sticking out of the drain. "Br-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN" say the lips and jaw, seemingly boneless, continuing to ooze out of the pipe. Half a head now, the eyeball on one side making a moist popping noise as it clears the drain. It glares at you. "Br-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN!!". And then, with a sound like a plunger working furiously on a clogged drain, the meat retracts back into the pipe and it is gone. You breath again. >* WHAT THE FUCK That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* That is some Eugene-Tooms-meets-Mister-Ed fucked-upedness right there That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >enter pentegram You can't see any such thing. >enter pentagram Before you can do that, the wall of the bathroom buckles and then shatters outwards in a shower of drywall and fixtures, as a rolling ball of meat and sinew with four kicking limbs and a frothing toothless mouth bursts forth into the room. You try to run but it's between you and the door, flailing and frothing. It squirms like a giant boneless worm and then the hoists the top-half of itself upright like a giant sausage with one end tottering in the air. "BR-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN!" it screams at you from a long, boneless, mane-covered head. That's when you see the swishing tail. It's a horse. A giant boneless horse. There's a giant boneless horse in the walls. Was in the walls. Now it's in the room with you , flailing hooves and making noises like a race car engine. What do you do?? >* AGHH! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >enter pentagram Oh hell no. The horse surges forward and flails its boneless noodle-limbs wildly, catching you in the chest with a fist-sized hoof. You're thrown against the stall; shaking it and throwing the stall door open. You haul yourself to your feet as the flabby bag of horse pulls itself across the floor towards you. What do you do?? >enter mirror That's not something you can enter. The boneless horse shudders. Then it jerks every muscle at once, coiling, then jacknifing up like a sausage being set on one end. It rears above you, hooved forelimbs (or backlimbs, you can't tell at this angle) pedaling in the air as it snaps and wreathes and tries to stay upright. It totters. The shadow of a boneless horse falls over you. >push horse It is fixed in place. The rearing boneless horse falls forward in a graceless jacknife. The fleshy rubbery mass of the thing knocks you to the ground and the breath from your lungs. You try to wriggle free, but there is Only Horse above you. You try to take a breath but there is Only Horse to fill your mouth and nose with. You try to bite, to hit, but there is no space for it. Only Horse. The last things you experience before you lose consciousness are the sounds of an engine gently revving somewhere on the other side of this horse, and a boneless mouth gnawing on your foot like it was a sugar cube made of You. "BR-RN-nn-nnnnnnn........". Then nothing. Only Horse now, in this bathroom. Only Horse. *** You have been killed by a boneless horse a bathroom, just like that one crazy baglady warned you about, why didn't you listen why do you never liste...... *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)? > * holy crap Please give one of the answers above. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)? > take back Your fatal mistake wasn't that long ago! Try UNDO instead. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)? > undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >l Before you can do that, the wall of the bathroom buckles and then shatters outwards in a shower of drywall and fixtures, as a rolling ball of meat and sinew with four kicking limbs and a frothing toothless mouth bursts forth into the room. You try to run but it's between you and the door, flailing and frothing. It squirms like a giant boneless worm and then the hoists the top-half of itself upright like a giant sausage with one end tottering in the air. "BR-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN!" it screams at you from a long, boneless, mane-covered head. That's when you see the swishing tail. It's a horse. A giant boneless horse. There's a giant boneless horse in the walls. Was in the walls. Now it's in the room with you , flailing hooves and making noises like a race car engine. What do you do?? >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >l Before you can do that, the wall of the bathroom buckles and then shatters outwards in a shower of drywall and fixtures, as a rolling ball of meat and sinew with four kicking limbs and a frothing toothless mouth bursts forth into the room. You try to run but it's between you and the door, flailing and frothing. It squirms like a giant boneless worm and then the hoists the top-half of itself upright like a giant sausage with one end tottering in the air. "BR-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN!" it screams at you from a long, boneless, mane-covered head. That's when you see the swishing tail. It's a horse. A giant boneless horse. There's a giant boneless horse in the walls. Was in the walls. Now it's in the room with you , flailing hooves and making noises like a race car engine. What do you do?? >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >l You start to turn away from shower, but then a new sound emanates from the bathroom appliance. The new sound is so strange that you pause: "br-rn-nn-nn-nn-nn.". Like an engine on a car or a lawnmower turning over. "br-rnn-nn-nn-nn-nn". It's coming out of the shower. Your Uncle never mentioned this plumbing noise. You start to turn away from the shower again, and suddenly the noise jumps 50 decibels: "br-RN-NN-NN-NN!!!" It sounds like a car engine right behind you and you whirl. There's only the shower. But you notice something: Something is oozing out of the drain. Something brown, and flabby. Meatlike. Something meatlike is backing up out of the pipes like sewage And it has a pair of LIPS. Big equine-looking lips and gums on a long flabby snout, sticking out of the drain. "Br-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN" say the lips and jaw, seemingly boneless, continuing to ooze out of the pipe. Half a head now, the eyeball on one side making a moist popping noise as it clears the drain. It glares at you. "Br-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN!!". And then, with a sound like a plunger working furiously on a clogged drain, the meat retracts back into the pipe and it is gone. You breath again. >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >undou That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There's a bathroom stall (which has some graffiti written on it), a urinal, a sink with a mirror over it, and even a shower for those days at work when meat debris happens. Perfectly normal bathroom. You can see a pentagram on the floor here. >* OK, let's finish our recconoiter before we trigger (ha, get it?) that again You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x pentagram Just your run of the mill pentagram. About six feet across, artfully carved into the floor. You know. Perfectly normal pentagam. Perfectly normal bathroom. >enter it Oh hell no. >stand in pentagram I only understood you as far as wanting to stand. >* I mean it's a symbol of protection That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* should work either way That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >open stall That's already open. >enter it Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here. On the toilet are a candle shaped like a human hand and a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine. >* Huh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* So that's like a hand of glory That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x candle You see nothing special about the candle shaped like a human hand. ...what? It's just a weirdly shaped candle. Lots of bathrooms have candles, to freshen the air after using the facilities. That's all this is. Totally normal bathroom! >take it Taken. >light it This dangerous act would achieve little (maybe), but more importantly you need to use the right thing to do it with. >* indeed That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >save Ok. >* I was speculating about what this was going to be about after getting warning there was something noteworthy in this place That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* But I confess, I didn't have "motherfucking horse-shoggoth in the walls" was not on my bing card You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* Given the ambiguity about who exactly wrote this room, I think I'm just gonna have to run away screaming from anyone named "chris Jones" moving forward You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* Or "Jones". Or "Chris". I only have one as a direct report, it'll be fine You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here. On the toilet is a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine. >x edge Just your run of the mill pentagram. About six feet across, artfully carved into the floor. You know. Perfectly normal pentagam. Perfectly normal bathroom. >x water You see nothing special about some toilet water. >drink water There's nothing suitable to drink here. >take water What, with your cupped hands? Ew. >x toilet A standard porcelain commode. Suspiciously clean for a meatpacking plant bathroom, although it's probably covered in a thin layer of invisible meat debris like everything else in this plant. The bowl is open, containing some toilet water. It appears that the toilet is currently unflushable due to the fact that some obnoxious fuck ran off with the flush handle. Also, there is a sign taped to the toilet that has printed on it: "Caution! Danger! Subatomic structure of toilet EXTREMELY compromised! Localized failure of the strong nuclear force may occur! Use is unadvised! -maintenance, and then farther down on the sign in a different hand: "RIP JON I TOLD YOU NOT TO SHIT HERE!". Troubling signage, to say the least. On the toilet is a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine. >flush (the pamphlet of home listings) That isn't a thing you can flush. Probably. >flush toilet You try to flush the toilet, but someone has unscrewed and removed the little flush handle lever thing. Well what the fuck. Maybe if you had another knob or handle you could put it on the toilet? If, you know, you wanted to. Probably all the employees of the meatpacking plant who've been holding it in for who-knows how long would be grateful, if nothing else. Hell, maybe people would even stop shitting in the sink and the urinal. >* OK maybe that's the way out? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here. On the toilet is a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine. >open toilet It's already open. >x tank You can't see any such thing. >x bar (the rusty piece of metal) The remains of the broken leg is light and sturdy and long enough to stretch from your hand to your elbow. >x grab bar One of those metal grab bars for people who have difficulties walking or standing, set into the wall next to the toilet. >pull it It is fixed in place. >push it It is fixed in place. >take it That's hardly portable. >break it Try "attack the grab bar with something" instead. >attack the grab bar with something You can't see any such thing. >* Worth a shot That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >attack the grab bar with bar (the rusty piece of metal) You attack the grab bar with the rusty piece of metal for a second, which is fun and gets some energy out but doesn't do anything for you. >i You are carrying: a candle shaped like a human hand a torn notebook an enormous dessicated rat corpse a thin steel key a piece of yellowed newsprint a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a cast iron spire loose bricks Tolerating An Asinine God a clipboard a black business card a trophy for a dog race a half-full styrofoam coffee cup a glass shard a familiar gold wristwatch a giant milkweed leaf a label an antique locket (closed) a backpack features guide a glass jar containing an insect a book list the diary of Phyllis Cragne a postcard of Big Ben The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three Twin Hearts Between the Planes a Jansport backpack (open) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) Peter's jacket a brass winding key a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a pull-string doll a waterproof flashlight a repaired page a wad of cash a moldy, waterlogged journal a library card a grimy rock a long hooked pole a soggy tome an employee ID card a shard of shattered carapace a fungal powder some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal an aluminum key a pamphlet of home listings a hovering spark (haunting you) >attack the grab bar with handle (the broken knife handle) You attack the grab bar with the broken knife handle for a second, which is fun and gets some energy out but doesn't do anything for you. >attack the grab bar with rat You attack the grab bar with the enormous dessicated rat corpse for a second, which is fun and gets some energy out but doesn't do anything for you. >* You and I have very different definitions of fun, Nitocris You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >attack the grab bar with candle You attack the grab bar with the candle shaped like a human hand for a second, which is fun and gets some energy out but doesn't do anything for you. >attack the grab bar with bricks You attack the grab bar with loose bricks for a second, which is fun and gets some energy out but doesn't do anything for you. >* come on now That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >attack the grab bar with spire You attack the grab bar with the cast iron spire for a second, which is fun and gets some energy out but doesn't do anything for you. >attack the grab bar with pole (the long hooked pole) You attack the grab bar with the long hooked pole for a second, which is fun and gets some energy out but doesn't do anything for you. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here. On the toilet is a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine. >x closet You see nothing special about the janitor's closet. >x graffiti There's a giant ham drawn in sharpie dominating one wall of the stall, with the words "That's a big ham!" right underneath it in bic pen. A couple of lightning bolts, some swastikas made of dicks, and a scrawl near the toilet that says "Help the toilet is pulling me in by the ass and I can't hold on any more tell my wife I lo" with just a long squiggle at the end leading down to the toilet bowl after that. Buncha' jokers in this meatpacking plant, that's for sure. >* ha ha ha That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >enter toilet Close the door first, you fucking barbarian. >sit on toilet Close the door first, you fucking barbarian. >close door You close the stall door, noting that someone has scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph" into the inside of the stall door. Below that, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. Okay fine, maybe this isn't a normal bathroom. >* oh thank god That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x sign (the Elder Sign) Somebody carved it into the back of the stall door. It's like a lazy five-pointed star with a flame (or maybe it's an eye) in the center. Supposedly the Elder Sign is a powerful magical symbol that wards off Eldritch Abominations, at least according to an ancient worm-eaten manuscript that you once found propping up one corner of an old oven at a stoop sale. At least that's what you recall; the wretched she-harpy hosting the sale refused to come down on the price of a panini press and you ended up walking off in a huff without buying anything at all, including the manuscript. Which in retrospect was clearly the wrong call but come on, who charges "like new" price for a panini press with rivulets of burned cheese all over the sides?? Anyway, there's an Elder Sign on the door and it's glowing a little bit. Maybe that means its working? >touch sing You can't see any such thing. >touch sign (the Elder Sign) You feel nothing unexpected. >lick it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >taste it You taste nothing unexpected. >smell it You smell nothing unexpected. >sit on toilet You sit on the toilet. >flush (the pamphlet of home listings) That isn't a thing you can flush. Probably. >* Is ... is this like a teleporter to a subbasement? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (on the toilet) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here. On the toilet you can see a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine. >open closet It seems to be locked. >unlock closet with key Which do you mean, the thin steel key, the brass winding key or the aluminum key? >thin That doesn't seem to fit the lock. >unlock closet with aluminum key That doesn't seem to fit the lock. >unlock closet with brass key That doesn't seem to fit the lock. >* Not a surprise! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (on the toilet) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here. On the toilet you can see a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine. >x juggs It's the Virgin Alewives of the Midwest issue, according to the cover. "Oh hey dere I've never had a man but I'd sure like to doncha know!" proclaims the woman on the front in big red 80's font, as she stands there with two strategically-placed giant beer steins and not nearly enough clothing for a Midwest winter. Ooo, it says there's an article on cornhole strategy, too! >* I have bad news about what an alewife actually is That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* (I only know this because one of the directions on the Boston Red Line is towards Alewife station, and I looked it up one time) You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >read juggs for the artiles You can't see any such thing. >read juggs for the articles You can't see any such thing. >* Damn it, I messed up the joke You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >read it (first taking the vintage issue of Juggs Magazine) Taken. Oh hey looks like somebody left a handwritten note tucked in the back of the vintage issue of Juggs. It becomes dislodged by your ministrations and floats gently to the floor of the stall. You flip through the vintage issue of Juggs magazine. Apparently the cover model's name is Glinda Shultzpinski. She's from a town called Cheddar Creek, and her turn-ons include Friday fish-fries, music by the BoDeans, and long walks on the lake. Any lake. Apparently her hometown has like four lakes. Anyway, as the cover stated, she's allegedly never been with a man but would like to. Dare to dream, Glinda. >g You flip through the vintage issue of Juggs magazine. Apparently the cover model's name is Glinda Shultzpinski. She's from a town called Cheddar Creek, and her turn-ons include Friday fish-fries, music by the BoDeans, and long walks on the lake. Any lake. Apparently her hometown has like four lakes. Anyway, as the cover stated, she's allegedly never been with a man but would like to. Dare to dream, Glinda. >x note (the book list) ATTENTION PETER CRAGNE This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL. You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared. To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out: To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide Twin Hearts Between the Planes Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition) Tolerating An Asinine God The Lives of the Roman Emperors De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm Venator in Tenebris 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque Reactions Life Beneath Nightmares Buried Tales of Old Vermont The Seven Gaunts New England and the Bavarian Illuminati ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of MICHAEL GENTRY >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (on the toilet) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here. In the stall you can see a handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine. >x handwritten It has some writing on it in gothic script, which says: Edward! Stop leaving the damn candle on the pentagram when you're not using the toilet-portal. I'm tired of the meatpacking proletariat falling ass-first into orbit around my [mustard stain] and dying there every week. And I'm already burning through a truly astounding quantity of baby souls to maintain a bathroom in two spacetime locations at once, much less keep a five-million-mile wormhole open for every sausagewright that can't be arsed to read a sign on the work toilet. So again: keep the candle off the pentagram and don't open up any more portals! Also, it is absolutely imperative that you get that demonic monster out of the bathroom pipes before it kills again, lest we be caught. Since it is an unliving abomination that cannot die, I recommend banishment: use the [ketchup stain] spell on the vellum [more ketchup] scroll; it's on my bookshelf. As my apprentice you should have the magickal skill to cast the spell on the horse without your [whiteout, or possibly mayo] turning inside out. At any rate I have business in space, but expect my return on the full moon of [mayo?] I remain, Konstan[lettuce stuck on the page] Cragne P.S.: If I find you have touched my journal in my absence, I shall transmogrify you into an abscess on a buttocks. xxoxo be good Oh lord, this bathroom has some mysterious mystical connection to one of your bizarre in-laws. Why are they all so weird and/or evil? And a horse? What horse? What's turning inside out, now? Demon in the pipes? One thing at least is for certain: Edward (whoever that is) needs to stop eating on the can while reading his mail >* this is a surprisingly helpful note! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* do we still need a lighter to implement plan flush-myself-to-the-wizard's-lair That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (on the toilet) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here. In the stall you can see a real weird handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine. >take note (the real weird handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine) Taken. >out You get off the toilet. Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here. >out You can't get out of the closed stall. >open door You open the stall. >out Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There's a bathroom stall (which has some graffiti written on it), a urinal, a sink with a mirror over it, and even a shower for those days at work when meat debris happens. Perfectly normal bathroom. You can see a pentagram on the floor here. >x mirror A bathroom mirror over the sink that is reflecting the toilet stall, the urinal, and the shower, all floating in the void of distant space (as opposed to the interior of the meatpacking bathroom that you find yourself in here in reality). Also, it's not reflecting your image. A sign on it says "Mirror Temporarily Out of Order", which seems correct insofar as a mirror's one single job is to accurately reflect what's in front of it and this one is sure as hell not doing that. Maybe this is, like, a computer or TV screen? You can't see a cord though. >touch it You feel nothing unexpected. >open it It isn't something you can open. >look behind it You can't see any such thing. >x void You can't see any such thing. >* I mean I guess that figures That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x urinal A stainless steel trough in the floor, presumably for pissing into. There's a blue urinal cake at the bottom. Right about head-height above the urinal, the words "Do Not Shit Here Either" are scratched into the wall. Just below that are the words "stop telling us where not to shit, dude" in smaller letters. And just below that is the word word "No". So much drama. >flish it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >flush it It's one of those water-saver gravity types that you can't flush. It's good to see that the owners of this godforsaken and terrifying meatpacking plant are so environmentally conscious. >poop This is a bathroom with like a half dozen fixtures. Maybe be more specific about where you want to do that? >* I'm so so sorry That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >poop in urinal Given the angle and what you're working with, you'd have to press hams against the cold wall behind the urinal to pull that off. Not worth it when there's a toilet right nearby in the stall. >pee in urinal Given the angle and what you're working with, you'd have to press hams against the cold wall behind the urinal to pull that off. Not worth it when there's a toilet right nearby in the stall. >poop in shower Judging by the graffiti on the shower, it sounds like you wouldn't be the first. But there's (theoretically) a perfectly good toilet for that in the stall. >pee in shower Judging by the graffiti on the shower, it sounds like you wouldn't be the first. But there's (theoretically) a perfectly good toilet for that in the stall. >enter stall Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here. >poop This is a bathroom with like a half dozen fixtures. Maybe be more specific about where you want to do that? >toilet That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >poop in toilet Close the door first, you fucking barbarian. >close door You close the stall door, noting that someone has scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph" into the inside of the stall door. Below that, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. Okay fine, maybe this isn't a normal bathroom. >poop in toilet You'd love to. Except the toilet appears to be missing a flush handle. Maybe if you found another knob or handle you could screw in there? You just don't feel right leaving it to mellow in somebody else's meatpacking plant, you know? >out You can't get out of the closed stall. >g You can't get out of the closed stall. >open door You open the stall. >* Once more unto the -- really quite messed up -- breach That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >save Ok. >take knob You can't reach it from here. >enter shower You can't reach it from here. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here. >out Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There's a bathroom stall (which has some graffiti written on it), a urinal, a sink with a mirror over it, and even a shower for those days at work when meat debris happens. Perfectly normal bathroom. You can see a pentagram on the floor here. >take knob You unscrew the single shower knob and take it with you. Now the meat-stained workers of this plant will never be clean. Right after you take the knob, a horrific banging sound starts up in the pipes. A wet, sloshing banging noise, like a bunch of hams were being tossed about in a washing machine. You remember your Uncle (the plumber, not the one that went to prison) telling you that pipes in buildings would do this sometimes when the air gaps were backed up. But then he also told you to always keep a bucket in your car to shit into "just in case there's no toilet all of a sudden". Whatever that meant. So who knows. >enter stall You start to turn away from shower, but then a new sound emanates from the bathroom appliance. The new sound is so strange that you pause: "br-rn-nn-nn-nn-nn.". Like an engine on a car or a lawnmower turning over. "br-rnn-nn-nn-nn-nn". It's coming out of the shower. Your Uncle never mentioned this plumbing noise. You start to turn away from the shower again, and suddenly the noise jumps 50 decibels: "br-RN-NN-NN-NN!!!" It sounds like a car engine right behind you and you whirl. There's only the shower. But you notice something: Something is oozing out of the drain. Something brown, and flabby. Meatlike. Something meatlike is backing up out of the pipes like sewage And it has a pair of LIPS. Big equine-looking lips and gums on a long flabby snout, sticking out of the drain. "Br-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN" say the lips and jaw, seemingly boneless, continuing to ooze out of the pipe. Half a head now, the eyeball on one side making a moist popping noise as it clears the drain. It glares at you. "Br-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN!!". And then, with a sound like a plunger working furiously on a clogged drain, the meat retracts back into the pipe and it is gone. You breath again. >g Before you can do that, the wall of the bathroom buckles and then shatters outwards in a shower of drywall and fixtures, as a rolling ball of meat and sinew with four kicking limbs and a frothing toothless mouth bursts forth into the room. You try to run but it's between you and the door, flailing and frothing. It squirms like a giant boneless worm and then the hoists the top-half of itself upright like a giant sausage with one end tottering in the air. "BR-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN!" it screams at you from a long, boneless, mane-covered head. That's when you see the swishing tail. It's a horse. A giant boneless horse. There's a giant boneless horse in the walls. Was in the walls. Now it's in the room with you , flailing hooves and making noises like a race car engine. What do you do?? >g Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Unfortunately it looks like some jackass has removed and run off with the flush handle dealie that one normally uses to flush a toilet, and you can't see a lid on the tank, so the toilet looks out of commission at the moment unless you can find a way to address that. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall here. The horse moves next to the stall and lashes out with a single hoof through the open door. It catches you square in the chest: you're thrown back against the toilet, knocking the air out of your lungs and shaking some plaster loose from the wall behind the toilet. The horse rears back the hoof for a second strike. What do you do?? >close door You slam the door of the stall closed, and see that someone has scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph" into the inside of the stall door. No kidding. Below that, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. It is pulsating, faintly, in time with the hideous horse/car noises coming from outside the stall. The stall shudders as the horse strikes the door from the outside. The Elder Sign on the back of the door flashes brightly, and the door holds. Thank fuck some eldritch-horror-savvy meatpacking employee throught to inscribe a protective rune in the here. >* wait I forgot to put the candle on the pentagram! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Admittedly it probably wouldn't be staying there in amidst [gestures vaguely outside the stall] That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Well, we've made our bed You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* so to speak That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >put knob on toilet You screw the shower knob onto the toilet where the flush handle goes. You should be able to flush the toilet now. >flush it That isn't a thing you can flush. Probably. >flush toilet You flush the toilet! The water swirls and then is replaced! Wee!! Toilet seems to work normally. Wonder what all the fuss on that sign was about. >sit on toilet You sit on the toilet. >flush it You flush the toilet! The water swirls and then is replaced! Wee!! Toilet seems to work normally. Wonder what all the fuss on that sign was about. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >* I think we might be in trouble That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x coffee The swirls in your cup form a pear shape, complete with stem. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >* really??? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >i You are carrying: a real weird handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine a candle shaped like a human hand a torn notebook an enormous dessicated rat corpse a thin steel key a piece of yellowed newsprint a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a cast iron spire loose bricks Tolerating An Asinine God a clipboard a black business card a trophy for a dog race a half-full styrofoam coffee cup a glass shard a familiar gold wristwatch a giant milkweed leaf a label an antique locket (closed) a backpack features guide a glass jar containing an insect a book list the diary of Phyllis Cragne a postcard of Big Ben The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three Twin Hearts Between the Planes a Jansport backpack (open) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) Peter's jacket a brass winding key a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a pull-string doll a waterproof flashlight a repaired page a wad of cash a moldy, waterlogged journal a library card a grimy rock a long hooked pole a soggy tome an employee ID card a shard of shattered carapace a fungal powder some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal an aluminum key a pamphlet of home listings a hovering spark (haunting you) >x note Which do you mean, the real weird handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine or the book list? >weird It has some writing on it in gothic script, which says: Edward! Stop leaving the damn candle on the pentagram when you're not using the toilet-portal. I'm tired of the meatpacking proletariat falling ass-first into orbit around my [mustard stain] and dying there every week. And I'm already burning through a truly astounding quantity of baby souls to maintain a bathroom in two spacetime locations at once, much less keep a five-million-mile wormhole open for every sausagewright that can't be arsed to read a sign on the work toilet. So again: keep the candle off the pentagram and don't open up any more portals! Also, it is absolutely imperative that you get that demonic monster out of the bathroom pipes before it kills again, lest we be caught. Since it is an unliving abomination that cannot die, I recommend banishment: use the [ketchup stain] spell on the vellum [more ketchup] scroll; it's on my bookshelf. As my apprentice you should have the magickal skill to cast the spell on the horse without your [whiteout, or possibly mayo] turning inside out. At any rate I have business in space, but expect my return on the full moon of [mayo?] I remain, Konstan[lettuce stuck on the page] Cragne P.S.: If I find you have touched my journal in my absence, I shall transmogrify you into an abscess on a buttocks. xxoxo be good Oh lord, this bathroom has some mysterious mystical connection to one of your bizarre in-laws. Why are they all so weird and/or evil? One thing at least is for certain: Edward (whoever that is) needs to stop eating on the can while reading his mail >* this doesn't look great, fellows You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >z Time passes. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >z Time passes. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. >z Time passes. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >* maybe he'll get bored? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >put candle on pentagram You put the candle shaped like a human hand on top of the pentagram. That doesn't seem like a good idea but okay. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >* oh, is that why the edge is here? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >flush (the pamphlet of home listings) That isn't a thing you can flush. Probably. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >flush toilet You flush the toilet! The water swirls and then is replaced! Wee!! Toilet seems to work normally. Wonder what all the fuss on that sign was about. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >i You are carrying: a real weird handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine a torn notebook an enormous dessicated rat corpse a thin steel key a piece of yellowed newsprint a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a cast iron spire loose bricks Tolerating An Asinine God a clipboard a black business card a trophy for a dog race a half-full styrofoam coffee cup a glass shard a familiar gold wristwatch a giant milkweed leaf a label an antique locket (closed) a backpack features guide a glass jar containing an insect a book list the diary of Phyllis Cragne a postcard of Big Ben The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three Twin Hearts Between the Planes a Jansport backpack (open) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) Peter's jacket a brass winding key a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a pull-string doll a waterproof flashlight a repaired page a wad of cash a moldy, waterlogged journal a library card a grimy rock a long hooked pole a soggy tome an employee ID card a shard of shattered carapace a fungal powder some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal an aluminum key a pamphlet of home listings a hovering spark (haunting you) >* do we need to light the candle That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (on the toilet) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall (on which is a candle shaped like a human hand) here. >push candle Nothing obvious happens. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >light candle with spark This dangerous act would achieve little (maybe), but more importantly you need to use the right thing to do it with. >* come on, work with me, spark! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (on the toilet) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall (on which is a candle shaped like a human hand) here. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >enter toilet But you're already on the toilet. >x closet You see nothing special about the janitor's closet. >open it It seems to be locked. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >* still locked, huh? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (on the toilet) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall (on which is a candle shaped like a human hand) here. >x bar (the rusty piece of metal) The remains of the broken leg is light and sturdy and long enough to stretch from your hand to your elbow. >pull grab You can't see any such thing. >take it You already have that. >hit it Try "attack the rusty piece of metal with something" instead. >attack grab bar with glass Which do you mean, the glass shard or the glass jar containing an insect? >shard You attack the grab bar with the glass shard for a second, which is fun and gets some energy out but doesn't do anything for you. >i You are carrying: a real weird handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine a torn notebook an enormous dessicated rat corpse a thin steel key a piece of yellowed newsprint a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a cast iron spire loose bricks Tolerating An Asinine God a clipboard a black business card a trophy for a dog race a half-full styrofoam coffee cup a glass shard a familiar gold wristwatch a giant milkweed leaf a label an antique locket (closed) a backpack features guide a glass jar containing an insect a book list the diary of Phyllis Cragne a postcard of Big Ben The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three Twin Hearts Between the Planes a Jansport backpack (open) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open but empty) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) Peter's jacket a brass winding key a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a pull-string doll a waterproof flashlight a repaired page a wad of cash a moldy, waterlogged journal a library card a grimy rock a long hooked pole a soggy tome an employee ID card a shard of shattered carapace a fungal powder some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal an aluminum key a pamphlet of home listings a hovering spark (haunting you) >attack grab bar with rusty You attack the grab bar with the rusty piece of metal for a second, which is fun and gets some energy out but doesn't do anything for you. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >open door You briefly open the door to see if there's still a boneless murderhorse out there. It immediately lashes out at you with many heavy and very solid hooves at your relatively squishy body. *** Yup, still a boneless murderhorse out there. Good to know. Good to know. *** Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)? > take back Your fatal mistake wasn't that long ago! Try UNDO instead. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)? > * hmm, so I guess I can still get out of this? Please give one of the answers above. Would you like to RESTART, RESTORE a saved game, QUIT, UNDO the last command or TAKE BACK the action that sealed your fate (for when UNDO is not enough)? > undo Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) [Previous turn undone.] >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (on the toilet) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some toilet water in the open bowl. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. You can see a pentagram edge on the floor just outside the stall (on which is a candle shaped like a human hand) here. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >x cabinet A laminated white medicine cabinet bolted to the wall above the toilet. >* oh right! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* In my defense, this is the kind of situation where one gets a bit distracted You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >open it You open the medicine cabinet, revealing a cheap lighter, a bottle of Pepto-Bismol and a bloodstained witch-knife. >* Oh man That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >take all candle shaped like a human hand: Taken. cheap lighter: Taken. bottle of Pepto-Bismol: Taken. bloodstained witch-knife: Taken. >put candle on pentagram You put the candle shaped like a human hand on top of the pentagram. That doesn't seem like a good idea but okay. >x pepto A bottle of pink bismuth-subsalicylate. It's for drinking when your poops are sick. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >drink it Nah, your poops aren't sick enough for the pink chalk. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >x knife Which do you mean, the bloodstained witch-knife or the broken knife handle? >witch More properly known as an "athame", it's a black-handled witch-knife that sorcerors use in rituals to focus magical energy. And also to shank folks. This one is covered in dried blood, indicating a shanking happened at some point in the past. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >* badass That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >shank me What do you want to shank yourself with? >athame Look I know a giant boneless murderhorse recently burst through the wall of a bathroom while you were trying to use it, and I know what that can do to a person psychologically. Believe me I do. But things are't that desperate yet and you need to stay strong. >* easy for you to say! That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >shank horse with athame You stab the boneless horse square in the body-sack. That doesn't seem to do anything so you stab it again. And again. Then you wiggle the knife around a little in there. Pretty soon you're elbow-deep in horse, still trying to hit a vital organ bingo, when the thing lashes out at you with a kick and nearly breaks your arm. Okay then, stabbing the horse won't work. Next plan. >x lighter One of those cheap shitty little cigarette lighters you buy out of a tray at a bodega or gas station, the ones that don't work very well and have too little fluid. People only buy these when they're broke, or when they're so high that they actually appreciate the cliche head-shop clip-art on the side of the thing. The art on this one is of a wizard holding a glowing marijuana leaf up over his head like it's the frikkin' Triforce. Damn. That's actually rad. >* that is rad That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >light candle with lighter If you say so, but this seems like you're just compounding an earlier bad decision. You flick the lighter a few times over the hand shaped candle. It takes a couple tries but you manage to get a finger to light, finally. One of the candle's fingers I mean, not your fingers, although it was touch and go there for a second. Anyway the lights in the bathroom flicker momentarily and for a brief moment you hear the sound of frenzied cackling from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Fresh lavender scent though, mmmm. Then the pentagram suddenly blazes alight with ghostly blue flame! And also something starts glowing in the toilet bowl, in the stall. Weird. >flush toilet You flush the toilet. The luminiferous æther begins to circle in the bowl under your bum, making alien colors and weird shadows dance along the walls of the stall (and probably also along the bottom of your bum, but you can't see that so it's just a guess). Then the walls start spinning. Actually spinning. The meatpacking plant bathroom spinning around you starts to run like an oil painting left out in the sun too long, everything melting and flowing downwards. Downwards and inwards towards the toilet you're sitting on. Reality itself begins to swirl around you, like æther in a toilet bowl... Suddenly you're pulled backwards and downwards, by your bum, into the locus of the reality swirl... You are hurtling bum-first at sub-light-speed through a hyperspace wormhole of kaleidoscopic color-lines, just like that homeless fortune-teller told you would happen one day after she read your palm (and right before she shouted at you about how chemtrails were retroactively changing the spelling of "Campbells Soup"). What a weird coincidence. Anyway, you look over your shoulder and see that you are rapidly approaching a star-filled exit from the wormhole. Before you can react, you are ejected out into a... bathroom stall? Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL. Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which: There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is a book of Unfortunate Baby Names, a mysterious scroll and a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)), and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space. And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space. You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here. >* So this is all proceeding according to plan That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x me You fight down the urge to compulsively examine the comparative size of your knees in relation to one another. It's a compulsion that pops up when you're under stress, has done since the knee fetishist you dated before Peter dumped you in college. You want to look right now but it just feeds the compulsion. No, no, you mustn't look! You won't! They're still the same size, Naomi. Your knees are still the same size. >l Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL. Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which: There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is a book of Unfortunate Baby Names, a mysterious scroll and a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)), and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space. And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space. You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here. >x toilet It's like the one on the other side of the magical portal inside the bowl, except the seat is plush which is pretty baller. The toilet is open and has some kind of luminiferous æther in it. >x aether It's some manner or other of luminiferous æther, the kind that astronomers and Greek philosophers used to think that space was filled with. They were wrong about it being in space but apparently sometimes it is in toilet bowls? Anyway, it appears to have replaced the normal toilet water. It's glowing slightly, flickering through a series of sickly alien colors that have no terrestrial equivalent. >lick it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >drink it There's nothing suitable to drink here. >take it You're not sure how? It's kind of insubstantial to everything except gravity and light, at least if Newton was right. And even if you could just grab it, that would still require you to stick your mitts up to the elbow into the toiletbowl of a meatpacking plant. >stick my mitts up to the elbow into the toiletbowl of a meatpacking plant That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. > I beg your pardon? >l Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL. Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which: There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is a book of Unfortunate Baby Names, a mysterious scroll and a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)), and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space. And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space. You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here. > x stars (the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) You can't see any such thing. >x fireplace A cozy little brick fireplace with some space logs in it. It's unlit. Jutting out the front is a part of the fireplace called a stone hearth, which is like a brick of stone that you would set things on to warm them up using the fireplace, without sustaining horrible and disfiguring burns to your extremities by reaching in and out of the fire. Nice feature, that. In the cozy fireplace are some space logs. >x logs They're logs. In space. Well technically they're in the fireplace but the fireplace is in space, so... >take logs You would but the space logs are really heavy. >light logs with lighter You try lighting the space logs with the rad wizard lighter for a while but this tiny little lighter flame won't get these big ol' logs a-burnin'. You need to light a larger amount of kindling and toss it in there. >x hearth A stone hearth jutting out from the front of the fireplace. Traditionally you'd put things that you wanted to heat up on top of the hearth here, which warms up when the fireplace is lit so that you don't have to reach in and out of the fireplace with your (relatively flammable) hands. It's an unexpected but welcome bit of old-worldy charm, here in the terrifying void of alien space. >x void You can't see any such thing. >l Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL. Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which: There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is a book of Unfortunate Baby Names, a mysterious scroll and a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)), and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space. And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space. You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here. >phonograph That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x phonograph An old-timey phonograph, the kind where the sound comes out a brass bell. You'll have to crank it if you want it to play music, since that's how these really old phonographs work. There's an antique wax cylinder loaded on the phonograph; the old kind from before the days where records were vinyl. >x bell A brass speaker-bell the size of a tuba coming out one corner of the phonograph. >crank it You can't think of why you'd need to do anything with the brass bell. Also it's heavy and you have tiny baby-person arms. Seriously they're like angel hair pasta. You tried to do a bicep curl once and your elbow folded the wrong way, and you weren't even holding a weight. Seriously it's making you feel tired just looking at the brass bell and thinking of doing something with it or to it. >crank phonograph You rub your hands together excitedly and lean towards the old-timey-phonograph. Who knows what this antique wax record on it holds? A rare Bach recording? A violin concerto from the turn of the century? Nikola Tesla talking mad shit about Edison and Marconi?? It could be anything! Hands trembling, you grasp the phonograph crank and give it a turn as you listen in anticipation: [Press any key...] ??***The opening line of "We Built This City" by Starship ring out from the brass bell of the phonograph.***?? Oh God no. It can't be. On an antique wax recording in space? How? Why? Who would do this? >* OK screw you increasingly-intrusive narrative voice, this is awesome You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* Incidentally, I went to confirm the opening line of "We Built This City" You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* It is in fact "We built this city" That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* The second line is "We built this city on rock and roll" That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Other lines include "knee deep in the hoopla" That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* "Marconi plays the mambo" That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* "We just want to dance here, someone stole the stage" (like they put it under their trench coat)? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* "Who rides the wrecking balls into our guitars?" That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* This song is even more awesome than I remembered That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL. Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which: There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is a book of Unfortunate Baby Names, a mysterious scroll and a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)), and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space. And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space. You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here. >x cylinder This is how the VERY early phonograph records looked: round wax cylinders about foot tall. Normally with ones this old, they have classical recordings on them, although someone appears to have etched a sonic abomination into this one for some reason. >put cylinder in phonograph (first taking the wax cylinder) Taken. That can't contain things. >turn crank You can't see any such thing. >crank phonograph You crank the phonograph but no sound comes out, likely because you removed the wax cylinder record. >* Yeah we're keeping this That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL. Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which: There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is a book of Unfortunate Baby Names, a mysterious scroll and a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)), and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space. And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space. You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here. >x planetoid The lower half of your view is the curve of an icy planetoid covered in fluted alien spires that are barely visible against the inky blackness of space. Squinting, you can just barely make out strange, unwholesome shapes bumble-flying among the spires. The flying things must be huge, bigger than buildings. The flying things hurt to look at. The spires hurt to look at. The whole planetoid hurts to look at. There is something unsavory and threatening about all of it. And you can't shake the gut feeling that the planetoid is somehow looking back at you. Even though that is insane. >x spires Miles and miles high, with sharp tower-tips rising like dark fingers into the upper atmosphere of the icy planetoid. They're made of some kind of black stone and lit with giant lights pulsing a sickly green-purple. They look bruised and unhealthy, and the geometry hurts to look at. Huge flying things bumble between the spires. >x shapes They look small from here, but based on the distance they must be huge. Bigger than most buildings. They're shaped a little like loaves of bread, or larvae maybe. Larvae the size of buildings. They are bumbling and squirming through the air between the spires. Huh, wait, are they heading upwards and getting closer, slowly? Well that's unsettling. >* out of the frying pan... That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x journal (the moldy, waterlogged journal) It's heavily damaged by the elements. You can make out the letters "-AGNE" on the front cover. >x mein You can't see any such thing. >x small blue I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the small light bulb. >x blue You can't see any such thing. >* Sigh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >put journal in book pocket (the moldy, waterlogged journal in the book pocket) You put the moldy, waterlogged journal into the book pocket. >close book pocket You close the book pocket. >x journal It says "Mein Journal" on the front, and it appears to be a collection of folios bound in very soft blue leather. It appears be locked, and has a little keyhole on it. >take it Taken. >read it You can't, the owner locked the stupid thing shut. It's got a little keyhole on the front though. >open it You can't, the owner locked the stupid thing shut. It's got a little keyhole on the front though. >x keyhole You can't see any such thing. >x corpses There's a bunch of frozen space corpses in low orbit around the bathroom, most of them in meatpacking employee coveralls. Wow, no wonder they had people stop using the toilet.One corpse's coveralls has a name-patch that says "Ed" on the front, and "Janitor" on the back. Guess that corpse is named Ed. Was named Ed. Do corpses still have people names? Hmm. On a loop of Ed's coveralls, you see a pair of keys. Presumably that same corpse is the "Edward" mentioned in that handwritten note you found on the other side of the portal-toilet. >take ed He's hardly portable. >pull ed It is fixed in place. >give ed a decent burial You can only do that to something animate. >just take ed's keys like an asshole That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >take keys You reach up and try to take Ed's keys. Shit, they're attached to his coveralls. >take coveralls You reach up onto the floating corpses and wrestle with Ed's coveralls, eventually stripping them from his frozen corpse. Turns out Ed liked to freeball it, and now it looks like he's mooning that icy planetoid the bathroom is orbitting. >wear coveralls You put on the greasy foodstained coveralls that you stripped off a frozen corpse you found floating in a space bathroom. You nasty, girl. I'm not saying I don't like it, but you nasty. >* Oh sweet jesus That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x keys You see nothing special about the janitor's keys. >unlock journal with keys You try, but they don't fit the lock. >l Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL. Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which: There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is a book of Unfortunate Baby Names and a mysterious scroll), Ed's bare-assed frozen space corpse, and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space. And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space. You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here. >x names Which do you mean, the book of Unfortunate Baby Names or the daily ledger? >unfortunate The Book of Unfortunate Baby Names: Thrill to this hilarious collection of REAL BABY NAMES that REAL BAD PARENTS gave their kids! All text © Hillbilly Bathroom Laughter Press, 1991 >take it Taken. >read it John Poopnazi Flossie Candyass Elizabeth Dicksmith Poonpounder H. Washington Jones Yeah okay these are pretty bad. >g John Poopnazi Flossie Candyass Elizabeth Dicksmith Poonpounder H. Washington Jones Yeah okay these are pretty bad. >g John Poopnazi Flossie Candyass Elizabeth Dicksmith Poonpounder H. Washington Jones Yeah okay these are pretty bad. >g John Poopnazi Flossie Candyass Elizabeth Dicksmith Poonpounder H. Washington Jones Yeah okay these are pretty bad. >* ...was this a library book? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >read list (the book list) ATTENTION PETER CRAGNE This is your notification that your status with the Backwater Public Library is DELINQUENT due to NON-RETURNAL. You are NOT PERMITTED to check out books or to access special library materials until your status is cleared. To clear your status, you must return ALL books you currently have checked out: To Have, and To Have Knots: An Illustrated Guide Twin Hearts Between the Planes Backwater Personalities (1915-1925 edition) Tolerating An Asinine God The Lives of the Roman Emperors De Zeven Testamenten van de Krijsende Zeeworm Venator in Tenebris 'Pataphysical Approaches to Quantum Superfluids Legends of Lake Champlain and the Hudson River Valley A Rudimentary Taxonomy of Known Scent and Grotesque Reactions Life Beneath Nightmares Buried Tales of Old Vermont The Seven Gaunts New England and the Bavarian Illuminati ANCHORHEAD. A What-do-I-do-now Book Based on the Works of MICHAEL GENTRY >* I guess that's good? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x firebird A 70's Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am. Cherry red. Floating in space for some reason. It's too far away from the bathroom stall to do anything to, though. Wait, is it... is it making soft horse noises? What the fuck. >* WHAT THE FUCK That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL. Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which: There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is a mysterious scroll), Ed's bare-assed frozen space corpse, and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space. And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space. You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here. >x scroll It says: FORMULAE TRANSLOCATION To send thine enemies or thineself abroade Edward, this is the one! Use this spell on the horse! - Konstantin 1: Lite thee a hande of glory and place it upon the pentagram to activate a portal. Use thee a hande or foote or other extremity; a torso of glory or an ass of glory will cause thine spell to fail and possibly thine life to end 2: Fasion thee a mannikin, poppet or figurine of wax, resembling the being to be sent by the Translocation and placeth it on the pentagrame. 3:Wave a stoat or ermine to focus the majickal energies. A live stoat or ermine must be used or else the spell will fail most dysaterously. Edward, I discovered that waving a dead one will do just fine, although you'll need to drink a Potion of Fortitude first or else your organs will end up outside your body. Yes, even the good organs. To make the potion, mix bismuth and carbonated corn syrup with a small amount of trilobyte milk. - Konstantin 4: Place a virgin on thine pentagram and sacrifice her most vigorously with an athame. It says "her" but honestly either gender will work fine as long as they're a virgin. Look for people buying Cure albums at the local record store, perhaps. - Konstantin 5: Shout the majick werd "OUTERICA". The thinge that has been representated with the wax mannikin shalle be most forcifully banishede to the other side of the thy active pentagrame. At the bottom of the scroll, there's another note from Konstantin that says "Edward, this is VERY important! You must [ketchup stain] the [mustard] or else [mayo]! This is very important!! You must [more mayo]!! Son of a bitch, was Ed eating a fucking hamburger over this ancient magic scroll? >lick scroll That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >eat condiments You can't see any such thing. >eat scroll That's plainly inedible. >* Look the condiments can't be that old That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* This eldritch ritual is seeming more challenging by the minute That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* At least I have the giant rat That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL. Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which: There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is a mysterious scroll), Ed's bare-assed frozen space corpse, and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space. And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space. You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here. > take scroll Taken. >x corpses There's a bunch of frozen space corpses in low orbit around the bathroom, most of them in meatpacking employee coveralls. Wow, no wonder they had people stop using the toilet.Ed's corpse floats nearby, bare-assed and frozen. Presumably that same corpse is the "Edward" mentioned in that handwritten note you found on the other side of the portal-toilet. >search them You find nothing of interest. >search ed You find nothing of interest. >x ed A buck-naked frozen corpse floating in space, whose name (based on the completely circumstantial but compelling evidence of the name patch on his coveralls that you stole) is Ed. And if you believe the other words on the coveralls that no longer cover his frozen dead buttocks, Ed is also the janitor of the meatpacking plant. Was the janitor. Maybe still is; the janitor being a naked dead guy floating in space would explain why nobody's cleaned all that graffiti off the stall. And it's just a guess, but he's probably the Edward mentioned in that note you found tucked into the vintage issue of Juggs on the back of the can. >l Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL. Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which: There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is nothing), Ed's bare-assed frozen space corpse, and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space. And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space. You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here. >* Are we still good? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x coffee The clouds in your cup form a perfect fern, just like in a fancy latte. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need. >* Thanks coffee, super reassuring You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* I guess let's zoom back and check out the cabinet That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >sit on toilet But you're already on the toilet (in space). >flush it You flush the toilet. The luminiferous æther begins to circle in the bowl under your bum, making alien colors and weird shadows dance along the walls of the stall, just like it did back in the terrestrial bathroom. Then the walls start spinning. Then space starts spinning, the stars turning to long streaks of color like a timelapse photo of the night sky. Reality itself begins to swirl around you, like æther in a toilet bowl... Suddenly you're pulled backwards and downwards, by your bum, into the locus of the reality swirl, just like before... You are hurtling bum-first through a hyperspace wormhole of kaleidoscopic color-lines, just in the opposite direction this time. Damn, that homeless woman was on point. Maybe it WAS spelled "Cambells" all along. Anyway, this return trip through the worm-hole takes a little longer, giving you some time to ponder things. Things like... hey, wait, didn't that handwritten note say these trips through the portal were powered by baby souls? That had to be code for something, right? Like, you using this toilet isn't somehow using up baby s Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (on the toilet) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some kind of luminiferous æther in the open bowl. The luminiferous æther is glowing slightly, bathing the stall in a panalopy of alien colors that have no terrestrial equivalents. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. You can see a pentagram edge (covered in blue flames) on the floor just outside the stall (on which is a candle shaped like a hand (of which a finger is on fire)) here. >unlock closet with keys You unlock the janitor's closet. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >open it You open the janitor's closet, revealing a fur coat and a candle shaped like a human foot. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >* Oh, we didn't need the rat after wall You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >wave rat You wave the enormous dessicated rat corpse. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >take fur Taken. >x it The tag says it's genuine ermine (which you're pretty sure is a kind of stoat). This is pretty baller for a meatpacking plant janitor. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >* An ermine is in fact a stoat That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Thanks, Redwall! You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x foot You're starting to worry that the candlers who are supplying this restroom are running out of PG bodyparts. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >take it Taken. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >light foot with lighter You flick the rad wizard lighter a few times over the foot shaped candle. It takes a couple tries but you manage to get a toe to light, finally. One of the candle's toes I mean, not your toes, just like when it was the hand candle and arrrgh you know what I mean. The stupid foot candle is lit. Anyway, the lights in the bathroom flicker again, but the cackling sounds more like guffaws this time, and it turns out the foot candle is beach scented instead of lavender. >put foot on pentagram You try to put the foot-candle on the pentagram but some magical force emanating from the pentagram pushes back against you. I guess you can only have one body part shaped candle on a pentagram at a time? Maybe take the hand candle first? >take hand Taken. The weird ghostly blue flame on the pentagram goes out. Aw. Also it looks like the luminiferous æther in the toilet just went back to being normal water. >put foot on pentagram You put the lit candle shaped like a human foot on top of the pentagram. That doesn't seem like any worse of any idea than the hand-shaped one was, I guess. The pentagram suddenly blazes alight with ghostly flame! Just like with the hand-shaped candle, except this time the flames are green! And also the toilet water appears to have been replaced with a mass of Higgs boson particles that are now swarming around the toilet bowl. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >sit on toilet But you're already on the toilet. >fush it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >flush it You flush the toilet. The Higgs bosons start to swirl around the bowl. You think. You're thinking about them being in the bowl so they might not actually be there. Stop thinking about them. Anyway everything starts to swirl and run just like that time a few minutes ago when you flushed yourself to the space bathroom. Suddenly you're pulled backwards and downwards, by your bum, into the locus of the reality swirl... You are hurtling bum-first through a hyperspace wormhole of kaleidoscopic color-lines again, only this time they're sort of greenish instead of sort of blueish. The crazy homeless lady didn't mention the color when she was telling you about how you would be flying butt-first through space-time, but so far still accurate (less so her assertions that the Sasquatches controlling the World Bank would eventually reveal the truth about the Beatles. That lady had Opinions.). You look over your shoulder and see an exit from the wormhole, but this time it's sunny.... Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant, Lower Cambrian Era (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (on a beach)) (on the beach) (in the Lower Cambrian Epoch) Well... you're on a beach. A beach with a toilet on it. I guess that makes it a bathroom, right? Can't be anything but a bathroom if it has a toilet in it; plop a toilet down in any other room and it's a bathroom no matter what it was previously. So it's settled then, this beach is a bathroom. Anyway, next to the toilet is a little table with Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front), Konstantin's keys and a half-full can of Dew. To the north there's a weird moss forest and to the south there's an ocean. And before you ask, the reason you know this is the lower Cambrian is because of the millions of trilobite and trilobite-adjacent species that are hanging out on the beach and in the water here, including one that is nuzzling your foot (shoo! shoo!). Just a metric pantload of trilobites all over everything. At least... At least this is normal for the Lower Cambrian. Perfectly normal Lower Cambrian bathroom. You can see a pentagram (covered in green flames) on the beach here. >* How many bathrooms are there??? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* well that's where the trilobite milk comes from That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant, Lower Cambrian Era (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (on a beach)) (on the beach) (in the Lower Cambrian Epoch) Well... you're on a beach. A beach with a toilet on it. I guess that makes it a bathroom, right? Can't be anything but a bathroom if it has a toilet in it; plop a toilet down in any other room and it's a bathroom no matter what it was previously. So it's settled then, this beach is a bathroom. Anyway, next to the toilet is a little table with Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front), Konstantin's keys and a half-full can of Dew. To the north there's a weird moss forest and to the south there's an ocean. And before you ask, the reason you know this is the lower Cambrian is because of the millions of trilobite and trilobite-adjacent species that are hanging out on the beach and in the water here, including one that is nuzzling your foot (shoo! shoo!). Just a metric pantload of trilobites all over everything. At least... At least this is normal for the Lower Cambrian. Perfectly normal Lower Cambrian bathroom. You can see a pentagram (covered in green flames) on the beach here. >x journal (the small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front)) It says "Mein Journal" on the front, and it appears to be a collection of folios bound in very soft blue leather. It appears be locked, and has a little keyhole on it. >x ed's You can't see any such thing. >x ed You can't see any such thing. >x edss You can't see any such thing. >x eds You can't see any such thing. >* sigh That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >put journal in book pocket (the small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) in the book pocket) You unzip the book pocket, deposit the small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front), then zip the book pocket back up again. >close journal It isn't something you can close. >close book pocket That's already closed. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant, Lower Cambrian Era (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (on a beach)) (on the beach) (in the Lower Cambrian Epoch) Well... you're on a beach. A beach with a toilet on it. I guess that makes it a bathroom, right? Can't be anything but a bathroom if it has a toilet in it; plop a toilet down in any other room and it's a bathroom no matter what it was previously. So it's settled then, this beach is a bathroom. Anyway, next to the toilet is a little table with Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front), Konstantin's keys and a half-full can of Dew. To the north there's a weird moss forest and to the south there's an ocean. And before you ask, the reason you know this is the lower Cambrian is because of the millions of trilobite and trilobite-adjacent species that are hanging out on the beach and in the water here, including one that is nuzzling your foot (shoo! shoo!). Just a metric pantload of trilobites all over everything. At least... At least this is normal for the Lower Cambrian. Perfectly normal Lower Cambrian bathroom. You can see a pentagram (covered in green flames) on the beach here. >take journal Taken. >read it It's not really a journal so much as a small note pad, and it's only got one entry. But Ed called it a journal, so: Yeah so Konstantin told me to get the horse out of the bathroom but the horse is scary and that Translocation spell is hard. So yeah I think I'm just gonna chill on this weird beach I opened a portal to. It has these weird crabs but that's probably okay. I'm gonna go back to the Yuggoth bathroom to get Konstantin's journal though. He told me not to read it but I'm sure there's some juicy magic in there. I just gotta be careful with the toilet: came out of the can too fast last time, nearly shot right out into space! That was close! But I should be okay this time. Wish I could bring Konstantin's car-familiar with me to the beach, that thing is sweeeeeet. Sincerely, Edw[mustard stain] Oh, Ed. >* oh good lord That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* this is a room That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* So wass that driveway That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* I'm just saying That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant, Lower Cambrian Era (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (on a beach)) (on the beach) (in the Lower Cambrian Epoch) Well... you're on a beach. A beach with a toilet on it. I guess that makes it a bathroom, right? Can't be anything but a bathroom if it has a toilet in it; plop a toilet down in any other room and it's a bathroom no matter what it was previously. So it's settled then, this beach is a bathroom. Anyway, next to the toilet is a little table with Konstantin's keys and a half-full can of Dew. To the north there's a weird moss forest and to the south there's an ocean. And before you ask, the reason you know this is the lower Cambrian is because of the millions of trilobite and trilobite-adjacent species that are hanging out on the beach and in the water here, including one that is nuzzling your foot (shoo! shoo!). Just a metric pantload of trilobites all over everything. At least... At least this is normal for the Lower Cambrian. Perfectly normal Lower Cambrian bathroom. You can see a pentagram (covered in green flames) on the beach here. >x keys Which do you mean, Konstantin's keys or the janitor's keys? >konstantin's You know that they're Konstantin's because "Mein Keys" is written on the tag. >take them You can't see 'them' (nothing) at the moment. >take it Taken. >* Oh wait, how is this going to work? You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >save Ok. >i You are carrying: Konstantin's keys Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front) a candle shaped like a hand (of which a finger is on fire) a fur coat a mysterious scroll a book of Unfortunate Baby Names Ed's coveralls (being worn) a wax cylinder a bloodstained witch-knife a bottle of Pepto-Bismol a rad wizard lighter a real weird handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine a torn notebook an enormous dessicated rat corpse a thin steel key a piece of yellowed newsprint a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a cast iron spire loose bricks Tolerating An Asinine God a clipboard a black business card a trophy for a dog race a half-full styrofoam coffee cup a glass shard a familiar gold wristwatch a giant milkweed leaf a label an antique locket (closed) a backpack features guide a glass jar containing an insect a book list the diary of Phyllis Cragne a postcard of Big Ben The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three Twin Hearts Between the Planes a Jansport backpack (open) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (closed) a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) Peter's jacket a brass winding key a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a pull-string doll a waterproof flashlight a repaired page a wad of cash a library card a grimy rock a long hooked pole a soggy tome an employee ID card a shard of shattered carapace a fungal powder some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal an aluminum key a pamphlet of home listings a hovering spark (haunting you) >put ed's journal in book pocket You unzip the book pocket, deposit Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front), then zip the book pocket back up again. >take mein journal You can't see any such thing. >x book pocket Judging from the book pocket's enormous size and soft velvet lining, you suspect the backpack manufacturer designed it for Johnny Depp's character from The Ninth Gate. >open it You open the book pocket, revealing Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front), a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) and a moldy, waterlogged journal. >take blue You can't see any such thing. >take blue journal Taken. >read it You can't, the owner locked the stupid thing shut. It's got a little keyhole on the front though. >unlock it (with Konstantin's keys) You unlock the journal. >read it You read: The black death ravages Vienna. Nearly a thousand have died in the last week alone; their bodies bloating in the open-air pits surrounding the city. The citizens hide in their houses as the plague walks the city, and the streets belong to the dogs, the flies and the rats now. By day, at least. By night, murderers both human and inhuman stalk the byways, the beleagured city guard spread too thin to effectively stop every burglar and nightgaunt. I am rapturous with joy. The coven practices openly now, with no fear that our Sabbath orgies will be interrupted by foolish investigators. Children can simply be lifted from the street and carried away if needed, with the handful of passerby too weak or scared to protest. On this alone I have saved so many silver reichsthalers that I would have spent on sacrifices, previously. And yesterday I openly mocked a Brother of the Holy Trinity in his own church hospital, displaying to him an upside-down cross and also my penis, telling him secret names of Great Old Ones that will burn in his ears and dreams despite his prayers. He cried and tried to throw holy water at me with palsied fingers, but I laughed and rode away on my devilhorse. Life is good! But I know that this joy cannot last. Just as before, the plague will pass and the city will return to normal. And Karl Denube (that dog of the Habsburgs, curse him) was getting close to discovering our identities at any rate after his raid on our botched summoning. I fear Petra's carelessness in seducing the constabulary have already given us away. So I must plan an escape before the plague abates fully, but shall enjoy every moment till then. -Konstantin T. Cragne, Vienna, August 4, 1679, Sun in the house of Cancer The journal continues... read again to read more... >* I think you'll find it's "passersby" That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >read it You read: Damnation and hellfire! The plague isn't even passed its rounds and the guards have begun to hound our coven again. Perhaps it was the child-thefts, or perhaps I should not have shown my penis to that priest. No matter. Petra should have half of the Habsburgs" guardsmen ensorcelled by now, which should buy time to move the coven operations to Innsbruck, or Liechtenstein, or Prague, or join with the Paris warlocks. Or even move to London or far-flung Amsterdam. Anywhere except Bavaria, really. I hate Bavarians so. -Konstantin T. Cragne, Vienna, September 14th, 1679, Moon in Gemini The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: We are truly in the kraut, now. Petra's overzealousness in seducing guardsmen has tipped off the Imperial witchfinders. I warned her that if she kept up we would reach critical mass of love-besotted guardsmen wandering about and pining for her suspiciously, their loins and nostrils enflamed by witch-pheremones. But she did not listen and here we are! Damn Petra, her ample bosom, AND her unquenchable thirst for male validation all three! The Imperials mean business this time. Denube has arrested half his own police force in the middle of a plague outbreak just because they were mildly ensorcelled with forbidden sex magicks. Clearly he worries more about us than the rioters and nightgaunts, which seems insane at first blush. Although to be fair, we ARE secretly responsible for the rioters and the nightgaunts. And the missing children. And the finger-collecting phantasms that look like men but bark like dogs. And the tentacled wreck that haunts the northern cistern. And the arrival of the plague itself. I suppose I cannot fault Denube's priorities. -Konstantin T., Vienna, September 27 1679, Jupiter Ascending thru Libra The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: Our plans to flee are complicated by the plague curfew, as well as the early snow that is coming (of which I have been informed by the souls of the damned that ride the winds eternally. They are never wrong about incoming Alpine weather, though they will lie right to your face about whether your cravat suits you, the miserable undead shits). However! I have a plan. A powerful enough translocation spell could move most of the coven and their things, and the spell components are easily sourcable. Most of them. The live stoat may be difficult at this time of year with the countryside inaccessible and everyone dying of the plague, but Jens assures me that a stuffed one will suffice. No matter, even the results of a miscast spell is still better than death by torture at the hands of Witchfinders or that complete ass Karl Denube. Unless the spell turns us inside out, I suppose. -Konstantin T. Cragne, Vienna, October 9, 1679, Saturn in the House of Sagittarius The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: The translocation spell was miscast, and half the coven was turned inside out. That was awful. The stuffed stoat didn't suffice as a spell component at all. I wanted to scream at Jens, except Jens had his ears on the inside of his head and his brains on the outside and couldn't have heard me anyway. Also I was being flung through space by hideous unknowable forces. On a happier note, the miscast spell also turned several guardsmen inside out as they were coming to arrest us. After they captured Petra it was only a matter of time before she gave up the hidden orgy room in the charcuterie basement. A dozen city guardsmen and a pair of Imperial Witchfinders broke in right as Jens was waggling that stupid stuffed stoat over the pentagram, and they stood there gawking like provincial idiots at a carnival barker as he botched the incantation. And then the magical wave it hit them. It was beautiful. I swear, I'll never forget the stupid look on Karl Denube's inside-out face as his lungs came shooting out of his backwards mouth and hung there against his chest like a hissing ballsack. Then he tried to flee but just ran straight into a pillar because his eyeballs were facing the wrong way! Ha! What a fool. I'd go back and shit on him, if I had any idea where I was in relation to Vienna. It's meadow-y here, and warmer than normal for Austria at this time of year. I don't recognize any of the mountains. The same moon at least, so I'm not on Aldebaran or Carcosa. In any case, despite not having my grimoires or my devilhorse or my orgies, it is pleasant enough here except for the wolves that are following me. I remain hopeful. -Konstantin Cragne At Large, Location unknown, Date unknown The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: I would give Jens such a beating, if he had not been dead for over a hundred years and also turned inside out. The stupid translocation spell flung me not just through space but through time! I was deposited a league outside of Bratislava, and when I arrived I was informed by the beet-obsessed peasants whom infest the dirt-hovels outside the city that it was the year-of-their-lord 1809. 1809! My grimoires will all have been seized and burned by long-dead men, or more likely stuffed into Habsburg vaults under the palace in care of some blind and deaf eunuch who navigates the moldy stacks of forbidden books by touch. I hate those eunuchs so. And my poor devilhorse has almost certainly dissolved into astral soup, and I have neither the gold nor the souls to create a new familiar. The coven may have survived in Vienna (assuming some of them turned right-side-back-in after I left), but I wouldn't know any of them in this age. And the nearest Cragne stronghold is in Krakow, but who knows if the vaults are still intact or if the secrets were hauled off to some Ottoman shithole after the last Turkish incursion. My best bet, I think, is to make my way through Brno and on through the Nuremburg road to Brussels, assuming that I can stomach the smells and sights of Bavaria for that long. I dare not try another translocation spell without a familiar or the correct components, and I don't know the word for "stoat" in the dialect of the local beet-fondlers anyway. They've informed me that the road may be blocked by the army of some French commoner who is rampaging across the countryside, but I have never let a Frenchman stop me from doing anything and I'll be damned if I start now. -Konstantin T. Cragne, Bratislava, Spring 1809 The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: Still stuck in Bratislava, despite best efforts the past two weeks. Still squatting in the burned-out ruins of a hoisery (which is STILL better accomodations than this city's wretched hostels) as Napoleon's cannons continue to rain metal upon the city. Increasingly depressed by the lack of quality sausages as compared to my home, compounded by news from a local grocer who informed me that the Holy Empire itself is no more, after Napoleon's forces took Vienna. I admit to feeling a tiny pang of civic sadness in spite of myself. And also hunger for a decent sausage that hasn't been adulterated with ratmeat by the hairy, unwashed fingers of inferior Bratislavian sausagemongers. I have come to terms with the truth that I cannot return to my own time, even if I wanted to. The only entities which could do such a thing are Y-S in his guise as the Opener of Ways, or possibly the **vi*. Unfortunately even thinking for too long about Y-S without a lead helmet can cause madness, and I spoke with the **vi* but he reminded me that I had already sold him my soul several years prior for a larger penis and a more pronounced chin. Alas, my younger self put himself too cheap to market. On the brighter side, every person or instution that I owed money to or who wanted me dead is either long-gone or now French. Since I do not wish to die a Frenchman myself, I have decided to Translocate away while Napoleon plays Emperor. I have managed to procure a cage of live stoats from a furrier, and can fashion the wax poppets myself. The sacrifice of a virgin is a bit harder and I may have to settle for the sacrifice of a relatively sexually inexperienced person and see what happens. -Konstantin T., Bratislava, May 22 1809 The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: Tried the spell on a horse as a test. The horse ended up fused with the wall of a milk house two blocks over. I do not think the milk maid will ever stop screaming, which is loud if hilarious. The horse might not ever stop screaming either, which is loud AND hilarious. I joined them briefly, sauntering into the milk house and screaming in time with them without giving the maid any context until she fled. Will tweak the spell parameters and try again on the morrow, suspect that the problem was that the hemi-virgin I sacrificed to power the spell was far more sexually experienced than they claimed. I must admit that despite the challenges and the noise, Napoleon throws an enjoyable siege. Watching people run screaming from the gunfire in the morning as I cook my coffee over the flames of a burning cottage never fails to put a smile on my face, even if I can barely get anything done in the chaos. I hope his men are in turn enjoying the excitement of the shuffling horrors that I send over the walls and into their tents every night to feed on their screams and genitals. -Konstantin T. Cragne, Bratislava, May 24 1809 The journal continues... read again to read more... >* This is amazing That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* And still going on That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >read it You read: It took a few hops with the Translocation spell, and another century past, but I managed to escape Napoleon's repeat attempts to rub his tiny French nutsack all over the continent. In fact, I believe that I've found a home here in the Balkans, at least temporarily. It's no Vienna but this is certainly better than dodging cannonballs daily. And I am beginning to reform my coven by recruiting from the disaffected youths of the city! Despite the barrier in language and custom I get along splendly with the local occult groups as long as I don't talk about Austria too much in a positive way. I've reformed my familiar in the shape of a large owl with a human ass for a head and moose-deer antlers sprouting from the left and right butt-cheeks. That may sound ribald but I can make assurances that such a thing is fucking terrifying to see swooping down on you in the dark of an alley at midnight, especially when it starts hooting out of its anus. Starting to feel hopeful again about the future. Strangely grateful to briefly be in a peaceful time where I can rebuild without chaos, which isn't like me at all, but I'm just very tired of using that damned Translocation spell to run from wars. -Konstantin T. Cragne, Sarajevo, 25 June 1914 The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: There is no damned way that they make this shitty little asshead the chancellor. No way. Who would do that. -Konstantin T. Cragne, Berlin, January 29 1933 The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: On a steam-ship from London. Bored with Europe, and hoping there are fewer explosions in America. Explosions and wars bore me now. Crossing the channel from France to England was pure joy, however. It had been forever since I had felt the Faceless Lords of the Night lift me airborn on a broomstick like that; much more pleasant than the Translocation spell. I didn't even bother to hide from the ships passing underneath, and I even stopped to take a truly epic shit down the open hatch of a surfaced U-boat after stopping for a very greasy plate of spaetzle in occupied France. Wish I could have seen the faces of the soldiers inside as THAT torpedo was delivered. Corresponded with family in New York via long-range psychic screams, in-between hiding in subway tunnels in London during the bombings. The New York Cragnes speak well of the New Country. Apparently you can just out and SAY you're a witch these days, and nobody will give a single shit! They just keep drinking. I am excited to experience this brave new world and bilk the gullible drunken fools who inhabit it. -Konstantin T. Cragne, Mid-Atlantic, June 1944 The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: By the great green balls of Satan's Fraternal Star-Twin, I am BORED. New York is BORING. They THINK they're cosmopolitan, they THINK they're the best of the world here, but NO ONE who had seen Vienna in full splendor (before Napoleon burned it down, like the great French tit that he was) would think of this as ANYTHING but a provincial backwater compared to the jewel of the Empire. Oooo, you have tall buildings. A pox on your tall buildings! I have seen the living spires of Carcosa! I have seen the non-Euclidean bones of Sleeping R'yleh rising from the Marianas Trench by dawn! I am unimpressed by tall things, New York! I have seen taller things while pawing through owl shit for bone-omens! You can't even make a proper sausage. And when you DO produce one of your shitty sausages for inspection, New York, you immediately cover it with tomato leavings like you're some kind of simple cretin from Tuscany who couldn't find real food with both roughly callused hands and a map. Tomato leavings! On a sausage! For shame. My family is boring me as well. The New York branch is feuding with the Vermont and Boston branches, while the Texarkana branch eats popcorn from the sidelines and sells djinn wishes and leprechaun drugs to whoever's currently on the outs to keep the feud going. I've seen all this before, in the old country. The one interesting thing I have to report is that H promised me a seat on the Varigated Council and enough spell resources to create a new familiar if I were to betray New York and kill L. I'd have to move to Vermont, though. Thinking about it. Bored. Bored bored boring boredom. Bored. -K. T., New Ybored, June Whatever, 19meh The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: I never thought I'd come to like it here, but I must finally admit that Vermont is very pretty during the fall. Reminds me of Vienna, and also the orange-and-gold innards of those humanoid creatures from Saturn, the ones that squawk like pelicans when you summon them. They are also very pretty in the fall, although they make a smell like the last hours of a Saxon orgy when you cut them open to get at the colorful innards I mentioned. And it releases an obscene amount of helium in the process. Voice is funny for weeks and your hands are stained saffron for twice as long. I digress. Vermont. Pretty. Fall. Family. This is my fourth year as the Mazarine Alderman on the Council and I'm still angry about it. I pointed out to H and Z that I helped found the second new council after the fall of the Roman Empire, for fuck's sake. A Cragne of my skill and stature deserved *at least* Coquelicot, if not Sarcoline. And it's not like I asked for Murex right off the bat. So I patiently explained that Mazarine was the Alderman position for fresh-faced toddlers and/or the Irish. When that failed to move them I threatened, and then I begged. But no, I am Mazarine Alderman in the end, as if I was some assfaced Burgomeister out of Munich with two wooden legs and no dick, and not one of the most accomplished Cragnes of the last five hundred years. I am livid, still.-Konstantin Teufelheim Cragne, Mazarine-bloody-Alderman, Vermont, September 30 1967 The journal continues... read again to read more... >* er I thought it was a Court, not a council You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* mostly saying that so CTRL-F will find this when I inevitably need to solve this puzzle That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >read it You read: I think a Sicilian clown was Mazarine Alderman once. Hell, I've heard of Incan mummies who got buried with their gonads in their mouths and make ball-sounds when they speak that have ended up with better positions on the council than I've got. I met a fucking *crow* once that was a more important Alderman than Mazarine. A *crow*. It wasn't even part of the family, it was *adopted*. No matter. I have more important things to deal with for now, like finding a source of civilian funds to help create my familiar. The **vi* still refuses to front me cash, just keeps shaking his head when I summon him before pointing at my crotch and my chin, the uppity fuck. -Konstantin, Still Mazarine, Vermont, October 12 1968 The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: The familiar-crafting has taken longer than expected. This is due to having to be Bob. I had no social security information or work history when I came to Vermont, and I've been told in no uncertain terms not to ensnare the locals with witch-eyes or addictive bodily secretions if I can help it. Or bludgeon too many of them to death for their wallets. Or the tourists either. "Don't shit where you eat" and all that. The Council has said nothing about skin-wearing though. Regarding skin-wearing: if you can coil yourself up tightly and flatly enough, you can fit your whole adult humanself into the layer of viscera between the skin and the skeletal muscle of a different human. There's a sort of bag made out of ligament that you can wrap yourself around, and then you can manipulate the other body by undulating your rolled-up self against it. Conceptually similar to that branch of yoga where your yoga mat is alive and fights you between asanas. Any rate, I needed human money so I captured a man named Bob and started wearing him like a pantsuit. He's a local boss at the meat-packing plant, but I haven't been able to work there yet since I had to wait a few weeks for Bob to stop continually screaming into the part of my leg that's wrapped around his mouth-muscles because it's distracting. He finally tired, though. I am excited for my first day of work as Bob. -Konstantin Cragne/Bob, Vermont, May 15 1972 The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: I was initially very excited to work at the meat-packing plant because I heard they made Viennese sausages. Imagine my rage when I found out what "Vienna Sausages" actually were. No self-respecting Austrian would be caught dead with one of these mixed-meat cigarettes between their lips. I almost burned the whole plant down with conjured hellfire on the spot, but I'm too close to getting my familiar, and if I'm honest I find my bumpkin coworkers conceptually interesting if not intellectually stimulating. -Konstantin T./Bob, Vermont, May 15 1972 The journal continues... read again to read more... >* I am kind of out of different ways to say "what the fuck" at this juncture That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >read it You read: Using the same bathroom as the plebian meatsmiths who wallow back and forth in this factory of lies and sausage failure has become tiresome, so I have fashioned my own lavatory from raw cometary atoms at the farthest reaches of the solar system. There is a fantastic view there of the nemesis rock of Yuggoth which will one day impact and devour the Earth! And a padded seat and a phonograph on which I can listen to my old wax recordings! Also, I added some air so that I can actually listen to music, and so that Bob can breathe. Afterwards, I made the new restroom translocationally accessible from the meatpacking restroom, and then restricted worker access to the toilet on the Earth side of the portal. This prevents potentially hazardous dimensional leakage, but more importantly keeps the unwashed masses from using my restroom. There have been some complaints from the workers about having to make other toilet arrangements. The complaints did not cease when I pointed out that, historically speaking, shitting into buckets behind one's place of work used to be considered a luxury. The people of this era are spoiled. In other news, I have begun work on my new familiar. The pentagram is inscribed, although I suspect that I am a few years out from the other requirements. - K Cragne, Vermont, December 22 1974 The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: Curse all the gods and the frozen gargantuan mollusc-things in the black gulfs between stars that pretend to be gods! There must be a way to make this work. The familiar spell is complex, and admittedly I am trying something that has not been done before to my knowledge, but it still should work. All this version of the spell requires (aside from the gold and complex spell-matrices and a few other odds and ends) is at least one being with a soul that will serve as the template for the familiar. And who among us would believe, even for a moment, that my 1976 cherry red Pontiac Firebird Trans Am does not contain a soul? Who among us could slide gently atop those black leather seats, naked as a newborn babe and twice as hungry, wrap our trembling hands around the wheel and feel the engine turn over and hear the throaty rumble as we rev the gas, and honestly believe that this beautiful machine is soulless? I knew as soon as I saw it at the dealership. It was those curves. That power. The noise. The feeling you get deep in your genitals when you throw the e-brake while sqeauling the tires doing doughnuts in the crowded parking lot of the Alpha Beta, as the salesman riding shotgun screams like a neutered cat and begs to be freed from the spinning death cage. This is clearly a machine designed by Satan for His Own People. Even Bob loves it, and all Bob does anymore is scream endlessly in his own head for the sweet release of death. I had to procure one of these cars. More than that. I had to make one my familiar. But I cannot get the thrice-damned spell to work on my car. -Konstantin/Bob, Vermont, June 12 1975 The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: It was simple, in the end. If my 1976 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am did not have a suitable soul, then I would give it one. All it required was a modification to the old Translocation spell and a suitable partner, which at first proved more difficult than expected. I thought about using Bob, but his soul is far too soft to reside in my Trans Am. And I thought about Bob's boss, Mr. Gambretti, but I've grown to like the man and respect him as a superior, at least as regards packaging sausages. Who knew that I would ever believe a Genoese could be trusted with machinery more complex than a ball and cup game? American egalitarianism must be seeping into my bones. A perfect answer for the soul problem walked right onto the factory floor. A bad-tempered racehorse that had been a contender in the Kentucky Derby was sold to us for the purposes of gelatin, and I was given the rendering job. The name of this equine beast was Rowdy Tumnus, and he was in his own way as gorgeous and spirited as my Pontiac. He had murdered his previous owner with a series of kicks to the head, abdomen and groin before being sent to us, and tried to bite the dick off of everyone we passed on the way to the slaughter room. Then he broke free from the restraints twice before we could use the pneumatic gun on him, and in-between the dick biting during one escape he went out of his way to put a hoof through Gambretti's office window. A horse that would destroy property out of spite! Rowdy Tumnus was perfect. I performed the spells right in the lavatory (the plebian lavatory, I have no wish to get horse guts on my private fixtures orbiting Yuggoth), which was somewhat private and also had a drain in case the spell went wrong. It went off with only a single minor hitch, and the vicious soul of Rowdy Tumnus was transfered to my Firebird which was parked outside. In turn, the vicious soul of my Firebird was transferred to the body of Rowdy Tumnus. Success! I haven't been this excited since I let those zombies loose in the brothels of Prague! -K.T./Bob, Vermont, June 23 1975 The journal continues... read again to read more... >* Screw you, Bob You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >read it You read: That one hitch I mentioned: during the soul-swap, both the skeleton of Rowdy Tumnus and the transmission of my Pontiac were vaporized for some reason. So I was left with the immortal and still-living fleshy bits of a killer horse flopping about on the floor of the factory's garderobe, and a muscle-car familiar that is stuck in first gear until I can find a mechanic who can peer into the Astral plane. Frustrating, but we work with what we have. I spent an hour stuffing the sack-like remains of Rowdy Tumnus down the shower drain, along with the pulped body of a coworker who stumbled upon that grim tableau before being attacked and suffocated by the aforementioned murderous half-horse. Then I drove my familiar home. - Konstantin, Vermont, June 24 1975 The journal continues... read again to read more... >read it You read: Despite my best efforts, I've been unable to coax the boneless Rowdy Tumnus back out of the plant's plumbing for long enough to lead him out of the plant or banish him. Part of this is difficulty securing effective bait; he appears to prefer human flesh to apples or sugar cubes now, which isn't something that I can just purchase at the local market. At least not the public one. That being the case, I've decided to bind him to guard my private bathroom and sorcerous implements. He seems happy enough in the pipes, and as I have an errand on a parallel timeline in space that requires my attention, I'd prefer that none of the local mullet-wearing peasantry lay hams to my commode while I'm out sorcering. I suspect that Tumnus will end up killing at least a few of them who try, despite my warnings to the plant management. Ah well. I've supplied Edward with a Tanslocation Incantation to banish Tumnus somewhere, should the need arise. He'll have to source most of the spell components himself, but Edward is.. well Edward is my apprentice and I'm sure he'll manage the horse. -Konstantin T. Cragne, October 10 1975 Last page.. read again to start from beginning... >read it You read: The black death ravages Vienna. Nearly a thousand have died in the last week alone; their bodies bloating in the open-air pits surrounding the city. The citizens hide in their houses as the plague walks the city, and the streets belong to the dogs, the flies and the rats now. By day, at least. By night, murderers both human and inhuman stalk the byways, the beleagured city guard spread too thin to effectively stop every burglar and nightgaunt. I am rapturous with joy. The coven practices openly now, with no fear that our Sabbath orgies will be interrupted by foolish investigators. Children can simply be lifted from the street and carried away if needed, with the handful of passerby too weak or scared to protest. On this alone I have saved so many silver reichsthalers that I would have spent on sacrifices, previously. And yesterday I openly mocked a Brother of the Holy Trinity in his own church hospital, displaying to him an upside-down cross and also my penis, telling him secret names of Great Old Ones that will burn in his ears and dreams despite his prayers. He cried and tried to throw holy water at me with palsied fingers, but I laughed and rode away on my devilhorse. Life is good! But I know that this joy cannot last. Just as before, the plague will pass and the city will return to normal. And Karl Denube (that dog of the Habsburgs, curse him) was getting close to discovering our identities at any rate after his raid on our botched summoning. I fear Petra's carelessness in seducing the constabulary have already given us away. So I must plan an escape before the plague abates fully, but shall enjoy every moment till then. -Konstantin T. Cragne, Vienna, August 4, 1679, Sun in the house of Cancer The journal continues... read again to read more... >* OK well there's our backstorry That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* not a ton of actionable intelligence but at least we now have proper context for the murder-horse That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant, Lower Cambrian Era (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (on a beach)) (on the beach) (in the Lower Cambrian Epoch) Well... you're on a beach. A beach with a toilet on it. I guess that makes it a bathroom, right? Can't be anything but a bathroom if it has a toilet in it; plop a toilet down in any other room and it's a bathroom no matter what it was previously. So it's settled then, this beach is a bathroom. Anyway, next to the toilet is a little table with a half-full can of Dew. To the north there's a weird moss forest and to the south there's an ocean. And before you ask, the reason you know this is the lower Cambrian is because of the millions of trilobite and trilobite-adjacent species that are hanging out on the beach and in the water here, including one that is nuzzling your foot (shoo! shoo!). Just a metric pantload of trilobites all over everything. At least... At least this is normal for the Lower Cambrian. Perfectly normal Lower Cambrian bathroom. You can see a pentagram (covered in green flames) on the beach here. >x trilobites There's a huge giant herd of trilobites on the beach here, which is fairly normal for the Cambrian but weird for you personally. One of them is nuzzling your foot". >x one trilobite There's a huge giant herd of trilobites on the beach here, which is fairly normal for the Cambrian but weird for you personally. One of them is nuzzling your foot". >milk it What do you want to milk the trilobite into? >jug You can't see any such thing. >i You are carrying: a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) Konstantin's keys a candle shaped like a hand (of which a finger is on fire) a fur coat a mysterious scroll a book of Unfortunate Baby Names Ed's coveralls (being worn) a wax cylinder a bloodstained witch-knife a bottle of Pepto-Bismol a rad wizard lighter a real weird handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine a torn notebook an enormous dessicated rat corpse a thin steel key a piece of yellowed newsprint a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a cast iron spire loose bricks Tolerating An Asinine God a clipboard a black business card a trophy for a dog race a half-full styrofoam coffee cup a glass shard a familiar gold wristwatch a giant milkweed leaf a label an antique locket (closed) a backpack features guide a glass jar containing an insect a book list the diary of Phyllis Cragne a postcard of Big Ben The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three Twin Hearts Between the Planes a Jansport backpack (open) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open) Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front) a moldy, waterlogged journal a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) Peter's jacket a brass winding key a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a pull-string doll a waterproof flashlight a repaired page a wad of cash a library card a grimy rock a long hooked pole a soggy tome an employee ID card a shard of shattered carapace a fungal powder some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal an aluminum key a pamphlet of home listings a hovering spark (haunting you) >milk trilobite into bottle You need something more effective at holding trilobite milk to do that. Maybe try Ed's half-drunk Dew-can? It was almost empty. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant, Lower Cambrian Era (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (on a beach)) (on the beach) (in the Lower Cambrian Epoch) Well... you're on a beach. A beach with a toilet on it. I guess that makes it a bathroom, right? Can't be anything but a bathroom if it has a toilet in it; plop a toilet down in any other room and it's a bathroom no matter what it was previously. So it's settled then, this beach is a bathroom. Anyway, next to the toilet is a little table with a half-full can of Dew. To the north there's a weird moss forest and to the south there's an ocean. And before you ask, the reason you know this is the lower Cambrian is because of the millions of trilobite and trilobite-adjacent species that are hanging out on the beach and in the water here, including one that is nuzzling your foot (shoo! shoo!). Just a metric pantload of trilobites all over everything. At least... At least this is normal for the Lower Cambrian. Perfectly normal Lower Cambrian bathroom. You can see a pentagram (covered in green flames) on the beach here. >x can It's half-full can of Mountain Dew. Presumably Ed was drinking it, before space killed him several million years and miles from now and here respectively. >take it Taken. >drink it You do some Dew. Augh, it's warm. >empty it That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >milk trilobite into can You kneel down towards the trilobite that keeps nuzzling your foot. As you're searching for teats on an ancient non-mamalian proto-crab that is extinct in your space-time so that you can milk it into a Mountain Dew can that belongs to a dead wizard's apprentice floating in space in the future, you think back to your marriage ceremony to Peter. You think about the kind of life you expected to have together. And you think about how things have been since you arrived in Vermont. And you think about that for a few minutes, as you gently milk the trilobite into the soda can. >x can It's half-full can of Mountain Dew that has some trilobite milk in it. Gross? Presumably Ed was drinking it, before space killed him several million years and miles from now and here respectively. >drink it You do some Dew. Augh, it's warm. And milky. >* yay That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* just yay yay yay about all of this That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x can It's half-full can of Mountain Dew that has some trilobite milk in it. Gross? Presumably Ed was drinking it, before space killed him several million years and miles from now and here respectively. >* Someone will pay for this That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant, Lower Cambrian Era (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (on a beach)) (on the beach) (in the Lower Cambrian Epoch) Well... you're on a beach. A beach with a toilet on it. I guess that makes it a bathroom, right? Can't be anything but a bathroom if it has a toilet in it; plop a toilet down in any other room and it's a bathroom no matter what it was previously. So it's settled then, this beach is a bathroom. Anyway, next to the toilet is a little table with nothing. To the north there's a weird moss forest and to the south there's an ocean. And before you ask, the reason you know this is the lower Cambrian is because of the millions of trilobite and trilobite-adjacent species that are hanging out on the beach and in the water here, including one that is nuzzling your foot (shoo! shoo!). Just a metric pantload of trilobites all over everything. At least... At least this is normal for the Lower Cambrian. Perfectly normal Lower Cambrian bathroom. You can see a pentagram (covered in green flames) on the beach here. >x table It's a small table chilling on the beach. >take it That's hardly portable. >n Fuck no, that moss forest is probably crawling with moss-dwelling tardigrades. Just chock full of 'em. Have you ever *seen* a tardigrade? Go google it, I'll wait. Yeah I didn't think so. >* no one's seen a tardigrade, they're microscopic You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >x pepto A bottle of pink bismuth-subsalicylate. It's for drinking when your poops are sick. >s You sort of sidle over to the trilobite-filled steaming ocean. Then something that looks like a mantis shrimp the size of a bull moose briefly breaches the water and shrieks at you. So you nope on back to the toilet region, just like this: Nope nope nope. The Cambrian Epoch sure does suck. >e There's nothing but more beach that way. Beach and trilobites. >w There's no exit that way, and you are on the toilet (on a beach) anyway. >ne There's no exit that way, and you are on the toilet (on a beach) anyway. >nw There's no exit that way, and you are on the toilet (on a beach) anyway. >x scoll You can't see any such thing. >oops scroll It says: FORMULAE TRANSLOCATION To send thine enemies or thineself abroade Edward, this is the one! Use this spell on the horse! - Konstantin 1: Lite thee a hande of glory and place it upon the pentagram to activate a portal. Use thee a hande or foote or other extremity; a torso of glory or an ass of glory will cause thine spell to fail and possibly thine life to end 2: Fasion thee a mannikin, poppet or figurine of wax, resembling the being to be sent by the Translocation and placeth it on the pentagrame. 3:Wave a stoat or ermine to focus the majickal energies. A live stoat or ermine must be used or else the spell will fail most dysaterously. Edward, I discovered that waving a dead one will do just fine, although you'll need to drink a Potion of Fortitude first or else your organs will end up outside your body. Yes, even the good organs. To make the potion, mix bismuth and carbonated corn syrup with a small amount of trilobyte milk. - Konstantin 4: Place a virgin on thine pentagram and sacrifice her most vigorously with an athame. It says "her" but honestly either gender will work fine as long as they're a virgin. Look for people buying Cure albums at the local record store, perhaps. - Konstantin 5: Shout the majick werd "OUTERICA". The thinge that has been representated with the wax mannikin shalle be most forcifully banishede to the other side of the thy active pentagrame. At the bottom of the scroll, there's another note from Konstantin that says "Edward, this is VERY important! You must [ketchup stain] the [mustard] or else [mayo]! This is very important!! You must [more mayo]!! Son of a bitch, was Ed eating a fucking hamburger over this ancient magic scroll? >put pepto in can You pour some of the pepto out, into the can of Dew. This one's for the homies. The homies with diarrhea. Then you swish the concoction around for a moment, and it begins to glow! And smell. It smells real bad. If someone told you this was a Potion of Glowing and Smelling, and not Fortitude like the scroll said, you would not fight them. >drink it Nah, your poops aren't sick enough for the pink chalk. >drink can You take a sip of the glowing, foul-smelling Fortitude potion and quickly realize that drinking it slowly is the wrong way to do this. So you chug the whole can, only to discover that drinking this at all was the real mistake. It's sort of lumpy, slick and wriggling under its own power as it goes down. Your stomach instantly rejects the gooey acidic mass, warning you with cramps and reflux that it is having none of this. You argue and then plead with your stomach, pointing out that it is going to be just as bad on the way back up. You also point out that it's got pepto in it so your stomach should quit whining. Eventually your stomach grimly accepts the task ahead of it and gets to work, which is when you notice that your skin is glowing faintly now. >x ne You see nothing unexpected in that direction. >x em You can't see any such thing. >x me You're glowing, slightly, from that disgusting potion of fortitude. While you're examining the glow, you sneak a peak at the sizes of your knees (a compulsion you struggle with when under stress, after the knee fetishist you dated before Peter dumped you). Dammit! You told yourself you wouldn't look at your knees today! >* Progress? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant, Lower Cambrian Era (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (on a beach)) (on the beach) (in the Lower Cambrian Epoch) Well... you're on a beach. A beach with a toilet on it. I guess that makes it a bathroom, right? Can't be anything but a bathroom if it has a toilet in it; plop a toilet down in any other room and it's a bathroom no matter what it was previously. So it's settled then, this beach is a bathroom. Anyway, next to the toilet is a little table with nothing. To the north there's a weird moss forest and to the south there's an ocean. And before you ask, the reason you know this is the lower Cambrian is because of the millions of trilobite and trilobite-adjacent species that are hanging out on the beach and in the water here, including one that is nuzzling your foot (shoo! shoo!). Just a metric pantload of trilobites all over everything. At least... At least this is normal for the Lower Cambrian. Perfectly normal Lower Cambrian bathroom. You can see a pentagram (covered in green flames) on the beach here. >flush toilet You flush the toilet. The Higgs bosons start to swirl around the bowl. You think. You're thinking about them being in the bowl so they might not actually be there. Stop thinking about them. Anyway everything starts to swirl and run just like that time a few minutes ago when you flushed yourself to the Cambrian era, and a few minutes before that when you flushed yourself back to Vermont from space... Suddenly you're pulled backwards and downwards, by your bum, into the locus of the reality swirl, just like all the times before... You are hurtling bum-first through a hyperspace (I guess hyper-TIME?) wormhole of kaleidoscopic color-lines, backwards in time from the Cambrian. Wait, if you're moving backwards through a wormhole to the past that would mean you're actually moving forward in spacetime becau Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (on the toilet) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with a mass of Higgs boson particles in the open bowl. (At least you think the glowing mass of Higgs boson particles is in the toilet; they should as long as you're not looking at them but they're not if you are. Goddamn particle physics.) Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. You can see a pentagram edge (covered in green flames) on the floor just outside the stall (on which is a candle shaped like a foot (of which a toe is on fire)) here. >wave You wave. >save Ok. >x wax This is how the VERY early phonograph records looked: round wax cylinders about foot tall. Normally with ones this old, they have classical recordings on them, although someone appears to have etched a sonic abomination into this one for some reason. >mold wax That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >sculpt wax You can't see any such thing. >touch waax You can't see any such thing. >touch wax You feel nothing unexpected. >make wax You can't see any such thing. >* I guess we gotta heat it up? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >take foot Taken. The weird ghostly green flame on the pentagram goes and the Higgs bosons in the toilet go back to being normal water. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >put hand on pentagram You put the lit candle shaped like a human hand on top of the pentagram. That doesn't seem like a good idea but okay. The pentagram suddenly blazes alight with ghostly blue flame! And also something starts glowing in the toilet bowl, in the stall. Weird. >sit on toilet But you're already on the toilet. >flush it You flush the toilet. The luminiferous æther begins to circle in the bowl under your bum, making alien colors and weird shadows dance along the walls of the stall (and probably also along the bottom of your bum, but you can't see that so it's just a guess). Then the walls start spinning. Actually spinning. The meatpacking plant bathroom spinning around you starts to run like an oil painting left out in the sun too long, everything melting and flowing downwards. Downwards and inwards towards the toilet you're sitting on. Reality itself begins to swirl around you, like æther in a toilet bowl... Suddenly you're pulled backwards and downwards, by your bum, into the locus of the reality swirl... You are hurtling bum-first at sub-light-speed through a hyperspace wormhole of kaleidoscopic color-lines, just like that homeless fortune-teller told you would happen one day after she read your palm (and right before she shouted at you about how chemtrails were retroactively changing the spelling of "Campbells Soup"). What a weird coincidence. Anyway, you look over your shoulder and see that you are rapidly approaching a star-filled exit from the wormhole. Before you can react, you are ejected out into a... bathroom stall? Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL. Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which: There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is nothing), Ed's bare-assed frozen space corpse, and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space. And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space. You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here. >x firebird A 70's Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am. Cherry red. Floating in space for some reason. It's too far away from the bathroom stall to do anything to, though. Wait, is it... is it making soft horse noises? What the fuck. >neigh at firebird That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >put wax on hearth You put the wax cylinder on the hearth. >l Bathroom of the... Meatpacking... Plant? (Chris Jones) (on the toilet (in space)) (in the stall (in space)) (in the terrifying void full of alien stars (aka "space")) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. In space. Beyond the visible rays of the life-giving sun, surrounded by strange and distant constellations. There's a bathroom stall (which is floating in the void of space next to you), a urinal (floating in space nearby), a sink with a mirror over it (yup, both floating in space) and even a shower (space!) for those days at work when you are FLOATING IN THE LIFELESS VOID OF SPACE OH GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN YOUR CHILD IN THIS FRIGID AIRLESS HELL. Actually wait okay, there appears to be air at least, that's something. And it's pretty cozy in the stall, to be honest. The toilet itself is a lot nicer here, and there's an old-timey phonograph and even a fireplace with a hearth on one side of the stall. It wouldn't be the worst place you've dropped a deuce, even accounting for the fact that you're millions of miles from everything you've ever known or loved and surrounded by weird shit. Speaking of which: There's some weird shit orbitting the space bathroom-stall: some corpses, a small bookshelf (on which is nothing), Ed's bare-assed frozen space corpse, and what appears to be a... '70s Pontiac Firebird a little farther out, all circling slowly through space. And the bathroom itself appears to be in orbit around an icy planetoid many miles below you, the curve taking up much of your view in one direction. The planetoid is covered in alien spires and hurts to look at. Otherwise, you know, this is still a perfectly normal meatpacking plant bathroom. In space. You can see a pentagram (covered in blue flames) floating in the void, not too far from the space urinal here. >i You are carrying: a candle shaped like a foot (of which a toe is on fire) a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) Konstantin's keys a fur coat a mysterious scroll a book of Unfortunate Baby Names Ed's coveralls (being worn) a bloodstained witch-knife a bottle of Pepto-Bismol a rad wizard lighter a real weird handwritten note you found in the back of a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine a vintage issue of Juggs Magazine a torn notebook an enormous dessicated rat corpse a thin steel key a piece of yellowed newsprint a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a cast iron spire loose bricks Tolerating An Asinine God a clipboard a black business card a trophy for a dog race a half-full styrofoam coffee cup a glass shard a familiar gold wristwatch a giant milkweed leaf a label an antique locket (closed) a backpack features guide a glass jar containing an insect a book list the diary of Phyllis Cragne a postcard of Big Ben The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three Twin Hearts Between the Planes a Jansport backpack (open) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open) Ed's Journal (you know it's Ed's journal because it says "Ed's Journal" on the front) a moldy, waterlogged journal a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) Peter's jacket a brass winding key a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a pull-string doll a waterproof flashlight a repaired page a wad of cash a library card a grimy rock a long hooked pole a soggy tome an employee ID card a shard of shattered carapace a fungal powder some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal an aluminum key a pamphlet of home listings a hovering spark (haunting you) >tear unfortuntea That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >tear unfortunate That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >cut unfortunate Try "attack the book of Unfortunate Baby Names with something" instead. >put unfortunate in hearth That can't contain things. >put unfortunate in fireplace You put the book of Unfortunate Baby Names into the cozy fireplace. >light it You flick the rad wizard lighter against the book of Unfortunate Baby Names. After a moment, the book of Unfortunate Baby Names catches fire and then so do the space logs, which flare up into a glorious flame! The hearth begins to warm up as well. Hopefully this isn't consuming all the oxygen in this space bathroom... The wax cylinder on the hearth rapidly melts into a lump of wax. Awesome. Space is finally safe from the twisted revenant of the band formerly known as Jefferson Starship. >* nice That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Grace Slick, thou art avenged That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >take wax [Hey! Listen! You can try to sculpt the lump of wax into something with "> sculpt wax lump into *something*" It may not always work depending on what you're trying to sculpt, since Naomi is a pretty shitty scultptor. Actually, her abysmal lack of sculpting talent is directly responsible in a roundabout way for her marriage to Peter, but as interesting as that story is (and it is VERY interesting), it's too long for this tooltip.] >sculpt wax into a metaphor for loneliness You can't see any such thing. >sculpt wax lump into a metaphor for loneliness You can't see any such thing. >sculpt wax lump into eagle You can't see any such thing. >sculpt wax lump into shoggoth You can't see any such thing. >sculpt wax lump into horse You work on the wax lump for a little bit, and manage to sculpt a pretty good likeness of the boneless, lumpy gross horse that's rampaging around the bathroom. Granted you were trying to make a horse that actually looked like a horse, but it all came right in the end. >take lump You already have that. >* is that everything? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >x scroll It says: FORMULAE TRANSLOCATION To send thine enemies or thineself abroade Edward, this is the one! Use this spell on the horse! - Konstantin 1: Lite thee a hande of glory and place it upon the pentagram to activate a portal. Use thee a hande or foote or other extremity; a torso of glory or an ass of glory will cause thine spell to fail and possibly thine life to end 2: Fasion thee a mannikin, poppet or figurine of wax, resembling the being to be sent by the Translocation and placeth it on the pentagrame. 3:Wave a stoat or ermine to focus the majickal energies. A live stoat or ermine must be used or else the spell will fail most dysaterously. Edward, I discovered that waving a dead one will do just fine, although you'll need to drink a Potion of Fortitude first or else your organs will end up outside your body. Yes, even the good organs. To make the potion, mix bismuth and carbonated corn syrup with a small amount of trilobyte milk. - Konstantin 4: Place a virgin on thine pentagram and sacrifice her most vigorously with an athame. It says "her" but honestly either gender will work fine as long as they're a virgin. Look for people buying Cure albums at the local record store, perhaps. - Konstantin 5: Shout the majick werd "OUTERICA". The thinge that has been representated with the wax mannikin shalle be most forcifully banishede to the other side of the thy active pentagrame. At the bottom of the scroll, there's another note from Konstantin that says "Edward, this is VERY important! You must [ketchup stain] the [mustard] or else [mayo]! This is very important!! You must [more mayo]!! Son of a bitch, was Ed eating a fucking hamburger over this ancient magic scroll? >* well just a virgin That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >take ed He's hardly portable. Also he's buck-ass nude and you ain't carrying no buck-ass nude spaceman around today if you can help it. >* well I guess there's always plan b That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >flush toilet You flush the toilet. The luminiferous æther begins to circle in the bowl under your bum, making alien colors and weird shadows dance along the walls of the stall, just like it did back in the terrestrial bathroom. Then the walls start spinning. Then space starts spinning, the stars turning to long streaks of color like a timelapse photo of the night sky. Reality itself begins to swirl around you, like æther in a toilet bowl... Suddenly you're pulled backwards and downwards, by your bum, into the locus of the reality swirl, just like before... You are hurtling bum-first through a hyperspace wormhole of kaleidoscopic color-lines, just in the opposite direction this time. Damn, that homeless woman was on point. Maybe it WAS spelled "Cambells" all along. Anyway, this return trip through the worm-hole takes a little longer, giving you some time to ponder things. Things like... hey, wait, didn't that handwritten note say these trips through the portal were powered by baby souls? That had to be code for something, right? Like, you using this toilet isn't somehow using up baby s Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) (on the toilet) (in the stall) You're inside the bathroom stall, which is one of those big accessible ones. There's a surprisingly clean porcelain toilet sitting invitingly in the center of the stall, with some kind of luminiferous æther in the open bowl. The luminiferous æther is glowing slightly, bathing the stall in a panalopy of alien colors that have no terrestrial equivalents. Next to the toilet, there's one of those grab bars set into the wall. Next to that, there's a little door to what appears to be a janitor's closet, if the word "Janitor" on the door is any indication. Next to that, there's a medicine cabinet. And all around those things are graffiti. Just tons and tons of graffiti. Speaking of: on the back of the stall door, someone scratched the words "I Told You Not To Use The Shitter, Broseph". Below that on the door, someone has inscribed the Elder Sign. You can see a pentagram edge (covered in blue flames) on the floor just outside the stall (on which is a candle shaped like a hand (of which a finger is on fire)) here. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >put wax on pentagram You put the lump of wax shaped like a horse on the pentagram edge (covered in blue flames) on the floor just outside the stall. >wave ermine You wave the fur stoat-coat. Magical energies swirl around and about the coat. They might not be magical energies. They might be trails of thrift store dust. Anyway, there's swirling that happens. >put juggs on pentagram You put the vintage issue of Juggs Magazine on the pentagram edge (covered in blue flames) on the floor just outside the stall. The boneless horse oozles and schlorps around the stall, occasionally smacking it with a hoof, still making car engine noises. "Br-RN-NN-NN-NN-NN!". The Elder Sign holds. For now. >stab it with athame "Sorry about this, Glinda" you say, stabbing downward with the witch-knife into the magazine on the pentagram. The ghost-flames flare brightly and suddenly become fiery arms, twisting and turning around the vintage issue of Juggs and then pulling it down forcefully into the surface of the pentagram. It vanishes, and the magic flames return to (locally relative) normal. Well at least they've got some "articles" to "read" to in Hell now. >shout outerica You shout the magic translocation word OUTERICA! The pentagram flares. The walls of the stall explode outwards with a burst of magical force from the toilet, which begins to emit a howling nightmare hurricane wind. You're forced backwards against the wall near the grab bar. The boneless sack of horse does not move, but its flesh pulls back and starts flapping as if it was hanging itself out a moving car window. Gross. The æther in the commode glow brightly of a sudden, and the gale wind stops howling forth from the toilet. Then it begins again, except pulling air from the room INTO the toilet. The walls of the stall are wrenched from the floor by the devil wind and land on the open toilet, and then suddenly collapse into the toilet. The sink and the shower fixtures begin to make groaning noises as they pull at their wall screws. You grab the grab bar on the wall protectively as things begin to fly from the room into the toilet. The urinal goes first, clonging off the back of the boneless horse before tumbling into the toiletbowl. Then the sink. Then the showerhead. Loose items start to fly out of your pockets and into the raging toilet-portal: the athame, the mysterious scroll. The lighter. Aw dammit, that thing was rad. Wrecked Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) There is nothing left but you and the horse, a toilet and some wreckage. You can see a pentagram edge (covered in flames) on the floor just outside the stall here. You're unable to move from the grab bar, and the horse is so damned heavy that the devil-winds are merely pulling it into a teardrop shape as it slowly works its way towards you. There is murder in its rolling horse eyes and it is still making engine revving noises. "Br-RNN-NN-NN!!" And then the intensity of the wind increases. You grab on with both hands. The horse flails and then is suddenly lifted into the air sideways, its great rump landing square on the toilet. With a horrible schlorping noise, the horse's rump slides into the can. Then a bit more. The boneless horse is being pulled into the toilet... halfway in... The toilet makes a sound like a balloon deflating, and then the wind stops... And the horse is still there, half out of the commode! Its beady little eyes roll in its boneless head. "Br-RNN-NN-NN-NN-NN!!" It starts flailing at you again with hooves the size of quart-jars! The stupid fat-ass boneless horse is stuck in the magic shitter, and it's still trying to kick you to death! What do you do? >kick horse That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* I mean if it didn't work for William S. Burroughs, it won't work for us You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >attach horse with grab bar That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >i You are carrying: a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) Ed's coveralls (being worn) a bottle of Pepto-Bismol a torn notebook an enormous dessicated rat corpse a thin steel key a piece of yellowed newsprint a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a cast iron spire loose bricks Tolerating An Asinine God a clipboard a black business card a trophy for a dog race a half-full styrofoam coffee cup a glass shard a familiar gold wristwatch a giant milkweed leaf a label an antique locket (closed) a backpack features guide a glass jar containing an insect a book list the diary of Phyllis Cragne a postcard of Big Ben The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three Twin Hearts Between the Planes a Jansport backpack (open) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open) a moldy, waterlogged journal a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) Peter's jacket a brass winding key a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a pull-string doll a waterproof flashlight a repaired page a wad of cash a library card a grimy rock a long hooked pole a soggy tome an employee ID card a shard of shattered carapace a fungal powder some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal an aluminum key a pamphlet of home listings a hovering spark (haunting you) >attack horse with grab bar You attack the boneless horse with the grab bar! It does a spectacular amount of nothing. You could hit this thing with a car and it wouldn't do anything. It's possible someone HAS hit it with a car. >attack horse with rat You attack the boneless horse with the enormous dessicated rat corpse! It does a spectacular amount of nothing. You could hit this thing with a car and it wouldn't do anything. It's possible someone HAS hit it with a car. >l Wrecked Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) It's just you and the horse in the bathroom now. The horse is stuck halfway into the magic toilet. Everything else in here is just ruined walls full of horse-sized holes. You can see a pentagram edge (covered in flames) on the floor just outside the stall here. >flush toilet You lock eyes with the horse. "Rot in hell" you say, yanking on the shower knob you juryrigged earlier. The toilet flushes. The evil boneless horse begins to blare and scream exactly like a car alarm: "wee-OO we-OO we-OO!! Bwaaaaaaaa!" And then, with a sound like God farting, the monster is pulled down and down into the toilet. And is gone. The blaring car alarm grows distant and then is silent. The wind stops. The toilet ejects a small amount of space detritus, then turns itself inside out and is gone. The pentagram glow fades. >collapse That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >get in fetal position mumbling there's no place like home there's no place like home You can't see any such thing. >cure the everloving hell out of every single Cragne there is, especially Konstantin You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >l Wrecked Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There is a metal grab bar on the wall where the stall used to be. There is bare floor where the toilet used to be. There are empty spaces on the wall where the fixtures like the sink used to be. There is a horse-shaped hole in one wall. Perfectly. Normal. Bathroom. >x hole The spot where the horse burst out of the wall from the pipes, exposing the wall innards. >x innards You can't see any such thing. >enter hole It's just an exposed mass of moldy insulation, sparking wires and severed pipes that are now spurting water, back there. Best to leave that to the janitor or somebody. Somebody who isn't floating dead in space, probably. >x coffee The clouds in your cup form a sturdy oak. Botanical images mean that while there is much left to accomplish in the present situation, your immediate environment sustains you, and you have everything that you need. >* We're not done yet?? That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Wrecked Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There is a metal grab bar on the wall where the stall used to be. There is bare floor where the toilet used to be. There are empty spaces on the wall where the fixtures like the sink used to be. There is a horse-shaped hole in one wall. Perfectly. Normal. Bathroom. >i You are carrying: a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) Ed's coveralls (being worn) a bottle of Pepto-Bismol a torn notebook an enormous dessicated rat corpse a thin steel key a piece of yellowed newsprint a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a cast iron spire loose bricks Tolerating An Asinine God a clipboard a black business card a trophy for a dog race a half-full styrofoam coffee cup a glass shard a familiar gold wristwatch a giant milkweed leaf a label an antique locket (closed) a backpack features guide a glass jar containing an insect a book list the diary of Phyllis Cragne a postcard of Big Ben The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three Twin Hearts Between the Planes a Jansport backpack (open) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open) a moldy, waterlogged journal a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) Peter's jacket a brass winding key a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a pull-string doll a waterproof flashlight a repaired page a wad of cash a library card a grimy rock a long hooked pole a soggy tome an employee ID card a shard of shattered carapace a fungal powder some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal an aluminum key a pamphlet of home listings a hovering spark (haunting you) >* I guess we haven't gotten very much That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >l Wrecked Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There is a metal grab bar on the wall where the stall used to be. There is bare floor where the toilet used to be. There are empty spaces on the wall where the fixtures like the sink used to be. There is a horse-shaped hole in one wall. Perfectly. Normal. Bathroom. >x bar (the rusty piece of metal) The remains of the broken leg is light and sturdy and long enough to stretch from your hand to your elbow. >x grab ba You can't see any such thing. >x grab bar One of those metal grab bars for people who have difficulties walking or standing, set into the wall next to the toilet. >take it That's hardly portable. >x detritus You can't see any such thing. >l Wrecked Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There is a metal grab bar on the wall where the stall used to be. There is bare floor where the toilet used to be. There are empty spaces on the wall where the fixtures like the sink used to be. There is a horse-shaped hole in one wall. Perfectly. Normal. Bathroom. >x floor You can't see any such thing. >x spaces You can't see any such thing. >x hole The spot where the horse burst out of the wall from the pipes, exposing the wall innards. >x innards You can't see any such thing. >e You head on out of the meatpacking plant bathroom. What a fuckin' day... [Hit any key: Meanwhile... somewhere else: The little fungus man astronomer looked over his instruments. He and the other scientists had been watching the comings and goings on the strange satellite above his home planetoid for years, hoping to make contact with the beings that came through the portal Such strange lifeforms. They died so rapidly that the fungus people had never been able to get a probe up to the satellite in time. And they could never determine what any of the strange technology of these bizarre humanoids was for, despite the best efforts of their science corps. This time, a visitor had managed to survive the icy void of space, but the fungus people had not managed to make contact in time before it disappeared back through the portal. But now something else was coming through the portal, a life form that the astronomer had never seen before! It had been ejected with such force that it had broken orbit and was hurtling towards the planetoid. It was close enough now that the Science Coprs had managed to collect some data: Mamalian like the others. Four limbs with bilateral symmetry, a body and a head, also like the others. Except this one appeared strangely... noodly, compared to the others. And much larger. And making much stranger noises, as far as their listening devices could tell. The little fungus man astronomer smiled and watched the creature hurtle towards the giant rescue net his people were hastily constructing over the icy sea of the planetoid's surface. Perhaps now, at last, the gentle fungus people of Yuggoth would make first contact with a species that they could share their peaceful technology and culture with. Finally. The Day of Happy Cultural Exchange had finally come. The meatpacking plant (Kenneth Pedersen) You are standing in the center of the main room of the meatpacking plant. An open doorway leads west from this huge room to somewhere darker, while some rickety stairs lead up. A long row of meat hooks are hanging from the ceiling parallel to a bloodstained table. It is not too late to leave yet, by going out the front door. >* Poor fungi from Yuggoth That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >w Wrecked Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There is a metal grab bar on the wall where the stall used to be. There is bare floor where the toilet used to be. There are empty spaces on the wall where the fixtures like the sink used to be. There is a horse-shaped hole in one wall. Perfectly. Normal. Bathroom. >x coffee The swirls in your cup form concentric circles. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person. >* OK, we just needed that last cutscene You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* Christ I need a cigarette That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* And I have never smoked That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >e The meatpacking plant (Kenneth Pedersen) You are standing in the center of the main room of the meatpacking plant. An open doorway leads west from this huge room to somewhere darker, while some rickety stairs lead up. A long row of meat hooks are hanging from the ceiling parallel to a bloodstained table. It is not too late to leave yet, by going out the front door. >x coffee The clouds in your cup form a roller blade. Modes of transportation mean that your current environment presents challenges that can only be overcome by seeking fresh perspectives elsewhere until you're ready to return. >save Ok. >x me You look yourself over and realize that you are a mess right now. You wonder how it came to this. >i You are carrying: a small blue journal (which you know is a journal because it says "Mein Journal" on the front) Ed's coveralls (being worn) a bottle of Pepto-Bismol a torn notebook an enormous dessicated rat corpse a thin steel key a piece of yellowed newsprint a broken knife handle a brass nameplate a cast iron spire loose bricks Tolerating An Asinine God a clipboard a black business card a trophy for a dog race a half-full styrofoam coffee cup a glass shard a familiar gold wristwatch a giant milkweed leaf a label an antique locket (closed) a backpack features guide a glass jar containing an insect a book list the diary of Phyllis Cragne a postcard of Big Ben The Modern Girl's Divination Handbook -- Volume Three Twin Hearts Between the Planes a Jansport backpack (open) a key pocket (open but empty) a book pocket (open) a moldy, waterlogged journal a side pocket (open but empty) a trash pocket (open but empty) Peter's jacket a brass winding key a suitcase (open but empty) a plastic bubble (open but empty) a golden eyepiece a pull-string doll a waterproof flashlight a repaired page a wad of cash a library card a grimy rock a long hooked pole a soggy tome an employee ID card a shard of shattered carapace a fungal powder some yellowed newspapers a rusty piece of metal an aluminum key a pamphlet of home listings a hovering spark (haunting you) >save Ok. >* we're never coming here again That verb doesn't work here, or, at least, not right now, but it might work somewhere later. >* Given the ambiguity about who exactly wrote this room, I think I'm just gonna have to run away screaming from anyone named "chris Jones" moving forward You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >* Or "Jones". Or "Chris". I only have one as a direct report, it'll be fine You seem to want to talk to someone, but I can't see whom. >w Wrecked Bathroom of the Meatpacking Plant (Chris Jones) This is a perfectly normal bathroom. There is a metal grab bar on the wall where the stall used to be. There is bare floor where the toilet used to be. There are empty spaces on the wall where the fixtures like the sink used to be. There is a horse-shaped hole in one wall. Perfectly. Normal. Bathroom. >x coffee The swirls in your cup form a gentle ripple. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person. >e The meatpacking plant (Kenneth Pedersen) You are standing in the center of the main room of the meatpacking plant. An open doorway leads west from this huge room to somewhere darker, while some rickety stairs lead up. A long row of meat hooks are hanging from the ceiling parallel to a bloodstained table. It is not too late to leave yet, by going out the front door. >u Dusty office (Matthew Korson) This must be the boss's office. A large window overlooks the factory floor. Some shards around the edge suggest that it contained glass once. Pushed against one wall is a small table that might have served as a desk, and next to it stands a metal filing cabinet. Anonymous detritus is scattered at the edges of the room. Dust hangs so thickly in the air that you can hardly see to the other side of the room. You wheeze and choke every time you take a breath. You can see a diagram scratched into the floor here. >x coffee The swirls in your cup form a stochastic pattern resembling television static. Lack of a symbolic image means that you have accomplished everything you must in your current environment and should move on to find new challenges in order to grow as a person. >d You quickly climb down the stairs. The meatpacking plant (Kenneth Pedersen) You are standing in the center of the main room of the meatpacking plant. An open doorway leads west from this huge room to somewhere darker, while some rickety stairs lead up. A long row of meat hooks are hanging from the ceiling parallel to a bloodstained table. It is not too late to leave yet, by going out the front door. >out Outside the Plant (Chandler Groover) Smoke pours into a bruised sky, rising from chimneys that crowd the Cragne Meatpacking Plant. Its bricks are soot-stained, its stenciled walls weathered by acid rain. A hole is smashed into its side. To the northwest, a hill begins to climb toward Cragne Manor. >nw Christabell smiles warmly with your return to her hillside. Hillside Path (Jack Welch) You are in a hillside hollow flanked on three sides by sheer granite cliffs and on the other by gnarled vegetation. Three trailheads hold out some chance of respite: north, southwest, and southeast. You can see Christabell here. >