[PLAYER LOG] ==>
So it seems some asshole is IMPERSONATING YOUR GOOD NAME over at the city message board.
Whatever.
After textually sparring for a couple of rounds, you decide it's not worth your time anymore and close the tab from your browser. It's irritating, and the impostor couldn't even use the right-smelling text. It's too POWDERY and smells a lot like COTTON CANDY instead of the SUBTLY COOL OZONE you prefer to use. It almost makes you want to sneeze as much as the rest of this place. The impostor has blocked you from responding anyway, and you don't feel like creating a new account to get around it. It's taking away from valuable sulking time, which you have not had nearly enough of today.
You cross your legs and set the laptop in front of you, wondering what to do next to stave off the feelings of isolation and anger. None of your pals have been online to harass, either. You haven't seen any of them since you got here. All you've really encountered so far have been the PURPLE SYRUP LADY WITH A PENCHANT FOR ANNOYING BRAIN THINGS and the KNIFEY BLOOD MAN. You cut your tongue on one of his knives like a genius earlier today.
You're finally starting to get used to the smells of the BOMB SHELTER. You have not yet ventured to the world outside.
You want to sleep, but there's nothing but this dumb bed and not a single pool of SOPOR SLIME in sight (or smell, rather).
You log on for a session of HELLMUSH, a text-based multi-user roleplaying game. This one does NOT alter reality as far as you know, so it's safe. You've been playing here since you were seven cycles old. You play a fairly accomplished draconic LEGISLACERATOR for the top-ranking kingdom in this game. For all its primitiveness, you are amazed that it's still around and there are still players, but you find comfort in its oldschool appeal. It's got to be at least several millenia old.
It's been months since you last logged on and nobody else is online. It's a wonder you haven't been @toaded yet.
But you still want to sleep.
What will you do?
>_
Whatever.
After textually sparring for a couple of rounds, you decide it's not worth your time anymore and close the tab from your browser. It's irritating, and the impostor couldn't even use the right-smelling text. It's too POWDERY and smells a lot like COTTON CANDY instead of the SUBTLY COOL OZONE you prefer to use. It almost makes you want to sneeze as much as the rest of this place. The impostor has blocked you from responding anyway, and you don't feel like creating a new account to get around it. It's taking away from valuable sulking time, which you have not had nearly enough of today.
You cross your legs and set the laptop in front of you, wondering what to do next to stave off the feelings of isolation and anger. None of your pals have been online to harass, either. You haven't seen any of them since you got here. All you've really encountered so far have been the PURPLE SYRUP LADY WITH A PENCHANT FOR ANNOYING BRAIN THINGS and the KNIFEY BLOOD MAN. You cut your tongue on one of his knives like a genius earlier today.
You're finally starting to get used to the smells of the BOMB SHELTER. You have not yet ventured to the world outside.
You want to sleep, but there's nothing but this dumb bed and not a single pool of SOPOR SLIME in sight (or smell, rather).
You log on for a session of HELLMUSH, a text-based multi-user roleplaying game. This one does NOT alter reality as far as you know, so it's safe. You've been playing here since you were seven cycles old. You play a fairly accomplished draconic LEGISLACERATOR for the top-ranking kingdom in this game. For all its primitiveness, you are amazed that it's still around and there are still players, but you find comfort in its oldschool appeal. It's got to be at least several millenia old.
It's been months since you last logged on and nobody else is online. It's a wonder you haven't been @toaded yet.
But you still want to sleep.
What will you do?
>_