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Text Adventure Playthrough #8: Counterfeit Monkey
>get guidebook
We take Guidebook to Anglophone Atlantis. A much-thumbed and several years out-of-date guidebook to this immediate area. The cover is tomato-red but the pages are crinkly and beige: it appears that someone has spilled coffee on it.
There’s too much here to take in in a quick read, but we could look up specific topics if we wanted to read more.
>x attendant
She’s dressed in a kind of casual-hippy way: nose ring, poofy blouse that doesn’t fit quite right.
>talk to attendant
We say hi to the desk attendant.
“Yeah, I see you,” she says.
We want to ask whether we can keep the guidebook.
>can we keep the guidebook
“Hey, does this guidebook belong to the hostel, or can I keep it?”
“Sure, whatever,” she says. “People take and leave stuff all the time. It’s no big deal.”
Butter my buns and call me a biscuit! - Agent A
>look up hostel in guidebook
>up
>look up hostel
Mysteriously, the entry for the hostel itself, which ought to contain ratings of its cleanliness, safety, and reliability, has been obliterated with a black marker.
>u
Dormitory Room
Painted off-white, with hard wood floors under many layers of protective gloss coating: there are no surfaces in this room that would take a stain. Four dorm beds are lined up against the wall.
The locker you identify as your own sits near one of the beds, still locked with its dial lock.
A girl of about 19 is standing in the middle of the room, looking around as though she can’t quite believe where she landed or what she’s doing here. She is carrying a heavy pack and wearing a pink t-shirt.
“Hey,” says the girl. “Do you think this place is safe?” she asks conspiratorially.
I must look blank, because she goes on, “I saw this documentary once, right, about a serial killer who went from youth hostel to youth hostel, grooming girls and killing them. And then he’d chop up the bodies and put the body parts into the lockers. And no one would find out until he’d gone away again.”
Nothing like that has happened around here, but she seems to get a charge out of scaring herself with this story.
We could ask for privacy.
Butter my buns and call me a biscuit! - Agent A
>x locker
>x lock
>x beds
>ask for privacy
>x locker
A standard metal locker for travelers to leave their valuable possessions in when they go out — or while they sleep, since one’s bunkmates are not always to be trusted. It is of the kind that requires the traveler to bring his own lock, and in fact someone (such as yourself) has put a lock on this one.
>x lock
It’s curious, now you look at it: it’s a combination lock with a dial face, but no one has bothered putting any numerals onto the dial.
You are reminded of making your lock.
>remember making your lock
Galley
You were going through the galley cupboards on the yacht. “If you’re looking for coffee, Slango forgot to resupply,” Brock said, descending the galley staircase in a wet Speedo.
“No, the first-letter razor,” you replied, holding up a portable clock. “I need a lock that responds to restoration gel but nothing else.”
“Ah.” Brock toweled his hair. “It’s in my bunk, sorry. Want to come look for it?”
You smiled — a give-away smile. “Wish I could, but we’re on a deadline. Go put some pants on. And bring me the razor.”
Then we’re back in the present.
>x beds
At this time of day, since everyone is checked out, the beds are all stripped down to bare mattress. Linens may be rented at the front desk — but we’re not staying here tonight, so there’s no need to experience the thinning sheets and the pilled woolen blankets. Your memory is enough for both of us.
Something makes you think of how it started with Brock.
>remember how it started with Brock
Brock’s Stateroom
It was early morning, almost a year ago now. A dim light came through the portholes. A four-thousand dollar mink blanket covered your hip.
You sat up and started fishing around beside the bed, in the dove-grey shadows, for your bra.
Brock put a hand on your thigh. It seems you woke him.
“That wasn’t your first time,” he said.
“No.” You were still feeling for the underpants and the shirt, not looking at him.
“Well. You’re made of human after all.” Brock stretched, grinned. “After breakfast I’ll clear you some drawer space.”
“This was a one-night event,” you said. “You’re familiar with the concept.”
He got very still. Then he got out of bed. Without looking at you, he got his trunks out of his drawer. “I’m going for a swim.”
Then we’re back in the present.
>ask for privacy
“Would you mind giving me a minute?” we say. “Sorry, I could just use a little privacy.”
She waves a hand generously. “Don’t worry about it, do whatever you’ve got to do, I don’t care,” she says. “I’m so tired I couldn’t move a muscle, but I’ve seen everything. I have three brothers and two sisters and I’m in women’s rugby so I’m pretty hard to shock.”
With a grunt, she shrugs off her pack and puts it on the ground near one of the beds. “Have you tried talking to the desk girl downstairs? I mean for more than two seconds? She is a total witch that starts with B, know what I mean? Like, she looked at me like I was completely an idiot, right, and, like, what does she expect? Of course I don’t know my way around, I just got here.”
We want to agree about the attendant.
A bra. Didn’t pay attention to this detail the first time. No doubt about it, the memories must be Andra’s.
Butter my buns and call me a biscuit! - Agent A
>agree about attendant
>put restoration gel on lock
Seems like it’s worth examining everything, since it might bring up valuable memories.
>agree about attendant
“I’ve seen more impressive customer service,” you say.
“You’d think they’d be a little nicer if they want repeat customers,” she grumps. I decide not to point out that the hostel is by far the cheapest lodging place on the island, is probably run on subsidies to make it possible for foreign students to visit at all, and never suffers from any lack of custom.
She eyes the beds thoughtfully, punches each of the mattresses in turn, and then climbs into the one she’s selected. “Do you like this place so far?”
There’s a heavy tread on the stairs, and the desk attendant puts her head in. “Just so you two know, you’re not actually supposed to be hanging out a lot up here during the day. It’s for night use really. I’m not going to do anything today, but it’s kind of against the rules, for future reference.”
She turns around and goes back down. The backpacking girl sticks her tongue out at the departing back.
We want to approve of Atlantis.
>approve of Atlantis
“Sure,” you say. “It’s pretty, it’s clean, there’s lots of interesting stuff around.” I can see why your career isn’t with a tourist board.
“I guess.”
>put restoration gel on lock
The backpacking girl is watching our every move with unconcealed curiosity, which makes me a little hesitant to do anything with the locker.
Butter my buns and call me a biscuit! - Agent A
Well, we asked nicely…
>show arm to girl
Well, we asked nicely…
>show arm to girl
You’re too smart, now we won’t get the unwanted hint that we should scare the girl.
>show arm to girl
“Here, have a look at this,” we say.
The backpacking girl looks like throwing up. After a moment to regain her composure, she flees the vicinity.
>use restoration gel on lock
We dip out a pea-sized quantity of gel and rub it gently onto the lock. With an audible SPLORT, the lock becomes a clock and falls to the floor. It appears to be one of those archetypal alarm clocks that crows at sunrise and generally makes a nuisance of itself. It shows the time to be about quarter past ten.
Butter my buns and call me a biscuit! - Agent A
There was a hint? I thought of it as soon as she mentioned the body parts. That was a big hint.
>get clock
>x clock
>open locker
There was a hint?
Yes, I got that hint. You didn’t. In my defense, I went to the hostel twice, by the time I got back I’d forgotten the girl had mentioned a serial killer who put body parts in lockers.
I thought of it as soon as she mentioned the body parts. That was a big hint.
Totally unneccessary. But I’m happy to say that I haven’t come across any more unwanted hints, except maybe in one case where the game actually did something for me that I forgot to do. That was weird.
>get clock
We pick up the clock.
>x clock
It appears to be one of those archetypal alarm clocks that crows at sunrise and generally makes a nuisance of itself. It shows the time to be about twenty past ten.
>open locker
Now that the lock has been removed, the locker swings easily open, revealing a roll, a letter, and some plans.
[Your score has gone up by three points and is now fourteen.]
>get all
heavy pack: The girl may be a bit foolish, but she doesn’t deserve to be robbed of all her worldly goods on the first day of her trip.
roll: We pick up the roll.
letter: We acquire the letter.
plans: We acquire the plans.
>x roll
Now that is more like it: you’ve got us a tidy little stash of euros here.
>x letter
It’s a letter from your brother, printed off anonymously from an untraceable email account that you accessed in town. Nothing that could be followed back to Slango and the yacht.
Sis,
I’m keeping your wire transfer funds. I want to try for Stanford.
I’d say thank you except that, one, you didn’t get it legally (I saw this documentary about teen prostitutes — if that’s where it came from then EW) and, two, honestly? You owe for what you put us through after you ran away. Mom and Dad were humiliated that you turned into the prodigal daughter. Your face got on milk cartons. Pastor Hughes GAVE A SERMON ABOUT IT.
Mom spent all that time coaching you through spelling practice, you know she doesn’t enjoy getting up at 4 AM, right? You totally threw that in their faces.
If you want to come home sometime, fine, but don’t come to just see me. If you want to see me you have to see Mom and Dad too.
Nate.
>x plans
The plans are rolled up and stuck shut with a label that reads “PROPERTY OF DENTAL CONSONANTS LIMITED — UNAUTHORIZED USE ILLEGAL”. They’re just a set of prints from the main computer design, of course, but still extremely informative: to the right engineer, they might reveal the secret of T-insertion for replication by other companies. These are what you and Brock were originally contracted to lift from the island, at a fee in the multiple millions.
Butter my buns and call me a biscuit! - Agent A
>wave L remover at plans
Former AG staff writer Will Aickman
>wave l-remover at plans
We reset the device to l. There is a smell of anise, and the plans turn into some pans. A set of flat skillets in cast iron: extremely bulky and heavy.
We can’t reasonably carry the whole stack of pans, so they fall to the floor with a dramatic crash.
Butter my buns and call me a biscuit! - Agent A
>wave S remover at pans
Former AG staff writer Will Aickman
>look up dental consonants limited in guidebook
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