Adventure Gamers - Forums

>rub gel on car
We dip out a pea-sized quantity of gel and rub it gently onto the car. In a blink of an eye, the car ceases to exist.

The problem is that it takes us along with it.

I’ve always wondered what this last passage to non-existence might be like. It turns out that there is a rushing noise, and a tunnel we travel very rapidly towards darkness; and all around us are other objects also in the middle of ceasing to be.

That is, that’s what would have happened if we had done something so foolish. Shall we suppose we didn’t? >> yes

Patriotic Chard-Garden
[Previous turn undone.]

>out
We swing the car door open.

We climb out of the car.

>rub gel on car
We dip out a pea-sized quantity of gel and rub it gently onto the car. With an audible SPLORT, the car becomes some chard.

>get chard
We pick the chard, leaving bare soil behind.

A flicker of curtains from inside the house suggests that someone saw us — a cleaner, possibly. But then there is a voice, not audible except as a confident rising and falling tone; this will be my mother, saying not to worry and not to interfere.

>go to high street
It’s a fair walk out of the cocooning silence of the wealthy streets and back among the fair booths.

High Street

>wave h-remover at chard

>wave d-remover at card
The card gives way to the now-familiar car.

The car is far too large for us to carry, and falls onto the ground.

We could ask why the car does not run.

>ask mechanic about car
“There appears to be something wrong with my car,” we tell the mechanic.

He has the somewhat cow-like expression of all fake people, but he nods gravely and has a look. “It hasn’t been maintained,” he says, on inspection. “You got any motor oil?”

>ask mechanic about fuel
“Do you have any fuel? Or do you know where we could find some?”

He chews on his tongue a couple of times and then notes that he heard gas comes from old plants.

The mechanic told me that he heard you get fuel by digging in the ground.

Luhr28 - 19 March 2021 09:53 PM

I’m not sure what to do here. We do have a fossil.. but how to turn it into fossil fuel?

Any ideas Pegbiter? Timovieman?

EDIT: Forget about turning fossil into fuel. Keep exploring.

The fossil is our oil, not our fuel. We probably need to look for a funnel or a gash or something. 😊

> give oil to mechanic
> go to Hesychius Street

>give oil to mechanic
“Will this work?” We hold out the oil.

“Should do,” he says. Rolling up his sleeves, he goes to work on the car. There is no small amount of banging and muttering, but finally he stands back and announces that he believes it is now in working condition.

I’d like to thank the mechanic.

[Your score has gone up by three points and is now seventeen.]

>thank mechanic
“Thank you, that was a great help,” we say.

He nods.

We could ask whether the car is fixed.

>is the car fixed
“Is the car fixed now?” we ask.

“The oil is in,” the mechanic says. “Might be it’s out of fuel, though.”

Hesychius Street
As the street names make obvious, this part of town was laid out in a different political age, when it was considered more important to commemorate linguistic richness than to standardize practices.

On holidays like today, this street is often host to a farmer’s market; though it is now late enough in the day that most of the farmers have given up and gone home, taking with them their twenty-three varieties of pickled olives, their loganberry jam, and their pigs’-feet-in-aspic.

One remaining farmer lazes here, watching his stall.

>x farmer
Contrary to your obvious expectations, he is dressed more or less like anyone else, and is neither wearing quaint overalls nor chewing a piece of hay.

The monocle pings happily as we sight the farmer with the crosshairs.

>x stall
It appears to belong to the farmer. It’s made of wood and canvas and offers a little shade against the harsh sun. Previous customers have cleared most of it off, but the farmer still has some asparagus, a lime, and a yam.

The monocle pings happily as we sight the farmer’s stall with the crosshairs.

“As the street name makes obvous…?” Our Emily is a true intellectual but I am not and my grammar school education was no help with Hesychius.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hesychius_of_Alexandria

>buy asparagus
We wave at the farmer.

The farmer makes a little cluck sound which seems to mean that he sees us but doesn’t care to waste an entire syllable on acknowledging it.

“What is for sale?” we ask.

“I got some asparagus, a lime, and a yam,” the farmer replies.

“I’ll have the asparagus, please,” we say.

“Sure thing,” says the farmer.

We could recommend other vegetables.

>buy lime
“I’ll have the lime, please,” we say.

“Sure thing,” says the farmer.

We could recommend other vegetables.

>buy yam
“I’ll have the yam, please,” we say.

“Sure thing,” says the farmer.

I’m inclined to ask what is for sale.

>recommend other vegetables
“Have you ever considered selling radishes?” we ask.

“Not really,” he says.

“Radicchio?”

“No.”

“Chicory?” we try. “Cabbage? Carrot? Corn?”

“Again, no.”

“Radishes?”

“You already said radishes.” He has the faintly martyred expression of one humoring us; but it doesn’t look as though he has much else to do.

I’d like to ask what is for sale.

>what is for sale
“What is for sale?” we ask.

“Oh, nothing,” says the farmer. “But as my mother-in-law is in town, I thought I would make the most of the market day.” He smiles at us.

>x lime
A small, wrinkled, intense-looking fruit: it wouldn’t give much juice, but is likely very strong.

The monocle pings happily as we sight the lime with the crosshairs.

>x asparagus
It looks particularly tender and pleasant, but I avoid the stuff.

The monocle pings happily as we sight the asparagus with the crosshairs.

>x yam
A yam with whitish skin. Some of the dirt of the farm still adheres to it.

The monocle pings happily as we sight the yam with the crosshairs.

Pegbiter - 20 March 2021 08:18 AM

There’s no descriptions of exits from Hesychius Street. Was there anything but north available in the compass rose, Karlok? We’re just assuming that it’s directly south of Webster Court, since we got there using “go to”.

No, just n and e. Some discriptions don’t mention the exits, I guess that’s what the permanent map is for.

>n

Webster Court
Hesychius Street opens here into a broad and plainly-paved court, named for the statue of Noah Webster.

The large, pale pink building north of us is my parents’ home.

The streets continue south, east, and west; and just to the northeast is my parents’ side garden.

>x home
It’s stucco and tile, inspired by southern California ideas of gracious living. There are potted palm trees inside, and leather sofas, and French oil paintings for which expensive importation licenses had to be bought.

My childhood bedroom faces northwest, away from the docks, towards the roofs of other villas and the open sea.

The monocle pings happily as we sight my parents’ home with the crosshairs.

>n
Walking into my parents’ house is the action perhaps most likely to get us caught.

>w

Roget Close
A pleasantly sheltered lane in which I learned to ride a bicycle, and where my friend Lucy used to live, before she and her parents moved off-island. Restrictions were looser even twenty years ago. Our old schoolhouse is just west of here.

If you look just north between the houses, you’ll notice also the footpath down to an almost-private beach. It used to be open, but it’s now gated off, and built into the gate is a chic modern sculpture.

>w
School is out for the holiday. We can go north through the gate (closed) and east to Webster Court from here.

>x gate
A gate of wrought iron bars between two sturdy columns, too close to climb through and too tall to climb over. Built into the right-hand column, next to the gate latch, is a curious sculpture.

The monocle pings happily as we sight the gate with the crosshairs.

>x sculpture
The base of the sculpture is a cone about four feet tall. On top of that is a flat circular pedestal, and there is a mirror that rotates around the outer circumference. The mirrored surface faces inward, so that it is sometimes reflecting whatever might be on the pedestal (currently nothing) and sometimes concealing it from view.

The monocle pings happily as we sight the pedestal with the crosshairs.