Adventure Gamers - Forums

>wave s-remover at squid
I reset the device to s. There is a peach cloud, and the squid turns into a quid. A British pound coin, with the head of the Queen and everything. This one is the Scottish thistly variety.

There is a dismissive blatt from the monocle, and transposed over the quid is a faint, greenish image of a squid.

>x kayak
A green plastic boat, designed to be used by one person with a paddle or oar. It looks seaworthy and ready to use.

The monocle pings happily as I sight the kayak with the crosshairs.

>l
Abandoned Shore (in the kayak)
There’s a little inlet of shore here, mostly boulders with little sand, completely cut off from the dock area and sheltered by the curve of the rock so that it wouldn’t be visible from the sea unless someone were very close in.

On the boulders is a quid.

>wave d-remover at board
I reset the device to d. With a distinct whiff of sweaty animal, the board turns into a boar. In the old days they used to hunt these animals, and I can understand the impulse. It’s like a pig, but even uglier and bristlier, with long dangerous-looking tusky teeth coming out of both its top and bottom jaws.

There is a dismissive blatt from the monocle, and transposed over the boar is a faint, greenish image of a bollard.

The boar gives us a very nasty kind of look, and then — without any provocation, I’m sure — starts running right at us, even into the surf.

>wave-b-remover at boar
That’s not a verb I recognize.

>wave b-remover at boar
I reset the device to b. Our hand is less than steady, but I manage to wave the letter-remover accurately enough.

The boar vanishes with a pop, and an oar falls harmlessly to the ground. It’s a light sort of oar, almost a paddle. Still probably not the ideal thing for use with a kayak, but it’ll do.

There is a dismissive blatt from the monocle, and transposed over the oar is a faint, greenish image of a bollard.

>get oar
I get the oar.

>row
With some awkwardness, I manage to push off and begin to laboriously row for open sea.

Open Sea (in the kayak)
The water stretches in all directions, but I can see off to the north where Slango’s yacht is anchored, ready to bring me back aboard. Its metallic blue shape almost blends in with the water.

If I were further around the island to the east, I might be able to see bits of the drowned city: both the buildings that were legitimately destroyed when the land sunk into the sea, and the areas where during the Civil Dispute of Standardization the authorities dumped unwanted foreign archaeological artifacts. But here I’m afraid it’s just shellfish and sand down there.

>n
I come around to the aft of Slango’s yacht and give a good shout. With the help of a ladder and a hand up from Slango himself, I soon have the kayak stored, and ourselves and our possessions on deck.

Before we can really start a conversation, Slango has a rough go at us with a washcloth and a tub of restoration gel. He is determined to separate you from me before he has a real talk with either of us; and it’s not until a number of swipes in that he realizes how wrong things are.

“This isn’t working,” he remarks, tossing the gel and washcloth aside.

“We’re fused,” I explain, not very coherently. “Something happened. I don’t know if it can be fixed.”
“And Brock?” Slango demands. “Have you got him?”

I shake our head. “But he’ll be released soon,” I say. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen to that.”

“Pretty sure,” Slango repeats.

I just look at him.

“Okay,” he says, though it isn’t. “Okay.” And he goes to the cockpit and fires up the engine, while we watch the lights of Atlantis get farther away and finally dim.

Please press SPACE to continue.
In the rocking boat, with the sound of the motor beneath us, you dream

of a ceremony on a clifftop with our two families seated looking on, and us in a long white dress, carrying a bouquet of scrabble tiles, walking down an aisle alone to be formally unified with ourself

of wearing a suit and meeting with some very rich men to talk about how to bring my language to Africa, and Brock giving us advice about how to handle them

of gathering all the indigenous languages, all the little dying languages, all the languages shoved aside because they lack linguistic efficacy, into a firefly bottle, where their letterforms flicker desperately

Please press SPACE to continue.
72 hours later

Your Bunk (aboard the True Macaque) (on your bed)
Amazing: it’s even tinier than my apartment, and the bed isn’t even a twin in width. Across from the bed is a built-in bench, with portholes above, just at the waterline.

Your wardrobe door is firmly closed, which is helpful because otherwise it is tricky walking around in here.

[Your score has gone up by fifteen points and is now ninety-nine.]

I’d better warn you that there is nothing interesting to do on board. You can explore a little, find your stuff, do some anagrams I suppose. One thing you can do will end the game.

Pegbiter - 31 March 2021 08:33 AM

>up

I doubt the (s)quid is important, but I think you forgot to pick it up.

Hehe… you forgot to read the description, you can’t pick it up.

Was it possible to see the sunken Atlantis by rowing east?

no, you can only go north

>u
I get off your bed.

look at the pic for directions

EDIT: Oops! You’re right, I was still thinking of the squid which I can’t pick up.

I went back and retrieved your quid, Pegbiter.

>x me
I can feel you in my head, but you’ve… stilled, sort of. Like an animal that’s given up. Like a dog hiding in the corner of a cage. I feel more like me than I have all day, though I miss my real body.

>i
I am empty-handed.

>goals
Here’s what I think I need to do:
  Check out the paper and see what’s going on

>x portholes
Perhaps I should drop any attempt to sound nautical and just call them windows, because they are not the round things one normally thinks of. But they are waterproof and just above the water line.

>open wardrobe
I open your wardrobe, revealing a wig, a bandana, an ebook reader, a counter, a coat, a ring, a pair of Britishizing goggles, a watch, a monocle, a backpack, a sundress, a black turtleneck, some trousers, and a swimsuit.

>get all
wig: I get the wig.
bandana: I take the bandana.
ebook reader: I get the ebook reader.
counter: I take the counter.
coat: I get the coat.
ring: I get the ring.
Britishizing goggles: I take the Britishizing goggles.
watch: I take the watch.
monocle: I acquire the monocle.
backpack: I take the backpack.
sundress: I pick up the sundress.
black turtleneck: I acquire the black turtleneck.
trousers: I acquire the trousers.
swimsuit: I get the swimsuit.

>wear swimsuit
I’m not quite ready to appear in spandex in my — that is, our — new bod.

>wear sundress
I would kind of feel like it was cross-dressing, if that makes sense.

You can tell Alex is the boss now. I really don’t like this aspect of the game.

>s
There’s no door in that direction.

I can go aft and fore-port from here.

Pegbiter - 31 March 2021 08:59 AM

>aft

Karlok - 31 March 2021 08:56 AM

>wear sundress
I would kind of feel like it was cross-dressing, if that makes sense.

You can tell Alex is the boss now. I really don’t like this aspect of the game.

So I guess you could wear those things in your playthrough. Did you see Andra stop anything in a similar fashion?

No, Alex also takes over in my playthrough. I think the only difference is Brock’s reappearance. But it’s the fusion I don’t like. Prison.

EDIT: I was wrong again, Andra does take over. Look at this (on the yacht):

>u
You get off your bed.

But she also refuses to wear a swimsuit or dress, same lines. Weird.

There’s one extra line in her dreams:

In the rocking boat, with the sound of the motor beneath us, you dream

of a ceremony on a clifftop with our two families seated looking on, and us in a long white dress, carrying a bouquet of scrabble tiles, walking down an aisle alone to be formally unified with ourself

of Brock painting the letter A between your breasts while you alternately laugh and tell him off for not using a seriffed letter form

of wearing a suit and meeting with some very rich men to talk about how to bring my language to Africa, and Brock giving us advice about how to handle them

of gathering all the indigenous languages, all the little dying languages, all the languages shoved aside because they lack linguistic efficacy, into a firefly bottle, where their letterforms flicker desperately