You Wake Up In Some Guy's House

You wake up in some guy's house.

His kitchen counter sits in front of you; in a moment, as you bring yourself weakly to an upright position, you notice you're behind it. You are surrounded by an array of ectoplasm-covered bottles and apparatus, as well as labels and dials you can't possibly recognize. You have never been in a house.

In fact, you're unsure if you have ever... been. Anything.

The air is oddly chill. Though this house is brightly lit, you can spot rays of golden darkshine slicing their way through a decrepit door at the far corner-- and you can hear something undoing the locks.

However, before any of that can be handled in detail... it's time to gather some information on yourself. In a universe filled with billions of known species, nothing is too strange to appear in a house.

What are you?

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>You are a door to door encyclopedia salesman.

>B)c?

You are a Hurricaszm-- and by the weakness of everything in your existence, you can tell that you are the best. This thought strikes you so rapidly and so suddenly that you're barely able to process the rest of your own being.

You stand at a mighty nine feet tall, clearing the kitchen counter by a couple of misshapen heads, and your stiff, crystalline bowl-head increases this height in a very... romantic fashion. You possess no clothes, so as to best absorb reflected rainwater and take in rainwater-- but all of this knowledge is only instinctual. You're still very unsure as to how exactly you're meant to even move around in this body.

But you feel like you're learning quickly.

The decrepit door at the other end of the bar finally clicks open. Beaming widely from the entrance is another figure-- the real source of what you thought was darklight. It saunters up to you casually, and you realize suddenly that it looks nothing like you. Aside from the whole existing deal. That's something you've got going for you.

The figure speaks.

You single-eye your surroundings. There are so many bottles, so many labels-- none of which you're capable of reading, you idiot. Canisters of glowing purple liquid atop a stool catch your eye-- is this what a house is? Maybe it's the gel-like substance growing beneath the cash register? One of the clear bottles hanging from the ceiling, boiling incessantly?

You're going to need to be a great houseguest.

>Absorb Vebbin's moisture

>suddenly stax enters, plaguing yet another adventure with his malodorous presence and generally awful personality. have fun dealing with this guy.

Frantically, you begin gathering words. The rumbling bottle from above you, a tiny cup of runny liquid-- even a coin from the cash register. All of those are words. You pile them haphazardly into a sentence, and finish it off by cutting a bit of your gooey skin, eliciting a pinch of pain, as well as a sickly-sweet-smelling nectar that oozes on top. This makes your words come out even more intimidatingly.

You have made your first guest move.







Suddenly, the one and only Red Star Guy emerges from the rafters, gliding to the floor with ease. Unfortunately, because you don't know his shitty bad name yet, you can't get his fabulous intro card.







This asshole is stealing your thunder. You need a way to shock him out of it, else your status as rad houseguest is going to be ruined. What an awful Sunday stream.

splash him with our headwater

The homesowner seems confused with the new atmosphere selected by the HUMAN MUSIC 3000 machine.






You tilt your bowl head over 60 degrees, preparing a MASSIVE SPLASH on the red evildoer!

You did a great splash there, good job, but now you're low on moisture. However, draining moisture takes time and resources and time and reputation.

Moisture levels: 65/100
Cup status: 0 occupied, 1 occupied (Stax)

absorb all of stax's moisture then leave

Disperse digestive fluids onto Stax while he's still weakened

Time to fuck, him up!,











You have acicedantally added that shitbird to your PARTY-DECKS.






You have purposdefully added that wonderful house owner to your PARTY-DEX.

It's time to go on an adventure! Being cooped up in one location for the entire duration is so unimaginably fucking bad.



As you exit, the distinctive great sound of Signfelt disappears into the exit background. You no longer have to click on that link and have it going forever anymore. You're free.





Moisture levels: 100/100
Cup status: 0 occupied, 2 occupied (Stax and Stax)

go to the bar

This is about how loud the seinfeld should be now that you're outside

ur heart, bitch
>flirt violently

I second going to the bar. The BArtender will be delighted to have his Egg-Coordinator back!

It sure is cold out! That must be because of the space behind you.









Foreboding words from ye olde Vebbin over here. You briefly contemplate not only the temporary nature of your own existence, but of existence itself, and how to be means there will be a time where you stop being. Why enjoy anything when enjoyment is, in of itself, changing nothing about your eventual non-existence? What's the reason for your consciousness even being plopped into this forum adventure, or seeing itself as more special than the collection of fast-moving chemical reactions that it actually is?

These feelings quickly subside because you realize you want to go to a fucking bar.





It's a brisk walk to the other side of Vebbin's horrible bad neightborhood.






Moisture levels: 100/100
Cup status: 0 occupied, 3 occupied (Stax and Stax and Stax)

before you go in you need to prepare your introductory biography cards

just kick down the door

Cut a hole in the window with your axe and enter stealthily

somersault through window, politely open door for party

Here you are, still in front of a bar instead of inside of it like your intents are. Goddamn you're slow, you should get a pace-maker.










You drew yourself super thin and super attractive.

Vebbigns drew himself like a guy.

You carefully slice a hole in the door using your ultra-sharp Axe, the useless dorr-bit falling to the floor beneath you both, and let your less ably-minded patrons head through there instead of risking their lifes and limbs through the window. Like the true houseguest you are, you jump right through that damn window.

Illustrated below is the illustration.



Once inside, you quickly tumble forth into some bar chairs, bringing that piece of fucking junk starboy with you. The bartender glances up and seems to double take. Wow,

How best to introducnce yourself to these bunch of folks? Gotta get that zone on.

Moisture levels: 100/100
Cup status: 0 occupied, 4 occupied (Stax and Stax and Stax and Stax)