RE: Gestalt: Echo's Gift (Text Adventure)
03-11-2019, 09:16 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-11-2019, 09:19 PM by periferal.)
==>MAKE A VINE KEY
Right! The 'flesh' (look, it's a word used for the edible part of melons, it'll work well enough here, as disgusting as that sounds) of your hand is weirdly soft and very malleable, but your vines, which you can extrude from your fingers, are not quite as malleable, but might just be flexible enough to fit.
You really wish Diesel was here. They know how to pick locks, and could probably dismantle the grandfather clock in the main room of your cell and use those parts.
(Why aren't you using this trick on the door of your cell, you ask? Because it doesn't have a lock. Or hinges. It's just there.)
You stare at your hand. You can't just think "grow vines." You have to will it, like bending your elbow or swallowing.
The tips of your fingers start to itch, and become both concave and dirt brown. (You're pretty sure you'd actually taste dirt, if you brought your fingers to your mouth. You body is weird. Inhabiting it has become strange, recently.)
Slowly at first, and then more quickly, brown-green knotted vines grow from your fingers. It doesn't hurt--it's more like flexing your hand, or a very odd sneeze located in your tendons--but it's surreal to watch. This is why you usually do this in battle, because then you don't have time to think about it.
You coil some of the vines together into something vaguely key-shaped. You forgot to mention this, but this is an old lock, the kind that probably takes one of those really big keys.
The first time you did this, the sudden extension of your body and the corresponding alteration of your proprioceptive map had been overwhelming in a way that reminded you, oddly, of your gender dysphoria. It's not the same thing, exactly--your brain has undergone significant alteration, but you're pretty sure your gender is still "mostly woman" and not "plant-woman"--but it's a similar kind of surreal you-but-not-you feeling.
You let the vines sink into the lock.
click
Something turns.
HOLY SHIT IT WORKED!
BONNIE: WHITE-ANT, did you see that?
WHITE-ANT: Je vois tous tu do.
Right. Still, it's nice to have someone to be excited with.
The door opens inwards.
The first thing you notice about the locked room is that it contains a window. To the outside.
Holy shit.
You're too excited to think properly.
Do you try to escape?
Right! The 'flesh' (look, it's a word used for the edible part of melons, it'll work well enough here, as disgusting as that sounds) of your hand is weirdly soft and very malleable, but your vines, which you can extrude from your fingers, are not quite as malleable, but might just be flexible enough to fit.
You really wish Diesel was here. They know how to pick locks, and could probably dismantle the grandfather clock in the main room of your cell and use those parts.
(Why aren't you using this trick on the door of your cell, you ask? Because it doesn't have a lock. Or hinges. It's just there.)
You stare at your hand. You can't just think "grow vines." You have to will it, like bending your elbow or swallowing.
The tips of your fingers start to itch, and become both concave and dirt brown. (You're pretty sure you'd actually taste dirt, if you brought your fingers to your mouth. You body is weird. Inhabiting it has become strange, recently.)
Slowly at first, and then more quickly, brown-green knotted vines grow from your fingers. It doesn't hurt--it's more like flexing your hand, or a very odd sneeze located in your tendons--but it's surreal to watch. This is why you usually do this in battle, because then you don't have time to think about it.
You coil some of the vines together into something vaguely key-shaped. You forgot to mention this, but this is an old lock, the kind that probably takes one of those really big keys.
The first time you did this, the sudden extension of your body and the corresponding alteration of your proprioceptive map had been overwhelming in a way that reminded you, oddly, of your gender dysphoria. It's not the same thing, exactly--your brain has undergone significant alteration, but you're pretty sure your gender is still "mostly woman" and not "plant-woman"--but it's a similar kind of surreal you-but-not-you feeling.
You let the vines sink into the lock.
click
Something turns.
HOLY SHIT IT WORKED!
BONNIE: WHITE-ANT, did you see that?
WHITE-ANT: Je vois tous tu do.
Right. Still, it's nice to have someone to be excited with.
The door opens inwards.
The first thing you notice about the locked room is that it contains a window. To the outside.
Holy shit.
You're too excited to think properly.
Do you try to escape?