Build your own adventure

[robinbloke]

You are standing outside a low stone building, there is a single door on this side that looks to be made of wood and metal. Behind you a trail winds back down the hill and away into the distance. It is approaching nightfall, the sun is tinging the sky and clouds pink with it's dying rays.
What do you do?

I will write you a "build your own adventure" style story if you leave a comment, just ask for a genre and give me a brief description of yourself and then say what you want to do, the rest will unfold...

Comments

[zenmeisterin.livejournal.com]

*Shuddering to herself a little as she figured that inside there'd be a party and therefore more alcohol, she weighed it up with the fact that she didn't know where she was and asking for directions would probably be the best plan.* Here goes nuthin'...

*She knocks on the door loudly enough for someone inside to be able to hear (or so she reckons)*

[robinbloke.livejournal.com]

Inside it must surely be some kind of carnival, the inside of the building is far larger than the outside would suggest, maybe someone put something wierd in your drink besides the vodka.
A riot of colours, shapes and people seem to be halfway between a genius of organisation and utter total chaos, everything is in motion; giant toothed faced people run around behind fur faced people who are left in the wake of tall resplendant looking unearly... elves?
This really must be some bad acid.
As if on que, everything suddenly stops, all eyes turn to you and the only noise for a moment is the faint tinkle of a piece of glass being dropped.
A small rabbit faced person pops his head right up in front of you,
"'Ere 'ooo are you?" he asks.

[zenmeisterin.livejournal.com]

*Boggling at the bizarre fancy-dress party/acid trip/fuck knows what, it takes her a moment before she realises the rabbit dude is talking to her. She wondered if she should give her REAL identity - after all she doubted it could possibly be any weirder than the lot she stumbled in on. Erring onthe side of caution:*

Umm... Lizzie... err... I'm lost... *she eventually regains her footing and pulls herself together as she continues* Didn't mean to interrupt your party just hoping to get some directions.

[robinbloke.livejournal.com]

"Lost areya?" says the rabbitman, "Nice to meet you, I'm high lord funzo, defender of the giant spleen." he offers a hand/paw and tries to drag you inside the throng. A few people are talking quietly now but all the focus of the room is still on you, you get the feeling everyone is waiting for...
"Do come in." says a voice that sounds like it has been hand crafted from silk, it touches your ears like some kind of divine music. "Make yourself comfortable." It is the elf man that is speaking, his face holding a smile, but somehow it doesn't quite fit his face, but his eyes... his eyes have a weight of the ages behind them.

[zenmeisterin.livejournal.com]

*Uncertain at fist, she didn't appear to have much choice as she was hoiked off in by the Rabbit guy calling himself Lord Funzo. She didn't know what to make of that. After all, anything could happen and she had only recently found out herself that she was one of the Royalty of Monaco...*
Thanks, errr, Lord Funzo.

*The rich voice of the man dressed as an elf particularly grabbed her attention and she wondered why for a moment his face didn't seem at home with the expression. She'd instantly recognised ihm as someone of power, importance and perhaps breeding. She was learning about this nobility thing fast, even if she was incognito on holiday.*
Thank you sir.

*She subtly tried to take note of those around her. 'Spiked vodka makes for a worrying if whacked-out addtion to what looks like an already quite strange and far-out party' the thought...*

[robinbloke.livejournal.com]

There are dozens of strange people around in bizarre costumes, some with faces filled full of teeth; others who lurk like discorporate shadows at the edge of the party. Some seem to be serving, others gorging; it is a riot of colours and faces.
The only consistancy seems to be the mark of a white stag on a green shield on numerous patches and tabbards.
You find yourself standing in front of the elven man, but you don't actually remember walking over to him.
"Young lady." he bows slightly, "I am count Johan Stagg, whom might I be addressing?"
Murmurs start nearby from various of the freaks/creatures around you.

[zenmeisterin.livejournal.com]

*'Ohhh... the theme is fantasy medieval!' she thought to herself as she noted the heraldry and tabards. She vaguely wondered how much of that was her brain conjuring stuff up fom all the fantasy books he'd read and how much of it was the obviously expensive and lavish decorations that this gentleman has arranged (she reckoned it was HIS party at any rate). When he introduced himself as a Count she wasn't surprised in the slightest to find out he was nobility. Perhaps she ought to try too...*

Pleased to meet you your... excellency? *She desperately tried to remember what the correct term for addressing a Count or an Earl was. She'd only just started etiquette lessons before she went away on holiday and she'd not been that interested in them to begin with. 'A Duke is Grace... I'm sure of it... so was Excellency right for Count?' A slight hesitation before she continued.*
I am usually known as Lizzie but formally as Countess Elizabeth Grimaldi of Monaco.

*A thought struck all too late. 'Hang on... the UK dosn't HAVE Counts... that's only Europe mainland!' This was getting weirder by the minute and she was starting to suspect it couldn't ALL be down to some LSD some git had slipped in her drink, could it?*

[robinbloke.livejournal.com]

A hushed rumble spread through the crowd as you spoke the word 'Princess' the Count bowed once again to you, "Then we are honoured you to have you visit us, your highness." his face betrayed not the slightest hint of if the term you had used to address him was correct, just all smiles and eyes. Such eyes, like pools of nothingness that clung to your vision and dragged you in.
A shuffling to your side revealed a diminutive individual who seemed to be dressed as a dwarf of some kind.
"Refreshments?" he inquired, in a voice that wouldn't be out of place in homeland Yorkshire.
The plate he was carrying was covered in a bewildering array of foods, sweetmeats and drinks, certainly for such a small tray it seemed to defy possibily what it carried, which sort of made your head hurt thinking about it.

[zenmeisterin.livejournal.com]

*Well. THAT was interesting. She was SURE she hadn't said Princess but she supposed that it didn't really matter so much. If this was a Fantasy ball then she could be one anyway for the party. The gentleman seemed nice enough. At least they hadn't laughed or accused her of bullshitting. The Count - there was something very... she couldn't quite put her finger on the word and when the Dwarf guy shoved the nice-smelling food under her nose her confusion slid away as she realised she was absolutely famished.*
Don't mind if I do...
*She picks a glass of something and a small plate of various assorted other things with interest and curiosity. Then she remembered her manners and turned back to the Count.*

This is a splendid party... what is it in aid of?

[robinbloke.livejournal.com]

Your question seems to have struck a song dischord amoungst the partygoers. You can hear it echoed around the room a few times and several shrugs and questioning looks are cast about. As the confusion builds the only one not looking utterly perplexed in the room is the Count in front of you and soon you realise all eyes have turned to him expectantly, silence hangs in the air as everyone awaits his reply.

"A fine question indeed, your highness." there is a brief rumble from the crowd at this, but no more.
"This party is in honour of you, your highness." he gives you a deep bow, his head turning briefly to look at a dark haired woman with eyes like glass standing nearby. She merely nods and he looks back to you.

"Tonight we celebrate your arrival with us, we know not when; but tonight everything will be made clear, I assure you."
He waves his hand and the hush falls away, music onec again fills the room and the merriment recommences.

The food smells wonderfully good, the tray seems to have water, juices and alcohol of all kinds, your mouth is watering at the thought.

[zenmeisterin.livejournal.com]

*It was all she could do to stop her jaw from tumbling open and staring in surprise at the Count Stagg's odd answer. For a moment, she was quite lost for words before finding her footing again.*

Ah. A surprise party... *She assumed partying for the sake of partying, maybe with a token excuse tacked on to ease any guilt the rich and famous might possibly have for merriment at all hours. 'Cynical? Moi?'*

*She smiled and found herself wondering how much of this was his humouring her, how much was her mis-hearing/seeing from alcohol/LSD/whatever and how much this was actually at face value. 'He seems genuine though...' And promptly excused herself to seek out some of this lovely food and to try and work out who was dressed as what, thinking erhaps that it would have been fun if she'd been dressed herself. The thought never once occurred to her that there might be anything downright dangerous about random strangers' parties.*

[robinbloke.livejournal.com]

The food. Oh the food.
Your mouth wants to worship you for finding this stuff, whatever it is. Small swirls of pasty wrapped in tiny little pieces of dusted sugar (are those actually individually shaped and drawn on the top, into constellations?). Little cocktail sausages that taste so rich they make your mouth water just looking at them. And the drinks, the fruit juice mix, whatever exactly is in there, is some kind of tropical riot on your tongue that makes your stomach cry out for you to swallow the second it touches your tongue.
Either Gorden Ramsey is working here or whoever made these is some kind of genius with food and was born with a chefs hat on their head.
People bow and bob around you, hats are tipped. The costumes and makeup are fantastical, however most of them look far too wonderous to be pure prosthetics (mouths don't go that wide, do they?) and someone surely can't tie their arm in a knot like that...

[zenmeisterin.livejournal.com]

*Rather engrossed in food-tasting and people-watching, Lizzie lost track of time rather. She was keen to sample as many different bits and peices as possible. 'This stuff is addictively good... Count can afford the best chefs no doubt. Wonder if they have to dress up for the party too?' She passed compliments on for the chefs before she remembered that some particularly self-obsessed high-class chefs actually find that offensive: as if their absolute best was mandatory and that their finest dish was nothing special and only to be expected... She shrugged to herself and ate some more.*

*She watched the performers and the detailed costumes and people's immaculate make up blend in with her acid trip and was throughly interested. This was FAR more fun and interesting than going out drinking with friends incognito, a discreet bodyguard never too far away. 'Come to think of it... Where *IS* he?' A brief flicker of hesitation came over her as she wondered if he knew where she was, if not then what kind of fuss would be in progress right now or if maybe he was here blending in already! She peered around at the faces to see if she could actually recognise any of them through the haze of trip, dreamy food and expensive attention to detail. The fact that the others seem to bow and tip their hats to her not even really sinking in.*

[robinbloke.livejournal.com]

Your task isn't exactly an easy one, spotting someone in the chaos of costume and unfamiliarity; it's also rather confusing, there is either a host of midgets here or a large number of children as well, which is a little worrying perhaps considering it's a party, they seem to be having fun however.

Still, noone is immediately obvious but wait... your gaze pauses on a extremely tall blue coloured gentleman. A pair of rams horns curling out of his forehead - not exactly immediately familiar, but his face however was, the eyes and that kink in his nose reminded you all too much of James, one of your regular safety-shadows. He notices immediately that you are looking at him and gives you a brief conspiritory smile before bowing to you.

[zenmeisterin.livejournal.com]

*She smiles and nods her head back almost without thinking. Then it hits her. Internally she is quite, quite surprised. 'It _seems_ to be James...' She wonders if he somehow knew about this all in advance... He seemed to be in costume and make up too and that must have taken far longer than the time she'd been here. Maybe the Count wasn't just being vague after all. Maybe this party had been planned with her presence in mind... Then she felt a bit guilty at the arrogance of the thought.*

*She was about to greet 'James' when she realised she didn't even know what time of day it was and hastily looked around for a clock as she sipped some more of this... 'whatever it is it's divine'.*

[robinbloke.livejournal.com]

Time is certainly a bit difficult to judge, with all the hubbub and bustle around you've quite lost track of it all. You spot a clock but it goes up to thirteen, and all the hands are moving in different directions - not helped by the fact the seconds hand comes out of the clock completely and back in again, in the third dimension.
The juice you're drinking is definately something tropical, although the hint of apples catches your mind. Strangely the more you think about one kind of flavour the more you can identify that fruit in the drink, if you think on another one you can taste that instead.