Nine Purple Files

[proudambassador]

The high scores on the games of chance here, in this Wilderness, I have beaten. The shooting games I am decent at, but the others, I find I do not understand them. Why would one dodge a monkey throwing barrels? Why would aliens attack in neat little rows so you can shoot them? One defender, they could not fight that many, no.

A more important question, why is there no alcohol here? Surely, if you are fighting monkeys, or pushing buttons to fight, to enjoy it you must be a little tipsy, hm? Rum. That, it goes well with Coke, no? And there is much Coke here.

I will pay someone to bring rum down here. And then, we may share it and play, yes?

Comments

Quicklog

[crimsonmischief]

[The computer, it seemed, did not drive as well as Ambassador and the next car Crimson hit spun out, giving him room to edge past. Except that car had been in one of the outer lanes, alas. It seemed like he'd just have to edge his way towards the inner lanes in order to win.]

Not a road? Then where else would you drive?

Quicklog

[proudambassador.livejournal.com]

[When the car spun out, it nearly hit Ambassador, causing him to slow down for just a minute to avoid being hit. No matter how short a time that had been, it gave Crimson a slight lead now. He aimed for the inner lane as the finish line neared, hoping for the win anyway.]

I, my dear Crimson, am not human. Myself, I am alien. Space! That is where I am from, and that, perhaps, is where I have operated a machine like this before.

Quicklog

[crimsonmischief]

Ah, I hadn't known that~!

[He did his best to follow the outside lane, pedal pressed to the floor of the machine as he slowly tried to make his way towards the middle of the track.]

That's quite interesting~!