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

[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~!