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An Office Above Hell - A Noir CYOA
Khoshekh
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
I'm not sure what the etiquette is on these forums regarding CYOAs, or whether they're actually allowed but I thought I'd start one considering I'm a tad bored and feel like writing. Anyway, I hope this steps on no toes.
The wooden blades of the ceiling fan turn as slowly as the wheels of justice. With each revolution, the motor creaks out a muffled protest. It does little to revitalise the hot, dry air of your office. Tendrils of dirty smoke spiral upwards as a poorly stubbed cigarette smoulders in an ashtray already overflowing with the husks of its cousins. The pink and orange fingers of an ignored sunset feel their way through the dusty Venetian blinds behind your desk. You are about to leave for the day after yet another day without a client when there's a knock on the external door of your office.
What do you do?
A. Ah, a client!. Go to greet them.
B. They want something, they can come to me. Call them in.
C. Probably a travelling salesman, they'll go away. Ignore them.
D. Eh, they can wait. Answer the door, eventually.
"Baby," I said. "I'm a genius but nobody knows it but me."
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http://www.audioentropy.com/
Ignoring the knocking, you pull a crumpled packet of Marlowe Menthols from your shirt pocket and slip one between your lips. You use the battered brass Zippo sitting on your desk to light it. With the smoke hanging out of the corner of your mouth, you open the lower draw of your desk to reveal a half-full (or half empty, depending on your mood) bottle of Pickman's Bourbon and two dirty tumblers. You set a tumbler on your desk and pour a generous tot into the glass. You pause for a moment and take a slug. You set the bottle back in its drawer. You put your feet up on the corner of your desk.
The knocking becomes more insistent and you hear the rattle of someone trying the door. Rattle, knock-knock-knock. Rattle, knock-knock-knock.
By the time you finish your cigarette and send it to join its fallen brethren, whoever it was is gone. You sit in the increasing darkness of your office, sipping your whiskey and wondering what to do with your evening.
A. Go home.
B. Go to a bar.
C. Have another whiskey.
D. Go for a walk.
Satans..... hints.....
E. I go and pick up some goddamn nicotine gum. Jesus christ.
SteamID: Baroque And Roll
The W stands for whiskey
So, you fill it up from the bottle. You nod to yourself in satisfaction and to celebrate a job well done, you drain the glass in one throat-scorching gulp. You place the glass on your desk. Once again, there is something about that empty glass that rubs you the wrong way, like nails on a chalkboard. You fill the glass once again and stare at it. It almost seems to stare back. You decide to take your time with this one, but a few minutes later and it's empty again. You repeat this a number of times before giving it up as an exercise in futility. The glass just wasn't meant to be full
You glance at the clock on your desk. Six fifteen. More than a reasonable time to close up for the day.
You lurch to your feet and the room reels slightly. Must be sitting down all day that has you feeling a bit unsteady. You collect your lighter from its place on the desk and slip it into your trouser pocket. You take your suit jacket from its place on the back of your chair and shrug into it. You sweep through into your small outer office. A receptionist's desk sits near one wall, gathering dust and holding up huge snow drifts of loose files. On the grimy carpet in front of the door is a small buff-coloured envelope. You give it a once over and, realising its not another bill, drop it into your inner jacket pocket. You enter the dingy hallway of the building your office is in and after a few false starts manage to lock the door behind you.
You descend the stairs to the lobby and walk out into the early evening air. The building's security guard, John, hails you.
A. Probably wants to know when he'll be paid next. Ignore him and keep walking.
B. I've got places to meet, people to be. Listen, but make it snappy.
C. My good man, whatever could be the matter? You're all ears
D. Probably wants to know when he'l be paid next. Make excuses and avoid the conversation.
You have to unlock New Game+ for that option.
http://www.audioentropy.com/
You spent his pay on whiskey, he'll understand.
I will never forget that this was a thing that happened
However fictional
Never
Also, C! I am caring and friendly. And ill-suited for noir.
"Sandra has a good solid anti-murderer vibe. My skin felt very secure and sufficiently attached to my body when I met her. Also my organs." HAIL SATAN
SteamID: Baroque And Roll
"Sir," he began, tapping the brim of his cap. "You had a caller".
"A caller?"
"An older gentleman. He seemed anxious to see you."
"He didn't see me, I was busy."
"Busy?" John asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Busy," you reply gravely. "What did he want?"
"He had a case for you and well, since you're having trouble keeping the rent up to date I figured you'd be interested. He left an envelope for you."
"I see, I see". You nod wisely. That would explain the envelope.
"Well," you say. "Time for me to be off. I do value our little conversations. You make to leave.
"Evening, sir." John looks like he's expecting something.
A. Offer him a cigarette.
B. Offer him a tip.
C. Shake his hand.
D. Ignore him, he gets paid enough.
I am determined to keep this story from progressing by any means necessary
http://www.audioentropy.com/
SteamID: Baroque And Roll
Slip John a tenner, he's looking out for you. Good man.
We'll show him a tip.