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No. 31911
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When this board was still young, we engaged in many gameboards. Some contrived, many reliant on word games and plays. Such deception is inherent to these games: a quest not only for the truth of the mystery, the soup du jour, but also a struggle to see whether your tools are, indeed, true.
There are two rules to this gameboard.
1) Spoken in red are truths. Whether the truth is laid bare plainly, or veiled behind wordplay is irrelevant. It is truth. However, a caveat is that if deception is involved, then after unveiling of the deception both parties must be able to agree on the truth hidden within the words. If not, then the trust has been broken, and this rule no longer applies and the Game Master loses by default.
2) A theory spoken in blue must run its course logically, from finish to end. Only then is the Game Master obligated to acknowledge it. Any blue lines that do not support a theory of truth is unimportant and may be discarded at will: any blue truth supporting a theory of truth may, unrefuted, be considered truth.
There can be but one opponent: to challenge the Game Master with a host of opponents is to raise an army in response to a single man's cry of defiance. Thus.
Those who wish to challenge the mystery despite the singular choice of opponent may do so through e-mails or other private correspondence, so to reach the grand finale of the mystery all themselves. However, I ask you not reveal any truths in so doing, that the singular opponent I've chosen remains witless and without assistance until the game runs its conclusion.
Well then. Let's see how we shall fare, shall we? The board's been laid out, the pieces aligned.
It's time to discover the truth.
DELETED - Almaz!kyt3ApgURM Mon, 03 Oct 2011 11:46:52 -0700 No. 2909
"Come on! We're going to be late like this!" Marianne turns to me, puffing her cheeks. Right, right, I know.
"'Tasha is a very precise person. Being late even by one minute is unforgivable'... right?"
Marianne nods furiously in response. "That's right! If you know, come on, let's go!"
And so we continue, not a bit faster than we'd been going up 'till now.
It's not that I'm being particularly slow or anything; the blame here rests solely with Marianne, who despite her best intentions woke up a little late. An hour or two late.
That doesn't stop her from being self-righteous about it, of course. But that's just the way she is.
"Come on, Sara!" Marianne turns again. But no matter how much she urges, I'm happy with the current pace.
And besides, I can already see the apartment. We're hardly late; if anything, we'll be five minutes early at this pace.
Marianne runs ahead of me. She's always so hurried, but then, she always oversleeps. I imagine someone who's perpetually later than intended will lead a very hurried life.
Ahhh, that'd be so stressful. I'd rather not spend my every minute worrying over anything, least of all someone I've never met being precise with time.
The apartment isn't very spectacular. It looks a little rundown, even; the security door is rather much unimpressive. Marianne handily reveals it isn't even locked.
We go up two flights of dinky stairs (I suppose I shouldn't spend so much effort to highlight the terrible state of this place) and finally end at a simple door. 'Tasha Goodman', it reads.
Such a stereotypical name. Marianne raps on the door.
"There is a doorbell here, though," I point out, to which she responds by pressing it and sending me a glare that, in all my years knowing her, must mean, 'Then why didn't you say so earlier?'
"Ahhh, you're here!" The door swings open to reveal a cheerful looking boy. A boy.
"Ah, that's the usual face," he concludes with a nod, and I suppose I must be looking surprised: I'd imagined him to be a girl! "It's not the manliest name in existence, but... well, come in, come in!" He turns to the side, and Marianne stomps in with a whirlwind of apologies for being late.
Tasha doesn't really appear to be as much concerned with such notions as time, and merrily swats away Marianne's excuses with superiority. I guess he's really used to her as well.
The apartment is, unsurprisingly, small. The tiny hallway's hardly three steps, and the living room behind the door looks to be... hm, I'd say it's a six by six. Meters, that is. The entire system of inches is lost on me.
The room has a homely and cozy atmosphere to it. A bed shoved in the corner highlights how this is the only room in the apartment (where does he cook his meals?), and the rest of the room is filled with a bookcase, a table, various cushions, a TV and what I imagine to be his pride and joy: a Playstation 3.
DELETED - Almaz!kyt3ApgURM Mon, 03 Oct 2011 11:48:01 -0700 No. 2910
"This is the first time we've met, isn't it?" Tasha speaks up behind me. I, naturally, turn my back to his cozy and homely room, and am greeted with a radiant and lively face.
"That's kind of stating the obvious."
"Sara! Aaah I'm sorry, Tash, she can't help being rude and--"
"It's okay, it's okay!" Tasha laughs, unphased by Marianne's frantic attempts at apology.
"So as you heard, I'm Sara."
"Tasha."
We exchange nods by way of greeting: it doesn't look like Tasha's the strict type Marianne's making him out to be.
"We're the first ones, aren't we?"
Tasha nods. "Well, Mary's always late, so we tell her to come an hour early." Marianne's completely oblivious to this, eyeing the gaming console greedily.
"I can quite imagine you'd tell her things as that." I can't begin to recount the amount of times she's been late. Conversely, I can easily recall the amount of times she's been on time.
"Well, want to play a game until the others arrive?" From his casual attitude, you can hardly tell he's a birthday boy, but he might just not care about birthdays as much.
Of course, I'm not going to turn down an invitation like that, and before long we're so engrossed in Valkyria Chronicles that it takes a while to realise someone's ringing the doorbell.
A moment later, we're joined by Tasha's two friends. Marianne introduces us quickly; Leslie and Gwyn. Leslie, a tall guy who might just as well be mistaken for a thug were it not for his friendly smile, and Gwyn, who I find difficult to describe beyond incredibly plain.
She looks like she has the questionable honour of being the straight woman of the party, complete with two different emotions: neutral and forced smile.
"So you must be the rumoured 'lady of steel'!" Leslie remarks. Clearly, Marianne's been running her mouth.
"I think that kind of unflattering nickname," and at this I glare at Marianne with the fiercest glare I can muster, "should earn whoever coined it a beating straight away."
Marianne gulps, forces a smile. "N, not that I came up with that kind of thing," she says. Riiiight. I believe you, like I believe in some grand figure shaping the world with but a word. If someone so benevolent and mighty could exist then, surely, they wouldn't stand for me blaspheming at the corner of every street.
As a figure of speech, of course.
I don't really blaspheme at the corner of every street. Not even one in two.
"Well, we came together for a reason," Gwyn interjects, "so let's just party instead of argue, okay?" A surprising suggestion coming from someone with such a straight face, but...
Well, she's right. We came here to party, not argue over whether or not I am a lady of steel! (I'm not!)
"Then, let's do this!" With a cheer of 'yeah!', we begin the party in earnest.
DELETED - Is it difficult? I imagine not. - Almaz!kyt3ApgURM Mon, 03 Oct 2011 11:49:24 -0700 No. 2911
By the end of this particular tale, one of the five people will be dead. One or more of the others are to blame.
Now then. Let's see who'll step forward, eager to see the conclusion to the tale and, thus, solve the mystery!
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