07-26-2018, 10:03 AM
[font=trebuchet ms]/everything before the HR line is OOC prompt stuff, the actual game is after the HR line
Rosemary had assigned Paper a gambling game for his weekly task. That wasn’t too difficult to set up- the problem was determining what they had the equipment to do, while also finding a game that everyone could easily learn how to play and wouldn’t find boring. Poker was relatively complicated for a quick game; otherwise it would be perfect.
He was pacing the shore, pondering over the matter, when he spotted a bottle lying on its side a few feet away. Raising a brow, he approached it, and noticed that it had something inside of it. Taking the bottle, he twisted the cork off with his jaws, then pulled out its contents. Unrolling the message, he began to read.
I used to be weak.
Paper glanced up, frowning. It was his confession letter, almost perfectly preserved. How had it gotten back here? Things washed out to sea weren’t supposed to wash back in several months later- it went against the natural entropy of the universe.
With a sigh, he looked back down at the message, reading it the whole way through.
To some degree, his assumptions about his pack had been proven wrong. Stormyheights, Riskymove, even Blankslate seemed to have accepted by now that he was alive instead of his brothers. They had gotten over their grief, at least enough so to not want him dead.
If nothing else, though, no one had turned up dead yet (barring Pincher, but that had been temporary). He had managed to keep that part of his promise, at least.
His focus briefly shifted to the fallen bottle, its glassy surface reflecting his uncertain expression.
Paper silently rolled the message back up and tucked it in his bag, then took the bottle in his jaws again. He would send it back out to sea later- he had no use for it now. While the bottle was here, though, he might as well make use of it.
[font=trebuchet ms]On the sands of Barracuda Bay was a round table, collapsed on its legs and laid flat.
The table had nine piles of 5 small aquamarine stones each, to act as “chips,” placed in a circle around the edge. An additional pile of aquamarines, for the house, lay on a wooden box off to the side. In the center was the bottle, able to be easily spinned by any of the players.
A few feet away from the table was a circle of balloons. Each balloon was filled with a different concoction- all of them contained some amount of water, so they were technically water balloons, but that wasn’t all they contained. Within the circle was a stick, that could also be spinned by the “croupier.”
”We’re playing a game of roulette,” Paper called from his spot atop the wooden box, twitching his good ear. ”Each person gets 5 chips to start. Before each spin, you can bet on who you think the bottle will land on, but only if you’re in the circle. If the bottle lands on you, you’re out, and get hit with a water balloon- but you keep however many chips you would’ve had if you survived the round.” Sweeping the house’s chips closer to himself, he added, ”You’re also out if you run out of chips. Don’t worry- we have plenty of balloons to spare.”
Rosemary had assigned Paper a gambling game for his weekly task. That wasn’t too difficult to set up- the problem was determining what they had the equipment to do, while also finding a game that everyone could easily learn how to play and wouldn’t find boring. Poker was relatively complicated for a quick game; otherwise it would be perfect.
He was pacing the shore, pondering over the matter, when he spotted a bottle lying on its side a few feet away. Raising a brow, he approached it, and noticed that it had something inside of it. Taking the bottle, he twisted the cork off with his jaws, then pulled out its contents. Unrolling the message, he began to read.
I used to be weak.
Paper glanced up, frowning. It was his confession letter, almost perfectly preserved. How had it gotten back here? Things washed out to sea weren’t supposed to wash back in several months later- it went against the natural entropy of the universe.
With a sigh, he looked back down at the message, reading it the whole way through.
To some degree, his assumptions about his pack had been proven wrong. Stormyheights, Riskymove, even Blankslate seemed to have accepted by now that he was alive instead of his brothers. They had gotten over their grief, at least enough so to not want him dead.
If nothing else, though, no one had turned up dead yet (barring Pincher, but that had been temporary). He had managed to keep that part of his promise, at least.
His focus briefly shifted to the fallen bottle, its glassy surface reflecting his uncertain expression.
Paper silently rolled the message back up and tucked it in his bag, then took the bottle in his jaws again. He would send it back out to sea later- he had no use for it now. While the bottle was here, though, he might as well make use of it.
[font=trebuchet ms]On the sands of Barracuda Bay was a round table, collapsed on its legs and laid flat.
The table had nine piles of 5 small aquamarine stones each, to act as “chips,” placed in a circle around the edge. An additional pile of aquamarines, for the house, lay on a wooden box off to the side. In the center was the bottle, able to be easily spinned by any of the players.
A few feet away from the table was a circle of balloons. Each balloon was filled with a different concoction- all of them contained some amount of water, so they were technically water balloons, but that wasn’t all they contained. Within the circle was a stick, that could also be spinned by the “croupier.”
”We’re playing a game of roulette,” Paper called from his spot atop the wooden box, twitching his good ear. ”Each person gets 5 chips to start. Before each spin, you can bet on who you think the bottle will land on, but only if you’re in the circle. If the bottle lands on you, you’re out, and get hit with a water balloon- but you keep however many chips you would’ve had if you survived the round.” Sweeping the house’s chips closer to himself, he added, ”You’re also out if you run out of chips. Don’t worry- we have plenty of balloons to spare.”
[font=trebuchet ms]some weirdo
