This follows on from PerPlexing, M. J. Young's Game Continues
MJ dies and needs a difficult Flexibility check. 18 is very close but still a failure so he remains at Stage 2
I'm not sure exactly what to do about Mitsuki. Technically she died before MJ did, but it was pretty close. Any input MJ?
You wake up in agony. You are in a vast shallow pool of some kind of acid. All of your equipment has corroded and lies broken. The skeleton of your practice dummy stands frozen in a mockery of a defensive stance somewhat reminiscent of the movie The Terminator.
Concerning Mitsuki, as Eric recently observed, people die over the course of at least a few seconds, possibly a few minutes. Even with bullets in her head, the question of exactly when she died, and whether she died before or after me (I took quite a pounding myself, within seconds of hers), is impossible to answer directly.
I would focus not on who died first but on whether she came with me. I invited her; that indicates my willingness to take her. I show a 2@2 persuasion, 1@6 charisma, 1@5 animal magnetism, I'll leave it to you to judge which of those scores I would have been using in trying to get her to agree to go with me. If I fail a difficult check against that attribute, the entire question is moot. (On the other hand, I can see under the circumstances giving me a couple intensities on that score, given that she has a gun to her head and I've invited her to escape with me. That, again, is your call.) After that, she gets a difficult will power check, which is a test of whether she asserts her independence and stays behind.
I footnote that both checks are technically optional. That is, if you are certain that Mitsuki would go with me, you have it within your discretion to say that I made my persuasion check and she did not resist with a will power check. I note this particularly because Mitsuki strikes me as extremely impulsive, and you might have drawn the character such that she would automatically take an invitation to an adventure.
I close my eyes and pray a prayer of thanksgiving, knowing that several important pieces of equipment, including the monomolecular blade, the lightning carbine, the steeljack guns and ammo, throwing stars, katana, superhero costume, Haston doubloons, piano, muscle toning suit, bibles, game books, computer, and luggage are all elsewhere, in buildings which will put them on higher ground and possibly out of this. Then I reach out with my feelings, first to see if I sense Mitsuki (having had Fluffy with me for an extended time, I know the feeling of another verser as distinct from that of equipment), then to see whether I can get directional vectors to my equipment.
I open my eyes to examine my present situation. The destruction of the robot is distressing, but my guitar was probably in the club with me (I would have taken it with me to sing my song to get past security), and I was holding my steel kau sin ke when I was killed, so I want to check these. The guitar particularly interests me, first because it was not that close to me when I was hit, and second because it was coated with the super-protective polymer in Northgate, which might have provided protection to it that the robot did not have.
--M. J. Young
You force the pain from your mind as you pray. You seek the sense of Mitsuki and your eyes are drawn to something protruding from the lake's surface. It is the sizzling remains of the girl - you must have claimed her corpse as equipment as you died.
You try to stand and looking down to find the trouble you see that your flesh is falling away from yor leg bones. Bones that are blackening and peeling, bubbling with hydrogen. Blackening...
You wake again. There is a foul odour of garbage on the stiff wind. The sun is hot but a darker reddish colour. A grizzled man with grey hair and wild beard is holding the barrel of a shotgun about 6 inches from your face. He has no shirt on under the dirty coveralls he's wearing. He is wearing a "Ford" ballcap.
He speaks in a southern twang, "What kinda truck you drive?"
I would bet that the correct answer is Ford. However, I'm inclined to be honest--although I'm also inclined to attempt to fit into the local setting a bit. My father's family was all Miss'ipp' born an' bred, and I heard enough of their speech to get somewhere near it, at least.
"Sorry, frien'; it's been so long since Ah drove a truck, Ah din't remember what kin' it was. If'n y'all are lookin' fer a driver, though, Ah kin learn. Ah'm purty gud at learnin'. You ain't seed a cute gurl 'roun' here, dark hair? Ah was trav'lin with'er earlier, an' we got sep'rated."
Here's hoping he doesn't pull the trigger.
For what it's worth, I do have skill in driving trucks--handled a flatbed and a dump truck back in college, but never a big rig.
--M. J. Young
He sucks on his remaining teeth for a moment while he considers your answer. He scrunches up his face as if you had just bet him for the One Ring with a riddle. Then he says, "But if'n yous wer'in to choose a truck, what d'ya reckon it'd be?"
He does not lower the shotgun, nor does he mention a girl. You don't sense another scriff other than your equipment.
(GE for Mitsuki=27. She was dead before she hit the ground.)
Ah, well, it seems my versing career is destined to be lonely.
"I think if you were to insist on an answer, I would have to say Ford or die."
I hold his stare as well as I can, while trying to work out the position of the robot, who was still in full defense mode last I knew.
--M. J. Young
"I think if you were to insist on an answer, I would have to say Ford or die."
I love that. Beautifully evasive.
When you say "Ford" he laughs and shoulders his shotgun, holding out his hand to help you up. "Come on, Friend! Sorry 'bout near blowin' yer head up but them Chevy-lovin' Hog's 'r always nosin 'round the farm. We've got a mess o' chicken fryin' up an' yer bound to be hungry! I'm Jesse, by the way."
Your robot is behind you. It is currently lying down, deactivated.
Well, if they can do an internal combustion engine, I would hope that I can at least operate the robot, even if I can't program it. Still, for the moment I suppose it will be safe where it is.
I wrap my kau sin ke around my waist belt-like. "Honestly, I can't 'member when the las' time I ate wuz. Thank ye fer yer hospitality." I'll go with him. I'll track my stuff later, as it's probably a couple miles over the countryside. However, periodically I'm going to try to pick up the vectors (should be one to the robot, one to the stuff at the apartment, and one to whatever they were studying at the lab) and compare particularly for angular shift, to try to get some idea of distances and directions, and particularly to keep clear in my mind which of those vectors is the robot.
--M. J. Young
You follow Jesse over a low hill of reddish mud and brown scrubby vegetation. You can see the farmhouse in the distance, with old Ford pickups and the odd hotrod parked around it. The farm itself seems to be enclosed in a series of large greenhouses.
To the east you can see a large swamp, with pools and mangroves. To the north of the swamp is a city's low skyline. There are the occasional tower but no skyscrapers or things like that.
The bad smell continues, but you are getting used to it. The road that passes by the farm is flanked on both sides by humps of trash, as if the road were created by bulldozing through a garbage dump.
I thank God that my respiratory problems were addressed back in Starsong; this would be unbearable otherwise. Nevertheless I keep my breathing shallow and steady, so as to minimize exposure here.
I will ask what town that is in the distance, doing so as part of smalltalk, asking about what he grows and how the season has been and how the market's been running, but otherwise just follow him into the homestead.
--M. J. Young
"That there's Newark over yonder. We's in Bio-Hazzard County! Welcome to the Duke Farm. We grows whatever we ken. Mainly grain and termetters an' th' like."
He chats away about the grain auctions and some insect infestation that they had to deal with.
As you approach the farm Jesse whistles and waves to a young dark-haired man in his 20s who is carrying some equipment in from one of the greenhouses, "Howdy Luke! Tell 'em to set another place at th' table. We gots comp'ny!"
You are just passing a chicken coop and suddenly there is a mighty ruckus from inside the little hut, made from the hood of a car and a couple of clothes dryers. Chickens and feathers come rocketing out and something is banging back and forth inside one of the driers.
Jesse swings around and readies his shotgun.
I will step back so I am a bit behind Jesse, four to six feet off his left shoulder but within his peripheral vision (I do not want him to think that I am trying to get out of his sight), and wait to see what happens, looking back and forth between him and the machine, maybe four to five seconds at a turn.
My best weapon at the moment being this kau sin ke, I don't think there's much point in drawing it. (Incidentally, if I have not said so already, I will have put it back around my waist as a belt.)
--M. J. Young
"Damned rats!" yells Jesse as he climbs over the fence one-handed. A rat the size of a german shepherd emerges from the drier with a freshly-killed chicken in it's jaws. Jesse fires at it but the shot goes wild and pocks the car hood panel with buckshot. The huge rat races off and disappears down a hole near the fence on the other side of the coop.
"Dang-nabbit!" shouts Jesse, stomping his foot. He goes over to inspect the rat-hole.
Quite a rat, I'd say. My mind is thinking mutant animals, futuristic world, redneck farmers, heavy pollution, and who knows what else; but my mouth is saying, against my better judgment, "C'n ah help yer in some way, thar, Jesse? Don' know much abou' rats, but ah'd say that'n 'ud take two ter tackle."
I'm really hoping he'll say no, he's got it under control, but hopefully my profession of ignorance on the subject will prevent him from assuming I know what I'm doing.
--M. J. Young
Jesse shoulders his shotgun and kicks an old can down the hole. "Naw, I'll git wunna th' boys t' do it."
He hollers back to the house, "LUKE! LUKE! We gots a rat!"
He continues on to the house, and you follow. Luke passes you on his way to the chicken coop carrying a red plastic 5 gallon gas can.
You bang through an old screen door into the farmhouse. It is warm and comfortable inside, and quite neat compared to the farm itself. The house isn't that big but Jesse yells loudly again, "Daisy! We have 'nudder guest fer dinner!"
A pretty girl in her 20s appears at the kitchen door wearing a flowered apron over a frilly blouse and cut-off jean shorts. She has flour dusting her face and hair. "Well, hello stranger," she says, giving you a big smile. "Where'd you find him, Uncle Jesse?"
"He was jus' sleepin' near the slough over the hill. He's a Ford man," he says significantly.
Inside I am very pleased that I do not have to help deal with that rat.
I bow slightly.
"Pleased t' make yor acquaintance, ma'am," I say. "Don' wan' t' put yer t' any trouble, jes' passin' thru an' los' m' way. Course, warn't goin' nowhar peticular nohow, so's ah guess ah can't rahtly say I got lost, kin ah? Anyway, it's raht neigborly of y'all t' put up with me."
I can't help wondering if I'm in some sort of post-apocalyptic Dukes of Hazzard world; I'm beginning to wonder whether I should have watched that show.
"Y' keep a nahce place here, ma'am."
--M. J. Young
Daisy blushes and dashes back into the kitchen, re-emerging with a plate of steaming corn bread. As she offers you the plate there is a loud WHUMPF! from the direction of the chicken coop and the windows rattle. Daisy is startled and the plate leaps out of her hands into the air.
1@9 Mark-ryu style B7@1 Slow, Aggresive, Weapon-utilizing, body attack--grapple, slam, +10 def SM, -30 def Damage mod, Attackx1, no offensive mods is a grapple style, and I'm thinking that catching an object should reasonably be part of that. If not, I'm going to teach myself a catch skill, and grab that plate without spilling it. (I have a 10@2 bod bias and 2@3 bod BRA. Skill learning is 10@2 bias+2@6 BRA+world bias level-target skill bias, but I'll have to leave it to you to decide whether this is an attack catch or something simpler such as a specialized manipulate object.) I am really hoping that I catch this.
Whatever happens, I'll smile at Daisy and say, "That's all raht, ma'am. Ah luvs cone bred jus' as it is, an' also with a bit o' somethin' on it, if'n thea's mo' to come."
--M. J. Young
Sorry for the delay. I don't consider bodily grappling to be the same as nimbly snatching things from the air so it will be a new skill, but bear with me while I decide what it will be...
That's fine by me.
Ok, new skill will be Catch Multiple Objects on a Plate B6@3 Juggling & Object Balancing. Baseline will be catching 3 objects on a plate with Sit-Mod -5% per extra item. I'm guessing 8 pieces of corn bread so SM -25%. Learning the skill at 75%, full success at 50%. Roll is 59%. SAL 1@2.
You snatch the plate out of the air with one hand to catch the corn bread. With your other hand you bat some stray pieces from the air back onto the growing pile. At the end of your flurry of motion you are standing with a jumbled pile of seven pieces of warm corn but a single piece slid over the edge of the plate and now lies on the floor near your feet.
Daisy has both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide in amazement.
Jesse seems not to have noticed and it shouting out the window. "You usin' mah good moonshine for ratholes, Luke?" He turns back shaking his head, "That boy..." He takes a piece of corn bread off the pile you're holding and takes a bite. "Mmm-mm! Where is that boy Bo, anyhow?" he says with his mouth full.
Having said as indicated in the previous post, I add, "Sorry ah dropped a piece, ma'am. D'you make this yoself? Ah'm raht famished, an' lookin' ford te havin' a bit. Should ah warsh up somewhere, an' where should ah sit?"
--M. J. Young
Oh--excellent call on the skill. Really right on target.
Daisy snaps out of her shock and indicates a washroom down the hall and accepts the plate back. The washroom has a jug of clean water and a basin. There is also a screen door leading out back. You can see an outhouse across the yard. You can hear Daisy and Jesse talking.
"Uh, Bo is..., well, he's gone out..."
"He's gone chasin' after that Clements girl?"
"Um..."
"That boy always chasin' after the ladies... Dangnabbit! Did he done gone and take his car?!!"
"I'm not..."
"What's that fool boy gonna do when we don'ts got no fuel to bring th' harvest t' market!? Gone joy-ridin' 'roun' th' whole dang county on th' last drops o' fuel!"
"I'm sure..."
"He's gonna get a hidin' when he dares show his fool face 'roun' here, I tell ya!"
When you return Daisy shows you your place at the large dining room table. Luke has come back in, his face and hands are blackened by smoke and the front of his shirt looks as if it's been scorched. He nods and excuses himself to get washed up. You are offered your corn bread (without mishap). It is plain but there is a dish of what looks like bacon fat if you're inclined.
I will first watch to see what the others do with the bacon fat. If it seems appropriate, I'll use a utensil of some sort to dab a bit on the side of the plate and dip the corn bread in it to get a taste. (I'll taste the corn bread plain first, and be sure to compliment Daisy on the cooking if I don't have to choke it down.)
"Jesse, did ah heah you sayin' sumpin about not havin' 'nuf fuel?"
I'm assuming he will confirm that one way or another.
"Well, ah'm no expeut, but tell you what ah'd trah, anyways. See, you got cohn, right? An' cohn has a lot o' shugga init. You evah make cohn wiski? Powaful moonshahn, it is, an' if'n you distil it agin, you kin git alcohol clean 'nuf to run a gasoleen engine, raht 'nuf, with a bit o' adustin, mebe--I knows 'enry Foad built his Model T t' run on alcohol easy enough, although it kin be a bit hahd on the plastic pahts of some cahs. An if it's diesel you need, whah, a gud diesel engine'll run on jus' abou' anythin', and I bet we could make a decent fuel wit' double stilled cohn wiski mixed wit' some o' dat poke fat. Lahk ah say, ah'm no expeut, but ah'm willin' t' give it a shot if'n you wanna trah it. It's one o' those things ah've wanted to leun anyway, an' theah's no tahm lahk the present, as mah daddy used t' say."
Oh, and Jesse mentioned fried chicken; do I smell it, and is it still coming? I'll save a bit of corn bread to go with the chicken, if so.
--M. J. Young
"Eh? You sound like wunna dem folks up at R.B.Dubya. You ain't gonna start talkin' fool nonsense 'bout Deeundee, are ya? We tried t' use moonshine in the engine 'n we dang near blow'd ourselves up!" says Jesse.
You are interrupted by the sound of a powerful engine and a car horn playing "Dixieland" approaching, followed by a shower of gravel and dirt. Daisy runs to the window. "Bo's here!" she calls. Everyone moves to greet him outside. Jesse's in a powerful rage.
You do smell fried chicken and the corn bread tastes wonderful.
Well, there's no sense in trying to explain that the moonshine has to be pretty potent and the carbeurator has to be adjusted--particularly since I've no idea how actually to do any of that, and was hoping to learn. I've no idea what R.B.W. might be, but Bo's arrival has gotten me out of the conversation easily enough. I'm going to sit back a bit and see what everyone does next.
I'll rise when Bo enters, and shake hands if it's offered, and then return to my seat.
--M. J. Young
You hear Jesse begin to give Bo a talking to, but Bo interrupts, "Look who ah found walkin' onna road, Uncle Jesse. He got a flat tire on his bike, so ah brought 'im in fer dinner."
"Speak o' th' Devil! Jim-Bob! Come on in and sit down! Daisy's got a mess o' fried chicken that needs eatin'."
(You haven't actually told them your name in any of the posts. Is this intentional or do we consider that you have introduced yourself "off camera"?)
Everyone squeezes back into the house and you are introduced to a shortish man with a considerable beer belly. He has unkempt hair and a large bushy red beard. He appears to be about 35-40. Jesse says, "This is James. We wuz jus' talkin' 'bout R.B.W. wa'n't we?" You are also introduced to Bo, who is tall and athletic, clean shaven with blond hair.
Everyone sits at the table and Daisy brings in a huge plate of sizzling fried chicken. Luke and Bo help bring in bowls of steaming carrots, beans and potatos.
Jesse will introduce you to James if he knows your name and explain how he found you - otherwise he will suddenly realize that he doesn't know your name.
I'm sure that at whatever point someone asked my name, or even said, "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name", I would respond, "I'm sorry. Call me Emjay."
"So James, what's your connection to R.B.W." I ask, hoping to get some idea of what they are from his answer.
--M. J. Young
"Call me Jim-Bob." When he speaks you can smell beer on his breath and you can tell he's at least 1.5 sheets to the wind. "I'm lead designer," he says dejectedly.
Everybody starts eating and Jesse unveils his latest batch of home-brew beer. You are offered water or non-alcoholic sarsparilla in place of beer. Everyone drinks beer with their meal but Jim-Bob is particularly enthusiastic.
He continues his drunken lament. "I need to come up with a new design! Sumpin rilly bigger! Sumpin rilly better! Sales are droppin', competition is increasin'. How can you carry on a feud without gasoline? I hate ta say it, but thank tha LORD for them bandit HOWards raidin' out o' th' north."
Wow, tough choice here. I figure that the water is almost certainly unsafe; the beer has the virtue that the alcohol will tend to disinfect it (the key reason why beer and wine are primary beverages in primitive cultures), but I'm not at all sure that makes it safe here--and I really, really don't like the taste of alcohol at all, and don't feel like choking down beer. That leaves the sarsaparilla--and I actually like good sarsaparilla, but I've no way of knowing whether this is good.
Complicating the entire picture, both the beer and the sarsaparilla will have been made from the water--and just because it's been disinfected doesn't mean it's safe to drink. I would hope that the water was filtered before brewing (and I'm thinking that since non-alcholic root beer comes brewed in kegs, there must be a brewing process for drinks of that sort, and although I'm not familiar with the plant I would bet that it's a similar process for the similar drink).
I'll go with the sarsaparilla, and not worry about drinking too much of it. I'll also note which Daisy drinks (you said they all drink beer, but I thought I'd check whether that includes her--there must be a reason they have sarsaparilla, after all).
"Well, Jim-Bob, ah'm no enj'neer, but have you thoughta tryin' t'run the things on beer? Ah mean, not exacly th' beer we're drinkin' here, but more lahk woosky, moonshahn--sumpin' real potent, lahk. Brew it down t' sumpin' that'd knock a man flat, an' it jus' maht run an engine. Ah'd be pleased t' werk wit'ya on it, but as ah say, ah'm no enj'neer, jus' someone who read a bit an' had an idea."
--M. J. Young
Daisy drinks beer. You have noticed that some of the water (in the washroom, for example) has a sulphury smell. The sarsparilla tastes fine, however.
Jim-Bob brightens up. He's quite drunk now and slurs when he talks. "Thas a fine idea! We'll design an engine tha will run on BEER!"
Everyone cheers!
Luke pulls out a banjo and Jesse accompanies him on a large thin-necked jug. The table is pushed to the side and everyone starts dancing about. It's a regular ho-down! Daisy moves from person to person hooking their arms spinning and two-stepping. Jim-Bob, despite being nearly incomprehensible with drink, is sketching on napkins his design for a beer-fuelled engine. You notice that he has included it inside a walking war-machine loaded with weapons (with arrows and notations "Really big gun here. And here.") and and shoot-lines with fiery explosions at the end.
I'm familiar with water with a sulphurous smell; in Mississippi it comes up out of the ground if you can drive a pipe into it. If I understand aright, the water seeps into the mountains in Tennessee and Kentucky and gets under the first layer of rock, or hardpan, or something, and the weight of all that water up north creates tremdous pressure such that if you hammer a pipe through that rock the water will shoot through it. That water is perfectly safe to drink, but I've never had the stomach to get past the smell.
I'm on the sarsparilla. Probably it'll kill me, but then, just because the water might be safe doesn't mean it is.
This whole place reminds me of the Planet Joisey, in Seth Ben-Ezra's mech game Junk; but in that world, they already knew how to power their mechas on beer, and they built them from junkyard scraps, so I'm thinking this is not that.
Yeah, I think I knew they were building battle machines. At this point I'm not even terribly interested in understanding who they are fighting (Chevy owners, I'd wager), or why; but then, I've only been here maybe ninety minutes, so I should give myself a chance to settle in.
I'm thinking that I had my guitar in the bar (because I used it to get past security forces here and there) so I might have it with me now. If so, I'll work out what key they're in, possibly tune up a bit if necessary (although something tells me that it's probably meaningless), and play along. I can do some fancy picking on the guitar that would compliment a decent Scruggs banjo, or even an indecent Scruggs banjo (Earl Scruggs is famed for a style of banjo picking). If I don't have my guitar I'll just sip my Sarsaparilla, eat my dinner, and sit back and listen.
"Jim-Bob, wal ah'm heah, if'n you kin teach me anithin about desahnin those thin's, ah'd be much obliged."
Part of me realizes that I need to collect my things; part of me realizes that I need to get some sleep. I look out the window to see what the sky is doing.
--M. J. Young
You do have your guitar and everyone appreciates your contribution - especially Daisy, who loves dancing.
Jim-Bob gurgles something out that might have ended in "Young Jedi" and you take to be acceptance of your request to help with the Beer Engine.
It is dark outside and after the party goes on for a while, the laughter and dancing give way to sleepiness. You are shown to a dusty, cobwebby back room with a musty-smelling "sway-backed" bed.
I wish good night to whomever shows me to the room. If it is the father, I'll use a firm voice as of an equal; to the boys, it will be more of the tone an older man uses with the grown children of his peers; if it is Daisy (who probably gets this domestic task), it will be a soft greeting with a shy smile.
I will assess whether it will be more comfortable to sleep on the bed or put the mattress on the floor to provide more support, and I thank God once again that during my stay in that future world years ago they repaired my asthma.
As I do this, my mind is caught by the fact that I still have stuff out there, and I'm not sure where it all is. I attempt first to get vectors; there was the robot, still out in the field, stuff in my apartment, and probably something at the lab. Then, using my guitar as a focus, I will sing Stay Awake in an effort to eliminate the immediate need for sleep.
- ?? Use Guitar for Magic Focus M1@1
- 2@1 Religion M1@0
- 1@2 Stay Awake M2@1 Remove Fatigue prevents drowsiness or sleep however induced, 1:18 TF +3SM
- Mag Bias 15@10
- Mag BRA 2@7
--M. J. Young
We determined previously that you had 1@5 Use Guitar for Magic Focus, and that it gives you +10 to your spell.
I'm also giving you a +1 notation (bringing you to +2) on your 2@5 Musician M0@0 (Guitar, keyboards, voice, composer, arranger, medieval musical notation, other) for your guitar-picking ho-down extravaganza. If I recall correctly, at 2@ you need +4 to gain an intensity.
Bo shows you the room because Uncle Jesse and Daisy are still in the middle of a moonshine shots competition. You judge that it is probably best not to disturb the mattress too much, and sit down gingerly with your guitar. You play quietly to tune up your guitar for magic but your fingers are numb from the picking and you can tell you aren't getting any benefit from it. You sing your song but, if anything, you feel drowsier from the musical lullaby.
Dice rolls: 74, 88
Yes, +4 because it is double doubled, 2^2; at 3@ it is +27 because it is triple tripled, 3^3.
And shame on me for failing to maintain my own character paper; but at least I don't give myself special treatment in that regard. Correction noted.
I should probably ask (you) what things I actually have with me, and whether I know which of my objects was in the lab (it was not the robot, because that was with me and is now near where I arrived; it was not the kau sin ke, because that was broken in the tower battle; I think that leaves the piano, the body suit, and the blade, but I thought the blade was in my apartment and I was wearing the body suit, so that's where I am on that). Again, I will check the vectors to the equipment, as I was not really clear on where I was relative to anything when I left.
I muse that whoever it was who wanted that robot will now think that Denshin Labs has some sort of connection to the Clavers, who in turn have developed some sort of matter transmitter device and pulled me and the robot out of there when they attacked. I hope it turns out well for them; they were more than kind to me, and I never managed to do so much for them as I had hoped.
Once I've checked the vectors and checked what gear is with me, I'll do my best to get a comfortable night's sleep.
--M. J. Young
A GE=20 suggests that Denshin Labs had the body-toning suit. You currently have on your person only that which you brought to the Plexpo, which was your steel kau-sin-ke (wired with sensors) and a day-bag with a change of clothes and toiletries. Incidentally, your hair is in a tight braid.
You get your vectors. One points roughly to the door of your room, one more or less across the pillow on the bed, and the last into the far corner of the room.
You get an OK sleep. You wake up a few times - the unfamiliar bed - and someone is snoring something awful down the hall.
The day dawns with a cock crowing and a shotgun blast. You can smell coffee.
I hope they have cream and sugar for the coffee. I guess there's no point talking about changing my clothes; I probably should have stripped out of them, but then I'm not sure I trust the sheets on this bed.
I'll leave my hair braided for the moment, straighten out my clothes as well as I can, and head down to see what's happening. I'll recheck the vectors, paying particular attention to their relative angles, and then as I move to the kitchen I'll see whether there's any shift in them. That should give me some sense of how far they are from me, although of course I don't expect much on that.
Remembering my southern accent, I'll wish everyone a good morning.
--M. J. Young