Part 7: Day One- Page 6
Let's check out the pub for signs of the locals. Maybe the realtor popped off for lunch and a pint?
To the Bar!
You close your umbrella, as is your habit after coming indoors.
A dank, drafty old drinking hole lit by flickering, oil-burning lanterns. Smoke collects in greasy pools among the rafters, and shadows crowd thick around. The bar runs the length of the room to your right, while to the south a low doorway opens onto the street.
Mill workers and fishermen occupy a few of the tables, drinking beer or puffing grimly at long-stemmed pipes. Each is wrapped in his solitude, soaking up the general miasma of dreary fatalism.
The lantern sitting on the table nearest you sputters fitfully, throwing distorted shadows across the wall.
Ooo! a Lamp!
>look at lamp
It's an old-fashioned hurricane lamp, with a tall glass chimney to protect it from the wind. The cotton wick burns fitfully in its reservoir of cheap oil.
The most useful thing in adventure games, short of matches! Miranda will just steal that.
No one here looks as though they'd mind if you borrowed one of these lamps. Casually, you purloin the nearest one.
>look at bar
A dark and dour expanse of wood, pitted and scarred and stained with the rings from over a hundred years' worth of slopping beer mugs.
Let's see if we can get a beer.
That's not a verb I recognise.
>ask for drink
The locals have better things to do.
Blast. I don't think that was put in the game. Which is a pity.
Maybe one of the locals is the estate agent?
You don't supposethe locals would care for that.
Wow. A type-o. I thought they were all ironed out in this game, or so the legends go.
There is nothing on the bar.
Well, that's that for now, I guess.
The plan was to head back out to the streets and pick a new direction, but on the way out...
As you make your way to the door, your foot strikes something under one of the tables.
>look under table
Some forgetful soul has left a flask underneath one of the tables, pushed into a shadowy corner.
You pick up the flask. The label is faded and mostly peeled away, but what little you can make out seems to indicate that this is not a particularly distinguished brand of spirits. The words "bootleg" and "rotgut" come to mind, probably because they are the only words legible on what's left of the label.
You open the flask, revealing about three swallows' worth of cheap whiskey.
Looks like we haven't left empty handed after all.
You close the flask.
>put flask in coat
You slip the flask into the pocket of your trenchcoat.
>put lamp in coat
It wouldn't be very wise to put the lantern in your pocket while it's still burning.
>put out lamp
You blow the lantern out.
>Put lamp in coat
You slip the lantern into the pocket of your trenchcoat.
The rain is still coming down, so you open your umbrella.
Overhead, the swollen clouds flicker ominously with a greenish haze of sheet lightning.
Alright, we still have three other directions unexplored. Northwest, West, and south to the bridge.
Put your choice in Bold.