You lock your body, allowing only your lungs, eyes and hands to move. You decide against taking your flashlight out. That would only cause them to notice you. Your eyes are accustoming to the dark. You can see the vague outlines of doors and doors. You exhale slowly and loosen your arms. The...what was the word?- kickback on this thing isn't too much, you won't hurt yourself by locking your arms, but either way, it's useful so that you can quickly adjust. You twinkle your toes along the cool surface, and feel slightly more calm. It's going to be fine.

You see a shadow, about ten feet away. A shadow in a dark hall. You giggle silently at how silly that sounds. You follow its movements with the barrel. You're probably going to hit him in the ankle. He'll scream, fall over and then you'll have a word with him about the buns! If he does not tell, you may have to ask...harder. These meanies have taken away your buns and deserve no mercy. Or do they? What should you do?

One of the doors a couple metres down the hallway slams open. You gasp, but somehow don't open fire. A man staggers out. He's barely standing. His tan suit is torn and bloodsoaked. He turns to look at you.
What do you do?
>Open fire (Specify where, please) (d20 accuracy, please)
>Shout at him to surrender.
>Run the hell away
>[Write in]?

Previous threads: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=the+buns%21+quest
Twitter: @Specificity_QM

>>36821447
So we can see a shadow and a man, or are they one and the same?

>>36821547
You can see both.

>>36821566
Okay. I'm gonna give it a few minutes to see if any other players show up before I pick something.

>>36821447
>Shout at him to surrender.

>>36821627
>>36821777
You assess: there are two direct threats to deal with. Threats? Deal with? What are you, a soldier? All you want is your bunnies back! You don't want to kill anyone. Unless one of them even merely touches a hair on their dewlaps. Then there will be blood. You can certainly see one of the not-threats. He doesn't look particularly threatening. He looks as scared and alone as you are. But you're not going to let him know that, are you? No, because you're a clever girl! The man pants and gasps. His beard is raggedy and in places, some of it has been peeled off. You're reminded of your fingers. Which remind you of how hungry you are. You feel like you can go without food maybe another hour. The shadow flickers. As though it were the flame on a candle next to an air conditioner. You breathe out, your lungs rattling dryly. You think of Cookie, and try to remain calm. You think of his luxurious mane, you think of his rage, his paws, his little, heart-shaped tongue, his wise, leonine eyes. Leonine. A word you learned because there was no other word to describe Cookie best apart from description of a lion. Yes. You imagine him on the savannah, with huge claws, tearing apart giant carrots and lettuces, and gorging on their still-warm and bubbling flesh, spattered with orange and green blood respectively. His adorable and floofy nose tipped in viscera.

The man stumbles further.
Imbued by the fury of Cookie, you scream, “STAND DOWN. I WILL SHOOT YOU IF YOU TAKE ANOTHER STEP!”
The man looks up. “DROP ANY WEAPONS YOU HAVE BY THE COUNT OF THREE OR YOU WILL HAVE TO SIT ON THE NAUGHTY STEP!”
“ONE. MISTER, I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND. I WILL SHOOT YOU UNLESS YOU SURRENDER.”
“TWO.”
The man doesn't move.
“THREE.”
Give me a d20 accuracy and location, please.

>>36821447
>Shout at him to surrender.

Sorry I'm late.
Time for Buns Quest!

Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>36821830
Over his shoulder. Show him we mean it.


>His adorable and floofy nose tipped in viscera.
So cute I'm not even horrified

>>36821888
Question: seeing as you got trips, should I consider this a crit? Or do I not want to go down that route?

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>36821830

>>36821909
Not that anon, but I don't have any problem with trip crits.

>>36821940
I'll agree with a warning shot over the shoulder.

>>36821940
>>36821888
>>36821994
Writing!
>>36821966
Okay, cool. Next time someone ITT gets such a roll, I'll count it as a crit.

Sorry about slowness, I'm just having trouble with travel stuff. Flying home for Christmas and all.

>>36822155
That's okay. No rush.

You squeeze the trigger twice in quick succession, and the machine in your hand grunts and rolls. The The first shot clips past his ear, the second burns over his shoulder.
“I AM NOT PLAYING LET'S PRETEND, MISTER. IT WOULD BE VERY GOOD FOR YOUR WELLNESS TO LIE DOWN ON THE FLOOR WITH YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK, PLEASE.”
The man raises his hands above his head, and kneels, before lying, face first, on the ground. You feel good about yourself. You managed to deal with a scary situation in an adult and calm manner. You give yourself a pat on the back, and promise yourself a square of chocolate whenever you find some next. You walk through the smoky air that dances around your neck and waist, like a Prince Charming from one of those fairy stories. You tower before your prisoner.
“Mister,” you say, in a quiet and loving voice, “What's your name?”
“M-mattias.” his blood-cracked lips twitch it out, as though each syllable was painful.
“Ma-tie-ahs? That's a very nice name! I'm sorry for shouting at you. I was very scared. What are you doing here and why are you covered in blood?”
“The game. I had to play it.”
“D-did they take something of yours and say that they'd give it-”
His face contorts in agony, and he whispers, “Please shut up. They'll, they'll hear you.”
This has become very interesting, you decide, very interesting indeed.
“Mattias, I'm going to take you for a walk. They won't hurt you if I'm with you. I'm going to take you somewhere safe, so we can talk wihtout them hearing. But if you try to run away, I will shoot you in the legs, and then you won't be able to do much else!”
Where do you take him?
>Benston?
>Your home?
>Atrium?
>1st floor landing?
>Other [Write-in]

>>36822446
>>Benston?

Honestly, it's the only place no ones mysteriously appread in or stole somerhing from. We had to break inside with a hammer.

>>36822541
Benston is the place with the two dead people, the walk-in freezer, and where Cookie got grabbed. Just thought you were a bit confused.

>>36822446
>Your home?
We gotta go home eventually.

>>36822446
>>36822627
Sure. This.

>>36822689
>>36822627
Writing.

>>36822603
>Cookie got grabbed.
Ah, thought we were outside of it (the place with the tool box) When that happend.

My bad. Home it is.

You make Mattias walk down the stairs in front of you, just so that if he makes a move you can nail him. You're not sure why you're so instantly distrustful of strangers like him, but the thing is, that the last two adults you saw in person tried to kill you and the ones before that were...the adults you saw before punishing the meanies were Mummy and Daddy. You feel a sob in your chest. You haven't seen them in so long. You miss them so much. It's okay, though. You'll get Cookie back soon.
The stairs eventually end. Mattias is having a bit of trouble breathing, so you take a seat on the stairs and wait for him to be able to walk again. It's a short while, so you try to make conversation.
“So, Mister Mattias, where is everyone else?”
“They can hear us.”
“Silly, no they can't.”
“Look.” He points a shaking finger at the security camera. “They. Can. Hear. Us.”
Your phone buzzes. You've received a text! You'll read it in a bit, when you're both safe. Mattias steps up, and you get home together.
Spirit level aimed at his legs the entire time, you go into the kitchen and open the fridge. That's odd. You don't remember there being juice here. Or this many apples. You don't really want to think about people creeping around your house, so you pay special attention to all of the doors. You pour yourself and Mattias tall glasses of Fresh Press, your favourite brand of apple juice. Mattias downs his, gratefully.
“So, Mister, tell me everything.”

“They...they took my little girl. My Lisl. It was her birthday, and they took her right out from under my nose. I had just left the room to get her some milk, and-” he swallows a sob, “And they took her. When I came back, she was gone, as though there wasn't a trace of her. Lisl's mother is away, see, and so I have to look after her.”
“Did they leave a note?”
“T-they did.”
“What did it say?”
“I-I have it here.”
He takes out a scrap of paper. It says in a spindly, almost spiderlike hand, “I have it. You need to play. Eighth floor. Room T. Your victory will result in return. Failure will result in execution.”
Your blood runs cold. You stare at your feet, trying to hide how afraid you are.
“T-then what?”
“So I went, see. I went and played nice. They asked me all of these questions. These silly games.”
“So how did you get all like...like this?”
“They made me play poker. That's a game where you bet on who has the best-scoring set of cards in their hand.”
“O-okay. Then what?”
“E-every time I lost a hand, they-”
He starts sobbing uncontrollably. “There was a screen-” For a moment, he can't talk. He takes a deep breath and frowns. “There was a screen, and every time I lost a hand, they hurt-”
“Who?”
“Lisl for fuck's-” he makes a horrible, animalistic noise. You point your spirit level at his forehead.
“Mister, please calm down.”
He whispers, in a voice more befitting a little boy, “They hurt my little girl.”
“So I had enough. I demanded that they hurt me. And I lost, and lost, and-”
“And then I found you?”
“That's right.”
“T-those meanies!”
“You could say it like that, yes.”
“Don't worry, Mister. I'll win.”
“And? If you win, all you get back is whatever they took.”
“I'll try!”
“Little girl, what did you lose?”
“They took my bunny.” You look him in the eye with absolute conviction. “And I'm going to make them hurt for it.”

I'm going to see if I can check in now, so I'll be away for about twenty minutes, at most! Stay tight, friends.

I have returned. And am writing.

So what exactly are you going to do? You can't just leave Mattias here. You don't think you trust him just yet. Nor can you kick him out, because they can probably see and hear his (almost) every mood. You want to save Lisl or at least help, because...well...you don't really know why. You just feel that people who take away bunnies and daughters aren't very nice and should be punished for their meanness. You've also got that text that arrived when Mattias pointed out the security camera. You're a bit worried, though. What happens to people who lose games? Who are the other players?
So: decisions
>1)Where do you put Mattias?
>[a] Leave him here
>[b] Tell him to hide
>[c] Take him to [Write-in]

>2)Do you help Mattias with rescuing his daughter?
>[a]Yes, because it's the right thing to do
>[b]No, because Cookie is more important
>[c]Yes, but Lisl is a lower priorty than Cookie

>3)Read texts now?
>[a]Yes
>[b]No

>>36823731
>>1)Where do you put Mattias?

>>[c] Take him with you. He's you new human sh- Friend! I meant friend.

>>2)Do you help Mattias with rescuing his daughter?
>>[a]Yes, because it's the right thing to do

>>3)Read texts now?
>>[a]Yes

>>36823731
>>36823837
Yep. Sounds good.

You make your way to the door, and Mattias audibly exhales.
“I'm sorry, Mister, but you're coming with me.”
“W-what?”
“I can't leave you here. But I can't hide you someplace because you might get yourself hurt. I'm doing this for your own good. If you don't come with me, I'll have to shoot your knees and lock you in the cupboard over there.” You gesture to The Buns' Room with your spirit level. “Upsie-daisies, on your feet, Mister, we've got ten flights of stairs to climb!”
“W-why can't we use the lift?”
“Because it's dangerous. You can't trust a lift not to break down. Do you want to be stuck in a scary and small metal box where they'll be watching you until someone manages to get it open?”
“No, I'd really rather not think about that.”
“A ting, enclosed space, where the only company is myself and a security camera?”
“No, I said no, dammit!”
You decide to ignore it, and head off up the stairs. But first, it's time to check your texts. You have: three new messages. The first one says, “My dearest slyphlet, I can indeed see the man with whom you've chosen to associate. Much love, Juliet” Associate? The meanie basically foisted himself on you. You're responsible for his idiot safety and Juliet has the gall to say that you chose to associate with him? How mean and rude! The second one says, “Congratulations on the soup. I was worried you'd not make it. There's something in your box for you.” The third one, the newest, says, “I can smell your piss, little girl.”
You look at your phone for a long moment, and try not to cry. Those jerks. They're so mean. How? That's gross. You don't even-
When you get to 8T, you're going to call the number, and shoot the person who answers because they're a creep. And Juliet. What did that mean? Is he saying he's one of them? You'll ask him when you talk to him next, you think.
And you take the stairs up.

You kick open the eighth floor door. Mattias walks out in front of you. You are now in a filthsome mood. Not only did they have to take Cookie, but also Lisl, and felt the need to mock you. You are going to not treat them well at all.
“Mattias, where is 8T?”
“I'll take you there. But please don't make me go inside.”
“If it makes you feel better, I can lend you my flashlight. You can have it until I get back. But I'll only give it to you if you stick by the door and not move. If you do, I will find you and you will not be happy or wanting to clap your hands, because they will have nails through them. Do you understand, Mister?” You only just realise how aggressive you're being. You don't really want this. Mister Mattias is your friend, isn't he? You're helping him so there's no need to be mean. You blush, and then quietly apologise. “Sorry. It's just that I'm scared and want my bunny.”
“I understand.”
You give him the flashlight. He turns it on, and scans slowly, like a searchlight, like an all-seeing eye, across, left and right, the hallway. The shadows run away. The ceiling looks less threatening, but the smoke, a decadent and rich fog, remains. The ceiling flows, slow, lazy, inching in its cloth waves. It still unsettles you. The cracks in the ground, you realise, are wide enough to hold spiders. You giggle nervously and decide not to step on any of the cracks. Your walk turns into a dance, as you hop and spin from purity to purity. You think about dervishes. Daddy told you that they are men who wear pretty dresses and spin and dance and spin like spinning tops because that's what their God wants. You think it must be a very nice life.
And then 8T is in front of you. You knock three times on the door.
“I've come to play.” you manage to say, in barely a whisper. “I've come to win.”
And the door opens.

The door slams behind you and you're in a corridor much like the one at home. The same, soft, rug. The same sparse lighting. There are the two framed pieces of art, one of Dali's Crucifixions, and a Yayoi Kusama photograph. Except something's quite different about them both. The Crucifixion is hung upside-down, and Christ is grinning hugely, his smile too wide for his mouth. The girl on the couch in the Kusama photograph looks like she's in intense pain, despite that there aren't any marks of violence on her body. There is no door where your parents bedroom should be. Instead, there are a number of planks nailed into the wall, even though you can see that there's just teal-painted plaster under them, not any door. The light in the ceiling begins to swing back and forth, slowly. You ready your spirit level.
There is about seven paces to the kitchen door. You take in a breath. You can do this. You're a brave girl. You want your Mummy. She'll praise you for doing this man a favour. She will! She'll tell you you're a good girl and she'll hug you because that's what she'll do! You just know it. You'll do this for her. But also for Cookie. You take in a deep breath, and push open the kitchen door.
The first thing you notice about this room is that it's round-walled. The second, that it's walled in green felt, the same sort of felt you'd find on top of a pool table. From above, you think, the room would be perfectly circular. You find this somewhat reassuring. There's a large, mahogany table right in the centre of the room, with six chairs, each chair is opposite another, and they're all taken. Except for one. Your chair. It has to be. It's a highbacked, comfortable looking, and plumped with leather and stuffing. You pull out the chair, put your backpack at your feet, and rest your spirit level on your lap.
Five faces turn to you. And they're all wearing Cookie masks.
“You've joined us.”
“Will you play with us?”
“We've been waiting.”

Damn, I've been posting as Anon for a while, I'm sorry.


“I'm here to play.”, you say.
“Good.”
“Thank you, Miss!”
“Have fun.”
Their voices sound as though they're coming from the bodies of the people facing you, but you couldn't quite be sure. You can't see their mouths. They're all wearing the neatest and smartest of suits. You feel underdressed, nervous. But not afraid. You like the green walls. They're comforting.
“I-I want to ask something.”
“Questions will be answered when the game starts.”
“Questions will be answered.”
“Yes.”
You try to look for the eyes behind the masks, but you can't. Behind their glasses, it's like a black fog. A watch quietly clicks.
“Would you like some tea, while you wait?”
“I-I would. Milk, please, no sugar.”
“My, my.” says the mask to your left, “What good taste this creature has.”
“The last one asked for sugar!”
“How vile.”
“How perverse.”
“It's why he lost. Sugar makes you fat and dumb!”
You knot your fingers in your lap. The spirit level is still here. It calms you even more. Everything's going to be fine. You'll have tea, beat these meanies, and then you'll bring back Lisl. The door bangs open behind you. You flinch, but nobody else does. A presence behind you places a cup full of tea, a saucer, and a small garibaldi biscuit in front of you. You blink for a second. Your favourite biscuit! How nice of them. When you look up, everybody has tea.

G-guys, I'm having all sorts of insecurities. How do you feel thus far?

>>36825200
Like we're sitting down to the strangest game of poker ever.

But honesty, as this is a quest there should probably be some choices coming up soon.

Though personally I'll be reading no matter what you do so, eh.

>>36825200
You're doing great imo.

>>36825273
>>36825281
T-thanks, I thought I was fucking up somehow. But yes, there will be choices.

“Alright, ladies,” The person opposite you nods to you and the player to his left, “Gents, tonight, the game is Texas Hold 'Em. You'll find your chips in the bottom of your teacup, as per usual, and the trump suit is clubs.”
“Drink up, drink up, and play.”
“Mister-” you say, “I have a question.”
“Yes?” He stretches out the 'yes'. He looks down at you.
“I believe that if I win I receive my rabbit, is that correct?”
“Why it is indeed, Miss Chambers.”
“There was a man who played the last game, Mattias?”
“Ah yes, Mister Fogel.”
“M-mister Fogel's prize was his daughter?”
“I believe you had just one question.”
“I'm sorry, sir. I would like to know whether I can win Lisl Fogel, as well as my rabbit?”
“Yes, that is indeed a possibility. Friends, what do you think?”
“A challenge!” one says. They echo him. “A challenge!”
“It is decided. You must complete two challenges, as well as winning...let's say...three hands. If you fail, you will receive double the forfeit. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Do you agree to play?”
>Do you?

>>36825471
>Yes

You're normally one to take your time with your tea, but now it appears that to play, you must drink up. You take a deep draft, and dip your garibaldi. You're not normally allowed tea after four pm, but since you've lost all concept of time, it's probably okay. You nibble. It's delicious. Crumbly, raisiny, and sweet. They're the best best best! You finish your tea quickly, while trying to look as polite and neat as possible, as that seems to be the sort of thing that would impress these sorts of people. Everyone else has turned their teacup upside-down on their saucers, and you do the same. The person opposite you nods, and everyone turns their cups over. On the small plate, there's $500 in ten fifty dollar chips. He draws a pack of cards from his pinstriped breast pocket, and shuffles them one-handedly, fanning, splitting and riffling them . It's like watching birds dance together. He quickly deals each person their cards, but doesn't deal to himself. You look at your cards. Nine of hearts; Queen of clubs.
“The entry bid is fifty.”
>Do you want to play, or do you fold?

>>36825778
>Play
Have to at least see the spread.

>>36825778
>Play.

>>36825814
>>36825888
You decide to name each player a clock-time. It'll make things easier, you think, with 12o'clock being the dealer and 6 o'clock being you. 2 o'clock, the other girl at the table, makes the call. That is, what is called the call. They bid fifty. 4 o'clock stays in as well. In fact, everyone, except 8 o'clock stays in. 8 slams his cards over in disgust and stands up from the table.
"Going so soon?" mewls Twelve.
"Rubbish cards."
"So you're not leaving? You look like you are."
"No, no I'm not."
"Then sit down."
Twelve turns over three cards. King of spades. Queen of clubs. Five of clubs.
2'o clock bets. The current pot is $200. Four raises to one hundred.Twelve's head jacknifes towards Four. You jump when his neck audibly clicks.
"My, my." is all he says.
>Do you want to stay in the game?

>>36826001
>Fold

>>36826001
>>Do you want to stay in the game?
>Fold

Bah, would chance it if there were less people.

>>36826115
>>36826102
Just to clarify, Two, Four and Ten are still in the game. But if you're sure, you can fold.

>>36826141
>Fold.

I think someone has a king and we don't have enough chips to try our luck.

>>36826141
Yeah, fold. A pair of Queens isn"t really enough to go all out on our first hand.

>>36826190
>>36826202
It's getting a bit too expensive. It's easier to drop out before things get too difficult, and with this many people, you're just not sure. You could request to have a challenge instead.
“I fold.”
“Wise move,” says Four. “A little girl like yourself shouldn't be playing a grownup's game in the first place.”
“Your input was neither requested nor needed, my dear,” says Twelve, in a voice that sounds very much like he doesn't consider her dear in the least. Twelve's voice is smooth, and rich, like Juliet's, except with an edge of malice, as though he was permanently sneering at you. “Miss Chambers, thank you for playing in this round.”
“Thank you for allowing me to play, Sir!”
“What wonderful manners.”
Ten silently meets Four's bid. Two flicks down her cards and sits back in her chair. Twelve gazes at Four, head at an angle.
“Do you want to bid further?”
“No, show me the turn, please.”
It's an eight of hearts. You can feel the grin below Four's mask.
“I raise. One hundred.”
Ten mutters something, and folds.
“Congratulations, and my condolences, respectively. Mr Shannon, please pay Mr Bossqueath.”
The chips slide over.

You can play the next hand, or you can ask to complete one of the challenges. It's entirely up to you.
>Next hand
>Challenge.

>>36826385

>Next hand

>>36826385
>>Next hand

>>36826437
>>36826452
I'm terribly sorry, guys, but I'm going to have to leave it there. Please don't be mad. I have a flight to catch. Do you have any questions/comments/ideas/suggestions?

>>36826548
Not really. It was fun.

Also now I want a permenent thread on /tg/ which is just us playing poker forever.

Thanks Spec, I had a blast.

>>36826548
It's okay. Have a nice flight. See ya next time.

I'm not sure whether you made a mistake or whether it was intentional, but it's not possible for MC to have the queen of clubs and then for it to appear on the flop unless someone is cheating.

>>36826756
Oh yeah. I just assumed that was just a mistake.

>>36826756
I just assumed that this game was rigged from the start but whatever.

>>36826856
Oh it probably is. I'm just not sure if that card was a mistake or not.