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[Which itch? My kitsch hitch is attached with an iron stitch b-Itching is for black & white bowling pins in wallpaper suits. With flightless parachutes and flatulent glutes!]

Wha-wha-what it iz, beeeatch! Try to slam my tux, that's rich! I might waddle-waddle but you glitch! Yo' can't tell me that lil' badge stitch on ya chest don't itch?

Which itch?  My kitsch hitch is attached with an iron stitch b-
Itching is for black & white bowling pins in wallpaper suits.  With flightless parachutes and flatulent glutes!

Baron, you must be loc-o. Ya got big ass toes like Frodo, with a lil' Sam mustache on there covered in snow that failed to grow. Wow! Someone aught to give you a rope tow to bring you back from the down low. Like van gogh, i'mma bring back the status quo and call you out, bro.

Van Gough had one more ear than you! And where're your feathers, you bald yahoo!
Are your pants at your ankles to show the view?  Or do you waddle like that 'cause you're pinching a poo?

All right now, I'll take the ball. Before I show you my squall you better crawl, cause I'mma end this brawl and I don't even need to wear a two-bit monocle at all!

That monocle is a sign of class.  But then you couldn't read a sign if you saw a shaft of light at mass.
Your walnut sized brain is as fast as melted glass, except when scheming to pass some crass gas!

[A Penguin instead? Tux-ed, but unwed? Waddle-dance for bread? Flapping anchovy in the head?]

Pff, Baron? More like Nellie Farren. Old, cold and dead. Lying in your bed barely fed after the gigolo fled.

A Penguin instead?  Tux-ed, but unwed?  Waddle-dance for bread?  Flapping anchovy in the head?

Like your jokes. I'd have to toke more than a burger guzzling fat bloke to even go for broke and listen to your boke.

On fish you choke, your tongue sticky as coke, and your penguin eggs all have smelly green yolk!

Croak, you think you got what it takes to get me back? Spout a loadda bullcrap like you got the clap? Trust me, you won't bust me, you're rusty, like crusty or old trusty. Come on fool, try and joust me.

Your breath is gusty (and a little musty), but where's the steel behind the squall?
Jousting knight?  All bark, no bite.  A little girl's prammed plush penguin doll!

[There it is, on the hill, the only house for miles:]

There it is, on the hill, the only house for miles:



Maybe your car is broken down.  Maybe you're seeking buried treasure.  Maybe you are a part of a small band of expendable companions.  What's important is that you're here, in front of the abandoned house, and that you decide to set better sense aside and enter.  This is your story now: the door creaks open and....

All entries need to be submitted by midnight Hawaii time, October 26, so that we can all enjoy the spooky stories in the lead up to Hallowe'en.  Submissions will be judged on the following criteria: character (depth/uniqueness), plot (interest), atmosphere (feeling), background world (setting/texture/context), word choice (written style) and scariness ( ).  More on voting at the deadline, but extra weight will be given to the final criterion!   

Good luck to all participants.  I look forward to reading your submissions!

Congrats to all the winners (which were all of us).

It's true.  I mean, despite self-votes and all ( ), we all came within a whisker of each other.  I will consider myself first-among-equals for the past round: good work everyone!  Give me a day or so to think up an interesting theme.

I will sign up if each round is extended to 24 hours (from the current 10), as I don't have around the clock access to the internet.  Do you really need to be insulted 2.4 times per day?

[Character:]

Character: MiteWiseacreLives! (Joseph de Vache), Ponch (Detective Puddles)
Plot: MiteWiseacreLives! -for me it had the whole arc, with the character's past flaws leading him unswervingly towards a tragic future.
Atmosphere: LostTrainDude -that was a pretty intense, crazy vibe I got from your piece
Background World: LostTrainDude (crazy limbo), Ponch (tough gangland precinct)
Word Choice/Style: Ponch (authentic dialogs), LostTrainDude (punching rain, tax collector analogy... )
Topic: Ponch -the fact that Tony suddenly realizes the true nature of the detective suits the theme perfectly.  I didn't get that OH! revelation from the characters themselves in the other pieces.

Overall, pretty good writing this time out.  Good work guys,

BvB

Lots of back story this time around -nice.

I find it equally intriguing that with a mention of the Littlest Hobo, MiteWiseacreLives! is not.... 

[you!]

HOSPITALITY

   Top Hat's brow creased in consternation at the sight of the rickety old hotel.  Dang the luck, he thought to himself, cursing not stopping at the fine establishment they'd past by the seaside earlier that day.  But here they'd landed, he and the missus, and there was nothing for it but to enquire about the rates.  He disdainfully brushed a bit of road dust from his fine apparel, offered his wife a supporting arm, and then entered through the rickety door beneath the hotel's peeling sign: The Mediterranean.
   A worn Old Boot of a man sat at what passed for a counter -really just a bit of plywood with a wilting flower in a jar for decoration.  The Old Boot was intent on sorting out his small change, amongst various other pocket treasures like broken buttons and the occasional bit of lint.  He was utterly unaware that some customers were waiting in front of him.
   Top Hat grimaced.  He glared.  He coughed with mock politeness, and then glanced around.  Shouldn't there be a bell on the counter, or on the door by chance?  He reached back to shut the front door again, louder this time, only the door fell off its hinges and crashed to the floor.  Mortified, Top Hat turned back to the Old Boot at the counter.  At least he finally had his attention.
   â€œGood Sir,” Top Hat began, “My wife and I are here to enquire-”
   â€œWife?” the Old Boot asked, bemused.
   â€œYes... my wife.  We've just had a long journey and-”
   â€œLooks more like an upside down bucket,” the Old Boot remarked.
   â€œNow see here!  She's a thimble!  A sturdy symbol of feminine industry if ever there was one.  Now I won't stand for this degree of ill treatment at-”
   â€œCourse I'll have to charge both of you,” the Old Boot went on.  “Rules.”  He played that last bit like a trump card.  The Old Boot sank down to rummage under the counter for something to the sound of crinkling paper.
   Top Hat swallowed his pride and began afresh.  “Now, do you have WiFi?”
   The Old Boot rose enough to cock an eyebrow over the counter.  “Why what?”
   â€œOr a gym, by chance?”
   â€œThere ain't no Jim stayin' here.  All's I've got is a Daryl and a Dwayne.”
   Top Hat shook with rage, but he forced himself to retain composure.  He mustn't sink to the level of his surroundings.  “Do you have a  pool?” he asked.
   The Old Boot stood up with a list of rates, blowing dust off the yellowing card stock.  Top Hat coughed in irritation.
   â€œConfound it, Sir!  I know a thing or two about running a hotel, as I own a string of them myself!  But I've never in my life seen the like of this despicable-”
   â€œThat'll be $1200,” Old Boot told him.
   â€œWhat!?!” Top Hat exclaimed, incredulous.  “For this... this dive?!?”
   â€œEach,” the Old Boot continued.
   â€œNever in my life!  I won't pay it, Sir!  Not a dime!  Not to be treated to this decayed squalor!  Not to be offended by every particle of my surroundings!  And certainly NOT to support any enterprise associated with you!  Why I have every inclination to take my custom elsewhere!  I mean it.  I-”
   The Old Boot just spit into an old spittoon in the corner.  “Rules.”
   A shudder of rancour quaked deep within Top Hat.  “Let me see those rates!” he seethed through gritted teeth.  He snatched the card before Old Boot could pull it away.  “Aha!” he shouted triumphantly.  “It says here that the rate is only $250!”
   â€œDo you have a reservation?” the Old Boot asked, unperturbed.
   â€œWhat the devil?  Reservation?  Of course not!  We have simply landed in this disreputable neighbourhood.  Do you think we'd intend to pitch up in a place like this! I-”
   â€œThese are reservation rates,” the Old Boot explained, snatching the card back.  They quickly disappeared beneath the counter once more.
   â€œNow see here!  I won't have it!  We're not staying here!  Good day, Sir!  Good day!”  He grabbed his wife around her pitted metallic mid-section and led her back out through the door.  There they encountered a young delivery boy.
   â€œChance card for the proprietor of this establishment!” the urchin cried, trying to hand the Top Hat the orange message. 
   â€œDo not think for a moment-” Top Hat began.  But then he had a sly thought.  There was every chance that he could deprive the Old Boot of some soft money here.  And if it were a liability, he could always just leave the bill on the doorstep.  “I mean, why thank you my good urchin.  Here,” he said, reaching into his wallet.  “Here's a nice crisp dollar as a tip.  Run along now, and don't spend it all in one place.”
   â€œA lousy buck?” the delivery boy sneered.  “I can't even buy a chocolate bar for that anymore.  Lousy cheepskate!”  He gave Top Hat a kick in the shin and then ran off.
   â€œLittle Bugger!” Top Hat fumed, hopping.  If he weren't so intent on getting back at the Old Boot, he'd be sure to set the police onto that young urchin.  But since he was currently committing mail fraud, a federal offence, he didn't want the police snooping around.  The boy could wait.
   Top Hat flipped over the orange card and read its contents.  Street repairs!  Top had grinned wickedly.  The Old Boot was going to be on the hook for a fortune!  He rubbed his hands together with glee, chuckling. 
   Then, it happened.  They were almost bowled over by a giant canine.  “What the deuce!?!” Top Hat exclaimed, but before he could exclaim any further the giant dog did a quarter turn to the left and lifted its right hind leg.  “Noooooo!” Top Hat shouted, but it was too late.  A blast of sweet hot dog urine knocked his wife over, beginning to fill her like a beer tap fills a pint cup.  He dove chivalrously to rescue her, but Top Hat fared no better.  Sopping wet and smelling faintly of musky Milkbone, they drew themselves to their feet. 
   No matter, Top Hat thought to himself.  We'll just find another hotel, and take a long shower.   He carefully left the orange card on the threshold of the Mediterranean, took his wife's arm, and began to limp proudly down the street. 
   They hadn't gone very far when they heard the shrill bleeting of a police siren.  The cop car jumped the curb ahead of them, blocking their path, and a big stern looking officer jumped out of the car.  “Had a complaint,” the officer said, “About a couple not paying their hotel bill.”
   Top Hat tried to explain.  “Now see here, officer.  Those rates were extortionate.  There's no law against-”
   â€œRules,” the officer said, holding up his hand.  In the other he held a small book, which he read from:  “You are obliged to pay rent to the owner of the property on which you land.”
   â€œBut.... But....” Top Hat began.
   â€œSo that's one count of rent evasion,” the cop began.   Then he looked down at his polished boot, onto which the sopping Top Hat was dripping.  “And one count of public urination....”
   â€œBut officer!” Top Hat protested.
     Then the boy jumped out of the squad car.  “That's him, officer!” the brat kid shouted.  “That's the one that owes all that money for the street repairs!”
   â€œMy suspension is shot from driving up and down this broken street,” the officer growled.  “That's it.  I'm hauling you in!”
   Oh, the indignity! Top Hat thought, as he and his wife were both stuffed bodily into the back of the squad car.  But still, it was only his pride that was wounded.  Sure, things looked bleak, but in the real world people who could afford Howitzers for lawyers didn't stay down for long.  You got to play the long game in this everyman-for-himself world.  Top Hat stared resolutely ahead, a grim look of determination chiseled onto his face.
   
   
   

See, we're all learning here!

I think I did check to see if music_check was null at first (as per the manual), but since it wasn't working I took the check out (since I knew it shouldn't have been null).  All part and parcel of the problem solving process.

It seems I misunderstood the manual entry for storing the channel on which the sound is being played as doing only that, rather than playing the track as well.  Rereading it now I see my error, and now I have full control over my music volume!

Many Thanks!

Alright, I'm stumped.  I can't get my music volume to change midstream.  I did some manual research and some forum research and the best I could come up with is:

First I created an AudioChannel pointer in my global script, thusly:

Code: ags

AudioChannel* music_channel;

Then I exported it:

Code: ags

export music_channel;

Then in my global script header I imported it:

Code: ags

import AudioChannel* music_channel;

Then I call this in Room 12:

Code: ags

aKentyTheme.Play (eAudioPriorityHigh, eRepeat);
music_channel =aKentyTheme.Play(); 

And then later, mid-Room 13 I need the volume to change, so I write:

Code: ags

music_channel.Volume = 10;

...and it says I referenced a null pointer, crashing the game.  So I try this in Room 13:

Code: ags

music_channel = aKentyTheme.Play ();
music_channel.Volume = 10;

...and it STILL says I referenced a null pointer.  So....  it becomes obvious to me that I don't have the faintest clue how audio pointers are supposed to work and why, in this instance, it seems not to.  Any, er, pointers on where I went wrong?

Thanks.

I ask for something different: Write a story where a character's conceptions about his world suddenly stop to be true and our reality inserts itself in the story.

Hmmmm.....  This topic promises to put characters into either humorous or outright embarrassing situations.  Count me in!

Congratulations Sinitrena!

[Sinitrena]

Character: Sinitrena for Valerian, who was a complex character, and Lily as well -I thought she nailed the 17 year old girlishness. 
           Durinde for the Angel and Devil, but also the boss: he was only mentioned in 2-3 sentences, but you know exactly the kind of guy he is.
Plot: Sinitrena: as always a wonderful fantasy adventure that keeps you guessing
      Durinde: in such a short space, it was quite the back and forth ride.  Plus I loved that twist at the very end.
Atmosphere: LostTrainDude: the grungy distopian atmosphere is palpable.
Background World: Sinitrena: Again a wonderful world explored through glimpses: crowded inns, fountains in the sunlight, oppressive temples...
Word Choice/Style: Durinde: Shoulder's feeling lighter (metaphorical and literal!), as well as coercive language used by Devil -it just fit perfectly.
                   Sinitrena: the sexual double-entendre was well crafted, but also wonderful descriptive language brought the scenes alive.
Topic: Durinde: The perfect coercion story.

It is now, more or less.  The pool of talent is in a constant state of flux, so it's hard to keep exact tabs on it.    PM me with the roles you'd like to audition for or even just take a stab at them given their character descriptions (in the first post, above) and we'll go from there.

Thanks for volunteering!

I'm also happy to report that WE ARE ON SCHEDULE!  The beta, or at least a rough-edged version (graphically speaking) will be ready for testing and voice-acting in the next five days.  Given the vagaries of my personal schedule, however, it will probably be September 23rd before I get it distributed to everyone with specific instructions (testers & voice actors).  So hang in there team!  And if you want to join in the action on the ground floor, there's still a few openings (see above)!

[The Missus Throws Dishes]

The Missus Throws Dishes

     Twas the finest of Sundays, as Sundays do go.   The sun shone gently through the open window, and a spring breeze wafted warm and gentle in the air.  I was on the sofa in my favourite spot, where the rut gives proper support to my aching back.  On the TV was a bit of sport, in my hand was a beer just starting to sweat, and the Missus was out with her church friends.  Life, or at least my life, is sparing with its perfect moments, so when they come around I like to enjoy them.  At my 64 3/4 years, you start thinking it might be the last perfect moment, and that gets you trying to enjoy them even more.
     Maybe retirement would be like one long Sunday....  I closed my eyes wistfully and imagined the day, none too distant now, when I could leave that satanic mill and never go back.  It had sucked my youth, bent my frame and twisted my very soul into some greyish shadow of a man, but if all those many years of hard toil would yield an infinite number of Sundays, then by gar it would have been worth it twice over.  I cheers myself and took a drink, and it tasted sweet.
     And then there was a fidgeting of the key in the lock, and a frown smothered the fond dream on my mind like a thunderstorm squelches a bonfire.  The Missus.  I'd forgotten about her.  Suddenly work didn't seem like such a bad place after all.  Maybe they'd let me stay on part time....
     Click!  The lock yielded, and there was a squeak of hinges, followed by a barrage of muttering.  I looked at my beer with resignation, and then sucked it back fast as I could.  There was some peeved stomping in the foyer, then a pause, like a lioness sensing a new prey on the wind.  Then the living room door banged open.
     "I thought I told you to mend the fence!" the Missus spat.  I turned to look out the window, but the sun was gone now and a bank of ugly looking clouds was rolling in.
    "The thing being, Peaches," I started, but she'd have none of my guff this day.  She took her hand and slapped it against the wall.  The house echoed, and a fine seam of dust trickled down from the ceiling.  I cringed, waiting for the echo to stop reverberating, dreading where the first assault would come from.  There was a foreign creaking noise -oh god, where was it coming from?  My eye cast about the room, and settled on the crooked bookshelf mounted over the television.  Oh no!  The plaster under the screws gave out, and the whole thing came crashing down, taking out the TV in the process.  I sat there, mouth agape.
    "Useless man!" the Missus shouted.  "Damn useless man!  Useless shelf-builder!  Useless wire-runner!  Useless washing machine repairer!"
    Now this was all pretty standard fare so far.  The Missus was big on pointing out my many flaws, and her critiques didn't bend the truth none too much.  For the fact of the matter is I'm pretty bad around the house, mostly because I'm so tired from work that all I can muster is a half-arsed effort most of the time, but restly because I don't half know what I'm doing in the first place.  I'm never the one to say I picked things up fast, so as things turn I'm often the dog in my own house, being hounded for things I reckon I can't much help.  For the Missus' part, I think she enjoys being the drill sergeant, as it gives her a feeling of purpose and self-worth.  So in a way our relationship works well, or at least it has these past 40 years.
     But this day the Missus seemed especially aggravated, which got me wondering what it was that I'd done so especially poorly.  Maybe she'd found her cutting board that I'd used to prop up the sagging stair.  Or maybe she finally found that dead possum from the attic that I was supposed to have thrown in the garbage but just stuffed into the Christmas ornament box that we hadn't opened in fifteen years.  Whatever it was, there was sure a burr under her saddle now, and she was working herself into a right lather.
     "As I recall, there be a list as long as my arm on the fridge that needs tending, and all I get out of you is a lumping on the sofa all day!  Here!" she called out, stepping into the kitchen to fetch the list.  She kept shouting this and that, but even a sharp-tongued minx like the Missus runs out of new things to say after 40 years and I've gotten rather good at tuning her out.  Instead I chugged the rest of my beer and then looked down at my toolbox next to the sofa.  Could this be the day?  The day the reed shifts the wind?  I wondered....
     "Lawn mowing!" She shouted, coming back from the kitchen.  "And the toilet needs fixing!  And the entry needs painting!  And-!"  her words were cut off as she went through a plank in the doorway and lodged herself halfway to the basement.  Today was definitely the day!
     "BLOODY ALMIGHTY!" she screeched, working herself up into a right fit.
     "You know these old places," I started calmly, knowing it would just get her going more.  "There's not any of us getting any younger, and every once and a while a whole piece just gives way...."
     "BLOODY USELESS MAN!" she screamed.  "DON'T JUST STAND THERE!  DO SOMETHING!"
     "Alright, Cookie!  Alright!  I'll go down to the basement, and push you back up!"  I grabbed the toolkit as I left.  I could hear her raving as I padded down the stairs, and almost chuckled at what was about to unfold.  On my way by the fuse box I stopped and started playing with the wires.  And then I stopped by the pipes and wrenched me some valves.  And then finally I made my way beneath the old bird and gave her a good shove back up into the light.
     By the time I made my way back up to the kitchen she'd shocked herself on the light switch and been sprayed by a fowl brown water from the tap.  She turned on me, like a bull, face red, eyes burning, and she pointed her finger.  Not a word came out but a blood curdling screech, and then the dishes began to fly.  Oh, I dodged most of them, but she had a good aim and a quick arm, for someone of her age and ill-health.  "But Sweetums!"  I begged, but really I egged her onward.  Already she was almost choking on her rage.  It wouldn't take much now....  "You know I love you!" I crooned, and then the final plate flew.  I ducked down beneath the table, heard the shattering of china on the door frame, then silence.  One second, two seconds.  I dared not look, and then Wham!  She hit the floor.  The gentle trill of broken china settling, and then just the breeze through the window.  I peeked, not daring to hope.  There she lay, lifeless in the middle of the kitchen.  I felt like a doing a song and dance like a munchkin after a tornado, but instead all I did was step daintily through the debris to get another beer from the fridge.  Of course there was some work ahead of me tidying before I could call the paramedics in, but I was feeling self-indulgent again.  All things in good time.  For the moment I was enjoying the moment when the coerced had finally become the coercer.  Here's to many a Sunday more!

Awesome!  Super thanks to everyone who has volunteered so far.  We're still more-or-less on schedule, so I expect to have my voice acting script and testable demo ready in the next 10-ish days.  In the mean time I still have some holes to fill in my voice-acting cast, so if anyone is holding back their dapper larynx, now's the time to throw your hat into the ring!

Thanks again!

Baron von Baron

Off topic, but why do you think this board is dead?

When I launched the topic (Sept 2) nobody had posted on the board for 6 entire days (Aug 26)....

  Sounds like fun!  I'm game for helping with VA Baron.  Specifically for the father and/or bully, as I think the nerd voices would be too high for my range. 

Nice!  I guess I should have a listen to see where I think you'll best fit in.  Send me something as soon as you can.  PM me.

And why aren't other people vying for these other roles yet? Truly, this is the opportunity of a life time! Who wouldn't want to be part of The AGS Bake Sale II: The Bakening this secret project! Sweet crackers, people! What are you waiting for?!

Ponch Ponch Ponch....  Explain to me again why it is I don't hire you on as my marketing director?   I'll PM you re: Kentucky Scott.

Awesome!  It's good to see competitors chomping so much at the bit.  This old warhorse needs a bit of time to get up to full speed, but I have every intention of producing something by the deadline for such a psychologically intense theme.

Some things just get better with age.