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miraculousluvbug · 3 years

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WINGLESS | Ch. 4

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: In which the little ball of sunshine learns a difficult lesson: not everyone is a truther.

When Adrien was nine years old, he learned what lying was.

The chubby ball of sunshine was perched upon his favorite carousel, minding his business and quietly admiring the melodious splursh-splursh-splursh of the fountain several feet away. His mother sat patiently nearby in the grass, a copy of her upcoming screenplay in her lap and a steaming cup of hot chocolate in her hand.

Adrien’s father was in a “very important” business meeting (those were Gabriel’s words), but little Adrien was far from troubled by the empty seat in the grass. On the contrary, he was cherishing what little alone time he could scrounge up with his mother . . . if not a bit guiltily.

Already at such a young age, he had a preference between parents.

A dainty jingling caught the boy’s attention. The moment he identified the source, he dismounted the carousel ladybug and zipped as fast as his twenty-two-inch legs could carry him.

“Maman!” he squealed, wiggling his butt to and fro out of sheer excitement. Instantly, however, he sobered and corrected his posture, recalling his father’s colossal displeasure with that sort of behavior. He always complained it was distracting.

Emilie’s head snapped up. Her sunglasses--which were neatly resting atop her bangs--fell over her eyes at the sudden movement. Both Emilie and Adrien chuckled, cheeks tinged red from a mixture of sunlight and child-like glee.

“What is it, my lovebug?” Emilie finally responded, jolting Adrien’s heart with pure contentment that reached all the way down to the tips of his fingers and toes. He wholly adored when his mother used nicknames. “Adrien” was all his father cared to call him.

“Can I get ice cream, please?” Adrien asked politely. He may have been nine, but he certainly had manners. Noting the confusion in his mother’s brow, he pointed at the cart that had been rolled onto the street outside of the park’s fences. His mother’s gaze followed the direction of his finger.

Alas, Adrien was too naive to understand the mischievous glint in his mother’s eye, the playful tilt of her eyebrow, the smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. She knew what his father would say to an impromptu sugary treat, but pushing Gabriel Agreste’s buttons was her favorite game.

And she was itching to play ball.

She also knew Gabriel loathed when Adrien went anywhere by himself. So, naturally, she let her son off the invisible leash as often as she could.

Clutching a crisp rectangular paper to his chest as he approached the vendor, Adrien was convinced that magic was real. The paper in his hands was going to turn into ice cream and he was salivating at the thought.

The man metaphorically and literally standing between Adrien and his beloved ice cream was . . . large, to say the least. He sported a beret, a striped t-shirt, a navy blue apron, and an eye-poppingly red scarf ’round his neck. His back was turned to Adrien, so he hadn’t the smallest inkling that a child was waiting patiently behind him, the scent of sugar wafting up his nose. Said child idly wondered if he would be able to taste the sugar in the air before his father’s scowl flashed across his retinas.

Sticking out your tongue would be improper, his inner Gabriel Agreste chided.

Besides being small, Adrien was also extremely light on his feet for a kid. Whenever he startled his mother on what seemed like a weekly basis, she would laugh, filling the mansion with the warm sound, and tell him exasperatedly, “My stars, Adrien, you’re as quiet as a cat!”

Whatever that meant.

So Adrien did what he always saw his father do when he entered a room with preoccupied tenants.

He cleared his throat.

The big man whirled around and his eyes blew open wide. The shock on his face lasted for about a second before his mouth split into an infectious grin. He leaned a meaty arm against his cart, causing the thing to tip a bit. The wheels creaked in protest. “Ah, what can I do for you, kiddo?”

Adrien offered a small smile. He decided he liked this man. “I’d like some ice cream, please, sir.”

“‘Sir,’ he says!” the man bellowed. “Why, I don��t think I’ve ever met such a courteous child.”

Adrien smiled wider. Father would be pleased.

“Well, if ice cream’s what you want, then ice cream you shall have!”

Before Adrien could request any flavors, he found himself staring at the man’s back once more as the vendor got straight to work. His movements were precise, practiced. Like he had been in the ice cream business for years--which he had. Adrien had stars in his eyes. Ice cream vending seemed like much more fun than piano playing.

Before he knew it, the vendor was spinning on his heel, palm out. Adrien was face-to-face with the most delicious-looking ice cream cone he had ever laid his unworthy eyes upon. Entranced, he extended his hand and--

“Tell me, son, do you believe in magic?” the vendor asked suddenly, pulling the ice cream just out of reach. Adrien’s face fell at the newfound distance between him and his ice cream love, but then the words registered and he cocked his head to the side.

“Magic, sir?” he echoed.

The vendor’s eyes sparkled. “Magic.”

“Maman says magic is real. Father says it’s not.”

The vendor jabbed Adrien in the chest lightly with his pointer finger. “And you? What do you believe?”

Adrien hesitated. No one had ever asked him for his opinion before. Frankly, picking a belief system felt a bit like picking a favorite parent . . .

That comparison made his decision easy.

“I do believe,” Adrien confessed. Everything about this conversation had him on edge. He couldn’t control himself anymore. He just had to bounce! With conviction, he exclaimed, “I believe in magic!”

The man smugly nodded and presented the ice cream to Adrien once more. “Strawberry with black chocolate chip. Blackberries for her hair. Blueberry ice cream, just like her sky-blue stare.”

Adrien tentatively reached out to take the ice cream like it would vanish into thin air at the brush of a finger, but he felt more confident when the vendor didn’t look like he was going to re-treat with his dessert again (Maman would be proud of his pun). In the ice cream’s place, Adrien left the magic paper he had been clutching to his chest.

With his empty hand, the vendor stroked his chin, nodding, eyes squinted. What he said next seemed like it was more to himself than to Adrien. “I couldn’t decide between strawberry with black chocolate chip or cotton candy pink. How rather odd.”

“What does that mean?” Adrien asked around a mouthful of ice cream. He felt safe enough to be a bit improper around this man. They were speaking about magic, after all.

The man knelt until he was eye-level with Adrien. The young boy wasn’t quite sure what to do with the intimate attention. He felt a bit trapped in place by the vendor’s intense peepers, but it wasn’t the kind of trapped that made you want to book it at the earliest convenience. More like when his mother tucked him in for bed so tightly he could hardly free his hands from the covers.

“My ice cream will point you to your . . . ” the man paused, searching his limited vocabulary for an age-appropriate term for soulmate “ . . . best friend,” he eventually settled on.

“Oh, I have a best friend. Her name’s Chloé.”

The man’s eye twitched. “What color is her hair?”

“Yellow, like mine,” Adrien chirped. A cold sensation slipped down his fingers. While they were talking, his ice cream had started to melt. He sloppily lapped at the sugary liquid with his tongue. Why waste perfectly good napkins?

The man exhaled. “A-ha! It is not she I’m referring to, then,” he continued. But he paused and pursed his lips in thought before asking, “Are your mother and father best friends?”

Adrien puckered his lips in thought. Were they best friends? His father may not have called him nicknames, but he was always lavishing his mother in nicknames. He kissed her hand and joked back and forth with her. He smiled around her. “I think so.”

“Well, my ice cream will lead you to your own--er, best friend, like your mother and father,” the vendor informed him, straightening his spine so he stood at full height. Adrien had forgotten for a moment there just how large this man was. “You enjoy your ice cream now, son.”

Adrien flashed a smile at the kind ice cream vendor that rivaled the brilliance of the sun and began his small trek back to his mother. The thrilling conversation about magic rattled against his skull. His own best friend? Chloé always said they were best friends, but they weren’t like his mother and father. Could he really have a true best friend? Someone to call nicknames and kiss their hand and laugh?

Abruptly, Adrien lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. His instinct had been to grip the ice cream tighter so as to prevent dropping it, but this only caused the cone to break in his fists and stain his clothes red and blue. He clumsily got to his feet.

“Ugh! Watch where you’re going, stupid,” a voice spoke from beside him. Adrien craned his neck to find another kid that looked to be older than him, still on the ground. They must have run into each other.

“I’m sor--” Adrien began, but he was interrupted by another voice, much older this time.

“My son!” the voice cried as it neared. Adrien assumed it was the boy’s mom.

Something dark flickered across the other boy’s expression. Adrien would soon learn that was the face he made when concocting an evil plan. In an instant, the boy went from looking downright sinister to aching in misery.

The boy pretended to wipe tears from his eyes. “Maman, this boy pushed me down and we both fell! I was just asking him where he got his ice cream. He didn’t have to push me.”

Adrien’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, my baby,” the mother crooned, helping her son to his feet and dusting him off a little harsher than necessary. Then she turned an icy glare onto Adrien. “I’ll be speaking with your mother. Where is she?”

Adrien wanted to tell this woman that none of it was true. He badly wanted to explain that he had never even spoken to her kid, but all he could muster was pointing a finger toward the unsuspecting Emilie Agreste, her pending screenplay still in her lap and her hot chocolate cup now empty in the grass, adjacent to her thigh.

The ornery woman marched up to his mother, son in tow and a righteous hand on her hip. Adrien lagged behind them in their shadows. “Your son just attacked my son unprovoked.”

“That doesn’t sound like my son,” Emilie replied evenly, not even bothering to look up from the stack of papers she had been studying. Her tone sent chills down Adrien’s spine. It resembled the kind his father took when he was disappointed in him.

The older boy wiped his eyes with the back of his arm. “I just wanted to know where he got his ice cream.”

Emilie arched an eyebrow. She had half a mind to tell this kid to never pursue a career in acting.

The other mother’s face softened at her son’s theatrics. Then she pointedly stared daggers at Adrien, looming over him in an effort to make him shrink. He didn’t. He had seen far worse.

“You better teach that wretched boy some manners,” she spat. Then, as quickly as she came, she stormed off to the other side of the park, leaving Adrien to deal with the chaos she had created.

Emilie coolly turned her gaze onto Adrien, who had started crying. He looked down at his hands then, where the promise of friendship and magic was now nothing but a sticky red and blue mess. His mother was obviously so upset with him. Surely, she would believe the boy and his mother and tell his father and then his father was going to forbid him from leaving the house ever again and he’d never get ice cream--

He was so distraught over failing his mother that he hadn’t noticed her rise from the grass. It was only her shadow falling over him that alerted him to her presence. She gently lifted his chin so that he would look up at her. She tilted her head, eyebrows knitted. He could barely make out the features of her face as the sun hit her back, shrouding her in a glow that made her seem ethereal.

“My love, why do you cry? You don’t think I believe her, do you?”

The question caught Adrien off-guard, that’s for sure.

“Y-you don’t?” Adrien sniffed. He felt so dirty.

Emilie’s voice was soft, compassionate. It blended with the melody of the fountain. “I’d like to hear what happened from you.”

So Adrien explained. He recounted that he was returning to her, that the two boys had collided and had both fallen down, and that he had blamed it all on Adrien with utter nonsense about asking where to find the ice cream.

“I don’t get it,” Adrien told her. “Why would he say all that if it wasn’t true?”

Adrien and his mother were resting in the grass then, his mother’s arms wrapped firmly around him as his back connected with her chest. She didn’t mind if she got sticky comforting her son. “What he did is called lying, Adrien. You don’t go to public school, so you haven’t had to deal with it. Some people can be awful. Not everyone is as sweet and as honest as you.”

“Are you gonna go tell that evil boy’s mother that I didn’t push him?”

Emilie chuckled softly. “No, my love.”

Adrien bristled. “Why not?” His mother, sensing the tension in her son, ran her fingers through his hair, anchoring him. The pressure of his mother’s hug combined with the gurgling of the fountain and the smell of fresh grass quieted his need for justice.

“Well, it seems to me like they are all bark and no . . . . bite.” With a smirk, Emilie dug her fingers into Adrien’s ribs, causing him to break out into unbridled laughter. When he relaxed, she continued. “If we just move on, so will they. Besides, making a bad guy suffer has never turned them into a good guy.”

Adrien turned around in his mother’s arms to face her. The love in her eyes made him feel seen, heard, and safe.

“As long as you and I know the truth, does it really matter?”

Adrien opened his mouth to answer, but he didn’t really know what to say. Emilie kissed him on the nose and sat up, pulling him up with her.

“Come along, my sweet prince. You’re in need of a good scrub. If we stay out in the sun any longer, we’re sure to melt.”

Adrien processed what his mother said before he jumped to his feet, a new pep in his step. “Wow, two puns! Good ones, Maman,” Adrien laughed, slipping his hand into hers.

The pair shared a pleasant walk as they returned to their home, the sun shining brightly on their backs.

While fifteen-year-old Adrien had forgotten his interaction with the mysterious ice cream vendor that day, he did remember his mother’s wisdom when a certain lying classmate of his had begun causing problems. He passed this wisdom along to his good friend, hoping to provide her with the same sense of comfort in what seemed like an insurmountable situation.

It was a little different because he was a teenager now--and he was down a mother--but studying the picture of the two of them on his desktop gave him renewed strength to tolerate Lila’s crap. He patiently waited in his desk chair for Lila to initiate conversation, but she was concerningly quiet. Adrien wasn’t a fool, though. He remembered Plagg’s outrage at her snooping through his drawers. She could very well be doing just that.

But could it actually be considered snooping if he was letting her? She didn’t know she was allowed, but still. It wasn’t like he had anything to hide. The one secret he did have was fit snugly around his finger.

“Lila,” he sighed when it became apparent she wasn’t going to speak. “This is the fourth time you’ve lied to Nathalie about my grades.”

He didn’t need to turn around to know that Lila was sporting an expression of incredulity. This was becoming a routine. She would lie to get into his mansion. He would acknowledge that he knows she’s a liar. She would feign offense. He would proceed to play along with whatever excuse she chose that day because she eventually leaves once she’s grown bored. It was a dance . . . of sorts.

But there were much better dances and he already had a dance partner whom he wouldn’t trade for anyone.

And school isn’t even in session, he added mentally, propping his elbow against his desk and resting his face in his palm. The hum of his computer fan filled the silence. He just wanted to catch up on some anime after a grueling modeling gig.

Behind him, Lila took a seat on Adrien’s sofa and folded one leg over the other. “It’s the only way I know how to persuade them to let me in. Aren’t you happy I’m here . . . friend?”

As always, she emphasized the word friend. It was a reminder of their unspoken agreement to be amicable since she single-handedly engineered the expulsion of the school’s sweetest class president. As if he needed a reminder of her villainy.

“I’m actually really confused about my math homework. The pithagrengan theory or something,” Lila drawled, twirling one of her side pigtails.

Plagg, who had been listening from the safety of Adrien’s trophy, was sorely unamused. This girl made the hairs he didn’t have on the back of his neck stand up. He was the god of destruction. Decaying things were quite literally his cup of tea. The stinkier the cheese, the better. The moldier the sock, the smellier.

And Lila disgusted him.

Adrien sat up straight. “You mean . . . the Pythagorean theorem?”

“Yep! That thing,” Lila chirped.

Adrien relaxed his shoulders. He loved Greek mathematics and he particularly enjoyed anything to do with triangles. Tutoring Lila was obviously not his first choice, but he could survive this. “Wait right here and I’ll get a book to help us out,” he instructed, bounding up his spiral steps and scrutinizing his bookcase.

“How thoughtful of you, Adrien,” Lila trilled.

Plagg heard stealthy footsteps then. Careful not to wrinkle any of Adrien’s precious Ladybug photos, the cat god peered over the rim of the trophy to find Lila in Adrien’s desk chair. She touched Adrien’s mouse and woke up the machine (Plagg assumed as Adrien told him the photo of him and his mom meant that the thing was sleeping).

Plagg narrowed his eyes. She was almost worse than Félix.

“It’s actually this really great book because it’s got tons of puns and jokes! I don’t usually like my textbooks, but this one made my math more fun,” Adrien called from the second story.

Lila rolled her eyes. At this point, Plagg really didn’t understand why Lila kept seeking his kid out. She clearly didn’t appreciate his comedic genius.

Plagg was about to phase through the walls and tell Adrien that the cheese-hating brat was snooping through his folders when a familiar notification sound stopped him mid-phase. That was Adrien’s specialized notification for Akuma alerts!

Plagg was not the only one who noticed. Lila’s attention had shifted from the computer in front of her to the cell phone resting on Adrien’s desk. Plagg watched curiously as several emotions emerged on her face. Irritation. Curiosity. Seething rage. And then, finally, scheming.

After looking over her shoulder to verify Adrien had not yet returned from his book-fetching, the girl slid her finger across his screen, ridding Adrien’s notification list of the Akuma alert.

“Oops,” she snickered under her breath.

Now Plagg really had to phase up to get Adrien--

Except Adrien had already found his Pun-thagorean Theorem mathematics textbook and was standing at the foot of the steps. If Plagg tried to talk to him now, he’d surely be seen by Lila. Of all the people who could discover him, Plagg was 101% certain Lila would rank highly on the list titled THE LITERAL WORST.

Ah, cheese and crackers, Plagg griped. She’s definitely worse than Félix.

Where was sugarcube when he needed her?

-----

Hope you enjoyed Chapter 4! I have all the way up until Chapter 7 written, so you can expect three new chapters soon. Follow me for updates and check out my Instagram where I post art!

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ciathyzareposts · 5 years

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Missed Classic: Asylum – Off To A Rocky Start

by Will Moczarski

Med Systems Marathon Overview: (a) 1980 Summary (b) Reality Ends (1980) (c) Rat‘s Revenge / Deathmaze 5000 (1980) (d) Labyrinth (1980)

Where I end and you begin

The first puzzle

My first hour in the Asylum is a tough one. I start the game in a cell with a locked door and I can see a bed as well as a box. The graphics are already more detailed than those of the previous 3-D maze games by Med Systems, it seems, as the bed can clearly be distinguished as an object you can interact with. I open the box and it contains a hand grenade which poses the first puzzle. I don’t find anything in, under, or on the bed, and if I pull the pin from the grenade and throw it at the door, everything blows up and the game is over. It takes more time than I’d like to admit but eventually I find the solution: the pin from the grenade is actually a key! The game and I don’t exactly start out as friends.

Apart from the pin and the grenade, I also wear a coat (“being worn”). Picking up an item displays the inventory which is handy. The interface already seems more polished than the one in Labyrinth. After typing “unlock door with pin”, I can open the door and escape my predicament. Turning left, I enter a long corridor with three doors on the left and one on the right. Looking back at my cell door, I can now see the image of an open door which is pretty nice. My actions appear to visibly change objects in the game world this time.

Now these previous two paragraphs make the first puzzle sound like a breeze when in fact I got stuck there for quite a while. It’s quite a dealbreaker and I wonder how many players just quit when they weren’t able to solve it. On the other hand, it was very educational regarding how the first few puzzles work in this game. They are short, self-contained set pieces that fortunately don’t require the player to examine the bed twice or something like that (I hate “do it twice” puzzles, I really do!) but rather use what’s laid out before her very eyes.

Second puzzle. The game is still out to get me.

Men of violence doomed in death

All of the doors are locked and none of them can be unlocked with the pin. My lock-picking skills seem to be rather bad. Behind the corner, I run into a guard. “A guard! Do something!”, screams the game. But throwing the grenade just ends in mayhem. When I try to move, I get caught. The game then tells me that I should have tiptoed (adding: “you fool”, in the fine tradition of Med Systems games insulting their players) but it doesn’t work when I try it after reloading. However, getting caught does not end the game. I am apparently back in my cell (an assumption that will turn out to be incorrect) wearing a straightjacket which is on fire. That escalated quickly. I cannot move anywhere and my inventory is empty. Nothing seems to help but the ol’ vocabulary which I can access by typing “vocab”. I am told that the straightjacket still burns which reminds me that the game is in real time – but what’s a poor boy to do anyway? After a couple of failed attempts, the verb “roll” seems suspicious enough to try it out, and voilà: “Flames smother, jacket falls away!” Two puzzles down, many more to go, I assume.

With my inventory gone, there is at least another box on the ground containing a newspaper. Reading it just reveals that “it says nothing important!”. The door is, of course, locked, and examining the bed still does not yield any results. This is already the third one-room puzzle locking me up in an environment that contains all the necessary items (if any) for the solution. So far, I like the opening a lot!

Once more, it takes some time until I get the right idea, and then it still takes some parser-wrestling. This actually feels like a classic adventure game solution, and I wonder if there are other games that made use of it. CAPs for anybody who can name other games containing this (kind of) puzzle. The first step is to examine the door as well as the keyhole which reveals that there is a silver key on the other side. I then proceed to “slide” the newspaper under the door and then try to knock the key onto the newspaper to pull it back with the key on it. At this point, I get very unfriendly with the parser. A deep breath and a few minutes later I make it work by typing “poke keyhole”. Pulling the newspaper from under the door gets me the silver key, and I can proceed to unlock the door from the inside. I still assume that I’m in my cell and that I have somehow lucked into picking the lock with the pin the first time. However, the corridor looks different – I must have been in another cell.

Moving along the corridor, I can hear somebody scream “Let me out and I’ll kill you!” That’s tempting but the silver key doesn’t fit, so I get down to something soothing for once: mapping the environment. In the next cell, there appears to be another inmate as I can hear “foolish giggling” – alas, my silver key doesn’t fit here either. The last door on the right finally can be unlocked. Behind it, I find another corridor with more cells. I seem to have entered the labyrinth proper, at last (another wrong assumption).

After a few more steps, however, I get caught by guards and it’s game over again. So far, the asylum is quite a bit harder to map than the deathmaze and the labyrinth. On the other hand, it has more dialog, more plot, more puzzles, all of which are things that keep me motivated. The game is not exactly easy but I was expecting as much after my previous experiences with Med Systems.

Friend of the devil is a friend of mine

Socializing with the inmates

Turning a corner never ends well as there always seems to be a guard ready to catch me. Fortunately, the game gave me a hint when I got caught the first time, so I know what to do right away. Tiptoeing before turning the corner lets me perform exactly one action before the guard notices me, so I’ll better make it count. Hitting the guard works smoothly enough, leaving me with an unconscious guard and his belongings: a brass key, cigarettes and a uniform. Naturally, I take all of them and can apparently roam the premises undisturbed now – at least for a while.

I attempt to map the next corridor and none of my keys work with the first two doors. However, the third one’s the charm. An inmate asks me if I have a cigarette – first the rude way (“Gotta cigarette?”), then, as I unlock his door with the silver key and enter his cell, he’s already much friendlier: “May I have a cigarette?” Saying “yes” makes him follow me around and on each screen with a door I get a message whether my new friend is able to pick the lock or not. Now that’s a good deal! The inmate is like a third key. The downside is that he needs a new cigarette every few minutes or he won’t keep following me, effectively establishing a time limit within the time limit.

In the next corridor, there are two locks the inmate can pick. Both lead to cells with more inmates who have burning questions: “May I take your coat?” and “Wanna buy a tuba?” Answering “yes” makes me realize that I don’t have my coat (anymore) so I probably have to get it back to solve this one. Trying to buy the tuba ends in a non sequitur, as the vendor laughs and tells me (s)he doesn’t have a tuba. Oh well.

Around the next corner there is another lock the inmate can pick for me. If I open the door without closing the others first, the game tells me that there are too many open doors in the asylum which is why I get caught again: game over. The next time I am more cautious and close all the doors behind me before heading onward. As soon as I open the door, though, I get pushed into a maze that looks familiar. This is proper Deathmaze 5000 or Labyrinth territory and I can finally map to my heart’s content. But who pushed me? Is this just a Zork reference hinting at the famous trap door? Or did my friend, the inmate, finally decide to betray me even if I didn’t run out of cigarettes yet? All I can say is that for all its “madhouse” cliches, Asylum is leaps and bounds ahead of its predecessors in terms of atmosphere.

But first I restore back to the beginning and unlock the door to the right of the straightjacket room to see what’s in that other corridor. I find that my silver key unlocks two more doors. Also, the corridor loops back to my own cell – at least that’s what I assume because I find my “belongings” (the hand grenade, the coat) there. It makes sense that the silver key also works for my cell as I wouldn’t have been able to get back the pin with the hand grenade in the room. Another case of good game design!

One more step and I get caught, however – I probably should have knocked out the guard before I went exploring this time. My next objective is to get my coat to that other inmate to see if I will get something in return, and it’s (drumroll) a round wooden peg. Not only the puzzles feel like classic adventure game challenges, the absurd objects definitely follow suit.

I enter the maze again to map it but this time something strange happens: not only do I get pushed from behind but I am also rubbed with vanishing cream. What does this mean? Did this also happen the last time? I don’t think so. If not, how did I trigger this event?

Product placement

Session time: 2.5 hrs Total time: 2.5 hrs

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/missed-classic-asylum-off-to-a-rocky-start/

#retro games #dos games #retro #crpg #adventure #amiga #oldcomputers #8bit #16bit #blog #repost

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