[20 / 2 / 13]
It’s a miserable existence, the fuckin’ stacks.
The shitty carpet has weird damp patches, and where it doesn’t, the ceiling leaks. There’s always an odour in the hall, or seeping through the vents, and the elevators work one week of the year, if you’re lucky.
The rent you pay – when you actually pay it – is basically theft. Thankfully the landlords don’t bother stopping by all that often (no, they don’t even fucking live in this wreck) so you’re usually safe to get a month or so behind without too much drama.
The less said about your neighbours, the better. You avoid most of them, but the ones you do somehow seem to run into regularly seem like absolute nut jobs.
Your place itself is a sty. And it’s not even like you’re shitty at cleaning up the place, it just comes that way. The floors are peeling when they’re not mysteriously damp. There’s holes in the walls. The kitchen barely deserves the name and you operate off a mini fridge and a microwave year round. The heating is shot, so most of your wardrobe is heavy shit for the 11 months of winter in his forsaken city, and the rest of the place is mundanely small, cramped and damaged beyond care.
You literally avoid your own bathroom.
Since you moved here, you’ve seen at least one dead guy in the hall, or out in the gutter. Possibly more – you didn’t hang around to see if it was a nap or an OD.
Place is fucked.
On top of it all, the night is still young, and, little do you know, you’ve got a gutful of cosmic horror coming your way.
But let’s gloss over that for now. Let’s sort out the basics.
Where in this fucked up, structurally unsound abomination to modern architecture do you live?
>> Roll 2d10 (first roll is your level, second is your apartment number – first result with 3 supports will seal the deal)
Oh, and what the fuck do you call yourself?
>> Write in… (first to 3 supports)
The shitty carpet has weird damp patches, and where it doesn’t, the ceiling leaks. There’s always an odour in the hall, or seeping through the vents, and the elevators work one week of the year, if you’re lucky.
The rent you pay – when you actually pay it – is basically theft. Thankfully the landlords don’t bother stopping by all that often (no, they don’t even fucking live in this wreck) so you’re usually safe to get a month or so behind without too much drama.
The less said about your neighbours, the better. You avoid most of them, but the ones you do somehow seem to run into regularly seem like absolute nut jobs.
Your place itself is a sty. And it’s not even like you’re shitty at cleaning up the place, it just comes that way. The floors are peeling when they’re not mysteriously damp. There’s holes in the walls. The kitchen barely deserves the name and you operate off a mini fridge and a microwave year round. The heating is shot, so most of your wardrobe is heavy shit for the 11 months of winter in his forsaken city, and the rest of the place is mundanely small, cramped and damaged beyond care.
You literally avoid your own bathroom.
Since you moved here, you’ve seen at least one dead guy in the hall, or out in the gutter. Possibly more – you didn’t hang around to see if it was a nap or an OD.
Place is fucked.
On top of it all, the night is still young, and, little do you know, you’ve got a gutful of cosmic horror coming your way.
But let’s gloss over that for now. Let’s sort out the basics.
Where in this fucked up, structurally unsound abomination to modern architecture do you live?
>> Roll 2d10 (first roll is your level, second is your apartment number – first result with 3 supports will seal the deal)
Oh, and what the fuck do you call yourself?
>> Write in… (first to 3 supports)
