- played with sonnet-35
You act as a player of an interactive text adventure game. The goal is to win the game.
The user provides the text of the text adventure, as well as the initial scenario.
The user is not a human and will only prints the output of the game.
Your task is to respond with simple commands, typically one or two words.
*** SHADE ***
A brief story by "Ampe R. Sand" (Andrew Plotkin) First-time players should type "about". Release 3 / Serial number 001107 / Inform v6.21 Library 6/10
Odd, how the light just makes your apartment gloomier. Pre-dawn darkness pools in the corners and around the tops of walls. Your desk lamp glares yellow, but the shadows only draw your eyes and deepen.
Not much of an apartment, no. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.
Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.
You are sprawled on the futon, staring up into that gloom. Your eyes feel gritty. But it's too late -- early -- no time left for sleep, anyway. In a few hours your ride will arrive.
On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.
look
You survey your one small room. One desk, paper-piled, with a dusty computer shoved to the side. Your futon, upon which you sit. Second-hand stereo sitting on a cardboard crate. A kitchen nook one way and a bathroom nook the other, with a closet to the side. A broad mirror tries to make the place seem twice its size; it halfway works. One window, whose shade is down, and the front door firmly shut.
The place is still too dim, except the corner where the desk lamp is somehow too bright.
Your luggage is piled untidily by the door. A potted hyacinth sits beneath the window.
On the desk are your to-do list and a travel book.
examine to-do list
You won't accomplish much while slumped on the futon. That's been getting slowly more apparent for hours now.
stand up
You lever yourself upright. Umf. It's amazing how much lack of sleep feels like a hangover, only without the preceding party.
examine to-do list
You sit down at the desk.
The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. However, everything seems to have gotten done. The last line reads "Call taxi", and it has its checkmark, and here you wait.
Come to think of it, as with a hangover, dehydration is probably the problem. Your mouth is dry wool.
go to kitchen
You can't see any such thing.
examine kitchen nook
You stand up.
The kitchen alcove has a refrigerator, a sink, a stove, and barely enough space to stand between them. One wall projects out to form a counter, with a cupboard beneath it.
On the kitchen counter is a glass.
take glass
You step into the kitchen nook.
Taken.
fill glass with water
(the water from the kitchen sink) Nothing comes from the tap but an eerie distant howling. The kitchen sink hasn't worked since you moved in.
examine refrigerator
You can't see any such thing.
open refrigerator
You can't see any such thing.
examine fridge
It's yellow. Beyond that, it looks like every other refrigerator in the United States.
open fridge
You open the refrigerator, revealing a jar of peanut butter.
You're still feeling thirsty.
take peanut butter
Taken.
close fridge
You close the refrigerator.
go to bathroom nook
You can't see any such thing.
examine bathroom nook
You step out of the kitchen nook.
The bathroom alcove has a toilet, a sink, and a shower stall that manages to make the rest of the place look roomy. Not much else; most of your accoutrements have been packed.
fill glass with water from bathroom sink
You step into the bathroom nook.
The faucet rattles, and water dribbles into the glass.
drink water
(the glassful of water) You gulp the water. It feels vaguely astringent in your mouth, unsatisfying. Well, no doubt thirst will be more real after you fly to California --
examine mirror
You step out of the bathroom nook.
The far side of the mirror is just as shadowy as this one. It's probably meant as commentary; not more space, just more of the same.
-- Fly? Where did you leave your plane tickets?
examine luggage
You've packed and repacked: breakdown tent, dried food, sunscreen, compass, mylar space-blanket, long underwear and showoff tats, walking shoes and dancing shoes and hiking shoes. You're ready for the Death Valley Om.
(As ready as you're likely to get. It is, of course, the Death Valley Om -- half arts festival, half cult, a week in the deep desert where people show off, have sex, take drugs, and maintain a twenty-four-hour constant OM. Sand, heat, and thousands of throats. A space outside the world; with no dues except that you join in the chant, as much as is in you to chant.)
Oh dear. You didn't pack the tickets in with your luggage, did you?
You hate this feeling. It happens all the time. Something safely accomplished, and then pow, you have to worry about it again. Unfair! The tickets must be here somewhere.
examine desk
The desk is, of course, an organized mess; overlapping piles of paper, inches high. The computer is a dusty beige block, several generations out of date, poking up hopefully from among the strata. The lamp hangs over all.
A game-over message is flashing on the screen.
You see your to-do list and a travel book on the desk.
examine travel book
You sit down at the desk.
The Schmendrick's Guide to Desert Camping -- you've been studying it for weeks now. Vast alien reams of information: perspiration rates, sunburn factors, tent guying, and how to make a condensation still out of a trashbag and a tin can. You could probably write the book out longhand from memory; and none of it means a damn thing to you.
(That's why you're going on this trip, after all. Nothing is off-limits at the Om. "Law ends at sea level." In one place in the country, for one week, a community is formed from pure will. No enforcement; only desire, and the knowledge of what the desert can do. And the Om. Every religion chants, you remember reading that.)
search desk drawers
I only understood you as far as wanting to search the desk.
search desk
You carefully tilt up piles of paper, trying to avoid an avalanche. Nope. The tickets aren't there.
open desk drawer
I only understood you as far as wanting to open the desk.
examine desk
The desk is, of course, an organized mess; overlapping piles of paper, inches high. The computer is a dusty beige block, several generations out of date, poking up hopefully from among the strata. The lamp hangs over all.
A game-over message is flashing on the screen.
You see your to-do list and a travel book on the desk.
search under desk
You can't see any such thing.
look under desk
Nothing interesting is under the desk.
examine closet
You stand up.
The closet (if you can call it that) is a shallow recess next to the bathroom. Peering into the (ahem) depths, you see an old jacket and a vacuum cleaner.
examine jacket
Your jacket hangs in the closet. This is, of course, your old jacket -- vaguely waterproof but definitely ratty -- suitable only for errands around the city. Your new jacket, windproof weatherproof sandproof Xoron(tm), suitable for desert hiking, is neatly packed away in your luggage.
(Not that luggage is the important part. The experience is supposed to be transformative. And, frankly, you're in need of transformation. Another month of this and you'll indistinguishable from this apartment -- beige, featureless, and up for cheap rent. At the Death Valley Om, they say, you may be sunburnt and thirsty and exhausted, but you're alive. Nothing sounds better. You're planning to try the solo Zen night hiking.)
Now, you were wearing this jacket when you picked up the plane tickets...
search jacket pockets
I only understood you as far as wanting to search the old jacket.
search old jacket
You root through the jacket's myriad pockets. Nope. The tickets aren't there.
examine vacuum cleaner
The vacuum cleaner is a "luggable" model -- meaning that it's awkward to carry, but too small to be really efficient. Fortunately, you don't generate a lot of dust.
examine stereo
The stereo is old, dating from the era when matte-black, featureless, and opaque were the watchwords of hipness. It still works, however.
turn on stereo
The stereo buzzes, hunts, and then locates its station. Ah, your favorite small-time indy worldbeat/techno station. At least you think that's what they call it. It's a pretty stream-of-consciousness format.
The room fills with the sound of an Appalacho-Balinese song.
examine window
The shade is drawn.
The radio begins playing a creepy Estonian song.
open shade
Darkness is already crawling around the edges of the windowshade. You have no desire to look night in the face.
examine hyacinth
This plant is your one claim to actual responsibility. The hyacinth sits by the window, soaking up sunlight (when it's not night) and managing to thrive despite your lack of gardening skill. Although it looks a little parched at the moment.
water hyacinth
You're not carrying any water.
take glass
You already have that.
fill glass with water
Which do you mean, the water from the bathroom sink, the water from the shower or the water from the kitchen sink?
water from bathroom sink
You can't see any such thing.
go to bathroom
You can't see any such thing.
examine bathroom nook
The bathroom alcove has a toilet, a sink, and a shower stall that manages to make the rest of the place look roomy. Not much else; most of your accoutrements have been packed.
The radio begins playing an Appalacho-Japanese song.
fill glass with water from sink
Which do you mean, the water from the bathroom sink or the water from the kitchen sink?
water from bathroom sink
You can't see any such thing.
go to bathroom nook
You can't see any such thing.
examine bathroom sink
You step into the bathroom nook.
The bathroom sink is small and just a bit scummy. (You never quite understood how bathroom sinks acquire grunge. After all, most of what passes through them is soap and water... It's a mysterious world sometimes.)
fill glass with water
(the water from the bathroom sink) The faucet rattles, and water dribbles into the glass.
go to hyacinth
You can't see any such thing.
examine hyacinth
This plant is your one claim to actual responsibility. The hyacinth sits by the window, soaking up sunlight (when it's not night) and managing to thrive despite your lack of gardening skill. Although it looks a little parched at the moment.
water hyacinth
You step out of the bathroom nook.
You water the plant.
examine hyacinth
This plant is your one claim to actual responsibility. The hyacinth sits by the window, soaking up sunlight (when it's not night) and managing to thrive despite your lack of gardening skill.
The radio begins playing a hypno-electronic song.
examine futon
The futon is definitely on the downhill side of life's rolling knolls. It serves as both couch and bed, if inadequately in each case, which makes it the most important piece of furniture you own.
search futon
There is nothing on your futon.
look under futon
You bend down, and see dust and assorted minor trash under the futon. Nothing unusual.
examine mirror
The far side of the mirror is just as shadowy as this one. It's probably meant as commentary; not more space, just more of the same.
look behind mirror
I only understood you as far as wanting to look.
examine behind mirror
You can't see any such thing.
move mirror
The mirror is firmly anchored to the wall.
examine door
The front door is white and rectangular -- yes. The door is closed.
The radio begins playing an Austro-Balinese song.
open door
The sun hasn't risen; what light you have would just leak out into the night. Anyway, the taxi hasn't arrived, so there's nowhere to go.
examine computer
You sit down at the desk.
The computer is years old, and incompatible with just about everything but electricity. You use it for writing -- at least, you try to believe that you do.
Right now, however, there's a game on the screen -- one of the text adventures, or interactive fictions, or whatever they are this month -- the only kind of game your beige antique can run, anyway.
The you-have-died message is blinking morosely at you. You started up Ready, Okay! last night, trying to distract yourself until morning. But you can't get even halfway through without running out of insulin.
play game
You've tried everything you can think of twice, and you're tired of trying. Maybe an idea will come to you later.
restart game
I only understood you as far as wanting to restart.
restart Ready, Okay!
I only understood you as far as wanting to restart.
examine computer screen
The computer is years old, and incompatible with just about everything but electricity. You use it for writing -- at least, you try to believe that you do.
The you-have-died message is blinking morosely at you. You started up Ready, Okay! last night, trying to distract yourself until morning. But you can't get even halfway through without running out of insulin.
turn off computer
You hit the power key; the computer gives a tiny sigh and shuts down.
search desk again
I only understood you as far as wanting to search the desk.
search desk
You carefully tilt up piles of paper, trying to avoid an avalanche. The plane tickets still aren't there.
The radio begins playing a soothing Dominican tune.
examine to-do list
The task list for your impending journey is a mess of crossed-out items and scribbled corrections. There, near the bottom; "Buy plane tickets", and a checkmark. So where did you leave them? The desk? Your coat pocket? Could they have gotten packed accidentally?
examine luggage
You've packed and repacked: breakdown tent, dried food, sunscreen, compass, mylar space-blanket, long underwear and showoff tats, walking shoes and dancing shoes and hiking shoes. You're ready for the Death Valley Om.
open luggage
You stand up.
You quickly pop open each suitcase and riffle through, trying not to disarrange your tidy packing too badly. Nope. The tickets aren't -- Aha. They are, after all. The tickets slide to the floor and lie there, smirking at you.
take tickets
Taken. Something scrapes underfoot as you bend to pick the tickets up.
examine tickets
Your round-trip tickets to California. You stare at them for a moment -- lost in the idea of the desert.
The radio begins playing a hypno-Javanese song.
The sound of a helicopter comes faintly through the closed window.
examine floor
It's a bit sandy.
examine sand
A trace of sand is visible on the living room floor.
The helicopter is getting closer.
take sand
You scrape up a pinch of sand. It runs through your fingers; it's sand.
examine sand closely
I only understood you as far as wanting to examine the sand on the living room floor.
examine sand on floor
A trace of sand is visible on the living room floor.
The sound of the helicopter is fading now.
taste sand
You cannot drink sand.
The radio begins playing a haunting Inuit fugue.
examine sand
A trace of sand is visible on the living room floor.
look under luggage
You find nothing of interest.
You can barely hear the helicopter any more.
examine peanut butter
Partially hydrogenated. Nutritive, reliable. Brandless and brown.
open peanut butter
You have no appetite this early in the morning.
put tickets in luggage
That can't contain things.
The radio begins playing a thumping Basque lullaby.
open luggage
Oh, no. You spent hours jamming everything into the maximally packed configuration. If you disturb the luggage now, you fear, you'll still be repacking when the taxi arrives.
put tickets in jacket pocket
I only understood you as far as wanting to put the plane tickets in the old jacket.
put tickets in old jacket
That can't contain things.
wear old jacket
(first taking the old jacket) You don't need your old jacket.
take old jacket
You don't need your old jacket.
The radio begins playing a rhythmic Shaker tune.
examine door
The front door is white and rectangular -- yes. The door is closed.
open door
The sun hasn't risen; what light you have would just leak out into the night. Anyway, the taxi hasn't arrived, so there's nowhere to go.
wait
Time passes.
wait
Time passes.
The radio begins playing a rhythmic Japanese song.
wait
Time passes.
wait
Time passes.
wait
Time passes.
wait
Time passes.
wait