Go to Mel's office
From Create Your Own Story
(Created page with 'You knock on the door of Mel's office, and wait. After a few long seconds you're commanded in. Mel is sat at her desk, a pretty woman in her late thirties. She doesn't look up, …') |
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| - | You knock on the door of Mel's office | + | You knock on the door of Mel's office and wait. After a few long seconds you're commanded in. |
| - | Mel is | + | Mel is sitting at her desk, a pretty woman in her late thirties. She doesn't look up, choosing to peer though glasses at a computer screen to her left whilst reading aloud, "A brute of a mailman from your company attacked my poor little dog this morning, leaving her terrified, with a nasty limp that the vet says will take weeks to heal. You will be receiving the bill for her treatment and a letter from my lawyer. Yours furiously... blah, blah, blah." |
| - | She sits back in her chair and pushes her specs onto her head, drawing her blonde highlighted, shoulder length hair backwards | + | She sits back in her chair and pushes her specs onto her head, drawing her blonde highlighted, shoulder length hair backwards. "Jack, really?" |
| - | You start to explain but she cuts you short. "I don't care how viscous it was, you can't beat a poodle on its owner's front lawn!" She thumps her hand on the computer keyboard in time with the last few syllables of her sentence | + | You start to explain but she cuts you short. "I don't care how viscous it was, you can't beat a poodle on its owner's front lawn!" She thumps her hand on the computer keyboard in time with the last few syllables of her sentence. "I'm going to have to put this as a serious disciplinary on your record." |
You: | You: | ||
Current revision as of 20:09, 23 February 2016
You knock on the door of Mel's office and wait. After a few long seconds you're commanded in.
Mel is sitting at her desk, a pretty woman in her late thirties. She doesn't look up, choosing to peer though glasses at a computer screen to her left whilst reading aloud, "A brute of a mailman from your company attacked my poor little dog this morning, leaving her terrified, with a nasty limp that the vet says will take weeks to heal. You will be receiving the bill for her treatment and a letter from my lawyer. Yours furiously... blah, blah, blah."
She sits back in her chair and pushes her specs onto her head, drawing her blonde highlighted, shoulder length hair backwards. "Jack, really?"
You start to explain but she cuts you short. "I don't care how viscous it was, you can't beat a poodle on its owner's front lawn!" She thumps her hand on the computer keyboard in time with the last few syllables of her sentence. "I'm going to have to put this as a serious disciplinary on your record."
You:
| Status | ||
| Health | {{{Health}}} | Identity:
Jack Foster, Postal Worker |
| MP | {{{MP}}} | |
| Level | {{{Level}}} | |
