>>21008795
beep boop ur a faget

Hi. Carondelet only exists on the uptown side of Canal, while Bienville is in the French Quarter. There's no corner of the two.

...Sorry, kinda weird coincidence that your first reply is someone who used to deliver food around the Quarter for a year.

>>21008836
Actually, first reply is calling me a faget, as is mandatory.

But goddamnit, you're right. I forgot that Carondelet turns into Burboun after Bienville. I can't BELIEVE I did that. Oh well, you're drunk. Totally believable.

>>21008864
So I'm trying to figure out which corner that picture shows. Did you take the pic? It's driving me mad, but I'm a bit rusty I guess.

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>>21008820
When you this mad, then you have my permission to BAWWWW.

>hobo
we're
>with booze
off to a good start

Indeed. You are a proud hobo! Or "brobo", said nobody ever fuck that sounded stupid stop being drunk brain ohgodmyheadnevermind.

Rolling off your thin excuse of a beadspread, the floorboards creak as you shift your weight, managing to lever yourself off the ground without falling over. Though that just makes everything hurt more to look at.

"Nnnnnnnnnggghhhhh......". You shuffle towards the kitchen, being careful to avoid the various holes that have rotted into the wood. You've managed to cover them with newspapers and duct tape, but that probably won't stop your foot from going through them.

Approaching what remains of the kitchen counter and its cabinets, you open one of the cabinet doors, which immediately proceeds to fall off the hinges, barely missing your foot, which you do not notice. Grabbing a box of cereal, you pop open the lid and pour some of into your mouth.

Ahhhhh, food. Perhaps this will help the hangover while you try to remember your name.

What was your name again?

[insert name now]

>>21008892
Nope, just grabbed it from some website. I imagine it's along Bourbon, and closer to Canal, as that's where that hot dog cart usually sets up.

>>21008939
Earl Henderson.

>>21008938
Well, shit. Papa-N hath actually come. Now I feel even more under pressure. The solution, of course, is to go get another beer.

>>21008984
Good thing you ran it tonight. Tomorrow is going to be busy, only hunting coyote tonight.

Lincoln Bismuth

Hmmm.........expired cereal is crunchy.

You think your name is coming back to you now. What was it........? .......Earl? What kind of stupid name is that? Please god, don't let your name be Earl, that would only further reinforce your hobo lifestyle......wait! Wait! That's it! Lincoln! Praise the floorboards that hold up your weight, it's Lincoln! Lincoln Bismuth! There is some good in the world! You have such a badass name!


...........Though you are still wearing extremely filthy clothes, hungover, eating stale cereal while squatting in an abandoned suburb house. So maaaaaaaybe you shouldn't be dancing the hobo jig quite yet.

Heh. Hobo jig. Totally involves some stylish shuffling.

Having managed to confirm that you have avoided amnesia-inducing brain damage-by-alcohol once again, you turn your attention to the task of being alive.

What do you do?

[ ] [go back to sleep]

[ ] [take stock of "your" house]

[ ] [grab mobile gear and head outside]

[ ] [imbibe booze]

[ ] [other]

>>21009053
How has the hunting gone so far, out of curiosity?

>>21009129
grab gear get outside. Time for adventure

>>21009140
Killed and ate a turkey. passed on a lot of small deer. coyotes killed a young deer about 100 yards from one of my treestands so tonight I have declared war.

>>21009190
Until more people start responding, this appears to be your personal quest. Congratulations, you earn the lucky prize of getting to steer Hobo Lincoln in his formative moments.

Feeling the intense need to be doing something other than stand in a rotting kitchen and eating stale cereal (besides, you think you just saw a cockroach in the box), you hurl the box out the remnants of a broken window.

You then hobo-moonwalk into your bedroom, which is actually a living room, except no it isn't because fuck what the architects intended. This is LINCOLN'S hovel now, assholes.

You proceed to hoist up your hobo-pack, which consists of lots of things that you need that you can't quite remember right now, and strap it pseudo-securely to your back. You then haul yourself towards the door, and squeeze yourself through it.

There! Now isn't that bette -------

"AAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!! FUCK YOU, SUN!!!" you proceed to scream. You had completely forgotten about the miserable ball of fire that torments the morning of drinkers so. You beat a hasty retreat into the shade cast by the house.

"There. Yeah. Take that, Sun! Can't get me here," you mumble to yourself, trying to adjust to the unexpected brightness. In the meantime, you should probably figure out where you're actually going......

[ ] [rummage through other houses]

[ ] [head downtown]

[ ] [imbibe booze]

[ ] [other]

>>21009303
>implying there is any answer other than 'imbibe alcohol'

Pulling your flask off the pack on your back, you take a swig of whatever substance you put into it last. No reason to try to make this day any less enjoyable. Now, what to do.....?

[Remaining choices still stand]

>>21009303
downtown, hit the scene

>>21009375

Downtown is where it's at. And by "it" I mean "Women".

Attempt to find somewhere to bathe on the way. A pond perhaps?

Rolled 12

Downtown
We need booze, women and more booze

You quickly determine that your flask has not, in fact, become magical overnight, and still has a bottom. This poses a problem.

".....Snrrrrk". Yeah, you couldn't keep a straight face on that one. This is NEW ORLEANS. Anyone who can't find booze here is either dead or......nah, even that doesn't apply, honestly. You think the groundwater may be alcoholic at this point.

Still it would be best to head downtown, as that's no doubt the easiest place to obtain more alcohol.

You cautiously take a step out of the shade and into the sunlight. Seeing that your leg does not immediately ignite, you feel confident enough to step into the bright rays and begin to trot down the sidewalk.

....At least, until you about face, realizing your stupidity.

"Geez, I must have drunk more than I thought. What WAS I doing?" You ask yourself, shaking your head as you walk into the remnants of the garage.

"No good hobo goes anywhere without his trusty SHOPPING CART!"

You hoist your pack into the basket and position yourself behind the cart. Wheeling it along, you begin the trek towards the downtown area of the city.

[Roll for how long the trip feels like it takes]

Rolled 16

>>21009513
The trip is mystical and transcends space and time

We feel like it takes forever

Rolled 17

>>21009513
d20?

Rolled 89

>>21009513

>>21009568
whoops, sorry lol

>>21009553
>>21009565
>>21009568
>>21009575

Roll whatever the fuck you please on this one.


You have made it downtown......and what a journey it was. You got splashed with water by a car that flew through a puddle at 80mph so you think that counts as a bath. And somewhere in the middle the laws of reality started to twist and bend and then there was this delightful little magical dog that took you on a delightful journey through space and time for a while. So yeah, good trip here.

On the other hand, you're not entirely sure it isn't 2567 A.D. So there's that. Meh. Best solution is to ask the first person you see for a jetpack.

You are currently on CANAL ST. Canal St. is where the street cars run up and down before the head off into the various parts of the city. You have a variety of streets and directions to head in.

You could head towards the River, where all the big hotels are, along with Jackson Square and Cafe Du Monde. Though that last part is a bit useless because you're not sure how much money you have to your name. Good begging spot though.

You could also wander around some of the less explored sections of town. All the stores and small shops around are great for window shopping things you cannot afford or get drunk off of.

Or, of course, there's Bourbon St. It's drunk tourist land, and needs no introduction. Hey, lots of booze to potentially "appropriate" though. Maybe the cops totally won't chase you off right away, either.

Where do you go?

[ ] [Towards River]

[ ] [wander shops]

[ ] [Bourbon St.]

[ ] [imbibe booze]

[ ] [other]

>>21009739
>[ ] [imbibe booze]
then
>[ ] [wander shops]

>>21009739
Bourbon street

I am not well versed on new orleans

>>21009739
>bourbon st
>possible monstergirls
Yessssss

>>21009847
Holy posting lag. Damn this inferior 3g connection

>>21009739
Bourbon street
Booze and possible ladies of negotiable affection with non standard configurations!

>>21009739

Bourbon Street is the only way to go.

Try to practice magic, both slight-of-hand and otherwise, on the way there.

Yeeeeeeaaaaaah, who are you kidding. You were going to wind up on Burboun Street whether you liked it or not. And you do like it, so no problems there.

Rolling your cart across Canal (and flipping off the asshole who nearly runs you down), you make it to the entrance on Bourbon and begin your stroll down it. Since there are less cops because its only early afternoon, you may have time to appropriate alcohol before being chased off.

As you make your way down the street, sipping from your ever decreasing flask, you continue to take in the sights. The sights consisting of unlit neon signs, the near-visible scent of alcohol and stale vomit, and the still quite-numerous tourists who show a dedication to drunkenness that would do you proud.

Ahhhhhh, Bourbon. Truly you are a broadway of delights.

Having drank enough from your flash to replace the hangover with hobo groove, an odd thought strikes you. One that you see no harm in indulging; after all, what d you care? You're a hobo, you can be as crazy as you want.

"KAMEHAMEHAAAAAAAA!" you scream, thrusting the proper hand motion outwards, willing your hidden powers outwards. The man in front of you is thrown backwards several feet, landing unceremoniously on his backside.

YES! You did it! You always knew you were special! And they had laughed at you, oh yes, they had LAUGHED! But now what? Now what!? Now all you need is a sinister cap, a fleet of death zeppelins, and you can ----

----oh wait. no. He's drunk. He just jumped back on purpose. Magic is still not real. Damn dreams, getting your hopes up like that.....

But as you turn away to continue, the man gets up and heads towards you. Laughing, he hands you his drink, pats you on the back, and runs off.

You take a sniff. It smells faintly like gasoline in intensity.

Perfect.

[ ] [down drink]

[ ] [down drink]

[ ] [shame hobokind]

OP?

Obviously, you immediately begin downing the drink, as you are nothing if not dedicated to your lifestyle.

You've barely reached the bottom, however, when someone gives a shout.

"Hey, asshole! Get that shopping cart off Bourbon!"

Uh oh. NOPD. Two of them. And they're riding horses. Not good.

What do you do?

[ ] [run, then finish drink]

[ ] [finish drink, then run]

[ ] [attack!]

[ ] [other]

>>21010308
Finish drink, then run. We might spill some if we run first.

>>21010188
A man with such a manly name does not turn up his nose. Drink it and replenish our life essence.

>>21010308
Drink while running?

This lack of signal is killing me

>>21010308
Drink, then drink again.

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>>21010373
>>21010361
>>21010333
Are you suuuuuuuuure you don't want to attack? I mean, c'mon, what harm could it do?

>>21010378
But we could spend that time drinking, instead of attacking.

>>21010378

What species are the 5-0?

Unwilling to give up your freedom OR the cure for your sobriety, you think quickly, and by that you mean you do another one of your traditional "everything has gone to shit" multitasking actions.

Biting the cup rim, you tip your head back until gravity pulls it towards your face, immediately beginning to slurp down the delicious ethanol-infused contents as the descend. Without missing a beat, you grab your cart and wildly push it off of Bourbon and down a side street, displaying one of the most brilliant displays of anaerobic exercise most of the gawking tourists have ever seen.

The police attempt to give chase, but they are impeded by a gaggle of 30-something women flailing about and laughing. Once again, tourists make the best roadblocks. And by that time, you've already made it two blocks away and around the corner. Huzzah!

And to top it all off, you have managed to enter the drunk zone. Only at the wee beginning of it, mind you, but you no longer suffer the world's flaws, such as the concept of "bad ideas".

Now, where should you go next? There's always the first two options, of course. Or maybe you should go see Jimmy again. He's always looking out for you, even if he sometimes gets you into trouble too.

What shall you do?

[ ] [River]

[ ] [wandering shops]

[ ] [Old Jimmy]

[ ] [other]

>>21010488
Go swimming in the river.

>>21010430

Just plain old humans. I'm not handing you all delicious monstergirls THAT easy.

>>21010395
While you make an excellent point, The Hobo King is saddened by the difficulty of producing HUE in what is essentially the prologue.

>>21010488
River
There are always drunk tourists and weird fish things at the river so we sate our needs there

>>21010502

Once again, your brain is in impeccable form. And horny! Which of course means you should probably go make yourself presentable for the ladies. But how?

The river! Of course! Nothing like a dip in the water to get the stink out. Ok, maybe only some of the stink, but its better than nothing.

Moseying down to the riverbank, you pull a bike lock from your pack and secure both of them to a nearby bush, which you then promptly then shove the cart into to be doubly safe. Can't trust it not to "roll away".

Quickly jogging down the stairs, you make your way to the edge of the water, and promptly hop in.

Ahhhhhhhh. That's more like it. You'll be clean as a whistle after this, and the ladies LOVE a clean whistle. Heheh. Whistle.

You really should take baths in the river more often! I mean, there's no ham in good hygiene, and after all, you ---- you think you're forgetting something. What that smell?

Oh right.

You scream in agony as the pollutants in the river strip the flesh from your bones, gnawing away at your tendons and sinew, melting them until there is naught left of you but a slowly sinking trail of ooze on the surface of the water.

GAME OVER

(seriously, don't swim in the Mississippi River in New Orleans)

>>21010502
>>21010566

This has been a Public Service HUEHUEHUE

>>21010488
Good things happen near water

>>21010566
It appears I was mistaken

Well, if Bourbon is not a viable option, the river is always the next best place. Drunken tourists love to wander down there to eat the benets, get fleeced by the fortune tellers in Jackson Square, and admire/be devoured by the evil polluted river that is actually probably made more up of pollution than water.

Not exactly a bad place to troll for booze, so you set off down the road towards Decatur Street.

Making it with little trouble (and nearly draining your flash on the way there), you're about halfway across the square when you get the distinct feeling you're being followed.

The hairs stand up on the back of your neck. Your hobo sense is tingling.

You pull the cart to an abrupt halt, spinning around to face your stalker.

Your attempt to give an excellent quip is thwarted by the sight of a hard wooden cane heading directly at your head.

[Roll 1d20 to dodge]

Rolled 12

>>21010654
Looks about right.

>>21010654
>be devoured
Huehuehue

>>21010654
This damn connection...

>>21010654

You jerk yourself to the left in an attempt to dodge the oncoming melee hit.

Unfortunately, you forget that the cane has the insidious property of "length", and thus you are smacked squarely in the face.

"Gaaahhh!" You yell, as you stumble backwards, clutching your nose. Thankfully it doesn't seem broken, but the mocking laughter isn't exactly helping the pain.

"Bwahahahaaaaa! You're still no master of drunken fool-fu, Lincoln. You couldn't have been any easier to hit had you walked into my cane."

You wince as you massage your sore nose. "Thank you for that observation, Jimmy. Most people do not go around in a wheelchair that they use for clubbing innocent hobos with their death stick."

"Pah!" Jimmy snorts, obviously not dissuaded. "What the hell else use are my wheels if I can't use 'em to my advantage? You just upset I can pull in the "donations" better than you, even missing both my legs." He wiggles his stumps to emphasize his point.

"Yes. I have been enthralled by your talent of sponging off those who have money to spend. Teach me, oh great panhandler! My mind is now open to your wisdom!" You throw yourself at the foot of his wheelchair, feigning bowing motions. As you do this, you also secretly unlock the breaks on his wheelchair.

Battery dead ill catchup in archive good stuff

"Well, it's good to see you at least know your pla---HEY!" Old Jimmy yells, as he is unceremoniously tipped over backwards.

"Serves you right, old man! What if my handsome nose had bruised!" You jeer as he flounders from the sudden change in perspective. Not that it takes him long to right himself; the old guy's more spry than he looks.

"Oh har har, that's right, pick on the handicapped old man. That'll make you look reeeeaaaaal great with the ladies," Jimmy snarks, moving his hand in a wide motion across the city. "Not that you could ever attract any of them anyway. You're too busy being drunk all the time. Not that I don't respect that; it's just you have to find a balance between drinking and womanizing."

You snort. "And I suppose YOU would be the expert on the pursuing of the fairer kind?"

Jimmmy cracks a slightly disturbing grin. "Boy, if you knew the things I've done in this chair, you'd never have touched it like you did." He may have said something else after that, but I was too busy rubbing my hands along the stone pavement to get off the evil semen demons to hear him.

"FUCK! You WOULD say something like that! Asshole. Just fess up. You've got some more booze, and you're willing to share with me because of the kindness of your heart and my stunning charisma."

Jimmy smirks. "Perhaps, perhaps not, whippersnapper. You gotta do something for me first."

You groan. "Oh fuck, not this again. Every time, you and your superstitious fortune telling bullshit. You realize they'll interpret anything from a scar on your arm to picking your nose as a sign of fate or some junk, right?"

Jimmy scowls at you disapprovingly. "Spiritual world ain't no charlatan's game, boy. Many a time my fortune's been made by consulting those who commune with the spirits. You best not take this lightly." You snort and roll your eyes until they're staring back in their sockets, but he ignores you. "Now, go pick one and get yourself some advice! I ain't watching a little fool like you run himself right into trouble because he's too stupid to see a source of good advice. I'll give you the whiskey afterwards."

"Alright, alright, you win. I'll get my damn fortune told." Making an extremely dramatic show of hauling yourself over to your shopping cart, you rummage inside your pack and manage to scrounge up two dirty, crumpled one dollar bills. Now you just have to find a fortune teller that costs less than this.

Searching around the square, you notice a palm reader sitting off to the side, oddly close to the fence. She seems rather frail and young, but upon further examination, she's exactly that, but it doesn't matter because her booth is only fifty cents.

You stride over to her little table and plop down a dollar bill to count for both cost and tip. "FORTUNE ME!" She looks slightly intimidated by your brashness, but dutifully grabs your still-outstretched hand to examine.

She feels the crevices of your hand for a while, closing her eyes in apparent focus as you try not to yawn out of boredom. Finally, after what seems like a dog's age (but is actually 30 seconds because you're an impatient drunken hobo), her eyes open and she looks at you with an expression that slightly takes you aback, despite yourself.

"It is a good thing you have come to me this night, wanderer. For yours is a fate frought with much destiny, though I cannot point in which way it shall head. I can only pass to you this warning that you must be on your guard. For this very night will see all the world cry out in awe, for change is coming. And you, wanderer, shall be at the very center of it."

You open and close your mouth slightly, jaw flapping uselessly. Whatever you were expecting, you sure as hell weren't expecting that. Thus, you don't even notice you've wandered back across the square until Jimmy rattles you from your stupor.

"You alright, boy? You look like you've heard something mighty fierce." He looks genuinely concerned.

Regaining the use of your wits, you consider needling him more on his beliefs, but decide against it. Instead, you shake your head with a sigh.

"I'm gonna need more booze for this."

Aaaaaand, I think this is a good place to stop for now. I'll pick up after I get some rest, and I'll start a new thread for it if this one is gone. Good night, those who are reading.