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/tg/ - Traditional Games

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(This is a quest about a very exceptional pigeon. Just join in, write-ins are always welcome!)

I watch the city come to life as the cold morning air fills my tiny pigeon lungs.

Once again, the streets below me start to crawl with countless humans. Like each day before this one, they rise before the sun is up, follow their little routes, run their little errands and go to sleep again, just to repeat the cycle again tomorrow.
Look at them, so small from up here, like bugs, ready to be crushed by my beak…

Ever since I’ve hatched from the egg, I’ve known this concrete jungle and the pitiful creatures that inhabit it. But they don’t know me. Yet.
The mindless repetition sickens me, but that will soon change. Because I have a plan for this city.
Oh yes, a plan indeed…

For I will…
>Take control of this city, like a puppet master controls a puppet
>Turn this city into a living canvas for the greatest artist to ever fly this earth… Me!
>Become famous among the humans and be revered as a hero
>Rid this town of all vermin and turn it into the pigeontopia that we deserve
>Do something else (write-in)
>Turn this city into a living canvas for the greatest artist to ever fly this earth… Me!
>Evolve. Adapt. Grow. Advance.

We must become the ultra pigeon.
>Turn this city into a living canvas for the greatest artist to ever fly this earth… Me!

This seems like it might be fun.
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>Icarus was a fucking failure, but you were born with these wings. Show the humans how it's done.
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Oh yes, a plan indeed…
For I will turn this city into a living canvas for the greatest artist to ever fly this earth… Me!
Aha! These people have no idea yet that they will be graced by unparalleled creativity that will reshape history.
It will be an intermediary experience which pushes the boundaries of post-modern art, and the very idea of living itself. Minds will be blown as I reflect their deepest, unseen thoughts and desires through the window of my art.
Every important artist from this point on will list my works as their greatest inspiration. And even the most uneducated idiot will know my name.
They will all know the great…
>Come up with a name
Arnault Hatonishiki the Third.
Hieronimous astley Martel the 3rd
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Googled it, it's from some girly manga right?

They will all know the great name of Arnault Hatonishiki the Third!
Hyahyahayhahahaha! [Laugh with snobbish passion]

Now, today will be the dawn of the genius exploits. I can't exactly 'read' dates, but those who can will put this date down as a turning point in art history!
For my first piece, I should pick a scene, an environment to manipulate reality... But where?
>Go to the docs
>Go to a crowded square
>Go to a traffic jam or something
>Go to a fast food restaurant
>Fly in an open window
>Meet your animal friends
>Not enough options? Write-in!
>Go to a crowded square
>go to a traffic jam or something
>Go to a traffic jam or something
It’s a sad display.
As I fly over the crossroads, I look over the crammed cans below me.
Hundreds of cars all huddled up on like this, trying to get to work. The traffic lights stopped working two days ago, so now the fluency of this traffic is solely dependent on a single police agent. It appears he is getting increasingly angry, I suspect he has some trouble with his spouse. I am an artist, so obviously I know stuff like that. As I land on this large, red truck, I will rest my wings and work my artistic ge-*HOOOONK!!*

Oh fuck sweet lord! Ugh, okay, I will rest on this fine, non-honking lamppost instead. Yes.
Now, I see many cars, most of them pretty common… But there, a blonde bimbo in a roofless red car, talking on her cell phone... A large white van with a suspicious looking fellow in it.
On the sidewalk, there is a filthy looking man with a beard, holding a sign that says ‘ayy lmoa, illuminati did it’…

These are the elements I will make art with…
>Look around for more inspiration
>Try to bother some drivers
>Shit somewhere
>Should I ask for backup from my pigeon brethren?
>GOAL: create an art piece (but you’ll have to come up with it yourself)
Show the degradation of society standards of beauty

>"paint" bimbo
shit on the bimbo
That bimbo, the one in the red car… The amount of unflattering colours that she’s adorned herself with is remarkable. The pink of her top, combined with the purple of her visible bra against her brown-orange skin is simply ghastly? Her yellow miniskirt is almost the same colour as her fake blonde hair, and her red lipstick almost the same as her car, but just not quite.
What amazing pallet of dissonant colours she’s displaying, a cacophony of shades that only match the hideous plastic billboards that fill these streets… What great portrait she is of this city of lies.
The only thing that would make her bouquet of colours complete, would be the colour of clouds and blanc canvasses, the colour of virgins and male ejaculate, the colour of hope and purity….
A slight touch of white.

After I unleashed my pale poop with grace and precision into her pushed-up balcony, she let out a cry of frustration that danced with the many load tunes of honking cars. Clumsily she tries to handle her phone, her steering wheel and some tissues at the same time.

I now notice a small kennel in the back of her car, with a small dog in it. I also notice how the drivers around her glare at the bimbo handling her fake bosom, unable to clear my white poop.

>One more drop to finish the job
>Go talk to the dog
>Go bother some other drivers perving
>Gather more details

I honestly don’t know where I’m going with this quest, so for the time being I’ll give these artistic impressions of a pigeon. It’s also not my intention to make this smutty
>Go bother some other drivers perving
pooping on bimbos isn't smut when you're a pigeon, it's daily life
>>Go bother some other drivers perving
get in someone's hair
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Although it’s still a work in progress, the first stage om my debut has already caused an interaction. Many gentlemen are dividing their attention between our blonde subject, the traffic jam and in some cases a concerned wife.
I pick a counterpart for my beautiful colour pallet: an unwashed trucker that is precisely next to the red car, staring down her whitened cleavage. The contrast is perfect, he has a yellow stained tank top and a brown bushy beard, with overall undertones of natural green. He is so true, so unaltered that his smell could easily be noticed trough the crack of his window, if the rubbery smell of traffic wasn’t masking it. He the exact opposite of her in every way.

I make an elegant dive through his car window, and before he has any time to react, I get both claws and beak into his filthy hair. A primal rage overcomes him as he fails to remove me. His elbows honk his horn, his feet are trembling on the pedals… This is the moment where I initiate a dialogue between man and woman. And just in time, it looks like the police officer has finally made an opening and the cars start moving again…

>Get the man to hit his gas pedal
>Get the man to flee his truck
>Try to leave the truck again
>Gather more details
>>Get the man to hit his gas pedal
that traffic jam was a national treasure!
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I’m like a harp player, playing this tangle of dirty hairs from a man whose melodies rise over the sound of traffic. His sweet dissonant screams fit so well with those of the bimbo in the next car, who is now in her turn staring at the trucker. Surely I’ve created something beautiful here.
As these sounds mingle with my equally chaotic painting of colours, I feel the need to take this art piece to the next step.
The man tries to smack me from his head, just when I reposition myself and unleash my genius upon his face. Just when I hit the right spot, he slams down his gas pedal, sending the truck forwards. My art is completing itself.

Is that our dear bimbo I hear screaming?

The truck comes to a stop at the other end of the crossroads, where car bumpers have met each other.
Across the road I can see the final brushstroke of my painting: Red.
Fading in the air I can hear the final chord of my music: the death wail of the sole police officer that got ran over by the truck and is smeared across the crossroads.
Isn’t it truly beautiful?

The Trucker stumbles out the door. The bimbo looks in awe.
>Add a final touch to my piece of art
>Observe the reactions
>Gather more details
>Ok fuck, maybe enough art for one day, flee
>Let fate decide (or write in)
man this got dark
>trumpet your victorious offering to the gods of art
>Ok fuck, maybe enough art for one day, flee
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As I feel the vehicle and take to the skies, I catch a glimpse of a shat upon bimbo running towards a battered trucker. I close my eyes and imagine the full impact of my art piece: these two people will deeply fall in love with each other. They will form a family that will be a beacon of happiness in this grey town. Surely they will.
I open my eyes and climb towards the sun.
Oh great gods of modern art, I call upon you! I call upon the divine Andy Warhol, Marcel Duchamp, the faceless god called Banksy, those guys who wrap stuff in paper, that one chick who had a ton of plastic surgery and now look like Cruella Devil, and all the other very important artist gods!

As I’m staring into the sun for a long time, the bald head of Jackson Pollock appears before me. He smiles at me…
“Sup Arny!”
I awake from my enlightened state. My brother Keith is flying next to me. I’ve told him countless of times not to call me Arny. He probably has no idea what I just achieved, how I’ve taken the first steps into turning this city into the new arts capital of the world.
“You shouldn’t be staring in the song so long bro! Boy you hear that ruckus down there? It sounds like some real ugly stuff went down.
Anyways, ima hang with some crows later on, try to score some fries. You comin’ with?
You can meet all kindsa folks!”

>No, I need to do another arts
>Yeah sure why not
>Let me educate you about what I just did
>Ask more questions
>Do other stuff
>Procrastinate for a bit
>Yeah sure why not
Sure, why not, I can procrastinate for a bit.
“Great Arny, you’re gona be loving the gang!”

We arrive at the flat rooftop of a fast food restaurant. Five crows are flapping their wings and their mouths and richly greet us when we arrive.
“Hey Keith! This your little bro?!”
Yes, his ‘little bro’, that’s why I usually don’t get along with crows. Their broad simplification of even the most complex minds…
“Look what I’ve got!” One of the crows, I believe he’s called Murdoc, is holding a white and red orb of some kind.
“It’s an eye! I found it on the crossroads down, some guy got splat! Anyways, I’ve got a great idea for stuff…”

That’s when two more companions fly down and join the gathering. One of them is a large seagull. He coldly looks at me when he lands. The other one, I cannot contain in words.
She is a white pigeon, named Sarah. I’ve known her since I hatched, and admired her from afar. She has on several occasions been my muse. The silence between us is electric…

>Act casually, listen to Murdocs plan
>Talk to Sarah
>Talk to someone else
>Tell these guys about my art
>Kill Sarah and paint a superior waifu with her blood and your shit.
>talk to sarah
I'm struggling to combine these two.
>Talk to Sarah
Tiebreaker. Birds are the civilized race after all
Puff up our neck feathers to look larger, approach at a rapid walking pace while cooing repeatedly. As we get closer, begin bowing and turning.

Pidgin bitches love that shit.
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The silence between us is electric…
But imagine what words could do!
I puff up my neck feathers and rapidly strut towards her. If I can get my cooing just right, she will surely…
“Hey, who’s this little fellow?!” The seagull flaps his wings and comes up to me. “This a friend of yours Keith? What’s your name kid?” He is laughing in a friendly manner, yet I do not perceive it as such. For a second, my doubts overtake me. Just for a second.

I’m Arnault Hatonishiki the Third.
“Haha, you hearing this guy? Adolf McFancyname the Third!”
The crows, and my brother laugh along with the seagull. It feels like torment. But then her angelic voice breaks the loudness of my frustration and the silence of my doubts:
“I know him, you’s Keiths little brother, ain’t ya? We used to hang out when we was kids. Well, I hung with Keith, Arny just kinda watched and stared at the sky.”
Her mind is clearly one of the most refined gems in this universe indeed. For a moment, I bathe in her kind and soothing eyes.

Oh woe, the seagull speaks again.
“Is that right? Pleasure to meet you McFancyname. So what do you do for a livin’? Snatching crumbs like your brother?”

>Tell them about being an artist, but keep it simple…
>Tell them about being an artist, be as explicit as possible
>Ignore all other birds, only Sarah matters
>Fly off
>Get mad at the seagull
>>Tell them about being an artist, but keep it simple
Remember, through your suffering, comes inspiration.
>>Tell them about being an artist, but keep it simple…
earthly souls as theirs would never understand the purity of form and purpose required of art
>Tell them about being an artist, but keep it simple…

You know, as simple as an artist talking about their own work can get
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Oh, I am an artist.

As I said it I looked at Sarah. An artist exposing his very soul like that to his muse is like lovers confessing that they would spend an eternity together. I didn’t say it with so many words around these people, but I knew the few words I said would reach Sarah.
“Hahaha, no mate, I asked what you did for a LIVIN’! Aahaha! Artist he says!”
They all laugh along with the seagull. Of course they do, they can’t ever fathom what it means to be an artist. Even my sweet muse laughs along, but I know she is merely pretending. We’re on the same boat, she and I, I can feel it.

“Ey Keith, how did your brother survive for so long being an artist! What does he eat paint?! Ahaha!”
“Cut him some slack guys, my brother ain’t up for the real birds work yet! Better if he’s a painter, cuz he’s never beating his bro at crumbsnatching! Haha, ya know? You guys should wisen up like my brother and leave the real work to me! Ahahaha!”
Friendly banter about the simple work of snatching crumb, I don’t know what else I expected from this crowd.
It doesn’t bother me much, I know they’d pay their respects once words get out of my genius endeavours.

“Ey mister artist!” The seagull, whose name I still haven’t gotten, addresses me again. “Why don’t you show us how it’s done and make a painting or whatnot! Aahahahaaa!”

Oh… A challenge…
>Start the ‘art’ right away (give details)
>Look around for details in your surrounding
>Dismiss the seagull
>Talk to someone else? Involve them maybe?
>whatever, write-in
>>Dismiss the seagull
art is not a force to be commanded like a servant, we won't stand for this treatment
>>Look around for details in your surrounding
I'm going to call it a night everybody.
Thank you all for playing. It was bit of an experimental quest and it don't think it was really accessible, but I at least had fun, hope you did as well.
Feel free to leave feedback, I'll be sure to read it.

I'm probably going to use this plot as the inspiration for a school assignment. Ironically for an art school. Gnight ya'll!
i love the idea, keep up the good work Narrator!

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