You are at a fancy social event surrounded by men in extremely respectable suits and women with many many jewelry pieces. The amount in the room suggests that an entire ecosystem was destroyed to provide them with the shiny shiny objects.
You can’t remember who you are. You should probably figure out.
It’s a large room, and lights dot the ceiling every few feet except for the big expensive-looking chandelier. Several tables covered with red cloth are pushed to the side, laden with food and drinks. Looking into the crowd, you notice one woman sneaking furtive glances at you. A couple, man and woman, visit groups of guests and join together in discussion periodically, calling to people remaining stationary by the refreshments.
There are 3 exits from the room, one to the east, one to the west, and a large arched doorway to the north.
-ROOM FULL OF MANLY-
The far wall is covered up with display cabinets and shelves which are locked and padded, cradling a prized collection of antique guns and ammunition, along with ones made in the last decade situated upon ledges above waist-height. Several leather couches and armchairs form a U pattern around a rectangular wooden table. The seats are clearly situated so that anyone seated would be looking straight at a section of the covered wall.
You can go west, where you came from, or south.
-THE AIR ROOM-
All you can see is white walls. The floor is carpeted. The door conveniently closes on you. You probably should’ve suspected something since the door had a window in it.
>Yell for help.
You scream shrilly and bang on the door in the hopes that someone will wander the house and open the door. You suddenly stop to look in the window trying to catch a glimpse your face; you find something horrifying – you’re a Featureless Protagonist. You continue your screaming.
You nearly start a flashback because of the lack of air, but eventually the woman comes, without the man.
“Steven, you’re only supposed to go into that room when you’re frothing!” She takes you by the arm and leads you back to the Dance Hall and to the food and drink table.
“Here, have some pudding. I thought I told you to use the door stop. Now, I’m going back to talk with some people. You should try to do the same with some people around your own age.” She leaves you to your own devices.
You take pudding into your inventory.
>Talk to woman sneaking glances.
“‘llo.” Your throat is still sore from the screaming, giving you an inexplicable accent.
“Hmm?” The woman replies distractedly. She seems to have directed her attention to a woman across the room, replacing the ubiquitous jewels with artfully-placed scraps of silk; extending from her dress like so many hands.
You try to get her attention again, but fail similarly. You attempt actual physical contact this time by way of shaking her shoulder, and she does tell you that her name is Stella, but she doesn’t say much else. You decide to try again later.
>Talk to couple.
You walk up the woman first, she is also your mother, if that wasn’t clear enough already. She appears to have great peripheral vision though, because she sees you out of the corner of her eye, twenty feet away. She’s prepared to talk to you by the time you face her.
“What is it? Did you meet any new friends?” You suspect that it means something when this is the first thing she asks, but you stop thinking about it.
“Her.” You turn around until you see her and point. She’s migrated several feet away to the food and drink table.
“Ah, you mean Stella.”
“Stella,” you acquiesce.
“Nice girl, bit on the plain side, but she looks alright today.”
You have an inkling that says that this feeling of wordlessness is not new by any means. She doesn’t seem to have anything else to say, so you step away and go to talk to the man who is probably your father.
Unless he’s actually your uncle because he poisoned your real father and is attempting to kill you as well.
But hey, you don’t even have to walk over to him, he’s coming over to you.
“I see you were talking to that girl over there. You fancy her?” His voice hints at amusement.
“I didn’t talk to her much,” you admit. “It was my fault, I came over even though she was busy looking at the other lady.”
“The other lady?”
You look around for her wavy black hair and find it, along with another head of brown hair wrapped in a bun. It looks like Stella went over and talked to her.
“They’re going under the arch,” you absently mutter.
Your father had spotted another acquaintance and headed off while you were looking around. Looks like you’re free again.