Arkham Lounge Turn One: The Show and the Shadow (Patreon)

[X][BIRDS] Coordination: Josiah trained em, had em perform all kinds of routine. He used birdseed and hypnosis to get them to do all kinds of elaborate displays, the kinds of stuff that would require the sort of coordination you couldn't achieve with an un-trained bird

[X][JERK] Write In: Diva Boss: Joshua was a man of great talent, an artiste whose name would once be heard across the city, and he wanted his orders to be respected now, and to the very letter. Often forgetful and eccentric, he would send Mark Jacobs to pull up herbs from a specific patch of riverbank for the bird feed mixes, and yelled at him in stress whenever anything went slightly wrong whether it was connected to the cook or not. This was undeniably stressful for Mr Jacobs, although at least the pay and work hours were good.

[X][SNAKE OIL] Zelda Crane: A young woman who had successfully obtained a degree at Gotham University, only to find no place in the world of serious pharmacology for a woman of her talents, not in Gotham. What she promised Josiah was a collection of drinks utilizing mild but expertly crafted neurotoxins just as potent as the strongest of absinthes or most gargleblasting of whiskeys, but with mild, pleasing flavors. All she required in turn was that Josiah help fund her research and do her a handful of favors.

The Gotham Tribune, Sept 25, 1900

A Review of the St. Majeste by Benjamin St. Cloud

Dear reader, I find myself nursing the most terrible of hangovers. None the less I find myself having enjoyed myself considerably: the eclectic mixture of drinks possessed by the St. Majeste vary in quality, but one can’t deny they pack a punch. Last night, I found myself sipping on a rich, nutty brandy apparently created from exotic mushrooms and shots of a soursweet drink created using south american rainbow dart frog oil. I consider myself an inveterate drinker, but the witches brews on offer are just as strong as the bartender warns. The drinks are paired with food that is affordable, though unexceptional. If one is purchasing a ticket, we advise the evening show: while the singing voice of Miss Violet isn’t terrible, the real highlight of the boat and it’s Arkham Lounge is its proprietor, Professor Arkham, with his Taming of the Fowl act in which he calls upon sinister forces to conjure flocks of doves and pigeons: a genuinely interesting performance, though one that fails up to the Professors predecessor at gothams resident Theater of Magic. Still, this drinker is nonetheless looking forward to seeing the Professors next act.

~~~GOTHAM~~~

“was it to your satisfaction?” came the voice of the young womans voice, and Josiah put the vial down, recorking it. The stage magician gave a sniff as he appraised the chemist. Zelda Crane.

The pair were currently in the boudoir of the womans manor, a small table between them, the chemist reclining in a lounging chair while  Josiah sat in a tall-backed leather guest seat. The dusty lamplit house existed at the very border of Gotham, at the edge of slaughter swamp.

The woman had been one of a handful who had come up in his search for chemists willing to take commissions. Oh, for sure there had been others, but anyone liable to kill his audience was right out: he was willing to gamble with their health a bit to keep himself above water, but he didn’t intend to become a cautionary tale.

Zelda Crane was a woman of 27 years of age. Her freckled, dark shadowed face was framed with a pair of thick horn rimmed spectacles hiding a pair of striking green eyes that might have been pretty were it not for the dark circles underneath them. her bright red hair, speaking of irish descent, was tied into a tightly wrapped bun. The pharmacologist was currently garbed in a drab chemists coat, buttoned up the side, dyed grey: Josiah vaguely wondered why, as as far as he was aware she hadn’t been in her lab when he had arrived. Her figure was slim, small: a head shorter than Josiah.

“The drinks proved…satisfactory,” Josiah noted, watching as Crane’s mouth widened into a too white smile. “A few people are reporting having rumbly stomachs, but according to the papers, your blends are a draw enough that we should be able to make it through winter, if barely,” He grumbled.

“And in the process financing my own research,” Zelda purred. “Assuming that you intend to uphold your end of the bargain?” She asked, a threatening lilt entering the edge of her voice, causing Josiah to scoff.

“You’ll get your payment, miss Crane,” He said, voice offended, though the magician noted that if he could get away with not paying her, he would: however, he was smart enough to recognize it was probably a terrible idea to put the screws to your business partner if you intended to keep working with them. “When can I expect my next order?”

“A week. Creating these aren’t an easy process, not with my current equipment. I can create them fast or I can make them safe, but attempting to do both is liable to end poorly, Mr. Arkham.”

Not ideal, then, Arkham mused. The drinks were fantastic: but they were expensive and worse, in short demand. The downside of employing a single woman rather than a brewery, he supposed. He had a product you couldn’t get anywhere else, one that Miss Crane had promised wouldn’t ever be replicated, and now he couldn’t get enough onto the shelves.

Still, he was- mostly- satisfied, though he’d likely need to keep working on the establishments supply of booze. Reaching into his coat pocket, the magician pulled out an envelope, sliding it across. “Your payment,” He said, and the pharmacologist would snatch the envelope up, tearing it open to count the bills, muttering.

“Oh ye of little faith,” Josiah muttered, regardless waiting for her to count the sum. He had learned in his years of show business that one had to accept various ‘eccentricities’ (really just rudeness packaged in a nicer box) from other performers. The cost of doing business wasn’t just a monetary matter: one also paid in patience.

“Very well, it looks like you’re paid in fulL, Mister Arkham,” The woman muttered as she filled the envelope back up and set it to the side, before standing up. “Well, I then presume our business is finished: will you be staying the evening or will you be leaving?” She asked, voice taking on an air of blunt satisfaction.

Josiah stood up, “Unfortunately, while your evening has only just begun, my own is yet to begin,” He grumbled miserably as thoughts of spending another night alone hunched over his desk perusing financials.

“Ah, retiring to your boat, I presume,” Zelda said, raising an eyebrow.

“If only,” Josiah retorted morosely. “No, I’m returning to my hov-home in the east end: you may see fancy tricks and money and assume that that is all there is to me, but the unfortunate reality is that for every five minutes you see of me on the stage, I spend five hours working on my act,” he said, applying a bit of hyperbole. But only a bit: between planning, practicing, designing props, training extras as might be needed, to say nothing of the accounting and management running any sort of venture required. It had been almost too much time since Josiah had even been afford the time to enjoy the drinks of his own establishment.

“Ah. Well, I can’t rightly say I’ve any familiarity with the life of a stage magician, so I’ll not pretend sympathy and merely take your word for it,” Miss Crane said with a tut in a tone , before standing. “Well then, shall you require any oil for your boat lantern?” She asked.

“Mmm, I should have enough, though your kindness is appreciated,” Professor Arkham responded, the pair of them going through the motions of a polite farewell, concluding their business for the evening as they walked to the manors door, Zelda Crane giving him enough time to light his own hand lantern before opening the door to the swamp, currently entirely dark except for the light of the crescent moon above and the glow of the firebugs, the sounds of crickets a chirping, frogs a croaking, and bobcats a yowling echoing. “Good evening, Miss Crane, and have a safe night,” He said, slipping his hat on.

“Good evening, Mister Arkham, and have a safe night,” Zelda responded.

(((())))

The journal of Mark Jacobs, September 24th, 1900.

Dear Diary, today I was forced to clean pigeon poop. Some of the birds managed to get inside the kitchen, wherapon they attempted to eat a plate of bacon and proceeded to get sick. Their white, splattery droppings were everywhere, and Josiah informed me that due to his own poor constitution, and the bartenders allergy to birds, I was the only member of staff available to clean it. The only good news is that they avoided the kitchen, which remains pristine.

That was the start of my day. From there, I spent as is custom my first few hours doing a variety of maintenance tasks such as mopping the restrooms and disposing of their contents, helping the bartender clean the lounge floor before opening, helping Josiah move whatever large object he was working with at the time, and cleaning more pigeon poop. In exchange for this assistance he gave me a tip of two dollars.

After that, Miss Hall arrived, and we officially opened the lounge: Josiah put up his birds until the evening, and I fired up the stove. The work was nice until one of the customers got the wrong order of bacon: Mister Arkham yelled at me for, according to the clock he put in the room he’s put his office into, seven minutes.

‘Our patrons expect PERFECTION, Mr. Jacobs, so that is what I pay you for! I don’t pay you so much to give the customer the wrong bacon!’

I apologized to him and told him it wouldn’t happen again. I can’t afford to lose this job. The thought leaves me with chills: I would have nothing to pay Uncle Absalom rent with beyond my savings, and while auntie would help me as best she could, it would surely cause friction between the two when I ran out. Beyond that, I will admit that while I find my dreams troubled by spectral managers bellowing wrath, I have also become accustomed to having spending money, and though my clothes may not be silk, they are still of a much higher quality than many of my neighbors, to say nothing of my growing collection of books.

Thankfully, this mollified him: unless something changes drastically my employment status will not. Once he was finished, I returned to work, where things remained without issue, though at one point we ran out of eggs. Around five O’clock, we made port again and I closed the kitchen to prepare for evening. Josiah had me buy birdseed from a specific merchant at gotham market, alongside several other items and more eggs: he told me to tell any vendors that wouldn’t sell because of my races that the purchases were at the behest of the St. Majeste, allowing me to purchase a few items for myself, such as a nice bottle of wine and a chess-set under the guise of it being for Josiah: they might not be willing to sell to a negro, but that is different from selling to the errand boy of the famous Professor Arkham. The former item I will save for Christmas dinner to surprise my auntie and cousins with, while the latter parcel will make an excellent gift for Uncle Absalom. Further, I was afforded enough time to do this that I was able to sneak myself a meal of my own, a sandwich I bought while passing through the docks.

When I got back and opened the kitchen again, the vessel sat out and began it’s evening show. Like most mondays since my employment, it was Professor Arkham instead of Miss Hall performing. Thankfully, I wasn’t forced to act as an assistant: the Professor insists that only trained stage-hands are allowed up during show time. Thanks to the window the kitchen has to the lounge, I was able to watch most of the performance, even if the angle is bad. The professor has trained those birds pretty well: they can do loop-de-loops, strange little dances in the air, and the professor even managed to get them to somehow appear BEHIND the audience. The best trick though was when he managed to make it look like they were flying backwards: if I didn’t know it was just a bunch of shadows and hidden mirrors I’d probably be half convinced the Professor really had learned to call on devils to ensorcel the birds. Of course, it’s harder to believe a bunch of bunk about how the power of Camio, Beelzebub, and Trigon gave him the ability to speak bird when you’ve helped them practice the trick in the first place.

All that stuff is just nonsense, anyhow: as spooky as the Lounge can be at night once the customers have all disembarked, it’s just a normal boat.

…Gotham…

Josiah Arkham gave a bow, dramatically snapping shut the stage-prop that served as his grimoire, as, in singular synchronization, every single pigeon that was still hidden in the room rose, flying, returning behind the stage once more and flying into the rafters. “And thus, we conclude our presentation, as my wonderful assistant has informed me that we’re out of time. And so, my audience, Professor Arkham must place his dark book back on its shelf, and bid you adieu,” He said, voice booming throughout the room, hearing a wave of applause as the stages curtains extended, obscuring his view of the audience, and allowing him to relax. Stretching, rotating his neck to get the kinks out of it, the stage magician walked his way to the dressing rooms that stood just off set, entrance obscured by the wall. Grabbing the brass handle, the Magician stepped within, walking down the small flight of steps into the slightly lower room, grabbing the baldcap on his head and ripping it off to reveal his thick black mess of hair, his brow currently lined with sweat. Pulling off his gloves, he tossed them onto the dresser that sat before the large mirror in the room, grabbing a sweat rag off it and using it to dry his face, the stage performer walking to one of the chairs in the room and plopping into it.

He would only have a short time before he would have to go put up his birds for the night. He’d have Jacobs help: the cook could handle cleaning up the, er, effluvia. Still, the Magician mourned, he’d be lucky if he got to finally go to bed near midnight. His hands began moving, shuffling under his shirt as he began loosening the hidden girdle he wore to help appear thin: he was already naturally slim, but his stage persona was even more so, a wirey, rail thin oddity. Plucking the onyx spectacles from his face and setting them down, Josiah was glad to be rid of them: striking as they were, they were also completely useless for seeing, being pitch black.

“Well, I must say, that was QUITE a show,” Came a raspy voice, familiar but unplaceable to the stage magician, and they turned, spotting at the doorway a young woman he recognized vaguely, though from where he couldn’t place. Her skin was pale: slightly discolored to be an almost corpselike pallid grey, and her garb consisted of a simple black plaid dress, buttoned up the front, that was poorly fitted, a half size too large. Her face was affixed into an uncanny, perplexed smile, the one Josiah might give someone whose offended him moments before he realized he had been insulted, frozen into a perpetual dazed grin. Her flat black hair was combed, stretching down her back, bangs obscuring her face and one of her eyes, leaving Josiah only able to see the other, which was blue and, he noted uncomfortably, very unblinking.

“Ah, miss, you aren’t supposed to be here,” He said, coughing. “This location is, er, for the staff. Not for customers.”

“Ah, but you and I have business Josiah Arkham,” The woman replied wryly, and Josiah felt a small chill, noting that he didn’t advertise his full name. It wasn’t secret, per se: just not part of the personae he adopted on stage. The fact she knew it meant she likely wasn’t a customer.

“Ah,” He swallowed, dryly, feeling a tingle down the back of his neck. “Y-you have me at a bit of a disadvantage then, Miss…?” He asked, attempting to fish for information, attempting to place the face. On his left hand, his scar throbbed.

“You don’t remember me? What a shame. Then no doubt you’ve forgotten our deal: allow me to remind you, good sir,” The woman rasped, raising a hand to the bannister and descending, the stairs beneath creaking, one, two, three. “A few months ago, you and I shared a draught of black lamb under a blood moon near the docks. You made me a promise, Josiah. The soul of a great magician in exchange for blessing the bar that shares your name,” She slowly drawled, and a moment later, memories flooded Josiah. Memories of a night spent under the red gotham moon. Memories of a young woman dressed in black. Memories of signing a book.

“You-” He choked, feeling an invisible pressure close on his windpipe, the strange power lifting him into the air. Desperately, the man clawed at his throat, half expecting to encounter some invisible force, only to drive the air from his lungs further when he scraped his bare neck with his fingernails.

A moment later, the force receded, allowing Josiah to fall, the chair he had been sitting in breaking under the weight of impact, sending the gasping man sprawling to the floor with a yelp. “Now, before I had been willing to play fair,” Abigail Roth said, voice near monotone. “After all, patience is the best quality for any practitioner to have. But then I saw your show: a soul blessed by trigon? I’m afraid I simply must collect you: even if its an ability as meager as speaking to birds, the sheer value your soul holds…” She licked her lips as she continued to step forward.

Josiah scrambled, attempting to crawl away. “I’m not- That’s-” He gasped, heartbeat pounding in his ears as everything went fuzzy from adrenaline. He was lifted once more in the air by that strange phantasmal force before being slammed against the wall, sending the breath from his lungs.

“Shhh,” Abigail whispered, before giggling. “It’s best if you don’t fight this: quicker that way. Less…messy.” Josiah moved forward a few feet before slamming back into the wall, the pressure returning to his throat. “It is a shame: I was almost curious to see what you’d make of your little den of iniquity. But I’d be a fool to pass up a soul touched by an elder evil. It’s almost a shame you were lax enough to reveal your abilities before you had the ability to properly prepare your demense,” The Roth Witch said.

“N-not…real…magic” He wheezed out as he felt the hands on his neck tighten…before it lightened every so slightly.

“What,” Abigail Roth said, voice totally flat.

“Stage..magic,” He attempted to choke through, one hand clawing at his neck in a vane and futile hope for air, while the other gesticulated wildly.

“Do you think me an idiot?” Abigail hissed. “You invoke the name of trigon and perform magics I don’t know how to replicate and think I can be convinced it mere…mere trickery!” She sputtered, incredulous.

“Not…lying,” He gasped. “Mirrors…whistles…tricks of the light,” He said, feeling his vision go funny…before he was finally able to inhale properly, allowing the magician to desperately suck in greedy lungfulls.”

“No, no, no,” Abigail muttered, voice growing frustrated as her smile fell. “You were supposed to be- You’re supposed to be a genuine sorcerer! You invoke the darkest powers of hell like a seasoned sorcerer, and you’re telling me it was fake,” She said, eye twitching.

“Th-the audiences like it better when I include that sort of thing in my act,” Josiah stammered. “It brings in more r-” Rubes. “People more researched in the arcane,” He said, gulping. “I wasn’t- I thought you were a con-woman,” He cried. “I thought I was a mark and signed with disappearing ink! Oh god, please don’t kill me,” He said, descending into a series of terrified, inelegant blurbles and pleas.

Abigail was silent for a moment. “You’re telling the truth. You bastard,” She said, fury rich in her voice. “I wasted the contract on a fake! A nobody who thought I was attempting to swindle him! And I thought you had ensorcelled it somehow to render your name invisible, but no, you apparently just used trick ink.”

The magician quickly quashed the feeling of annoyance at being dismissed as a nobody: beg first, ego later. “I..if it makes you feel better, I didn’t intend to deceive-” He attempted to cajole, yelping as he felt a light pressure on his throat. “A-any more than I do w-with my audience, I mean,” He ground out, breathing shallow and rapid. “I just- I have a persona to maintain.”

“You know, that really DOESN’T make me feel better,” Abigail Roth drawled. “Do you know how difficult it was to get that contract?” She growled, mouth pulling back into a taught snarl, fists clenching.

“I c-can pay you back,” Josiah responded, wracking his brain. “How much did it cost? 30 dollars? 300? …three thousand?” He asked, simultaneously realizing how stupid it was to expect an infernal contract to have a fungible cost as well as how odd it was he was focusing on three. Abigail no doubt thought the same, one of her thin eyebrows rising. “I…free drinks?” He offered.

Finally, the invisible phantom force holding him aloft let him free, the magician stumbling to the ground and scooting back across the floor, heart beating a mile a minute. “You’re lucky I’m such an…amenable woman,” Abigail said, voice cold as the lights in the room began to flicker. “I’ll allow you to live for now, Arkham, but allow me to inform you that invisible ink isn’t going to get you out of selling your soul,” She sneered, the lights finally going dark, the sound of a crows caw echoing, the fluttering of wings.

When the lamps flickered on, dark feathers drifted the the floor. Josiah sat, heart beating a mile a minute, the relief and elation of his survival countered by the overwhelming dread the supernatural occurrences had instilled in him, and their implications.

And, most of all, the realization that he may have actually sold his soul.

Alright, now we’re getting to turn 1, ladies, gents, and otherwise. That was prologue. We established the basic mechanics, near nil, established the rules and how sometimes the question is more about how what kind of guy your manager is or what bad decision he makes. Beyond that we also established the basic tone of this managers story and the quest as a whole, set up a few plot threads, and set you up a few basic enterprises you could embark on if you wish.

This general structure will pervade the structure of the quest. And hey, to be clear: sometimes it’s fine to be the bad guy. Heck, sometimes it’s okay to be crass, of the era: but paradoxically, with both of those things you must have good taste. You just hired the grandmother of a serial killer, decided Josiah was going to be an absolute(ly well paying) pain in the ass to your employee, and came to the conclusion pigeon poop in the eggs was a fair price to pay for dinner, drinks, and a show. You did not embrace Josiah overworking his african american employee to the bone, or committing wage theft and thus proving him to be the sort of employer who leeches off his employees: you decided to make him a dick, but not an asshole, so to speak.

And hey, in the process you got a little slice of Gotham history going! Gothamologists are going to know if they read newspapers around this era about a little riverboat that served customers booze, brainblaster beverages, bacon, and bevies of birds, and how it was supposedly operated by a magic man, one who supposedly lost his soul.

And now, let us enter narrative kayfabe and the various forms of it I’ll be employing in the closes thing this story has to mechanics: we’ll call these frames. The mechanics for this quest are simple: whenever the narration is in certain formats, I am talking in certain levels of kayfabe. Taking upon the persona of a narrator, telling a rumor, a tale over drinks whose tenor changes with your decisions, telling you a tale whose genre and tone is told late in the evening, acting as a games master, so forth. Each of these formats I will introduce as needed.

To be clear, conceptually this isn’t new: fundamentally that is what a quest or most other forms of role play are. There is nothing new under the sun, as they say, and while some people might think me the pinnacle of creativity, a subject I’m willing to discuss in length and explore in a variety of forms and themes if the topic is right, I will fully admit my unoriginality. Like every other other this story, its themes, its loose kayfabe based mechanics are all taken from the shoulders of giants, things I admire, things I’ve researched and found interesting like the history of snake oil, and games and stories I thought were fun but honestly never quite scratched the right itch for me. Beyond that, I’ve absorbed a lot by osmosis in my time on the internet: a lot of books, movies, theory, cartoons, podcasts, articles. Some I can name, some I can’t: almost certainly the idea of different levels of kayfabe in questing is a thought someone else has had.

That brings us to our first perspective: first frame. This is generally going to be me writing in bold, like present. This is basically me acting as your gamesmaster, storyteller, and more or less the kayfabe I the author of this story am using on a meta-level, my personae and dramatic style I adopt for this quest as its actual author. This is mostly going to be for things that transcend the narrative as a whole, like quest policy, suggestions, limitations imposed by the narrative and the explanation thereof, OOC philosophy and fun DC lore that I want to Kojima into conversation. The style especially, and to some extent all others, is based on the narration of Sebastien “Frost” Ruis, a content creator I admire, mixed with a little Kojima and my personal flare, in the setting of the lounge itself, over drinks and other amenities: jazzy, intellectual, aware of and immersed in nerd culture and willing to use it to make a fun game about running a bar and controlling its patrons and staff.

With that out of the way, lets get to second frame. This level of kayfabe still borrows the general style and cadence of Frost for narration, but it tells them to you in the style of an in-universe story-teller. This is how I’m going to detail how some of your actions will be seen by those in Gotham: like all my stories it will be a blend of genres, styles, concepts and themes depending on your choices, a noir ghost story told in the dark or the well vocabularied musings of how things might have turned out in Gotham and the side effects you probably had. This is much like first frame, but this narrator exists in gotham. He’ll generally take a more historical air: note that I aim for versimillitude, not realism, and I do not promise 100% authenticity, just enough honesty to admit I will occasionally embellish facts, inject my own worldbuilding, and generally attempt to create as close as I can as a living breathing story for you.

Note that not all second frame narrators are the same: just as the genre change, so does the storyteller. They are still based on me, on my writing, but they’re based on the various moods and atmospheres I’m attempting to emulate with any particular narrative. The parts I type in this format may or may not be interactive: it depends on the circumstance.

It will, generally, be how I narrate most of the story that isn’t from any one persons perspective. Now we get to the last frame.

The last frame, dear reader, is in-frame. This level of Kayfabe is when you go a level beyond, and accept that what I type are in-universe documents, first hand experiences, first person perspectives. I will utilize a variety of different formats for this one: please keep in mind that I type this in Google Documents, and these formatting changes don’t always carry, but you should be able to figure out what level of kayfabe we’re working with at any given time.

Every turn, I’ll generally try to give you a mix of these perspectives, allowing you to adjust the course of both the bar and its patrons and staff. You’ll decide both the tone through their characterization, but also their success, failure, and how they’ll change gotham and the success of the lounge. Keep in mind that this quest is designed that each manager is meant to be temporary: in some way it’s like a rogue-like, one of them dying just means their successor picks up the keys, inheriting whatever was left behind, including the environment and status quo.

Alright, that’s enough about kayfabe. Now for your choices. First, let’s cover the lounge, it’s assets, and the current menaces, and the hot spot.

You’ve put your name in the paper. Reviews are good, not great. Customers like the food, and they like your act, and they like the drinks, but none of these are on their own all that good. It’s mostly just the price and how cheap it is.

Of course, you can fix that, thanks to picking the ad. Now, you get to pick a consequence: manipulate the skein of fate. Getting your name out there had some beneficial effects: define them. Just remember to not get greedy.

[ ] The Ad brought attention from a particular demographic, who would begin frequenting his bar for various reasons.

-[ ] Write in. Keep in that a bars patrons are what give it flavor and decide what events that it can influence

[ ] The Ad brought a particular character of interest, who would make the place a haunt of interest.

-[ ] Write in. Stick to a basic archetype, something appropriate for what we have so far.

[ ] Something else.

Now, Mark Jacobs has a steady source of income, and he has good hours. Sure, he’s a poor black man in a badly racist city, but the situation could be worse. He’s currently living with his aunt and uncle, to whom he currently pays rent. He’s your hot spot this turn: you see, Mark Jacobs isn’t going to just accrue wealth. He’s got goals, dreams.  What does he spend the next while doing?

[ ] Pursuing a degree at Gotham U: Education was the great liberator, as they say. Gotham U was relatively progressive as a Gotham institution: it at least did accept black alumni, though only begrudingly, at great expense.

-[ ] Select Degree

[ ] Pursuing Self Education: Alternatively, he could pursue knowledge through other means: he had good enough hours and good pay that buying textbooks from overseas was possible, and it would give him more control over what interest he decided to pursue.

-[ ] Select Topic.

[ ] Activism: He would donate money to various charities, programs, and institutes in Gotham, alongside his time and effort in order to support it. Word of warning dear reader this is not an act without risk, no matter how benign the cause, though some are more deadly than others historically.

-[ ] What cause?

[ ] Write in.

Alright, now we’re gonna get to the managers AP. Like before, we’re gonna create an act first, but before then let’s have a reminder of your assets.

Josiah Arkham: The owner circa Aug. 1900 - . A stage magician trained in burglary among other arts. Has sold his soul to Abigail Roth, who he encountered in a dingy bar while drunk, in exchange for his Bar having an assured stream of clientele, though not neccesarily enough to make ends meet.

Violet Hall: A singer Josiah had located while looking for entertainers: they had agreed to work using their voice, their pay a few dollars every day they worked.

Stout Beers: Stout Breweries were one of the lesser sources of alcohol in this town in terms of quality, but they were cheap, meaning that they served as the source of much of the alcohol served.

Crane Brews: A collection of beverages that incorporated various narcotics and minor neurotoxins to deliver an alternate intoxication to beer, one that bypassed most peoples alcohol tolerance.

The Kitchen: A kitchen ran by Mark Jacobs with cheap foods of various types such as eggs, bacon, toast.

St. Majeste: An old riversteamer where the Arkham Lounge was located, it was a barely floating wreck that required significant repairs. So far, the only functional parts was the engine, the wheel, and the actual lounge itself, as well as a kitchen and small pantry.

And now, a list of acts:

Taming of the Fouls: An act that involves a large number of doves and pigeons. Currently, most were kept in a special coup when not acting. They had been trained to be surprisingly well coordinated, and more important, unlikely to crap in a customers food.

And we’re gonna finish off with your current banes and hazards:

Devils Bargain: Josiah had apparently sold his soul to a witch due to a mutual misunderstanding. His soul now hangs in the balance.

[ ] Once again, gimme an act: you can use an old act, but keep in mind using an act too much without mixing it up or improving it in some way is going to make people lose interest.

Beyond that, the current financial status of the Lounge is YELLOW and you have four AP. Now, each turn, what you can spend this AP on varies: depending on the situation, there will be various restrictions. For instance, this turn, you’re going to get 1 AP that has to be spent on performance. Practicing an act, building a prop, learning a skill, training an assistant to help you with things that require two people.

Next, one AP has to be used managing the St. Majeste: you have to keep working on improving it, bringing it up to snuff if you want it to be real special.

After that, you have one AP that Josiah has to spend investigating in some fashion Abigail Roth. Go into places you’ve seen referenced looking for rumors, conscripting people to help keep an ear open or help him in other ways, doing research in the library.

Lastly, you have a personal AP that can be spent how you want: be social, do more for the lounge, support a cause you think would make Josiah and Gotham more interesting, begin preparing for a future venture, or hell, just being social or pursuing a romance.

Here are a few suggested actions for Josiah again, with a few ones, though again feel free to go off script and add a few ideas yourself via write in.

[ ] Scout New Talent: Josiah probably wasn't going to find any good magic acts since Hermanns Theater existed, but Gotham had plenty of other forms of entertainment if you knew where to look. For instance, traveling carnivals, other lounges, etc.

-[ ] What kind of entertainment are you looking for? If you can think of a specific place to scout you can use it instead, but considering its turn 1 I don't imagine you'll have many ideas.

[ ] Hire New Staff: Sure, you had a bartender, but you need more than just that to run a place. Janitors, delivery people, waiters, additional bartenders who can pick up more shifts. Just keep in mind that the more people work for the Lounge, the higher its costs go.

-[ ] What kind of staff are you looking for?

[ ] Diversify Spirits: Stout produced low quality, but cheap beers. They were in your budget, but unless you diversified, the drinks would likely never be a major draw.

-[ ] What kind of alcohol are you looking for? Just a few words is fine: 'expensive wines', 'inexpensive whiskeys', 'swamp bought moonshine'.

[ ] Renovate the St. Majeste: Only part of the St. Majest was open to the public: the ship was still seaworthy inasmuch as any vessel of its class might be, but the prior owners had apparently been less than gentle with the vessels insides, meaning most of it required repair.

-[ ] Like prior options, what are you repairing? I'm not gonna list every possible space on the ship, especially since they'll probably be used for something different: instead, just specify a potential location that could conceivably exist on the ship and what you want to use it for. A gambling hall, another drink lounge, theaters, cabins people can pay to sleep in, etc.

[ ] Call On a Someone: Josiah knew a lot of people. He could lean on them for favors, or else simply visit them to deepen friendship.

-[ ] Select a character and your reason for visiting them.

[ ] Investing: If you have a particular business partner, friend, venture, or industry you want to put some of the Lounges funds into, this is the option you want.

-[ ] Who or what are you investing in, and do you have any stipulations?

[ ] Go on a Date: Ah, Romance. Select this option if you’re interested in a character in a less than platonic manner. Note that they need to be someone Josiah would be interested in pursuing and of compatible orientation and gender.

-[ ] Select a character and provide a brief idea for a date.

[ ] Rumor-Hunting: Josiah has a topic he’s interested in. He was going to collect rumors in the hopes of finding a lead, whether from the bars of gotham, his various old criminal contacts, calling on his mentor, or other means.

-[ ] Write in topic and means of hunting it

[ ] Gotham University Research: Gotham University was the center of academia in the city. If there was anyone who might know about various subjects such as the history of gotham, various scientific and literary facts, and other useful subjects that Josiah might find useful, it was here.

-[ ] Write in subject you’re looking to research.

[ ] Write In.