Choose Your Own Misadventure: You Are Attending a Victorian Ball — Part 5
We are nearing the climax of your adventure. Somehow, you made the right choice every time! How did you avoid all the bad endings?
You have chosen to gather your friends and flee the ball before you are all discovered to be the common folk you are. You must hurry, for Lord Bilbobatch Cumbergrantham may have pulled himself from the floor of the library and recovered from his daze. He was about to expose you as a commoner before the highborn attendees of this ball, but thankfully he tripped headfirst into the corner of a desk before he could do so. However, your temporary reprieve from his accusations must surely be nearing its end. Make haste!
Like a ballgown-adorned cheetah, you flash down castle hallways until you burst into the main room. You survey the well-dressed partygoers just as a feline speedster scans for prey on the Serengeti Plain. And then, you spy your friends clustered in a tight group, dancing with no one. Idiots! This was their golden opportunity to be swept off their feet by handsome suitors, and yet they have closed ranks to offer each other mutual protection from the very fun they initially intended to pursue. Fools!
The eyes of your friends bulge once they notice you trot toward them, their mouths expectant with wide grins. No doubt they long to hear of your romantic escapades this evening.
“There she is!” the most brash of your friends shouts before you close to normal speaking distance. “Tell us everything! Did you choose the handsome lord, the strapping captain, or good ‘ole Peter?”
“Ah, all three, actually,” you answer flippantly as you glance left and right for signs of trouble. Your friends all inhale sharply at this news and then turn to face each other in a circle. A great squeal bounces off the ballroom ceiling. Then comes a wave of giggling the likes of which no one has ever heard before.
“Please, quiet yourselves!” you implore. Your friends turn back to you with puzzled faces. “Can you not see how much attention you all draw to yourselves?” You step closer and your volume lowers. “We are on the precipice of being discovered. Our time is short. We must flee!”
“But we have yet to dance!” the most immature of your friends whines.
“It has been hours since our arrival!” you retort. “Have you all merely clung to each other? Have no gentlemen approached you?”
“There have been some, yes,” responds your friend with glasses (there is often just one character in these stories with glasses, and wearing glasses is, in fact, their personality). “But whenever we are asked to dance, we simply turn away and giggle!”
“Oh, but I nearly indulged myself when asked by that charming visiting dignitary,” your heaviest friend admits (in these types of stories, main characters are often only allowed to have one friend who is not thin. And being not-thin is, in fact, their personality). “What was his name, again? Oh yes, Baron Von Porkenstein. Such a lovely man.”
“Enough!” you exclaim. “We must leave now before …”
“There! There they are!” bellows a voice that stops the ball and drains the joy from the room. “Frauds! All of them!”
You shiver with dread as you pivot to witness Lord Bilbobatch Cumbergrantham pointing at you from partway up a grand staircase, his other hand pressing a bloody handkerchief against his forehead.
WHAT WILL YOU DO NEXT?
This is it! Post a comment with your preferred course of action. After a week (or two), the votes will be tabulated and the most popular choice will act as a springboard for the climax of the story. Your choices are:
- Admit you are no lady but try to win over the crowd anyway.
- Refute Lord Cumbergrantham’s claims and try to paint him as delusional.
- Challenge Lord Cumbergrantham to a duel for spoiling your honor (yes, this is far-fetched, but it is only a story).
Good luck!
