...there was Guybrush122. He was bound with rope and tape, a gag stuffed in his mouth which was taped shut. He thought back to the night before. He had been doing his night shift at the tavern, sweeping counters, when a dark figure entered the bar. She was young. GB didn't need to see her face, he could tell she was hideously scarred by a computer accident years ago, sort of like that Liam Neissan movie "Darkman". It was the way she carried herself that just....gave it away.
He remembered she sat down on the stool, head hung, and ordered a milkshake. He asked her name.
"Do you honestly have to check?" she said, "It's just a freakin' milkshake!"
GB apologized and fixed her a drink.
"My name is unimportant," she sighed, as he became more enthralled with the mysterious girl. He leaned in closer to hear her story, though he knew it anyway; the scarring thing, that whole bag.
The moon was coming up when her story was finished. Somehow, some way, Orca (for that was the girl's name) had gotten ****faced off of her milkshake...so GB walked her to her car. Orca turned to him. Both were wet from the pouring rain.
"Guybrush..." she began, water building up in her eyes, "I ... I ...
I have the sudden urge to hit you with a frying pan."
GB's eybrows furrowed.
He felt cold metal across his face.
When he woke up later in the trunk, he knew he managed to get himself in a spirally web of espionage, deciet, and wild horse-sex with a voodoo woman named Montana. 'Yes, he thought, 'I'm in for the ride.'
In for the ride indeed....
I can't seem to think up a good signature.