Luke is the most horrible creature ever to be produced by a combination of over-affectionate parents, bad hygiene, and sheer horrible horribleness - wait one goddamn minute this sounds familiar. Luke is the closest /tg/ has ever come to encountering Foulspawn, complete with all the vomit-induction that implies. Luke goes beyond merely disgusting; the disgust he exudes moves ahead of him like a living thing, coating all nearby with unpleasantness.
The ultimate example of That Guy, Luke is so absolutely vile that he defies classification... Just... Just read the threads. Read the threads and be afraid.
The Story of Luke
The story of this horrific flesh-beast was wrought upon /tg/ by an anon known only as "Walrus." He tells of his interactions with Luke at the University of York, along with his fellow devou/tg/uardsmen "Sirk" and "Nairda"
which are totally not "Kris" and "Adrian" backwards (Wait, does that mean the narrator's name is actually Surlaw?). The story is told in posts by Walrus, with the occasional interjection by Sirk.
Behold, and despair.
I think everyone I play with these days is a That Guy, just more the awesomeface type and less the fag up the session and get everyone annoyed type.
That said, over the years I've had the pleasures of three f-tards.
The first. The first I shall call Luke, for that was his name. He was housemates with my friends in first and second year at Uni, and I had the misfortune of living with him in third. He was prettymuch stereotypical worst-case That-Guy neckbeard. To call him repellent would have been doing an injustice; he had an odour that preceded him by several minutes. His teeth were, quite literally, green. In the year I lived with him, he never showered once, never washed, never cleaned up after himself, never did dishes, never shaved, nothing. You could see people edge away from him as he entered rooms. You could actually see the moment the smell violated their scent receptors, as their face would suddenly freeze in horror.
He moved out of our house the day before the contract expired - we'd never seen the inside of his room until this point I'll add; none of us could brave the odour. We insisted he kept his door shut. As we were finishing moving out, I heard a scream from one of the girls who was moving in, and went (all chivalrous like) to investigate.
I wasn't quite prepared for what was in that room.
The smell, even after my other housemate had opened the window in there the day before, was appalling. You could see ... 'stuff' ... hanging in the air from the light that filtered in through windows caked with handprints. There was still filth everywhere in there - the carpet must have been inch thick with shed hair, bits of food, discarded wank rags, and discared wrappers. It was disgusting. Weirdly, there were wood shavings under the window, where he appeared to have been gnawing on the windowsill...
What had made the girl scream though was she had gone to flip the mattress, presumably in the hopes that the remains of Luke would thus be as far from her body as possible.
It looked like Luke had done that first, to conceal ... well. There was a stain. A huge. Rancid. Black. Stain. About crotch height, and about three foot around. I don't know what the fuck he did; if he shit himself or what; but it was ... it was terrifying.
The only time I ever saw Luke clean was when his evidently long-suffering parents picked him up for weekends. He'd always return looking slightly thinner and paler, red-raw and clean shaven. My guess is they put him out back and blasted him with a pressure hose. The parents were really nice - how they spawned him I have no idea.
They were also really, really rich; meaning this kid was spoiled as high fuck, and loved to use it to one up people. I remember saving up most of my money to buy a new computer - at the time it was top of the line, and I was proud as fucking hell of it. It took a massive chunk of my money, but god it was glorious. I felt like the king of the fucking internet at the time. People coming round just to bask in the glory of it, it was fantastic.
Three days later, Luke turns up, and looks all interested in it. The next fucking day, his parents have bought him almost the exact same computer, just with a bigger monitor and better surround; and at his insistence all of those tacky little mods that just make you go 'faggot'. Gold plated, premium brand, cables; more LEDs than you can handle, that kinda shit.
I'll point out at the time his computer hadn't been that much worse than mine - he just couldn't stand not having the best one.
This repeated itself later when I got a laptop; I blew all my money on one that was the best I could afford - his parents bought him an alienware one. FFFf-
I'm now having horrible flashbacks of his keyboards and mice. And of the time I went to play something on media player on his computer and saw his file history...
The kid musta gotten OFF on being that dirty.
And the best bit? The VERY best bit? He was studying to become a doctor.
He was also a consummate liar. He just seemed to be unable to tell the truth, even to the simplest things. He would come out with ... stories. Some of Luke's stories were legendary; but the one that still sticks with me is "The Time He Won 30,000 Pounds At A Counterstrike Tournament, But Had To Give It Back Because They Found Out He'd Been Wallhacking".
But I digress - this should be about how he's /tg/ related.
Well, he played Magic the Gathering for a start. And his decks were almost invariably terrible. He had a hardon for Samurai during Kamigawa, but played them incredibly defensively; he'd dump thirty creatures and then sit there. He had a hardon for Qumulox during Mirrodin - he'd literally throw one in every deck running. He'd make up the rules for cards, and have to query every card by grabbing it off the table (leaving horrible, horrible marks on a card - we actually have one somewhere that has his finger prints marked into the paper from some substance on his hands at the time)... and then he'd forget what stuff did within thirty seconds and have to do it again.
He would consistently try and do things that were mind numbingly obviously wrong - I CAST TERROR ON THE PIT TRAP was the big one that sticks with me. Mostly because he tried it about eight times.
It was like everything you told him was a square peg for a round hole - somehow information just didn't relay itself from the real world into his head.
... we did manage to take advantage of his annoying habit of picking up cards during one game with unhinged; where we had that card that does you damage when you touch it. The guy playing the deck pulled out some big rubber gloves and played it. Luke immediately reaches over, grabs it and reads it. Puts it down on his side of the table. Picks it up to look at it again, then puts it down again. Realises it's on the wrong side of the table and slides it back. Next round, he picks it up again just to check.
His redeeming feature was it meant that you never came last in a multiplayer game.
He also played D&D. He even DM'd once.
He was a huge weeaboo. Every character had flowing hair, and katanas, and I'm sure he tried at least once to have one with wings. (And the one that had 'Skin Colour: Normal' listed on the sheet, something that made the entire table crack up when it came to light.)
He would make up his stats and modifiers - his character sheet itself would bear no resemblance to anything even remotely like the rules; and all of the various numbers listed would be completely unrelated to each other. He would literally roll a dice, and then say another random number anytime he was called to do anything. It got to the point where one DM sat him down, and walked him through the entirety of character creation again based on the classes he had listed, and ended up having to prettymuch adjust everything about him - he was about eight levels higher than us, had two stats that implied he'd rolled a nineteen, extra feats, all kinds of crap.
He still just made up numbers when he felt like it.
It was this occasion where we saw the inside of his character folio though. He had this little black book that he used for character sheets, and he's sit during sessions leant back with a pencil, with the book folded up like he was fairly obviously writing things surreptitiously, but we'd just ignored it as being him being fucking weird.
Turns out he'd been drawing. Very bad porn. Of Dizzy from Guilty Gear. And wolves. And, well, prettymuch everything you see on the ass end of deviantart. And there were pages that were stuck together; or smeared from him obviously having stroked them ...
Shit makes me cringe just thinking about it.
I'll add that at the time we were playing in games where there were regularly six or seven players; so he was fairly marginalised, and most of why we put up with him. That and people lived with him, so you could never quite escape him following.
He played a rogue once, after having seen someone else - possibly me this time - do it (he had a thing for copying other people's characters, prettymuch verbatim, and then just describing them weeaboo, and sulking when they did stuff he did better than them).
You know the apocryphal story about the player who goes up to the LG Captain of the Guard and says 'Oh and by the way, I'm chaotic evil, so if you ever need anyone assassinated, just ask me *WINK*'? ... Yeah. .... Yeah. He then proceeds to get pissy and storm off when the guard turns round and arrests him.
He also played a Blackguard in an evil game, where we were basically resurrected villains of the gameworld's past, called together to do great dastardly works and whatnot. He decided, without checkign with the DM, he was the High Priest of the evil god that the people ressing us worked for. He then gave this huge long back story about how he'd assaulted a great banquet of paladins with his army, but been defeated, and then resurrected, and that's why he was here.
It took us a minute to think this through - this great and powerful high priest who in the backstory was slaying heroes left right and center, pissing on altars and sleeping with beautiful women, whose name was apparently legendary... had knowingly attacked a gathering of paladins having lunch.. and lost. (This eventually evolved into the tale of how Luke Attacked The Sunday School Trip To Pizza Hut With A Cabbage And Lost.) That's before you even get to the disconnect with how he "roleplayed" it, and how he described it.
(At this point another Anon, presumably Sirk or Nairda, pipes in.)
Sadly I was never around for him DMing his own game - and I've only heard some of the stories of how bad it was; mostly involving how he was a railroading asshole, with no idea of how the rules worked. And how he turned one of the PCs into a scalie with a tail that got longer by a foot a day, and increased the PCs stats by +2 every foot it grew. ... He also had a DMPC paladin that kept turning up and winking, making the bad guys explode; or completely disabling the players so he could go off on a huge fanwank exposition of how something really awesomely supercool was happening - with the obvious caveat that this was Luke, and his ability to describe ubersupercool was limited to IT NEEDS MORE KATANAS AND WINGS AND SPARKLES."
It ... it says enough for itself really. Lets just say a lot of the filenames were anagrams of 'cats', and that his chair had these mysterious white stains in a small triangle near the front of the seat that he claimed were from him dropping yoghurt.
Anyway, I have to head out for a bit - so I can't regale you with much more of the tales of Luke and his terrible.
Beyond that though, I just have to deal with the Homebrewer-Who-Can-Only-Roleplay-Himself (aka Chaotic Stubbornly-Stupid); The Railroading Pedophile Rules Lawyer (who doesn't know the rules, has hygeine and self-care almost as bad as luke, and is just generally another asshole); and the short period where The Guy Who Wants To Play The Little (cat)Girl And Seduce The PCs joined a game I was running.
The upside is I also get to play with someone who regularly plays Lawful Good right - or Alzheimer's Dwarf when he's trolling the two bad DMs - someone who plays Chaotic Angry right and has a fairly enjoyable if mary-sue-dmpc-heavy homebrew system (he gets away with it because we don't take it seriously, and he seems to actually enjoy that), and a guy who loves playing minmaxed fighter types as embittered heroes.
Thus ended the prelude , and thus began the first thread.
The First Thread
Part the First: Walrus
The story of Luke, Plagueson of Nurgle continues.
I shall regale you now, with the tale of my people.
I first met Luke on the first night of University. We were the only ones not drinking that night, and he invited me to his room. My first mistake. His room was on the highest floor of the building (a fact that I would later grow to be grateful for in the extreme) and out of the way of the rest of us in the house, with the third year transfer students. We had been in the halls of residence for a scant 6 hours.
His room was an absolute mess. Boxes overturned, clothes strewn everywhere, a hastily set up X Box on the side, a smelly bean bag and a camping chair. At the time, I was naïve enough to have not seen the way most people live and Luke was scrubbed clean and in ironed clothes, so I made the assumption that perhaps he had arrived late, or was just a little untidy. We played bad racing games for half an evening, before I got tired of crashing fast moving trucks into walls for points. We said our goodnights, and I went back to my room on the ground floor.
So began my Luke experience, one which was to last for nearly 4 years.
Right from the word go, he was a bit of an outsider, tolerated mostly due to habitual British politeness and an unwillingness to “be a git.” At the time, we weren't even people who could be classed as true neckbeards – I played MtG, and one of our number played MtG and had a little experience of 3.5. Of course, as such things go, we all ended up getting involved in societies, and by the end of the first term, I was playing in two 3.5 homebrews and a Unisystem game (but those are entirely different stories.)
Of course, we passed around what we knew – we all started to dabble in a bit of everything. Luke picked stuff up too, but it was obvious that he wasn't as quick as the rest of us but we were patient. We noticed two things here; the first that he would act as arrogant as he could in all situations (even the ones where he cast Terror on the Pit Trap. Twice.); the second, that whenever I lent him a deck, it would always come back strangely a little harder to shuffle…
It was at about this time that I started to teach the other members of our group the nuance of Warhammer 40k. As with everything else, Luke picked things up a little slower than the rest of us. This was offset, in part, by the fact that he apparently had the unlimited riches of his parents to call on. Up until this point, we had made light of the fact that he would regularly be seen with a big tub of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in his greasy, possibly hairy palms (another one for later, if I get that far,) but silently wondered how someone could afford to dine on such food with a student budget. Half a week after the rules were passed around and we played a few test games, he turned up in the kitchen with a full 2000 points marine army, complete with 1000 point Grey Knight, all metal model detachment for use in larger games. Here begins Case Study 1.
Part the Second: Walrus
CASE STUDY 1: Being a case study of THAT GUY at work in 40k.
We left Luke to his own devices assembling and painting his own army. As it turned out, his modelling left a lot to be desired (marine chests on upside down, grenades glues to bolters, that kind of thing) and his painting technique seemed to consist of dipping the models in emulsion then using a sharpie to draw eyes on the finished product. The beautifully painted “colour test” models turned out, after extreme questioning with a pair of clothes pegs, to be his sister’s work. If you’re out there, Luke’s Sister, I would gladly pay you to paint an army for me.
We decided to run a test game. Luke’s Grey Knight Detachment and my Fists army versus 2000 points of Tyranids. We weren't bothered about strict rules, since I was the only vet at the table, so out of sportsmanship we allowed the ‘nid players to ignore their force organisation limits (big mistake, but I digress.) Fast forward to turn 4, and the Fists have managed to whittle down the huge ‘nid army to two squads of bottle caps (genestealers) two hive tyrants and a carnifex, with minimal losses in return. Luke’s Grey Knights have hidden behind the imperial ruins all game, and have refused to move. He is grinning like an idiot, beads of sweat pouring down his face. My earwax is starting to melt and leak out of my ears, such is the smell. The assault comes next turn, and my commander, dreadnought and remaining marine squads get into position to accept the charge, assuming we’ll be backed up by the Grey Knights.
The charge comes, and miraculously, there are units standing at the end of it! My commander himself manages to fell one of the Hive Tyrants with his thunder hammer, whilst the carnifex smashes the dreadnought to bits. The marines on the flank manage to hold out against the other tyrant, barely. This is the point where the Knights charge in and save the day. We go to the movement phase.
He moves the grey knights away from the combats. Silence falls over the table, and I give Luke the horrified look of the boned team mate. He grins, exposing his greenish grey teeth and melting my eyebrows with a halitose reply:
“I’ll let you die, and dhen run in and take all duh glory!”
((Author’s note – Luke quotes are correct, he cannot pronounce words with a ‘th’ at the beginning properly))
He passes his shooting phase, and so no genestealers die.
My mouth almost hits the table at the retardedness of this plan, but he’s adamant, and sticks to it. I charge the carnifex with my commander, am wiped out in the next combat, and go to hit my head against a wall. The next turn, the ‘nids move 12 inches and assault 6, easily getting all of his grey knights. He is wiped off the board in a turn, still grinning like an idiot. In later months, he will boast to people about the match he played where his 1000 point army almost beat a 4000 point nid army that wasn't using the force org chart.
Part the Third: Walrus
Here endeth Case Study 1.
So, time passes and Luke finally gets his own decks – samurai, and the U/B Broodstar precon. He is hilariously bad at magic, managing to get into a board winning position and then do nothing except grin and threaten people he can’t attack with… uh… attacking if they don’t do what he wants. He then sulks whenever he doesn't win, which is all the time. Meanwhile, the status of my own decks is improving, although some of the ones that he used at the start have to be sleeved. As he grows more unkempt, and I can breathe alarmingly clearly when he is around, I begin to suspect that perhaps his crystallized sweat is what makes the cards sticky. These decks are sleeved, with the exception of one particularly sticky deck, which is incinerated.
Around this time, we decide to play a uni house game of 3.5. A DM is nominated and we start on the game. The game is hilariously bad, and full of DMPC, railroading and badly written “original fiction” from the DM, who based the entire campaign on his 218 page book-in-the-making. It’s another story altogether, but one I might rage about some time. For posterity Luke’s character background read like this:
“I am the leader of a small gong of thieves. We were hired to steal a jewel from the thing of the land. We was were in an inn when we were approached by a powerful stalker, who made us go.”
He played a CE rogue, in a party of neutral and good PCs, in a setting full of LG NPCs, whilst telling them that he was CE, and would love if they would help him stab the party up. He then sulked at everyone when he got imprisoned, shoved down holes for being obviously evil, used as a shield, etc.
Then, of course, he decided to run his own game. Case Study 2.
CASE STUDY 2: Being a study of THAT GUY being the DM
So, as sceptical as we were, 3 of us rolled up 4th level characters and sat down at the table. This case study will be presented as a Blow-by-blow.
L: Ok, you’re on a ship.
P1: How did we get here, why are we here?
L: You just woke up on the ship. You’re going to another land.
P2: Uh, well… ok. I’ll have a look around. Is there anyone to talk to, or anything that looks vaguely important to look at?
L: There’s nothing important to look at, and you are locked in your cabin.
P1: Right, well, if the situation’s the same for me, I’ll use my open lock skill to try and pick the lock on my door open. [Roll: something like 25]
L: You can’t. It is magical, and breaks your lock picks.
<Some time passes, with us trying to interact with the world and being told that we can’t.>
L: Suddenly, the ship starts to roll around, and you can hear lightning overhead. The doors swing open on your cabins.
P2: But wait… weren't the doors….
P1, P3: *shrug*
P2: Ok, anyway, we head up onto the deck. It’s been about 5 minutes since the doors swung open, right?
L: About that. Everyone seems to have abandoned the ship. The skies are dark; it’s a big storm! A huge wave, must be about 100 feet high, rises up to crash down onto the ship – make reflex saves!
<Saves turn up 5, 15 and a natural 20>
L: You all manage to leap out of the way.
<We assume that a hole opened up in the 100ft high wave, which is why we all managed to not be hit by it, and why the ship didn’t sink. We manage to find our way to an obviously unsafe life raft, which sinks the moment we get away from the ship. We make our checks to swim, failing miserably, and are informed that we’re drowning.>
P3: … and that’s me unconscious too.
L: You all wake up; you’re in a cell, which looks like it’s made out of a cave.
P1: Wait, what?
L: It was all a dream, although you can’t tell how you got here. A man in full plate suddenly appears in front of you, laughing. “Haha, now that you are captured, the resistance has no chance to defeat me!”
P2: Uh… what resistance?
L: <ignoring> He then teleports away. What do you do?
P2: Well, I’ll try and pick the lock on the cell we’re being held in. <Rolls>
L: You can’t *bile-grin, once again, I notice the sweat, including the massive sweat patches under his arms.*
P1: Well, ok, I’ll try and kick the door out then.
L: On closer inspection, the cell is closed by a completely invisible, indestructible wall of force.
<And so we wait, until his DMPC turns up and dispels the wall of force somehow.>
P3: Gosh, we’re all really impressed. Who are you?
DMPC: *Blah blah blah leader of resistance blah blah, getting killed at dawn or something, different coloured eyes.*
P2: Great, so you can help us out of here.
DMPC: Yes, if you’ll help me.
<At this point, Luke does an IC flirt with P2. The look on P2s face was priceless, and I’ll remember it until the end of time.>
((For those who ask, he was taking the back door into becoming a doctor – he hadn't quite got the grades at school, so he was doing a chemistry degree and then a doctorate. Incidentally, if I ever find out he’s working near me, I’m signing up with Bupa, even if I have to remortgage my house.))
So, we eventually get out of the prison, and find our way to the armoury of the castle (!!) that we’re in. At this point, Luke takes great relish in describing all the magical armour in front of us, unguarded, and the guns (yes, guns, in 3.5 – he’d “homebrewed” them – 1d12+Dex damage, 17-20 x3 crit.) and the gunpowder. Doing what any sensible group of players would do in this situation, we took three guns each and tried to take the armour.
L: Uh, you can’t… it doesn't seem to move off the stand.
P3: No problem, I have 20 strength, We’ll take it with us!
So we set light to a trail of gunpowder and ran like buggery whilst the castle exploded. Cue a huge weepy scene from the DMPC that it won’t be enough to stop the BBEGs army of thousands (who reside in the one castle, that we blew up with them in it, for the record) from assaulting us in the morning. We get whisked away to a faggy tree village full of elves who sing and frolic while they try and get the guns off us. No dice, we threaten to shoot any elf who tries – for once, they get the message. However, in the morning, the armour has miraculously disappeared. The army is also attacking, so we rush down to see if we can help.
As it turns out, the army was attacking in groups of three, and the elves were not around at all. So, we lay into the army of three, defeating it easily with our guns of destruction. And then another group of three. And another. And Another. For an hour. As we’re getting bored, the BBEG turns up, along with a good 20 of his minions who surround us.
L: And you won’t be able to kill him, because he’s a level 30 wizard in full plate! *sickly grin at everyone, because he’s obviously the greatest DM alive and deserves praise*
P2: Fine, I shoot him then. Stuff it. <Rolls a 20. Then a 20. Then a 20>
P1: AHA! Instant death!
L: Uh, you shoot at him and just before the bullet hits he teleports away, shouting curses! His army breaks and runs.
P2: But wait… if we killed all those soldiers, and then him, doesn't that mean we get EXP from the encounter?
P2: *Now frantically thumbing through a DMG* And since that’s X groups of level 5 soldiers, and one level 30 wizard… that’s enough to make us… Level 17!
P3: OH GOD WHAT *Falls off his chair*
L: At this point, you all wake up in a throne room. There's the wizard there laughing at you. “And that is why you must never be set free!” He laughs, before disappearing. You are in a force cage in the throne room, but there is a woman in the room that you recognize.
P1: Wait… no, I cba.
At this point, one of our friends, whom I shall refer to as Nairda (he’ll understand why) walked into the room. I, being player 1, promptly ripped my sheet in half, and offered him the bottom half. He graciously accepted, and roleplayed the combat legs of my character, whilst I took charge of the skills torso. The game was called 10 minutes later, when we had another dream sequence.
Here endeth Case Study 2.
Part the Fourth: Walrus
Skipping forward about a year. We have moved out of the halls, and into rented accommodation. Due to British politeness and general apathy, Luke has managed to follow us into a house, shared with Nairda and myself. Of course, he demands the biggest room on account of something or other. I think the excuse this time was that he had once been a pro motocross racer, but had fallen off and broken his spine in 4 places (but it was ok, because he got better.) This was when, deprived of his weekly visits home, we began to appreciate the true strangeness of Luke. We never found evidence that he used the bathroom.
As days turned into weeks we found increasingly that the windows had to be left open 24/7. At one point, as the weeks turned into a month, we noticed that a moss-like substance had actually started to grow on the one shirt that he had been wearing for the duration. His wealth was having a profound impact here as well, as the house began to fill with half eaten sandwiches, discarded chocolate bars and Luke’s Cup, which he always drank orange juice out of. It had not been cleaned since that first night when I met him. I kid you not. The thing was like the holy grail of aids. He drank everything out of that cup; squash, water, wine, beer, tea, you name it.
Finally, after an extensive bout of rodent hunting, disposal and cleanup of the living space, we decided to actually do something about it. We broached the subject carefully, at one of our mass gatherings of a card gaming nature (Deck Status: Most decks fine after being hidden – Luke had decided to use a Golgari deck that I had left on my desk and it was rendered completely unshufflable. I lost about £30 of rare in that one due to the cards sticking together to produce Vulturous Overgrown Putrefy.) We started the discussion with a simple question: “What time do you guys have to get up to be ready for uni in a morning?”
L: Well, I normally get up quarter of an hour before the lesson (crap, as we lived 20 minutes away by bike), then brush my teeth (this got a snort) then shower – if I need to! *huge crap grin, causing most of us to lean back*
Nairda: Luke, you smell like a mixture of crap and cum, there is moss growing on your shirt. Get a shower and clean yourself up.
…he didn't know really how to take that. He mumbled an excuse, left the room and spent the next week playing Linkin Park really loudly so that we couldn't sleep.
This brings me to the end of the first year of my Luke Experience. There are more tales, of which I may regale a couple if they're wanted. However, it is 3a.m. here, so my eloquence is sharply declining - be warned. Continue? Y/N
Part the Fifth: Walrus
Right, fine. Due to popular demand:
CASE STUDY THREE: Being a study of THAT GUY participating in Call of Cthulhu
Ok, so not long after the episode, most of us got into Lovecraftian horror in a big way. It was only natural that Nairda end up running a CoC campaign – he’s stupidly good at horror and suspense in games. So, with me as a bystander (CoC isn't really my thing, and I digress too much to be helpful to a good atmosphere) the game was set – to begin with, a premade module “The Fall of Paradise” or similar – I highly encourage you to get a copy of Carmina Burana and play through it, for the record.
Anyway, the game starts with the exploration of a haunted house. The game progresses smoothly, with a little sanity loss and Luke not saying much. The room is bearable – despite the balmy evening, Luke has recently returned from a weekend parent visit; he has been hosed down and his clothes have been replaced. He only smells mildly. The party returns to its homes at night (I won’t spoil the plot for you, in case you want to play it), and Luke’s character, having seen a particular painting, starts to have a vision.
N: You wake up, seemingly unable to move. There are a group of monks, wearing dark robes and white, plain masks at the foot of your bed. They start to approach you, silently.
L: Oh, ok.
N: … what? Is that how your character reacts?
L: Yes, dhis happens to me all duh time *Huge, cocky, Azathoth munching grin. We note that he seems to have escaped without having his teeth looked at – the gums are starting to turn black*
So, we continue. Luke receives (and protests for 10 minutes) moderate sanity damage for being stroked by inquisitive monks from ancient Mesopotamia. The game is very, very successful, and runs for several more sessions. We eventually find the party (and Luke’s new character, the last having been dispatched by a giant demon spider god with a legspan the size of a cathedral because he annoyed Nairda enough) being chased by a demonic bloodhound of enormous size and ferocity. They are cornered in a house, and the dog is inside. The party splits up, with Luke following another THAT GUY as the rest of the party escape through the back door.
N: Ok, you two are still in the house, which is shaking. The light outside is fading, and the you can hear the growling and sniffing of the dog as it searches for you. What do you do?
THATGUY: I take a long drink from my hip flask, and then go to the toilet.
L: I follow him!
N: …uh… why?
L: I want to see if there’s a katana in there! *Huge retarded grin. A weaker member of the group has to leave the room.*
At this point, Nairda visibly facepalmed.
N: Ok, you both get to, uh, the toilet. There is no katana. What do you do?
TG: I take a long drink from my hip flask, and then use the toilet.
L: I watch, and wait.
N: OH GOD WHAT?! Er… fine. A small time passes. The beast is getting really close now.
TG: *zip* I take a long drink from my hip flask, and look for a way out.
N: Ok, there’s a fire escape not far from you – you could get down that if you could batter the door down.
L: I flush the toilet and go after him! *Obviously enjoying himself at this point*
<TG Rolls well on his strength check, and gets it open in two attempts. The dog is now very close, and gaining ground.>
N: *Annoyed by both of them at this point* So, you’re racing down the stairs, you can feel the breath of the dog on your back, it’s that close. What do you do?
TG: I take a long drink from my hi-
N: IT’S JAWS CLAMP AROUND YOUR NECK BEFORE YOU GET THE CHANCE! WHY DID YOU DO SOMETHING SO RETARDED? YOU ARE DEAD! … and you, Luke?
L: Uh, I keep running.
N: Good choice. The dog seems to be busy with TG’s remains, so you can get away. You remember that the legend says that the dog can only kill one being per night, so you’re probably safe, for now. What do you do?
L: I will use my mobile phone to call the police.
N: … ok. What do you want to say?
L: I say that I was, uh, just passing by this house, when I saw a brutally maimed dead body on the stairwell.
N: …What? Really?
L: Yes, and I’ll say that it doesn't have anything to do with me.
N: The operator asks you to wait there whilst the poli-
L: I hang up and run off.
P3: … you *do* know they’ll trace your phone, don’t you Luke?
L: They can’t, that technology doesn't exist.
P3: Uh, yes it does.
L: No it doesn't; my dad worked with the police on some murder cases, and they can’t trace mobile phones.
The Other Luke Sufferer Sirk turns his laptop screen round to an entry on mobile phone tracking techniques used by the police>
L: …well *my* mobile phone is untraceable.
N: Riiiight. The police pick you up within the hour, and bundle you into a car.
L: No they don’t, it’s untraceable!
L: Fine, I get my gun out and shoot at them then!
Needless to say, he died a bullet filled death as he got shot by trained policemen. He sulked for a while, and went to play some loud Linkin Park. It was 4 a.m. at this point, so we got an angry visit from the neighbours. Still, he didn't bother to reroll, which was a good thing – with only one THAT GUY in the game, it was a lot smoother… at least until the competent and awake party members got abducted – but that’s another story.
Come to think of it, that’s about the time that Luke started whooping in his sleep. A high pitched, whooping cough that may have been a sleep defect, but was more probably the sound of him loudly cracking one off to Dizzy from Guilty Gear, covered in shit. That revelation caused some IRL sanity loss, but again, another story for another case study.
Well, that’s me for tonight guys; there is a lot more of the Luke experience to recount, but my writing is going down the pan. Tomorrow, more Luke! Until then, hopefully our suffering has entertained you moderately. Thank you, eloquen/tg/entlemen, and goodnight.
Tl;dr: What are you even doing in this thread if you can’t be bothered to read it?
Also, general THAT GUY thread from now on. I’ll be back tomorrow.
Part the Sixth: Sirk
- shrug* ... reminds me of another CoC game he joined, run by a third (that's right, a third) That Guy (this one is the pedophile I mentioned in the last thread - the pissing hip flask drinker is the catgirl player who tried to seduce PCs. Thankfully we ended up never having to see him again after halfway through second year outside of the MtG society at the Uni)
We were playing in a game where we had to stat ourselves - something that rarely ends well, but this time went pretty fairly. We all got a few little bonuses to stuff that we really didn't deserve, in my case to explosives because I happened to have read the anarchists cookbook once, and had a reputation for setting stuff on fire when bored.
In Luke's case, he rolled something with an impossibly high fellowshippy-charismay-type score; and a Katana, and all kinds of crazy martial skills; because he 'was a black belt in three matial arts, and had the belt above black in another one, and kept a katana under his bed at all times'.
iir he also had Knowledge(science) because he was a chemist, which somehow - because of his inability to even tangentially obey the rules - gave him a +2 synergy bonus to jump.
... that's also reminded me of the time we started trolling him in character in another game, and convinced his character through judicious applications of illusions and magic that HE WAS THE CHOSEN ONE OF THE DRAGON GOD, and ended up getting him to lead suicidal charges on stuff. It was actually seeing the LegoRobot comic recently that brought all that back, and made us all wonder 'hey whatever happened to him...'
But yeah, I'm out too. Hopefully back tomorrow with a photo of him; and more epic tales from beyond the curtain.
>Come to think of it, that’s about the time that Luke started whooping in his sleep. A high pitched, whooping cough that may have been a sleep defect, but was more probably the sound of him loudly cracking one off to Dizzy from Guilty Gear, covered in shit. That revelation caused some IRL sanity loss, but again, another story for another case study.
He loved the shitting dicknipples. I wish I exaggerated.
Part the Seventh: Walrus
Luke was mostly unavoidable. In first year, he was in the same halls as the rest of our group. Second year, everyone in those halls split into two houses (except The Other Luke Sufferer who moved in with a third group), sadly this included Luke because he pulled an allmighty shitfit when he was told where to go - he ended up paying twice as much rent as the rest of them, so they all had to pay less which they thought waived it. Third year, Naidra moved out of that house for a work placement, and TOLS took over his contract - aside from Luke it was a damn good house; and the rent drop was pretty substantial. Luke almost pulled another shitfit however when he came back to discover TOLS had taken over the second biggest room, and ended up forcing the Luke suffering writefag above (who is about 6'8 and built to match) into a room that was approximately the same size as a double bed or he'd default on the contract and leave us in shit with the landlord. He also threatened to sue said landlord unless something was done about it.
Luke also was in the same chemistry course as one of us, and thus followed him home; as well as attending all the same societies and social functions that the rest of us did. There really wasn't much we could do to avoid him.
The way we eventually got rid of him - as awful as it sounds - was to be rude enough to him till he got the point, and didn't ask him to join us in the house we moved into in year three even though we were (and made it clear we were) desperately looking for a last housemate to fill in.
Thus ended the first thread, and thus began the second.
The Second Thread
I shall regale you once again, with the tale of my people.
Before we start, I find it interesting in the extreme that I appear to have been stricken by Father Nurgle himself for daring to elaborate on the exploits of a certain THAT GUY, Luke. However, my tale is an important one, and so I shall continue regardless - apologies for my absence in the last day.
Now... are we sitting comfortably? Then we shall begin. First, a recap.
Luke is the name of a certain housemate that my friends and I had the extreme displeasure of sharing a house with during most of our time at university. He has already been established as a foul smelling, unwashed braggart with a penchant for creating monstrously weeaboo DMPCs and turning otherwise positive experiences into foul gaffs of legend. I was... surprised to discover that you gentlemen had not heard so many tales about one THAT GUY, but I guess he was a fairly rare person after all. Despite his being a mess of a human being, with the personal hygiene habits that would disgust a troll, Luke was training to be a doctor. He had access to an undefined fortune givn to him by his thoroughly nice, if embarrassed , parents and flaunted this whenever he could.
And now, on with the story...
Part the Eighth: Walrus
So, our first year in the house had come to an end. Nairda was going to be spending his next year of study in London, which meant he was moving out; therefore it was time to find a new housemate. Fortunately, one was at hand - TOLS from last night, who from here on shall be referred to as Sirk (again, he'll understand) was looking for a new house, preferably one with a larger room than the box he had been staying in. It seemed a natural choice. At the same time, I managed to agree with Luke that it was high time that we swapped the room assignments around; a change is as good as a rest, after all. Enter case study 3(b)
CASE STUDY 3(b): Being a case study of THAT GUY interacting with a landlord and fellow tenants
The agreement sank in, and I let it lay for the next month or so, until Nairda's time in the house was just about up. I helped him move out (enjoying the loud conversation at the top of the stairs where his parents complained about the godawful stink that was coming from a certain person's room) and then waited until Sirk came around to look over the property. Luke deigned to turn his Limp Biscuit (Sp? Eh.) off and join us. I naturally brought up the issue with the rooms. Beforehand, I had discussed with Luke about how we should draw straws to see who got each room, with the shortest straw getting the booby prize - a room with slightly lower rent than the others, but only big enough to fit a bed inside. Luke, however, had other ideas.
Once again, he showed us his grin - teeth completely green now, blackened gums with bright red swollen bits. I'm a fairly strong-stomached man, but I confess I had to lean back at the smell of his breath, like he'd been eating roadkill recently. He informed us cheerfully that he was taking the largest room in the house and that there was nothing that we could do about it.
Being the savvy people that we are, we went to get a copy of the contract, which (oddly enough we thought at the time, but realizing our salvation at that moment) stated that the Landlord actually had final say in the running of the household - which, we reasoned, was grounds enough for moving Luke into one of the smaller rooms, or at least having a fair draw. Luke would only give us a wild, bloodshot grin when we suggested this. We decided that he was bluffing, due to his persistent superiority complex. This, of course, was a man who claimed that he had once been commissioned by the secret service to test their security systems, such was his hacking skill. They hadn't paid him for this work, interestingly enough. In any case, we thought that we'd have a good chance with the landlord, since he and Luke had been rather chilly since he found out that he'd started shifting his rubbish out of the window and into the back garden.
In short, we were wrong.
When we approached our landlord, he told us with pained expression that he could do no such thing. "I'm sorry, Walrus" he said, substituting my own name, "But I got a letter the other day from his family lawyer. I can't do a thing until we're done with this."
As it turns out, most landlords in the area write their own contracts, which are checked over briefly before being ok'd. Luke had gone so far as to have his family lawyer scour the contract for inconsistencies, and, being an actual lawyer, had found grounds to contest the contract and force a change in it's wording. When we got back, the crap-eating grin and roiling sweaty face confirmed; he had spent large amounts of his parents' money to ensure that he got to pick which room he wanted, and that he couldn't be evicted by the Landlord for his machinations.
We had been trolled.
With our fury only matched by the viscosity of his breath as it left his lungs, we were legally forced to accept defeat. In the interests of fairness, me and Sirk drew straws for the remaining rooms - I pulled the short straw, and moved into the box room. The only consolation was months later, when we saw his parents; the drawn, apologetic look on their faces spoke volumes.
And so life went on. Mice were purged, we build a furnace in the back garden to incinerate the less toxic rubbish rather than let the bin overfill and eventually we started shifting the more toxic rubbish into the shed, or into other people's bins to avoid being infected. I didn't get away unscathed, but this is not the time or place to talk about infection. Safe to say that the next few months of my life were agonizing as well as underwhelming. Time passed. Deck Status, pretty good. I had successfully managed to keep my more prized decks hidden from Luke's greasy touch with the use of decoy decks, left in my normal hiding places for him to find. I confronted him on this issue, to which I got an angry reply:
"So what if I want to play with a different deck once every so often? It's not as if you were using them at the time. Besides, I'd let you use mine if you wanted to. The stickiness isn't even my fault; I shaved my palms just last week!"
Make of that what you will. Eventually, he agreed to a deal; we would stop ridiculing his hairy palms in public, if he would wear a pair of pink marigolds whenever he used someone else's deck. He stuck to this deal for a week, and then stopped playing magic, insisting that it was a stupid, childish game. We were not disappointed.
Part the Ninth: Walrus
It was at about this time that we started to turn our hand to RTS games. So, we had a look around all the games that we had with us, eventually settling on Dawn of War. We only had a Dark Crusade disk going, so we elected on a couple of games of that while we waited for the rest to stream.
CASE STUDY 4: Being a case study of THAT GUY playing LAN games
A little aside; as mentioned before, Luke was (and presumably still is) a subscriber to the "one upmanship" school of socializing. Sirk had recently spent a good chunk of his dwindling money on a brand new computer; it was a glorious beast. Within a week, of course, Luke's bespoke new P.C. complete with flashing LEDs, a mouse more expensive than my laptop and more cooling systems than a Boeing 747 was delivered to our door. It has to be noted that the courier was reluctant to give Luke the electronic signing device, and then tak it back. In the space of the 10 seconds it took Luke to scrawl his name, the pad had become visibly moist and greasy. I thanked the stars that he'd given up on Magic. Of course, then we had to listen to him wandering around the house loudly talking about how great his new computer was. I took the brunt, having no real space in my room to hide. Regular showering was barely enough to fight off the lingering smell that this caused on my skin and clothes.
After setting up his P.C, we were challenged to a game of DoW - Luke proclaiming himself to be a master of RTS games, citing his victory at a Korean Starcraft tournament as proof. Allegedly, he'd been disqualified because they didn't find out that he wasn't Korean until he'd won the final round. So, with that in mind, we started the computer up, linked them, and got playing. Sirk and I chose Tau, and Luke, Necron. We played for a good 15 minutes, me initiating a rush and then pulling back to allow the game to continue for as long as possible, and Sirk and Luke turtling. I noticed that Luke had captured no objectives at this point, and put it down to him probably not knowing how the game worked. The turtling continued for another half an hour, before Luke made a sensible suggestion! Pizza! This was ordered post haste, and we continued with the game.
Pizza arrived soon after, and so we called a temporary truce while we picked it up. Units were set on guard, and we shifted over to the door to receive our ill-gotten gains. Curiously, Luke was absent. Sirk was gaming in his room and I in the living, room, so Sirk got the honour of taking Luke his pizza (he may have sprinkled a fair amount of curry powder on it before hand, but you'd have to ask him.) I took my seat back at the table, and idly scanned the battlefield. Near my line of broadsides and fire warrior teams, about 50 or 60 necron corpses of various flavour. The door upstairs crashed open, and Luke came thundering downstairs, bearing down on me like a fabled beast of pungent legend.
"YOU CHEATED! WE SAID THERE'D BE A CEASEFIRE!" He roared, filling the room with an angry, rotten musk. He'd obviously been concentrating; he was bright red, and the sweat patches covered the sides of his olive green T shirt. If nothing else, Luke has made me very conscious about the state of my underarms during important events. I questioned his meaning of cease fire - he'd obviously marched his necrons right up to my main defensive line. "I HAD THEM ON PASSIVE, I WAS GOING TO WALK THEM INTO YOUR BASE FOR WHEN WE STARTED AGAIN!"
Needless to say, we called it a night soon after. Sirk feigned a sudden attack of his sleep disorder, and I grew very tired due to a busy day. At this point, I'm going to take a moment of time to answer some of the questions that have already come up in the thread. If people just want me to continue instead, just say so.
Part the Tenth: Sirk
In reply to an anon jokingly claiming to be Luke
Sadly, I know that's not Luke; because Luke's typing was worse than dyslexic (one of our other good friends, the personification of Lawful Angry I mentioned in the original thread, being dyslexic and yet still managing to be infinitely more legible); and was often sprinkled with misspelled pseudo-leet.
The one that sticks with me, because I used it to name a WoW and DnD character, was his computers password - Undying Love (cringe). Or in his case, 4n!13n9!0v. The characters became Andilen, for the record; although for a long time we did use ANDILENGIOV as a warcry.
Part the Eleventh: Walrus
In reply to an anon asking if Luke would ever appear on the register
And finally, no. He wont appear on a register for another few years, if he passes at all. His grades at school weren't quite good enough to get him straight onto a medical course, so he was doing a master's in chemistry first, THEN studying Medicine. We probably have another 3 or 4 years yet.
Still, watch this space for Luke Flu (or Nurgle's Rot, whichever you prefer)
I think that'll do for an intermission. Did you all remember to get your ice cream from the salesmen and visit the toilet? Excellent. Continuing in the next post.
I think, at this point, we will talk a little of revenge. You see, Luke had an almost spiritual connection with his computer, if such a thing were possible. He loved it deeply, and often. He loved the perceived prestige of having a good computer too - he did have a top of the line laptop as well, but would always use as much of his effort to transport the desktop PC with him wherever he went, if possible. This included the uni LAN gaming society, other friends' houses, Uni itself if he needed to do work that existed on his own hard drive...
And he loved to "let people have a go." He would, wherever possible, try and coax people into using his hardware, to see how good it was. I tried this myself, once. He insisted, and being even more apathetic then than I am now, I reluctantly accepted. The PC was in his room.
That was the first time I'd seen the inside of Luke's room since he'd taken over in the summer. Words can hardly describe my horror, but since I'm meant to be telling the story I will do my best. On the windowsill, a grimy vase with some dead flowers in, possibly tulips, visible from behind half opened, stained curtains. The light cast into the room is orange in colour due to the time of day and colouring of the curtains, highlighting the answer to a question that Sirk and myself had asked each other for weeks: Where has the cutlery gone? No less than 6 plates, in assorted levels of moudlyness, most of the forks and a lot of knives, too. No less than 6 almost-empty tubs of B+J Ice cream, with various amounts of culture, ranging from Manchester to Vienna in advancement on the "World cities" culture scale. The floor was almost invisible, but a large chunk of carpet was missing, obviously eaten away by some substance or creature.
I barely had a moment to take all of this in before the smell hit me. Rancid is too mild a word to use in these circumstances. I think a cross between curdled milk, old rooms and pig manure might suffice. I was hastily welcomed into this "inner sanctum" by Luke himself, and placed on a moist swivel chair in front of the computer. He placed the headphones on my head quickly, sending a chill of abject horror down my spine as they stuck slightly to my ears. He then proceeded to tell me all about the specifications of his computer, before leaning right over me to log himself in, catching me in the face with the side of his sweat stained shirt.
My line had finally been crossed. I made my excuses, and left. The clothes, I never wore again - indeed I took the first opportunity to lose them. I shaved my head, and showered for a good hour before I felt clean enough to take a shower. I never set foot in that room again for the rest of Luke's tenure, but, of course, what happened when I did is a story for later on. A line had been crossed, and revenge was the order of the day.
Starting with Luke's computer.
We eventually managed to coax Luke into moving his computer downstairs for a night, under the pretense of an "executive LAN party evening," where we would all sit around our table on swivel chairs and play games where we could see each other. He gladly agreed, having an opportunity to both show off his computer again, and his swivel chair, which of course he had bought especially because it was better than we could afford. The stage was set, the pizza in, and our material prepared.
CASE STUDY 5: Being a case study of THAT GUY's reaction to a fake virus.
Luke, as aforementioned, had proclaimed himself a master hacker, employed by the secret service to aid them with security. We brought him onto this topic of discussion slowly, over the course of the night, whilst ensuring that his Cup (as mentioned previously) was topped up. His current beverage of choice being Lipton Ice Tea, infused with the strata of orange juice and coffee remaining in the cup. Eventually, of course, nature called (or possibly whispered) and Luke grumbled something, made sure all our games were paused (ensuring that he managed to touch our hands with his at least once in the process by grabbing our mouse hands) and shuffled to the toilet. We took a moment to lift ourselves from the shock of being touched by Luke, and moved to his computer. A picture will follow, posted by Sirk (Thanks!)
It should be noted that, while Sirk does not immediately post a picture, he does, in fact, eventually delivar.
ASIDE: HOW TO CREATE YOUR FAKE VIRUS!
Step one: Get a friend who can create executables, or do it yourself if you know how (Thanks Sirk!)
Step two: Create a naff wallpaper
Step three: Using a clip drive, transfer the executable and the wallpaper to your recipient's computer. Hide them in a safe folder!
Step four: Change all desktop shortcuts so that they link to the executable. Load up the wallpaper.
Step five: Use your fuse box to fake a momentary power cut.
We worked more efficiently than we have worked before, or since. By the time Luke came back from the toilet, the Desktop PCs were rebooting and running through scandisks. Luke, of course, had such a good computer security system (designed by himself, no less) that he did not need to run a scandisk. No worries, he assured us with his grin, we would all be getting beaten again very soon. Grin check: At this point, I was sure that Luke's mouth was beginning to rot, such was the smell of decay that came from it when he opened his mouth. His teeth were approaching forest green in colour.
Unfortunately for Luke, his computer had been infected by the dreaded Ginyu virus, that Sirk and I had read warnings about over the past week. Luke, of course, was quick to ascertain that he knew the guy who had created the virus (ironically true) and had trained him himself (not so true) - This would be no problem to a hacker of his skill!
We eventually called the night due to Luke's faulty computer ("wouldn't want to catch it off you!") and went to bed. Sirk may have erased the executable at some point, but he never said. There were a lot of raging sounds from his room though; Revenge tasted very sweet indeed.
Part the Twelfth: Sirk
Actually, that was all Nairda. All it was was a simple '00 Print THE GINYU TEAM PWNS YOU, 01 Goto 00' that was set to run fullscreen and couldn't be closed unless you rebooted; and was set as a replacement for every shortcut he had.
There was also the other time I pulled the old 'take a screenshot of the desktop and set it as the wallpaper, then hide all the icons in a folder' trick. That left him hammering at his mouse convinced it was broken, before throwing it on the floor in rage, and going and getting his OTHER $200 mouse. Which then also didn't work. I dropped a hint that maybe it was the Ginyu virus again; but....
Part the Thirteenth: Walrus
So again, time moves on and, perhaps sadly, we come to the last major case study of living with THAT GUY. The world turned, and spring turned into early summer. Luke had thankfully been abducted by his parents several times over the intervening months, with predictable results - the raw, scraped look of a man who has been forcibly pushed down a stretch of white water rapids with a barber's shop at the end. Each time, the same cycle of filth build up. It was at one point where Sirk and I had just managed to find evidence of the end of the squirrel infestation that Luke announced that he would be looking to move into a house. There he stood, in all his encrusted glory, with a look in his eyes that perhaps implied that there was some part of him that truly, honestly needed us. He was looking for a house for next year's study, he informed us, as the Landlord had refused to renew the contract and was looking for new tenants after the end of the currant tenancy. Me and Sirk exchanged a look, an I gave possibly the most meaningful response I have ever, and may ever give.
"Righto then, good luck with that."
He never spoke to us again. He left for his room, and soon we heard loud rap music permeating through the floorboards above the living room, a cacophony that was to last for several days before he was threatened with an ASBO by the neighbours. His smell lingered for a while, then went to join him.
But that, of course, is not entirely the end of the tale.
Part the Fourteenth: Walrus
CASE STUDY 6: Being a case study of THAT GUY's room, after his departure.
Luke left several weeks later. Sirk and I had found accommodation elsewhere in a house with our other friends and acquaintances from the society. As all of you will know, however, an integral part of the end of a tenancy is the cleaning up of the house in order for viewing to take place. We elected to draw straws for cleaning tasks. We would each clean our own rooms, of course, and then draw straws for division of tasks. One one side was Luke's room and the Bathroom. On the other wise was the living room and the kitchen. I drew Luke's room.
Not one to back out on a deal, I donned my old clothes and gloves, drew a deep breath, and opened the door to the room. The first objective would be the windows - if I could open those, the smell would start to disperse from the room, allowing me to work without retching too much.
The door was difficult to open. Several seconds of pushing followed, without success. In the end, I took a couple of steps back and threw my weight against the door.
Of course, with the momentum of my not-too-modest weight, I ended up inside the room, on my knees. The first thing that struck me was this: The object obstructing the door was the aftermath of a refuse avalanche. I was currently knee deep in cocktail sausage packaging, half finished Pot Noodles and, disturbingly, clumps of hair. Then the smell hit me. Before, it was merely extraordinarily foul. Now, the coming of the warmer weather had combined with the mounting refuse to create... I resolved not to breathe, and focus on the objective. I waded forward past the landslide, dislodging a bad that contained hundreds of tiny flies, clouding my vision. My eyes watered as the smell overpowered my senses, and the wax began to melt in my ears. Every inch of uncovered skin itched, such was the foulness of the place. Finally, I made it to the window, and pushed it open, dislodging a year and a half of dust and corrosion. Sweet air!
I took a deep breath, and waded back out of the room. Obviously, the room needed to air out a little - Sirk didn't mind, as long as I got rid of the clothes I had worn and didn't go anywhere near him. I showered.
A couple of hours later I returned, in a different set of old clothes. The air was... bearable, at least. But the rubbish would have to go first. Our bin was already full, so it was time to employ the shed to hold the refuse while we waited for night to fall, to deliver presents to unwitting neighbouring bins. Rubbish collection and movement is never a nice task at the best of times. Luke had never used a bin bag to store his waste in, so the first task was to gather everything into easy carrying devices. Of the rubbish, the more notable pieces contained Luke's Book (which has been alluded to before, but not extrapolated on by myself,) heavily used and stained with a green, slightly viscous substance. Smell confirmed as cum, much to my revulsion. No less than 6 of the 8 house plates, with large amounts of furry mold growing from their surfaces (and in one case, the underside as well.) The remains of the dead flowers, also covered in mold along with the vase. Two heavily used pornography books, depicting a faeces-related fetish on the encrusted covers. The remains of a pizza, possibly the one from Case Study 4, covered in flies, with evidence of maggot infestation.
I resolved to be a better person for the rest of my life, if only I never had to do this again. Waste successfully moved, I surveyed the room at large. The carpet was caked in dirt, hair and an unknown substance. The area of the carpet that had been eaten away during my last visit had grown significantly to about a half foot in diameter; blackened around the edges. This revealed the large hole in the skirting board, the area littered with droppings concurrent with the squirrel infestation.
The furniture in the room had been left largely intact, but with a thin coating of waxy grease. He had left his Cup, which had started with a drinking capacity of about 1.5 pints, but now could carry as much fluid as a champagne flute. This was hastily disposed of. The house cutlery, although tarnished, would survive. I put them to one side to give to Sirk later. The curtains were removed, to be washed. This dislodged a small rain of dirt and grime from the top of the curtain rail, where it had collected. The windowsill was caked with dirt, presumably from when the vase of flowers fell over. This would only be removed with a wallpaper stripper. I moved over to the last part of the room that I hadn't surveyed yet; the bed. The duvet and sheets, of course, would have to go. I pulled them from the bed. What I saw there caused a hasty retreat to the bathroom.
A large black stain, at groin height on the mattress. Yellowed at the edges, but only just noticeable. No smell, blessed be, but enough to make me wretch my dinner into the toilet pan. Eventually, after I had composed myself, I called Sirk, and showed him, with similar consequences. We turned the mattress over, and resolved never to speak of it again. We moved the furniture in such a way that the holes in the carpet were concealed, and scrubbed the floor as best we could. Once all of the grime was removed, it was about 3 a.m. in the morning. Just in time, as the first house inspection was in the morning.
The house inspection went reasonably well. We had worked our hands raw for most of the previous 48 hours, so we were glad of the rest. The landlord, too, was pleased and impressed; liberal and strategic use of air freshener had all but obliterated the lingering smell - only a slight metallic tang to the air remained.
The prospective tenants were three South American exchange students, all female. They liked the living room and kitchen, found the bathroom and smaller bedrooms to their liking, and really liked the location. Just one room left. The landlord looked over their heads at us, penseivly. We nodded slightly, and with a deep breath he opened the door to the room. We went downstairs, to get a cup of hard earned coffee; we could do no more.
I will never forget the screech of horror, disgust and revulsion as he turned the mattress over.
Surprisingly, he managed to secure the deal. We gave him an inventory of the damages to the room, which he assured us he would claim from Luke. We moved out a week later, into our new home. We were followed.
Part the Fifteenth: Sirk
I'll grant you that Luke's room was bad .... but aside from the strip in there where we were winning the battle to keep the bathroom clear of Luke-filth (we had to dispose of mopheads every foot or so of cleaning; wringing them out didn't get rid of the .. for want of a better word ... solid organic matter. Nothing internal mind you - we wouldn't have stood for that - but the amount of very-clearly-Luke's hair and footprints and ugh....
HOW THE FUCK HE DID IT WHEN HE DIDN'T EVEN USE THE SHOWER
THERE WAS A FINE WHITE GREASE MIST ON THE WINDOWS OF HIS ROOM THAT I HAD TO GO BACK AND CLEAN WITH OVEN CLEANER TO REMOVE. FFFFFFFFFFFFFF-
So. So much rage.
Oh god the flies... it took us so long to make the - now obvious - connection with the flies and his room. We'd assumed there had been some food off in the bin (which, as is often the way in student houses, was often piled two feet high with pizza and takeaway boxes)... and had a big run of sterilizing the kitchen.
Seriously, you're bringing back the most horrible memories.
Like his bag of potatoes.
...How on earth did I manage to suppress all this?
Part the Sixteenth: Walrus
About a week after moving into our new house, we had a knock at the door. It was, to use the cliche, dark, cold and slightly drizzly weather, so we were surprised to get a visitor - especially during our 10 way Magic night. It was Rho'nekh, our new, lawful-angry housemate, who let the visitor in and welcomed him.
As my nose shut down in self-defense, I realized who had darkened our door.
He had apparently managed to locate us from talking to people on our respective courses. He had then made the trip across our city to find us, in the drizzle, to tell us all about the flat that his parents had got him in the middle of town and that his internet wasn't working yet so he would use ours. Sure enough, within half an hour of his entry, all conversation had shut down bar Luke talking about his newest Laptop and all his new friends. The conversation moved onto the old house.
"It was awesome, wasn't it guys?" he said. "I can't believe we had to leave. Still," he grinned, exposing a mouth of clearly rotten, gums and olive hued teeth, "It's not as if it was much of a problem to move out, was it? I bet you guys had to spend ages clearing your rooms out though; they were awful!"
A silence descended on the room. After what seemed like an eternity, Sirk broke it.
And that was the last time we really ever saw Luke, thankfully. I did have the misfortune to bump into him outside a curry shop in the December of that year. His approaching musk was easily distinguishable over the curry spices, which sent that familiar primal dread coursing through my body. Thankfully, I managed a convincing impression of a German exchange student which confused him for long enough that I was able to flee while he saw through my disguise on account of me not having a German accent, and looking like me.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, was our Luke experience. There are, of course, other stories...
But those might be for another time. Oh, one last thing...
Sirk and Myself did visit the old house once more, a few months after we'd left to collect some belongings that we had forgotten in the move. As we waited for one of the girls to return with our things, we had a quick look around. One of the other girls smiled at us, with greenish teeth. The house was starting to encrust with filth...
And here endeth the tale. I have apparently been The Walrus. Thanks for your attention.It has been a pleasure.