The Last to Comment Wins
- Thread starter mrsimple
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ElijahRyne
A Hermit that’s NOT that Lazy, currentlycomplainen
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I am winning currently.
Anonjohn20
Pen holding member
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- Mar 22, 2023
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Nyah!
Anonjohn20
Pen holding member
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Nyah!
Hoshino
Hoshino not found
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Making a visual novel?
For the past year or so, I've been really interested in trying to make a visual novel. Does anyone have any experience with this? I've heard that Ren'py is the best tool for it. I used to use Twine to make fun little (non-visual) choose your own adventure stories, so I'm somewhat familiar with...
This thread is kinda useful to me as I'm writing one-nya
Tempokai
The Overworked One
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I'm winning currently by letting a moo win for 3 hours
JayMark
It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
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"I am currently winning!" ElijahRyne declared.
"Define 'winning,'" Tempokai said, stirring his lukewarm coffee with the precision of a philosopher dissecting a paradox. The café was nearly empty except for the barista, who had given up pretending to wipe down the espresso machine ten minutes ago.
Jay Mark shifted in his seat, the wooden chair groaning under his weight. "Winning is when you don't lose," he grunted, as if that settled anything. Across the table, ElijahRyne smirked, fingers drumming against his phone screen. "Currently winning," he announced for the third time that hour, though no one had asked. Shiriru flicked an ear—just one—and stretched her legs under the table, claws scraping against the floorboards. "You’re all terrible at this," she muttered, tail twitching.
Navillus slid into the booth uninvited, her tail curling around the sugar dispenser. "Nyan~," she chirped, blinking up at Tempokai with oversized eyes. "But isn’t winning just... not being the last one to blink?" The philosopher’s spoon clinked against the ceramic. "Define 'blink,'" he countered.
Hoshino, who had been silently scrolling through her phone, suddenly slammed it face-down on the table. "Enough. The board updates in five minutes. Are we playing or not?"
ElijahRyne leaned back, arms crossed. "Currently winning," he said, just as his phone buzzed with a notification. His smirk faltered for half a second—Shiriru’s ears perked at the tell—before he recovered.
Jay Mark cracked his knuckles. "Rules are simple. Last one to refresh loses." He yanked his phone out, thumbs hovering over the screen like a bull ready to charge. Tempokai sighed, rubbing his temples. "Define 'refresh.' Is it the act of reloading the page, or the moment the server processes the request? What if—"
Hoshino's manicured nail tapped the tabletop once—sharp, impatient. "Wrong," she said, voice dripping with the kind of calm that precedes a storm. "It's the last one to *post* who currently wins. Not refresh. Are you even reading the board rules, or just guessing?" Jay Mark blinked, then scowled. "Same difference." Shiriru snorted, her tail flicking against Navillus's shoulder. "Nope. Posting locks the thread. Refreshing just means you're staring at your own defeat."
Jay Mark's nostrils flared. A vein pulsed in his temple. Then, with a suddenness that sent Navillus scrambling backward, he let out a thunderous, guttural *"MOOOOOO!"*—deep enough to rattle the café windows and send teaspoons skittering off saucers. Tempokai's coffee rippled like a tiny tsunami. ElijahRyne's phone slipped from his fingers. "Only *mods* lock threads!" Jay bellowed, surging to his feet, hooves scraping grooves into the floor. He seized a stack of porcelain dishes from the counter and, with a toss of his head, impaled them on his horns. Ceramic shards rained down like hail. The barista dove behind the espresso machine.
Hoshino's lips curled into something between a sneer and a smirk. She didn't flinch—just tilted her head, her glittery earrings catching the light. "So *that's* your play. Physical intimidation." She tapped her phone screen once, twice. "Cute." Her voice was syrup-sweet, laced with venom. "But the board's digital, Jay. Your horns can't *moo* away the fact that you still haven't posted your—"
The window behind them rattled. Not from Jay's bovine bellowing this time—something sharper, colder. A gloved finger tapped against the glass.
Navillus was the first to turn. Her pupils dilated into black saucers. "Nyan...?"
Blue fabric rustled against the café window as the stranger leaned closer—too close, fogging the glass with breath that smelled suspiciously of peppermint and gunpowder. The suit was all wrong: cobalt instead of red, silver buttons gleaming like frosted bullets. His beard was white, sure, but streaked with something darker, oil-slick iridescence catching the overhead lights. He pointed a gloved finger straight at Jay Mark’s horns—still adorned with porcelain shards—and laughed. Not the warm "ho-ho-ho" of department store Santas. This was a sound like ice cracking underfoot, jagged and inevitable.
Then, without explanation, he turned—boots crunching on fallen ceramic—and strode away. The bell above the door didn’t jingle. It *screamed*, a high-pitched whine that sent Shiriru’s claws unsheathing reflexively. ElijahRyne’s phone buzzed again. He didn’t look at it. "Currently winning," he murmured, more to himself than anyone.
The pen holder on the table—a cheap plastic thing shaped like a grinning cat—cleared its throat. "So," it began, voice syrupy with false innocence, "you ever think about how *futas* are just the natural evolution of—"
ElijahRyne didn't even glance up from his phone. "No," he said flatly, thumb jabbing at the screen like he was trying to stab the refresh button into submission.
Navillus leaned forward, whiskers twitching. "Nyan~?" But before she could finish, Jay Mark's phone buzzed—once, twice—and the screen lit up with a single, triumphant line: *"currently mooing."* He grinned, his bovine teeth gleaming under the café lights. "There. Posted. Now I'm—"
ElijahRyne's thumb flicked across his screen in a blur. A notification chimed—too fast, too soon—and Jay's grin froze mid-triumph. The bull's nostrils flared as ElijahRyne smirked, stretching lazily. "Currently winning," he drawled, tapping his phone against the table like a gavel. "Again."
Jay's horns trembled. Porcelain shards tinkled to the floor. Before he could bellow, Tempokai shrugged, swirling his coffee. "Moot point," he murmured. "Have you considered Uma Musume?"
The café's fluorescent lights flickered—once, twice—casting jagged shadows over Navillus's bewildered whiskers. "Nyan... the horse girls?"
Hoshino's forehead hit the table with a hollow *thunk*. Her perfectly styled bangs splayed against the wood grain like a defeated flag. "Not this again," she groaned, voice muffled. Tempokai, meanwhile, had already launched into an impassioned monologue, gesturing with his coffee spoon like a conductor wielding a baton. "Consider the *texture* of Uma Musume's narrative arcs—the way hooves *clack* against the track isn't just auditory, it's *philosophical*—"
"Nyan~!" Navillus interrupted, tail lashing excitedly. She perched on the booth's edge, pupils dilating. "But what about *my* hooves?" She lifted one paw, flexing toes that ended in decidedly feline—not equine—claws. Tempokai squinted. "Define 'hooves.' Are we discussing keratinous growths or—"
Hoshino's groan vibrated through the table. She didn't lift her head. "If I hear 'Uma Musume' one more time, I'm debuting a disbandment track called *Philosopher's Guillotine*." Her phone buzzed under her cheek, screen flashing with a fan's frantic DM: *UNNIE WHO IS THAT HOT ROBOT NINJA OUTSIDE—*
The café door slid open with a *shink* of parting steel. Worthy39 leaned against the frame, one cybernetic elbow propped casually against the emergency exit sign. Their optic lenses cycled through three distinct hues—diagnostic gold, then battle-ready crimson, before settling on disaffected turquoise. "Hey," they said, voice modulator pitching the word somewhere between a lullaby and a knife sharpener. "Y'all arguing about fictional horse girls again, or is this an actual emergency?"
Tempokai didn't glance up from his coffee. "Define 'emergency.' Are we discussing existential dread or—"
Worthy39's ocular implants flicked to infrared as they scanned the room. "Has anyone seen my katana?" The question hung in the air like a shuriken before embedding itself in the silence. Shiriru's ears flattened. Then, with the abruptness of a dropped manga volume, she threw her head back and let out a sharp, staccato bark: "Wah!"
The pen holder—still grinning its plastic grin—rattled excitedly in its stand. "Wah!" it echoed, voice tinny with artificial glee. "Wah! Wah!" Shiriru's tail stiffened, her claws digging into the table as she whipped her head toward the inanimate object. "Wah?" she ventured, ears twitching. The pen holder vibrated harder, its plastic base scraping against the wood. "WAH!" it affirmed.
Worthy39's optics dimmed to a dull gray. "That's... not where I left it," they muttered, staring at the now-animated stationery. Navillus, eyes wide, reached out with a tentative paw—only for the pen holder to suddenly lurch sideways with a sound like cheap plastic straining under existential dread. "NYAN—?!" she yelped, recoiling as the thing launched itself off the table in a perfect parabolic arc, spewing ballpoints like shrapnel.
Jay Mark caught one mid-air between his teeth, snapping it in half with a crunch that made Tempokai wince. "Define 'pen,'" he mumbled around the plastic shards, but the words were drowned out by ElijahRyne's sudden, manic cackling. "Currently *winning*," he gasped, tears beading at the corners of his eyes as he pointed at Shiriru—who was now fully engaged in a growling standoff with the possessed cat-shaped holder, her hackles raised like a spiked collar.
Hoshino sighed, long-suffering, and thumbed open a new thread on the message board with a title that simply read: *help*. The barista, still crouched behind the espresso machine, pulled out a lighter and set fire to a napkin. No one questioned it. Navillus's tail puffed to twice its size when the pen holder somersaulted over Shiriru's head, landing neatly in Worthy39's outstretched palm with a plasticky *clack*. "Found my katana," they deadlocked, holding it aloft like Excalibur.
The blade was, inexplicably, a retractable ballpoint.
"I am currently winning!" ElijahRyne declared.
"Define 'winning,'" Tempokai said, stirring his lukewarm coffee with the precision of a philosopher dissecting a paradox. The café was nearly empty except for the barista, who had given up pretending to wipe down the espresso machine ten minutes ago.
Jay Mark shifted in his seat, the wooden chair groaning under his weight. "Winning is when you don't lose," he grunted, as if that settled anything. Across the table, ElijahRyne smirked, fingers drumming against his phone screen. "Currently winning," he announced for the third time that hour, though no one had asked. Shiriru flicked an ear—just one—and stretched her legs under the table, claws scraping against the floorboards. "You’re all terrible at this," she muttered, tail twitching.
Navillus slid into the booth uninvited, her tail curling around the sugar dispenser. "Nyan~," she chirped, blinking up at Tempokai with oversized eyes. "But isn’t winning just... not being the last one to blink?" The philosopher’s spoon clinked against the ceramic. "Define 'blink,'" he countered.
Hoshino, who had been silently scrolling through her phone, suddenly slammed it face-down on the table. "Enough. The board updates in five minutes. Are we playing or not?"
ElijahRyne leaned back, arms crossed. "Currently winning," he said, just as his phone buzzed with a notification. His smirk faltered for half a second—Shiriru’s ears perked at the tell—before he recovered.
Jay Mark cracked his knuckles. "Rules are simple. Last one to refresh loses." He yanked his phone out, thumbs hovering over the screen like a bull ready to charge. Tempokai sighed, rubbing his temples. "Define 'refresh.' Is it the act of reloading the page, or the moment the server processes the request? What if—"
Hoshino's manicured nail tapped the tabletop once—sharp, impatient. "Wrong," she said, voice dripping with the kind of calm that precedes a storm. "It's the last one to *post* who currently wins. Not refresh. Are you even reading the board rules, or just guessing?" Jay Mark blinked, then scowled. "Same difference." Shiriru snorted, her tail flicking against Navillus's shoulder. "Nope. Posting locks the thread. Refreshing just means you're staring at your own defeat."
Jay Mark's nostrils flared. A vein pulsed in his temple. Then, with a suddenness that sent Navillus scrambling backward, he let out a thunderous, guttural *"MOOOOOO!"*—deep enough to rattle the café windows and send teaspoons skittering off saucers. Tempokai's coffee rippled like a tiny tsunami. ElijahRyne's phone slipped from his fingers. "Only *mods* lock threads!" Jay bellowed, surging to his feet, hooves scraping grooves into the floor. He seized a stack of porcelain dishes from the counter and, with a toss of his head, impaled them on his horns. Ceramic shards rained down like hail. The barista dove behind the espresso machine.
Hoshino's lips curled into something between a sneer and a smirk. She didn't flinch—just tilted her head, her glittery earrings catching the light. "So *that's* your play. Physical intimidation." She tapped her phone screen once, twice. "Cute." Her voice was syrup-sweet, laced with venom. "But the board's digital, Jay. Your horns can't *moo* away the fact that you still haven't posted your—"
The window behind them rattled. Not from Jay's bovine bellowing this time—something sharper, colder. A gloved finger tapped against the glass.
Navillus was the first to turn. Her pupils dilated into black saucers. "Nyan...?"
Blue fabric rustled against the café window as the stranger leaned closer—too close, fogging the glass with breath that smelled suspiciously of peppermint and gunpowder. The suit was all wrong: cobalt instead of red, silver buttons gleaming like frosted bullets. His beard was white, sure, but streaked with something darker, oil-slick iridescence catching the overhead lights. He pointed a gloved finger straight at Jay Mark’s horns—still adorned with porcelain shards—and laughed. Not the warm "ho-ho-ho" of department store Santas. This was a sound like ice cracking underfoot, jagged and inevitable.
Then, without explanation, he turned—boots crunching on fallen ceramic—and strode away. The bell above the door didn’t jingle. It *screamed*, a high-pitched whine that sent Shiriru’s claws unsheathing reflexively. ElijahRyne’s phone buzzed again. He didn’t look at it. "Currently winning," he murmured, more to himself than anyone.
The pen holder on the table—a cheap plastic thing shaped like a grinning cat—cleared its throat. "So," it began, voice syrupy with false innocence, "you ever think about how *futas* are just the natural evolution of—"
ElijahRyne didn't even glance up from his phone. "No," he said flatly, thumb jabbing at the screen like he was trying to stab the refresh button into submission.
Navillus leaned forward, whiskers twitching. "Nyan~?" But before she could finish, Jay Mark's phone buzzed—once, twice—and the screen lit up with a single, triumphant line: *"currently mooing."* He grinned, his bovine teeth gleaming under the café lights. "There. Posted. Now I'm—"
ElijahRyne's thumb flicked across his screen in a blur. A notification chimed—too fast, too soon—and Jay's grin froze mid-triumph. The bull's nostrils flared as ElijahRyne smirked, stretching lazily. "Currently winning," he drawled, tapping his phone against the table like a gavel. "Again."
Jay's horns trembled. Porcelain shards tinkled to the floor. Before he could bellow, Tempokai shrugged, swirling his coffee. "Moot point," he murmured. "Have you considered Uma Musume?"
The café's fluorescent lights flickered—once, twice—casting jagged shadows over Navillus's bewildered whiskers. "Nyan... the horse girls?"
Hoshino's forehead hit the table with a hollow *thunk*. Her perfectly styled bangs splayed against the wood grain like a defeated flag. "Not this again," she groaned, voice muffled. Tempokai, meanwhile, had already launched into an impassioned monologue, gesturing with his coffee spoon like a conductor wielding a baton. "Consider the *texture* of Uma Musume's narrative arcs—the way hooves *clack* against the track isn't just auditory, it's *philosophical*—"
"Nyan~!" Navillus interrupted, tail lashing excitedly. She perched on the booth's edge, pupils dilating. "But what about *my* hooves?" She lifted one paw, flexing toes that ended in decidedly feline—not equine—claws. Tempokai squinted. "Define 'hooves.' Are we discussing keratinous growths or—"
Hoshino's groan vibrated through the table. She didn't lift her head. "If I hear 'Uma Musume' one more time, I'm debuting a disbandment track called *Philosopher's Guillotine*." Her phone buzzed under her cheek, screen flashing with a fan's frantic DM: *UNNIE WHO IS THAT HOT ROBOT NINJA OUTSIDE—*
The café door slid open with a *shink* of parting steel. Worthy39 leaned against the frame, one cybernetic elbow propped casually against the emergency exit sign. Their optic lenses cycled through three distinct hues—diagnostic gold, then battle-ready crimson, before settling on disaffected turquoise. "Hey," they said, voice modulator pitching the word somewhere between a lullaby and a knife sharpener. "Y'all arguing about fictional horse girls again, or is this an actual emergency?"
Tempokai didn't glance up from his coffee. "Define 'emergency.' Are we discussing existential dread or—"
Worthy39's ocular implants flicked to infrared as they scanned the room. "Has anyone seen my katana?" The question hung in the air like a shuriken before embedding itself in the silence. Shiriru's ears flattened. Then, with the abruptness of a dropped manga volume, she threw her head back and let out a sharp, staccato bark: "Wah!"
The pen holder—still grinning its plastic grin—rattled excitedly in its stand. "Wah!" it echoed, voice tinny with artificial glee. "Wah! Wah!" Shiriru's tail stiffened, her claws digging into the table as she whipped her head toward the inanimate object. "Wah?" she ventured, ears twitching. The pen holder vibrated harder, its plastic base scraping against the wood. "WAH!" it affirmed.
Worthy39's optics dimmed to a dull gray. "That's... not where I left it," they muttered, staring at the now-animated stationery. Navillus, eyes wide, reached out with a tentative paw—only for the pen holder to suddenly lurch sideways with a sound like cheap plastic straining under existential dread. "NYAN—?!" she yelped, recoiling as the thing launched itself off the table in a perfect parabolic arc, spewing ballpoints like shrapnel.
Jay Mark caught one mid-air between his teeth, snapping it in half with a crunch that made Tempokai wince. "Define 'pen,'" he mumbled around the plastic shards, but the words were drowned out by ElijahRyne's sudden, manic cackling. "Currently *winning*," he gasped, tears beading at the corners of his eyes as he pointed at Shiriru—who was now fully engaged in a growling standoff with the possessed cat-shaped holder, her hackles raised like a spiked collar.
Hoshino sighed, long-suffering, and thumbed open a new thread on the message board with a title that simply read: *help*. The barista, still crouched behind the espresso machine, pulled out a lighter and set fire to a napkin. No one questioned it. Navillus's tail puffed to twice its size when the pen holder somersaulted over Shiriru's head, landing neatly in Worthy39's outstretched palm with a plasticky *clack*. "Found my katana," they deadlocked, holding it aloft like Excalibur.
The blade was, inexplicably, a retractable ballpoint.
"I am currently winning!" ElijahRyne declared.
Hoshino
Hoshino not found
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Shiriru_B
Book binge in progress.
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JayMark
It's Not Easy Being Nobody, But Somebody Has To.
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Part two, the story is endless!
