Labels:text | screenshot | font OCR: NIGHT OF ONE THOUSAND DRUMMING MACHINES - C1 - P1 Stephen 'The Steving Machine' Stevarin walked up the steps leading from the mildly submerged nightclub with his lightning-powered guitar in tow, and sniffed the fetid air triumphantly. Tonight had been an especially good night: his masterful artistry of the ancient instrument had earned him twelve shiny nickels, and he had convinced almost six fair under-aged maidens to perform unspeakable acts upon his person. A good night indeed. A good night indeed that was about to become a whole lot less good. Indeed. Stephen returned to his stagecoach in a merry mood, generously chastising his driver only once for smoking a tobacco pipe in its interior, (this particular brand of cigarette having the tendency to stain the fine fabrics with a foul odour) and ordered the driver home. "If your ride is particularly smooth this evening, you just may see a few extra pennies in your pay this month, my good fellow?" "Did you turn an exceptional profit, sir?" "You might say that," joyously shouted the bard over the clatter of hooves on cobblestone, as he simultaneously flipped one of the nickels in his dominant right hand, and ran his inferior left through his well-barbered locks. "Oh, jolly good, sir.
