Your name is LILY, but that much was obvious from the name of the thread.
> Lily: Examine room.
You look around your room.
Your bedroom is located in the EASTERN TOWER, 3rd FLOOR. As such, it is circular with windows on the north and south overlooking the wilderness you call home. Plastered haphazardly over the walls and scattered in messy piles on the floor are the evidence of your collection of INTERESTS. As shown by several jars of insects on your shelves and crammed really anywhere else they would fit, you are an aspiring JUNIOR ENTOMOLOGIST. Your bugs are some of your closest (non-human) friends, from beetles to butterflies, you have what some may call TOO MANY BUGS.
On one side of the room is a large WALL-SIZED MAP of the surrounding area around your home made of many smaller maps and papers glued together. Crude drawings and markings by your own hand show points of interest, unique natural structures, and cave layouts. Over by your desk, you find the small collection of REALLY SHITTY DINOSAUR DRAWINGS. To be fair, these doodles are almost a DECADE OLD by now, but you just think dinosaurs are neat. On your desk you can find your LAPTOP that you are famously bad at remembering to charge, your PHONE, the obligatory ANT FARM, and a copy of ANGER MANAGEMENT FOR ASSHOLES collecting dust behind the ants.
By the front-facing window is a small bookcase that is filled with BUGS (duh), but also various interesting things you've found whilst exploring, including ROCKS THAT LOOK LIKE NON-ROCK THINGS and some DISCARDED JUNK that hikers and trash dumpers left behind. Also on the bookcase are BOOKS, surprisingly. These range from ATLASES to WILDLIFE GUIDES, to a few books pertaining to your SECRET INTEREST. In the NOOK WINDOW by the shelf is a massive pile of OLD CLOTHES, mostly JERSEYS from your few short years as a GOON. The pile serves as a makeshift pillow for comfortable reading. Curled up asleep atop the pile is your BEST FRIEND, your GOOD DOG, your GOEDART. A precious little angel.
Finally, over in your CLOSET tucked away behind your pile of CLEAN CLOTHES, you can find your old HOCKEY EQUIPMENT, which even though you don't play anymore, you are stuck with, as when you started playing all those years ago, you allocated your STRIFE SPECIBUS to the HCKYSTCKKIND ABSTRATUS.
Your room is kind of a CRAMPED MESS, but you don't really care, not like anyone else is going to see it or anything.
You take a moment to look at your maps of the local area you've assembled through some JUNIOR LEVEL CARTOGRAPHY that you've picked up throughout the years. It's a point of pride to you most certainly as it required a fair bit of extensive research into an area otherwise UNMAPPED due its thoroughly REMOTE nature. Living here with your Mom means that you're a far cry from civilization. You don't think she's ever seen your maps, but you hope she would like them.
You often do NOT see your mom very often. She's usually pretty busy what with her constant work in the greenhouse. Supposedly she came here SIXTEEN years ago in an effort to genetically modify some rare plant species by cross-breeding and modifying their DNA with stronger, healthier spores from the local Rockies.
You decide to give Goedart a bit of play now that he is awake. He barks at you excitedly! Running around, freshly rejuvenated from his nap. Ah, the beautiful simplicity of canines. You wish you could live life that simply, that freely.
> Lily: have a long speech about wanting to be a furry
What the hell are you talking about? Why would you WANT to be an ani-
It seems while you were busy pondering strange, nonsensical questions that only a raving loon would ponder, Goedart, in his PURE DOG LIKE EXCITEMENT, has bumped into the shelf. And now it is starting to teeter!
Taking a moment to recover from the previous encounter, your eyes wander around the room.
> Lily: Examine ornery omnibus.
You received this book in hopes that it would teach you inner peace or some junk, but in practice, having an author constantly insult you might not be constructive in regards to managing one's anger. Needless to say, this book is a piece of shit. You managed your anger just fine on your own, no rude literature needed.
Yep, you're totally fine.
[RANCOUROUSITY STRATA: 0% - Your temper is currently DOWN TO EARTH]
You figure to take your mind off that.....momentary interruption of thought, you'll look over and maybe try and calm some of the insects that almost went flying everywhere. Even if you remain at a TOTALLY CHILL PERCENTAGE right now, it's always good to try and focus on things that don't provoke the beast that lives inside of you. It seems like there were no injuries or even cracks due to your SWEET CATCH on both parts. Geodart looks on vacantly, panting as he wonders why you are no longer playing with him.
Hm. You used to have a hobby that went hand in hand with your anger, once.
What? You don't have any BEES. Bees are eusocial, far-flying creatures, It would be psychologically cruel to keep bees without the PROPER FACILITIES that you lack. You do however, placate the PILL-BUGS and FIREFLIES.
> Lily: Fondly regard recreation.
You haven't played hockey in THREE YEARS, back when you were a violent little monster. You were an excellent player, and very good at what you did. Unfortunately, what you did was send fellow children to the hospital on many occasions. There aren't many fond memories of back then to regard.
Hmmm. Between the Hockey Jerseys and the Anger Management text some of the stuff in your room is seriously making you more and more unable to maintain a cool 0%. You eyes scan otherwise and as they fall upon your atlases and maps once again, you realize now might be a good time to start ADVENTURING. You love EXPLORING THE WILDERNESS local to your home, and going on tons of silly MISADVENTURES along with your dog. He is, after all, a great friend. A best friend, even.
Though you do realize you'll need to be FULLY EQUIPPED to venture out into the great unknown. Provisions will be necessary.
You reach into to your closest and captchalogue the OLD HOCKEY STICK and put it into your STRIFE DECK. You also captchalogue your POCKET ATLAS [12 % 10 = 2], a FLASHLIGHT [10 % 10 = 0], an EMPTY JAR [9 % 10 = 9], and your PHONE [5 % 10 = 5], filling up the 2, 0, 9, and 5 cards.
You give a short whistle to call Goedart as you exit your room.
You first venture out of you room, feeling well and truly prepared now that you have a weapon, some gear and a loyal friend by your side. You enter the hallway, wherein you are greeted by barren, slightly dusty and cobwebbed walls that arch high to the ceiling. You and your Mom are not really the best at INTERIOR DECORATION, and honestly you feel as though this big house can be a bit of a WASTE when it comes to all the space it has but very little to put into it. Most rooms, as a result, are used for STORAGE. You are not even wholly convinced your mom LIVES here, as you rarely encounter her. Oftentimes she is in her PRIVATE GREENHOUSE working on her projects. Occasionally you do try and share a meal together though.
You LASS SCRAMBLE through the halls until you reach the FOYER.
You pass by many rooms on your way to the home's centerpiece, including the room containing your DRUM SET, which was too large to fit in your bedroom. You think for a moment about playing a HAUNTING DRUM SOLO, but you aren't really in the mood. Instead you press on.
You make it to the FOYER, where you are greeted by the sight of A METRIC FUCKTON of HORSES. Every wall is covered in majestic OIL PAINTINGS of them, every shelf is burdened by FIGURINES, and in the center of the room--the staircases wrapping around either side of it--is a GIANT STATUE of EPITAPH, the horse your Mom owned before you were born. He died in an accident that your Mom doesn't talk about. The plaque on the statue reads:
Elegance. Beauty. Spirit. Fire. Horse prints never fade."
The enormous statue kind of makes getting around the room a bit of a pain in the neck. You understand why people like horses, but this is a bit much, you think. You just sorta... shimmy around EPITAPH'S MEMORIAL and make your way to the front door.