Hi there, everyone, this is Tweed Couch Games and we've decided to write this first blog post in a dark car on a winding road on our way to Indiecade East... likely heading towards our demise.
WE SET OUR SCENE:
Of all of them, Jess seemed the most likely to be the serial killer, though we can't be sure. She claimed to have been sick since the end of January and was now allegedly recovering from strep throat. She may have been laying back in the tall grass about it. She now claimed that she might have pleurisy, but the others had their doubts.
Zach and Allison had already established plans to eat our driver after any two hours in distress. This plan has become known as the Cannibal Countdown.
While waiting for paper work to be finished after their road accident, they came perilously close to the two hour limit. Tom the Driver, whose only affiliation to Tweed Couch Games was through Jess the Serial Killer, was warned about traveling through the Adirondacks. His mother told him to bring a blanket, candles and matches, and some water. Tom also had the foresight to throw in an electric torch. As it turned out, that water would be responsible for their first brush with what they realized might be their end: someone needed to pee.
The intrepid game devs reflected on their earlier accident:
Passing slowly left of a jack-knifed truck, the travellers suddenly heard a crunching thud. No screeching tires had warned of the impact. The passengers of the car briefly wished they had stayed home to sweatflix (def.: v. The act of changing into sweatpants, reclining on a couch, and spending the evening watching schlocky Netflix shows. Usually witnessed as the ultimate manifestation of comfort between romantically involved couples). The perpetrator swerved into the ditch to come to rest a fair-to-moderate distance away. Tom the Driver lept from his seat, the driver seat, and ran to the other car to check on the other driver. His first aid training was ready to kick in but the second driver was already calling to his wife to explain how he had totaled another car.
"Oh, Canadians in a rental? Trying to make more work for me? This won't take any time at all," the state trooper said.
Their spirit undampened, the TCG-crew decided to practice their IndieCade talk while the damage was assessed around them. They thoughtfully decorated the forms handed to them by the EMTs and police troopers on duty with heart stickers leftover from Fun Module no. 1: Make Valentines for All the IndieCade East Speakers. Upon Tom's return to the car, he noticed a small shard of red breaklight that had lodged itself in the driver side mirror. Allison claimed the piece for scrap booking purposes. At this point it was mere minutes until the cannibal countdown rule would come into effect.
"Okay, here's your accident report. You're free to go."
Lured by the promise of truckstop food and bathrooms, the carload of Canadians took off down the road to what they would later learn to be The Seven Mile Mountain. The cast became more and more unsettled as they read the names of roads and houses passing by: Long Pond, Beaver... something... ? and an overabundance of summer camps – thankfully none of which had names involving crystals or lakes. The game devs started to consider the very real possibility of their being serial killed as they travelled down this road. There was much debate as to whether the red or brown barns were more ominous. The Adirondacks were dark as anything.
Passing darkened house after darkened house, the team longed for a simpler time just some hours ago when their only concern was completing Fun Module no. 1, happily, obliviously making individually crafted valentines for every presenter, mostly based on bad puns involving their names, or lyrics from “I Love Indie Nostalgia and You,” the XYBA indie hit composed just for In Tune. Their fingers had been tired and their puns dried up, but at least they didn't have to worry about which barns were more likely to hide blood spatters, the red or brown.
Seven kilometres down the Seven Mile Mountain they came upon a light admidst the darkened houses. A light above a pool table. Allison stepped outside the car looking young, white, female and unassuming. She knocked plaintively at the door. A woman, dressed in a karate gi, seemed unsure if she wanted to respond. Eventually, the young game dev's puppy dog eyes won out and the door was opened.
"I just had a gang of snowmobilers in here and thought you were one of them. I almost didn't open up."
The woman was kind. The game devs peed. She assured them there was food along the way. She lied.
No matter what horrors the road had in store, IndieCade East lay ahead, and they would talk about consent and hand out their adorably awkward Valentines.