Bloody Hull: A Text Massacre - Post 4 (Patreon)

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[Scene: A quaint chippy on the edge of Hull's most questionably charming district, under the glow of a flickering neon sign that reads "Best Chip Butties in Hull... Probably"]

As you and Wayward settle into the rickety booth of the chippy, the scent of vinegar and frying oil blends with the night's dampness, creating a peculiarly comforting aroma. Wayward, ever the unconventional hostess, seems delighted with the venue.

"Nothing quite like a chip butty to make you feel alive—or at least remind you that you're still part of the mortal coil, eh?" she chuckles, handing you a sauce-smeared menu. "Or undead coil, in our case."

The evening feels oddly domestic, a strange contrast to the eerie undercurrents of Hull by night. Wayward’s chatter is light, yet she cleverly weaves in questions about your background, slyly prying without seeming to. You almost forget you’re here on potentially ominous vampire business.

Just as you're taking a hearty bite of your butty, a bizarre figure bursts through the chippy’s door. Dressed in what can only be described as a costume from a low-budget historical drama, he brandishes a baguette with alarming dexterity. His accent—a peculiar mash-up of French and something indefinably local—makes him sound like he's auditioning for a part in a play about the French corner of Hull, a place everyone fervently denies exists.

"Wayward! Mon amour, how could you replace moi with this... this nocturnal neophyte?" the man exclaims, waving his bread weapon dramatically.

Wayward rolls her eyes, a blush creeping up her neck. "Oh, not now, Jean-Pierre. Can’t you see I’m on a... business meeting?"

Jean-Pierre seems not to hear, or chooses not to. "Non! I will not allow it!" He snaps his fingers, and a troupe of equally theatrically dressed henchmen — all sporting striped shirts and outrageously fake moustaches — pour in, grabbing Wayward before you can react. "We go to the French corner of Hull, where no one will find us!"

As they disappear into the night, leaving a trail of crumbs and a faint aroma of garlic, Wayward manages to toss something onto the table. It's her thermos, dented and scratched, but now evidently important.

You're left in the now silent chippy, the other patrons staring in bewildered amusement, as if abductions by French stereotypes are all part of the evening's entertainment.

What Do You Want to Do Next?

• Chase after the bread-wielding ex and his cronies to rescue Wayward.

• Open the thermos Wayward left behind; it might contain clues or at least a decent cup of tea.

• Ask the chippy staff if they know where this mythical French corner of Hull might be.

• Sit tight and finish your chip butty; after all, a fed vampire is a prepared vampire.

• Rally the local vampire community to help; surely they can't refuse a mission this dripping with drama.

The night is young, and Hull is older, weirder, and more French than you thought. What’s your next move in this vaudeville drama of the undead?