The more difficult option on the "Her barbed tongue" opportunity card:
"You spit foul recriminations and vicious calumny. Ladies faint dead away and gentlemen stagger under the barrage. Your target runs, weeping, with her hands over her ears. You follow her! Your tirade continues in the street, where hansoms careen hastily off and urchins fall from rooftops. You pick up your victim's dropped letters and wave them as a final salute. You are spent."
Also, the second option of the "supply information to a foreign power" storylet. "Your contact can't write fast enough. He breaks a pencil. Another pencil. Russia is sinking! Fallen London will annexe the tomb-colonies! Mr Wines is marrying the skeletal corpse of a nun! The Spider-Council is holding a debutantes' ball! It's almost impossible to stop once you've started. Just keep talking. Everything will be fine."
In addition, you can get thrown out of the University. The description of this status says, verbatim, "They laughed at you and so on."
If you fail at asking a bat for work, you get the message, "Can bats look affronted? Apparently they can. You wouldn't think they had the requisite facial muscles."
Writing an opera that is "a light comedy about the lives of the saints".
"Oh, but what a jolly little opera you have written. You establish your mood quickly. The first song has St Augustine chasing Manichaeans off with a broom. The audience chuckles nervously. The Empress doesn't seem to be offended, so the work continues. Two bishops in the front row walk out during You'll Have To Stand Still If You Want To Be A Martyr. The Bishop of Southwark promises to do something very secular to you."
If a "friend" tries to give you a Starveling Cat and you accept, the game will give you this message:
The Starveling Cat has moved into your Lodgings. May God have mercy on our souls.
When asking the Shivering Relicker to recertify your scraps, you may get "A straight answer, at least: 'You know what that is? It's rubbish.'"
The Alt Text for one snippet about the Starveling Cat: "Yes, it can haz cheeseburger. It can haz anything it wants!"
If you lost your Correspondence Stones, you later get a chance to buy them back with a large amount of Prisoner's Honey. If you do, you get this message:
The librarian swaggers off, presumably to open a string of honey-dens. You are left alone with your stones. There's blood on one and ash on another, but they're definitely yours. It's like meeting old friends. Old friends that occasionally set you on fire.
During the "Bag a Legend" ambition, one will eventually travel to the Convent of the Sisterhood. The Mother Superior finds it necessary for her initiates to test one's mettle:
You dodge the first fusillade of bullets, and kick over a table for cover. Two tiny nuns with daggers leap over it and stab at you. While you're dealing with them, that big bruiser with the axe hacks your makeshift defence into kindling. A novice tosses throwing blades at your face.
Few people are violently disposed towards nuns by nature. However, these particular sisters will tear you into chunks unless you defend yourself. You pull a bayoneted rifle from the wall and lay about yourself with it, sending wimples flying. You bludgeon, stab and shoot your way through the sacred warriors. You run out of nuns before you run out of bullets.
The second option success on the "Dealing with an Assassin" card. You send the assassin a box of chocolates and an insulting note. This gets him so angry that he marches to your door and knocks on it furiously. You respond by dropping a coal bucket on him from the upper floor window, then loot the unconscious body.
A bit meta, but there is one player who takes every opportunity they get to send the head developer Alexis Kennedy rats-on-a-string every time the relevant card comes up. At the Feast of the Exceptional Rose, this happened. And then this.
It gets even better when they decided to test how many words the message box will allow. At 4 am.
There is now a category in the inventory named "Ratness". You have Contraband, Academic, Wild Words, Curiosities, Elder, Cartography, Advantages, Goods, Influence, Legal, Luminosity, Rubbery, Rag Trade, Wines, Rumour, Nostalgia, Mysteries and...Ratness. Alexis Kennedy says it was actually always intended to be a division, but got a bit lost - that certain player's antics inspired FB games to sort it out.
After acquiring a particularly menacing jade idol, you're presented with a list of things to do with it. Leave it, lock it away, feed it the blood of small animals, or feed it the blood of small animals after inviting an audience around first ("because no-one has anything quite this sinister").
Many parts of Seeking Mr Eaten's Name are pure Nightmare Fuel, but ever so often amusing snippets can find their way in.
The Snicket Warning Labels gradually become longer and elaborate, almost to the point of absurdity. In particular:
THIS WILL PROBABLY DESTROY YOUR CHARACTER FOR EVER AT A COST OF FIFTY NEX AND FIVE CARNIVAL TICKETS. THERE IS NO TEXT WORTH READING BEHIND THE BRANCH RESULT. IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO PLAY THIS BRANCH TO CONTINUE THE STORY. IF IT DOES NOT DESTROY YOUR CHARACTER, IT WILL IRREPARABLY DAMAGE IT AND END YOUR QUEST FOR THE NAME PERMANENTLY. DO NOT CONTACT SUPPORT TO COMPLAIN IF YOU ARE RASH ENOUGH TO CLICK THIS BUTTON.
At one point, you're asked why you seek the Name. One possible answer is "It's cheaper than a divorce."
"Excuse me," she says. "I seem to 'ave mislaid me sense of yoomour. I 'ad it a moment ago, I swear. Just before you started talkin' out of yer arse."
Devouring your own entry in Slowcake's Exceptionals:
"I was hungry," you say as you tear the page from the book, "and you gave me only the pelt of trees. I was thirsty, and you gave me only ink. I was mmff mff ff mm. Mmm hmm fm." Your mouth is full of paper.
One of the gifts at the Feast on the Exception Rose was "A Tear-Drowned Collection of Incomprehensible Love-Poems", which was written by someone under the pseudonym of "Mrs. Frontispiece" (quote marks and all). The descriptions for it are hysterical.
The contents are smeared and mostly illegible. You may never find out if the author managed to find a rhyme for "cohabitude". [...] The pages crack with salt. The ink is a briny smear. Only fragments remain: "Oh, furnial passion, hot as the glance of stars!" "...the palputating beat of my hear..." and the disturbing "...my love; will you reciprocreate?"
And your character tries to guess who could possibly have written it...
To ensure everyone knows that "Mrs. Frontispiece" is a pseudonym, the true author has diligently hung the name with quotation marks every time it appears. But who were they, really? Perhaps some slim clue remains. You find a page with an unsmeared fragment of poetry.