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...and it's been ages since I sat down to write. Big weekend.
Shadowrun on Friday was an enlightening evening for all concerned, as Tiny started to demonstrate that "big nasty cybered troll" isn't quite the entirety of his personal life-story. Affirmative action, bailing the rigger out with quick thinking - and people thought that he was just a big guy with a lot of guns.
The run centered around recovering a box from a safe inside the captains quarters of a freighter still five hours out to sea, preferably while making it look like the captain did it and messing up his alibi with his employers upon arrival. The idea centered around getting our helicopter onto the deck under premises of a distress call, killing the crew, stealing the captain and the box, and turning him loose in a life raft a few hours closer to port. We should have seen the myriad of holes in this from the start, but our team is village when it comes to tactics (we have a cybered troll (me), a blademaster (Jon) and a laser-toting physad (Tim), as well as a helicopter rigger with an autocannon (Elizabeth) - we tend to just kill everything and walk away with the loot).
It started going wrong when the vessel relayed our distress call to the coastguard. It went further wrong when the blademaster and a the physad weren't quite as quiet as they could be killing the crew, got seen by the captain and had us reported to the coastguard as a pirate vessel.
Cometh the hour, cometh the Tiny man.
Leaning out the window of the 'copter, the radio mast got assault-cannoned, and the emergency broadcast channel taken over by the rigger telling the coastguard what Tiny told her to ("repeat, SVC-555 is a piloted vessel, a piloted vessel, pilot required medical assistance, we overreacted and called you thinking we required immediate transfer to hospital. Being treated on site, thank you for your patience. Over and out"). The blademaster and the physad finally managed to get as far as the captain, who rather than opening the lock for us was killed for his trouble. This meant we had to crack the safe rather than have it opened normally and lost the last semblances of quiet. We were about to make forty thousand each, and it suddenly became ten. Tiny was overheard referring to the ostensibly long-term shadowrunners as "fucking amateurs" on more than one occasion.
_____
Saturday saw me getting on to campus earlier than I do during weekdays for a nine thirty rehearsal start. To be fair to them, they started on time so none of it was wasted, and we got through quite a bit as long as people remember what they were told. I am beginning, however, to notice a nasty trend.
More than once, I was singled out as being the only one doing as the director/MD told us to.
I know of no better way to socially assassinate someone than to tell their colleagues he is better than they are. This happened twice, to my outright embarrassment and their likely infuriation. Thanks guys - I'm not in the chorus to stand out from the crowd, I'm there to be part of it. The same happened in the GASP rehearsal on Monday - why do people equate workrate and volume with talent? I put in more time than others do, I will admit that, but I have no more talent or skills than anyone else. Authority implying that I do is a sure fire way to make everyone hate me - precisely what I need to ensure I have fun doing a show.
_____
Sunday's LARP was good - dry in the atmosphere making the mud underfoot no problem. Good safe fighting in the dark, full-on culmination to plot, huge flange beasts that strangely enough never made me feel OOC scared for my character (attn. TGB) and a good long game with both high and low points IC. Juilin and Tanner are forming an strange professional working relationship (Freedom and Order working together? Not 'arf), and the newbies are creating nice character hooks for themselves so we are getting full personas rather than walking stats. Still waiting for Marcus (Avery) to ask Juilin how long his eyebrows are going to be green for though...
Bogglehampton next week, where Daenaram will be putting in a cameo at the start, then I'll be joining the monster crew in his kit for whatever he is raised as when one of the necromancers gets round behind his back in the first encounter.
_____
The poster I have to produce for tomorrow's committee meeting, that everyone is gushing over as being "my hard work and great design" is nothing to do with me whatsoever. Since I first designed it, the only things that have remained the same are the font and the inclusion of performer names a la movie posters. Through a combination of the ICIA and the production committee getting hold of it, they have changed the artwork, the colour scheme, the text, it's grouping, and it's position. The sixteen-page black and white program I had lined up is now going to have a colour cover, and flyers are being turfed out by the thousand rather than carefully on nice paper.
I wouldn't have a problem with this (well, I would have less of a problem with this) if people didn't persist in thanking me and congratulating me on "my campaign". Every time they do it reminds me of how much it isn't. Maybe they are feeling guilty at changing everything (it certainly sounds that way in the sincerity stakes), but regardless, they think I'm being overly serious ("don't look at me like that...", "why, how do you want me to look at you?" *pulls face*) and that I actually do hate everyone.
Right now, I do.
_____
And finally...
The clandestine oddessy that is the first hundred posts of my LJ comes to an end next time, when I finally put up my reasoning for not broadcasting it to all and sundry, and then broadcast it to all and sundry. Not sure how long I will leave the link up on my MSN - see who bothers to have a read, maybe.
So long, anonymity - it was a fine affair, but now it's over. Time to face the music and dance.
Shadowrun on Friday was an enlightening evening for all concerned, as Tiny started to demonstrate that "big nasty cybered troll" isn't quite the entirety of his personal life-story. Affirmative action, bailing the rigger out with quick thinking - and people thought that he was just a big guy with a lot of guns.
The run centered around recovering a box from a safe inside the captains quarters of a freighter still five hours out to sea, preferably while making it look like the captain did it and messing up his alibi with his employers upon arrival. The idea centered around getting our helicopter onto the deck under premises of a distress call, killing the crew, stealing the captain and the box, and turning him loose in a life raft a few hours closer to port. We should have seen the myriad of holes in this from the start, but our team is village when it comes to tactics (we have a cybered troll (me), a blademaster (Jon) and a laser-toting physad (Tim), as well as a helicopter rigger with an autocannon (Elizabeth) - we tend to just kill everything and walk away with the loot).
It started going wrong when the vessel relayed our distress call to the coastguard. It went further wrong when the blademaster and a the physad weren't quite as quiet as they could be killing the crew, got seen by the captain and had us reported to the coastguard as a pirate vessel.
Cometh the hour, cometh the Tiny man.
Leaning out the window of the 'copter, the radio mast got assault-cannoned, and the emergency broadcast channel taken over by the rigger telling the coastguard what Tiny told her to ("repeat, SVC-555 is a piloted vessel, a piloted vessel, pilot required medical assistance, we overreacted and called you thinking we required immediate transfer to hospital. Being treated on site, thank you for your patience. Over and out"). The blademaster and the physad finally managed to get as far as the captain, who rather than opening the lock for us was killed for his trouble. This meant we had to crack the safe rather than have it opened normally and lost the last semblances of quiet. We were about to make forty thousand each, and it suddenly became ten. Tiny was overheard referring to the ostensibly long-term shadowrunners as "fucking amateurs" on more than one occasion.
_____
Saturday saw me getting on to campus earlier than I do during weekdays for a nine thirty rehearsal start. To be fair to them, they started on time so none of it was wasted, and we got through quite a bit as long as people remember what they were told. I am beginning, however, to notice a nasty trend.
More than once, I was singled out as being the only one doing as the director/MD told us to.
I know of no better way to socially assassinate someone than to tell their colleagues he is better than they are. This happened twice, to my outright embarrassment and their likely infuriation. Thanks guys - I'm not in the chorus to stand out from the crowd, I'm there to be part of it. The same happened in the GASP rehearsal on Monday - why do people equate workrate and volume with talent? I put in more time than others do, I will admit that, but I have no more talent or skills than anyone else. Authority implying that I do is a sure fire way to make everyone hate me - precisely what I need to ensure I have fun doing a show.
_____
Sunday's LARP was good - dry in the atmosphere making the mud underfoot no problem. Good safe fighting in the dark, full-on culmination to plot, huge flange beasts that strangely enough never made me feel OOC scared for my character (attn. TGB) and a good long game with both high and low points IC. Juilin and Tanner are forming an strange professional working relationship (Freedom and Order working together? Not 'arf), and the newbies are creating nice character hooks for themselves so we are getting full personas rather than walking stats. Still waiting for Marcus (Avery) to ask Juilin how long his eyebrows are going to be green for though...
Bogglehampton next week, where Daenaram will be putting in a cameo at the start, then I'll be joining the monster crew in his kit for whatever he is raised as when one of the necromancers gets round behind his back in the first encounter.
_____
The poster I have to produce for tomorrow's committee meeting, that everyone is gushing over as being "my hard work and great design" is nothing to do with me whatsoever. Since I first designed it, the only things that have remained the same are the font and the inclusion of performer names a la movie posters. Through a combination of the ICIA and the production committee getting hold of it, they have changed the artwork, the colour scheme, the text, it's grouping, and it's position. The sixteen-page black and white program I had lined up is now going to have a colour cover, and flyers are being turfed out by the thousand rather than carefully on nice paper.
I wouldn't have a problem with this (well, I would have less of a problem with this) if people didn't persist in thanking me and congratulating me on "my campaign". Every time they do it reminds me of how much it isn't. Maybe they are feeling guilty at changing everything (it certainly sounds that way in the sincerity stakes), but regardless, they think I'm being overly serious ("don't look at me like that...", "why, how do you want me to look at you?" *pulls face*) and that I actually do hate everyone.
Right now, I do.
_____
And finally...
The clandestine oddessy that is the first hundred posts of my LJ comes to an end next time, when I finally put up my reasoning for not broadcasting it to all and sundry, and then broadcast it to all and sundry. Not sure how long I will leave the link up on my MSN - see who bothers to have a read, maybe.
So long, anonymity - it was a fine affair, but now it's over. Time to face the music and dance.
