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Ow...Just, Ow...
Dec. 5th, 2005 11:50 am...say my legs, shoulders, and just about every other location on my body (with the possible exception of my right earlobe). Playing Daenaram is bad for my OOC health.
The weekend was its now customary rush of roleplay of various types, and culminated in my realising that I still don't know what to get mum for Christmas. Dad said he would put out feelers and get back to me, but time is beginning to run out rather.
Buying presents for my parents has become a combination of the very easy and very difficult. There is something that is a standard (for Dad, a bottle of scotch, for mum, a large box of Thorntons), and something irregular. The irregular is what is giving me the trouble - being away from home for so long means I can't key in to any subtle hints or ideas that people have, and thereby know what to buy. Oh well - still a little time left.
________________
Friday night involved quite possibly the worst...shadowrun...EVAR. OOC, it was hilarious and we all had a great time. IC the team managed to tear itself to pieces with ne'er a die being rolled.
After sneaking around the boat the previous week stealing it's captain, the plan was to put money on him, drop him in Salish territory with an injury that would keep him in hospital for a few days, and make it look like he stole the gear that we actually nicked ourselves. This was going fine - Tiny and Shadow (Tim) had been dropped off and were waiting for Benedict (Jon) and Springs (Elizabeth) to return - until, for some reason, Benedict decided to use a deserted office building in the dead of night to carry out the money transaction, rather than a public terminal in the middle of the day (as a decker friend was covering our tracks for us, we could have done it in the penthouse of the AT pyramid if we'd liked). He promptly had half of his leg chewed off by a cybered attack dog and took twice as long as he expected. An argument that almost came to blows several times then ensued between the two of them over how to make the accident look good. Benedict wanted to push him in front of oncoming traffic (to say nothing of how it would look to the driver who watched two people push the victim), whereas Springs wanted to throw him out of her helicopter (to say even less of a chopper randomly ejecting someone from thirty feet up onto a busy road). In the end, they decided on Benedict's plan, but overolled their strength checks and threw the captain clean across the road and into the ditch on the other side. They gave up and ran away.
By the time they returned, Tiny was on his way to being drunk and Shadow had gone home to sleep (it was half past four in the morning, after all). Picking Tiny up, they went to the meet with the fixer and realised that Shadow actually had the merchandise.
It was at this point that Tiny got a bit annoyed.
Not only had Benedict and Springs utterly failed to shut the box with the captain, they had now left the guy with the loot out of the deal. For a moment, a little of his BlackOps persona showed through the stupid facade as he sat down at the table on the same side as the fixer and asked the other two in a very polite but terribly, terribly malevolent voice to pick the buster up and bring back the loot. After they left, I doubt Shards was particularly impressed with Tiny then telling her exactly what went on with the mission, and exactly what he thought of it, but it let off some steam that he needed to, and she didn't stop him.
It continued - Benedict peeled out of the bar in his truck before Springs got the chance to get in, Shadow decided to come to the meet of his own accord and let Benedict know late enough that he got back last, and Springs started getting drunk in the bar's main room before Tiny strode out, put her under his arm and walked back to the back room with her.
If they ever get hired again, I'll be very, very surprised.
________________
Saturday brought the entire Exalted party together for the first time - causing no end of paranoia as there was one more person in the group than those of us already in-game were expecting IC. After almost kicking off a fight in a taproom, we finally realised we were all on the same page and started to work together - but due to huge numbers of OOC chats about WoW and obscure pieces of Exalted rulings we managed, in five hours, to do two days uneventful travelling and just catch up with our caravan target. We have one character from each caste, from all sides of the law and from just about every social stratum - this should be interesting, if we ever get to do more than sit and talk about World of Warcraft.
In two weeks, we actually get to attack the thing. Maybe that will keep people's minds on-topic.
________________
Sunday's larp rocked. Daenaram survived. I can now afford all-round sight three.
The return to the Vale of Bogglehampton was supposed to be one of the most dangerous missions in history, yet I felt safer than ever before - I got down as far as three life once, but I never felt threatened by the things I was facing, as long as they were the monster crew.
The other characters, however, are quite a different matter.
It is no secret that Daenaram is a racist and a bigot. Normally it doesn't come out quite so much as it did yesterday, but when given enough of a stimulus can rear its head like nobody's business. Nab McFeegle is just one of those stimuli, barbarians in general another - and when faced with something he hates enough, Daenaram reverts to type. Unfortunately, type for him is the bad language and street fighting he learned in his backstory, and is more or less all he knows. He can't fight Nab, who would tear him to pieces without breaking sweat, so he is resigned to throwing insults at him and his friends - crude and cheap, I know, but effective. Playing out the reasoning behind it might be interesting as well, if we find ourselves doing it.
The roleplay in general was good, and I got to play the angsty elf again and have a Scaffold reunion with several characters I hadn't seen IC for ages - surviving was an unexpected bonus. Now all I have to do is treat the multitude of scratches all over my legs and try to remove the muscle pain associated with legging it all over the Bath larp site like a mobile dynamo while chronically unfit.
And I've got to sing this afternoon as well. Bollocks.
The weekend was its now customary rush of roleplay of various types, and culminated in my realising that I still don't know what to get mum for Christmas. Dad said he would put out feelers and get back to me, but time is beginning to run out rather.
Buying presents for my parents has become a combination of the very easy and very difficult. There is something that is a standard (for Dad, a bottle of scotch, for mum, a large box of Thorntons), and something irregular. The irregular is what is giving me the trouble - being away from home for so long means I can't key in to any subtle hints or ideas that people have, and thereby know what to buy. Oh well - still a little time left.
________________
Friday night involved quite possibly the worst...shadowrun...EVAR. OOC, it was hilarious and we all had a great time. IC the team managed to tear itself to pieces with ne'er a die being rolled.
After sneaking around the boat the previous week stealing it's captain, the plan was to put money on him, drop him in Salish territory with an injury that would keep him in hospital for a few days, and make it look like he stole the gear that we actually nicked ourselves. This was going fine - Tiny and Shadow (Tim) had been dropped off and were waiting for Benedict (Jon) and Springs (Elizabeth) to return - until, for some reason, Benedict decided to use a deserted office building in the dead of night to carry out the money transaction, rather than a public terminal in the middle of the day (as a decker friend was covering our tracks for us, we could have done it in the penthouse of the AT pyramid if we'd liked). He promptly had half of his leg chewed off by a cybered attack dog and took twice as long as he expected. An argument that almost came to blows several times then ensued between the two of them over how to make the accident look good. Benedict wanted to push him in front of oncoming traffic (to say nothing of how it would look to the driver who watched two people push the victim), whereas Springs wanted to throw him out of her helicopter (to say even less of a chopper randomly ejecting someone from thirty feet up onto a busy road). In the end, they decided on Benedict's plan, but overolled their strength checks and threw the captain clean across the road and into the ditch on the other side. They gave up and ran away.
By the time they returned, Tiny was on his way to being drunk and Shadow had gone home to sleep (it was half past four in the morning, after all). Picking Tiny up, they went to the meet with the fixer and realised that Shadow actually had the merchandise.
It was at this point that Tiny got a bit annoyed.
Not only had Benedict and Springs utterly failed to shut the box with the captain, they had now left the guy with the loot out of the deal. For a moment, a little of his BlackOps persona showed through the stupid facade as he sat down at the table on the same side as the fixer and asked the other two in a very polite but terribly, terribly malevolent voice to pick the buster up and bring back the loot. After they left, I doubt Shards was particularly impressed with Tiny then telling her exactly what went on with the mission, and exactly what he thought of it, but it let off some steam that he needed to, and she didn't stop him.
It continued - Benedict peeled out of the bar in his truck before Springs got the chance to get in, Shadow decided to come to the meet of his own accord and let Benedict know late enough that he got back last, and Springs started getting drunk in the bar's main room before Tiny strode out, put her under his arm and walked back to the back room with her.
If they ever get hired again, I'll be very, very surprised.
________________
Saturday brought the entire Exalted party together for the first time - causing no end of paranoia as there was one more person in the group than those of us already in-game were expecting IC. After almost kicking off a fight in a taproom, we finally realised we were all on the same page and started to work together - but due to huge numbers of OOC chats about WoW and obscure pieces of Exalted rulings we managed, in five hours, to do two days uneventful travelling and just catch up with our caravan target. We have one character from each caste, from all sides of the law and from just about every social stratum - this should be interesting, if we ever get to do more than sit and talk about World of Warcraft.
In two weeks, we actually get to attack the thing. Maybe that will keep people's minds on-topic.
________________
Sunday's larp rocked. Daenaram survived. I can now afford all-round sight three.
The return to the Vale of Bogglehampton was supposed to be one of the most dangerous missions in history, yet I felt safer than ever before - I got down as far as three life once, but I never felt threatened by the things I was facing, as long as they were the monster crew.
The other characters, however, are quite a different matter.
It is no secret that Daenaram is a racist and a bigot. Normally it doesn't come out quite so much as it did yesterday, but when given enough of a stimulus can rear its head like nobody's business. Nab McFeegle is just one of those stimuli, barbarians in general another - and when faced with something he hates enough, Daenaram reverts to type. Unfortunately, type for him is the bad language and street fighting he learned in his backstory, and is more or less all he knows. He can't fight Nab, who would tear him to pieces without breaking sweat, so he is resigned to throwing insults at him and his friends - crude and cheap, I know, but effective. Playing out the reasoning behind it might be interesting as well, if we find ourselves doing it.
The roleplay in general was good, and I got to play the angsty elf again and have a Scaffold reunion with several characters I hadn't seen IC for ages - surviving was an unexpected bonus. Now all I have to do is treat the multitude of scratches all over my legs and try to remove the muscle pain associated with legging it all over the Bath larp site like a mobile dynamo while chronically unfit.
And I've got to sing this afternoon as well. Bollocks.
