Author: john wick

It isn’t up yet, but it should be by tonight.
(This is revenge, Trekhead. I wait for my story, you wait for yours. Bastard.) 🙂

LADY GAROU: “This looks rough. Do you have a fetish?”
ME: “Yeah. I got a Wonder Woman fetish. Will that help?”
LADY GAROU: (blank stare)
ME: “Guess not.”

So, he promises me answers about my character’s past, talks to a bunch of people about it, tells them a bunch of secrets about Mr. Walker’s heritage, says I’m gonna find out about it… and doesn’t tell me anything!!!

No, that’s a lie. He says, “You’ll find out. Just not now. You’ll have to wait.”

So, there are now three people who know more about Walker than I do. No, that’s four. Counting Smeghead — I mean Trekhead.

A man’s patience, I said, a man’s patience can only be tested so far, sir.

And, by the way, when she shows up, be very cautious in the selection of his Sire. I have very high expectations and I’m very easily disappointed.

(The preceding was brought to you by the letter “wink” and the number “raspberry.”)

We brought a newbie to the game last night. She never played a role-playing game before, let alone a Vampire LARP. I made her a Solemn Vow to entertain her if she got bored. Things went wrong, I got pulled into a monster plot line, and when it was all done, I think we said one or two words to each other. I broke a promise. Bad luck.

On Monday night, Emily awoke from a nightmare, a vision. A little girl, chased by monster. She fell back asleep, oblivious of the vision, but Walker made her a promise. A quiet little promise over her sleeping head.

Friday night. The little girl is a Sabbat in the body of a 6 year old. “Are you going to hurt me?” she asks him. “Of course not,” he answers.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Less than two hours later, he’s standing with her, his hand inches from his gun, trying to force himself to put the barrel against the back of her head and pull the trigger. He can’t do it. He can’t do it.

And when he gets home, little Emily sleeping in her bed, he wonders if she remembers that vision. “Is she safe?” she’ll ask him. “Yes,” he’ll answer. “She’s safe.” And he’ll hold her tight, his heart breaking, hoping she won’t ask him anything else.

Three ladies. Three promises. All broken in one fell swoop.

Might as well smash seven mirrors while I’m at it.

Not too long ago, someone told me something that made me stop, think, and assess. It was just three little words. “You’ve got baggage.”

That’s it. Three little words that made me really consider their validity. My first thoughts were dismissive. “I don’t have any baggage,” I thought. “I got rid of all that with all the stuff I threw out.” And, to be honest, that was part of the reason I threw everything out: to get rid of things to carry.

I was moving out, and I was doing most of it myself, so I made the decision to just dump it. I had six bookshelves before I got started, and now I’m down to three (one of them only half full). Books I hadn’t read it years and didn’t ever plan on reading again. I was just collecting them, keeping them around. Some men show off their cars. I guess geeks show off their books. It didn’t stop with books. I got rid of CDs I never listen to anymore, clothes I didn’t wear, videos and DVDs I didn’t watch. I didn’t take any plates, silverware, pots or pans.

I took my computer, the desk it sits on, and a chair. I got a futon to sleep on. When I was finally moved in, I declared “Spartan is my new middle name!” The only thing I really need is my computer, and that isn’t even the truth. I could throw it away as long as I had hard copies of certain files on it.

Trappings don’t define me. What I own isn’t who I am. (Thank you, Mr. Palahniuk, for reminding me of something I’d forgotten.) I’d thrown away my past, and was ready to move on to the future.

“You’ve got baggage.”

Of course, I don’t! I got rid of it all. No photographs, no souvenirs, no mementos.

“You’ve got baggage.”

And I thought about it. For a long time. Still stunned by the statement weeks later. Baggage? Me? Nah.

Well, ever the Discordian double-agent, I decided to challenge my own assumptions and really think about it. Am I still carrying around the past?

When I died (on RPG.net, for all the world to see), something changed. I could feel it. She could feel it. Psychic assassination. If enough people believe it, it’s true, right? Something happened. I can’t explain it, wouldn’t try to explain it. Something happened. The John everyone knew died, and I was given a chance. A real chance. Reinvent him. Redefine him. Ditch all his old stuff and get on with new stuff. Start over. But, did I? I got rid of all the physical stuff, but do I still have a closet in my head that holds all the crap I’ve refused to let go of?

I don’t know. I’ve been slowly making contact with people I used to know, trying to re-build bridges that got burned. (Funny – my grandpa blew up bridges in WWII.) I’m assuming they feel like I do – all the stuff that happened in the past is the past. People change. They grow. Sometimes, they even grow up. I know I feel different about things now than I did way back then. Maybe they do, too. Maybe not.

“You’ve got baggage.”

Maybe. But, I’ve only got two hands, and it takes a while to put it all down.

… just went up a bit. Not much, but a bit:

http://suntimes.com/output/eb-feature/cst-edt-ebert05.html

(Thanks for pointing it out to me, Jared.)

Last night, I watched the original Japanese version of “The Ring.”
By myself.
In the dark.

Not wise.

Hey folks. In case you’re interested, my first story over at Neopets went live tonight. You can find it here:

http://www.neopets.com/neopedia.phtml?neopedia_id=176

Or, go to the main page: www.neopets.com.
1) Click on “News” on the left-hand side.
2) Scroll down until you see “Trickster Llugh and the Legend of Gadgadsbogen.”
3) Click on that.

You’ll need to have an account to read it, but that’s free. So, support your local storyteller and GO GIVE ME HITS!!!

It’s a little hobby of mine, giving my friends nicknames.

(People who give themselves nicknames are lame. Here’s a joke. Know how to get the attention of half the women at a con? Make a public announcement for “Raven.”)

Lately, I’ve been in the mood to hand out superhero names. And thus, my buddies begin to form a kind of Justice Leage. A private Justice League, just for me. Here we go. (And, there’s a “No Prize” for the person who can guess them all correctly!)

The Soliloquator!
(The slammer at the end is manditory! He never speaks in anything less than exclamations!) Has a BOOMING VOICE that allows him to knock down any bad guy (or argument). Unfortunately, his powers are very narrow.

Unfoman
He knows everything there is to know about everyone else. Doesn’t know shit about inanimate objects.

The Egg
White on the outside, but a Chinese kung-fu master on the inside. His weakness is his power (to his everlasting shame).

The Closet Christian
Projects the image of a liberal-minded gamer, but in truth, the illusion hides a raging conservative with massive powers Given-By-God.

There they are. So far. I’ve got more buddies, and that means more additions to my Justice League are on the way. Or, should they be the Wicked League?

Here’s to all you hopeful Tolkeinphiles…

http://www.lathamfilm.com/hobbit.html