Category: Livejournal

I’ve just written my own character’s doom.
Yeah, I’m cool like that.

I originally gave William Walker the “Lord Strange” title as a bit of character flavor. Some pepper thrown in, just because. Then, I gave him a couple family artifacts. Told Trekhead about them. He said, “Cool.”

And now, looking back, I realize what it is I’ve done. I’ve given my chapter storyteller all the tools neccessary to utterly destroy my character. Fortunately, it’s Trekhead, which means, I’m safe.

I’m safe, but Walker is up the creek. And he don’t have a paddle, a boat, not even one of them orange floaty vests.

What was I thinking…?

If there was any doubt in my mind, all of it was cleared up. They say a madman is insane because he has no defenses, no filters. He sees the world the way it really is, while the rest of us, the “sane” have filters and defenses to keep ourselves just a little oblivious.

Last night, all my filters were stripped away. There will be no reconciliation, no friendship, no nothing. Just a lot of hurt. Spending the last few months trying to hold on while she’s been spending it moving on. Neither of us can win that one. She wants me to get on with it, I want to go back. We’re both killing each other, and neither of us can have what we want.

So, we just can’t see each other, can’t be together, can’t meet at mutual friends’ gatherings. All we can do is be grateful for the time we had together and get on with our lives.

Jimmy’s on the iTunes, singing to me.

Drink it up
This one’s for you • It’s been a love cruise
Sorry it’s ending • Yah it’s sad but it’s true
It’s been a lovely cruise

These moments were left with • May you always remember
These moments are shared by few

There’s wind in our hair • And there’s water in my shoes
It’s been a lovely cruise

Those harbor lights • They’re coming into view
We’ll bid our farewell much too soon

So Drink it up • This one’s for you
It’s been a lovely cruise

Mine’s mead and whiskey. Breaking my sobriety. Got to. This once.
Bein’ an Irish viking ain’t always easy.
Drink it up.

Had a date with the ex- last night. We mat at the accountant’s to get last year’s taxes taken care of. We won’t be seeing each other for a long while, I think. It went poorly (to say the least).

She asked me how I was doing. “I’m waiting,” I said in the car, rain falling down against the windshield.

I’m waiting to hear back from various employers,
Waiting to find someone to take her place,
Waiting to be able to even be in a relationship,
Waiting for my life to start up again.

Just waiting.
And I’m losing my patience.
I want something to happen. I’m a little too longtoothed to know better than to say, “Waiting for anything to happen,” but I’m getting there. Things can always get worse. As bad as they look, things can always get worse.

I’ve got everything set. A new set of clothes, a new place, new car, new job (almost). Everyone tells me this is my opportunity to be on my own, to be my own person, to set all my priorities on myself.

But, I’m still in the husband head-space. I need to get out of that. I’m not exactly sure how to do it.

So, I’m waiting. And I’ve got to stop, I know that.
But there’s a difference between knowin’ and doin’. I’m almost there. Almost. There’s a trigger. I’m waiting for someone else to pull the trigger.
Maybe I should just pull it myself.

The ants have found my kitchen. Fortunately, I’ve kept it very clean (anticipating such an invasion), so I’ve only encountered scouts so far. I catch them, bring them over to the little corner of my bathroom and introduce them to Anthony.

“Thanks,” he says.

I watch him spin little webs around them, amazed at his skill. Then, I notice something else in his web. Is that a crumb? No, I don’t eat in the bathroom. What is…

Oh. Wait. “Anthony? Is that an… egg sack?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Should I be calling you ‘Anthony,'” I ask, “or ‘Anthonia’?”

“Either one is fine.”

“Okay.” I leave him — I mean, her alone.

“Need more ants,” she tells me. “They’ll be hungry when they wake up.”

“Right,” I say. “Just what I need, another woman in my life.”

“What other women do you have in your life right now?” I hear from the bathroom.

That stops me. I turn back. “Well… none, I guess. Not really. A couple of friends, really.”

“Then watch your tongue,” she says. “You sleep. And you aren’t so big, you know.”

“My mistake,” I say, backing off.

“I’m naming the oldest one after you,” she says with a little smile. “So don’t make me have to feed you to him.”

I’m reading Neil Gaiman’s American Gods because someone told me I’d get a kick out of it.

Odin as conman. Yeah, I think I can get a kick out of that.

But, it put a thought into my head. At the last Vampire LARP, I got a request from Lady deWynter (the details I can’t really go into), and in order to accomplish it, I needed an accomplice. Specifically, I needed someone with Obfuscate.

The choices:

• Assamite. Yeah, like that was gonna happen.
• Nosferatu. Maybe. But they’re pretty reluctant to help Tremere.
• Malkavian. Not a chance. Even if I appealed to their sense of…

A trick. That’s it. It’s a trick! If I can convince the Malkavian its a grand old trick I’m playing, that should go a long way to get an accomplice. After all, Malkav’s kids are all about playing tricks. All right, let’s try that out.

I approached three of them, all with the same pitch. And, trust me, I’m a pretty good pitch man when I want to be. I used the word “trick” and every single one of them looked at me like I was speaking Latin. No luck in that department. I was almost heartbroken.

It finally took a friendly Nos to help me out. And it was so easy, he didn’t even need to use his Obfuscate. “People are dumb,” he said. I smiled. “Yeah. I just forgot how dumb.” Shame on me.

Where are all the tricksters? So far, only one person I know has a Malkavian worthy of the trickster name, and she’s gonna get herself killed before I get a chance to really play with her.

I miss Loki. Odin is fun, but… well. I miss Loki.

You know, there’s a time to panic, and there’s a time to be calm.
This isn’t a time to panic, but it is a time to consider some serious legal action against the government that’s supposed to be protecting our rights.

http://news.ft.com/servlet/ContentServer?pagename=FT.com/StoryFT/FullStory&c=StoryFT&cid=1042491635794&p=1012571727088

“Among other provisions, the draft bill would further enhance the powers of the Federal Bureau of Investigation by granting the attorney-general wartime powers to undertake electronic surveillance and physical searches in the US based on intelligence information gathered abroad, without first gaining a court order.

It would also automatically deny bail for anyone accused of a terrorist-related crime, and would bar the release of any information, including names, of individuals detained in terrorism investigations, for fear of tipping off co-conspirators.”

Did you know the Movie Geek owns the NuArt theater? I just found it out last night, standing in line to watch Lost in La Mancha. He took my ticket. Cool. Ra Ra for him, using his powers for good.

I spent the next hour and a half watching Terry Gilliam’s dream fall apart. Not because he’s one of the world’s most eccentric directors (what the hell does that mean, anyway), and not because of an extravagant budget, but because of the Quixote Curse. He explains it early on, telling his 1st AD, “Quixote is cursed. Every production of Quixote has been cursed. It’s like the Scottish Play.”

The first hour of the movie is pre-production. The last half hour is watching the whole movie fall apart in just three days. Watching Terry Gilliam’s Don Quixote drown. Literally. In just three days, it gets a bullet in the head. And then, there’s ten days of waiting for it to die.

Remind me, if I ever try to tackle Quixote, of what happened to Terry Gilliam.

At least he didn’t say, “Slide!”

Otter

What Is Your Animal Personality?
brought to you by Quizilla

Ran L5R again last night. Having much more fun than I thought I would. Looking back at a system I co-designed… gee, was that five years ago? Six? Wow.

I’m looking back at it with different eyes. Having developed a grudging respect for the Amazing Engineering Feat that is d20 (no pun intended), spent so much time debating system philosophy with Speaks-With-Diaphram, talking about LARP mechanics with Trekhead, and with five (six?) years behind me, I’m thinking about all the things I would have done differently.

• Honor does not work the way I wanted. I knew that when the book was published, but I wasn’t a good enough game designer to know how to make it work right. Now, I know. I’m trying out different things with the group; the last three times we played, their Honor did three different things. I’m still working it out, but I’m getting a grip on it.

• I know what makes the Unicorn cool. When I was working on the game, the Unicorn were purple warrior-maidens on horses — specifically designed to appeal to the “chick gamer.” (If you’re appaled, just imagine being the Lead Writer with that thrown in your lap. Yeah, you’re offended.) Now, I know what makes the Unis cool, and it ain’t their horses.

(In the game continuity, the Unicorn haven’t returned yet. But, they will. And man, they’re gonna be cool.)

• Traits above 5. Oh, baby. You’d need a cigarette after I tell you about that one.

• Ancestors. I have such a bitchin-cool mechanic for ancestors. Man. I can’t wait for someone in the party to do something stupid, so I can kill him.

Anyway, I’m having a blast, and a lot of it has to do with the Saturday group. Just wanted you guys to know, you’ve helped me find the love I lost for this stuff. You guys rock.

Suddenly, I feel a whole lot like John Watson. At least, William Walker — my Cam Tremere — feels like a sidekick. A very important sidekick, but a sidekick, nonetheless.

I have a whole lot of respect for John Watson, M.D., the friend, companion, and ally of the world’s most famous detective. All too often, he gets portrayed as a bumbling idiot, stumbling behind Holmes, trying to keep up with slender friend’s brilliant mind. But, if you read the stories, Watson is no fool. He’s a medical doctor, a retired officer from the army, a combat surgeon, a man of action. Certainly, he’s no Holmes, but then again, who is?

One of my favorite scenes from the stories occurs very near the end. The villain of the piece is trying to escape the scene. Holmes knows he cannot chase the man. He cries out, “Watson!” and the good doctor is off, his service revolver in his hand. He fires a shot over the villain’s head, and the man turns slowly, seeing Watson and his pistol.

“You won’t shoot me,” the villain says.

Watson replies, “Sir, I served as an officer in Her Majesty’s army in Africa, and I have shot more noble creatures than you.”

Still makes my spine chill.

So, I was all ready for the return of William Walker to Los Angeles. Even got a new shirt and tie. Then, there’s a phone call. It’s the Prince. “John,” he says, dropping into character. “Mr. Walker. I need you in Lake Elsinore.” There’s a pause. “And bring your firearm.”

Walker is an ex-cop, a detective who used to work on child crime. An investigator with amazing skills of observation, and a bit too much Auspex for his own good (he hasn’t learned how to tame it, quite yet). He’s also got a pistol: a .357 police issue. So, in a lot of ways, he’s like Watson and Holmes, all wrapped up in one.

So, I drive three other people from Santa Monica to Lake Elsinore. Actually, I drive up from Torrance to Santa Monica to Lake Elsinore. I’m on the road for 3 hours. All to be a side-kick.

Fortunately, I got to do a lot of stuff. I got to meet the other Tremere, five Princes, an equal number of sheriffs, and a very cool Nosferatu. We only got to play for about two and a half hours, but it felt as if there wasn’t enough time to do anything. That made the time precious. Oh — and Walker got to see his first werewolf. “Jesus,” he said. “Are they really that big?” The Nos smiled and shook his head.

“Nah,” he said. “This is a small one.”

Walker always carries a gun. After Friday, he’s not going anywhere without silver bullets. After all, that’s what a side-kick is for: getting that arrogant hero’s ass out of the fire. And you can’t do that without some preparation.