i was having a chuckle to myself last night about Gristol, and how his plans are basically:
Restore Ford Cruller's memory
Find Maligula
???
Profit
but then... of course they are, right? this is Gristol we're talking about. Fatherland Follies drives home again and again that he's still operating on a child's logic, a warped and reductive version of the world that he never bothered to grow out of. both of his memory vaults center on the images of his childhood, this idealized version of the past that he clings to no matter what. and that's still how he remembers Maligula, too - as this saviour figure, who rushes in to help him when he's in trouble.
[ID: Two slides from Gristol's memory vault, Glory to Grulovia! Left: Gristol clings to Maligula's back as she summons waves to sweep away his assailants. Right: Gristol and Maligula waving from a balcony as the people cheer. Gzar Theodore brandishes a dagger in the background.]
like so much else, Maligula represents a return to this idyllic childhood - to the peace and simplicity of his youth, when he was free from worries and responsibilities. in his mind, he doesn't need to make any further plans - once Maligula's back, everything will go back to normal. Maligula will make everything better.
...is what i thought, but then i remembered this line:
[Screenshot source. ID: Gristol, in Truman's body, bows on his hands and knees in front of the newly-awaked Maligula. The caption reads: "Yes, High Priestess! I am here to correct the mistakes made by my father!"]
and that's kind of interesting, right?
to be clear: this happens directly after Maligula sees Helmut-in-Gristol's-body, and recognises him. her line before this is:
"Little Gzesaravich! Have you come to pay for your father's sins?"
my first thought was that Gristol hadn't expected to still be in Truman's body by the time he managed to find Maligula, and this was him trying to placate her and buy some time until he could explain the situation. but watching the cutscene back, that's clearly not what's happening here. Gristol is answering as himself, and his response of throwing himself to his knees before her is, as far as i can tell, genuine.
so what is going on here?
in Fatherland Follies, there's this line in the ride narration that stuck out to me:
"Why didn't the Gzar help Maligula in her time of need? No one knows, but historians agree - it is Gzar Theodore's biggest failure."
other lines mention Gzar Theodore's "mistake", and it's wording Gristol himself echoes in the screencap above. evidently, he believes that his father abandoned Maligula, leaving her to her fate at the hands of the Psychonauts, and it was that mistake that lead to them being driven out of the country - that mistake which he seeks to correct. maybe he even feels like he has a debt to repay to her for his family turning their backs on her all those years ago.
the 'High Priestess' thing, though - that's kinda weird, and threw me for a loop the first time i played the game. it took me until my second playthrough to connect the dots, and remember how the room in the Lady Luctopus - Gristol's room - was full of Delugionist scribblings and symbols.
[Screenshot source. ID: left, the walls of the hidden backroom in Gristol's hotel suite, covered in scrawlings of eyeballs and Maligula's name. Right, the pinboard from the hidden backroom. On its surface are photographs and newspaper clippings connected by pieces of string.]
i mean, look at this stuff! he had a whole conspiracy board and everything!
we learn very little about the Delugionists and their beliefs as a whole during the game, but i think drawing the connection here suggests two important things. one: that Gristol was in deep with this stuff. i don't know how he linked up with them - maybe via old family connections, or just good old-fashioned digging (we know he's skilled at worming his way into peoples' good graces, after all) - but it seems likely that he's begun to internalise their ideas, maybe even warping his own memories of events. and two: the Delugionists themselves are, if you'll pardon the pun, pretty far off the deep end.
like... i understand why PN2 didn't go heavy on the "mass-murderer cult worship" aspect of things, in the end, but man this is such a tantalising glimpse into the wider mythos around Maligula. Gristol is proud and haughty and thinks himself above everyone else; the fact that his first reaction seeing Maligula is to throw himself to the ground at her feet says so much about the way he's come to see her. he's not just trying to bring back Maligula, his childhood bodyguard. he's trying to bring back Maligula, the High Priestess of the deluge, the semi-mythical figure whose supporters believe even death couldn't stop. he doesn't even flinch at the way she confronts him, and maybe it's because he's bought in so completely to this deified figurehead, this idea of Maligula; more a living force of nature than a person. and it all comes back to the same place: an abdication of responsibility, not just to the person who protected him when he was little but to this avatar of floods and destruction. Maligula will make everything better.
i'd write more about my thoughts on the Delugionists but that'd be taking a hard turn into speculation, and this is already kind of long and rambling so i'd better end it here. but what an unexpected and evocative line, right? it's some of the only stuff we have to go off of regarding the Delugionists as a whole, but i think it does such a good job of hinting at the wider story - at teasing another layer to the mythos surrounding Maligula, one whose ripples we see throughout the game but which never quite breaches the surface.
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Dan talking abt how tiktok is “the downfall of humanity” gave very millennial😭. Girl don’t act like you weren’t on tumblr in its peak years and don’t scroll on twitter every day (arguably worse). It’s just a pet peeve of mine when people say that because thats literally what gen x/boomers said about everything on the internet. MySpace was the true start of the downfall of humanity imo. Everything else just followed along! 👺
well he is a millenial 😔
i think he's trying to be conscious of everything that comes along with tiktok--safety concerns, privacy concerns, as well as the erasure of the creator and the platforming of The Algorithm.
he doesn't deny there's good content there, he even says in the video if his fyp gave him this content continually, he would use it. but he's all too aware of the advertising and prevalence of the algorithm. and, he's concerned about the amount of time people (cough, phil, cough) put into it.
i think they're valid concerns. i think having good-faith criticism about the things you choose to spend your time on are important. not that having guilt all the time is good, but something doesn't have to be 'perfect' in order for you to interact with it. (see youtube, twitter, and even here with tumblr)
i'll be honest, i'm a gen z who doesn't use tiktok. there's good tiktoks out there, but i prefer a different type of slop (everything is slop don't lie to yourself).
like if it really bothers you that much i suggest you sit with that discomfort and figure out why.
a lot of people older than gen z shit on tiktok because they think it's turning the frogs gay--it's just a title of something they can blame their hatred of everything different from them on, and their disgust for the youth who dare to not live by their morals. it's not about tiktok itself. whereas dan is seeing the flaws and faults of the app and the culture. you don't have to agree with him, but his opinion on it shouldn't ruin your day. he's just a guy.
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hello scu enjoyers here's a little r!charlie with cg!schlatt yesyes. it is set in a zombie apocalypse so trigger warning for non-graphic mentions of zombies and also a gun! i dont describe any blood or gore or anything dwdw - also maybe slight unreality for the line "was any of that real?" near the end
hope u enjoy <3
//
“Oh, hey Charlie.”
Charlie’s head snaps up, meeting the eyes of a charming man standing behind the pristine counter of a little hole-in-the-wall bar that Charlie has never seen here before. His buttoned shirt is crisp, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he polishes a glass with a red rag. His apron is black and stainless. His hair is curled, his beard is groomed and well kept. His eyes are brown, and he smiles at Charlie as if nothing is wrong with the world.
“H-hey,” Charlie stammers. He looks up at the walls, the iron bars lining the entrance. He doesn’t remember walking inside, but here he is. The floor is strangely even, no plants, no rocks, no cracks. The groans of the infected outside seem so far away. “Hey- how do you know my name?”
The man’s smile does not change. His eyes flicker from brown to gold and back again. Charlie glances around the room. The light of the torches set in the walls is not comforting in the slightest.
“So,” the man sets the glass aside, slings the rag over one shoulder, and braces both arms on the counter. “Milk or juice?”
“What?”
“You look like you could use it,” he answers, simple as that. His fingers tap along the countertop. “Milk or juice?”
“What is going on, dude, how do y-”
“Milk,” he interrupts, eyes flickering again. Charlie shuts his mouth as the man’s expression changes just so, like a mountain challenging a pebble to a battle of might, or a sun backhanding a star out of the sky.
Then the man smiles again, simple as that. “Or juice?”
Charlie grips the straps of his backpack, a pebble, a pebble, a pebble. The groans of the infected feel like a hazy memory. He takes a step towards the counter, strangely uneven on the even ground.
“Juice, please,” he murmurs, taking a seat on one of the stools. It’s plush, comfortable, with a bar at the bottom for his feet. He swings them instead.
“Good choice,” the man praises, "now,” he laughs, “maybe this one’ll getcha. Bottle or cup?”
Charlie blinks. The mountain looms on the other side of the counter, with an amused smile on its face.
“Cup,” he answers, softer than he means to, but he can’t help it when he feels like a pebble, maybe all of four years old. The room gets hazy at the edges of his vision.
“Now, now, Charlie,” the man scolds lightly, almost teasing, almost stern, amused all around, “I think we both know the correct answer here.”
Charlie frowns, eyebrows furrowing. Was that not it?
“Cup, please,” he tries again.
The man tsks. “Charlie…”
He says nothing.
The man sighs.
“Tell you what, kiddo,” he leans over, sliding the glass easily off the counter and stowing it away underneath. He fishes around for something else, his smile still charming, his expression warm but oddly intense. “We’ll compromise.”
He returns with a dark green sippy cup with a light green lid. Two and a half hearts decorate the side, glaring up at Charlie. He looks away as the man retrieves another bottle from somewhere else. This one has a golden apple printed on the side.
“‘fraid apple juice is all we’ve got.”
Charlie shrugs. Apple’s fine.
The man smiles as he pours it, screwing on the cap and sliding it to him when it’s full. “Knew you’d be a good sport about that.”
Charlie wraps his hands around the sippy cup. It’s the perfect size to hold like this. His shoulders sag in relief, oddly comforted by this little bit of plastic.
“You’re doing so well,” the man praises. Charlie can’t help but preen at that a bit, turning the cup in his hands but not yet taking a drink. “I’ll step in as needed, but it’s quite honestly remarkable just how far you’ve come.”
Charlie tries to smile at him, tries to show he’s grateful.
The man chuckles, reaching over the counter to ruffle his hair. Charlie ducks away, swatting at his hand.
“Alright, well. You better scram, kid,” he reaches under the counter again, this time producing a gun. Charlie blinks. The haze in his head fades as he whirls around, spots five infected approaching. How did he not notice them getting so close?
“I’ll hold them off,” the man’s voice raises dangerously as he storms out of the bar with his gun, seizing Charlie’s collar and dragging him out with him, abandoning the bottle on the counter. He shoves him one way and fires the gun in the other, “go, kid. Go!”
Charlie stumbles, unsteady, but runs. He runs, ducking between infected and swerving around buildings and runs, fast as he can manage as they follow, running, groaning behind him, and he runs, and his foot catches a stone and he falls and he rolls and he-
//
When he comes to, the sun is rising.
He jolts upright in bed. He’s home. He’s safe.
His jacket is pristine. There’s new patches on the elbows. There are no scuffs on his armor. His legs are fine, his heart is beating regularly, nothing is sore.
Cradled in his hand is a green sippy cup, decorated with two and a half hearts on the side that glare up at him.
He swallows.
Was any of that real?
He turns it over. There’s nothing inside, though taped to the bottom is a messy, scrawled note.
Keep it, it reads. Signed with a simple, -J
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