#turns out disco elysium DID heal me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goodluckclove · 1 month

Text

WIP Tag Game!

Whoa tagged again by the brilliant @ivaspinoza! Check her out if you're down for what I imagine to be some intense bloodsucking existentialism!

I'll do this for all of Songbird Elegies as a whole. I'm on book two right now - Blind Trust comes out June 20th!

Read below to hear some things about the origins of the series that I haven't actually said yet and probably won't say again.

1. What was the first part of your wip that you created?

Funny story! I hadn't written anything tangible for months since leaving my terrible copyrighting job. I was absolutely miserable. I ended up leaving my second job because of a medication problem and spent a week in bed detoxing off of Seroquel withdrawal - bad bad don't do that if you can help it. After that I fell into recovery and just had no idea what to do with my days.

The turning point was when I sent an email going fully no-contact with my across-the-board abusive parents. They did some awful things across the course of my life and I'm still spending a good chunk of time making up for their ridiculous medical neglect. I might need throat surgery because of them. Not great! But anyways, I sent that email and wrote the first 15 pages of Blind Trust later that day, sitting on the floor while my wife took a nap on the couch. It just came out. Wife said they liked it so I just kept going.

Three months and two data losses later and the first draft was done!

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

I have so many Songbird Elegy playlists oh my God. It's hard to say, and the answer will change, but right now it's "Love Me, Normally" by Will Wood.

3. Who are your favourite characters you've made? Why?

They're all very important to me for different reasons. Scott is the one I tend to talk about the most because he captures a lot of mania and upbeat romanticism, qualities of myself that I value despite the obvious faults. Edgar is just as important, but they represent a lot of my current struggles and I'm doing a lot of healing and processing through them which is good but less - you know - fun?

Tenzin reminds me of my wife with her quiet stoicism. Katy reminds me of my older sister and everything she sacrificed to keep me and my siblings alive. She's more of a mother to me than my own mother. My sister is actually the first person to finish Blind Trust after I finished it.

4. What other pieces of media do you think would share a fan base for your story?

Disco Elysium maybe? Griffin and Sabine - has anyone else read that? The Witcher, but specifically the novels? Requiem for a Dream for later books. Tales of the City in terms of tone and character focus. Fleet Foxes and Hoizer and early Decemberists?

Good, warm soup. If you like a bowl of good, warm soup, you will enjoy Songbird Elegies.

5. What has been your biggest struggle with your wip?

Definitely Edgar's arc. Their experience with their metaphorical (or are they??) inner child and the abuse they've been working to escape and recover from has been hard to look at directly. Especially once I introduced Scott's mother, who's turned into a weird mix of the maternal figure I wish I had and the one I feel I could've been if I chose that path.

Yesterday I found myself writing how I wish it went when my wife met my parents, through Scott and Edgar meeting Scott's mom. The sharing of parental pride and affection despite potential embarrassment. It's a cute scene, but there's a lot of grief in there for me. I wonder if it'll show.

6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

Wilford Brimley is Katy's pet Persian cat. He is old and weird and a little fucked up. I had to edit his introduction in Blind Trust because it was six (small) paragraphs and Wife told me that was unreasonable (skill issue), but I can include some canon info:

He shoves his paw under the bathroom door while people are in the bathroom

He likes feet

Edgar sometimes shares little bits of cheese with him

Once he fell asleep in Edgar's lap but then peed in his lap and just kept sleeping in the piss

Edgar treat him like a weird cousin he has to make conversation with during holidays

Wilford thinks he's his brother and an equally fucked up cat

7. How do your characters get around? (ex: trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

Cars mostly! Edgar has a shitty used car that's always close to breaking down. Katy has a newer car that's still used, but she takes very good care of it - I think it's a Fiat. I think Tenzin probably uses the car Scott's Dad left behind after he died, which is a vintage Cadillac convertible that Scott's Mom fixed up.

Scott is the only one without a license since he essentially has a magical dissociative disorder and hasn't yet felt safe behind the wheel. In Blind Trust he's taken every form of public transit to cross the country. I think when he was younger he used to skateboard to get around Bluerose.

8. What part of your wip are you working on rn?

I'm close to 40k into book two!

9. What aspects (tropes, maybe?) of your wip do you think will draw people in?

I have hopes that people will enjoy the tenderness of it. I'm like a reverse-whump ace writer, in that I've written a series that's aggressively pro-comfort and recovery. People start off in pretty sorry states and then make the difficult effort to put themselves and each other back together.

There's explicit ace representation in Scott and aroace rep in Katy (she doesn't know it yet though shhh). Edgar comes out as Agender and changes pronouns midway into the series, but still keeps presenting as androgynous/masc leaning. There's diversity in body types and gender identities in a way that feels warranted to me - Scott has Klinefelter's and grew up taking T, and he made a best friend that came out so she could take her E with him. Same goes with disabilities in prominent characters, though the main four focus on what I have personal experience in.

As a disabled queer writer I hope to make a series that tells a fantastical story about people like me that doesn't pander specifically to my market.

10. What are your hopes for your wip?

I hope people read it. I hope they like it. It'd be cool if I could talk to people about it. I've been pretty deep in the Songbird Elegy fandom for some time now haha.

On a more serious note I hope there's a market for non-sexualized romances that are still hyper intimate. I know I'm into it but I'm still not sure if other people are. I'd like to create more media about positive and fulfilling ace relationships, both romantic and platonic. I'm tired of people seeing that type of life as a loss. Any healthy companionship is not a loss.

I want people to read Songbird Elegies and think about the love in their lives and in themselves. All of it, in every way. Yeah.

I tag @ryns-ramblings! I wanna hear about your thing!

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing community #blind trust #writing #on writing #migration patterns #queer writers #agender #asexuality #songbird elegies #authors of tumblr

4 notes · View notes

pankracy · 2 years

Text

I started playing disco elysium. here's the thing though, I do not really play games much. as in not at all. maybe one game every two years. but hey! --

after reaching like 15+ hours of playing I realized you can run. that was a. that was. ha. that was a game changer.

I was today years old (week+ after I started playing?) when I learned, thanks to Pridek, that I can buy healing items in addition to finding them. in my defense I didn't notice the med cabinet in the frittte.

I didn't notice it bc the first time I went there my keyboard had one of its episodes and refused any sort of cooperation so I couldn't use tab.

good news is that apparently right-clicking works too! learned that later, though.

it's still nothing compared to what I went through trying to turn this game on in the first place on my pc. (and still every time before turning the computer on I have to switch slots of my ram sticks. it's a screen thing. but not a screen issue. don't ask. it's the last thing I have to figure out & fix for the computer to be fully operational. I'm getting there.)

anyway I suck at gaming or whatever and yes, I did edit my save file at some point because I just couldn't advance without it. one would ask, tik, isn't it easier to just play instead of messing with save files? and you know what, no, it isn't! no regrets, I'm a dirty cheat when the frustration gets the better of me. ...I gave myself money.

I Realize the Irony. maybe not even irony exactly, but some sort of commentary could be made here.

I'd also like to formally thank En for telling me to save regularly. because.

I shaved. it was a grave mistake. granted 80% of my reasoning was wanting to see Kim's reaction, but it didn't make up for the regret.

I haven't said anything about the game itself huh. seriously though, I'll have to play it at least 3 times on different routes before my brain actually starts absorbing, processing and maintaining all that information. really fun though. once I learned you can buy healing items. (I jest. before too. seriously, why didn't I think about looking into buying healing items????)

that being said!! would you believe me if I said I haven't died once?? I'm so slow and careful and I knew about the chair, and the knowledge alone was enough for me to avoid getting too much damage I guess. otherwise idk how I've done it. talking with Cuno almost killed me once bc that kid is a nightmare.

--I am having a blast.

#.txt

1 note · View note

birdship · 3 years

Text

Leave It In The Sun: Chapter One (a Disco Elysium fanfic)

Warnings: Full game spoilers, eventual spicy scenes, basically the level of adult content in the game itself.

General summary: A slow(ish) burn exploration of life at Precinct 41 after Harry and Kim wrap up the case and Kim makes the move to Jamrock. Mainly just about how Harry and Kim's relationship might develop, and a sort of character study of some of the employees of Precinct 41 in general.

------------

Chapter one summary: Two difficult weeks after leaving Martinaise, Harry finally reaches out to Kim. Chapter length: Approx. 4.3k words

The sun is only just setting over the streets of Jamrock, drenched in rain and neon. The city stops to catch its breath in the intermission between day and night.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: And so do you. You could’ve sworn the nearest payphone was, y’know, nearer than this. Maybe that bone-shattering gunshot wound also isn’t quite as far along in the healing process as you thought either.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Brilliant claws of pain rake down your thigh as you lean against the payphone and try to center yourself.

You glance at the phone resting in its cradle, with some trepidation. Phone calls are always a bit… difficult for you. Especially these days.

SUGGESTION: You can still change your mind.

VOLITION: No. You came here for a reason.

SUGGESTION: Or… you could always just call her instead.

VOLITION: *Focus.*

You take a deep breath. The late spring air is turning chilly in the slowly setting sun. The rain drizzles lazily as it has all day, showing no sign of stopping. A handful of people are still--or already--out wandering downtown Jamrock, laughing and talking and hurrying home and running errands and entirely focused on just about anything in the world *besides* a washed up middle-aged man having a minor anxiety attack and moderate-to-severe hip pain next to a public phone at 6:04pm in the rain.

INLAND EMPIRE: The loneliness knocks the wind out of you. You thought you were used to it by now. It’s worse outside, around people.

DRAMA: The threadbare costume you created for yourself in the privacy of your dark, trash-strewn apartment doesn’t seem quite as convincing with an audience.

VOLITION: Stop the goddamn pity party and pick up the phone already.

The receiver is light in your hand as you fumble for change and the crumpled slip of paper you’ve had in your jeans pocket for the last two weeks or so. You slowly, deliberately dial the phone number written on it, as if some part of you is afraid that your fingers might just automatically fall into the patterns of *her* number instead.

VOLITION: They might. But you’re done hurting yourself.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Well, maybe not entirely. Yet. But you’re done hurting yourself *with her* for sure.

INLAND EMPIRE: You still feel like you deserve that pain. But it’s wrong to keep using her as the knife you gut yourself with. She deserves better, even if you might not.

LOGIC: In any case, this isn’t about her. It’s about you, and it’s about--

“Hello?” Kim’s voice is muffled and tinny through the old, worn copper wiring. He sounds tired, but you guess that’s not particularly surprising. You’ve been pretty damn tired too.

“Kim, hey, it’s uh, it’s me,” you reply awkwardly.

“Harry? Do you need something?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: This is the first time you’ve called him since leaving Martinaise, despite carrying that little piece of paper around for the last two weeks. He’s thinking, why now?

“Yeah, no, I just happened to be downtown this evening,” you ramble, “and I thought--”

“You’re drunk,” he says. It is completely without judgment. A stated fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Harry Du Bois is drunk. “Where are you exactly? I’ll--”

“Wait, no!” you exclaim, a little too loudly. A nearby pigeon makes a mad dash in the opposite direction at the sound. “That’s not it! I swear I’m basically sober right now. Mostly.”

A long pause on the other end. “Alright,” he says plainly. “So what can I do for you?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Make no mistake, he’s picking his battles here and gingerly stepping *around* that “mostly.”

EMPATHY: He’s just relieved it’s even that much.

COMPOSURE: How embarrassing.

VOLITION: Just start over. Your first sentence was garbage, but you know you’re under no obligation to continue it, right?

You take a deep breath, then try again.

“Well, it’s really more about what *I* can do for *you*,” you say as smoothly as possible. “You know that big motor carriage exhibition in town? It just so happens I’ve got *two tickets* to it.”

Another long pause. “You mean the one that ends today?”

“Yes,” you confirm.

“And are you aware that it is currently around six o’clock in the evening?”

“Is it? I mean, yes. Yes it is,” you say confidently. “I am aware of the passage of time.”

“And you waited until now to do this?” he asks.

EMPATHY: He sounds more amused than annoyed, though you definitely detect a bit of both.

“Uh,” you falter. “Look, it’s open until 8:00, so do you want to fucking go or not?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: About half a kilometer away, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi is sitting in the kitchen of his new apartment, already in his pajamas and winding down for the evening. It’s a bit early for that, but he figures he should take the opportunity to rest before he tackles that mountain of backlogged cases he was promised upon making the move to precinct 41.

Two weeks ago, he said goodbye to the strangest man he’d ever met. A man he found himself inexplicably drawn to in the week they spent together, and whom he thought about every day since. Wondering if he would take the lifeline Kim tried to throw to him, or if that little slip of paper would just end up forgotten at the bottom of a vomit-soaked trash can in some shitty bar. Wondering if the dawning trauma of everything that happened in Martinaise and the restlessness from sitting at home recovering from its aftermath would combine to pull him down into a dark place beyond Kim’s reach for good. Wondering and wondering to fill the silence. And now finally the silence is broken, but whatever this cry for help is, it is not the one Kim ever expected to receive.

But he knows one thing for sure: it *is* a cry for help.

“Alright,” Kim says finally. He takes a sharp breath. “Sounds good.”

The walk to his apartment takes a bit longer than you expected. It’s not that far from the downtown payphone, but you still wasted a good 20 minutes on the journey.

ENDURANCE: You are expecting too much of yourself too soon.

INLAND EMPIRE: It’s always one or the other with you, isn’t it? Too much or not enough.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Twenty minutes to walk a few blocks? Fucking pathetic. What kind of cop are you? Hell, what kind of *gym teacher* are you? Man up.

ENDURANCE: No. It’s a miracle that you’re still standing at all.

PERCEPTION: Beyond the apartment door, you can hear footsteps and soft humming.

You knock, and the door opens almost immediately.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Shit. You were hoping you’d have a few spare seconds to think of something really cool to say.

REACTION SPEED: C’mon, say something fun and upbeat to prove you’re not a depressed sack of shit who’s been spending the past two weeks drinking alone in the dark.

DRAMA: Showtime!

“Howdy, pardner,” you hear yourself say.

SAVOIR FAIRE: Finger guns! For god’s sake, don’t forget the finger guns. Without them, you just look like a goddamn lunatic.

You do the finger guns.

Kim does not seem particularly impressed as he slowly looks from your outstretched gun fingers to the twisted grimace that now wracks your face.

“Please, holster those things before coming inside,” he says humorlessly.

You blow the pretend, metaphorical smoke from each of your hot weapons before stuffing your hands in your pockets. As you do this, he watches with an appraising look.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s wondering if this is *regular* weird or *drunken breakdown* weird. However, he is intimately familiar with your brand of stupid bullshit at this point and it doesn’t take long for him to place it in the former category.

“We should hit the road soon,” you comment as you peek curiously into his apartment.

“Hit the road,” Kim repeats with mild amusement, “in what?”

LOGIC: Oh. Right. The Kineema is property of Precinct 57. Not Kim Kitsuragi personally.

“Shit, yeah,” you concede. “But hey, if we call a taxi now--”

LOGIC: You’ll arrive just in time to immediately turn around and go home.

HALF LIGHT: You fucked up. You’re a fuck-up. Great job, idiot.

VOLITION: Try not drinking and blacking out all day next time.

LOGIC: Yes, but then…

“Fuck,” you inhale. “Fuckady-fuck-fuck. Shit. Goddammit.”

Kim waits patiently for you to catch up. You’re almost there.

“I should’ve called earlier, sorry,” you apologize. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

LOGIC: What is wrong with you is that you drank all last night, slept off a hangover most of the day today, and woke up in a daze about 45 minutes ago. But what’s done is done. No point in bringing that up now, right?

“Nor do I,” says the lieutenant with a small smile. “But whatever it is, I am no longer surprised by it, I assure you.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you repeat, leaning on the door frame pathetically, a congealed ooze of mental illness and embarrassment. “Sorry for bothering you in the first place. You’re always so nice to me, even when I’m a pain in the ass.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Which is to say *constantly.*

Kim says nothing. Just sighs almost imperceptibly.

EMPATHY: Your self deprecation is frustrating for him, and he does not know how to respond to it constructively and compassionately.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He *does* think you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, but a pain worth dealing with.

INLAND EMPIRE: For reasons beyond your understanding.

“Why did you agree to go in the first place?” you sigh. “You’ve got a brain that actually works, you knew it wasn’t gonna happen. If you’re trying to make fun of me, then, well…”

You pause.

“That’s just fine, I guess. Good job, carry on.”

He adjusts his glasses and looks away. “I appreciated the intention,” he says finally, in a measured voice. “And since I hadn’t heard from you the past couple weeks…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: ...He was afraid you wouldn’t bother trying again.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’ve been kind of busy. You know how it goes after cases like that.”

“I do,” he says. He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “you’re welcome to come in if you like.”

You hobble into Kim’s sparse kitchen and collapse on a dining room chair. It creaks ominously under the velocity of the assault.

“I’m glad we have an opportunity to catch up,” he says politely, pulling up the other chair and gazing at your pained expression from across the table. “Your injury is healing well, I assume?”

EMPATHY: It is obvious that he does not in fact assume this at all.

You shrug, still trying to get a hold of yourself and push back the ache swirling at the edges of your mind.

He watches you struggle for a moment, then gently says, “it will take time to heal, but it *will* heal.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: *So please be patient and kind to yourself,* is the silent plea left unsaid. It hangs in the air pitifully. You both know it’s there.

“Time hasn’t exactly been a good salve for me in general,” you mumble.

He’s silent for a while. Opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.

“Harry,” he says finally. “What happened in Martinaise is not your burden to carry alone.”

“I thought you didn’t like *personal issues*, lieutenant,” you say.

“I don’t,” he says with a frown, “but this…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: This is about me too, he thinks. As much as he hates to admit it. He doesn’t particularly like his *own* personal issues either. But the past two weeks were hard for him, and you didn’t make them any easier.

EMPATHY: He was worried about you, and--although he will never admit it to himself, let alone you--there’s a part of him that selfishly hoped you were worried about him too. At least a little.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s used to this line of work, and so are you despite the holes in your memory, but it never gets any easier to deal with some things.

EMPATHY: There was so much death that day. It haunts you. And now as you sit in Kim’s kitchen, the alcohol slowly filtering from your blood and leaving behind the dregs of a headache, you realize it still haunts him too. You both added perforations you never wanted to make.

ENDURANCE: It’s too much. Your head swims and your entire body aches in the throes of repressed grief fighting its way to the surface of a sea of quickly evaporating Commodore Red.

INLAND EMPIRE: Warning! Trauma containment center has been breached! Evacuate the area immediately!

HALF LIGHT: You’re going to cry, aren’t you? You’re going to fucking cry. Right here in his kitchen. Why can’t you keep your shit together for more than five minutes straight?

You are entirely unable to keep the tears from rolling silently down your cheeks, unbidden.

INLAND EMPIRE: You don’t have it in you to really cry properly, like a normal fucking person. Not anymore. Something has disconnected the wire from your “press here to begin sobbing during your emotional breakdown” button, and you’re not sure what or when.

ENDURANCE: But human beings *cry.* And despite everything inside you that’s broken and rotting, you *are* a human being. You can’t not be.

Kim’s standing next to you now, his hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder. He doesn’t say anything.

EMPATHY: That’s the point of this whole shoulder-touching business in the first place--your disconcertingly unhinged behavior has left him at a loss for words, yet compelled to offer *something.*

This goes on for the longest five minutes or so the world has ever seen. But finally, you’ve wrung it all out of yourself and the tears stop almost as abruptly as they began. His hand gives your shoulder a squeeze, then he sits back down in the chair opposite you, avoiding your eyes. He rummages in his pocket for something, then hands you a blue handkerchief.

“Where the hell do you keep all these?” you mumble as you reach for it. “Fuckin’... infinite handkerchiefs around here.”

“What can I say? I like to be prepared,” he says.

“For drunk idiots who throw up all over crime scenes and have mental breakdowns in your home?”

“Usually to clean my glasses,” he says flatly. “But at this point, I suppose it *is* fair to say that it’s also for your various crises as well.”

“Well, thank God one of us is prepared,” you say. “What would I do without you, Kim?”

He hesitates, a strange wistful expression tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know. What *did* you do the past two weeks?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets them.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t… That’s none of my concern,” he says quickly.

AUTHORITY: Who the hell does he think he is? You’re not a child who needs to be minded. You’re a grown-ass man who can sit alone in his apartment and get wasted if he fucking wants to. Assert yourself!

“Honestly? Drink, mostly,” you say with a self-conscious chuckle.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He just stares at you with the bleakest expression you’ve ever seen cross his face.

EMPATHY: He’s so tired. So frustrated. So disappointed.

INLAND EMPIRE: Oh God! He’s *disappointed* in you? This is terrible. Anything but that, please!

“I thought I was doing better,” you say quietly. “Guess not.”

“You were,” Kim says kindly.

INLAND EMPIRE: Tequila Sunset hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it still will. Maybe it’s inevitable. Maybe when you took up that mantle, it was like some sort of alcoholic event horizon. Tequila Sunset is the only way it was ever going to end. What other force in the universe could begin to exert as much gravitational pull over you?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: From the void we came, to the void we must return.

“Listen,” Kim tells you, “this is not surprising. It’s got to be harder now that you’re back in Jamrock.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s *easy,* baby. All your old favorite haunts are here. You know all the cheapest bars, the sketchiest parts of town with the purest amphetamines… You can’t remember the names of half of them anymore, but the muscles in your legs can trace the steps there perfectly. That shit’s burned into your body forever.

“Yeah.” You swallow hard. “Anyway, what about you? How’s Jamrock treating you?”

EMPATHY: The darkness clouding his expression lightens a bit.

“Good so far,” he says. “I’ve actually only been here for a few days. G.R.I.H. wrap-up took longer than I expected.” He pauses and looks out the window. “But I’m glad to be here now.”

“Really,” you say with a laugh. “In this shithole?”

“It has its perks,” he says. “I’m looking forward to beginning work at Precinct 41.”

“You’re not working solo, are you?”

“For right now, yes I am,” he replies. “I’m fine with that. I’ve done it before.”

INLAND EMPIRE: The idea of sharing a workplace with him and yet not being at his side when he needs you… it makes you feel cold, lonely, somehow.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You have a duty to Jean. Jean is your partner.

SUGGESTION: Fuck it, just say it. You know what you want to say. Say it and get it over with.

“You should work with me,” you blurt out. “We were such a good team in Martinaise. We could keep those good times rolling!”

“I’m flattered, but,” he says, turning his head. “Satellite-Officer Vicquemare…”

“Doesn’t give a shit about me,” you say. “Fuck him.”

EMPATHY: That’s not exactly true. You know it’s not.

INLAND EMPIRE: But the truth is complicated. It’s easier to just boil it down to *fuck that guy.*

LOGIC: Jean is bad for you, and you’re bad for him. Or, you used to be. And has anything really changed? Are you really any different? Maybe it was just the change of scenery that fooled you into thinking otherwise.

INLAND EMPIRE: Same old Jamrock. Same old coworkers. Same old bad habits. Same old *you.*

“I’m not so sure about that,” Kim says delicately.

“Forget about him,” you push, suddenly more serious about this than you intended to be. “I can arrange this shit with Captain Pryce, and I can deal with Jean.”

“I… uh,” he coughs. “I don’t know what to say.”

DRAMA: You’re in control of this show now. Pull an honest answer out of him.

You point at him and narrow your eyes. “I know what you should say: what you *feel* in your *heart*!” You pound one fist against your chest over your heart to drive home the point, then wince.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Please don’t do that.

You break the dramatic pose and lean back in your chair again with a shrug. “Or just tell me to fuck off. None of this wishy-washy noncommittal shit, though.”

He’s silent for a long time, watching and listening to the rain as it picks up outside. Then finally he gives you an apologetic smile and speaks.

“Harry,” he says kindly. “Fuck off.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Translation: maybe. But not now.

EMPATHY: He’s not angry, he’s deflecting. This is by far the nicest way you’ve ever been told to fuck off. Don’t take it too hard.

“Alright, alright,” you say. “Forget I said anything.”

You spend a while just making smalltalk at Kim’s kitchen table. None of it means anything, but it’s nice. It’s a nice, good, human thing to do, sitting and chatting with him. Makes your “regular well-adjusted person” costume fit a little better. The rain begins to let up a little in the fading sunset.

“You know, we could do something else if you like,” he says brightly. “Here in Jamrock, I mean.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Yeah. Lots of stuff to do in Jamrock. Like speed and hard liquor. Or crying in the bathroom of a dive bar because you’re too fucked up on speed and liquor.

SUGGESTION: He probably wouldn’t go for that.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: There’s got to be somewhere else to go. Something else to do with him. Think. What do you want to do with him?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Oh buddy, are you sure you’re ready to open that can of worms?

The lieutenant watches you as you rub your temples in an effort to massage the awkward thoughts out of your terrible brain. Then he says, “you know what, don’t worry about it. It’s fine, we can just stay here.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say. “Sounds good.”

“I’m going out on the balcony for a cigarette,” he informs you. “You can--”

“I’ll come with you,” you interrupt.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He pauses, wondering how many you might’ve had already. Then again cigarettes are, shockingly, by far the *least* detrimental of your *many* vices.

The two of you step out onto the lieutenant’s rather small balcony. It’s still raining very lightly, but this is probably as good as the weather is going to get tonight. Good enough. There’s really not quite enough space for two adult men to comfortably lounge around out here, though. You try to make yourself as small as possible as you fumble in your pockets for a cigarette and lighter.

PERCEPTION: You hear the soft click of a lighter and smell smoke on the gentle evening breeze drifting over from your left.

“Fuck,” you grumble. “I forgot my light--”

You realize Kim is holding out his own lighter wordlessly, still gazing out at the city sprawling out below.

“Thanks,” you say.

He nods. He pockets the lighter again once you’re done with it, then leans on the railing and exhales smoke with a sigh.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Outwardly, he is silent and pensive. He almost seems anxious in a way. But in truth, he likes this. He’s enjoying standing out here in the rain and the dark and smoking his nightly cigarette by your side once more, just like that first night in Martinaise.

You rest your arms on the railing as well and try to map his sightline. Your arm presses against his in the cramped space, but he does not react.

“Pretty bitchin’ view here,” you comment. “Comparatively.”

“Mhm,” hums the lieutenant. “By Jamrock standards, quite bitchin’.”

PERCEPTION: His hand dangles loosely over the edge of the railing. It’s a bit smaller than yours and much thinner, bonier. Sharp and angled like a marble sculpture.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: A work of art. Just like the rest of him.

SUGGESTION: Wonder what that hand would feel like in yours…?

“Everything alright, detective?” Kim asks, smoke escaping from his lips as he speaks. You realize that you’ve been staring at his hand for longer than is generally considered acceptable by polite society.

“Just spacing out a little I guess,” you mumble, averting your gaze.

“Par for the course with you,” the lieutenant chuckles.

VOLITION: Don’t make this too weird. Don’t think about that cigarette dangling loosely from his beautiful hands, or how soft his lips must be, or how nice it would be to just give up all pretense and embarrass yourself and hug him tightly right here on the balcony. Whatever you do, don’t think of any of those things.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Shit.

“Well, it’s getting late,” you say, stubbing out your half-finished cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “I should probably go.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. We’ve got work in the morning after all.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You do?

VOLITION: Just play it cool.

“Yes,” you say, nodding stoically. “Tomorrow is Monday. I am aware of this, and that is why I said that in the first place, and not for any other reason.”

SAVOIR FAIRE: Nailed it.

“Tomorrow is Tuesday,” Kim says flatly, his face expressionless.

“I know that!” you say defensively. “I was just testing you. Come on, Kim, you don’t think I’m really that stupid, do you?”

He starts to say something, then thinks better of it and instead takes a long drag of his cigarette before trying again. “No, detective. I don’t think that.” Then he puts it out on the bottom of his boot and drops it in the ashtray.

The two of you head back into the apartment as the rain starts up again. You pull on your tarpaulin cloak in preparation for the long walk back home. But as you reach the front door, the lieutenant stops you.

“You know, you could just stay here if that would be easier,” he says abruptly, looking tense. “It’s late, and it’s raining, and…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: ...And the route from here to your home features at least a dozen bars along the way.

EMPATHY: He’s worried you might not be able to resist the siren song of their garish neon signs and blaring dance music spilling out onto the streets like a red carpet unfurling.

“And your injury,” he adds quickly. “It was causing you some pain earlier, wasn’t it?”

HALF LIGHT: You don’t need his *pity.*

INLAND EMPIRE: Maybe you *do.* He knows you too well already.

EMPATHY: And, for whatever reason, cares about you a little too much. A terrible decision on his part, really.

“Yeah, good point. Plus your place is closer anyway,” you reply. “Thanks. Sorry to impose.”

He gives you a little nod. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Soon, you’re settled in on Kim’s couch under a small pile of blankets that still smell like artificial flowers, cloying and too sweet, freshly laundered.

He says good night and disappears into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It’s strange somehow, lying here in his living room alone in the dark. Like you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be. Like sneaking into a museum after it closes.

PERCEPTION: In the hazy twilight of impending sleep, you notice a calendar on the wall across from you. You can just barely make it out in the dim light, and you realize something.

“Son of a bitch,” you shout, “tomorrow *is* Monday!”

Just before you retreat into the blanket nest you could swear you hear a muffled apology from the next room.

#disco elysium #fanfic #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #harry/kim

41 notes · View notes

derkastellan · 4 years

Text

Review: The Outer Worlds (amended)

Well, color me surprised.

After having watched Jim Sterling’s praise for “The Outer Worlds” (TOW) I went and read the full tvtropes.org page on the game, something which I like to do to learn more about a game or franchise after having experienced it myself (because it will be full of spoilers) or after having decided that I never will. Because you will get a pretty good walk-through of all major themes and ideas present in a given media product and also quite a bit of background trivia.

So here’s a few amendments to what I wrote earlier.

Spoilers will follow...

Invisible starvation?

“The "plague" in Edgewater is caused by nutrient deficiency from a diet consisting entirely of beer and canned fish. There are many such diseases in real life, including pellagra, which was practically an epidemic in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Dr. Joseph Goldberger proved it was caused by niacin (Vitamin B3) deficiency in a series of experiments beginning in 1915, but his results were ignored by the scientific community (who insisted it must be caused by a pathogen, much like the inhabitants of Edgewater) until 1937.“ (tvtropes.org)

There is historical precedent. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised that a quality development team like Obsidian’s will actually research quite a bit and put that in their games. But I have a bit of a problem with it - you see, these deficiencies were bad but they weren’t exactly on the verge of eradicating humanity. It essentially remains a plot hole but one made more shallow.

Besides obviously still being here as a species humanity not only survived without this knowledge for more than half a century, we also pulled of a major World War while doing it. So, people got sick, people may have experienced “plague,” but we did not face an extinction event no matter how bad it got. (And I bet worker diet on the turn of century was pretty atrocious, this being the Gilded Age the game tries to project forward into the future.)

So, kudos to doing their research on that one. It invalidates my point certainly that people would notice starvation - they just call it plague.

Are marauders suicidal?

“The most commonly used kind on the planet, Adrenal-thine, results in homicidal rage, paranoia, and depression. It is implied to be responsible for both suicides and the rampant Marauder problem.“ (tvtropes.org)

I should have actually spotted that one in game. In fact I saw it, but it didn’t sink in. Maybe also because the player has no way to do anything about it (as far as I know, could have missed it) and also the player sure does snort the damn stuff in the dozens, so how bad could it be? Admittedly, if you opt for combat you are basically slaughtering your way through hundreds of beings, so maybe “adreno” is indeed bad for you?

What it really explains is why marauders chose to stand around in the most stupid places, attacking on sight. What it doesn’t explain is why these guys gang up? It seems that “adreno” has some vicious way of getting at you, increasing certain emotions but not completely disabling your faculties. Just like the marauders tolerate Zoe (IIRC) as long as she can supply sweet, sweet adreno (another clue), they might just find no other way to deal with their increasingly violent thoughts. We probably should see, however, marauders shoot each other instead of acting like armed gangs and efficient combat teams.

I guess one of the biggest missed opportunities here is giving marauders no cut scenes, no things we can observe them do in-game. They will try to seek us out, do the usual enemy chatter, but they never appear human or conflicted in any way. Maybe so that the player doesn’t mind treating them as cannon fodder?

I wouldn’t bet on it. If adreno abuse was meant to tell us something about the world beyond mere “Look how fucked up it all is”, it would be front and center in some ways, like observing marauders (or “regular” people) having freakouts, episodes, anything to humanize the whole thing. As they stand, marauders are cheap cannon fodder with a flimsy backstory, their placing in levels doesn’t make much sense once you progress to Monarch, etc. That they effectively outnumber settlers is one of these necessary things games do that I find hard to excuse, but TOW is no worse on this than “Fallout 4″. Hardly any game could be...

There is a better way?

I figured that you had to chose between Adelaide and her Botany Lab followers and the inhabitants of Edgewater. Turns out you can achieve a compromise ending here too, making her the mayor of Edgewater. I really tried finding this option originally but I sure didn’t.

I admit being disappointed by the poor ending I got for Edgewater. So it may seem hypocritical if I say I like this less. But in some way I do like it less - not in all but bear with me...

You see, I actually felt conflicted about this choice. It seemed like a forced choice, but it was a moral dilemma because somebody would suffer. If you add in an option where practically no one (but the shitty town mayor and his incompetent cronies) have to suffer, there is no more dilemma. I can have it all. Eat my cake and have it too. All is great.

Now, you see I was disappointed by the poor ending I got for Edgewater but the choice I made I actually thought about. And sometimes you are forced into a bad choice - just like the game does force you, or seemed to do - and have to live with the consequences. (Just like Phineas regretted the deaths he caused.) As long as you have any choice, however, it’s your choice, and if it was carefully weighed, it matters and says something about you.

In real life - a long shot from video games, I admit - there are no guaranteed happy ends, no painless options. Even navigating your life to the absolute optimum will probably cause pain and suffering in others, probably due to their own choices as well, but it will happen. So even if the choice seemed forced - or rather contrived - it had a certain validity to it. I had to overcome some resistance to make either choice which tells me it was an actual dilemma.

Getting another, easy choice defuses this. I mean, it totally makes sense that you don’t have to make life hell for half the colony, believe me. Because, as I’ve repeatedly said, the choice was contrived. It just allows you to cop out from a dilemma because if costs are taken away, there is no dilemma. If there is an optimal solution the others are simply... wrong.

You can get the Iconoclasts and MSI to work together. You are not forced into a choice. And besides confronting a sucky leader about it, no matter how lofty his goals are, is not a big dilemma. Graham is such an idiot in-game, it’s hard to feel morally conflicted about getting rid of him. The easily achievable “third option” is really the only option, proven by the fact that if you facilitate it, you will get twice the support in the endgame. This is the optimal choice and it is only minimally gated behind a few speech checks and doing a little sidequesting.

Combat

Even if your dialogue skill help you in combat that doesn’t validate combat as game element to me. Take “Disco Elysium” (DE). It’s a game about roleplaying a detective, and it’s heavily about the kind of character you build, chose to be, and the choices you make. (Well, which ultimately do not matter, but hey, there had to be a sour grape.) You get tons of great dialogue, intriguing little mysteries to solve, and world detail more than you can really absorb.

And it doesn’t have a combat engine. In a move emulating “Dungeon World” (the tabletop) it fits its combat into the narrative mode. (Then the dev praises himself for this being the new shit on their blog and I feel a bit dirty...) And it is good. I mean, combat is still dominated by skill checks - and DE’s skill engine is brillant! - but it becomes a thing of cleverly crafted choices.

If I compare “Divinity: Original Sin” (D:OS) and its “puzzle combat” mini game then DE wins hands down even though both do essentially turn-based combat and D:OS is hugely popular. Because in D:OS it is simply about a combat balance tilted against you which you try to level by or tilt the other way by finding weak spots, focusing on the right things, making the right combinations. It is indeed a puzzle. And frankly, a boring one.

But DE makes even a regular combat seem like a series of dramatic choices - which it should be! Similarly, TOW makes it so that the choice of weapon and the way you tackle your opponents (somewhat) matter. But there is no true depth to it. That’s what happens when RPGs become shooters. Combat is a nuisance that I usually hope to minimize by optimal gear, sniping from afar, etc. Combat pads games. Combat is either a turn-based mini-game or an exercise in more or less clever and twitchy shooting. Combats engages many players because of the adrenaline rush. But if you look at a clever game like TOW, combat doesn’t really add to it.

Ironically it’s very easy to see the invisible game side of things in TOW. You can rely on enemies not opening doors, you can rely on them not patrolling. You are in a room without enemies, you can assume you can loot it in peace. Even stupid spawny quests like the Boston Library in “Fallout 4″ felt more risky because enemies would spawn and seek you out, feeling more dynamic than the whole of TOW even with the cheapest bag of tricks.

It certainly benefited my plodding game style where I resolve a combat, than start to look around, heal wounds, etc. I probably would have finished the game in 30 hours including sidequests if I hadn’t played it so safe. And the game enables you. Because its sense of risk is quickly exposed as limited.

Conclusion

TOW is doing better on many counts than I have admitted earlier. It is a good game. But with such a good, polished title by such a competent studio it hurts if it misses out on true greatness. It is not that the game is bad, it is that it could have been even better.

About midgame my engagement with the whole thing was flagging. And as the Jimquisition pointed out, TOW does not, not in the least, try to get between you and your fun. It’s easy to control, easy to master, it adds a lot of flashy stuff like companion special abilities (which I never used) and science weapons (which I never really ended up using after getting them all) to enhance its already somewhat diverse gunplay.

Still, I’m not in it for the shooting. And though it is a competently done shooter, much better than “Fallout 4″ or predecessors for example, I somehow feel like my 41 hours of gameplay were padded out with way too much combat. The actual fun in the game was in its dialogue and when it was clever, not when you shoot stuff. And Monarch was so chockful of stuff to shoot, it got annoying.

Is there a clever quest in this game I will really, really remember? I’m not sure. None comes to mind right now. The grindy “I have to loot or buy some gear and model it, then loot some stuff off of monster” comes to mind immediately, only not as a positive example. The fact that you can bypass combat, sometimes make robots murder each other or the opposition... that doesn’t change the fact that the game is often heavily about stretches of combat or combat evasion.

I wish there had been more actual world-stuff to justify this. More places with living residents. More small stuff. Less shoot-to-kill stuff. I think once you’ve made the monsters and the shooting engine, it’s easy to repeat that. But each new line of dialogue needs voice-acting now. Fair enough. But that’s what role-playing to me is all about. The endless walls of text of DE were fine by me, and also the choice to voice-act only key passages and key people. I dig this stuff. I was heavily impressed with the absence of meaningless combat.

TOW is a good game. And I hope there will be better games to follow, that they will evolve it. They’re off to a good, solid start. Better than Bethesda for sure. No keep reaching, don’t get complacent.

#the outer worlds #obsidian #science fiction #scifi roleplay

0 notes