Okay. So I now have what can only be described as superpowers.
Thousands, perhaps even millions of people would gladly trade places with me for the opportunity to be something more than human.
Well, this is the part where I show my ingratitude to the universe that so gifted me and bitch about a few things.
My powers, such as they are, transcend the limitations set by the mechanics of the game. Coolness. Yippee for me. Special enough that Jerry Lewis can
hold a telethon for me. There are problems. The first being that most of the mechanics of the game do not carry over to the concept of the character that had
been held in my mind.
I can live without the Nemesis staff, base teleporter and strange nebulous cash equivalent, but the big one that is missing is costumes.
In the game one only has to hit a button to change clothes. It is a game mechanic reminiscent of Clark Kent tearing open his shirt in a phone booth, or an
endless succession of Japanese heroines tearing off their clothes to the accompaniment of flashing lights, swirling colours and uplifting music; a
transformation method one stripper pole away from an endless stream of small bills.
It was not one that I particularly embraced for Excalibastard, and thus I am stuck in a pair of shorts and a bright red T-shirt with "I am an
assassin…. Shhh" spelled out in small letters.
For the record, this outfit will not strike fear into the heart of the common criminal, the uncommon criminal, the super criminal, or even the average
kindergartener. I would have more luck scaring criminals by opting for the magical school-girl route and hope that the display would be sufficient to cause
them to tear out their own eyes.
However, my lack of appropriate combat dress is not a primary, secondary or tertiary concern. The tertiary concern is that I am about to do something
public. In an age where more people have a mobile phone cameras than can quote more than three lines of Shakespeare; I am fully expecting to be on Youtube
before the hour is over. I will likely get less hits than Susan Boyle; so I can take some comfort there.
Secondary concern is the demons; or rather what I had labeled demons. I will be getting back to them shortly.
Primary concern is my lovely wife, who was logged out at the time of the Virtue incident due to the Darkling bouncing vigorously atop her bladder.
For the record (again with the record - I want this on MP3) there is a reason that pregnant women are so often cited in the 'ideal victim' book of
clichés. Perhaps this is a renewal of life ideal. The supposed sanctity of motherhood. I have another theory.
They do not flee well.
Fleeing is very important in these situations. The best practical self-defense skill to have is being able to run like a fucking bunny for two kilometers,
and then turn around and reassess the situation. Thompson's gazelles, squirrels, rabbits and blue jays are all excellent at the whole fleeing thing.
Women in the third trimester of pregnancy are in the same category as Galapagos tortoises and salmon who have run aground. This may be an unfair comparison to
the tortoises.
Therefore, I can't count on Cindy's fleeing skills. I need other options.
Back to the Secondary concern. The demons.
And then I realize they aren't demons.
They're angels.
Thousands, perhaps even millions of people would gladly trade places with me for the opportunity to be something more than human.
Well, this is the part where I show my ingratitude to the universe that so gifted me and bitch about a few things.
My powers, such as they are, transcend the limitations set by the mechanics of the game. Coolness. Yippee for me. Special enough that Jerry Lewis can
hold a telethon for me. There are problems. The first being that most of the mechanics of the game do not carry over to the concept of the character that had
been held in my mind.
I can live without the Nemesis staff, base teleporter and strange nebulous cash equivalent, but the big one that is missing is costumes.
In the game one only has to hit a button to change clothes. It is a game mechanic reminiscent of Clark Kent tearing open his shirt in a phone booth, or an
endless succession of Japanese heroines tearing off their clothes to the accompaniment of flashing lights, swirling colours and uplifting music; a
transformation method one stripper pole away from an endless stream of small bills.
It was not one that I particularly embraced for Excalibastard, and thus I am stuck in a pair of shorts and a bright red T-shirt with "I am an
assassin…. Shhh" spelled out in small letters.
For the record, this outfit will not strike fear into the heart of the common criminal, the uncommon criminal, the super criminal, or even the average
kindergartener. I would have more luck scaring criminals by opting for the magical school-girl route and hope that the display would be sufficient to cause
them to tear out their own eyes.
However, my lack of appropriate combat dress is not a primary, secondary or tertiary concern. The tertiary concern is that I am about to do something
public. In an age where more people have a mobile phone cameras than can quote more than three lines of Shakespeare; I am fully expecting to be on Youtube
before the hour is over. I will likely get less hits than Susan Boyle; so I can take some comfort there.
Secondary concern is the demons; or rather what I had labeled demons. I will be getting back to them shortly.
Primary concern is my lovely wife, who was logged out at the time of the Virtue incident due to the Darkling bouncing vigorously atop her bladder.
For the record (again with the record - I want this on MP3) there is a reason that pregnant women are so often cited in the 'ideal victim' book of
clichés. Perhaps this is a renewal of life ideal. The supposed sanctity of motherhood. I have another theory.
They do not flee well.
Fleeing is very important in these situations. The best practical self-defense skill to have is being able to run like a fucking bunny for two kilometers,
and then turn around and reassess the situation. Thompson's gazelles, squirrels, rabbits and blue jays are all excellent at the whole fleeing thing.
Women in the third trimester of pregnancy are in the same category as Galapagos tortoises and salmon who have run aground. This may be an unfair comparison to
the tortoises.
Therefore, I can't count on Cindy's fleeing skills. I need other options.
Back to the Secondary concern. The demons.
And then I realize they aren't demons.
They're angels.