Friday, August 2, 2013

WSWM13: B02

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When I rolled out of bed, I ended up on the floor. It happened every time, but it didn't bother me because I slept on a futon on the floor, and the reason I did that, well, a bed frame wouldn't fit in my hovel.

This wasn't in the early days of setting out, still on the dole and not yet established. No, this was yesterday. I did it this morning too, and will again tomorrow, but I don't have a story about today yet, and probably won't, since I'm taking today to explain what happened yesterday. While that would be rather meta, I doubt it would be particularly interesting, especially after you hear what happened yesterday, only to hear about me telling you what happened.

Anyway, after I rolled out of bed, and after doing all the basic things that everybody does after they wake up from a good day's sleep... Yes, I sleep during the day, at least while it's summer; all the better to save on cooling my hovel, while small, leaks like an open window. How I survive the winter is a different story; maybe I'll share it tomorrow.

I had breakfast while most people were having supper... Yes, it's still called breakfast because I'm breaking my fast! Would you stop interrupting me?

Anyway, I got dressed in my Good Enough jerkin, slipped my three Good Enough sais into my belt, and filled the two Good Enough tonfa holsters on my lower legs. One look at my equipment and clothes and nobody is going to be PKing me for any of this substandard equipment; no, they all want plus-five this and plus-nine that. Though, every once in a while a noob tries to come up on me, trying to ditch their minus-five this and minus-three that, but the day I can't take on a fresh noob is the day I'm no longer Satis, the Good Enough.

I have to walk into town. Most players live in town, but I have better things to spend my hard-earned gold on than rent or a mortgage. Well, actually, I don't. The most expensive thing I own is my third sai, nd that's only because I have to pester Game Management to let me wield it and leave the fourth at home. All of my other gold is sitting in the bank.

Yes, really, it's in the bank. What, did you think I'd bury it somewhere in the floor of my hovel? No thank you! The bank has insurance on their deposits. My hovel doesn't have insurance at all.

So, there I was walking into town, and sitting in the centre square was a plague of Russian ogres. Why are the orges always Russian and the Russians always orges? Okay, so maybe not all of them, but it certainly seems that way.

They were recruiting noobs for cannon fodder. That is one particular hazing tradition I avoided like the plague. Naturally, they see me, with my barely Good Enough equipment, and ask me to join them, as if it wasn't a dead give away what was going on, but as they say, there's a noob born every minute.

Before I go any further, let me get something out of the way. Noob is both kind and derogatory. It's a given for all player newly joined, regradless how knowledgeable they are to the world, and in that, it's used almost affectionately. However, when you've been around long enough to have figured out how the world works, but haven't, that's also a noob. The second kind is what these recruiters are normally looking for, though they invariably get flooded with the first.

They saw me and made an assumption. Assumptions are bad for a reason, and that reason is that I break them. They tried to goad me into joining their quest, and when that didn't work, they tried menacing me.

It's a shame they didn't recognize me, but like I said earlier, I'm no hero, just Satis, the Good Enough. Only the nerds who took Latin in school recognize me, and they remember enough of it neither to recruit me to cannon fodder nor to an equal share, they just leave me alone.

So I kicked the oaf in the armpit. It's not their primary weak spot, or the rarest, but it gets the job done without a minimum amount of embarassment. I don't exactly have the cajones to kick him in the... yeah. Or the jump height to kick him in the face, anyone who can jump that high is more than just Good Enough.

He didn't go down, but he flinched, and in situations like these, that pretty much counts for calling uncle. Not enough, though, for me to risk sticking around, or to try dodging the Kick Me sign one of his buddies stuck on me as I slipped away.

I'm no stranger to Kick Me signs, and if I was headed home, I would have used it to wallpaper my walls, along with the all the others.

And then I went to work.

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