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thedeadhandofseldon · 3 years

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The Anti-Mercer Effect

On the Accessibility of D&D, Why Unprepared Casters is so Fun, and Why Haley Whipjack is possibly the greatest DM of our generation.

(Apologies to my mutuals who aren’t in this fandom for the length of this, but as you all know I have never in my life shut up about anything so… we’ll call it even for the number of posts about Destiel I see every day.

To fellow UC fans - I haven’t listened to arc 4 yet, I started drafting this in early August, and I promise I will write a nice post about how great Gus the Bard is once I get the chance to listen to more of his DMing).

Structure - Or, “This is not the finale, there will be more podding cast”

So, first of all, let’s just talk about how Unprepared Casters works. Because it’s kind of unusual! Most of the other big-name D&D podcasts favor this long, grand arcs; UC has about 10 hours of podcast per each arc. And that’s a major strength in a lot of ways: it makes it really accessible to new listeners, because you can just start with the current arc and understand what’s going on!

And by starting new arcs every six or seven episodes, they can explore lots of ways to play D&D! Classic dungeon delve arc! Heist arc! Epic heroes save the world arc! Sportsball arc! They can touch on all sorts of things!

And while I’m talking about that: Dragons in Dungeons, the first arc, makes it incredibly accessible as a show - because it lets the unfamiliar listener get a sense of what D&D actually is. (It’s about telling stories and making your friends feel heroic and laugh and cry, for the record). If I had to pick a way to introduce someone to the game without actually playing it with them, that arc would definitely be it.

And I’d be remise not to note one very important thing: Haley Whipjack and Gus the Bard are just very funny, very charismatic people. Look. Episode 0s tend to be about 50%(?) those two just talking to each other about their own podcast. It shouldn’t work. And yet it DOES, its one of my favorite parts, because Haley and Gus are just cool.

And a side note that doesn’t fit anywhere else: I throw my soul at him! I throw a scone at him - that’s it, that’s the vibe. The whole podcast alternates between laughing with your friends and brooding alone in a dark tavern corner - but the laughs never forced and the dark corner is never too dark for too long.

Whipjack the Great - Or, the DM is Also a Player!

I think Haley Whipjack is one of the greatest Dungeon Masters alive. The plots and characters! The mechanical shenanigans! The descriptions!

Actually, let’s start there: with the descriptions. (Both Haley and Gus do this really fucking well). As we know, Episode 0 of each arc sees the DM reading a description - of a small town, or the Up North, or the recent history of a great party. And Haley always strikes this tricky balance - one I think a lot of us who DM struggle with - between giving too much description and worldbuilding, and not telling us anything at all. She describes people and events in just enough detail to imagine them, but never so much they seem static and unreal - just clear enough to envision, but with enough vagueness left to let your imagination begin to run wild.

While I’m thinking about arc 3’s party, let’s talk about a really bold move she made in that arc: letting the players have ongoing control of their history. Loser Lars! She didn’t try to spell out every detail of this high-level party’s history, or restrict their past to only what she decided to allow - she gave them the broad outlines, and let them embellish it. And that made for a much more alive story than any attempt to create it by herself would have - but I think it takes a lot of courage to let your players have that agency. Most Dungeon Masters (myself included) tend to struggle with being control freaks.

And the plots! Yeah, arc one is built of classic tropes - but she actually uses them, she doesn’t get caught up in subverting everything or laughing at the cliches. And it’s fun! In arc 3, there really isn’t a straight line for the players to follow, either - which makes the game much more interesting and much trickier to run. And her NPCs are fantastic and I will talk about them in the next section.

Above all, though, I think what is really impressive is how Haley balances mechanics, and rules as written, with the narrative and rule of cool - and puts both rules and story in the service of playing a fun game. And the secret to that? She’s the DM, but the DM is a player, and the DM is clearly having fun. Hope Lovejoy mechanically shouldn’t get that spellslot back, but she does, and it’s fun. The changeling merchant in Thymore doesn’t really make some Grand Artistic Narrative better, but wow is it fun. And she never tries to force it one way or the other - the story might be more dramatic if Annie didn’t manage to banish the demon from the vault, but it’s a lot cooler and a lot more fun for the players if Annie gets to be a badass instead - and the rules and the dice say that Annie managed it.

Settings feel like places, NPCs feel like people, and the narrative plot feels like a real villainous plot.

Anyway. I could go on about the various ways in which Whipjack is awesome for quite a while - she’s right, first place in D&D is when your friends laugh and super first place is when they cry - but I’m going to stop here and just. Make another post about it some other time. For now, for the record I hold her opinions about the game in higher esteem than I do several official sourcebooks; that is all.

Characters - Or, Bombyx Mori Is Not an Asshole, And That Matters

Okay, I said I would talk about characters! And I will!

Just a general place to start: the party! All of the first three parties are interesting to me, because they all care about each other. Not even necessarily in a Found Family Trope sort of way, though often that too. But they generally aren’t assholes to each other. The players create characters that actually work together, that are interesting; even when there’s internal divisions like SK-73 v. Sir Mr. Person, they aren’t just unpleasant and antagonistic all the time. Listening to the podcast, we’re “with” these people for a couple hours - and it isn’t unpleasant. That matters a lot. (To take a counter-example: I love Critical Role, but the episode when Vox Machina pranked Scanlan after he died and was resurrected wasn’t fun to listen to, it was just uncomfortable and angering and vaguely cruel).

All of the PCs are amazing, and the players in each arc did a great job. If you disagree with me about that, well, you have the right to be incorrect and I am sorry for your loss. Annie Wintersummer, for one example: tragic and sad and I want to give her a hug, but also Fuck Yeah Wintersummer, and also her familiar Charles the Owl is the cutest and funniest and I love him. And we understand what’s going on with Annie, she isn’t some infinite pool of hidden depths because this arc is 7 episodes and we don’t have time for that, but she also has enough complexity to be interesting. Same with Fey Moss: yeah, a lot of her is a silly pun about fame that carries into how she behaves, but a lot of how she behaves is also down to some good classic half-elven angst about parenthood and wanting to be known and seen and important. (Side note: if your half-elf character doesn’t have angst, well, that’s impressive and also I don’t think I believe you).

There are multiple lesbian cat-people in a 4-person party and they both have requited romantic interests who aren’t each other. This is the future liberals want and I am glad for it.

Sir Mister Person, the human fighter! Thavius, the edge lord! Even when a character is “simple,” they’re interesting, because of how they’re played as people and not action-figures. And that matters a lot.

In the same way: the NPCs. There really aren’t a lot of them! And some of them come from Patreon submissions, so uh good work gang, you’re part of the awesomeness and I’m proud of you! The point being, the NPCs work because enough of them are interesting to matter. It’s not just a servant who opens Count Michael’s door, it’s a character with a name (Oleandra!) and a personality and history. They’re interesting. Penny Lovejoy didn’t need to be interesting, the merchant outside the Laughing Mausoleum didn’t need to be interesting, but they ARE! And Haley and Gus EXCEL at making the NPCs matter, not just to the story but to us as viewers. I agree with Sir Mister Person, actually, I would die for the princesses of the kingdom. I actually care about Gem Lovejoy of all people - that wouldn’t happen in an ordinary campaign! That’s the thing that makes Unprepared Casters spectacular - and, frankly, it’s especially impressive because D&D does not tend to be good at making a lot of interesting compared to a lot of other sorts of stories.

And, just as an exemplar of all this: Bombyx Mori. Immortal, reincarnating(?), and described as the incarnation of the player’s ADHD. I expected to hate Bombyx, because as the mom friend both in and out of my friend-group’s campaigns, the chaos-causer is always exhausting to me. And yeah, Bombyx causes problems on purpose! But! She is not an asshole.

And that’s important. Bombyx goes and sits with the queen and comforts her. Bombyx gives Annie emotional support. Bombyx isn’t just a vehicle to jerk around the DM and other players; Bombyx really is a character we can care about. To compare with another case - in the first couple episodes of The Adventure Zone, the PCs are just dicks. Funny, but dicks. Bombyx holds out an arm “covered in larva” to shake with a count, and robs him of magical items, but she also cares about her friends and other people! She uses a powerful magical gem to save her fertilizer guy from death! Yeah, Bombyx is ridiculous, but she’s not just an asshole the party has to keep around for plot reasons; you can see why her party would keep her around. And one layer of meta up, she’s the perfect example of how to make a chaotic character like that while still being fun for everyone you’re playing with, which is often not the case. And I love her.

The Anti-Mercer Effect - Or, “I think we proved it can be fun, you can have a good time with your friends. And it doesn’t have to be scary, you can just work with what you know”

The Mercer Effect basically constitutes this: Matthew Mercer, Dungeon Master of Critical Role, is incredible (as are all of his players). They’re all professional story-tellers in a way, remember, and so Critical Role treats D&D like a narrative art-form, and it’s inspiring. Seeing that on Critical Role sets impossible standards - and people go into their own home games imagining that their campaigns will be like Critical Role, and the burden of that expectation tends to fall disproportionately on the DM. And the end result, I think, of the Mercer Effect is that we get discouraged or intimidated, because our game isn’t “as good as” theirs. (And I should note - Matt certainly doesn’t want that to be our reaction).

So the Anti-Mercer Effect is two things: it’s D&D treated like a game, and it’s inspiring but not intimidating. And Unprepared Casters manages both of those really freaking well. Because they play it like a game! A UC arc looks just like a good campaign in anyone’s home game. They have the vibes of 20-somethings and college students playing D&D for fun because that’s who they are (as a 20-something college student who plays a lot of D&D, watching it felt like watching my friends play an especially good campaign). They’re trying to tell a good story, sure, and they always do. But first and foremost, they’re trying to have fun, and it shows, and I love the UC cast for it.

And that’s the other half of it: it’s inspiring! It’s approachable; you can see that Haley and Gus put plenty of work into preparing the game but it also doesn’t make you feel like you need hundreds of pages of worldbuilding to run a game. Sometimes a cleric makes Haley cry and she gives them back a spell-slot from their deity! That’s fantastic! It’s just inspiring - listening to this over the summer, when my last campaign had fallen apart under the strain of graduation, is why I decided to plan and run my new one!

That quote from Haley Whipjack that I used as the title for this section? That’s the whole core of this idea, and really, I think, the core of the podcast.

The Mercer Effect is when you go “that’s really cool, I could never do that.” But Unprepared Casters makes you look at D&D and go “wow, that looks really fun. I bet I can do that!” And I love the show for it.

And I bet a lot of you do too.

#unprepared casters #bombyx mori #haley whipjack #long post #this is really rough but I don't have time to keep working on it and it's already a month later than intended

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incorrect-jatp-quotes · 4 years

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Is it bad i saw Mercer and thought of “Th Room Where it Happens?”

Ah, Mister Secretary Mister Burr, sir Did'ya hear the news about good old General Mercer No You know Clermont Street Yeah They renamed it after him, the Mercer legacy is secure Sure And all he had to do was die That's a lot less work We oughta give it a try Ha

#julie and the phantoms #alex mercer #they both died #welp

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thesadisticsiren · 4 years

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Hey matt?? Matthew mercer??? Mister Mercer SIR????

WHAT PARALYSIS DREAM INSPIRED THIS????? Are you oKAY???

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr spoilers

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raedas · 4 years

Note

Huh

I'm sure others have sent you many buuut have they got this:

Ah, Mister Secretary

Mister Burr, sir

Did'ya hear the news about good old General Mercer

You know Clermont Street

Yeah

They renamed it after him, the Mercer legacy is secure

Sure

And all he had to do was die

That's a lot less work

We oughta give it a try

Now how're you gonna get your debt plan through

I guess I'm gonna fin'ly have to listen to you

Really

Talk less, smile more

Do whatever it takes to get my plan on the Congress floor

Now, Madison and Jefferson are merciless

Well, hate the sin, love the sinner

Hamilton

I'm sorry Burr, I've gotta go

But

Decisions are happening over dinner

Two Virginians and an immigrant walk into a room

Diametric'ly opposed, foes

They emerge with a compromise, having opened doors that were

Previously closed

Bros

The immigrant emerges with unprecedented financial power

A system he can shape however he wants

The Virginians emerge with the nation's capital

And here's the pièce de résistance

No one else was in

The room where it happened

No one else was in

The room where it happened

No one really knows how the game is played

The art of the trade

How the sausage gets made

We just assume that it happens

But no one else is in

The room where it happens

Thomas claims

Alexander was on Washington's doorstep one day

In distress 'n disarray

Thomas claims

Alexander said

I've nowhere else to turn

And basic'ly begged me to join the fray

Thomas claims

I approached Madison and said

I know you hate 'im, but let's hear what he has to say

Thomas claims

Well, I arranged the meeting

I arranged the menu, the venue, the seating

But

No one else was in

The room where it happened

No one else was in

The room where it happened

No one really knows how the

Parties get to yes

The pieces that are sacrificed in

Ev'ry game of chess

We just assume that it happens

But no one else is in

The room where it happens

Meanwhile

Madison is grappling with the fact that not ev'ry issue can be settled by committee

Meanwhile

Congress is fighting over where to put the capital

It isn't pretty

Then Jefferson approaches with a dinner and invite

And Madison responds with Virginian insight

Maybe we can solve one problem with another and win a victory for the Southerners, in other words

Oh ho

A quid pro quo

I suppose

Wouldn't you like to work a little closer to home

Actually, I would

Well, I propose the Potomac

And you'll provide him his votes

Well, we'll see how it goes

Let's go

One else was in

The room where it happened

No one else was in

The room where it happened

My God

In God we trust

But we'll never really know what got discussed

Click-boom then it happened

And no one else was in the room where it happened

Alexander Hamilton

What did they say to you to get you to sell New York City down the river

Alexander Hamilton

Did Washington know about the dinner

Was there Presidential pressure to deliver

Alexander Hamilton

Or did you know, even then, it doesn't matter

Where you put the U.S. Capital

'Cause we'll have the banks

We're in the same spot

You got more than you gave

And I wanted what I got

When you got skin in the game, you stay in the game

But you don't get a win unless you play in the game

Oh, you get love for it, you get hate for it

You get nothing if you

Wait for it, wait for it, wait

God help and forgive me

I wanna build

Something that's gonna

Outlive me

What do you want, Burr

If you stand for nothing

Burr, then what do you fall for

Wanna be in

The room where it happens

Wanna be in

The room where it happens

Wanna be

In the room where it happens

I wanna be in the room

I wanna be in

The room where it happens

I wanna be in the room

Where it happens

The room where it happens

The room where it happen

The art of the compromise

Hold your nose and close your eyes

We want our leaders to save the day

But we don't get a say in what they trade away

We dream of a brand new start

dfksfkjdsd did you run out of words??? hahahahhahaa

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unicyclehippo · 5 years

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mister mercer: yasha, does a 14 hit?

me, decadently covered with many blankets, clutching my tea with both hands as i rewatch the episode for the ninth time, chortling: sir it does not ! for u see beauregard hath given her a measure of protection in the form of a ring !

#cr tag #i am very tired #& very gay #i will not apologise just yet for what comes of this combination

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cahmsandiego · 5 years

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I just realized that with Fjord dead Beau is now captain of the balleater. With both Fjord and Orlly dead no one knows how to captain a ship....um mister Mercer sir.... it will be a disaster at the very least

#critical role #the balleater #mighty nien #beauregard #Fjord #Orlly #is that how you spell his name?#quick revivify them #we need a fucking captain #theyre all going to drown at sea!!!

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barryotter-blog · 5 years

Conversation

Burr: Ah, Mister Secretary

Alex: Mr burr, sir

Burr: Did'ya hear the news about good old General Mercer

Alex: no

Burr: You know Clermont Street

Alex: no

Burr: *puts hands together* well then...

#hamilton #hamilton lyrics #hamilton trash #alexander hamilton #aron burr

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cdc1345711 · 6 years

Note

Meanwhile has they continue to walk down the streets Raizen began to mumble about Selharc "No no Mister Selharc everything have come to the plan i promise *hic* i won't- won't let you down sir!" he said and Mercer just let out a sigh Mercer can feel his phone vibrate his ass from David’s rapid-fire texts. And then he try to reach for his Phone when suddenly Raizen get up and barf on his Sleeveless Hoodie and He let out a Growl and he mumbled himself "Un- fucking -believable Raizen!"

Selrahc:Okay”

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purkinje-effect · 6 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 11

Table of Contents Go to first. Go to previous. Go to next.

Updated 2019.01.29. (Minor name tweaks.) PTSD episode tw

Melancholy set down his coffee cup, and swallowed while he continued fidgeting with his Pipboy. Thus far nothing had spurred him to really acquaint himself with the nuances of its dials and buttons, and he sat there in the pharmacy break room skimming the lead-yellow, wrist-bound instrument’s menus in half-boredom, half-interest. The calibration of its global positioning system seemed reliable, as he presumed of its itemized annotation of the user’s vital statistics. The wrist-cuff padding contained sensitive diagnostic features which monitored the user’s vitals. Neither of these preliminary tabs of the menu seemed pertinent before. He knew his way to Concord and Lexington from Sanctuary, even on foot, and he felt more and more like the Pipboy would never correctly diagnose his critical condition from what limited scope of statistics it could scan.

There is no medical precedent for what is happening to you, Mister Carey, he told himself with a wry disinterest. I simply know you’re falling apart.

The third story bathrooms still had one in-tact mirror, the only left in the place he’d found yet. One page in the health section listed diagnostic returns of features he’d already learned of in this way: the device could not pinpoint what had oddly cataracted his hazel eyes, a shock of white now streaked his greying hair, and vitiligo mottled his jawline and various parts of his right and back sides where cryogenesis had, in its own way, frostbitten him. Another sub-menu in the health tab piqued his brow a moment: in the few weeks he’d worn the device, it had already inferred a rather detailed itinerary of his core proficiency and skills. On yet another sub-menu, the Pipboy let him know it knew of all the addictions he’d racked up in the same few weeks. He flipped tabs with a grunt, and bit his lower lip.

Since it seemed at first glance they required access to a terminal port for keyboard entry in order to be most useful, he skipped over tabs which looked useful for maintaining inventory invoices and for organizing correspondences. The last tab on the menu list queued up a series of local radio signals the Pipboy could pick up, and 'Choly’s hollowed eyes glazed. He set down his glasses on the table to look it over. Surely, these couldn’t be sophisticated radio stations. How could such things be maintained with the landscape as it had become? Dubious, he flicked the dial down to one whose frequency had been clearly labeled, and selected it: “Diamond City Radio.”

♫ ...and I wonder why everything's the same as it was. I can't understand. No, I can't understand how life goes on the way it does... ♫

“What kind of--” The chemist hushed himself and glared at his Pipboy as he recognized the song in disbelief. “Don’t they know... it’s the end... of the world...”

“Ah! You found some music to fill the place!” Angel stopped its skimming the cabinets to brainstorm meal plans, and came over when it heard its owner whispering along. “The tune’s a bit drab, though, don’t you think?”

The deejay came on, broken and awkward.

“Coming to you from. Ah. The jeweled green... I mean the green, the, ah, Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth. It's... Diamond City Radio. That was Skeeter Davis. A name I still find confusing. Was I. Ah. The only one surprised that Skeeter Davis is, you know... a woman? Just. Aah. Didn't really sound like a woman's name. Ah-- anyway! Here's a real classic from good old Nat King Cole... ‘Orange Colored Sky.’ It's. It's a good one!”

“Great Green Jewel,” 'Choly repeated as the next song aired. “I wonder if this is just a recorded radio personality, or.”

“Only one way to find out, hm? Where is this Diamond City he mentioned?”

“Someplace in Boston, I’d imagine. I don’t know anyplace that was named that before the bombs fell.” 'Choly took another sip of his coffee and gave his Handy-bot earnest eye contact with its triplicate visual sensors. “Guessing we’ll have to work on becoming road ready sooner than later. It’s just dawned on me--General Atomics was working on cross-compatibility with RobCo in the years leading up to the nuclear exchange. I know the old model struggled with it, but this newer one I nicked in the vault seems capable. Let’s head into the stock room and see if we can’t interface you with my Pipboy. Update your hydraulics calibration, too. You’re far beyond overdue for maintenance, my friend.”

“Stars and garters, yes.” Angel caught up in itself. “Pardon the animation. I’ve simply... been unable to tend to my own upkeep all this time, and--”

“Hey, now,” the chemist grinned, putting his glasses back on. “You remember, don’t you, how much better I felt once I got to bathe after being frozen two hundred years? It’s your turn.”

“I-- Thank you, Sir.”

The tune of Mercer and the Pied Pipers' ‘Personality’ followed them to the next room over.

♫ ...Certain things, like sable coats and wedding rings...? ♫

+ + + + + + + + + +

♫ --The world’s gone mad today, and good’s bad today-- ♫

Like the consequence of a defibrillator, the building drew its first rasps in centuries. While the chemist had spent most of the last two weeks in an unreal soup of chems, the Handy-bot had spent the same time disinterring the back room in the first story, motivated by its recent repairs and recalibrations. Too, the second elevator’s doors on the first story appeared from behind the rubble, though like the other elevator, damage from the neighboring building’s collapse trapped it from access. Angel had shepherded its owner to do the honors, in the optimism that the effort could reinstate full electrical current to the structure. Though many lights and electronics no longer functioned from the combination of nuclear damage and centuries of disrepair, many others previously unaffected by the other floors’ breaker boxes still sprang up and brightened.

A coughing fit overtook him as the air ducts billowed bicentennial dust. The lower half of his face shied into the collar of his dress shirt.

♫ --Just think of those shocks you've got, ♫ ♫ and those knocks you've got-- ♫

“–Maybe this was a bad idea.”

♫ --and those blues you've got, ♫ ♫ from those news you've got-- ♫

“Oh, Sir! Coming right away.” Porting the tangle of bed straps its owner had tied all over it the week before, Angel rounded up behind the awkward cane-synecdoche which ascended the stairwell. “Wouldn’t you rather make use of the harness you outfitted on me? Be careful!”

♫ --and those pains you've got, ♫ ♫ if any brains you've got ♫ ♫ from those little radios-- ♫

The Russian-American had had enough of the Pipboy’s peanut gallery in the moment, and nearly punched it to turn it off. Evacuation to the second story yielded no better ventilation, and ‘Choly reclaimed the wheelchair as he took the elevator to the third story. Anxiety crawled up his body as he recognized the sounds of things inside the walls also stirring afresh. Reality had an unpleasant, rippling echo that late afternoon. Where could he find respite until the air system had evened out? Would the ancient filters yield results? He couldn’t open windows on a building with none. A flurry of draughty haloes refracted his path.

Among these dust-borne glories, he saw the operating light on the other elevator. Testing its soundness would take too long, and he didn’t know how far he could climb the stairs, either by their failing form or his failing function--he had outfitted Angel with the harness so he could ride it, but he hadn’t really practiced balancing on its back in this way, and the thought of urgency necessitating test runs only made his blood heave through his veins harder. He bit his upper lip and squirmed, throat and eyes burning, while he awaited the call button to retrieve the car.

“We left everything out in the kitchen. Dinner is ruined, though I’m sure you might have guessed that.”

“–Least of my worries right now–”

Another coughing fit silenced ‘Choly from voicing his irritation, from having tried to talk. He ground his teeth from inside his shirt and rushed inside, Angel following while he depressed the 'close doors’ button with a rapid desperation. Once shut in, he noticed cleaner air, albeit stale. He wheezed and inspected the operating panel. The elevator could no longer arrive at the first floor, but it could in theory go to the fourth through eighth. It seemed both elevators evaded the dust onslaught. Yet. Maybe…

“Are we to remain in the carriage, Sir? We can have a slumber party! Ha-ha!”

“No. We can’t just stay in here indefinitely.” As he caught his breath, he steeled himself with a sublingual Mentat from his pocket. “What all is still in your storage compartment?”

“Well!” the pale Handy replied in thought, rooting around behind inside itself, “I have your pistols and munitions. Seventy-three 10mm rounds, and twenty-six .38 rounds. A box of deviled eggs and a can of water. Your jumpsuit from the vault. Oh, and that odd cowl you took from that lass in Concord. We can stay in here a little longer, though, right Miss Sir?”

'Choly’s jaw tightened as he stared past the elevator’s wainscoting. He loathed the very notion of donning the vault suit again, even with what few foundations he now had. Paired with Angel’s verbiage glitch, he flinched at the notion, but he loathed even more the idea of staying longer than necessary inside an elevator, especially one of untested reliability.

The chemist leaned forward, and sweated pressing the button for the fourth floor. The elevator’s winch mechanisms groaned but hoisted smoothly otherwise.

“Give me the water. …And the hood.”

Angel complied, and the indicator panel announced their fourth floor arrival with a holographic voice and a bell-ding. ‘Choly panicked when the doors opened, and, frantic, he lunged at the ‘close doors’ button again. He sat, breathing heavy, with the items in his lap. The panic of having to evacuate was blooming into a recurrent theme. To the vault, as the sky threatened to fall. From the vault, as its artificial intelligence warned of impending loss of life-sustaining operations. And now, from the new home he’d begun to fashion for himself. He chastised himself for likening kicking up all this dust to the former situations which had genuinely threatened his life. Still, his head and heart throbbed, shooting pain down his left arm, and he was convinced the only way to quiet himself would be to step foot outside.

“Is… everything all right, Sir?”

The chemist motioned for his Handy-bot to can-open the water for him, and with it he doused the canvas sack hood. Moisture served to enhance its ability to block airborne particulates. He slipped it on and tucked the open can in the back corner of his wheelchair seat, under the cane beside him. The Mentats told him he had bounded upward rather than outward, and his face flushed at the mistake made in his state of alarm, but he did his best to reassure himself that entering the streets of Lexington at night stood to endanger him far worse than some musty air.

“We’re going to be fine,” he lied. “I need the 10mm. And the bullets for it.” It complied, though hesitant. “I’m just grateful there’s no apparent gas leak, Angel. Your thruster would have blown us up.”

“Silver linings, I suppose.” It failed to conceal worry in its intonation.

Melancholy opened the elevator and wheeled out to find a hall to either side rather than a lobby. Damaged fluorescent lighting flickered, and he could see several doors to either side of the elevator, as well as two across from it. Office floors, as he had predicted weeks ago. Having soaked the hood made breathing a heavier ordeal, but the barrier of moisture did as intended. Only one elevator accessed these floors, he noted, as he rolled to each end of the hall. The lone door to the left of the elevator provided access to the roof, it boasted. A breath choked him as he struggled to open the interior door, then the exterior. Angel helped once it grasped the desired effect.

Upon rolling out onto the rough paved roof and into the night air, Melancholy’s jaw slackened. Though the building tucked itself beneath the shadow of a multi-level overpass, across the way lay the Corvega assembly plant. The automotive facility’s iconic saturnesque globe and multitude of smokestacks still boasted to illuminate Lexington’s ruined cityscape. He squinted upward to see that he’d connected enough circuits within the wiring of the Walden Drugs’ pharmacy to light up the billboard sign at the top of it, as well as the sign at the front corner of its lower stories.

He sat back in his chair and caught his breath. Removing the hood, he allowed himself a dry, broken chuckle, and he quaffed at the can of water from beside him. Thoughts lost him as the stress slowly melted, but the sound of quiet commotion garnered his attention. When he looked up, he found humanoid silhouettes on the rooftop of the plant. Adjusting his glasses, he returned their gawking.

“Might we… return inside, Sir? Seems our refurbishment efforts have garnered some unwanted attention.”

“Hey, now. I don’t know if it’s unwanted yet. They might be different from those asses in Concord.”

“BRILLIANT,” one of them yelled sarcastically.

“–I,” he set his water between his knees and cupped his hands to his mouth, “THANKS.”

The group that had gathered gave him an unanimous chuckle, and he smirked to himself a bit.

“I think we’ll have dinner on the roof tonight,” he told Angel, as he turned the radio back on at low volume. The mellow, jazzy brass of Val Bennett’s ‘Soul Survivor’ greeted him, and he melted into his chair a bit with a smile. “Pass over those Yum Yums.”

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#fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #fo4 oc #fallout 4 oc #fallout 4 #sole survivor #melancholy #ptsd #the anatomy of melancholy

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mrdanielfriell · 7 years

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So I’ve Started...

Finally, I have something on the page! Still unsure about it right now, but I wanted to at least post what I have to begin with. I should explain beforehand that this writing is slowly becoming Fallout fanfiction? Again, it’s really early doors yet, but here goes…

Chapter 1; The Calm Before the Storm

I never saw myself as ‘Special’, not for one minute. Being labelled was one thing, but a hero? I guess I’d have to start getting used to that one. 2nd Battalion, 108th Infantry Regiment. Sure, I had been a soldier on the fields of war, but in my mind, I was no different or greater than anybody else. The war had changed people. Their perceptions of the world, mannerisms, their whole damn way of life. The funny thing is, war may have changed the people, but war itself? WAR NEVER CHANGES.

“You’re gonna knock ‘em dead at the Veterans Hall tonight, hun!” Ah, Nora. My Love. My Angel. She always seemed to know what to say in my many moments of doubt and uncertainty. Hasn’t changed a bit since we first met: short brunette hair that hovered just above her shoulders, beautiful hazel eyes, her dainty figure. The perfect woman. And she was all mine. I often daydreamed, asking myself ‘what did I ever do to deserve you?’ before she would give me a playful slap across the cheek and bring me back to reality. “Ya think?”, I responded, with a noticeably nervous tone to my voice. “Absolutely! Now go get ready and stop hogging the mirror!” Public speaking wasn’t something I was particularly fond of, although my ‘charm and charisma’ had been commented upon many times before, but if Nora thinks I’ll be great, then by god I’ll be great!

I bundled out of the bathroom and into our bedroom. The bed always had to be made to perfection, no if’s, no but’s. “…and when Salome danced and had the boys entranced, no doubt it must have been easy to see, that she knew how to use her Personality…” Ah Johnny Mercer. It was songs like this that led to the radio being on almost every hour of the day, much to Nora’s dismay. I got dressed and headed down the corridor, with a leisurely stroll. There was a strong, but almost therapeutic smell in the air. “Ah! Good morning, sir!” Codsworth had made my usual morning coffee ‘brewed to perfection!’ he would always say. He was a breath of fresh air in our family. We had our doubts at first, but there’s something about those charming English tones that I just enjoyed. Maybe Nora was right, maybe I was jealous! There was suddenly a loud shriek that echoed down the corridor. Shaun was awake. My precious boy. He wasn’t even a year old, and yet the last few days, he had been louder than even the Hawthorne’s down the street! But he was our son, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him. Nothing. “Ah it sounds like someones made a stinky!”, Codsworth joked. He was great with Shaun.

Before I had the chance to enjoy my coffee, the doorbell rang. “Could you get that, hun? I think it’s probably that salesman, he comes by everyday for you.” Grudgingly, I walked over and opened the front door. “Good morning! Vault-Tec calling!” Stood on the doorstep was a strange man, wearing a long tan trench coat, holding a clipboard. Whatever he was here for, it was still far too early for my head to deal with his high pitched voice. I decided to be polite, although deep down, I would have preferred to respond with a witty one-liner and close the door, for comedic effect. “Good morning!”, I instead reply. It was probably the best I could muster to be honest. “Isn’t it? Just look at that sky out there!” he said, clearing his throat, almost looking away in embarrassment, or as if he was hiding something. “You cannot believe how how happy I am to finally speak with you, it is of the utmost urgency!” There was something about the way he spoke, his head movement, it kept me on edge. “What’s so important?” I asked, instantly regretting not going with that witty one liner. The salesman went on to explain how we had been selected for entry into a vault. Vault 111. Protection from ‘total atomic annihilation’ apparently. Here was my moment, I wasn’t going to let it get away this time. “Sounds great, I can’t wait for the world to end!” He chuckled, but he wasn’t as impressed as I was. He handed me his clipboard and asked me to fill in the paperwork. ‘Mr James and family’ read the top line of the sheet. Whoever this ‘Vault-Tec’ were, they sure were organised. Listed below that were seven separate categories: Strength, Perception, Endurance, Charisma, Intelligence, Agility and Luck. I wasn’t the biggest of guys, but I could my own in a fight if necessary. My ability to talk myself out of situations was my strong point. If words were a weapon, I’d be deadly! Once complete, I handed back the clipboard. “Just going to walk this over to the Vault, congratulations on being prepared for the fut..” -SLAM- “Thanks again!”, I yelled out from behind the door. Thank fuck that’s over with. “It’s peace of mind”, Nora explained. No price was too big when she and Shaun were involved.

“Mister James, Shaun has been changed but simply refuses to calm down. I think he needs some of that ‘paternal affection’ you seem to be so good at.” The cheek! “Hope you’re not being sarcastic there, buddy?” I exclaimed, knowing full well what Codsworth was referring to. An ongoing joke between him and “ma’am”, as he would call her, that came about before Shaun was born. We had been over the neighbour’s house for a barbecue, and I was asked by the other men on the street, ‘How do you think you’ll cope?’ My reply was apparently unexpected as I answered “Piece of cake! I am the personification of chill! Full of ‘paternal affection’”. A very humorous response, according to Codsworth and Nora. Hilarious. “You heard Codsworth, go on!” she said, chuckling through her hand. I walk down the corridor and into Shaun’s room. He was in his crib, the same crib that took hours to put up, I might add. There’s my little man. Nora followed me through the door. “How are the two most important me in my life doing?”, she asked. “Spin the mobile, he loves that.” A soft lullaby played as the three rockets on the mobile spun round above Shaun. “After breakfast, I was think we should go to the park for a bit, weather should hold up. What do you say?” The park held many memories for myself and Nora, it’s where we first met, spent most of our summer evenings together, and where we ‘made’ Shaun. Nora didn’t like it when I brought that up. Think she’s still embarrassed about it, but she cannot help laughing about it eventually. “Will it be like that night in the park a year ago?” I grinned. A frown slowly developed on her face. She opened her mouth to speak when we overheard Codsworth in a panic. “Sir! Ma’am! You should come and see this!”

#writing #writeblr #story writing #fallout #fallout 4 #fanfic #fallout fanfic

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