#i keep misreading the pattern or starting the wrong row

[jedi-bird]

My current late night project. Trying to keep myself awake way past my bedtime by crocheting some golden wings.

[golgoterror]

Alright, this is ungodly long, but I just wanted to talk about something regarding Jake. 

A lot of this fandom -- at least, from what I’ve seen -- label Jake as stupid. Some may even say Jake and smart are antonyms. This could not be further from the truth. It almost irritates me how much the fandom places this mischaracterization on him. Also, I get to talk about The Lad™ for about ten pages worth of words on Google docs, which is always very, very fun for me.

Well, first things first, let’s talk about the child genius and multi-billionaire polymath that is Jake English.

Puzzle Modus.

Let’s begin with something small. Jake’s modus is of puzzlekind! This is described as:

It's quite a handy modus, allowing you to captchalogue objects of any size, as long as you can fit them all in a finite space by maneuvering the cards around like a big game of Tetris. You like it because it keeps you sharp for solving any puzzles you might find when you go out raiding hallowed tombs, which is never. (x)

He likes puzzles! This is a huge headcanon I absolutely adore that has a basis in the comic: He’s a puzzles guy! This is just sort of a neat little fact about him that I adore to the moon and back. Just the idea of Jake fiddling about with a Rubik’s Cube is kind of adorable.

This is how he goes about doing everything every day of his life. I think that’s just amazing! And incredibly smart of him, I might add.

Skaianet. 

Jake is shown in the credits to take over Skaianet after the game ended. For those unfamiliar, Skaianet made many things for the game, including but not limited to: the interstellar travel we see, transportalizers, the lab by Rose’s house, all Jake’s fancy-schmancy computers, and Sburb itself. In the beta timeline, Grandpa Harley founded Skaianet. In the alpha timeline, Grandma English did. I know Jake didn’t start it up and trying to pass off his alt-timeline self as him is a bit far-fetched at best, but he had the spoons to take it over. I think that speaks volumes for Jake’s intelligence -- this implies, at the very least, he can understand mathematics and physics at a high level. Remind you of someone we already know?

It is also important to note that Jake does, in fact, build the company back from the ground up, because it went to shit before his grandmother died:

GT: Pretty sure her company made a tidy fortune til it went belly up. At least i still have a few of her knickknacks for keepsakes. (x)

So he built an interstellar company back up -- using what his intelligent grandmother had once used -- to being very useful and practical once again. 

As someone with a degree in mathematics and about to finish a degree in physics, I can say this sort of work would for sure require at the very least a decent understanding of quantum mechanics, statistical mechanics, electrodynamics, calculus (vector and differential forms), ordinary and partial differential equations, and perhaps other things like topology. I don’t know about you -- and I’m probably tooting my own horn a bit by saying this -- but I think that’s pretty nifty, if I do say so myself. 

Actor.

Once again, I’m reaching into the credits to show that Jake has become a movie star after the game ends. Memorizing all those lines, slipping into characters... Being an actor is no easy feat. 

( Side note: This leads into my headcanon that Jake can imitate accents and voices on a whim. No more arguing about whether he has a British, American, or Australian accent -- you’re all right! )

And I would like to add he has two jobs! Skaianet and being a movie star! This guy’s a fucking polymath for Christ’s sake.

Reading People.

Let’s start of simple: Brain Ghost Dirk. I can hear the outcries now of Dirk’s powers being the cause for this. And, yes, I can’t ignore Dirk’s influence in this, but Jake’s hope powers were also needed for the projection to come alive. And the fact he was able to make such a startlingly accurate projecting of Dirk in his own mind is astounding -- even BGD himself thinks so!

TT: You could view me as a projection of the real Dirk within your mind, as expressed through all of your thought patterns about him. TT: So I'm kind of a splinter of his corporeal self who happens to live in your awareness. TT: I'm a startlingly close approximation to the real thing, for all intents and purposes. GT: Just how startlingly close are we talking? TT: I'm not going to give you a bogus percentage like the glasses cause that's not my shtick. TT: But pretty damn close. (x)

A very deep understanding of the other is needed for Jake to do this. That is pretty fucking incredible. He can clearly read people really well -- he had a few times where he was cluing in on Jane and Dirk have feelings for him:

TG: its one of those things jane likes about u so much GT: It is? TG: which TG: errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr im not supposed to talk about 2 u evr so nm GT: Talk about what? TG: nope GT: You mean how um... GT: Well a way in which i suppose... TG: no nope GT: Jane is prone to looking upon me with what i fathom to be more than just friendly affection? (x)

TT: I guess call it an extra birthday present. But instead of a present that's awesome, consider it more like a weird confession that may change the way you feel about me. GT: Whoa uh... GT: Dirk are you... uh... GT: Saying what i think? (x)

He’s not completely clueless on people! In fact, he seems to have a really good understanding of his friends. That’s something a lot of people seem to forget because of the incident that I will be getting to later on.

Fending For Himself.

I’ve already written quite a bit on this, but I’ll sum it up here: Jake is exceptionally good at living in the wild and taking care of himself. Sort of like a wild garden; he doesn’t need to be taken care of. Survival skills, especially around fighting and fending off things, aren’t something everyone has. This, once again, counts in his favour, even if it doesn’t line-up with “book smarts”.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

That’s five things! It’s clear Jake is, in fact, a polymath and incredibly intelligent. So, what’s with the fandom painting him as being dumb? What’s with people actually thinking he’s stupid? I think we can all take several wild guesses as to why that’s the case.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Takes things literally.

This is something that plagues Jake quite a lot. Case in point:

GT: Wow like the epic kevin costner film? TT: Almost exactly. Especially by the same degree of shittiness. GT: Oh man does that mean you have to drink your own pee?????? TT: You get used to the taste. Welcome it, even. TT: That takes about 15 days in a row of hard piss drinking though. GT: Ewwwwwwwwwwww no dude. No ew. :( TT: Relax, I don't drink any goddamn piss, ok? GT: Oh ok. Whew. (x)

But, well, let’s address the elephant in the room. The chat I laughed so hard at when I read it the first time due to pure, unadulterated second-hand embarrassment: Jake asking Jane if she had feelings for him.

Let’s analyze this, shall we? Jake starts off by being vague as all Hell, and I’ll spare those details, until finally...

GT: Just come out and say it. Do you fancy me? GG: No! GT: I see. GT: Very well then. GT: Jeez i mustve really misread that one! I feel like kind of a bone head now. (x / x)

Okay, she says no, and he backs off. That’s fine and dand--

GG: No!!!!!! GG: Oh my God, what am I saying here? GG: Jake, I didn't mean it! I didn't want to make you feel that way! GT: Now jane lets not backpedal here. GT: Youve spoken the truth and i greatly appreciate and respect you for that. GT: But now that i think about it you know what? GG: ... GG: No? :( GT: Please dont take this the wrong way but your answer is actually kind of a relief! (x)

... Oh, right. Yeah. It keeps going. It just keeps--

GT: Actually since youve made your feelings apparent and only see me as a friend that makes it a lot easier! GG: Haha, yes! GG: Friends!!!! GT: Maybe you could help me sort out some stuff that has been weighing on me lately? GG: Well what are friends for Jake!!!!! (x)

Sweet Jesus, Jake.

GG: Me? GG: HOO HOO HOO! GG: I'm just GG: Terrific! GG: I'm feeling so... GG: Friendly!!! GG: I clearly just want to be a good friend and bring all my AMAZING FRIENDLINESS to bear on your problems. GG: Friendlystyle! Ahahahah? GG: Shit I mean GG: Ahahahah! GT: Thats aces. Jane youre a sweetheart. (x)

Alright, alright, enough! You all remember the fucking chat. 

Regardless, it’s very apparent Jake takes things at face value. I also will cite him talking to Jane before her birthday, but not list examples, because what happened above will just happen once again. 

Okay, so he takes things at face value. What’s wrong with that? He trusts people to not lie to his face -- to not sugarcoat things or beat around any bushes. Perhaps I’m projecting a bit, but I do the same damn thing. I think a lot of people do! I don’t think reading things as fact over text is a good measure of someone’s intellect. All it does is show he has issues with communication. Okay, so he struggles with one thing. Sue me.

Doesn’t catch things right away.

Yeah okay I’m just gonna dump a few examples of this.

GT: Haha wow. Must have been a hell of a guy. TT: So... TT: You're not making any connections there? GT: Where? Huh? TT: Famous comedian, about the age of your grandma, inheriting the family name of the Baroness... TT: Not ringing a bell? GT: What are you talking about! Dirk stop speaking in riddles and keep telling the story i am on tenterhooks here! TT: Ok, well it's not like it's that important. Just a super obvious thing that'll probably occur to you later when you're looking in the fridge you don't have, at which point you'll feel like an idiot. GT: Oh my god you can be one opaque motherfucker just clue me in bro! TT: Nah, it'll be funnier this way. GT: STRIIIIIIDEEEERRRRRRRR!!!!! TT: Moving on. (x)

GT: Whats going on? TT: Took you long enough to figure it out. TT: Pages really are a slow burning class. Damn. GT: Figure what out! TT: You're asleep. (x)

This leads into the point above. His mind doesn’t work that way -- but that doesn’t mean he’s not intelligent. He needs everything laid out in front of him so he can make the connections and understand what’s happening, but there’s no real harm in this, and it certainly doesn’t dictate whether the guy is “intelligent” or not.

There are many, many more examples in canon depicting Jake as having difficulties with communication and you all can open most of his pesterlogs and probably find one. I’m not going to list anymore. But, hold your horses, I swear I’m getting to a point!

Difficulty reading.

A lot of the media Jake consumes is picture-based. Movies, comics, even the puzzles are most likely spacial and probably not riddles. It’s not far to imagine Jake might not be a terribly good reader, considering nobody was really around to make him read. Of course, his grandmother was around when he was little, so he can read -- and he can read just fine. But he probably isn’t very good at it simply from lack of practice. He also has terrible grammar, something Jane picks on him for, so it’s entirely possible that’s a contributing factor. He may just have trouble reading and writing.

Speaking from experience, I have dyslexia. As such, reading and writing are incredibly hard for me. I never read the books in my literature classes -- both in English and French -- but I did get the gist of the books (enough to get a decent mark in the class at least) by watching a movie adaptation of the novel. I don’t think it’s that far-off to think Jake may, indeed, do the same thing.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

NOTE: This next part is a bit hard for me to write, because I don’t want to vilify any of you. It might not have clued in on anyone or maybe you just saw Jake as a sort of comic relief and meant no harm by it. And I hope shining a light on this will make you all think twice about the guy. However, I can’t really avoid this next part, and I may get a bit emotional in it. Just a bit of a warning.

All of the above points are just me trying to say Jake probably has undiagnosed learning disabilities and perhaps autism. I don’t think I need to go into detail about how those don’t make someone “stupid”. If you think that’s the case, fuck you. I can’t argue with ableists, much less do I actually want to. 

NOTE: I wrote a thing on his speech impediments. That may be of interest too. I don’t really know, but here it is nonetheless.

My take-away message here is: just because someone struggles with socialization or other things doesn’t mean fucking anything in terms of their intelligence. Jake is very clearly smart and has the ability to read people incredibly well -- to the point of making copies of them! Perhaps it’s just a bit easy to underestimate the guy compared to other characters, though.

There are other things that muddy this up a bit, unfortunately.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Trolling.

Jake is such a fucking troll. Jesus shitting Christ, does he get a kick out of acting stupid just to make the other person look silly. Or perhaps even to make himself laugh in the process. Case in point:

uu: I WILL JUST BE YOUR PATRON DUDE. uu: OR MAYBE. YOUR PATRON MANBRO. GT: Sounds pretty gay. uu: WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? GT: Whats what? uu: GAY. WHAT'S GAY YOU IDIOT FUCK. GT: Oh right. GT: Forgive me i forget you arent familiar with all of my earth lingo. GT: Its like... GT: How do i explain. GT: You know. Its a rather old fashioned term for being jolly and festive together. GT: Like "that rollicking time we had scrumming the other eve sure was gay." uu: I SEE. uu: THEN YES. YOU ARE CORRECT. uu: THIS IS GOING TO BE GAY AS HELL. (x)

Look at his goddamn face during this exchange:

That little bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. 

And these aren’t stand-alone events! Jake is very, very silly and will use the fact others see him as stupid to have a little fun. May as well, right? And, in the process, he makes others look pretty damn stupid. 

But sometimes it’s a bit hard to tell when he’s acting stupid against when he’s genuinely not getting something. I think he even fools himself sometimes! So you have to be a bit careful about fake-outs. I’m sure even the other alphas have trouble deducing when he’s doing this -- which only adds to the myth of him actually being “stupid” when viewed on first-glace.

He probably also does this with crushes, purposefully ignoring the signs because he doesn’t want to deal with it or may not believe anyone could like him that way. After all, if he’s wrong, he may think himself to be conceded and having a big head. So, he ignores the signs, thus convincing himself the feelings aren’t there. Then he gets absolutely fucking bamboozled beyond belief to find out they actually do like him. But that’s just a little side-note.

Thinks he’s stupid.

This one is just a bit... Sad. Very sad. Jake genuinely does think he’s stupid. Quite a lot, really. 

GT: I shoulda asked where he fit into the picture if you were raised alone. I can be dumb as a bag of penny candy sometimes. (x)

Just... Man, he’s been called and treated as stupid so many times, he’s at the point where he believes it. If you asked him, he’d say Dirk is a genius, Roxy is always smart and sassy, and Jane is brilliant. (I don’t have a source for that last one but... Come on. She lectures him about grammar. Don’t fuck with me.) But when it comes to himself? He can’t say the same. Of course he then acts that way. He sees himself as a burly adventurer who is also a gentleman and tries to live up to that. No where along those lines does he think he’s intelligent. And that’s just... a little heartbreaking, really, all things considered.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Can’t believe this blog is just me going, “Wanna see how fast I can talk about Jake?”, and a shit-ton of people all nodding before I talk for six hours straight. Anyway, take-home message is: Jake’s smart. Jake’s very, very smart. He’s also a himbo, but he’s incredibly smart. Just because he has learning disabilities doesn’t mean fuck-all. 

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk. There are drinks and refreshments in the back. Have a safe trip home. Remember to tip your waiters and waitresses. Jesus fuck can I run this gag any harder into the ground? Giving me language was a mistake. No but, really, if you read this whole damn thing, thank you! I hope this was as fun to read as it was to write.

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

50 SHADES OF KWON JI YONG PT.4

A/N JUST ENJOY!

Genre:Romance/Smut/Fluff/Angst

Rated: Rated-R

Pair: Kwon Ji Yong(aka G-Dragon)x reader

Word count 5,527

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5

Kiss me damn it! I implore him, but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliar need, completely captivated by him. I’m staring at Kwon Ji Yong’s exquisitely sculptured mouth, mesmerized, and he’s looking down at me, his gaze hooded, his eyes darkening. He’s breathing harder than usual, and I’ve stopped breathing altogether. I’m in your arms. Kiss me, please. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gives me a small shake of his head as if in answer to my silent question. When he opens his eyes again, it’s with some new purpose, a steely resolve. “Y/N, you should steer clear of me. I’m not the man for you,” he whispers. What? Where is this coming from? Surely I should be the judge of that. I frown up at him, and my head swims with rejection. “Breathe,Y/N, breathe. I’m going to stand you up and let you go,” he says quietly, and he gently pushes me away. Adrenaline has spiked through my body, from the near miss with the cyclist or the heady proximity to JiYong, leaving me wired and weak. NO! My psyche screams as he pulls away, leaving me bereft. He has his hands on my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length, watching my reactions carefully. And the only thing I can think is that I wanted to be kissed, made it pretty damned obvious, and he didn’t do it. He doesn’t want me. He really doesn’t want me. I have royally screwed up the coffee morning. “I’ve got this,” I breathe, finding my voice. “Thank you,” I mutter awash with humiliation. How could I have misread the situation between us so utterly? I need to get away from him. “For what?” he frowns. He hasn’t taken his hands off me. “For saving me,” I whisper. “That idiot was riding the wrong way. I’m glad I was here. I shudder to think what could have happened to you. Do you want to come and sit down in the hotel for a moment?” He releases me, his hands by his sides, and I’m standing in front of him feeling like a fool. With a shake, I clear my head. I just want to go. All my vague, unarticulated hopes have been dashed. He doesn’t want me. What was I thinking? I scold myself. What would Kwon Ji Yong want with you? My subconscious mocks me. I wrap my arms around myself and turn to face the road and note with relief that the green man has appeared. I quickly make my way across, conscious that Kwon is behind me. Outside the hotel, I turn briefly to face him but cannot look him in the eye. “Thanks for the tea and doing the photo shoot,” I murmur. “y/n… I… ” He stops, and the anguish in his voice demands my attention, so I peer unwillingly up at him. His brown eyes are bleak as he runs his hand through his hair. He looks torn, frustrated, his expression stark, all his careful control has evaporated. “What, JiYong?” I snap irritably after he says – nothing. I just want to go. I need to take my fragile, wounded pride away and somehow nurse it back to health. “Good luck with your exams,” he murmurs. Huh? This is why he looks so desolate? This is the big send off? Just to wish me luck in my exams? “Thanks.” I can’t disguise the sarcasm in my voice. “Goodbye, Mr. Kwon.” I turn on my heel, vaguely amazed that I don’t trip, and without giving him a second glance, I disappear down the sidewalk toward the underground garage. Once underneath the dark, cold concrete of the garage with its bleak fluorescent light, I lean against the wall and put my head in my hands. What was I thinking? Unbidden and unwelcome tears pool in my eyes. Why am I crying? I sink to the ground, angry at myself for this senseless reaction. Drawing up my knees, I fold in on myself. I want to make myself as small as possible. Perhaps this nonsensical pain will be smaller the smaller I am. Placing my head on my knees, I let the irrational tears fall unrestrained. I am crying over the loss of something I never had. How ridiculous. Mourning something that never was – my dashed hopes, dashed dreams, and my soured expectations. I have never been on the receiving end of rejection. Okay… so I was always one of the last to be picked for basketball or volleyball – but I understood that – running and doing something else at the same time like bouncing or throwing a ball is not my thing. I am a serious liability in any sporting field. Romantically, though, I’ve never put myself out there, ever. A lifetime of insecurity – I’m too pale, too skinny, too scruffy, uncoordinated, my long list of faults goes on. So I have always been the one to rebuff any would be admirers. There was that guy in my chemistry class who liked me, but no one has ever sparked my interest – no one except Kwon damn Ji Yong. Maybe I should be kinder to the likes of Paul Clayton and Song Min-ho, though I’m sure neither of them have been found sobbing alone in dark places. Perhaps I just need a good cry. Stop! Stop Now! - My subconscious is metaphorically screaming at me, arms folded, leaning on one leg and tapping her foot in frustration. Get in the car, go home, do your studying. Forget about him… Now! And stop all this self-pitying, wallowing crap. I take a deep, steadying breath and stand up. Get it together Y/L/N. I head for Rin’s car, wiping the tears off my face as I do. I will not think of him again. I can just chalk this incident up to experience and concentrate on my exams. Rin is sitting at the dining table at her laptop when I arrive. Her welcoming smile fades when she sees me. “Y/N what’s wrong?” Oh no�� not the Min Hyo-Rin Inquisition. I shake my head at her in a back-off now Min way – but I might as well be dealing with a blind, deaf mute. “You’ve been crying,” she has an exceptional gift for stating the damned obvious sometimes. “What did that bastard do to you?” she growls, and her face – jeez, she’s scary. “Nothing Rin.” That’s actually the problem. The thought brings a wry smile to my face. “Then why have you been crying? You never cry,” she says, her voice softening. She stands, her green eyes brimming with concern. She puts her arms around me and hugs me. I need to say something just to get her to back off. “I was nearly knocked over by a cyclist.” It’s the best that I can do, but it distracts her momentarily from… him. “Jeez Y/N – are you okay? Were you hurt?” She holds me at arm’s length and does a quick visual check-up on me. “No. JiYong saved me,” I whisper. “But I was quite shaken.” “I’m not surprised. How was coffee? I know you hate coffee.” “I had tea. It was fine, nothing to report really. I don’t know why he asked me.” “He likes you Y/N.” She drops her arms. “Not anymore. I won’t be seeing him again.” Yes, I manage to sound matter of fact. “Oh?” Crap. She’s intrigued. I head into the kitchen so that she can’t see my face. “Yeah… he’s a little out of my league Rin,” I say as dryly as I can manage. “What do you mean?” “Oh Rin, it’s obvious.” I whirl round and face her as she stands in the kitchen doorway. “Not to me,” she says. “Okay, he’s got more money than you, but then he has more money than most people in Korea!” “RIN he’s– ” I shrug. “Y/N! For heaven’s sake – how many times must I tell you? You’re a total babe,” she interrupts me. Oh no. She’s off on this tirade again. “Rin, please. I need to study.” I cut her short. She frowns. “Do you want to see the article? It’s finished. Mino took some great pictures.” Do I need a visual reminder of the beautiful Kwon I-don’t-want-you JiYong? “Sure,” I magic a smile on to my face and stroll over to the laptop. And there he is, staring at me in black and white, staring at me and finding me lacking. I pretend to read the article, all the time meeting his steady Brown gaze, searching the photo for some clue as to why he’s not the man for me – his own words to me. And it’s suddenly, blindingly obvious. He’s too gloriously good-looking. We are poles apart and from two very different worlds. I have a vision of myself as Icarus flying too close to the sun and crashing and burning as a result. His words make sense. He’s not the man for me. This is what he meant, and it makes his rejection easier to accept… almost. I can live with this. I understand. “Very good Rin,” I manage. “I’m going to study.” I am not going to think about him again for now, I vow to myself, and opening my revision notes, I start to read. It’s only when I’m in bed, trying to sleep, that I allow my thoughts to drift through my strange morning. I keep coming back to the ‘I don’t do the girlfriend thing’ quote, and I’m angry that I didn’t pounce on this information sooner, when I was in his arms mentally begging him with every fiber of my being to kiss me. He’d said it there and then. He didn’t want me as a girlfriend. I turn on to my side. Idly, I wonder if perhaps he’s celibate? I close my eyes and begin to drift. Maybe he’s saving himself. Well not for you, my sleepy subconscious has a final swipe at me before unleashing itself on my dreams. And that night, I dream of brown eyes, leafy patterns in milk, and I’m running through dark places with eerie strip lighting, and I don’t know if I’m running toward something or away from it… it’s just not clear.

~

. I put my pen down. Finished. My final exam is over. I feel the Cheshire cat grin spread over my face. It’s probably the first time all week that I’ve smiled. It’s Friday, and we shall be celebrating tonight, really celebrating. I might even get drunk! I’ve never been drunk before. I glance across the sports hall at Rin, and she’s still scribbling furiously, five minutes to the end. This is it, the end of my academic career. I shall never have to sit in rows of anxious, isolated students again. Inside I’m doing graceful cartwheels around my head, knowing full well that’s the only place I can do graceful cartwheels. Rin stops writing and puts her pen down. She glances across at me, and I catch her Cheshire cat smile too. We head back to our apartment together in her Mercedes, refusing to discuss our final paper. Rin is more concerned about what she’s going to wear to the bar this evening. I am busily fishing around in my purse for my keys. “Y/N, there’s a package for you.” Rin is standing on the steps up to the front door holding a brown paper parcel. Odd. I haven’t ordered anything from Amazon recently. Rin gives me the parcel and takes my keys to open the front door. It’s addressed to Miss Y/N Y/L/N. There’s no sender’s address or name. Perhaps it’s from my mom or Ray. “It’s probably from my folks.” “Open it!” Rin is excited as she heads into the kitchen for our ‘Exams are finished hurrah Champagne’. I open the parcel, and inside I find a half leather box containing three seemingly identical old cloth-covered books in mint condition and a plain white card. Written on one side, in black ink in neat cursive handwriting, is:

IWhy didn’t you tell me there was danger? Why didn’t you warn me?

Ladies know what to guard against,because they read novels that tell them of these tricks... I

I recognize the quote from Tess. I am stunned by the irony as I’ve just spent three hours writing about the novels of Thomas Hardy in my final examination. Perhaps there is no irony… perhaps it’s deliberate. I inspect the books closely, three volumes of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. I open the front cover. Written in an old typeface on the front plate is: ‘London: Jack R. Osgood, McIlvaine and Co., 1891.’ Holy shit - they are first editions. They must be worth a fortune, and I know immediately who’s sent them. Rin is at my shoulder gazing at the books. She picks up the card. “First Editions,” I whisper. “No.” Rin’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “Kwon?” I nod. “Can’t think of anyone else.” “What does this card mean?” “I have no idea. I think it’s a warning – honestly he keeps warning me off. I have no idea why. It’s not like I’m beating his door down.” I frown. “I know you don’t want to talk about him, Y/N, but he’s seriously into you. Warnings or no.” I have not let myself dwell on Kwon Ji Yong for the past week. Okay… so his brown eyes are still haunting my dreams, and I know it will take an eternity to expunge the feel of his arms around me and his wonderful fragrance from my brain. Why has he sent me this? He told me that I wasn’t for him. “I’ve found one Tess first edition for sale in New York at $14,000. But yours looks in much better condition. They must have cost more.” Rin is consulting her good friend Naver. “This quote – Tess says it to her mother after Alec D’Urberville has had his wicked way with her.” “I know,” muses Rin. “What is he trying to say?” “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I can’t accept these from him. I’ll send them back with an equally baffling quote from some obscure part of the book.” “The bit where Angel Clare says fuck off?” Rin asks with a completely straight face. “Yes, that bit.” I giggle. I love Rin, she’s so loyal and supportive. I repack the books and leave them on the dining table. Rin hands me a glass of champagne. “To the end of exams and our new life in Seoul,” she grins. “To the end of exams, our new life in Seoul, and excellent results.” We clink glasses and drink. The bar is loud and hectic, full of soon to be graduates out to get trashed. Mino joins us. He won’t graduate for another year, but he’s in the mood to party and gets us into the spirit of our newfound freedom by buying a pitcher of margaritas for us all. As I down my fifth, I know this is not a good idea on top of the champagne. “So what now Y/n?” Mino shouts at me over the noise. “Rin and I are moving to Seoul. Rin’s parents have bought a condo there for her.” “waee, how the other half live. But you’ll be back for my show.” “Of course, Mino, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I smile, and he puts his arm around my waist and pulls me close. “It means a lot to me that you’ll be there Y/N,” he whispers in my ear. “Another margarita?” “Song Min-ho – are you trying to get me drunk? Because I think it’s working.” I giggle. “I think I’d better have a beer. I’ll go get us a pitcher.” “More drink, Y/N!” Rin bellows. Rin has the constitution of an ox. She’s got her arm draped over Louis, one of our fellow English students and her usual photographer on her student newspaper. He’s given up taking photos of the drunkenness that surrounds him. He only has eyes for Rin. She’s all tiny camisole, tight jeans, and high heels, hair piled high with tendrils hanging down softly around her face, her usual stunning self. Me, I’m more of a Converse and t-shirt kind of girl, but I’m wearing my most flattering jeans. I move out of Mino’s hold and get up from our table. Whoa. Head spin. I have to grab the back of the chair. Tequila based cocktails are not a good idea. I make my way to the bar and decide that I should visit the powder room while I am on my feet. Good thinking, Y/N. I stagger off through the crowd. Of course, there’s a line, but at least it’s quiet and cool in the corridor. I reach for my cell phone to relieve the boredom of waiting in line. Hmm… Who did I last call? Was it Mino? Before that a number I don’t recognize. Oh yes. Kwon, I think this is his number. I giggle. I have no idea what the time is, maybe I’ll wake him. Perhaps he can tell me why he sent me those books and the cryptic message. If he wants me to stay away, he should leave me alone. I suppress a drunken grin and hit the automatic re-dial. He answers on the second ring. “Y/N?” He’s surprised to hear from me. Well, frankly, I’m surprised to ring him. Then my befuddled brain registers… how does he know it’s me? “Why did you send me the books?” I slur at him. “Y/N, are you okay? You sound strange.” His voice is filled with concern. “I’m not the strange one, you are,” I accuse. There - that told him, my courage fuelled by alcohol. “Y/N, have you been drinking?” “What’s it to you?” “I’m – curious. Where are you?” “In a bar.” “Which bar?” He sounds exasperated. “A bar in Gangnam.” “How are you getting home?” “I’ll find a way.” This conversation is not going how I expected. “Which bar are you in?” “Why did you send me the books, Ji Yong?” “Y/N, where are you, tell me now.” His tone is so, so dictatorial, his usual control freak. I imagine him as an old time movie director wearing jodhpurs, holding an old fashioned megaphone and a riding crop. The image makes me laugh out loud. “You’re so… domineering,” I giggle. “Y/n, so help me, where the fuck are you?” Kwon Ji Yong is swearing at me. I giggle again. “I’m in Gangnam… s’a long way from Seoul.” “Where in Gangnam?” “Goodnight, Jiyong.” “Y/N!” I hang up. Ha! Though he didn’t tell me about the books. I frown. Mission not accomplished. I am really quite drunk - my head swims uncomfortably as I shuffle with the line. Well, the object of the exercise was to get drunk. I have succeeded. This is what it’s like – probably not an experience to be repeated. The line has moved, and it’s now my turn. I stare blankly at the poster on the back of the toilet door that extols the virtues of safe sex. Holy crap, did I just call Kwon Ji Yong? Shit. My phone rings and it makes me jump. I yelp in surprise. “Hi,” I bleat timidly in to the phone. I hadn’t reckoned on this. “I’m coming to get you,” he says and hangs up. Only Kwon Ji Yong could sound so calm and so threatening at the same time. Holy crap. I pull my jeans up. My heart is thumping. Coming to get me? Oh no. I’m going to be sick… no… I’m fine. Hang on. He’s just messing with my head. I didn’t tell him where I was. He can’t find me here. Besides, it will take him hours to get here from Seoul, and we’ll be long gone by then. I wash my hands and check my face in the mirror. I look flushed and slightly unfocused. Hmm… tequila. I wait at the bar for what feels like an eternity for the pitcher of beer and eventually return to the table. “You’ve been gone so long.” Rin scolds me. “Where were you?” “I was in line for the restroom.” Mino and Louis are having some heated debate about our local baseball team. Mino pauses in his tirade to pour us all beers, and I take a long sip. “Rin, I think I’d better step outside and get some fresh air.” “Y/n, you are such a lightweight.” “I’ll be five minutes.” I make my way through the crowd again. I am beginning to feel nauseous, my head is spinning uncomfortably, and I’m a little unsteady on my feet. More unsteady than usual. Drinking in the cool evening air in the parking lot makes me realize how drunk I am. My vision has been affected, and I’m really seeing double of everything like in old re-runs of Tom and Jerry Cartoons. I think I’m going to be sick. Why did I let myself get this messed up? “Y/N,” Mino has joined me. “You okay?” “I think I’ve just had a bit too much to drink.” I smile weakly at him. “Me too,” he murmurs, and his dark eyes are watching me intently. “Do you need a hand?” he asks and steps closer, putting his arm around me. “Mino I’m okay. I’ve got this.” I try and push him away rather feebly. “Y/N, please,” he whispers, and now he’s holding me in his arms, pulling me close. “Mino, what you doing?” “You know I like you Y/N, please.” He has one hand at the small of my back holding me against him, the other at my chin tipping back my head. Holy fuck… he’s going to kiss me. “No Mino, stop – no.” I push him, but he’s a wall of hard muscle, and I cannot shift him. His hand has slipped into my hair, and he’s holding my head in place. “Please, Y/N, yeobo,” he whispers against my lips. His breath is soft and smells too sweet – of margarita and beer. He gently trails kisses along my jaw up to the side of my mouth. I feel panicky, drunk, and out of control. The feeling is suffocating. “Mino, no,” I plead. I don’t want this. You are my friend, and I think I’m going to throw up. “I think the lady said no.” A voice in the dark says quietly. Holy shit! Kwon Ji Yong, he’s here. How? Mino releases me. “Kwon,” he says tersely. I glance anxiously up at Jiyong. He’s glowering at Mino, and he’s furious. Crap. My stomach heaves, and I double over, my body no longer able to tolerate the alcohol, and I vomit spectacularly on to the ground. “Ugh – joesong haeyo*, Y/N!” Mino jumps back in disgust. Kwony grabs my hair and pulls it out of the firing line and gently leads me over to a raised flowerbed on the edge of the parking lot. I note, with deep gratitude, that it’s in relative darkness. “If you’re going to throw up again, do it here. I’ll hold you.” He has one arm around my shoulders – the other is holding my hair in a makeshift ponytail down my back so it’s off my face. I try awkwardly to push him away, but I vomit again… and again. Oh shit… how long is this going to last? Even when my stomach’s empty and nothing is coming up, horrible dry heaves wrack my body. I vow silently that I’ll never ever drink again. This is just too appalling for words. Finally, it stops. My hands are resting on the brick wall of the flowerbed, barely holding me up - vomiting profusely is exhausting. Kwon takes his hands off me and passes me a handkerchief. Only he would have a monogrammed, freshly laundered, linen handkerchief. KJY. I didn’t know you could still buy these. Vaguely I wonder what the J stands for as I wipe my mouth. I cannot bring myself to look at him. I’m swamped with shame, disgusted with myself. I want to be swallowed up by the azaleas in the flowerbed and be anywhere but here. Mino is still hovering by the entrance to the bar, watching us. I groan and put my head in my hands. This has to be the single worst moment of my life. My head is still swimming as I try to remember a worse one – and I can only come up with Ji Yong’s rejection – and this is so, so many shades darker in terms of humiliation. I risk a peek at him. He’s staring down at me, his face composed, giving nothing away. Turning, I glance at Mino who looks pretty shamefaced himself and, like me, intimidated by Kwon. I glare at him. I have a few choice words for my so-called friend, none of which I can repeat in front of Kwon Ji Yong CEO. Y/N who are you kidding, he’s just seen you hurl all over the ground and into the local flora. There’s no disguising your lack of ladylike behavior. “I’ll err… see you inside,” Mino mutters, but we both ignore him, and he slinks off back into the building. I’m on my own with Kwon. Double crap. What should I say to him? Apologize for the phone call. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, staring at the handkerchief which I am furiously worrying with my fingers. It’s so soft. “What are you sorry for Y/n?” Oh crap, he wants his damned pound of flesh. “The phone call mainly, being sick. Oh, the list is endless,” I murmur, feeling my skin coloring up. Please, please can I die now? “We’ve all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you,” he says dryly. “It’s about knowing your limits, Y/N. I mean, I’m all for pushing limits, but really this is beyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this kind of behavior?” My head buzzes with excess alcohol and irritation. What the hell has it got to do with him? I didn’t invite him here. He sounds like a middle-aged man scolding me like an errant child. Part of me wants to say, if I want to get drunk every night like this, then it’s my decision and nothing to do with him – but I’m not brave enough. Not now that I’ve thrown up in front of him. Why is he still standing there? “No,” I say contritely. “I’ve never been drunk before and right now I have no desire to ever be again.” I just don’t understand why he’s here. I begin to feel faint. He notices my dizziness and grabs me before I fall and hoists me into his arms, holding me close to his chest like a child. “Come on, I’ll take you home,” he murmurs. “I need to tell Rin.” Holy Moses, I’m in his arms again. “My brother can tell her.” “What?” “My brother Taeyang is talking to Miss Min.”(boi i hope you get the refrence u know taeyang and min hyo rin...) “Oh?” I don’t understand. “He was with me when you phoned.” “In Seoul?” I’m confused. “No, I’m staying at the Heathman.” Still? Why? “How did you find me?” “I tracked your cell phone Y/n.” Oh, of course he did. How is that possible? Is it legal? Stalker, my subconscious whispers at me through the cloud of tequila that’s still floating in my brain, but somehow, because it’s him, I don’t mind. “Do you have a jacket or a purse?” “Err… yes, I came with both. Jiyong, please, I need to tell Rin. She’ll worry.” His mouth presses into a hard line, and he sighs heavily. “If you must.” He sets me down, and, taking my hand, leads me back into the bar. I feel weak, still drunk, embarrassed, exhausted, mortified, and on some strange level absolutely off the scale thrilled. He’s clutching my hand – such a confusing array of emotions. I’ll need at least a week to process them all. It’s noisy, crowded, and the music has started so there is a large crowd on the dance floor. Rin is not at our table, and Mino has disappeared. Louis looks lost and forlorn on his own. “Where’s Rin?” I shout at Louis above the noise. My head is beginning to pound in time to the thumping bass line of the music. “Dancing,” Louis shouts, and I can tell he’s mad. He’s eyeing Jiyong suspiciously. I struggle into my black jacket and place my small shoulder bag over my head so it sits at my hip. I’m ready to go, once I’ve seen Rin. “She’s on the dance floor,” I touch Jiyong’s arm and lean up and shout in his ear, brushing his hair with my nose, smelling his clean, fresh smell. Oh my. All those forbidden, unfamiliar feelings that I have tried to deny surface and run amok through my drained body. I flush, and somewhere deep, deep down my muscles clench deliciously. He rolls his eyes at me and takes my hand again and leads me to the bar. He’s served immediately, no waiting for Mr. Control-Freak Kwon. Does everything come so easily to him? I can’t hear what he orders. He hands me a very large glass of iced water. “Drink,” he shouts his order at me. The moving lights are twisting and turning in time to the music casting strange colored light and shadows all over the bar and the clientele. He’s alternately green, blue, white, and a demonic red. He’s watching me intently. I take a tentative sip. “All of it,” he shouts. He’s so overbearing. He runs his hand through his unruly hair. He looks frustrated, angry. What is his problem? Apart from a silly drunk girl ringing him in the middle of the night so he thinks she needs rescuing. And it turns out she does from her over amorous friend. Then seeing her being violently ill at his feet. Oh Y/N… are you ever going to live this down? My subconscious is figuratively tutting and glaring at me over her half moon specs. I sway slightly, and he puts his hand on my shoulder to steady me. I do as I’m told and drink the entire glass. It makes me feel queasy. Taking the glass from me, he places it on the bar. I notice through a blur what he’s wearing; a loose white linen shirt, snug jeans, black Converse sneakers, and a dark pinstriped jacket. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and I see a sprinkling of hair in the gap. In my groggy frame of mind, he looks yummy. He takes my hand once more. Holy cow – he’s leading me onto the dance floor. Shit. I do not dance. He can sense my reluctance, and under the colored lights, I can see his amused, slightly sardonic smile. He gives my hand a sharp tug, and I’m in his arms again, and he starts to move, taking me with him. Boy, he can dance, and I can’t believe that I’m following him step for step. Maybe it’s because I’m drunk that I can keep up. He’s holding me tight against him, his body against mine… if he wasn’t clutching me so tightly, I’m sure I would swoon at his feet. In the back of my mind, my mother’s often-recited warning comes to me: Never trust a man who can dance. He moves us through the crowded throng of dancers to the other side of the dance floor, and we are beside Rin and Taeyang, Jiyong’s brother. The music is pounding away, loud and leery, outside and inside my head. I gasp. Rin is making her moves. She’s dancing her ass off, and she only ever does that if she likes someone. Really likes someone. It means there’ll be three of us for breakfast tomorrow morning. Hyo-Rin! Jiyong leans over and shouts in Taeyang’s ear. I cannot hear what he says. Taeyang is quite short with wide shoulders, short black hair, and light, wickedly brown gleaming eyes. I can’t tell the color under the pulsating heat of the flashing lights. Taeyang grins, and pulls Hyo-Rin to him, I am shocked. She’s only just met him. She nods at whatever Taeyang says and grins at me and waves. Jiyong propels us off the dance floor in double quick time. But I never got to talk to her. Is she okay? I can see where things are heading for her and him. I need to do the safe sex lecture. In the back of my mind, I hope she reads one of the posters on the back of the toilet doors. My thoughts crash through my brain, fighting the drunk, fuzzy feeling. It’s so warm in here, so loud, so colorful – too bright. My head begins to swim, oh no… and I can feel the floor coming up to meet my face or so it feels. The last thing I hear before I pass out in Kwon Jiyongs’s arms is his harsh epithet. “Fuck!”

a/n it is fun for me to edit these chapters so please leave a like and reblog to share it!

[ciathyzareposts]

Waxworks: Hammer and Sickle

Sometimes the game is more fun for its gruesome death images than from actually defeating the challenges.

           I’ve solved two of the four or more Waxworks scenarios, and started to explore a third, and it’s a measure of the game that I have no idea what to expect from the last. Waxworks seems to delight in changing the rules between scenarios, which is good for variety’s sake, although I haven’t found any of the scenarios so far terribly challenging or compelling.

The first one had me explore a six-level pyramid, with each level getting smaller as it went up (just as in the recent Beneath the Pyramids). There were branches here and there, but in general the pyramid’s levels were linear enough that I didn’t have to map. I died about a thousand times, with 950 of those deaths due to tripwire traps, which you have to click on and “avoid” every time you cross. No matter how many times I told myself to watch out for them, no matter how many times I thought I remembered the positions of specific ones, I just kept setting them off.

The rolling-rock traps are unavoidable but also easy to dodge. You just have to dart down a nearby hallway when you see the rock coming. If you back up, you can easily outrun it.            

The rock rolls harmlessly by as I hide in a side passage.

             The levels had a fair share of spear-wielding guards and dagger-wielding priests, and my survival against them was mostly luck. Among the six levels, you’re limited to the hit points you start with, those you develop by leveling, and another 40 or so that you can restore by having Uncle Boris create the scrolls for you. Combat, meanwhile, is just a matter of activating it and clicking around the screen. For the pyramid, I wasn’t able to detect that a particular area of the screen resulted in a greater chance of hitting, or more damage, nor was I able to determine whether choosing a variety of attacks had more success than just spamming the same attack over and over. There was a clear escalation in weapons–dagger, sword, spear–and the enemies definitely went down faster as my level increased.

That level is the only thing that really qualifies the game as an RPG. I like that you get experience points for every square you step on; it encourages full exploration. But in the pyramid, where the experience was so linear, any sense of “leveling” is really illusory, since every player will pretty much reach every stage at the same level.            

I misread the room.

I failed to get out of the way.

I took too long.

I fell in with the wrong crowd.

        It turned out not to matter that I loaded up my inventory with everything not nailed down. You have no encumbrance statistic and no maximum number of items, and carrying a bunch of redundant pots actually helped at one point. You just have to take care not to accidentally stick new items in jars or baskets, because you then have to spend half an hour looking into every one that you have to find it.

That leaves the puzzles. One recurring puzzle required me to find a series of tuning forks and then use them to shatter glass walls. The tuning forks all had different frequencies, and I thought there might be some complex puzzle associated with that, but the game never made use of the frequencies as such. Different tuning forks shattered different walls and that was it.           

Captured this screenshot just at the right time.

          I also had to watch out for blocks propped up by wooden beams and collapse those beams with a hammer, thus causing blocks to fall from upper levels and clear the passages. There were a couple of points at which it was possible to put myself on the wrong side of the passage before collapsing it, and thus end up in a “walking dead” situation. In fact, there are enough walking dead situations in the game to require a careful approach to saving, and in particular keeping a save from the last time you were in the Waxworks in case you have to start over completely.             

Collapsing the passage.

            Level 1’s major puzzle involved a pool of water where I needed to fill up some jugs, so I could pour the water on some hot coals on Level 2. Messing with the water got me attacked and killed by a crocodile, so I had to find a way to lure the crocodile out of the water while I held my spear ready. The only thing that made sense for bait was a pile of entrails I’d found in one of the jars. By dropping that on the tile before the water, I was able to entice the croc out of the pool and then kill him with a thrown spear.             

See ya later.

         We already saw the door puzzle between Levels 1 and 2. The major obstacle here, other than the many traps and guards, was that square of burning coals. The game did me a favor by filling up all my jugs with water on Level 1, so I had enough (it turned out I needed 5) to cool the coals instead of making me fill, say, three, and then realize I didn’t have enough, and have to trudge back and forth multiple times.

The transition between Level 2 and Level 3 had a door puzzle in which I had to twist a series of valves to divert a flow of water into a preferred jug (with an ankh symbol on it), filling it faster than the jugs with snakes on them. It really couldn’t have been easier. I just had to trace the pipes backwards and turn the valves accordingly.          

An easy puzzle.

       Level 3’s big challenge–again, after traps and enemies–was to weigh down a pot and thus open a door. There was no more obvious object to weigh down the pot than two piles of sand I’d previously found in some corridor. Thus must have been an introductory level.

Level 4 had a couple of obstacles. One required me to knock down a bridge by shooting it with a bow and arrow, but again the choice was fairly obvious. Later, I had to cross an area of tiles by stepping on the right hieroglyphic tiles. This one took me a few minutes to suss out. A message said to “follow the path of life.”

The only other hieroglyphics I’d seen were on a piece of papyrus from the first chamber. Each row of tiles, from which I had to choose one to step on, had two tiles that were on the piece of paper and one tile that was not. I figured the trick was to step on the one that was not, and that did get me safely across the room. Only later, when I thought about it, did I realize the game’s logic. The specific arrangement of the hieroglyphics on the papyrus didn’t matter; what mattered is that they were all associated with Anubis, the god of death, and thus the “path of life” would take me across symbols not associated with him. That’s reasonably clever.          

Crossing the perilous floor.

          On Level 5, I was almost immediately stymied by a puzzle in which gas started filling the corridors and the exits were closed off. I found a “mirror” on one wall, but it threw me for a while because it seemed to show a picture of a guard. I realized well after I should have that the “picture” was actually my image in the mirror. I’m not me in these exhibits; rather, I have taken possession of the “good” brother, who in this case is a pyramid guard named Cassim. This was all explained later when I made more liberal use of Boris’s head. I had been conserving my “psy,” but I realized later that I was just wasting it.           

This is supposed to be me?

          Solving the gas puzzle involved shattering the mirror, which of course was done with a collection of the tuning forks, something that should have been more obvious.

        Later on Level 5, I reached a couple of rooms with murals on the walls–very nice murals, I should add. Graphically, Waxworks can be lovely. The two consecutive murals on the south walls all produced hollow sounds when tapped, so I realized I could smash through them with my weapon to reveal chambers beyond. The first one had a piece of tile that, when I picked it up, released snakes into the room. I couldn’t fight the snakes and they killed me. The solution was to spill oil all over the floor and ignite it before picking up the piece, so that the snakes emerged into an inferno.                

A treasure room holds only a couple relevant items.

             The transition between Levels 5 and 6 required me to arrange four tiles (which I’d picked up at various places along the way, the first three without any fuss) in a particular order. I never found anything that helped me determine the order, but there were only 24 possibilities, and I got it after about 6.

On Level 6, I rescued my princess by opening her sarcophagus with a scarab beetle found all the way back in the first room. She oddly ended up in my inventory, which was also what happened to Elvira in Elvira II.             

I don’t mean to complain, but her face looks rather masculine.

          To finish off the level, I had to balance a scale using a series of weights I’d picked up in various places throughout the pyramid. It took me a while to realize that the weights are not all the same weight; by examining them, you see that they are “very light,” “light,” “heavy, “very heavy,” and “extremely heavy.” The puzzle still took a while longer because it didn’t occur to me that you might be able to solve it without using all the weights. I believe the solution had the extremely heavy and light weights on one side, the heavy and very heavy ones on the other, and no use of the very light weight.

             Trying to figure out a balancing puzzle while “my betrothed” sits in my inventory.

            Solving the weight puzzle opened a door where I confronted and killed my evil twin brother, then exited the world somehow by putting a brooch into a hole on a statue’s belly.            

A nice final shot of Egypt before we leave.

          I was not prepared for my accumulated experience and levels to drain away the moment I left ancient Egypt. But that’s what happens: in between each of the scenarios (at least, I assume the pattern continues), everything resets to 0. You inventory also disappears, too, which is more of a blessing. I guess it really doesn’t matter, then, which order you experience the exhibits because there’s no way to save the harder ones for when you’re stronger. I guess I get the logic, but it’s another blow to Waxworks as an RPG.             

Hey! Don’t you work for me now?!

         When I returned to the waxworks, Uncle Boris’s butler became weirdly hostile, pushing me down the corridors and trying to shove me into any exhibit I happened to come across. I had to run ahead of him to enter the exhibit of my choosing, which was the undead graveyard.           

Transitioning between areas.

        This was a very different experience, and I wasn’t prepared for how different it was. Instead of multiple levels, it occupied only one “level” about the same size as the first level of the pyramid. It had only a couple of puzzles and was, overall, a lot shorter than the first challenge.

What it did have is zombies. Dozens of them. They pop out of the ground right in front of you, and I don’t think you can ever kill them all. You only have (or I only found) one weapon to fight them: a sickle. To kill a zombie, you first have to chop off one arm, then the other, then its head, so the locations that you click do make a major difference in these combats.        

I’m not sure why I couldn’t have gone right for the head.

        A lesser challenge, but perhaps more annoying, was simply mapping the area. Gravestones serve as “walls” within the cemetery, but it’s very hard to visually judge how close you can walk to them and exactly where you can turn and move forward. While you’re dithering around trying to find paths, zombies are appearing around every corner.            

Is it clear to you that you can move one step forward here? Because you can.

         If you find the heart from a dead woman in the middle of the cemetery, Boris can use it to heal you once during the adventure. Since your hit points are thus finite, you want to avoid combat as much as possible, which is hard when you’re trying to comprehensively explore the map. Eventually, I just resigned myself to dying a lot of times while I mapped, and to then complete the level after a final reload.

There were three major puzzles in the area. The first required me to get access to the family crypt, for which I needed some tool to exploit a hole. Uncle Boris’s head suggested I search the fence around the graveyard for a loose bit of railing. I’m glad I consulted him because I absolutely never would have found that on my own. It’s hard to find even if you know what you’re looking for.            

You have to be facing a particular direction. Even then, it wouldn’t have occurred to me that you can pick up that broken piece of iron. It looks like it’s still attached.

          Once inside the crypt, I was able to speak to my ancestor Druec, who somehow knew I was from the future and not the original inhabitant of the body before him. He confirmed Uncle Boris’s accounts of the curse and said that in the current time, Vladimir had bound the souls of his forebears, not allowing them to die, using their energy to fuel his necromantic rituals.           

Conversing with the first generation of cursed.

         Boris said he could break Vladimir’s aspell, but he would need an “absorbent material.” This turned out to be a hunk of bread, found in an altar in a chapel in the far northwest corner of the map. A vampire guarded it, but I’d found a stake on the way, sharpened it with the sickle, and pounded it into the vampire’s chest the moment he appeared.           

As I put the stake to his heard, the vampire appears to be regretting life.

           Vladimir himself was just up a stairway from the chapel, but he was impervious to physical attack and killed me. Boris, meanwhile, had to fashion his counter-spell within the family crypt, so I had to trudge back through most of the map, killing zombies along the way. In the crypt, Boris completed them spell and told me to activate it, I should simply touch Vladimir. I turned around and walked back through the graveyard again, fighting more zombies.        

This game is about to offer an interesting take on “destroy.”

        In my best run, I still made it back to the chapel with only a few hit points to spare. Boris said I should “touch” Vladimir, so I equipped my hands as weapons and poked him in the chest. For reasons I don’t fully understand, touching him caused him to collapse into a baby. Moments later, I was back in the waxworks, the butler approaching me menacingly down the hallway. As before, my experience points and level were reset to 0.           

If anyone has an explanation for this, I’d appreciate hearing it.

         I immediately leapt into the Jack the Ripper waxwork and found myself on the streets of Victorian London, over the body of Jack’s latest victim. This one is clearly going to offer a new challenge–avoiding patrolling bobbies and mobs of Londoners on the streets. Every time one manages to enter my square (or I blunder into theirs), it’s an immediate death. I still prefer it to the tripwires in the pyramid.          

The Met has come a long way since then.

                 By now, it’s clear that Waxworks mostly fails as an RPG, and what we have here is not a hybrid but an adventure game with “RPG elements.” A few years ago, I wouldn’t have known the difference. Now I realize that a good hybrid manages to preserve what people enjoy about both genres. On the RPG side, it offers a fully-realized combat, equipment, and character development system. It doesn’t just toss in hit points and experience points.        That means that to the extent that I’m enjoying Waxworks, it’s mostly for its adventure elements. So far, most of the puzzles have been relatively fair, particularly with the optional Boris-head hint system, and I’ve had some moments of satisfaction figuring them out. The graphics are well-done and immersive, though on the sound side the developers put too much effort into the music (which is era-appropriate, atmospheric, and, for me, as usual, turned off) and not enough into sound effects, which mostly only occur during combat.

          Unless the game pulls the rug out from under me with additional unlocked scenarios, it looks like I’m already half done with this one. I’ll try to finish it up in one more.

Time so far: 10 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/waxworks-hammer-and-sickle/