The Fabulist

Compiled Computerized Charlatanism

Blog Problems
I've had nothing but problems with LiveJournal and its atrocious formatting errors the past several posts, to the extent that I've just been rendered unable to post anything more complicated than this, for fear LJ will dredge it up.

I think I might make like Warren Ellis and fucking leave this shithole.

Picking Bones
Chapter: 19
Page Count: 229
Word Count: 123,000
Nemo's Bounty: 998,000 Commercial

"Uncommonly short for a humanoid, she sports salmon skin, a strained topknot of coarse black dreadlocks and a flagrantly tribal ensemble, consisting of animalistic tattoos in stark white ink, outlandish garb of dyed hide and boiled leather, part armor and part trophy, that dangles off totems and fetishes and an assortment of unconventional weaponry, primarily wood and bone from the look of it, yet sheathed and therefore indistinct to the Ortok's squint; all in all, a comportment plagiarized to capitalize on the hoodlum's bedtime-story-fear of a certain ritualistic Yheum reality feedshow star."

This is almost certainly the incorrect venue to vent these very particular frustrations, as those who best deserve vitriol won't ever be privy to the specifics of my vitriol, but, in the interest of abject professionalism, it's this blog's own seclusion that, in fact, makes it the ideal venue.

VitriolCollapse )

Until later.

EDIT: How could I forget my new DEATHBAR?


Test Drive
Let's see if this'll even work.

Ha ha! Victory! I have my own "Death Bar!" (© Warren Ellis)

Chapter: 19
Page Count: 223
Word Count: 119,300
Nemo's Bounty: 998,000 Commercial

"So Good Luck Gertie was in the proverbial market for a relabeling and potentially a nine-to-five behind a laser turret, could such a thing be managed."

LiveJournal be restored to me! At long last!

Nothing too monumental this week, unfortunately. Been plowing through the novel, though I took a break today to prep for this evening's gaming festivities. Planning a trip up to Fargo/Moorhead for a week, if there'd be a Scum and Villainy game I could observe in on, I'd be a happy Wookiee (here's lookin' at you, Chuckie). In any event, here's another belated update of my own!

"Scum and Villainy: My Kind of Scum" Update (Episode 3: The Original Wretched Hive, Episode 4: A Drastic and Abrupt Withdrawal, Episode 5: The Rule of Three)
The Premise: Hiding out on Tatooine, mythic homeworld of Luke Skywalker, the Tosche Station and the legendary power converters of same, our two ignoble hoodlums make a token effort to stay out of trouble, both hiding out from the vengeance of a bankrupt kajidic and in the market for a spaceship.

The Cast: Channa, who used to bull's-eye womp rats in her X-34 back home, and Baroolchen, a Wookiee with a self-conscious penchant for girly, umbrella-bearing ruby bilel.

The Sessions: Touching down in eponymous Mos Eisley spaceport in a transport filled with Jawas, Channa and Barool wasted little time sniffing out the neighborhood watery holes and carving out a little niche in the town's underworld. During the week spent here, Channa'd sniffed out a lead on potential transport for cheap and potentially located a lucrative job at the hands of a local Whiphid crime lady. Barool, on the other hand, had acquainted himself with both Chalmun and his famous cantina, the Flintsone-esque delicacies of Gep's Grill and gladiatorial violence within the Jango Fett arena, wherein he battled a Tusken Raider outcast before jeering throngs for a hefty purse, while Channa negotiated a bank job with Valarian herself.

Evidently, Valarian's enterprises were on the run, as much traders and dealers in town were fleeing the icy grip of her embrace and heading for less corrupt towns, such as Mos Eisley or Mos Entha. One such business was Zygian Savings & Loans, which hoped to open a Mos Espa branch and perhaps turn a decent profit on Tatooine, devoid of the Whiphid's various fingers in their only pie. This, of course, Valarian couldn't have and endeavored to prove to the citizens of Mos Espa that Zygian was less than capable of protecting their money. To this end, she'd need a robbery. A messy robbery. A robbery that the police were slow to respond to and that could blissfully go unsolved.

With two weeks to hoist the Mos Espa branch of Zygian Savings and Loans before their grand opening, Channa, Barool and Cap'n, aboard the Gremlin, headed off to Anchorhead, to go see a Chagrin about a boat. Several weeks ago, the local junk dealer in Anchorhead, a town Channa knew only too well, had purchased, as a favor to local Jawa crime boss Wittin, a junker of an Action IV, half buried in the Dune Sea. With no idea how to sell such a thing to moisture farms and anti-Tusken militia, the Chagrin scrapper had basically given up on moving it, until a certain conniving young Chadra-Fan and her burly Wookiee shadow arrived from Mos Eisley and began making noises about it.

While Barool took the space bus back to Nar Shaddaa to collect the rest of their money, Channa and Cap'n investigated the wreck of the ship, jokingly named with a swatch of Jawese grafiti as "The End Times" and contacted their old friends, the Ubese Tech Team off Reecee, inquiring after the squad of technicians to operate their newfound vessel. The tactiturn and efficient Ubese arrived in port several days later, Barool, fresh from Nar Shaddaa with another bareknuckle victory under his belt, just chasing their coat-tails and the two would-be bankrobbers left their new "crewbese" (rim shot) to ameliorate their sand-belching jalopy into a functioning craft suitable for interstellar piracy.

En route to Mos Espa to case Zygian's joint, our landspeeder-bound marauders ran afoul of a sand storm and accompanying pack of womp rats, which proved little enough problem for Channa and her sniper rifle. Arriving in Mos Espa by nightfall, Channa and Barool were delighted to find the bank's security all Trandoshan and the local police extremely bribable. After securing the silence of the local Prefect Finn, they snatched a Trandoshan bank guard on his way home from Maggy the Gorgon's and beat some valuable intel out of them before knocking the bank over the following day.

With Tra, the Ubese co-pilot as their getaway driver, Channa and Barool took the bank entirely by surprise the day before it opened, dispatching the Trandoshan goonage out of hand and quickly subduing the handful of Nimbanel clerks and the floor manager, a crusty old Toydarian ex-mercenary. The bank sufficently "smashed", Barool set about the "grabbing" part of the equation while Channa entertained the hostages and foiled the Toydarian's attempts to hit a panic button with a well-timed crit that grossly deflated the old bugger. With 70,000 peggots streaming out of their speeding landspeeder, Channa and Barool cut a hasty retreat back toward their hideout in Anchorage.

Several quiet weeks passed, with little and less sign of retribution from Zygian's Banking Concern, save the appearance of a bounty for one Channa and Baroolchen in the order of 7,000 peggots, dead or alive. No bounty hunters emerged to claim them, however, and the newly-christened Cry Uncle was fully operable, if unarmed, within three weeks. Discreetingly shipping in heavy munition had proven too thorny and the freshly appointed First Mate Channa and Boatswain Baroolchen would need to return to Nar Shaddaa to find ample firepower for their new clunker.

They went to the precaution of employing a handful of available thuggery in Mos Eisley before departing, however, including Tait LeRange, a be-mohawked human from the Tion Hegemony and his partner, a Gran gunslinger aptly named One-Eye, for one was glass and the other was bionic, Mrrova, a tiger-striped Togorian female brusier who needed a prompt beating with a half-chewed bantha rib bone to be sufficently cowed into serving, and lastly, Weequay, an old-fashioned identityless female Weequay sharpshooter with a strongly communist streak.

These ruffians recruited, the Cry Uncle, after being doused with a bottle of Barool's finest Boga Noga, clambered off the steaming sands of Tatooine and took to the sky, off to seek adventure, rapine and pillage among the charted and uncharted stars.

Only to stumble directly into bounty hunters.

The Rule of Three, a heavily-modified Barloz Medium Freighter, lurked just in atmosphere, awaiting the yet-unarmed Uncle, offering a comm hail and a hail of ion fire, on behalf of Bounty Hunter's Guild Member #7742, an as-of-yet unseen angler by the name of "Umgor the Mighty." Channa, from her cushy leather seat at the center of the bridge, ordered the Ubese to stand down and Barool to scramble the redshirts to receive boarders. With everyone clustered in the airlock bay, they allowed the Rule to dock, under the pretense of surrender, and prepared for a firefight.

After a bitter struggle in the cramped airlock tunnel between Channa and Barool's conscripted army and the Rule's own mercenary toughs, a Besalisk dual-wielding A280 shotguns, Brienne of Tarth, Gammorrean-style and a hidden Toong sniper, in which One-Eye was slain and LeRange severely wounded, the Uncle and her crew won the day, with a fresh prize ship to sell, a Toong hostage, a sizable pile of credits and the actual bounty hunter, this "Umgor" escaped to the planet below in an escape pod.

Until later, folks!

Cruel and Unusual Punishment
Chapter: 17
Page Count: 201
Word Count: 107,000 words
Nemo's Bounty: 250,000 Commercial

"The three of them, a drunkard, his saltbrother and the Galactic Menace, had individually cultivated effective immunities against the most drastic of alcohol's consequences on underlings, crewmen and strangers alike and neither Nemo, Odi or Ott are even remotely rattled by Brondi's evidently advanced intoxication."

I warn you. I am, in fact, inebriated.

An action scene approaches in Hull Damage that features a very intoxicated Nemo, fighting a number of bounty hunters and it felt rather disingenuous to describe his mental state without necessarily experiencing actual drunkenness.

So, my girlfriend and I decided to do some hands-on journalism and get swasted. Captain Morgan and cheap Kentucky bourbon were the poisons of the evening and, though Tom Waits demanded the latter, the former is severely tastier.

I'm trying not to over-analyze, in fear of chasing the sensation away and failing to commiserate with our lush of a Captain, but it's kind of a paling experience. I don't think I like it.

I suddenly drastically sympathize with my boozehound protagonists, who just guzzle alcohol with little or thought to the consequences. This shit is nasty. Especially gin.

Those poor bastards.

Until later (maybe?)
- T

Priorities Maybe?
Chapter: 16.5 (Interlude 4)
Page Count: 198
Word Count: 106,000
Nemo's Bounty: 250,000 Commercial

"Moira Quicksilver would have, were it not for the very specific instructions to the contrary, loved nothing more than to shoot this prick's fucking face off."

Nine days worth of physical labor, on my father's dollar, has left me not only somewhat gainfully employed for the first time in years, but also physically enervated beyond belief. Today's day-off was as welcome a relief as one could imagine. I will never again, as long as I live, build another fence. "Fuck," in the words of the Virgin Mary, "fences."

In other news, I'm currently planning a trip out to Montaña to visit
my loverly girlfriend, I'm considering purchasing Volumes 6 -10 of Transmetropolitan and just being done with the whole thing once and for all, I've been listening to a bracing collection of science fiction classics in audiobook form while I labor, including Ender's Game, Snow Crash, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (evidently abridged, I was dismayed to learn), A Scanner Darkly and The Minority Report. I had Neuromancer waiting in the wings but I think I'll actually go out on a limb, give Gaiman his fair shake and try American Gods on for size. I've been leery about him, as we tend to tell EXTREMELY different kinds of stories, but what the hell. Why not?

Otherwise, I'm getting some much missed work on Hull Damage accomplished. I have to keep fighting off the instinct to immediately whip out Celtx and begin drafting a screenplay. Priorities, man! Write the novel, write the screenplay, rob eight banks, make the movie.

Until later.
- T

Vum and Scillainy
Chapter: 16
Page Count: 192
Word Count: 102,800
Nemo's Bounty: 250,000 Commercial

"Under Moira's implacable lead, they drive deeper and deeper into the trackless bush, the strident ruckus of combat ebbing away somewhere beyond and the manifold shapes of ferns, fronds and all the flapping, momentary foliage of a dead run through the jungle coalescing together into a whisking white amorphousness at the fringes of Moira's faltering faculties."

A visit from my lovely girlfriend dragondances has damned my word count and though I am bereaved by her return to the mountainous regions of her birth, I am thus emboldened to reinvigorate my poor forlorn novel again. But first!

Scum and Villainy: My Kind of Scum UpdateCollapse )

Until later.
- T

The Great Title Robbery
Chapter: 16
Page Count: 191
Word Count: 102,400
Nemo's Bounty: 250,000 Commercial

"Escalating silence, where once clamor flourished, and compounding stillness, where once movement thrived, join unnerving forces to raise each and every one of Moira's bounty hunter hackles, until a new sound, the sound of demolishing foiliage, manifests at the very edge of Moira's hearing, almost inaudible over the hullabaloo past her shoulder, though its volume seems to swell with each passing second."

Trying to muse together a title for my next project. Obviously Hull Damage is someways from completion, but my mind nevertheless wanders.

Picture this: a maybe 70,000 word fantasy revenge caper, in which, on the muddy, dissolute bastard of Northern Ireland and Australia, a handful of hapless, very unlucky petty criminals (a loquacious highwayman, a precocious street urchin, an ex-soldier bareknuckle brawler, a pregnant dead-eye prostitute and an amoral rake with too much money and too little scruples) plot to assassinate, for vengeance or profit, the local Robin Hood-esque outlaw/bandit king/revolutionary. Imagine a Renaissance aesthetic and technology level, with the basic plot of a spaghetti western, scored by the raunchier Decemberist tracks, with pithy dialogue and non-linear narrative structure indicative of Quentin Tarantino. 

In desperate need of a title. It was once "The Perfect Criminals," playing off both the "perfect crime" idiom and the Decemberist song thereof, but I'm thinking something sloppier, something a little more evocative of, say "Reservoir Dogs" (just to pick an example totally at random...), something with a little more meat on the bone.

This'll be what I'm musing today. Any notions or ideas would be most appreciated.

Until later.

Life on Mars?
Chapter: 14
Page Count: 171
Word Count: 83,000
Nemo's Bounty: 250,000 Commercial

Point of Interest: Today's excerpt isn't actually from the Endless Night novel – it's from a pending short story, entitled “Olympus Lost,” whose opening paragraphs came to me in a haze. Enjoy.

"Callous chance had cast him beneath.

As only the Fates, blind spinners of fortune, held sway over cast lots and the other cleromancies, the youngest of the three brothers knew instantly who truly was responsible for this first seed of his damnation. At the time, that critical moment uncounted centuries ago, any properly scornful words failed him, as they typically did and he was driven to nothing but a halfhearted lash of his chariot's reigns and perhaps a thwarted sigh as fell steeds bore him forth and down a fresh cleft in the earth, yawning open as if to welcome him below.

The youngest among two bombastic brothers, each more vociferous than the last, Hades spoke least and thought most."

Few things to cover today – choose your poison:


Moving-related AngstryCollapse )


Novel-related RuminationsCollapse )

I do technically owe mattdoyle  a Scum and Villainy Update and indeed, my own side campaign could use a plug, but unfortunately, I had a hell of time even reaching my quota today. Scum and Villainy and its sister-game, My Kind of Scum, will be better served when I've had a chance to recharge my vocabulary-gonads.

Until later.


Chapter: 14
Page Count: 170
Word Count: 82,000
Nemo's Bounty: 250,000 Commercial

"However, one of the several arithmetical factors currently in play, be it the relative gravitational drag of the chamber's partial weightlessness or the increasing fleetness of his opponent's approach and the individual discrepancies in each of their rates of motion, especially when contrasted against the velocity of his own descent, causes him to drastically miscalculate and smash directly into the loping Gung'nooj with excessive momentum, summarily bowling the both of them over in a great heap of thrashing limbs and jabber-expletives."

Today's the day, folks. Today, at 5:00 PM Central Time, the highly-anticipated conclusion of Scum and Villainy. Today, Baroolchen's gonna kill himself some Dangan Ryyder or, quite possibly, vice versa. Either way, some motherfuckers is gonna die.

Until later.


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