The thing is, I kind of don’t like Nate. I mean, I’m not all that fond of Nora either; for one thing, if you’re going for the alliteration, it really ought to be Nick and Nora instead, and also, anyone who can spawn that … thing …
probably already had some radiation damage to begin with, but anyway … I just … maybe Nate’s voice works for the character Bethesda had in mind, but it didn’t work for me. Nora’s voice was more … neutral? I dunno – maybe because of the bathroom I use, but when I hear “my” character say “my” lines, it’s in “my” actual voice, whereas I can’t, without some serious surgery and hormone treatment, “be” Nora or, in my universe, Ms. California Forthwith, so any voice is fine.
But not any occupation, as, now that I am exploring new areas of my identity, I am wondering how come he gets to be the decorated war hero and I get to be a …
… lawyer? Like this is some 80’s crime drama where he gets to go out and wrestle the bad guys while I stay at home and file briefs? I am not filing briefs. Mostly because I don’t wear any, speaking of which –
why the hell am I wearing a pantsuit? This is the 50’s, or at least a nuclear-powered facsimile thereof! I want a pink silk prom dress!
Okay, time to ditch these losers and go find some action, by which I mean “get Piper all jacked up on Nuka-Cola” because while I am trying to expand my roleplaying horizons, there is only so far I am capable of imagining, and those horizons do not include Preston, Danse, or that freak I got hooked up with. I can only assume I was seriously wasted when I made that life decision, and then along came the maggot.
But times are changing for Ms. Forthwith –
If I am not sounding very maternal, it’s because … well, partly because I apparently birthed some form of larva that will then go on to become not just a mad scientist bent on world domination, not just the architect of mankind’s robot doom, but he doesn’t even have the courtesy to treat his robots like people. Have we learned nothing from Battlestar Galactica?
So it’s hard to summon up a whole lotta motherly love. Not to mention I was never consulted about whether to have a baby, get married, or go to law school. Maybe I wanted to move to New York, take up an art career …
Yes, yes, I know – that would have been a short role-playing game. But there’s a difference between poor life choices
… wait … you know, actually, she’s right. They did all die except for me and the maggot. Because I had the special backup DNA … wait, all they wanted was pre-War DNA, right? Wouldn’t it have made sense to keep everyone alive? Sure, the maggot had the best genes1, but there’s nothing particularly special about my DNA, so surely any of the other townsfolk would have worked in a pinch. Okay, and maybe it would have been risky that one of them rebelled and tried to stop your evil plan, but then again – that is exactly what I am going to do. It just seems like it would have been smarter to keep them around and maybe invest in a good marketing department.
Oh, right – it was Kellogg, the Cereal Killer. Which is why your tend not to put homicidal maniacs in positions of high trust. Not even if they “get the job done.” ‘Cause they’re sure enough gonna piss off enough people that you might as well scribble “be torn apart by angry mob” on your calendar.
Sigh. Generic evil villains.
Some days, you really have to be vested in your game, you know? Like when you come across the crashed airliner with the cooler full of crunchy squirrel bits – I mean, I assume the airliner is pre-War, why the hell would they be eating squirrel? Were they from Kentucky?
Or when the game insists, despite all of your Fallout: New Vegas metaknowledge, that you should join the Brotherhood of Steel. I don’t care that they’re the good guys in this game, they put a slave collar on Tex Kennedy, and for that they have to die!
See, if Bethesda is gonna drag me across the Wasteland to find the baby I will inevitably have to shoot in the head, I can’t be blamed for doing some … creative reinterpretation.
So this game, I’m being a little more relaxed. I didn’t care that the sirens were going off, I wandered around Sanctuary and tried to talk to the people –
But mostly there were freaking out because they were all going to die. Hey, thanks for harshing my gaming mellow, guys! Jeez! First I have to wear this crappy Hillary-Clinton style outfit, and now all you can whine about is “oh my god, the bombs!”
It’s totally stressing me out. I need to blow this dump, go find someplace more exciting, certain someplace with better fashion sense –