Wiz posted:

Uh, Star Citizen has a *realistic* economy, in which aspiring NPC writers can't simply support themselves right off the bat without working a second job. Maybe in a less fidelitous game it would not be so, but frankly then you might as well be playing Call of Duty.

Fortunately you can help the lore along by pledging to Citreon, through which you can support struggling NPC writers with the purchase of JPEGs.

Rugganovich posted:

Ah, I see where I was going wrong. I (wrongfully) thought that the economy in Star Citizen would contain some Socialist/left leanings, with the State assisting those down and out LORE writers, where in fact it is a pure Capitalist economy.

So with that in mind, I did indeed take your advice and just got off the phone to the Salvation Army, asking where I can purchase JPEG's, to assist in the welfare of the more unfortunate and after a rather uncomfortable pause, was told that "I have no idea what you are talking about, perhaps you have the wrong number".

So I am now in a quandary Wiz. I have a pocket full of disposable cash and nowhere to donate/pledge it. Any ideas would be greatly appreciated.

Rugganovich posted:

So I am now in a quandary Wiz. I have a pocket full of disposable cash and nowhere to donate/pledge it. Any ideas would be greatly appreciated.

D1E posted:

I'm glad FAU is changing Derek's avatars out of spite for tanking the value of his ship jpeg collection.

Wiz posted:

Well, I hear MOMA is broke and needs a new belt.

Dementropy posted:

Raskolnikov posted:

Stellaris DLC will run you a pretty penny.

Wiz posted:

Uh, Star Citizen has a *realistic* economy, in which aspiring NPC writers can't simply support themselves right off the bat without working a second job. Maybe in a less fidelitous game it would not be so, but frankly then you might as well be playing Call of Duty.

Fortunately you can help the lore along by pledging to Citreon, through which you can support struggling NPC writers with the purchase of JPEGs.

Beet Wagon posted:

When Wiz is writing better joke lore for your game than you are, you probably hosed up.

Hire the stimpire guy, CIG.

AP posted:

Wipe off my shoe, you got that, right?

Is that not clear enough, is someone being honest with you a complete culture shock after years of dealing with CIG?

Let me spell it out, CIG are completely incapable of following even the most basic coding standards, no tutorial, no delta patcher, it's a company run by idiots producing content provided by people new to the gaming industry,

The only professional part of CIG is the part that takes your money.

thatguy posted:

Nice meltdown, Derek.

Raskolnikov posted:

You're both pretty.

AP posted:

Don't mess with me when I'm trying to get moma to flip out.

I didn't gently caress with your stupid space court gimmick.

Solarin posted:

wish I had a bigger one of these for this post

thatguy posted:

The thread Derek got probated in is pretty if you want to check it out.

ManofManyAliases posted:

It's amazing some of the poo poo that stewed in this thread while I was absent from posting for 2 or so weeks. I was glad to see Smart hasn't changed (in fact, I feel he's really starting to go off the deep end with his theories), and to see some of you arguing as to whether or not I'm financially stable to just throw money away at a non-existent game led by a scam artist. Good job all.

Zzr posted:

-We're going to see 3.0 release much earlier than "mid-year."
-SQ42 will, at the very least, have a level (or few levels) drop this year. Though, I'm optimistic for a full release before end-of-year.
-Certain evocati will begin testing 3.0 very, very soon.

ManofManyAliases posted:

It's amazing some of the poo poo that stewed in this thread while I was absent from posting for 2 or so weeks. I was glad to see Smart hasn't changed (in fact, I feel he's really starting to go off the deep end with his theories), and to see some of you arguing as to whether or not I'm financially stable to just throw money away at a non-existent game led by a scam artist. Good job all.

XK posted:

A lot of the hand wringing squad got got. Needs to happen more often, IMO.

thatguy posted:

All it needed was a QCS thread to add to the bodycount.

Taintrunner posted:

So let me back up for a minute. They designed a space bike, with a loving car door? Which defeats the entire purpose of a loving motorbike in the first loving place?

Jesus f'n Christ.

Jobbo_Fett posted:

Jobbo_Fett posted:

Mind if I quote this?

Jobbo_Fett posted:

None of that actually happened...

ZenMaster posted:

The Florida sunshine lit the edges of the mottled fur, outlining the canine in a golden halo. Stick in mouth, he rolled into his back, daring his master to play the game. Beet drowsily hand waved the animal away.

"Not now eh- Kayak.... er.... I'm still got the uh- stream up." He drew greedily from the smoldering cigarette butt in his mouth.

Kayak dropped Stick and barked once. Beet winced. It wasn't the sharp canine chirp that injected the shudder racing through him. It was that... GAME.

3.0 had finally come. Not to ticker tape, not to throngs of adulation, not even to searing metacritic reviews. No, THEY would never allow that. Review bombing kept Star Citizen at a healthy 5.7. Those who dared publish tepid reviews were summarily beaten about the head with the thick and twisted nouns, verbs, and occasional adverb of the citizen. Reviews were routinely taken down within minutes of publication.

Kayak sat back on his haunches and whined, tilting his head and observing Master. His dogge brain fired with alarms. Something was amiss. Beet dropped the ruined cylinder, crushed it with his bare foot into the grass, pausing to feel the sting of hot ash. He drew in a deep and replenishing breath. Finally, the pain was too much and he slapped his heel twice as orange embers sparked from his reddened flesh, and Kayak made a quick retreat to the edge of the yard.

Kayak knew how to be a good dog. He would wait. Master would return. Master would try to take his stick, and then, oh ho!!... master would never get Stick! He might try, oh how I wish he would TRY. His dog brain eased, his heart slowed, and sleep overcame him as the warm sun continued to envelope him in an angelic glow.

He woke hours later. The day had grown cold; the sky grey. Sniffing the air, Kayak trotted towards the house, sitting under the bedroom window. Maybe he could hear Master? He couldn't, and the most intelligent part of his mental facility could not attach the sounds emanating from the window to anything he could identify.

Pew pew pew. Pew pew pew.

Over and over. It seems like hours. He wandered to his food dish, licking at the hard crust of day old crumbs left over from his last feeding. He licked at the dripping faucet, trying to slake his thirst. Master would come. Master always brought good boys food. Kayak was a good boy. Kayak would wait. Kayak would show Master he was a good boy and then Master would bring the food to Kayak.

..................


In less than a week Kayak was stealing food from the neighbor's cat. The fat tabby would eye him evilly from the fence, worried yowls interrupting the dog's irregular meals. Kayak would turn, lower his head, and snarl. That sound terrified Kayak, even more than the tabby. It was base and feral. He was NOT a good boy anymore, but he was alive. Master had not come to see him. Kayak had been bad, and he deserved this. He didn't deserve food, water, or Master's reassuring voice. Once, he tried barking under the window, and Master had used his voice. BAD DOG! SHUT UP! EH WOP DID YEAH!!! It was enough to keep Kayak happy for the rest of the week. But he knew never to do it again, and he didn't. Master was safe, he now knew... he would come... he would come...

Stick, he thought, in his dogish way. It was Stick. I would not give Stick to Master and he is mad at Kayak. As the dog inhaled the stale mix of fish and grain flavored bits, he decided to give back Stick. That would make Master happy. Then Kayak would be a good boy.

.................


Stick sat on the porch for 3 weeks. Kayak would wake every morning, run to see if Stick was gone, but to his dismay, it never was. Kayak would then sniff Stick... maybe Master has touched it, maybe if he could just... just... smell Master's hand on Stick, maybe, he would be a good boy again.

It always smelled of Stick and Stick alone.

He lay back down and watched the birds hopping around the now, long dead grass. Master would come, he would always believe that... Master would come. Even during the long nights when he shivered away the chill and the PEW PEW PEWs never stopped until the big light would rise over the house, he would believe Master would come.

...............

Kayak wasn't young anymore. Time and malnutrition dug their wretched claws into his aching body. One day, he had heard the close of many car doors, a siren, and felt the rush of unknown people going in and out of Master's home. He barked and barked. STAY OUT!!! STAY OUT!!! But he had failed. Master would surely be even more angry now. He saw a white box with pretty lights drive away... he could almost smell Master on the breeze as the car disappeared around the corner. He paced. Who had taken him?

Hours passed and a few people milled about. Some strangers in blue uniforms opened the fence, but Kayak hid. They called to him, how did they know his name? He wouldn't go to them. He was a bad dog now. Bad dogs didn't go when called. He would not go. After a long while, they left and Kayak relaxed a bit.

Kayak found an old, crumpled pack of cigarettes in a dead bush. He smelled the sultry tang of Master's hand on the little box. He took it carefully into his teeth and walked back to his edge of the yard. The tabby hissed at him from the adjacent yard but he was busy filling his nostrils with that sweet scent... the stale tobacco flavor faded into the background. All that was left was Master.

He would come back, Kayak knew that.

He pulled a cigarette out, the light outside beginning to fade once again. His bones were always cold now. It hurt to walk, so he just sat now. I will wait for Master. I will be here until he returns.
I will welcome him home and he will love me again. I will be right here.

Always.