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Taberquol posted:I did too and I recently finished it. I want to play it again but am going to let it percolate a bit. Same here, only all the skill descriptions warning you about raising it too high got me curious, so I tweaked things a bit.  I call it Hypercop. 
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Dec 13, 2019 19:25
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Chapter 5: 13:38-15:18: Cop Discovers One Weird Trick To Recover From A Hangover In Just Thirty Minutes Content warning: this update contains more homophobic slurs from the horrible gremlin children.  We can check on our available White Checks at any time in the journal. Now that we have the ammonia, we can try to approach the Hanged Man again.      KIM KITSURAGI: “Nor does the wind right now…” you feel the lieutenant pat on your back, rhythmically. ESPRIT DE CORPS: [Medium: Success] The weight is re-assuring. Like a crenel on solid fortification. Pat pat pat…  KIM KITSURAGI: “I’ve seen *captains* puke their guts out. It never gets easier, you never get used to the smell. Every Monday is cadaver day—throw up, investigate, throw up, initial autopsy, throw up, bag it...” He pats on your back again.  KIM KITSURAGI: “I think I’ve lost my sense of smell.” There’s a pause.  KIM KITSURAGI: “No. This is a two-man assignment, because it needs two officers to complete. I need your help.” He withdraws his hand and looks you in the eye:     Volumetric poo poo Compressor offers no research bonus and only takes 30 minutes. Let’s pop that bad boy in our skull.     Now we can collect tare! What the hell is tare? (It’s empty bottles we can turn in for recycling money)       KIM KITSURAGI: “Not much. I don’t have a *fresh perspective* on it. Shall we go?”  Collecting bottles so we don’t die of exposure tonight, doot doot dooooooo~  Hey, the kitchen is open. It is paramount to the investigation that you check it out.    GORĄCY KUBEK: As you step in, he nods towards the table and says something in a completely foreign language. The only words you can make out are “goracy” and “kubek”.   GORĄCY KUBEK: It’s almost like music, especially with the sounds of assorted dishes boiling and simmering on the stove.  All right, you had better talk to Garte and get those keys.  GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Mine? No, it belongs to the Whirling-In-Rags.” KIM KITSURAGI: “Thank you for clearing that up. Why do you keep the container locked? GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Why? To keep the hobos and drunks out, that’s why. And the neighbors too. They put their trash there and they don’t pay for the garbage company.” KIM KITSURAGI: “I thought as much—and are you the only party with access to the trash container?” GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Well, yes, us and the garbage disposal company.”   GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “*Callous*? What are you, Kras Mazov? Almost all establishments in Revachol keep their trash locked. The Whirling-In-Rags is not special in that regard.”    GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “What for, Mazov? Are you planning to nationalize my trash container?” KIM KITSURAGI: “It concerns the case.” The lieutenant’s voice is harsh and sudden. “Please cooperate.” GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: He takes the keys from under the counter and hands them to you: “Just bring them back once you’re done, please.”   GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Yes—not the whole drat Union, thank god. Just the nastiest and *loudest* faction.” He tosses his head in disdain. “They come here in the evenings. Dumb, unruly types. Think they’re Big poo poo. But they’re good customers—they place big orders, and always pay *on time*.”    GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “What?”  GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Absolutely out of the question.” VOLITION: You wait and see, cafeteria manager!   Back outside, you run into two old men playing some form of ball game.  GASTON MARTIN: “I’ll be with you in a moment, officer. Let me just finish my sandwich.” He nods to his partner. “Talk to angry old René first.” All righty then.  GASTON MARTIN: “René, you’re a man with a fork in a world of soup. Please… let’s just try to enjoy the game, alright?” This one’s still chewing on his sandwich. RENÉ ARNOUX: “I’m trying to, but you keep breaking my concentration. You’re old, I can see that. We’re both old. Now stop grabbing your rear end like it’s a girl.”    Hmmmmmmmm, no. Let’s not.  RENÉ ARNOUX: “See? Your munching and complaining have ruined my concentration.” The man throws a metal ball toward a smaller, wooden ball in the sand, missing it by a metre. INTERFACING: [Medium: Success] Could the objective of the game be to throw the metal ball so it lands by the wooden ball? GASTON MARTIN: “Ah, *mon dieu*! The pain in my back is unbearable. I can’t even say if it’s in my back or hip any more. Feels like it’s in *both*!” He tries to measure the throw. RENÉ ARNOUX: “I hope you pass out from it, you goddamn jellyfish. Men like you are the reason this nation is sinking.” Standing tall and proud he looks at his partner with disgust.     Fine, just stop yelling at me!    As you wind up, you trip, releasing the ball.    GASTON MARTIN: “What are you talking about? You just executed a pretty much perfect pétanque throw!” His tone is full of admiration.  RENÉ ARNOUX: “Probably because those rooster pants are squeezing you senseless. What ever happened to practical? Durable? Revachol-made?” He shakes his head. “Now what can I do for you?” COMPOSURE: Look who’s talking—that cockatoo uniform must give him a real advantage. When fighting in *the circus*.     RENÉ ARNOUX: “If I knew, I would not be *afraid* to tell you. I simply don’t. I am an old man, not a coward. The daily business of the riff-raff no longer concerns me.”        RENÉ ARNOUX: “Sadly no. It was the foreigners who brought them to their knees. We fought valiantly—too valiantly. So valiantly, we got licked,” he adds, squeezing a *boule* in his fist.  RENÉ ARNOUX: “Yes,” he nods, inspecting you with some disdain. “The military-coordinated amphibious landing to take back Revachol.”  RENÉ ARNOUX: “This here is blood ground, where Coalition boots first made landfall and cleaned those rabid dogs out. Most likely.” he says, looking down at the soil, “we’re playing pétanque on their mangled corpses.”   RENÉ ARNOUX: “drat right, son. They laid out the fire of hell on this city before they stormed it. And it worked, too.” There is a strange gleam in his eyes.  Sweet, your poo poo is ready and compressed. GASTON MARTIN: “Well, it’s your own drat fault,” the jolly man marks. “You, we, the Coalition, Revachol—whoever you wanna blame—never finished the job. Officially the Party never surrendered. Of course they still hold influence.” RENÉ ARNOUX: “You don’t even *begin* to truly understand the players on the table, let alone the specific circumstances surrounding the…” He stops mid-sentence and turns to you. “What do you think?”  RENÉ ARNOUX: “Preposterous! Surely you don’t mean it.” He frowns. “I’m just sorry it had to be them. After eight years of fighting those commie hyenas, boiling cats for food and drinking my piss in the mountains… I *would* have preferred if the right honourable kind Guillaume returned to Revachol or even if that drat clown, Frissel, had risen from the grave and led us. Sadly that was not the case.” EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] This *Royal* failure weighs heavily on him. RENÉ ARNOUX:”Instead, all that is just, holy and beautiful in the world was wiped away and now it’s neon signs with toothpaste ads everywhere. Foreign influence peddling garbage and stupid music on the radio.” He sighs.  RENÉ ARNOUX: “drat Frissel—he was the king we couldn’t protect. The carabineers failed him… and the crown.” The old veteran falls silent and massages his chest. “He died in the hands of the *hoi polloi* in a very public execution.”   RENÉ ARNOUX: “The Suzerain is the King. Has everyone forgotten already?” He the slowly nods and says to himself: “They’ve forgotten already.”    RENÉ ARNOUX: He catches your glance and nods. “This is the uniform of the Royal Carabineers in service of Frissel the First, Guillaume *Le Lion* and the valiant king Filippe the Fifth before him.” GASTON MARTIN: “Don’t you mean Frissel the Fun?” RENÉ ARNOUX: “*You* do not speak his name, craven! Although he was a clown…” he adds. He turns back to you. “But he was *our* clown. Ours to ridicule—and to mourn.”           Oh. RHETORIC: Yes! Abject failure. Total, irreversible defeat on all fronts! Absolutely vanquished, beaten, curb-stomped and pissed on—until *you* came along! *You* will reverse the fortune of the workers of the world. You alone, against every living thing, against every human alive: eight hundred trillion reál in the hands of an *impossibly* well organized ruling class; towering city blocks of bank-men who have the ears of prime ministers; million-headed armies of nations and the love of your own mother! You—against the atom, the charm and the spin. Where the whole world failed—matter failed to bend to human will; human will failed to get out of bed and tie its laces—you alone, single-handedly, will rebuild the dreams of the working class. You are The Last Communist.     I’m gonna be the bestest communist!     Now we can head back to the corpse and hopefully pass that White Check.  Unfortunately, I don’t think we’re actually going to internalize Mazovian Socio-Economics, because I know what it does from my first run and I don’t think the thought itself is great. We’re still gonna do tons of communism, though.  We’re not going to equip this one just yet either, but maybe later.        Back over by the hanged man, we finally decide to investigate these footprints.  PERCEPTION (SIGHT): Heavy worker’s boots with reinforced toes and hobnails. All over the yard.     We lose 1 Morale for failing that check. Whatever, back to the corpse.       THE HANGED MAN: The material appears to be ceramic. Its clean white stands in stark contrast to the decaying flesh above the knee. The man wore thick polymer socks, probably for padding. A fine array of interlocking plates covers them. INLAND EMPIRE: [Easy: Success] Delicate and fragile, they feel alien to the world around you. Out of place somehow.     KIM KITSURAGI: He nods: “Piece by piece. He’s been out here for seven days—it would be odd if they didn’t.”   KIM KITSURAGI: “It is. It’s expensive.” The lieutenant draws a line in the condensation on the ceramic—with his index finger.     KIM KITSURAGI: “Just something I scraped together from my station. An area report on Martinaise. I’m sure you did the same…”    KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s anything but. This material is a kinetic re-distributor. It spreads energy horizontally, from plate to plate. Dissipating it entirely.” He points to the boots. “See?” THE HANGED MAN: Faint, organic lines cover the plates where they separate into smaller ones. These plates then divide into smaller plates, until there are hundreds of them altogether…   CONCEPTUALIZATION: The smooth glossy surface fractures into ever more intricate interconnections, peaking on the right sabaton, where you notice…        KIM KITSURAGI: “Industrial strength. The kind used for tying cargo to lorries.”   KIM KITSURAGI: “I’m still approaching this as a lynching, yes. Motivated by the ongoing strike.” He politely raises an eyebrow: “You?”   KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s not merely polyester—it’s steel reinforced.” He rises to inspect the noose. “See these lines? This is where the wires run. I see rabbets for more than twenty strands.”     THE HANGED MAN: An intricate web of blue lines stretches across the torso. From the right shoulder to the solar plexus, each time they intersect a small white star is formed in their crossing. Hundreds of fading asterisks riddle his skin, their concentration is highest around his heart.   KIM KITSURAGI: “A map of the stars?” He turns around to breathe before inspecting it closer. “I do see some similarity to astronomical charts, Great Century messinian maybe… but this seems more particular. Customized somehow.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “So am I.” A sudden ringing fills the air as the lieutenant pulls down the zipper of his orange jacket.  CUNOESSE: “poo poo, Cuno! WHAT THE gently caress IS THAT?!?” KIM KITSURAGI: “An instant colour camera.” He produces two metal-capped ampoules and clicks them into place on the side of the apparatus. A thin slot shines there…  Don’t tell Cuno that, he’s just gonna gently caress it up on purpose!   KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes…” He slides the camera closed and tucks it away on his belt. “It is pretty *cool*, isn’t it?”     THE HANGED MAN: His eyes are milky white and blind to the world, protruding comically from their sockets. There is no one home, just sub-aquatic terrors there.          THE HANGED MAN: It’s the power of your… (Black, frothy liquid starts bubbling on his lips…) HORRIFIC NECKTIE: Yeah, man, don’t be *crazy.* Inanimate objects and dead people can’t really talk to you, your *wild imagination* is doing this—ask some more of those questions you love so much!                   THE HANGED MAN: The monster comes back into focus: an explosion of colour, coursing with dark marbled veins. His stomach appears pregnant with something—black liquid streams down his thigh and onto his boot.  KIM KITSURAGI: “I do. Most of them are post mortem. Maybe even all of them. The delinquents have made our jobs harder with their little sport.” CUNO: “Stop talking in riddles, coin slot.”  THE HANGED MAN: A pool of blood and feces has eaten into the frozen mud below the man’s feet. Purge liquid is dripping into it, drop by drop. KIM KITSURAGI: “The victim appears to have contained no more than half a kilogram of digestion at the time of death.” CUNO: “The gently caress he sayin?”   KIM KITSURAGI: “I think he was upright immediately after death. Blood has gathered in his hands and feet. And his neck.” He points to his fattened chin.            CUNOESSE: “Yeah!” The enthusiasm is unrestrained. “Bang bang time, pigs! Shoot his head off!”  KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes…” He corrects his glasses. “The buckle—where it ties the cargo belt to the tree. If the shot hits that then there might be a small chance to release the belt…” CUNO: “Yeah, now we’re talkin’. Entertain the Cuno with some poo poo.”      Seems like you’re out of options. The harbour it is.   KIM KITSURAGI: “To ask the *suspects* for help with the victim’s body? To be indebted to Evrart Claire? Very much, yes—which is why I would have preferred us to handle this ourselves. Clearly we can’t.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “The leader of the Union. A dangerous and corrupt man, from what I hear—you don’t want to owe him much.”   And so, we have resolved to get the body down by asking Evrart Claire for help.
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Dec 13, 2019 19:51
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Despite everything, I did not expect to see a character named René Arnoux in this game.
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Dec 13, 2019 20:01
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the awful goblin children do such a wonderful job of capturing the tabletop dynamic at any table where the group's been asked to do some serious business Kim and our character are here representing team Trying To Do The Job, while Cuno and Cunoesse gleefully riff off the DM's every new line of exposition because they've got no investigation skills they are clearly having a lot of fun with this
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Dec 13, 2019 21:16
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 "Tare" refers to any container of goods, especially one whose weight is not factored into the cost of purchase or transport. Supermarket produce bags and shipping containers are both tare.I love Inland Empire.
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Dec 13, 2019 23:05
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Inland Empire: conversations with dead men, iron certainty about giraffes.
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Dec 13, 2019 23:35
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This sure is a nice way of seeing what all the fuss about, but I'd like it better if I could do it my way. Maybe I'll buy it later. That conversation with the other cops just about killed me.
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Dec 14, 2019 05:09
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There's one more bonus you could have gotten for dealing with the stink by asking a hideous gremlin how he does it, but most cops just get their poo poo together.
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Dec 14, 2019 07:54
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Supersonic Shine posted:This sure is a nice way of seeing what all the fuss about, but I'd like it better if I could do it my way. Maybe I'll buy it later. That conversation with the other cops just about killed me. Yeah that was the moment I realized this was not merely a good game but a great one
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Dec 14, 2019 08:04
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Arist posted:when she speaks again it sound slike ... I support both linking the game's music on youtube or wherever and trying have botch cop handle conversations etc in a different order. Calling the lazareth but never learning about Dick Mullen before reporting your gun missing, that sort of thing. See just how many little things change about what our hero knows. I'd recommend the OP check at least one of my guides (major spoilers for everyone who hasn't played the game to completion, possibly several times over): https://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=1921534085 At the moment, the canon playthrough is far too boring, backing away from many weird interactions that aren't just neutral, but are canonically Kim-approved. Xander77 fucked around with this message at 20:02 on Dec 15, 2019 |
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Dec 15, 2019 19:50
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Odd question: Was that song about the Smallest Church like, "While My Guitar Gently Weeps?"
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Dec 15, 2019 20:42
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Feel free to be weirder in the LP.
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Dec 15, 2019 21:17
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Xander77 posted:Spelling errors. So, it's tricky. There's obviously no such thing as a "definitive" run of this game that shows you everything or even at least most of it. I also kind of don't want to just bounce from pre-approved comedic setpiece to pre-approved comedic setpiece, instead of playing the game the way a human being might, which is semi-carefully but still making occasional mistakes. I prefer to keep an element of discovery even for myself. I've even avoided savescumming unless I really had to make a check I knew would be worthwhile (which, I have not done yet at this point in the LP; every check and failure has been legit so far). At the same time, I definitely understand where you're coming from, and am at least considering rerecording some stuff, like the next Botchcop update at least. I'm open to most anything because this is a much more complicated project than anything I've worked on previously, so I'm still figuring a lot of poo poo out. It's a learning process.
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Dec 15, 2019 21:25
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Chapter 6: 15:18-16:48: Copologies For My Misconduct Content warning: This update contains depictions of racism, homophobic slurs, and mentions of suicide.  Let’s put a point into Visual Calculus so we can retry the footprints White Check.     VISUAL CALCULUS: 1) Standard work boot, steel reinforced toes, no 46. 2) Standard work boot, steel reinforced toes, no 44. 3) Hobnailed work boot, steel reinforced toes, no 43.   VISUAL CALCULUS: 5) Another standard work boot, steel reinforced toes, no 44.    VISUAL CALCULUS: 7) The glowing outline of a standard work boot, no 46. But the imprints are *twice* as deep as the others—the weight exceeds 200 kilograms. 8) And yet another standard work boot, no 44. There’s an aberration in the pattern of the sole, however. The right sole is smoother, more worn.      KIM KITSURAGI: “200?” He thinks for a moment. “Could it be the combined weight of two people, one carrying the other who’s tied up? Let’s say, a heavily built worker carrying a similarly built, soon-to-be-dead man?”    KIM KITSURAGI: “Someone operating a work bench—with a pedal. Like a joiner at the harbour?” He thinks for a second. “Or maybe a drummer…”  KIM KITSURAGI: “I don’t know why I said that. We’re not looking for a drummer, we’re looking for a group of dockworkers.”  KIM KITSURAGI: He doesn’t seem to hear you, looking South toward the traffic jam instead. The machines are silent, the engines are all turned off…   KIM KITSURAGI: “A week maybe? Seven days would fit the time frame provided to us by the caller, who reported the hanging.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “I pulled last week’s forecast for coastal Revachol. Seven days below freezing. The day before—the day of his hanging—was the last warm day.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “What do I think? A mob of people brought something heavy to the tree. One of them was carrying the victim. They shuffled around, especially under the tree. Then after hoisting him up, they stood in a semicircle facing his direction. At first glance, this appears to be a lynching.”  With the footprints checked out, you decide to finally open the trash container.   If we were to try to open the container, we would suffer a penalty of minus 10 because we don’t have the prybar equipped. Let’s just use the key. TRASH CONTAINER: With a well-oiled crack the lock pops open. It should now be possible to simply raise the lid…   TRASH CONTAINER: The smell of rotten food rises to greet you. You see soggy cartons, dirty rags, and organic waste.  TRASH CONTAINER: You see: milk, an egg-rest with one broken egg in it, some pasta wrappers… Picking up the soggy packages somehow feels familiar.     TRASH CONTAINER: As the legs of the slime-covered jeans begin to unspool from the garbage, a rank corpse smell fills the air. KIM KITSURAGI: “The victim’s clothes?” The lieutenant smells them. “Cadaverine odour is faint. If these belonged to the deceased, they were removed when he was still in the early stages of decay.”  KIM KITSURAGI: Kim quickly searches the jeans. “*Guitar* mark blue jeans. Pockets empty. Or *emptied*? He wore them with a belt, too, a wide belt—the loops appear stretched, but...” He looks into the container: “The belt is missing. That’s it. Do you see anything else in there? I have another bag here…”   KIM KITSURAGI: “This is a military type over-garment. No label or serial number—this is the kind of rib-knit shirt that’s worn over light armour to conceal it in an urban scenario…” He nods to himself. “Anything more?”   CUNOESSE: “The gently caress’s he on about--*kids*?!” The one behind the fence yells. “You hear that, Cuno? He thinks you’re an infant or something.”    TRASH CONTAINER: It’s just organic waste, cols and slimy on your hands. Apple and potato peels mostly, unidentified sludge, and the occasional chicken bone thrown in for good measure. But hey… INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] Nothing. It’s nothing. Nothing more to see here.       This must be what Sylvie did with your paperwork after she unclogged the toilet. KIM KITSURAGI: “Well…” He doesn’t know what to say. EMPATHY: [Medium: Success] His eyes express a rare condolence. Then he picks it up:  KIM KITSURAGI: “It would also not hurt to start taking notes on the case.” He peers into the trash, where soggy cartons and rags stink, uninvitingly. “Now, tell me what your eagle eyes see. Or are we finished?”   Oh. Oh dear.   TRASH CONTAINER: The container sounds a muffled gong.      SUGGESTION: No, you’re the *sorry cop*. The cop who’s sorriest. Let’s make it official, then, shall we?   SUGGESTION: What? Jealous of the *sorry cop?* I think they’ll be fine. Don’t worry.   LOGIC: [Easy: Success:] That won’t happen.  Let’s internalize that right away, but I’m sorry if you wanted something else.  *sigh* Let’s talk to Cuno again.    CUNO: “Look at him!” He points to the body. “loving growth hormone poo poo. He’s a giant. The armour’s too big for *any man*.”  CUNO: “Cuno tried to get the helmet on. It was too big.” He performs a kick-off on the imaginary helmet.  CUNO: “Yeah, that poo poo means *nothing* to Cuno,” he repeats. “Cuno doesn’t give a poo poo about material poo poo. Cuno’s a loving monk!”  CUNO: “Yeah, Cock-in-Boots. You know that jolly Union cow fucker? You do not, in fact, know who this person is. CUNO: Came around talking about cows or some poo poo. Came around pretendin’ like he cares about cows. So yeah, he’s the one you wanna talk to. He’s loving crazy about that armour poo poo. Coming here, pretending he likes cows, tryin’a catch a peep at Cuno’s armour… Go to the gates—ask him yourself.”  CUNO: “gently caress are you talking about? What is this *con-tush-on* poo poo?” He grabs his head like it’s suddenly hurting.  CUNO: “Oh, did Cuno make your poo poo-sniffing harder? Obstruction of poo poo-sniffing?” He lets go of his head, suddenly feeling better. “This is Cuno’s Kingdom. Cuno loving rules here.”     CUNO: “Listen! Listen!” he stops you. “Cuno doesn’t care about this small-time poo poo. Just listen—Cuno saw what you did there. Dumpster diving. Sad poo poo.”  CUNO: “Look, Cuno ain’t seen poo poo lying around, ‘cept for that f****t up there.” He points to the cadaver. Now you want performance gear or not, grandpa?”  CUNO: “Pig, these are FALN *Modulars*! Liquid fit, performance crotch, urban survival poo poo! Made in Mirova… by scientists. *Pants* scientists. Believe it, you *need* this poo poo...” He unzips his jacket to give you a quick peek at the plastic-wrapped pants. T hey are graphite-black and look brand new. Hmm… performance crotch… you are a little tight around there in your current pants. SAVOIR FAIRE: [Trivial: Success] These could drastically improve your chances of survival in the urban wilderness. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: [Easy: Success] Coach Physical Instrument endorses these pants. They are tartan-ready.  CUNO: “All right, piggo!” His face lights up. “poo poo’s rolling.” CUNOESSE: “Don’t do business with the pig, Cuno! He’s gonna steal all your money, Cuno!” CUNO: “As you can see…” Cuno nods towards the fence. “Cuno and C don’t trust you. Can’t do business without trust.”   CUNO: “Yeah, Cuno see where this is going. Cuno’s got that fast-brain,” he whispers excitedly. “You saying you pigs are after the mug fucker—coz he’s the clothes fucker...”  CUNO: “poo poo, that’s tense…” He thinks for a moment. “Someone’s going to the beatdown-basement, huh? Mug-guy gonna get tied to the radiator.” He nods in approval. “Cuno doesn’t know who put that poo poo in there. And if he did, he wouldn’t squeal. But if you find out, maybe you can…” CUNOESSE: “Stop turning into a pig, Cuno! They’re trying to get you hooked on the snitching!” She lets out a hiss, even meaner than before. “Get away from my Cuno, f****ts!”   CUNO: “gently caress does Cuno know. Cuno’s not a loving acrobat!” KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant takes a quick note in his notebook.     CUNO: “Look, Cuno doesn’t explain poo poo—Cuno just *says* poo poo.” He looks you in the eye and nods, as if agreeing with himself.   You should head back to the Coupris Kineema and call the precinct about the serial number from the armor.     INSANE CLOWN POSSE, HELL YEAH   Now, let’s inspect our new items.         YELLOW MAN MUG: But it was in the trash. Why not just call it out when you see it? Or do some volunteering work? Just finish your case, detective.  There’s something onimous about this…  DAMAGED LEDGER: There’s a piece of toilet paper—or is it cleaning tissue? No, it’s toilet paper--*desperately* sticking to the back of the blue plastic clipboard. It’s a metaphor—for you.       KIM KITSURAGI: “It depends. Aside from an anti-counterfeiting stamp, mine has my Station number and address. The information varies by date of issue.”   KIM KITSURAGI: “All RCM vehicles have headlights designed to reveal halogen watermarks. Mine too.”  KIM KITSURAGI: “Okay.” He returns to his neatly kept notes…  DAMAGED LEDGER: They’re not *exactly* white. They’re yellowed in patches by sunlight and alcohol, and covered in dense blue handwriting. Ink escapes into watercolour patterns, reaching its tendrils across entire pages. The paper itself is chequered with faint red lines forming short paragraphs.  DAMAGED LEDGER: Work. Strife. Povery. The Jamrock Quarter. These are handwritten logs of investigations dating back to January ‘51, this year. The exact number is hard to estimate due to missing pages—and an *odd* naming convention—but there are at least twenty, maybe thirty cases. Undertaken, not completed, mind you.    KIM KITSURAGI: “That’s okay.” He nods, then turns back to his own case files. “We all do, sooner or later.”  DAMAGED LEDGER: Yes. It appears you employ a… shall we say *robust yet literary* system. Each investigation has its case number written on the margins. Yet, still more tellingly, most are accompanied by a *name*.   DAMAGED LEDGER: Others appear more light-hearted. THE GUYS ON A COUCH IN AN UNFAMILIAR LOCATION and THE MURDER AT THE HOOKAH PARLOUR, even the rare article free COLLAPSING TENEMENT. Murder features prominently throughout.     KIM KITSURAGI: “Again in your defence, I seem to have named one…” He peeks into his notes. “THE MAN WITH THE HOLE IN HIS HEAD. That was a real person, his death was real. Still I named it that. To amuse myself.”    DAMAGED LEDGER: The tasks you’ve completed flow out of the Kind Green Ape pen in a brash freehand similar to the rest of the letters. The wording comes easily, it’s almost robotically simple; a language developed for mental rigour and simplicity: “Inspect victim’s body.” “Get the body down.” “Interview the cafeteria manager.”      KIM KITSURAGI: “Furies. Yes. Well.” It’s obvious he doesn’t like it. “I don’t know. I have to be honest—I’m not experiencing the *internal strife* that refers to. And also...” He furrows his brow. “Could we make it less *poetic* somehow? Just a normal case name, you know. Think—what would that be? A good *normal* name?”  Fine, we’ll go with the boring one for you, Kim. KIM KITSURAGI: “Great! That’s great. That’s actually what *I* was thinking too—THE HANGED MAN. Good, strong name. We have a very good name for the case now.     LOGIC: [Medium: Failure] It’s possible: yes. Easy: no. You need to come up with a small archaeological system to re-order the remains of your past works. At the moment all they do is fall apart in your hands. Some dates and the numeric titular system is all you have.  DAMAGED LEDGER: In the back you see thin translucent copier paper—some neon yellow, some bright red—all covered in boxes., like marching armies. These look like official forms, waiting to be filled out…  DAMAGED LEDGER: Three. The topmost are MISCONDUCT FINES, the middle ones are STATION CALLS, and the bottommost are FIELD AUTOPSY FORMS. Each is easy enough to make sense of.     DAMAGED LEDGER: Yes—all that remains now is to fill those forms and *hand* them to people: fines for wrongdoers, interview requests for bad guys, and field autopsies to *dead* guys.    DAMAGED LEDGER: Blue.         DAMAGED LEDGER: What are you waiting for? Just… INLAND EMPIRE: [Medium: Success] That’s because you know where this leads to.    Rude!   DAMAGED LEDGER: It smells of chewing gum—apricot flavoured.  DAMAGED LEDGER: Familiar handwriting lines the inside of the card—looped, round letters in a woman’s hand. VISUAL CALCULUS: [Easy: Success] A young woman in her twenties. There is care, effort and a *smile*, you think—although that is not something you can read from someone’s handwriting. DAMAGED LEDGER: “Harry,” it begins—you’re already reading. “I wanted to write you a letter, so you can read it when you wake up. Maybe it will make you happy.”         ENDURANCE: To what? There’s nothing…   Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Arist fucked around with this message at 19:11 on Dec 20, 2019 |
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Dec 15, 2019 23:55
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Yeah, finding out that that was the title screen was pretty fun. I still wonder what the "rear end in a top hat" line would make you do. Also, I never thought of calling in the boots' serial number, dammit! Guess I'll do that when I'm at home.
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Dec 16, 2019 01:48
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Congratulations, you've passed out twice now and it's still only day 1.
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Dec 16, 2019 06:20
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Ibblebibble posted:Yeah, finding out that that was the title screen was pretty fun. I still wonder what the "rear end in a top hat" line would make you do. I didn't even know the boots HAD a serial number!
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Dec 16, 2019 06:26
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And here we find out that Inland Empire might have a good reason to try and keep our past buried.
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Dec 16, 2019 08:09
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Night10194 posted:I didn't even know the boots HAD a serial number! This is one of those things about the game - so many things are locked behind passive checks. Like here, if you look back at the prior update the detective needs to have 4 buffed Conceptualization to pass the Medium passive to notice the patterns in the armor, then they're investigated further to reveal the serial number. (Trivial is a diff 7 passive which needs a 1 to pass. I don't think you can debuff your perception at this point in the game.) You can have a completely satisfying time running through the game and feeling all kinds of clued-in because of tipoffs from the stats you have, but completely miss little detours that the stats you don't have would have given you.
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Dec 16, 2019 10:45
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I'm glad you're doing this - I tried playing this and instantly locked up into decision paralysis.
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Dec 16, 2019 16:47
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Is it hypothetically possible to open the locked trash can without the pry bar equipped (ie overcoming the -10 penalty)? What happens? Do you just rip it open with your bare hands? Loving the LP so far! 
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Dec 17, 2019 03:14
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So reading those letters written with a clear sense of longing affects our amnesiac hero so badly that he ends up fainting not long after he reads them...we're clearly dealing with some manner of space witch here.
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Dec 17, 2019 17:05
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Supersonic Shine posted:So reading those letters written with a clear sense of longing affects our amnesiac hero so badly that he ends up fainting not long after he reads them...we're clearly dealing with some manner of space witch here. And just seeing the letter has him consider suicide for a second. Our boy has some issues.
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Dec 18, 2019 06:16
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Honestly at this point it's pretty obvious he doesn't just have some issues, he has subscriptions and archives rivaling a major library.
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Dec 18, 2019 08:08
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I finished the game today, by the way. Looking forward to seeing how this LP goes differently from my playthrough.
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Dec 20, 2019 17:35
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Disco Elysium is on sale on Steam right now, you should buy it.
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Dec 20, 2019 17:56
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Addendum II: Botchcop Is Terrible On Levels Even I Was Heretofore Wholly Unprepared For Content warning: Homophobic slurs, false sexual assault accusations, child abuse, loving ridiculous misogyny It’s another Botchcop! First thing we do is talk to the gardener:    THE GARDENER: “I don’t know… the abandoned kind? It used to gather every spring, but there’s nothing to do there now. Just drug addicts.”    THE GARDENER: “I don’t know anything about that either. As I said, I didn’t write it.” ENCYCLOPEDIA: [Easy: Success] *Pig* is a widely-used term for members of the Police. It’s not loving. KIM KITSURAGI: “No need to worry,” the lieutenant steps in, “we’re not saying you did.”  A little defensive, but whatever.   We didn’t make the passive Inland Empire check, so we can’t ask for her gloves.   COUPRIS KINEEMA: The prybar feels nice and cold in your hand. Heavier than you’d think. PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: [Medium: Success] Cold and heavy—like truth. You feel like you’re reunited with *truth* once more.       NIX GOTTLIEB: “Firewalker? Yes, yes you are. Just don’t breathe in the general direction of your fire-feet. Actually, wait… do exactly that. Put yourself out of your misery. Take a deep diaphragmatic breath in and…” You hear an exaggerated inhale and a long exhale on the other end of the line.   NIX GOTTLIEB: “Hard to tell exactly what it was over the phone. Could be a combination of peripheral neuralgia and high blood pressure. Could be that you were having a heart attack… or, actually!” He seems to be positively surprised by the idea. “It could be *both*, given your profile.”    NIX GOTTLIEB: “Cut down on the drinking, pal. In fact, cut *off* the drinking. The drugs too. Anything else?”          NIX GOTTLIEB: “You want the real, honest-to-god truth? Stop drinking, eat magnesium and vitamin D. Our Station is not a retirement home. We don’t have the funds to deal with *rock stars* past their prime.” RHETORIC: [Medium: Failure] So it’s political! You’re being *neglected* because of political reasons… ENDURANCE: [Medium: Success] The money is probably going to some old, oily…  We put a point into Volition so we can take more hits to Morale before continuing this conversation. Reminder that Volition and Endurance are unique in that their current values are represented by your current Morale and Health, so damage to the respective resource will damage your total value until you refill it. That’s why our Volition is currently 2 instead of 3.         JULES PIDIEU: “He says it’s important to the case.” JEAN VICQUEMARE: “He isn’t getting a red cent, you can tell him that!” JULES PIDIEU: “Request denied, sir. Over.”  JULES PIDIEU: “Uh, listen...” He seems to lower his voice a bit, carefully choosing his words. “It’s okay… you can do it, sir. Over.” JEAN VICQUEMARE: “What is he saying?” JULES PIDIEU: “The operator chooses to ignore the voice in the background. “Did you want anything else, sir?” he asks you. “*Many* of your colleagues are also here. Over.”        ALICE: She sighs. “Right… please hold.”  I made a mistake here and didn’t choose the “personal details” option, but if you do that before reporting your badge missing Oldboy will just ask you why you don’t use that to confirm them and it leads straight into reporting it missing. I didn’t think it was worth another rerecord for like two lines of dialogue, basically.    MACK TORSON: The man is laughing too hard to form coherent sentences. The only words you can make out are ‘lost’ and ‘badge’.    Ah poo poo.  Woohoo! JULES PIDIEU: “He says he didn’t.” JEAN VICQUEMARE: “Thank god for that! That would have been a nightmare. I don’t even want to imagine the poor prick who has to relay that kind of news to the captain. Losing his badge is bad enough. Tell him to find it and *fast*! We can’t have some gangbanger running around with it.”         Well, this is gonna be a disaster. Let’s get to it, I guess.  ALICE: “What do you mean, officer? I’m not Sylvie.”  ALICE: “Sir, you’re already connected to the 57th Precinct.” Her voice is sharp and noticeably less friendly. ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Odd… she didn’t sound menopausal. Must be frigid or something. Oh well. WHOA, NOT OKAY ELECTROCHEMISTRY! You apologize right loving now!      SYLVIE: “*Please* don’t bring Garte into this, it’s none of your business!”        SYLVIE: “I… I didn’t know I had to report it… I… I thought someone would take him down eventually…” Her voice breaks.   KIM KITSURAGI: “Fine.” The lieutenant clenches his jaw. “But know that I don’t approve of such gratuitous volatility.”  SYLVIE: “No…” You can hear her regaining control in the background. “I honestly don’t know.”   SYLVIE: “You were waving it around in everyone’s face, begging them to describe it. You said it ‘calms you’. And then you started making suicide jokes. It got pretty *graphic*.”  SYLVIE: There is silence on the other end of the line.  SYLVIE: “No idea. All I know is, next you were waving around money instead. Saying things like ‘Big bucks cannot lie’ and ‘Guns can’t buy money, but money can always buy guns’.”    Our Morale bottomed out! We have to use a healing item from our character portrait to quickly regain some Morale or the game will end.     EMPATHY: You know women and their constant *problems*. Yack yack nag nag. How’s one supposed to get *the love* going like that?  EMPATHY: What misogyny? I’m just telling things the way they are. Can’t a man be honest in his *own head* anymore? You have to *act*, Lieutenant Love. You have to calm that hysteric down, tell it you’ve got everything under control—then go and have a little boys’ talk with Garte himself.  Oh, I hate this!  ELECTROCHEMISTRY: [Medium: Success] Big Big Poppa is happening.      GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “God...” He does not look too pleased.  loving god dammit! gently caress! gently caress! gently caress this!  What the gently caress Botchcop?! KIM KITSURAGI: “Wonderful.” EMPATHY: It is! It’s wonder-full! Starting to doubt that whatever that one really represents is actually ‘Empathy’.  GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “God... does it mean you talked to her? What else did she say about me?”  GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER The man leans his hands on the corner and sighs. His head drops between the shoulders, heavy and defeated. “She broke the bird, you know. The Great Skua. I found it on the ground with a broken wing. On the morning she left. I should have known—it was her way of telling me to piss off. I should stuff it up my rear end.” He stops and stares at the counter. LOGIC: [Easy: Success] *Or* you broke the bird. It can also be that. I think Sylvie even…  GARTE, THE CAFETERIA MANAGER: “Heh...” A mirthless laugh. Cock carousel—I think I understand now. It’s what they ride. Until, like, 39.”  Wow, we really broke this dude if he’s giving us alchohol.  Congratulations Lieutenant Love, you successfully redpilled someone.  Tha--NOT A COMPLIMENT    Let’s come back to this prybar issue later. First, we question the children.   ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I mean drugs. The kid’s on drugs.    CUNO: “That’s it?! That’s all you’ve got--*Noooooo*? Got your rear end handed to you by The Cuno?!” He’s swaying from side to side like a vicious rooster. “Who’s the man now, huh? Cuno’s the man!” The kid is working himself up. “You wouldn’t believe the pussy Cuno tears up.” CUNOESSE: “What was that, Cuno?”  CUNO: “gently caress no! Cuno doesn’t buy that poo poo. loving entrapment poo poo.”   CUNO: “Yeah!” His eyes light up. “Think about it. Think about that rabid Cuno poo poo.”      CUNOESSE: “Yeah, we’re all in this together!” The little one hisses with glee. “The *banaanipoika* is losing it.” KIM KITSURAGI: Kim doesn’t even shrug.   Please don’t--  Ah, poo poo  CHRIST, BOTCHCOP  PAIN THRESHOLD: [Easy: Success] Cuno *feels* it; this was no light tap.  KIM KITSURAGI: “Officer, *you* need to calm down,” the lieutenant breaks his silence. “Get a hold of yourself.” CUNO: “Okay, pig…” He’s no longer wearing his demonic grin. Something happened. The punch made him calmer. “Cuno knows to respect that violent poo poo. You should see Cuno’s dad—Cuno’s dad doesn’t give a poo poo about *anything*,” he declares with pride. You just hit an abused child, you psychopath. CUNOESSE: The creature behind the fence has fallen ominously silent. Only her eyes are alive, jumping from actor to actor.  CUNO: “You’re dreamin’ pig. That’s not how this poo poo *works*.” EMPATHY: A *little*. But don’t expect anything to *change*. CUNOESSE: “Don’t let him dominate you, Cuno! gently caress his fat rear end!”   We fail that check once again. Over by the corpse:   Even with 6 Endurance, we have only a 42 percent chance of not puking our guts out.    KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s not *pity*. You should wipe your mouth after vomiting.” He pockets the handkerchief. “The hangover is clearly making this worse for you. You could use some ammonia—to clear your head.” After we get the ammonia, we come back:     KIM KITSURAGI: “Get a hold of yourself.” You feel the lieutenant pat on your back, rhythmically. “I’ve seen strong men turn themselves inside out for hours. You’re facing tough odds here. Alcohol withdrawal makes it considerably harder.” PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: [Medium: Success] WHAT IS HAPPENING TO YOU?!?! Are you going to CRY now, son?  KIM KITSURAGI: “Okay. You’ve said it. You needed to say it, and now that you have…” He withdraws his hand from your back and looks you in the eye: “You need to get your poo poo together.”    CUNO: “Bitch-fight, C. Bitches are at it.” CUNOESSE: “Mhm. Bitches about to kill each other I think.” KIM KITSURAGI: The lieutenant pays no heed: “We should go and do something else. Give it half an hour. Then come back, when you’ve gotten your act together.” I should mention that at this exact point is where the achievement for having the worst relationship possible with Kim popped. And I’m not even doing any of the racism! (I’m in a very select club in that regard, by the way. As of this writing, 0.9% of Steam players have that achievement, because why would you tank your relationship with Kim, you monster?)  Internalize that thought.  ANNETTE: “I know, sir.” She stomps her feet to feel warmer. Hello, little girl!   ANNETTE: “Sir? Are you okay?” Her voice suddenly reaches your mind. “You’ve been standing here silently for a while now...”       ANNETTE: She looks at Dick Mullen, frowning.         ANNETTE: “You look all wrinkly and hairy, like an old person!” ENDURANCE: [Medium: Success] You also *feel* old: tired, hardly able to catch your breath, your joints aching constantly.       ANNETTE: “Yes! I stand in this spot all the time.” She sways back and forth on her feet.   ANNETTE: “Yeah, but you don’t have party eyes anymore.”  ANNETTE: “You know… like a cat in the dark! All big-and-wide-eyed.” She giggles at the thought. “It certainly looks odd on a man.” COMPOSURE: [Easy: Success] The swiveling eyes of a loony drug addict. That is what she meant. You were probably gurning too.    ANNETTE: “I’m glad I could help you, sir.” She smiles a wide, helpful smile.    SAVOIR FAIRE: Look at yourself, you’re a human pedometer! You must have walked 200,000 steps down cracked asphalt, mosaic, sand, and linoleum after you re-emerged.  SAVOIR FAIRE: That’s just what it’s like—life and death. But you got *gills* on your side, baby, got those black papers with the faces of the Innocents on them—you bring in the Franconegros and the Solas.  SAVOIR FAIRE: Sure, sure. And has it been easy? Is life easy? Have you *not* gone into cardiac arrest? Are you *not* about to have an anxiety attack or shoot yourself in the mouth? But you still hustle 24/7, ride or die. Now, ask yourself…    SAVOIR FAIRE: Every time you wipe your rear end! They got their direct and their *indirect modes of taxation*: sales tax, excise duty, extraction tax, alimony, one tax that doesn’t even have a name! Plus there’s the stuff *people in other countries* pay for, that makes them ask for more money from *you* here. Total tax duties add up to…   I’m so disappointed in you, Botchcop. Let’s just go over to the old guys.   PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: That’s the spirit! Don’t even waste your breath asking about the game. They wouldn’t know anyway. They’re *way* past their prime.    HAND-EYE COORDINATION: The cold metal ball is surprisingly smooth against your neck. It has a pattern on it. (Probably a sponsored ball.) Yours would only be covered with bumps of learning and scars of victory.  HAND-EYE-COORDINATION: A chilly breeze ruffles your hair as you stand there, feet firmly planted. All sounds, smells, even the wind—everything fades until the only thing left is the union of Man and Ball.  HAND-EYE-COORDINATION: An embodiment of pure motion. A fine-tuned *locomotor* running at maximum efficiency.    The ball splashes in the nearby water.   RENÉ ARNOUX: “I don’t care if you are a cop—you *do not* just ruin someone’s game. It’s so goddamn disrespectful!”   RENÉ ARNOUX: “Well, it drat well isn’t, it’s pétanque,” the man snaps, raising his voice again. “You ruined a pétanque game. We want our *boule* back!” GASTON MARTIN: “Take it easy, Réne.” The jolly one tries to defuse the situation. This is just a misunderstanding, isn’t it, officer? No harm done.”         RENÉ ARNOUX: “No, they don’t. But I’m sorry it had to be the Coalition. After eight years of fighting rabid commies, boiling cats for food and drinking piss in the mountains…” He takes a deep breath. “I *would* have preferred if the right honourable king Guillaume returned to Revachol or even if that drat clown, Frissel, had risen from the grave and led us. Sadly that was not the case. Instead, all that is just, holy and beautiful in the world was wiped away and now it’s neon signs with toothpaste ads everywhere. Foreign influence peddling garbage and stupid music on the radio.” He sighs. “This is just what the commies wanted. This was their plan all along. *This* is what they wanted to replace the rule of Suzerain with.”  We’re not making this check.  gently caress it, let’s put a point into Hand/Eye Coordination! Why not, right?!\ Let’s go talk to Garte about the garbage:               Uh oh. That’s the last of our Morale, and we’re out of heals.      Huh. Arist fucked around with this message at 21:01 on Dec 20, 2019 |
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Dec 20, 2019 19:11
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Also yeah I'm skipping back through stuff we've already seen that lacks new insights from our thoughts because I'm just not going to show every single thing again, that's crazy.
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Dec 20, 2019 19:20
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My God does Botchcop suck
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Dec 20, 2019 19:31
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I hope that is the end of Botchcop, he is making me very uncomfortable. He is a very bad cop. I don't think I could play this game with low Empathy.
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Dec 20, 2019 19:34
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I was not intentionally trying to tank my relationship with Kim, by the way, that just kind of happened organically in my quest for funny dialogue options.
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Dec 20, 2019 19:36
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This is some powerful botchcop energy. Don't, uh... don't feel you have to continue being Botchcop.
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Dec 20, 2019 19:45
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Disco Elysium does not have an alignment system. your incentive to not be an awful loving person is that people will react to you like you are an awful loving person. you can be a really awful loving person! Night10194 posted:I hope that is the end of Botchcop, he is making me very uncomfortable. He is a very bad cop. oh, empathy is not the difference. a high empathy person can be even worse, because they can see the weak points botchcop gleefully ignores. just because you can feel someone else's pain is no reason for you not to like it. right, Pain Tolerance?
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Dec 20, 2019 19:59
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Empathy being the raging misogynist in our entourage is a hell of a thing 
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Dec 20, 2019 20:04
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I like that Botchcop is terrible because Botchcop is also a miserable failure who is now Botchex-cop. gently caress that guy. Let Botchcop stand as a warning to all of the dangers of misogyny and also capitalism.
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Dec 20, 2019 20:15
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I can't tell if Empathy is normally supposed to be that misogynist or if failing that check fundamentally broke something in its constitution. Your skills having discernible personalities and tendencies is one of the more interesting things Disco Elysium does. It's impressive to see how horrifically awful you can be to the people around you without just straight-up losing. The hidden ~Love Quest~ was a bit of a surprise. I'm interested in seeing more of Botchcop, mostly because I doubt I'd ever have the heart to play through the game that way myself.
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Dec 20, 2019 20:26
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Empathy is not normally a crazy misogynist. Or at least, certainly wasn't in my 2-4-4-2 playthrough. Empathy was one of my buddies! Seeing Empathy be such a bastard kind of hurt.
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Dec 20, 2019 20:31
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Botchcop being defeated by a locked trashbin was pretty funny though.
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Dec 20, 2019 20:48
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Yeah, you generally expect the "bad guy" trio of Endurance / Physical Instrument and (above all) Electrochemistry to really go deep into misogyny. Edit - I do regret missing out on the "cock carousel" game over.
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Dec 20, 2019 20:58
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Night10194 posted:Empathy is not normally a crazy misogynist. Or at least, certainly wasn't in my 2-4-4-2 playthrough. Empathy was one of my buddies! Seeing Empathy be such a bastard kind of hurt. Yeah, I bring it up because (thanks to this LP) I've been playing the game myself, and while most of the skills have weird little eccentricities, I didn't really notice much of a gimmick with Empathy. I've been getting the growing suspicion that all of the skills have a catch like that somewhere; it's really obvious with, say, Savoir Faire's obsession with taxes or Electrochemistry's everything, but even the "nicer" skills tend to have some weird hang-up you might get nailed with if you aren't keeping them in check.
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Dec 20, 2019 21:13
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