its so strange…. this game didnt change me. it was like…. normal. natural. i was able to kinda play myself. be silly and crazy and stupid and pathetic. and kim stood by. and ppl were a bit weirded out or thought i was stupid or even made fun of me, but? it was still fine! i still solved the case. i still connected to people. i even laughed w ppl i thought were jerks. i managed to befriend ppl who wanted to beat me up.
this game allowed me to be my pathetic self and still do my thing. its so awesome i wanna cry.
nothing is gonna compare now
no other rpg can do that. damn.
im not a hero… not a saviour of the world…. nope, just a pathetic, sad guy who gets high and drunk and threatens to kill himself but who can also help people. in small ways. its so…. real.
i really like how they did the characters.
even compl jerks. you cant hate all of them completely. they are people. some of them are stupid fucking racist people. some of them are very nice and v lowkey racist people. some of them are huge jerks but justified cuz they care about one thing a lot. this game is a love letter to humanity
spoilery below
and i LOVE how basically EVERYTHING i did mattered. every thing! every single thing! even if it seemed stupid and pointless and like a waste of time! talking to those two old guys playing boule? it mattered!
and i loved how.... real the people were. all of them. they really were. i think a lot of people would have written a lot of these characters very, very, very differently. i was mad that evrart was that way. but he was real. and that made... everything, every conversation, every decision more real, because everything was complicated, just like in real life. theres ideology and political theory and theres reality. theres a really, REALLY nice old lady. but shes racist. lowkey. but she is. and thats.... its disappointing, but its real, you know? what are you gonna do? stop talking to her? but shes so nice. and theres an interesting quest. these conflicting feelings - so real! just like in real life. do you stop talking to your nice neighbour because she made a racist comment? its messy. and then you meet complete jerks and you already write them off, you are basically waiting for your chance to "pay them back", but hey, look, they are actually decent.
the secret is like.... getting to know them and learning about the one thing they care about the most.
and you can go and try to build communism (wooo, 0.0002%!!) and you meet these young guys, its just. yeah. thats exactly how it is. fucking beans.
and the thing is: you gotta work with them. all of them. even the jerks. even the corrupt assholes.
because you cant burn bridges with every bad person. because they are all part of society, whether we like it or not. and its not like you are without fault. ur a fucking pig, as some love to point out. thats done. cant change that, no matter how much u want to, lol. the past is the past and u gotta move on.
and u can talk all u want all day long. what matters is what u do.
i keep thinking about cindy. standing on the outside hallway, looking at the city, at the people - people she hates. right below the radical youth hangout. thinking about the perfect, perfect slogan. and the two communist students, judging her for not being educated. in the end, shes the one who does something.
anyway. its nice to play a game where u are the literal incarnation of karl marx. (its canon, okay?)
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oh but what do you see in harry why do you like him so much whats so good about him he stinks hes an addict hes done fucked up shit hes not even cute how can you find anything attractive in him how do you find anything good like AAAAAAAA
ITS ABOUT CHOICE! THERES SO MANY BAD OPTIONS TO CHOSE FROM BUT THERE IS STILL AN OPPORTUNITY TO DO SOMETHING INCREDIBLY KIND AS HARRY
YOU CAN BE AN ULTRALIBERAL YOU CAN BE A MORALIST A FASCIST EVEN BUT YOU CAN ALSO CONSCIOUSLY CHOSE NOT TO PURSUE ANY OF THESE ROUTES
ITS ABOUT HAVING CAPACITY TO DO GOOD IN A WORLD THAT ACTIVELY DISCOURAGES YOU FROM IT IN A SYSTEM THAT EVEN PUNISHES YOU FOR IT
ITS ABOUT CAPACITY FOR CHANGE ITS ABOUT THE BEAUTY OF HUMAN RESILIENCE
and honestly so what if hes an addict! im surrounded by addicts! theres an alcoholic living next door theres acoholics at a family function theres a bunch sitting at a bench near the church or at the park theres an addict i love theres an addict i just met or some that i just heard of and some are kind some are not some are trying to get help some arent some stopped using and some havent and they all deserve at least the basic modicum of respect and kindness and aid harry might be fictional but all his troubles and ailments are not theyre real things that happen to real people! and i do empathize with that! sometimes i even relate! and it does make me love him as a character very much!
and frankly i dont care if hes conventionally attractive im tired of conventionally attractive im tired of seeing the same cardboard cutout of a pretty face and perfect abs okay! i find the receding hairline delightful! i love a belly! thick arms are wonderful! i dont care that his ass is flaccid thats where all our asses head towards and theres beauty in it! and in the flamboyant mismatched clothing and weird hairstyles and questionable facial hair! and idc abt the bloating or the redness i have a red face too! perpetually! i think its cute! and its also a testament to the resilience of human body and it is inherently beautiful to me!
and he stinks bc hes on a bender and forgot everything and doesnt even know what money is give him time honestly you can work up to a good hygiene and a good routine
okay im done goodbye
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CINDY THE SKULL — “Evening, officers. It’s a bit late to be skulking about, don’t you think?” Though she’s lounging around the coal room door as languidly as ever, her pale eyes ringed with coal dust seem to bore a hole in your skull.
YOU — “I’m looking for a place to sleep.”
CINDY THE SKULL — She lifts an eyebrow at you and Kim. “Did the cafeteria man finally decide he wasn’t interested in keeping a pigsty?”
YOU — “No, Kim is still staying there. I just can’t pay my bill.”
KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant clears his throat slightly. “Let’s not give people the impression that officers of the RCM make a habit of dodging their tabs, detective.”
CINDY THE SKULL — She glances at Kim, lips pursing just slightly.
EMPATHY — His little comment irritated her. Curious.
CINDY THE SKULL — “Tough luck, officer.” She shrugs, the faux fur collar of her coat brushing her cheeks. “There’s a perfectly good garbage bin in the courtyard. It’s got a lovely view. Real prime real estate.”
YOU — “I know. Garte said I could sleep there, but I’d rather find somewhere else.”
CINDY THE SKULL — She blinks her coal-smeared eyes at you. Then, she turns to the lieutenant. “Is he joking?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “No,” he says drily. “He is not. If you know of any… more *comfortable* places to sleep, we would be much obliged.”
CINDY THE SKULL — She stares openly at the two of you, as if in disbelief.
COMPOSURE — The absurdity of your plight has nearly broken right through her veneer of youthful detachment.
CINDY THE SKULL — “Maybe I’m the one who should be a detective. I can solve your little case for you right now.” She points to the lieutenant. “Your room.”
KIM KITSURAGI — His face is solid stone. “No.”
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — There are so many reasons why he does *not* want to do that. He has neither the time nor any desire to share them with Cindy. Or with you, for that matter.
-1 MORALE
CINDY THE SKULL — She whistles softly. “Damn. Must be true what they say about pigs and cannibalism.”
KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant does not rise to her bait.
EMPATHY — But there is something playing at the downturned corners of his mouth and the furrow of his brow. Something like guilt.
YOU — “What about the coal room, Cindy?”
CINDY THE SKULL — She outright laughs at you. “Fuck no! You want in my room, get a warrant, piggo!”
LOGIC — While drug possession is not a crime in Revachol, it doesn’t stop most cops from confiscating substances from vulnerable civilians for their own personal use. Including yourself, most likely.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Hey, good idea! Cindy’s an artsy type, she’s probably got all kinds of shit to get her creative juices flowing.
PAIN THRESHOLD — And to get her through the cold and the hunger and the cruelty.
VOLITION — No. Don’t make things any worse than they already are.
YOU — “But then… where do I go?”
CINDY THE SKULL — She shrugs again. “It’s not my problem, is it? Ask your partner, here. Or maybe you should take a hint and go back home to the farm.”
YOU — “I don’t know if I have a home… I think I lost it.”
KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant’s frown deepens. He stares down at his boots rather than meet your or Cindy’s eye.
CINDY THE SKULL — A long, almost uncomfortable silence. Her eyes are hardening as they take you in— you and your bloodshot eyes, your slightly labored breathing, your clothes that are certainly too thin to keep you warm tonight.
EMPATHY — She feels sorry for you, and she resents herself for it.
CINDY THE SKULL — She lets out a long sigh, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “All right, piggy. Just quit looking at me all pitiful… You saw the foreclosed apartment in the hall, right? If you wait for the cleaning lady to go to sleep, and you don’t stay long, it’s not a bad place. Better than the trash, anyway.”
REACTION SPEED — She seems to regret it as soon as the words leave her mouth. She’s not thrilled at the idea of trusting your honor not to rat out or even arrest your fellow squatters. But it’s too late now.
SUGGESTION — Wait. Is it really that simple? What if she expects something in return for the information? Or she could be setting a trap for you!
YOU — “Hang on. What’s the catch?”
CINDY THE SKULL — A wry smile breaks out across her face. It almost looks pained. “No catch, officer. I’m no snitch. Nor a pig.”
RHETORIC — You’ve insulted her more deeply than she cares to let on. She helped you because she knows your struggles intimately. Struggles that have claimed the lives of people she cared about. But now you’ve reminded her of the difference between you: she calls you pig because you sold your humanity for the power to strip others of their own.
EMPATHY — She’s sad. She was born sad and she will die sad. You are the one making her sad.
YOU — “Hey, Cindy?”
CINDY THE SKULL — “What?”
“I’m sorry. Thank you for helping me.”
“You shouldn’t judge me. We’re the same. We do what it takes to survive. You have the Skulls, I have the RCM.”
“Can’t we just get along?”
“I’ll pay you back somehow. I’ll make things right.”
“I don’t want to be this kind of animal anymore.”
KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant looks up at you, startled. Concerned, even. He almost looks as though he wants to say something, but nothing comes to him. He just stares at you, at a loss.
CINDY THE SKULL — She levels you with a steady gaze. Even without the coal dust, her eyes would look sunken into her wan face. If it weren’t for the roundness still clinging to her cheeks, she would have lost nearly all trace of her youth by now.
“I don’t think you even understand what kind of animal you are,” she says coolly.
ENCYCLOPEDIA — Homo sapien.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — A tiny, violent ape.
AUTHORITY — Predator.
HALF LIGHT — Prey.
VOLITION — You’re a human, Harry. Nothing more or less.
INLAND EMPIRE — The saddest and cruelest animal of them all.
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actually i do want to make this a post. it’s so interesting to think about harry from other people’s perspectives, especially if they’re people who were around him before martinaise. because the thing about harry is: he’s a spectacle. there is not a single person left to him who genuinely *cares*. but there are people who take an interest for interest’s sake. harry is the car crash that people can’t look away from, and it’s such a rich lens to view him through.
let’s exclude jean, judit and trant because there’s already enough you can say about them as the sole remaining members of the major crimes unit. think of the other officers who worked at the 41st. whether they worked in c-wing with him or not, they were exposed to him. they had to be around him in some capacity. as a lieutenant, he was “responsible” (i use that term loosely) for overseeing a number of subordinates under the rank system.
like put yourself in the shoes of a patrol officer at the 41st. you know harry as, in a word, unstable. a deeply unreliable man of extremes with alarmingly few personal attachments to keep him in check. he’s also practically untouchable as long as he keeps getting results, which he does, at a cost. so there’s never any point in formally complaining about him- he’s never going to be corrected or fired, so you just do one of the following: 1) keep your mouth shut (if you’re polite or playing it safe), 2) only bitch about him out of earshot (if you’ve got something to say but you’re nonconfrontational), 3) start shit with him but in a “playful” way that is secretly sincere (if you’re ballsy/have known him long enough), 4) or start shit with him for real (if you’re jean, or have a death wish).
and the thing about the last two of those options- *especially the 3rd, which seems to be the favorite of his fellow C-wingers*- you have to know him VERY WELL to pull it off without ostensibly getting your nose broken (or worse). you have to know his moods and his triggers and what exact cocktail of bullshit he’s displaying that day so you know where the line is for this particular shift. whoever figures it out first passes it along to everyone else- hey, you can fuck with him about dating today, but don’t bring up the drinking or last week’s case or he’ll go ballistic. and it’s just like... he’s a specimen. you may not know him on a personal heart-to-heart level, but you know him the way a zookeeper knows their tigers, or the way the falconer knows their hawk. you know when to feed and when to back away with your arms up. it doesn’t make things better, but it stops them getting worse. (for you, anyway).
then martinaise happens and if he comes back- his instability is still there, but it’s not the same. you don’t recognize the way he’s acting. maybe some things are not as bad as before, but all of it is different and it’s impossible to get a read on it. you have no idea how to approach him now, or if you should approach him at all. there’s a new layer to his unreliability and it’s somehow even scarier than before. there’s a tiny tiny calm in his storm, finally, and you don’t know when it’s going to break or what’s going to break it. you hear he’s finally actually kicking the booze and maybe you just scoff and move on, or maybe you let yourself root for him. really it all depends on how long you’ve known him, how many times you’ve seen him *try*. how sympathetic you are to his conditions and how patient of a person you are. how many times he’s hurt you (because that number is rarely going to be zero). no matter what, you’re going to be left wondering. you don’t know how much of him is gone. you don’t know how much is going to come back. you’re not sure how much of each you *want*.
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YOU — “No. There is still a chance.”
DOLORES DEI — “You think so?” Her voice is weary.
EMPATHY — Everything about her is weary. She is the Innocence of weariness, of heroically borne suffering.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — That is the picture you have painted for yourself, at any rate.
YOU — “You looked back. That’s the memory, the moment, that I can’t stop returning to. You looked back. I had a chance, for just that moment…”
DOLORES DEI — She meets your eye, gaze still forever cast back over her shoulder. Time stops. The stars are stilled, the ocean silent. There is *nothing* beyond this memory. Nothing at all. All of infinity is contained in this single moment when anything and everything was possible.
“Oh, Harry…” She sighs, soft as eiderdown. “We never had any chance.”
And just like that, the wave of time collapses under its own weight, obliterating everything. This moment was six years ago. She is gone from here. Gone, gone…
PAIN THRESHOLD — You cannot leave. There was nothing outside of this moment, and now there is nothing at all. It’s all gone. There is no point. I’m sorry. I can’t do this any longer.
VOLITION — Please, don’t say that…
“Okay. Well, fuck me, then.”
“How would *you* know?! You gave up! You didn’t even try!”
“We *must* have had a chance, at some point… Doesn’t everyone get a chance, if nothing more?”
“How could you say that…?”
DOLORES DEI — “Because it’s true,” she says, matter-of-fact. “There is no moment in time that you can turn back to, no branching paths, no infinity. There is only what happened. I looked back… and then away.” She closes her eyes, turning her back to you.
“The moment ended. *We* ended. That is all.”
SHIVERS — A wave crashes against an unseen shore, ocean spray tickling the back of your neck. You shiver, but no one shivers with you. You are alone in this intersection. Why are you here?
“Why can’t *I* end?! Why can’t this all just stop? Please, make it stop…”
“Ended? I’ve barely even started! I got a chance to start completely over as somebody new! I don’t need you anymore! You’re just dead weight to me now.”
“No. That wasn’t the real ending. We’re a part of something so much bigger than this intersection, telling a story that encapsulates all of history! There’s *more* to this, it *means* something.”
“Then… What am I supposed to do now…?”
DOLORES DEI — “No, Harry.” She turns back to you again now, and she looks… sad.
“We were not metaphors. We were people. Our narrative was not intelligently designed. It simply followed the patterns of history, because those are the only patterns we *know.* We tried to create something new, but we failed. There is no narrative reward for our failure, no satisfactory ending. There is only the immutable past and the unknowable future.”
RHETORIC — There is no assurance of what is good or deserved or what may bring relief. There is no assurance of punishment, either. There is no assurance of anything. Not even of a future. I don’t know what to say to make this bearable.
VOLITION — Even so… As long as you live, *something* is promised. Can you live with that?
I can’t, I just can’t do this anymore…
I can. It’s enough.
I don’t know. I just don’t know.
I can at least try for a little longer…
VOLITION — That’s all I ask. That’s enough.
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