And I want to go to a beach. Or on a cruise. Or crash on an island where everyone has their own creepy interconnected backstory and there are crazy invisible forces and polar bears roaming about...
I never did finish Lost.
But you lost that small gem of a post because of my phone. Basically, I wrote that post on my phone and hit "publish." I happened to be in data roaming at the time. I had also used up my 50 mb of allowed data roaming. So technically, I could not use data for publishing. But I had wi-fi. And I had been using that on my phone instead of data. So I thought my Blogger app would publish through wi-fi. Well, it didn't. It tried to use data. And it couldn't publish through data, but it kept on trying. And as long as it was trying to use data, I couldn't use wi-fi. My webpages refused to load because I wasn't allowed to use data. And I couldn't delete the offending post because for some reason, the delete button would not press. And it was a virtual button, so you can't like look for gum stuck under it or anything like that. I ended up having to delete my Blogger app. The small post was lost.
A moment of silence for my small post on wanderlust.
Moving on...
I have become addicted to a webpage game of a similar variety to Facebook games, in as much as one can get addicted to a game where you must use energy for most things, you only have ten energy, and they recharge at the rate of one energy every ten minutes. That's an hour and forty minutes for your whole ten energy.
However, moving past energy problems, I have found this game very addicting. But that's for me. The only things really truly addicting to me usually have some storyline going on that I MUST follow. Have you every seen me play Dragon Age or Dragon Age II? I invested around two weeks, almost solid, to each one of those games, playing through it once, then playing through it again, this time carefully engineering all my choices to reflect a desired overall plotline.
Even Sims 3 draws me back as I engineer shallow soap opera plots for my house of hapless victims... ahem, Sims.
So what is this addicting energy-swilling game Linsey is rambling on about? (Oh, apparently I don't type my name in Blogger much. Good thing, as I apparently misspelled it. Shucks, there went my announcement hype.) The game is called Fallen London! And that link will take you to my character profile. From which you can sign up!
As far as I can make out, the game is a post-apocalyptic Victorian-era role-playing game. It's sort of steampunk, but doesn't have much in the way of inventions. Apparently London has fallen, dragged down by bats or other nefarious means to a place below the earth. This place is often referred to as the Neath (as in beneath) and the surface... well, the Surface. London is much closer to Hell as a result and rules, including the rules of physics, can be a bit different here. There are four primary stats you can invest in, and I believe with time you can get them all high, but I chose to go with shadowy and persuasive. My character is a bit of a sneak-thief.
And in Fallen London, you have a vast amount of freedom to choose what you want to do. You get storylets, which are often repeatable snatches of story, like robbing a weasel-seller or trying to make a name for yourself in the artistic world by telling jokes. Some of these lead to more extensive quest-lines, others you just keep doing to up a skill or gain some materials. There are also cards which are one-time use random storylets.
You can obtain a variety of equipment. For some reason, you start of in prison. You become acquainted with the interface through your attempted escape, and choose your first skill that you want to pursue. When you get out of prison, you are wearing manacles and prisoner's rags. These can easily be sold for some less offending clothing with a variety of stats.
And that is what has occupied my imagination of late. I was mentally following my character through the darkened streets of the Neath, a girl with long braids, a bowler, suspenders, trousers over scarlet stockings, a dog at her heel.
Well, at least it is interesting to me.
And I would want my dog to look like this:
This was David's sister's dog, a puppy named Champagne. She's half yellow lab and half Great Pyrenees, I believe. She was the most adorable puppy, but Becca couldn't keep her because she moved in with us and our apartment only allows cats... and we would've kept her, if we could have. Breaks my heart.
Anyway, the Amish ended up taking her, so now she's an Amish dog. I doubt she'll keep her name, but I don't think she really knew it yet.
I wonder where we will find a dog like that when we're ready for a dog.
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