RP lives on in SL

~~~

Hey y'all,

Yeah, I know I've been an irresponsible old doxie and haven't written or posted much lately except for the silly little bit about the "Chanuka Cham" at Wally World. And I'm pretty sure that don't really count.

To some extent the lack of productivity on this ridiculous blog has been the result of work and other demands of rl eating my brain, like a Zombie Andrew Zimmern (who, by the way, I have enjoyed the times I have seen his show--not only will he freakin' eat goddam near anything, he does it with considerable gusto and cheerful elan, and what seems to be a genuine respect for the cultures that produce the various bug-and-slug-based cuisines he seems to so thoroughly relish). I just haven't had much mental energy for writing lately.

The other thing is that--believe it or not--I have been really busy in Second Life, because there are exciting things going on in the world of historical rp. Let me give you a little update.

First of all, as you will know from a previous post I recently made, the core team in Deadwood has embarked on a mission to revitalize the sim. The good news is that we are making progress. There are new people showing up, there are nights when there are a substantial number of folks in the sim at once, and things like gunplay, death and dismemberment are flourishing like they did in the old days of the sim. Just the other night I had to patch up Rod Eun's leg, and pull a bullet from C.T. Kungler's shoulder. There are others kinds of fun stuff going on as well: among the folks who have become regulars there is a player whose character is a mute orphan girl whom we have dubbed "Silence" (as we don't know her real name). In order to help Silence communicate better, Dio is teaching indian sign language to the child. I'm doing this by drawing on a wonderful web site that offers a "vocabulary" of native American sign language elements that were commonly used in the latter half of the 19th century. Although "in character" Dio of course knows sign language from the times she has spent among various indian peoples, for her typist this is one of those wonderful self-directed learning opportunities. I was delighted to discover that the standard northern/central plains sign for "friend" is constructed from elements that literally mean "like two brothers who have grown up together."

Is that fuckin' poetic, or what?

Among other projects we have going on, Addison Leigh is building like a maniac, adding some wonderful new structures to the Deadwood streetscape, and sim Owner Caed Aldwych has constructed a new and simplified OOC orientation/Vendor area that will save prims and be easier for new folks to navigate once it goes live. And my friend Serenek, a relatively new member of the Deadwood community, has worked with Addi to create a dandy boarding house, where respectable gals can find decent accommodations and a nice little island of civilization in primitive hogwallow that is our town.

So we are seeing some progress there. The team feels like we probably have a pretty good shot at keeping the sim going for some time, and more importantly that people feel like they are getting something out of the experience provided by the sim. It's not just another dead and empty interesting build.

Speaking of interesting builds, in other news, 1920s Berlin is continuing to make progress. The build recently relocated to a full sim, with more variety (including a super Brandenberg Gate) and more activity. There are more stores, more dwellings, more public spaces, and more businesses in general--there is even an active taxi cab service that will pick you up at the trains station and deliver you to wherever you want to go in the city.

IC, I am still bartending regularly at the Keller, a more-or-less run-down dance hall and bar in a moderately shabby neighborhood...the job augments my income from my day job as an organizer and office worker for the anarcho-syndicalist labor union, the Freie Arbeiters Union-Deutschland (which frankly doesn't pay that well).

Once again, Jo Yardley has done a splendid job of recreating the look and feel of Weimar era Berlin, but on an even grander scale and with more complexity and depth than before. The community is growing, and there is more interest in doing roleplaying in the sim: I have been asked to lead a couple of "intro to RP " discussion and they were well attended.

Finally, I wanted to update you on what is going on in Alsium, the roman sim that that I have been involved with since it opened earlier this year. It has undergone a change in ownership, and is being rebuilt. It was beautiful before, but was clearly more"inspired by" roman culture and architecture, rather than standing as a "recreation" of a roman community from the time of Marcus Aurelius. Now, a new builder, Lexusz Mornington, has been engaged, and the future of the sim looks extremely promising. The new owners are working with that new builder and the community at large to collectively plan and develop a new kind of Roman sim that SL has not seen before--one that represents iconic elements of historical roman life and culture, featuring historically plausible composite buildings, organized into a coherent--and still visually appealing--roman coastal resort city.

I am really getting excited about this project, especially as I have had the chance to see mock-ups of some of the proposed architectural elements, which the designer has based on actual ancient buildings, but adapted to be functional within the context of SL. In my humble opinion, the new build is gonna knock your socks off.

So, you may ask, what's the point here, besides the fact that Dio has kept her saggy ol' ass busy running from one time period to another in her off hours?

The point is, to my delight (and a certain degree of surprise) historical roleplaying and creative sim building continues in SL, and, in fact, is attracting some new adherents (bit by bit). After a long dry spell this fall when activity seemed to be dropping off, I am seeing it come back.

That is, of course, a purely subjective conclusion and based on my limited experience in the fairly restricted sphere of places I wander around in. And I don't have a good explanation for it--are people finding they have more time on their hands to fill now that it gets dark earlier (and let's face it, what television has to offer blows beyond belief)? Is the economy actually getting a little better and people have the confidence and spare cash to buy some clothing and build or buy some new structures in a virtual world?

Yes there are a lot of sims that remain empty and lifeless--some of them wonderful builds, and others that deserve to go the way of the dodo--but in places where people are refusing to give up and keep trying to make the sims evolve and activity happen, people are showing up and having fun.

Maybe the sky still isn't ready to fall, just yet.

~~~

I got good news, I got bad news -- life on the Grid

~~~

Ordinal Malaprop, from her flicker photostream. Smart, funny, and watch out for that dang hatpin of hers (note what is in her right hand).



Like the title says, I got Good News, I got Bad News. That's pretty much the nature of life in SL isn't it? You get a bunch of nice things come along, and then something happens that utterly kicks you in the south 40. Yeah, like the disneyfied lions would say, "it's the fuckin' circle of life." And then they would sing about it and dance around, while the toddler on your lap watches with that mouth agape, deer-in-the-headlights expression (even though this is the 637th time they have watched the thing), and you find yourself thinking things like...."Bob Fosse would have made a great Muppet," or "Do I have anything left to drink in this house besides NyQuil and mouthwash?"

*sighs*

I digress.

As usual.

OK...let me give you the good news first.

A number of very cool people with connections to the ever-expanding world of Old West roleplay in SL have started up blogs of their own. Each of these have their own unique perspectives and goals, and I think they add some nice depth to the developing (and un-managed) conversation.

First of all, Cici Levenque has had a blog since January 5th called Western Roles. Yeah she's had it going less than a month and already has like 19 posts about--the gal is prolific, AND she has a great concept: it is essentially a news and discussion blog covering ALL the western sims. Cici is the equivalent of the intrepid 19th century lady reporter, wandering from town to town, a combination participant/observer, covering a lot of ground. Her work gives you an idea of how much this aspect of life on the grid is growing in size and complexity. She also is doing features on some of the great folks who are contributing to the expansion and evolution of various Old West rp communities. Yeah I should have mentioned Cici's blog before, but hey, I get to things sooner or later. Doin' the best I can, here.

Next, a very good friend from Deadwood, Blackjack Landar has started up a personal blog--primarily for his main Blackjack character, but also for some of his alts. Blackjack is a dman fine rp'er, and is hands-down the best bad guy the Deadwood sim ever had. He's smart and brutal but businesslike. He makes alliances, he does dirty deals, he kills people--but it's just business. One interesting aspect of this character is that he is in a clandestine business partnership with Dio and Clay (built primarily around a moon-shining operation). I won't go so far as to admitting that they like Blackjack, but they certainly respect and trust him. Blackjack may be a criminal and a murderer, but he is also a common-sense businessman, and he always keeps his word. I think of this blog, Blackjacks Ruminations, as the character's typist sort of thinking out loud, reflecting on how he approaches his characters and roleplaying, and what is going on with them. So far it's been a nice exploration of how one player gives his characters depth, and particularly how he makes his bad guy persona work well and survive.

Blackjack talks with Miss Dio at the Gem.

Finally I would like to make you guys aware of a third new blog, that of Glen Dover (actual avatar name Master Glendover), who currently plays the sheriff in Deadwood. Titled "The Dirty Side," this isn't so much a character or story blog, as it is about the "stuff" of rp. Glen has begun making things in-world, starting with some very low-prim, photorealisitic furnishings that are just really bloody well done. I got an Eastlake style back bar from him that is probably one of the best Victorian saloon furnishings I have seen in SL so far. But it was cheap and very low prim. Now Glen has moved into men's clothing, under the name "Rustic Wares.".

You know, and great deal of the men's clothing that is made in SL for Old West roleplay is really just balls-on godawful. Most of the Native American stuff in particular will make you look like the Indian from the Village People. Glen, on the other had has a Native American warrior outfit that actually looks like a mid-19th century Sioux or Cheyenne of the central and northern Plains. How does he do it? Um..well, he looks at actual pictures of 19th century Plains Indians.

Glen makes stuff for real guys. He packages some of his outfits with accessories like tools (for example his miner's outfit comes with a pick that was crafted by Clay). Glen also makes his outfits with sweat and dirt layers that you can put on and remove. When you wear his stuff you're going to look like some stanky fucker who actually works for a livin'--not one of the extras in the Willie Nelson video "Cowboys are Frequently, Secretly Fond of Each Other." Mind you, I got nothing against that song--it's poignant and beautiful and funny, and Willie performs it wonderfully--but mostly I am guessin' you boys trying to do authentic Wild West rp really need to find a different look than that. So go check out Glen's outfits. He keeps crankin' out more stuff all the time, and his blog is used not just to make announcements, but also as a discussion of what he's thinking as he makes stuff and why.

********
Speaking of people who make good stuff, another Deadwood friend, Astolat Dufuax just came out with some new men's outfits of her own--an underground miner (complete with hat with miner's lamp) and a cavalry enlisted uniform of the 1870s. This is different from the uniform that Caed Aldwych has made for Deadwood, which is great because now we can get that authentic 1870s look of mixed old and new styles. The horse soldier on the Western frontier in the 70s--except when on parade--looked like a real hodgepodge: they wore a mix of surplus civil war stuff, (which the government in its frugality insisted be used up before new stuff was issued), civilian items, and new articles such as the M1872 kepi and the M1874 five button "blouse" (sack coat), both of which are among the items that Astolat and her colleague Ernst Osterham have recreated. Visit Astolat's blog, the Victorian Closet, to see the details.

***********

Ok, I've now told you about some great new blogs that you should be reading to see how the discussion of SL's Old West roleplay elements is evolving and expanding. And I also had some good news about how stuff like historical clothing keeps getting better and better in SL.

So what's the bad news, you say?

Well, goddamit, Ordinal Malaprop got fed up yesterday to the point that she deleted her store from Second life, AND pulled the plug on her blog "An Engine Fit for My Proceeding."

Ordinal has been in SL a long time. She's has been a builder and scripter who produced some of the most imaginative and FUNCTIONAL steampunky stuff you ever saw. Below you can see an image of my friend Aldo with his Ordinal Enterprises "gun balloon" (for which he built his own armored cockpit). Ordinal invented this ages ago, but it's still brilliant--as Aldo says it's essentially a steampunk version the A-10 warthog: a simple, sturdy aerial vehicle built around a Gatling-style BFG (big fucking gun). Aldo loves this thing.

Aldo and his adaptation of an Ordinal Enterprises "Gun Balloon"

And I love my Ordinal Enterprises whacking big Hatpin of Doom (that's what I call it, I have forgotten Miss Malaprop's precise nomenclature for the thing). This elegant concoction was built and scripted by Ordinal so you can wear it in your hair or hat, and pull it out when necessary for use as a deadly weapon.

Anyway, I don't know all the details, but I have the impression that Ordinal had been frustrated with issues on the technical side of SL for some time. More importantly, I think she had a larger concern about the direction the platform was going in general, and what she perceived as a growing gulf between the consumers and the content makers in SL. The last straw apparently was the Lab's acquisition of a social networking site, Avatars United , which seems to be..ahem..somewhat flawed, if not downright primitive. Ordinal went into AU and created a batch of accounts, using other people's names, including Desmond Shang and Prokofy Neva, and then made an account with a Linden last name. You can see the results of Ordinal's experiment on her flickr photostream.

This, seems to have simply blown Ordinal's mind, and she started throwing the big knife switches to the "off" position.

And all I can say is...shit. Shit. Shit. And more Shit.

There are lots of people on the grid who are funny, and lots who are brilliant...but not many who are funny AND brilliant. Ordinal was one of the few.

Emilly Orr has said to me she thinks more of those who are the best of the best, like Ordinal, are going to give up soon as well.

So that's my bad news.

At this point can the Lab actually do anything to slow or stop the attrition? Or would it be like trying to turn an aircraft carrier? You could put the helm over hard, but would it turn fast enough before the torpedoes hit?

~~~

An Update, 1/31/210, 3:20 PM SLT

Ordinal has turned her blog back on, and included a explanation. It's pretty much what I described above, with a good bit of clarification. I hope that what this becomes for Ordinal is one of those points in life (and that goes for all aspects of of life, not just the elements that occur within a virtual context) where you have to stop what you are doing, look it over and decide what new adventure will come next. It may or may not grow out of the foundation of the activity that you just shut down...but like the goddam dancing/singing lions would tell you, it is part of the fuckin' circle o' life.

~~~

A Deadwood story -- is that any way to raise a child? conclusion

~~~

Roku had taken Elizabeth to the Number 10 to dry her out by the stove. By the time Dio had run down there to the No. 10, with Carrie Anne close at her heels, something of a small crowd had formed there, including JF and his wife Lola, Miss Sal from the Bella, They had Elizabeth wrapped in a blanket, laying across some benches that had been pushed together right by the little iron stove. Someone had stoked up the stove to the point that it was making the air around it shimmer with the heat.

Roku was standing behind the bar in a sizable puddle of water that was still growin’ from the water that continued to drip from her sodden dress. She had appropriated the only bottle of hard liquor that was to be found at the No. 10, a bottle of cheap red mule that Dio kept under the bar with her medical supplies for washing wounds and cleaning suture needles and such. At that moment, Roku was not employing the whisky for medicinal purposes in the strictest sense of the term. But I imagine that in a way, you could argue that the liberal dose of the stuff she had poured into a beer mug--and which she was working on applying internally--probably was having a useful therapeutic effect.

Elizabeth’s eyes were closed. Her breathin’ was shallow, and her usual pallid complexion was distinctly predominatin’ to a kinda inerestin' shade o’ pale blue.

Lola looked up as Dio came in.

“Dio, she’s like a block of ice. Her clothes are wet through--have you got anything dry we can put on her?”

Dio knelt by the benches that Elizabeth was laying across, and took one of her small, damp hands in hers. It felt lifeless, like a fish you’d caught earlier in the day, and which had long since ceased flippin’ about. She turned to Carrie Anne.

“Hon, would ye be so kind as to go look through yer things in the trunk under the bed--get out a full set o' duds fer Elizabeth as well as some clean things fer yerself.”

“Yes’m.”

Sal had just filled up a kettle of water to heat on the stove. It made a sizzling nose as soon as she set it upon the well-warmed metal. “I think that child will need some hot tea in her as soon as possible, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” agreed JF. “I believe she’s chilled inside ‘n out.”

I tried to reach for her when I saw her jump in,” said Carrie Anne, who was just then emerging from the back room with a armful of dry clothing. “But she... she was being swept and tumbled along. Then I saw Miss Roku comin’ from the Church and I hollered for her an’ she jumped right in to get Elizabeth....” Carrie Anne’s face had been very serious...almost expressionless, but now it sort of crumpled up a little bit and her voice got very small. “I...I tried to reach her...really I did...”

Sherrif JF Kanto looked down at Carrie Anne and smiled in a gentle sort o’ way. “It’s all right Carrie Anne,” he said. “ You did well. You are a good friend to Elizabeth. And you are to be commended for thinkin’ quick and actin’ just as fast, grabbing that rope and throwin’ it to Roku so she could get back out with your friend...”

“I was awful afraid it was going to work,” said Carrie Anne. I was sure if I tried to just hold on to the rope I was just gonna get pulled in too, so I wrapped the end of it around the tongue of that wagon that is sittin’ back there by the creek.

“Ah’m mighty glad ya did that.” Roku did not look at Carrie Anne as she spoke. She was focussed on pouring herself another liberal dose of amber-colored “medicine” from the bottle of red mule. “Ah was beginnin’ to have m’ doubts as to the wisdom o’ not jus’ lettin’ Elizabeth float away.”

JF put one o’ those massive hands o’ his on her shoulder in a way that was remarkably tender for such a big man, and one who...well...some other time, I probably should tell you about JF’s history before he came to Deadwood, but that will have to wait for now. Suffice to say, his history was not one that would incline you to believe him to be a man given to tender sentiments and consideration. “You did real well,” he repeated in a reassuring tone.

Lola was working on peeling off Elizabeth’s wet clothing, while Dio chafed her skin with a big towel and worked the girl’s arms and legs to get her circulation going. Elizabeth’s teeth chattered slightly, and she shook a bit, but her eyes remained closed. Carrie Anne sighed and bit her lower lip to keep from crying.

As they got more of the child’s clothing off, JF discreetly turned while they changed her into the dry things. His eyes met Roku’s for a moment. “Roku...you allright?”

Roku’s habitually hard expression softened briefly...and then returned almost as quickly to its normal state.

“Aw fuck it, JF...course ah’m allright. When am ah evah not allright?”

“Hey Roku,” Dio called out as she continued working on drying off Elizabeth and helping with getting her re-dressed. “If’n ye want, yer more’n welcome to look through my stuff an’ find some dry duds. O’ course none of it is likely to fit ye worth a tinker’s dam. Lanky, big-titted critter like you would most likely look mighty silly wearin’ an outfit sized fer a mite like m’self.

The mental image conjured up by Dio’s offer of clothing caused most of those present to smile in spite of the seriousness of the situation. Sal in particular got the giggles as she pictured Roku tryin’ to fit into one of the smaller woman’s shirts and a skirt.

They had finished changing Elizabeth and wrapped her in a big trade blanket, with another folded up and placed under her head as a pillow. Carrie Anne went into the back room to change out of her muddy, wet dress and stockings. Meanwhile, the water in the kettle was starting to boil. Sal grabbed the hot handle with a rag and took it off to make up some willow bark ea.

As Dio stroked Elizabeth’s still damp hair, she muttered, “Oh Lizabeth, chile, what was ye thinkin?”

“It’s my fault.” the sheriff stated flatly.

“No it ain't, JF,” answered Dio “Don't talk like that.”

“I shouldn’t have been so hard on her about Alonzo.”

*Dio shrugged. It ain't like you were one who tossed her tossed her in the crik, JF.”

The big man just shook his head. The he turned, so that no one could see the tear that that was running down his cheek. Lola watched him and sighed, “Oh, JF, it ain't your fault.”

Dio gently lifted Elizabeth’s head. “Ok gals, lets see if'n she kin have a sip or two o’ that hot tea.”

The girl’s eyes fluttered open...she was starting to respond to the warmth of the stove and the dry clothing and was coming around.

“Am I dead yet?” she asked in a very small voice.

Sal was puzzled by Elizabeth’s question. “What did she say?”

Elizabeth opened her eyes wider and looked around. Upon seeing Dio, Lola and JF, she appeared to be very disappointed. “Oh.. nooooooooooooooo, “ she moaned and pushed the cut of tea away.

“Are you all dead too?” she inquired plaintively.

Lola sighed. “Nobody's dead, ‘Lizabeth. Not you nor us, nor Roku, nor even Alonzo.”

Elizabeth sniffled a bit. “We nearly killed him...”

“Naw Hon,” Dio smiled. “That boy is fine as kin be--I am told he has been wanderin’ around, bein’ the usual goddam pest he always is.”

Elizabeth’s expression evidenced a certain degree of doubt. “We nearly drowned him for certain. He must be at death’s door...”

Dio shook her head. “Nope, no worse fer wear...”

“Everything is just fine now, little one,” said JF.

Elizabeth suddenly looked around in alarm. “Where is Carrie Anne? Did Carrie Anne have to go to jail?!” She started to cry.

“NO, o’ course she ain’t in jail.” replied Dio, a reassuring smile plastered on her face, though a hint of irritation had crept into her voice. “And I ain’t turned her out...she’s in the back room puttin’ on some clean clothes....an’ I want you ‘n Carrie Anne to keep bein’ friends.”

A voice from direction of the bar chimed in at this point. “Evahbody needs ta have a goddamn frend.”

They all turned to look at Roku, surprised by her sudden contribution to the conversation. The all waited for a moment to see if she was going to elaborate further on her statement about friendship. Instead. she looked back at them in a curious way, then shrugged and took another big sip of red mule. JF noticed at that point that well more than two-thirds of the bottle’s contents seemed to have evaporated.

“So we didn’t hurt Alonzo any?” asked Elizabeth uncertainly.

JF shook his head. “Not a whit.” agreed Dio. “ You din't do the lil’ peckerhead no harm in the least! Now do I gotta go find the silly lil turd to show ye? Please say no, as I'd druther not...that boy gets on my last goddam nerve.”

Just then Carrie Anne emerged from the backroom wearing the other set of clothing that she owned, and some clean, if slightly shabby-looking stockings. The mud had been wiped off her bootees, and she had retied the ribbon in her hair which was now properly combed.

Elizabeth saw her friend come out and a huge smile erupted across her pale features. “Carrie Anne! We dint hurt Alonzo any, an we’re not goin’ to jail... and Miss Dio wants you to stay with her ‘n we can still be friends! Even Miss Roku says so...um..I think!”

Carrie Anne knelt by the benches and took Elizabeth’s small hand in hers. She was squeezing it so hard that after a moment she wondered if she was hurting Elizabeth any, but her friend didn’t seem to mind.

Dio looked very happy, perhaps out of relief that she did not have to go find Alonzo to convince Elizabeth that he was allright. It was in fact, a dismal truth that few creatures dwelling within the realm of God’s green earth irritated the livin’ piss outta Dio as much as that boy did.

But something else was on her mind as well.

“Say gals, I gotta tell you somthin’....earlier when you all fessed up...I noted that the both o’ ye tried to take the blame, din't ye?”

The girls both nodded. “Yes ma'am.” said Elizabeth meekly.

“Ye din't want the other to be punished, did ye?”

“NO ma'am,” Elizabeth said fiercely. “I started it, I pushed him first!”

Carrie Anne glaredat her friend. “No! It was my fault!”

Lola shook her head and looked at JF, who was grinning. Dio held up a hand for silence.

“Well let’s leave off that argument about fault...it ain't no matter...ain’t of any importance at’all right now. What is important is that ye showed me you two is true pards...ye know what that means?”

Elizabeth looked uncertain and pulled the blanket tighter around herself. She looked at Miss Dio, and then to Carrie Anne, and then back at Miss Dio.

“You know what it means fer you ‘n Carrie to be pards?” asked Dio again.

“uh-uh,” responded Elizabeth quietly. “I don’t think I never had one of those before...”

Dio smiled. “Well, Hon, ye goddam well got one now. And it means you two are the best kind o' friends..the kind who got one another's back, who ain't afeared o’ sufferin’ an' sacrificin’ on behalf o’ the other

JF reached out and softly stroked Elizabeth's head and Carrie Anne squeezed her hand even more tightly. Elizabeth blinked away some tears, and relished the warmth of Carrie Anne’s hand on her cold, cold fingers. Sal was still kind of gobsmacked by the realization that this child had wanted to harm herself. But Dio was a roll, God bless ‘er. and she went on with her discussion of what it meant to be someone’s “pard.”

I want you two gals to understand that the kind o' friends that you are to each other--it’s a kind o’ friend is real goddam hard to find...an’ I was so dammed proud o' you two..fessin’ up, an each tryin’ to take the blame. Elizabeth...yer real lucky to have a pard like Carrie Anne...an’ she's real fortunate to have one like you. You understand that Hon?”

Elizabeth looked downcast still. “I think so...but I...I am a bad influence on her, everybody knows it...and...”

Elizabeth’s voice became very faint. “And people....the people I care ‘bout...they all die. I don’t want Carrie Anne to die. I would rather die myself than that happen...”

Carrie Anne leaned in closer to Elizabeth and whispered. "Ya can't die. I told the undertaker 'bout you, he says you can work for 'im when yer bigger"

Dio came over and sat on the bench next to Elizabeth. “Now Hon...I don't know all the details about why ye's wishin’ yerself dead...but I got a big favor to ask ye...”

Elizabeth looked at Miss Dio curiously. No one had asked a ‘favor” of her before. No adult anyway. She had always been told what to do and when and where to do it. In a tiny voice she answered, "Yes ma'am?"

“Lizzie..I need ye to keep on a stayin’ with us in this goddam vale o’ tears fer a spell...an’ it's real selfish o’ me that I do so, but I am gonna ask you anyhow...”

“What's a vale of tears?” interrupted Elizabeth. She looked over at Carrie Anne to see if she knew what the hell Miss Dio was talking about.

Dio sighed. “Hon...I am referrin’ to this world.,,the world o’ the livin’ as opposed to the next...to the Happy Huntin’ Ground, or what some o’ the tribes call the Other Side Camps. I kin understand ye wantin’ to go to the Happy Huntin’ Ground..they's probly folks ye love a-waitin’ there for ye...like I got m' Papaw an m' husban’ Jack there, waitin’ fer me.

Elizabeth thought she had a pretty good idea what Dio was talking about. She decided the woman must mean heaven, but she just didn’t know enough about religion to call it that. She then started to wonder if there was a thing such as the Unhappy Hunting Ground, where bad people would go. She tried to shake off that thought, so she could keep concentrating on what Dio was asking her.

“So you don’t want me to die and go to heaven?” she asked.

Once again, Dio found herself sighing. “Well...just not right now Hon. I have every confidence yer gonna get there some day. And we do all have to die sooner or later. I am just askin’ ye that if ye kin help it, try to make it later. Look...you know how much I love Carrie Anne don't ye?

Elizabeth nodded. “I think so...‘cause you gave her a horse.”

“Well, they's some things I cain't give Carrie. I kin give her a home, a pony, an shootin’ lessons an grub an all that...an’ I kin love her...but I cain't really be her pard. She needs you fer that.”

“I could try that...” Elizabeth looked at Carrie Anne. “You just gotta be careful around me 'cause... people tend to die around me.”

Carrie Anne shrugged "I'll risk it."

“Aw hell,” Dio laughed, “folks here in Deadwood, we don't die easy...right Carrie Anne?

“Goddamn right.” answered Roku, who was staring at a now empty whiskey bottle in a rather morose and slightly puzzled fashion. “Hey Dio, ya need to get another bottle of hootch for yer medical supplies. This’n seems about out.”

She then carefully placed the empty bottle on the back bar and headed for the door, betraying no indication of the unsteadiness most folks usually display after having finished off the better part of a pint of coffin varnish. At the door, she turned and fixed her stare on Carrie Anne.

“Hey, kid!”

Carrie Anne looked up, her face impassive.

“Ya know how ah said ya was gonna hav’ta earn m’ friendship back?”

Carrie Anne nodded.

“Well, ah figured ya were gonna be able to do it...I jus’ didin’t ‘spect ya was gonna be able to do it so goddamn quick. Thanks fer the rope.”

Without another word, Roku stalked out of the Number 10, hopefully off to find some dry garments.

Dio watched her go and then turned back to Elizabeth.

“Now Lizzie I know ye want to be gettin' on t' the Happy Huntin’ Ground so as to be with yer loved ones who are awaitin’ ye there...but best way to get there is to live well ‘n die well...and as fer livin’ well..one thing ye could do that would count nicely fer that is stayin’ here to be Carrie Anne’s pard. Please don’t don’t try to harm yerself again, Hon.”

Elizabeth smiled at Carrie Anne. “If she'll take the chance that I might accidentally cause her to die, then I will be her pard.” She thought for a moment. “And I won't try to hurt myself. Also, I won't ever try to drown Alonzo again...but I still don't like him.”

Dio handed Elizabeth her cup of tea. “That's ok I don' care fer the dirt eatin’ lump of a chile neither...an’ hell, yer allowed t’ not like folks. It's like Jesus tol’ his holy apostles, ‘Boys, remember that ye gotta love thy neighbor...but it don't mean ye gotta like the sonofabitch’...them are good words to live by.”

The two girls both seemed to drinking in this wisdom. “You know, I did go to church, like Miss Roku told me to,” said Elizabeth. “But God weren't there...” her voice trailed off.

Dio nodded, seemingly unsurprised by this news. Then she gently laid her hand on Elizabeth and Carrie Anne’s tightly clasped hands.

“And Lizzie?”

“Yes ma'am?”

“Thank you.”

Elizabeth looks surprised at this. “For what?” she asked.

“Fer stickin' around to be Carrie Anne's pard...it means the world to me...an’ I reckon it does to Carrie Anne as well."

Elizabeth blinked, and smiled an odd little smile. “Um... thank you ma'am for not shouting at me and looking after me just now...”

She looked shyly around the room at JF and Lola and Sal. “And thank you all too.”

Dio chuckled slightly. “Beelzebub's bunghole, Hon! Why in the name o’ Saint Pete's outhouse door would I yell at ye? I'm findin’ m'self right fond o’ ye.”

~~~

"Life is a (run-down, unromanticized) cabaret, old chum" -- The 1920's Berlin Project in SL

~~~

1920's Berlin--a crowded working-class neighborhood

Recently, I heard about a relatively new historical build that opened back in July 2009, but which is drawing a good bit of increased attention, so I decided to go see it for myself. "The 1920's Berlin Project" was definitely worth the trip--unequivocally, a great example of Something in SL That Does Not Suck.

A few nights ago, I went there when no one was around. I spent maybe an hour or so kitting myself out in period garb and hair and then sniffing about into all the corners and crevices of this complex build. I was so impressed, I made a point of coming back the next day for the 2 PM "Happy Hour" at the neighborhood bar when more of the residents, including the founder, Jo Yardley, would be around. It was an interesting and enjoyable experience, and I intend to make other excursions into this recreated representation of working-class Weimar Germany.

And as I said, I'm not the only one who is paying attention to Ms. Yardley's experiment. After I announced on Twitter that I planned to blog about my visit to 1920s Berlin, Rhianon Jameson tweeted back that she was planning on doing the same thing, and on the same day (and she in fact has done so with a very nice piece and images of some places I completely missed in my visits to the build). Great minds thinking alike and all that? Maybe. Mostly it's just that this is a very creative, and engaging build for people like us who want to see what can be done with historical immersion environments in SL, and I think this one may be gathering some momentum.

Standing just off the main square in the Berlin Build. That's me in a quick outfit I put together using Ingenue hair and the top part of an Ingenue outfit, with a skirt I made and basic pumps from Tesla. The scarf and jacket came from some other sources that escape me at the moment.

This build is the brainchild of Jo Yardley, who in real life is an historical consultant and living history enthusiast from the Netherlands. She tells me she hasn't been in SL all that long, but clearly she saw the potential that the platform has as a means to recreate environments from the past for recreational and didactic purposes.

The build itself is unique. The buildings and textures are her own, and look pretty much like nothing else you are going to find in-world. And that's not just because there isn't anyone else who has built a working class Berlin neighborhood of the 1920s, it's because Jo has drawn upon ideas and textures from images and materials in her own personal collection in order to pull this off.

And damn, it really freakin' works.

You wander around in this kind of grimy, gritty, verismo streetscape of small-to-medium size houses, shops, tenements and miscellaneous urban detritus and street furniture. There are faded and peeling signs and posters, street lamps and vehicles, and bot-avatars representing street characters such as beggars, an organ grinder, urchin and a drunk. Detail is spot on. I was agreeably pleased to notice that one beggar, representing a shell-shocked and possibly crippled ex-soldier from the war, is still wearing his M1910 "waffenrock" tunic.

The ex-soldier in his waffenrock

I am not going go into a whole lot of explanation about the background on the build, being as you can find that at a Wikipedia page regarding the project. But I will tell you that it has some stringent rules. You are expected to put on 1920s clothing and guys need to wear short hair (there is a very decent looking freebie period "haircut" along with some basic working-class outftis for both men and women available in the entry area). Weapons are prohibited and you are not allowed to come in as a Nazi Brownshirt or advocate Nazi principles--this is, of course, not only to prevent appearance of the inevitable wave of worthless, basement-dwelling, middle-class, white boy grieftards who take some kind of peculiar pseudo-sexual delight in being as "politically incorrect" as possible, it also heads off any conflict with the LL TOS. It is also completely and absolutely historically authentic for the context because, as they will tell you during happy hour at the cabaret, this neighborhood is way too "red" for any National Socialist crap to be tolerated. Wear a swastika, or open your mouth and spew any nutzi guff, or do the stupid salute, and you would have had the living shit beat out of you by the neighborhood labor unionists, communists, and anarchists.

A kiosk with various peeling posters including some that I am pretty sure indicate how "red" this neighborhood is.

The rules , however, are very relaxed in other ways. compared to what you will find in many rp sims. You do not have to stay in character all the time in open chat. The roleplaying I encountered in the cabaret was what is called in the parlance, "RP Lite." The sizable group of very friendly people who I met there had definite ideas about who their 1920s characters are, and what the lives and backstories of their characters are like. But they were also very comfortable with slipping back and forth between 1920s conversations and discussion of current SL conditions and troubles, commentary on LL, and sharing some really interesting information about the history of the period. It was in a lot of ways like the conversations you have at living history events. I found it engaging and fun, if a little bit disconcerting as I endeavored to stay in character as a Kriegswitwe (war widow) who was trying to convince bartender Jo to become an anarcho-syndicalist.

Mind you I don't mean to bring this up to be critical--I just want you to understand where they are coming from right now. The people I met were very welcoming, smart, and interesting to talk to--they simply have chosen to not do a hard-core style of rp here. In discussing things with Jo in IM while all this mixed series of conversations was going on, she told me that the project is very much an on-going experiment, not only in terms of the build being gradually refined and expanded, but also in terms of how its residents and regulars are deciding how they will interact with one another and visitors. This is important to understand: the project is very dynamic in an organic sort of way. It is still evolving.

At the cabaret "happy hour," 1920s Berlin founder Jo Yardley is tending bar. To my right was a very nice English expatriate, who knew a great deal about steam engines.

One of the astonishing things about this build is that it is not a complete sim. It is only a partial, but with all the twists and turns and the clever ways that the builder used her spaces, it feels a whole hell of a lot bigger. Yeah, it's like a fucking tardis. Jo reinforced this perception of a larger space by putting up photo murals of early 20th century German city street scenes (I presume Berlin) to close off the ends of the streetscapes with a trompe l'oeil effect.

The community that is starting to develop here is raising money to continue expanding the project. In fact if I have a criticism about the build itself, it is only that the immersion effect is slightly diminished here and there by the presence of the big donation "thermometers." But hey, you do what you gotta do, right? And I assume that at some point these things will go away or be restricted to the entry area.

All in all, this is one of the better things I have seen in SL in a long while. It's up there with the WWI poets sim--and in some ways superior to that project. For one thing, although there is a didactic element to the Berlin build (you can go in the school and see streamed video about the history of the era), but it is a far more realistic environment. And unlike builds such as the Frank Lloyd Wright Museum--which present three-D models of historic structures that are beautiful and highly accurate, but also empty, sterile, lifeless and without real human context--this Berlin build has a great deal of humanity to it, both in terms of the bot-avatars (which I think are far superior to the "Pepper's ghost" dummies and see-through flats of the WWI poets sim), and the friendly, talkative residents you can meet at happy hour and other events.

It also feels like a place people live, with litter on the streets, broken windows, useful stuff in the stores, diverse elements that include a laundry, a seedy tattoo parlor, a claustrophobic police station, a shabby tenement block, and a homey little restaurant. And FURTHERMORE, Jo went out of her way to build it to a realistic scale. Unlike most of SL, in 1920s Berlin the doorknobs are not at the height of your nipples; ceilings do not tower 20 feet over your head. I love that.


But you know what is really remarkable? This build came into being because of the efforts and vision of individuals--primarily Jo Yardley, but with the support and participation of other everyday SL residents and vendors. It didn't happen through the efforts of some organization or university with a professional project team and expensive gold solution provider-type builders, or with the cossetting and cuddling that LL applies to the projects it favors. Nope. Very much like projects such as the Deadwood sim, this is a real grass-roots kind of experiment. Remember that old "you world, your imagination" tag line that used to be splashed all over the SL web site? Well, goddamit, this is a great example of what our fellow residents' imaginations can produce, given the chance.

If you want to visit the 1920s Berlin build it can be found at http://slurl.com/secondlife/dudintsev/92/77/500/

To learn more about the proejct, you can look at the previously mentioned Wikipedia entry or visit the 1920s Berlin Project forum.

In the tattoo parlor. Delightfully seedy, ja?
~~~

Life at virtual Hogwarts -- an update

~~~

On the grounds of Hogwarts castle.

My friend Headburro Antfarm recently asked for an update on how things are going in my other rp venue, Hogwarts United. And of course, I am always glad to accommodate HB’s requests, just as I heed his suggestions. So here’s a quick summary of how things are going:

* I got through my entire first term of being there without injuring any students or destroying the library.

* At the end of that first term, they made me Head Librarian. (not because I was wonderful or anything, but because Sio Timeless, the previous Head Librarian has some real-life issues to deal with and they had to plug somebody into the gap).

* I found that most people I encountered, especially the students seemed to like the character I had created, and especially enjoyed her occasional correspondence.

* Once I became head librarian I undertook the task of reorganizing the actual note-card-based books that the library has, trying to get them consistently filed alphabetically by author. That made me feel very useful and accomplished.

* I made some nice friends on the staff especially Professors Nyx Carnell (Phoenyx Firehawk) and Avaya Wirefly. They’re fun, delightful people, dedicated teachers, and damn fine rp’ers.

* I have recruited a couple of library assistants who show great promise. I have already discovered that one of them, Quinn Porthos, shares my enthusiasm for blowing shit up.

* I have had a great deal of fun. And I still am, even with the whole “being given responsibility” thing, which was something I was trying desperately to avoid. (oh well).

Working in the restricted collections o the library.

I have enjoyed getting to experience a type of rp that is very different from what I am used to in places like Deadwood. First off, there is a whole lot less random violence, and I can’t cuss like I am used to. I do say “bloody hell” alot, however, especially when something happens like the castle being swarmed by charmed pumpkins hopping through its halls, or cursed books exploding into flames when you try to to get them to reveal what sort of spell has been cast over them.

I have been very impressed by the faculty, who put a great deal of significant effort into preparing the lessons--doing research, writing their syllabi and handouts for the students, and setting up demonstrations of various sorts to make the classes interesting. The one thing that I find to be a drawback to the system is that such a commitment is required of the teachers in developing and presenting their classes, these folks frequently don’t seem to have a lot of time or energy for actually doing much roleplaying. The faculty in general take their responsibilities extremely seriously.

Which was probably why I found myself directing Dio in a direction that is, like her role in Deadwood, sort of a one-woman Greek Chorus commenting upon the action or filling out the big scenes, but which also includes a bit more comic relief than I offer in other rp settings.

You may recall that her backstory revolves around being a former auror who was retired early with PTSD--so Dio has her quirks and will periodically do or say things to surprise or befuddle people who expect librarians to act in a certain way. One odd tendency that sort of evolved on its own without me really planning it, is that I will be extremely formal in speech and manners with people I do not know well, or in most normal professional circumstances. However, with friends, or when I get excited or angry, I become much more casual and rather coarse (at least as much as one can be in a PG sim). When no one in authority is looking, I also am inclined to draw on my background in magical combat and no-holds-barred spell casting to deal with various situations.

For example, there currently is a movement afoot among the students protesting the requirement to wear robes to class, and they have been marking the castle up with graffiti. I found some of this graffiti on one of the library tables, and becoming frustrated after trying to clean it off with the usual “tergeo “ charm, I just used a combat spell to blast the marking off permanently. Miss Porthos was in attendance to put out any resulting fires (which she did, quite nicely) and she agreed with me that the pyrotechnics that ensued were worth the resulting char marks on the table top. We’re going to leave the damage in place for awhile to stand as our own “message” to would-be graffiti artists.

The table with the graffiti "cleaned off." Don't worry...I am sure I can remove the burn marks...eventually.

The real place for me to exercise my proclivity for comic relief, however, has been in making up ridiculous titles for nonexistent books when a student asks for something that isn’t actually in the current limited collection. Another source of some yuks are the letters I have sent by way of my owl “Rasputin” to different people on various occasions. The following was a letter I sent to one of the professors who also works for the Ministry of Magic, and who was supposed to be cracking down on the use of unauthorized portkeys (magical teleportation devices).

A rather seedy looking owl of indeterminate age and type wheels crazily through the twilight, pauses to look around in apparent confusion or possibly the owl equivalent of Alzheimer's disease.

It then crashes onto your windowsill, and lies there looking fairly ill. As you open the window to retrieve the message it is clutching in its badly trimmed claws, it vomits up some partially digested mouse remains, and then blinks its eyes at you in a expression that can only be described as one of mild irritation.

As you go to close your window again, it suddenly ruffles itself, shedding a few mangy looking feathers and one or two of some kind of insectoid parasite. It also seems to have dandruff.

The message reads:

To:
Mr. Wendall Kristan,
Official Ministry type Minister of something or other
Ministry of Magic

From:
Miss Diogenes Penthesileia Kuhr
Auror (retired)
Assistant Librarian, Dangerous Books Collection
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

cc: Headmaster Lysis Nikolaidis

My Dear Mr. Kristan:

I understand that you are seeking information about the misuse of unapproved Port Cheese at the school and let me tell you bucko, tis about HIGH TIME someone did something about this disgraceful situation. The practice of mixing Port wine in with cheese is an absolute travesty, not to mention a dreadful waste of perfectly good Port, though I will admit that on whole wheat crackers at a little get-together with friends, it does taste pretty good. But for a formal occasion such as an official inquisition or Wizardgamot hanging party, it simply WILL NOT DO!

No No No, for those kinds of situations, you should always go with something like a nice Stilton, or if you have people coming whom you really don't like all that much, I suppose you could fob off some kind of cheap gooey Brie on them, and hey, they most likely won't know the difference, will they?

Oh.

Wait.

One of my colleagues just informed me that the issue was about the misuse of "Portkeys"....not "Port Cheese."

Never mind.

Oh dear. Well, that's pretty bloody embarrassing, isn't it? Dreadful sorry about that. Portkeys? Hmmmm. haven't used one o' them silly buggers in years. Always worry that if you use one and it goes wonky, you're going to end up with your head stuck up your own tookus, eh? Though I do suppose Ministry people have to use them a lot, don't they? Oh..not that I'm implying...um...yes, well...best quit while I'm ahead , eh?

yours
D.P. Kuhr


Silly stuff, I know. But fun. And certainly not inconsistent with the Harry Potter-esque reality that Hogwarts United represents.

Again, I will reiterate that this kind of highly structured immersion environment is not for everyone. Major rp scenarios must be presented in a proposal to a review committee and approved. Some folks find the process slow, and that it perhaps “cramps their style.” But it does serve to keep the roleplay under control and within the set of parameters that the sim leadership has established. As with any rp community, there are a few drama whores and idiots, but their ability to affect everyone else’s experience is severely limited by the sim policies. It is very seldom that you find yourself watching someone go off in some ridiculous self-indulgent direction, while everyone else present is muttering, “Well that was fucking moronic.”

This also suggests that the recruiting/application/orientation process really does work in maintaining a level of quality among the sim population, and reducing or eliminating the peckerhead factor. I have yet to encounter a grieftard in the castle, at all. That has been really nice.

So what’s next? Well, I am going to try to spend more time in Hogwarts if I can, and hopefully encourage more of the sim residents to write up essays or booklets--covering anything from magical techniques to their backstory family histories--that can be added to the library collections. I mean hell, I can’t keep making up silly titles for non-existent books forever.

~~~

A Deadwood scene -- "...their hearts and minds soon follow"

~~~

One of the things many people in town liked about the Saloon Number 10 after Dio took it over was that she had turned it into a “lager beer saloon” which meant it was generally acceptable for just about anyone, including children and fairly respectable women to enter and socialize there. Only the most absolutely conventional and class-conscious ladies in town would hesitate to enter Dio’s place for fear of ruining their reputation or being accosted by some rough and vile individual.

Most of the saloons and booze parlors in town were not as accessible for everyone--and appropriately so. There were some mighty goddamn rough and ready places in town. But because all Dio served was lager beer (and other non-alcoholic libations), her patrons generally didn’t wind up being stupid drunk. Dio had got the idea from the German beer gardens she had seen in Cincinnati after the war, where families from the youngest to the oldest, as well as both ladies and gents could come in and sit downn to talk and sing, drink beer, have a meal, or dance and listen to the oom-pah music and folk songs of their homeland. Those Dutchmen back in the Queen City were always fond of telling anyone who cared to listen that “you can’t get drunk mit der lager bier.” Dio took that idea to heart, and put it to work to make her establishment different from all the others in town.

A customer at the No. 10 when Dio owned it. Note how sparsely it is furnished. Behind the gentleman is the only table and chairs in the place.

So Dio’s Saloon No. 10 was a place anyone could come in if they cared to, so long as they behaved and treated the other guests with courtesy, or at least didn’t harass ‘em any. The 10 offered no “ardent sprits,” and no gambling. Gamblers, con men, and notorious drunkards were of course welcome in her beer saloon--they simply weren’t permitted to engage in their usual pastimes. Likewise chippies, upstairs girls and dancers were never prohibited from entering to enjoy a beer and a bowl of venison stew in the dimly-lit, starkly simple confines of the 10--so long as they didn’t attempt to engage in any “frisky bizness” while there.

The simple rules of the house were enforced when necessary by Roku, as well as Dio herself. Dio offered a man a job at the 10 one time, but he declined, explaining, “I’m sorry M’am, but I just don’t feel quite right working with a woman who can out-shoot me, and another who can out-cuss me.”

After a few months, Dio also had taken on another security man--a fella from up north called Clay Kungler. Clay was there to act as back-up, especially when Roku was off working her other “job.” Clay was just about the toughest character Dio had met in a long time, but she found him damned likable. He had the kind of sense of humor that she appreciated. Dio had told Clay on one occasion that he was "an asshole of epic proportions," and being the sort of fellah he was, Clay looked on that as quite the compliment.

So anyhow, yeah, trouble happened now and then like it did in all the barrooms and saloons of Deadwood, but when it happened in the 10, it usually ended pretty quick.

Taking that into consideration, people got used to the idea that as long as they behaved well, anyone was welcome to go into Dio’s place. And they certainly did--like I said before, you’d find confidence men, card-sharps, booze-hounds and working gals in there for sure, but also miners, drifters, respectable ladies, young’uns, cowhands, soldiers, shopkeepers, outlaws and lawmen, all together and mostly being pretty civil. Most folks didn’t think much about it after a while, but every now and then, Miss Dio’s policies still had some surprising results.

Like the time that Hawk came in...

It was a pleasant Fall afternoon in the 10: Dio cleaning glasses behind the bar; Roku in her usual corner reading her paper; Clay was happily engaged in cleaning and oiling one of the big Colt Dragoons he habitually carried. The only customers were Kit, this real nice woman bullwhacker, and Maybelle, a pretty young lady who as a skilled swift, doin’ typesetting for the new printshop that Mr. Steeter had just started up.

Well sir, as they were all chit-chattin’, the door swung open and this immense shape loomed up, silhouetted by the light from the street. A certain...almost animal-like fragrance greeted the nostrils of those inside the bar. And in lumbered ol’ Hawk.

You remember Hawk, don’t you?

Big...very big.

Ugly...very, very ugly.

And with an ugly reputation. You will recall him shooting the Bella’s bartender in the leg with minimal provocation, harassing folks on the street--he had also been know to beat fellows up at the Gem just for fun, breaking arms like they were twigs. And he had been involved in some more shooting incidents with some men who he said had been trying to jump a claim he had up in the hills. He was pretty much an all-around disturbing presence.

So when he walked in, right away, Kit’s right hand instinctively went towards the the butt of her pistol. Maybelle--normally an irrepressibly loquacious lass--went dead silent for a change and shrunk into the shadows back by the beer tap. Both of the women looked expectantly at Dio and Roku, waiting to see how quickly the fireworks would start.

Dio glanced up from her work with the beer mugs...and smiled.

“Hawk!” she called out cheerfully.

“Hello Dio,” Hawk rumbled back in his grizzly-growl voice.

Roku peered over the top of her newspaper. “Howdy Hawk, nice to see ya again.”

Clay nodded pleasantly to Hawk and resumed oiling the cylinder on the Dragoon.

Dio took a glass and began filling it from the beer tap that protruded from the wall. “Hey, ye pestilence-ridden, stanky mess o' so-called human bein! How the hell are ye?”

Hawk caught the beer mug that Dio expertly slid down the bar to him. He pulled some coins out of his pocket and deftly pitched them into the open cigar box on the back counter. “

“I am doing good, thank ya Dio.”

Kit and maybelle were just plain flummoxed. They looked from Dio to Hawk and then from Hawk to Roku, who had risen from her chair--one of the few in the bar. After stretching like a tall, well-armed cat, Roku ambled over to the bar and was standing next to Hawk, signaling Dio to pour her a beer as well.

Roku never, ever would take a drink when trouble was about to start. In those situations, she always kept her hands free for duties other than holding a beer mug. But here she was holding a beer mug and casually sipping away, while standing next to the epitome of trouble, with a capital “T.”

To Kit and Maybelle, all these things simply made no sense.

Roku looked over at Hawk as she worked on her beer.

“Wheahs ya guns, Hawk?” She gestured at the middle section of the big man, which was noticeably lacking its usual compliment of hardware and leather.

Dio was frowning slightly. “Yeah, don' tell me ye turned Quaker on us, Hawk.”

Hawk grunted, in what presumably was a small laugh. “I dont need no guns, Roku--all I have to do is breath on them...”

Clay laughed, “Ha! I reckon so...I have smelt buffalo farts that were easier to take.”

But Roku frowned. She was appalled at Hawk’s lack of good sense in this matter. “Hawk, that ain’t good, a man like you goin’ about unarmed. There are evil thangs afoot in this town--did yah see the bloody hoss’s haid someone done left on the porch o’ the Red Bird saloon across the street?”

“No, didn't see it.” replied Hawk.

“Well, go on over there, take a good look, Hawk. somebody was sendin’ those boys who run that place a message, and it ain’t a friendly how-ya-doin’ kind o’ message neither.”

Hawk looked curious. Without a word he walked out of the No. 10, still carrying his beer and strolled over in the direction of the Red Bird.

Roku watched Hawk leave and commented, “Whew, Hawk’s gettin’ stankier than evah.”

Dio shrugged. “Well he has been spendin’ most o’ his time up at this claim he seems to be workin’ with some success. But he is convinced some some weasel-fuckers are tryin’ to jump his claim, so he has been purty much livin’ up there--workin’ hard, diggin’ an’ carryin’ gravel to wash it, lookin' fer color...never takin’ a chance to bathe nor even clean up a bit--yeah I ain’t ‘sprised he’s gone a bit more skunky than he had been.”

About then Hawk wandered back in, and set his now empty beer mug down on the bar.

“Damn, that is a mess over there,“ he commented drily. “Who in the hell would do something like that?”

Roku arched an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t be any of your handywork, would it, Hawk?”

Hawk shook his head, with an expression that indicated he took absolutely no offense at being asked such a question. “Not mine.” he grunted.

“Naw, that ain't Hawk's style,” added Dio. “He's the kind who if'n he wanted to intimidate those boys, he’d jus’ go in an’ shoot ‘em in the leg...like he did with Pel.”

Hawk did not seem inclined to argue with Dio about her opinion on the matter. Instead he reached over and patted Roku on her ample backside.

Kit drew in sharp breath. Surely this was not going to turn out well.

Instead Roku grinned an odd little grin and snorted, “Careful, now Hawk--that’s mah money makah.”

Dio grinned too. “Yep pard, you get too frisky there an’ I ain't responsible fer what might happen next.”

Hawk just laughed and then emitted a resounding burst of flatulence. “Damned beans,” he muttered.

Clay looked up from his gun cleaning. “Goddamit Hawk, don't stand so close to the stove when yah do that! Yah wanna blow this place up?”

A look of concern actually crossed Hawk’s face. “You think it might explode?”

Dio’s expression was one of deadly seriousness. “Look, if you catch yer ass on far fartin near m' stove...I ain't puttin’ it out.

Now at last Hawk looked hurt and offended. “You mean you would let it burn? Glad y’all like me so much.”

Everyone in the saloon, including Maybelle and Kit were now laughing.

Dio at the No. Ten

Dio went on, “Probbly not. Mostly jus cuz I'd be curious to see how long it would take before the sensation o’ yer buttocks bein’ aflame would take to mosey on up to yer tiny lil’ critter brain...”

“Might take a while,” interjected Clay.

“Oh not as long as ye might think,” stated Dio in a deadly earnest tone. “I'm bettin’ two, three days, tops.”

Roku was now doubled over with laughter.

Dio sighed and leaned on the counter behind the bar, gazing at Hawk with a strangely wistful look.

“Seriously pard..why ain't ye packin iron?”

“Someone stole it while I was passed out drunk the other night,” grumbled Hawk.

Dio tried not to sigh again...but she did anyway. “Look, you know theys more'n a few folks would kill to get that claim o’ your'n. An’ the critter they'd have to kill to get it, happens to be you.”

Hawk shrugged, but you could tell he was processing what Dio was saying. “Hmmm...guess I am going to have to invest in another shootin’ iron.

“Who knows?” added Clay. “Might it be that perhaps there’s some connection between yer pistol disappearin’ and someone is maybe fixin’ to jump yer claim?”

Hawk furowed his brow. “Hmmm...could be...I went down to Mort’s store to buy a knife, but twas locked up...”

“Hawk...pard...all joshin’ aside,” said Dio in a tired,voice, “I really wish ye'd get ye a new six-shooter, an’ sooner rather than later,”

Hawk suddenly grinned, “Hey, maybe if I catch the right person passed out I wont have to buy one!”

Dio picked up the empty mug that Hawk had left on the bar, weighed it in her hand for moment... and then threw it with all her might at the far wall by the stove, where it shattered into a dozen pieces. “Holy Moses on the fuckin’ mountain! Look here, you cheap, tightfisted baboon! A goddam gun don't cost that much! Just stop foolin’ around an’ get yerself armed like someone who has got more brains than a prairie dog who had his haid stepped on by a draft hoss!”

Hawk looked unsure how to react. Then he shrugged. “Well...if y’all insist, I guess I will go get myself one...since y’all care so much for me and ever’thing.”

Dio nodded and answered quietly, “Damn right I insist, ye overgrown, dirt-eatin feckless rapscallion...”

“And whilst ya at it, Hawk, get a damn haircut,” said Roku.

“And a bath,” added Dio. “And a clean shirt!”

Hawk looked shocked. “A bath??!!”

Dio wagged her finger at him. “Yes! A bath! With hot water, and with soap!"

Clay nodded. “Oh, and yah might get some kerosene too, to kill what ever might be living in that beard of yours.”

Dio had picked up a broom and was sweeping he broken mug out the door into the street. “I mean goddam, Hawk, I spent a couple years with buff’lo hunters, an’ we smelt better than you do right now!”

Hawk raised up an arm and took a sniff. “Damn. Is sorta ripe there. If I get me a bath, will you kiss me?”

Everyone laughed again at this, including Dio. “Naw. But I tell you what. You get ye a bath, a clean shirt, an’ new firearm, and then, if’n ye do ignite yerself fartin’ near a open flame, I promise I shall do m’ utmost to extinguish ye.”

Hawk thought about this a moment. “Fair enough.” he nodded, and stalked out purposefully.

The room was quiet for a spell after the big man had left. And then Kit finally spoke up.

"Dio...when did you all decide that Hawk isn’t such a bad fella after all...and how did you get to where you can be laughin’ n’ jokin’ around with him like that. Other times I seen him, if anyone had talked to him like you n’ Clay n’ Roku just done, he’d a ripped their arm outta its socket an beat ‘em o’er the head with it.”

“No kidding," agreed Maybelle, who finally seemed to have found her voice again.

Dio finished sweeping the last piece of broken mug out the door. “Well, Hon it’s like this...when I found out that someone was tryin’ to weasel Hawk outta his claim, I kinda started lookin’ at him a bit different. Simple fact o’ the matter is that they ain't that many o’ the small time claim holders left now...I’m guessin’ the fellers who are trying to get him off his claim are workin ‘fer one o’ the big mine operators. Hawk’s been here almost since the rush started...an’ I guess I'm a sentimental ol’ fool...but goddam, I would hate to see him get kilt or disappeared, an’ his claim get gobbled up by some big-ass minin’ company."

Maybelle and Kit both looked thoughtful. Finally Maybelle spoke up again. “Allright, so I understand why you are treatin’ him as you do, rather than trying to shoot him--which is what most folks seem to think he deserves. But how in the world did you get him to behave as he was just now? Is that how he has responded to you treating him with some decency and consideration?”

Dio looked at Maybelle and smiled. She always had a soft spot for optimists and naive Mary Sunshine-types who thought that human kindness could re-make the world--even if they were dead-ass, one-hundred percent wrong about that.

“Oh no, Hon, Nothin’ o the sort. Hawk’s been acting different since a encounter I had with him a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh? What happened?” asked Kit.

“Well, Hon, I was walkin’ up Lee street an’ I seen him across the bridge by town hall, talkin' with Miz Mahaila, acting all kinda blustery an’ such.”

”What did you say to him, Dio?”

“Oh, hell’s britches, Hon, I din’t say nothin. I simply went up to him an’ kicked him square in the testicles, just as hard as I fuckin’ could."

“Oh my Lord! What did he do then?”

“Well...I din’t see it, bein’ as I was runnin’ like Hell, about as fast as m' stubby lil' laigs could carry me...ye know, as a matter o’ principle an’ self preservation. But accordin’ to Mah, he sorta sunk to his knees, groaned a little bit, an’ then tipped over. An’ ever since, he has behaved hisself like a real gennleman in m’ presence.”

~~~

A Deadwood story -- post partum

~~~

This short story -- originally posted on the Road to Deadwood forum -- was based on a conversation that happened after Dio helped deliver a baby (remember, Dio has had experience with various medical situations). The child was born to Pel Silverspar and his wife Kate. They happened to be near the Bella when labor started in earnest, so Katie was brought inside what was at that time a fancy cathouse to have her baby.

The fun part of this rp was that she was one of those mothers-in-labor who decides that it is all the husband's fault that she has to go through this crap. She heaped verbal abuse on poor Pel, and at one point announced that she was done and was just going to leave and forget about the whole thing, thank you very much. Meanwhile we also had a Greek chorus made up of the drunken idiots downstairs, chatting about things like what the baby should be named and commiserating with Taj (one of the Bella girls) that her bed had been chosen as the one to have the mess made in it.

In the discussion afterwards, Dio is talking with her friend Roku, an interesting character who divided her time between working sometimes as an upstairs girl and sometimes as a lady gunslinger. Roku had been hired by Dio for security at the No. 10.


Dio slouched in the big comfy chair downstairs at the Bella. She was dog-tired, and that fact really kind of puzzled her--after all Katie was the one who had done all the real work. But Dio was happy nonetheless, having helped bring a healthy little boy into this wretched vale of tears. She sighed as her eyelids drooped.

"Sure hope Katie didn't realize it's been a while since I helped with birthin a chile," she thought, as she drifted off, oblivious to the noise of revelry and celebration. Damn, you would think these feckless rascals had shit the watermellon themselves, the way they were carrying on. But it had all been that girl upstairs, now resting and drinking Dio's god-awful willow bark tea, who had been the herioine in this story. In many years of looking after people, this had certainly been one of the easiest, quickest deliveries Dio could remember. That gal Katie was just one of the fortunate ones, somehow designed by Providence to pop one on out with remarkably little trouble and drama.

The exhausted widow had dozed off for some time in the huge, smelly, overstuffed chair, when she felt something brush her arm, gently, tentatively, and she was startled awake. It was Katie, standing somewhat wobbily, smiling and glowing, and saying something that didn't quite register, but from the look on her beaming face, Dio guessed it was something happy and positive and she responded with a tired smile and nodded as she said what was hopefully an appropriate positive response. As she became more aware of what was goin on around her, Roku's tall form came into focus, leaning back against a post, ever watchful, seemingly unaffected and unconnected to all the celebratory hoo-hah that was swirling around the tacky splendor of the Bella's main bar-room. Dio could see Roku's gaze fix on her, their eyes met, and Dio could see what was running through her protective shadow's mind.

"Roku, shall we pull up stakes and head back to the 10?"

The tall figure nodded and followed as Dio creakily rose from the big chair, and saying her collective goodnights, pushed out through the big polished doors into the night. Dio strode silently down the street and wordlessly, instinctively stopped outside the No. 10's door. In concordance with their now well-established patterns of life, Roku slid past her without pausing, and went into the semi-dark saloon to check the corners, behind the bar and in the back room.

When Roku looked at Dio and nodded, the No.10's tired owner entered her establishment, lit another oil lamp, and sat at the lone card table.

Dio briefly pondered on how it really was a pathetic little shithole of a saloon. The proprietor of such a penny-ante, piss-ant little tin-plated operation shouldn't need to have "protection." It just seemed kind of silly and out of proportion to the relative importance of the place or it's owner.

Oh well, welcome to goddamm Deadwood.

Roku seemed quieter than usual. Finally, she dryly commented, "Kate was lucky you were around. Where the hell are all the goddammed doctors when you need them?"

"Hell if I know," the older woman replied. "We got more of 'em around here than ticks on a short legged hound in tall grass. You would think folks could find one when the need arose."

Roku snorted derisively. ""Specially at night. None of 'em around at night. And that's when folks get hurt most."

Dio smiled slightly. "Well to tell the truth I kinda think that some folks hereabouts don't really trust the bastards all that much. Seems like a fair number of em would rather have me lookin after 'em than trust one o' the fancy-ass book-reading docs. Hell, mostly they seem to be good fer nothin' but bleedin', purgin' and pushin' pills o' dubious quality. Or pumpin' folks full o' laudanum."

Roku looked directly into Dio's eyes, her poker-faced expression unchanging.

"Don't flatter yourself. They only come to you because they don't have anyone else to turn to. You ever really been trained in medicine? No, they all just come to you because there is no other goddammed choice."

From anyone else, Dio would have taken this as an insult. Some people she might even have called out on such a comment. But coming from Roku, it was a gift, the gift of hard-headed realism. Roku, as far as Dio could tell, didn't have a romantic bone left in her body. Every ounce of pretense, every atom of bullshit had been scoured and burned away from this woman's heart and soul.

Dio nodded and smiled.

"Yep, yer probbly right Hon. Well, hopefully someday they'll have some better choices."

She yawned and stared out towards the street. "Roku, I'm beat. I need to get some rest...I'm gonna hit the hay."

Roku nodded. "yep. It's gettin mighty late for ye. Good night Dio."

"Good night, Roku. Be careful out there."

~~~

The intersection of storytelling and RP

~~~

There obviously is a growing element of the RP community that is focusing on their play as a context within which they can develop, advance and tell stories. I saw evidence that other elements of themed-sim society is acknowledging and even promoting this trend when I saw on the Caledon Library blog that JJ Drinkwater from the library and Aldo Stern -- pub owner and founder of the Clan of Seafarers and Storytellers -- is going to host a storytelling session featuring key elements of rp backtories. This will take place on August 24th at the legendary Falling Anvil pub in Tamrannoch, Caledon.


Storyteller and publican Aldo Stern in his establishment, the Falling Anvil Pub, which is, as far as I know, is the longest-continuously operating cultural venue in Caledon.

I have had the pleasure of being permitted to oversee some of Aldo's storytelling sessions when he has been unable to do so personally because of rl crap, and I always enjoy them. But this one particularly intrigues me as it is the first such session I am aware of where the emphasis is on encouraging rp folks to share key stories from their background narratives. It should be interesting and I sure as hell plan to be there.

Here is what was posted on the Library Militant blog:

"The Heart of the Tale: Key Moments from Your SL Roleplaying Stories
Summer Storytelling Session at the Falling Anvil, Caledon Tamrannoch
August 24, 2009 at 5:00 PM SLT
http://slurl.com/secondlife/Caledon%20Tamrannoch/230/108/22


Sponsored by the Clan of Seafarers and Storytellers, The Falling Anvil Public House, and the Caledon Library.

If you create and tell stories utilizing the tools of roleplaying (RP) in Second Life, do you have a favorite character you have developed? Can you tell a tale that would help us understand who that character is and what motivates them?

A growing element of roleplaying community in Second Life is involved in “RP Storytelling” -- the use of rp to develop or advance plot lines for stories that cross over into written stories, to explore character interactions and relationships for these stories, and in many cases, to act out scenes from stories to be recorded visually. At the heart of a successful RP storytelling project are well developed, engaging characters, and in most cases, what makes a character work is their backstory. And at the core of that backstory there often lies a seminal moment -- a key story -- that provides essential insights into who the character is, and how they became who and what they are.

RP storytellers from throughout Second Life are invited to come to the Falling Anvil to tell a short tale that encompasses a seminal moment from their favorite character’s backstory.

Each tale should take no more than ten minutes to present, and will be presented in text form (no voice). If you wish to take part, please contact JJ Drinkwater or Aldo Stern to be be included in the lineup of storytellers. While pre-registering is encouraged, drop-ins are still welcome the night of the session and will not be turned away: you’ll just get added on to the end of the list and go in order you sign up"

~~~

Some of my favorite western images

~~~

Poker game at Lawman's Hall, Deadwood



Women wading in a stream in Nevada on a Sunday afternoon, 1880s

The three graces, me, Astolat and Sal in the Bella


Sadie Austin, daughter of a Nebraska rancher in the 1880s-90s (Nebraska Historical Society)

~~~

Hogwarts United: well organized immersion

~~~

Newly hired assistant librarian Diogenes Penthesileia Kuhr and Head Librarian Siorai Timeless in the library at Hogwarts castle.

Mind you, my heart will always belong to Deadwood, but I do like to go exploring. And do you remember how I was telling you about being intrigued by the application and orientation system being used at Hogwarts United, a Harry Potter-themed immersion rp environment? And I told you how I had gone through the process, applying to be a staff member, and I would let you know how it turned out?

Well, boys and girls, I got hired!

I am an assistant librarian working in the school library, with a special emphasis on looking after the restricted and "dangerous" collections, although I also have been called on to take the front reference desk and help students with their research needs. This was my first week and it's been a blast, as well as an interesting and enlightening experience.

I have been switching back and forth between Deadwood and Hogwarts, and so far it's worked out pretty well. I'm pretty much just wearing my formal Victorian ensemble, but without the over-skirt and bustle, so the changeover doesn't involve a lot of extra effort to switch wardrobes. Fortunately, wizards and witches being sort of eccentric folks to start with, this look seems to fit in pretty well. But I'll say a bit more about costuming later on.

First, back to the admission process. You may recall that I had to do a lengthy written application that included a well developed backstory (retired Auror with PTSD, looking for something useful to do). Then I went to an Out of Character (OOC) interview with one of the admissions people (a charming young lady who mostly focused on asking questions designed to determine if I had a clue about the canon or not). After that I went to an OOC orientation class with a group of other new folks, and we got a good review of how things work in this community.

Then I had to wait for my face-to-face interview.

After a few days I heard from Deputy Headmisstress Anastasja Barbasz, who set up and conducted the meeting in her lovely office in the castle. The interview was done in character, and was a fascinating melding of roleplaying and a serious examination of me, the candidate. With us both in character, Deputy Headmisstress Barbasz was fun to interact with: I assume part of the exercise here was to make sure that (A.) I can actually roleplay effectively, and (B.) I'm not some kind of mega tap-dancing douche. But I genuinely enjoyed it.

I seemed to have managed to convince Ms. Barbasz about the mega tap-dancing douche issue, because lo and behold, a week or so later (Headmaster was on vacation and so the process was a bit slower than it most likely usually is) I was informed I had been hired and was told to report to the Head Librarian.

This brought me into contact with Head Librarian Siorai Timeless, who was just an absolute delight as she got me squared away on how the library functions, and what would be expected of me. In this process, there were a couple of surprises, the most interesting of which was being informed that I would be working the front desk and helping the students. This shows that these folks had a lot of faith in me, thinking that I am in any way of a temperament or otherwise appropriately suited to work with impressionable young people. Either that, or there is a serious flaw in their interview system that let me slip through.

But one of the key things I learned from Sio is that if there is no actual notecard or flip-style"book" available from the library's shelves covering the topic that a student is studying, then I would get to roleplay finding them the book. AND if I so chose, I could make up some plausible title and related details about the imaginary volume.

WOOHOO! This was real fun as I chattered away at the students about books I invented such as "The Idiot's Guide to Quidditch," "Treasures of Transfiguration." and "Great Duels I Witnessed: or How in Baal's name did he do that?" I got a bit carried away on the dueling book, explaining in detail about how it had been written by a man named McKromsky who had been Europe's best known referee of magical duels in the last century. However, being as he was pretty thoroughly drunk at almost every wizards' duel he ever refereed, there were holes in his memory and a lot of what was in the book was simply shit that he had made up. I did however, tell the students that it was really fun to read. At first I just rp'd giving the kids a book to sign out, but then I found an old freebie volume with a reading anim in the inventory, so I started giving them that.

After a few days of this kind of book duty and just observing and reacting, I began to initiate a few minor situations, and soon had some pretty full blown rp conversations of a philosophical and dramatic nature going. I had a lot of fun with some students (including my old friends from Deadwood, Tallulah and Guru) and several of the staff, including Professor Diesel (one of the charms instructors) and Nyx Carnell, the arithmancy and transfiguration professor. Nyx was a really good sport, putting up with my rambling and pontificating long after he should have gone to bed, and he is, like many of the folks in this environment, really damn good at the art of rp.

One of the most interesting interactions I had was with the guy in charge, Headmaster Nikolaidis. Now, be honest: when you think headmaster of a wizard school, you think some old Goodgulf Grayteeth character, right? A benevolent, grandfatherly old sod with twinkling eyes, a beard the size of Honduras, and shuffling around in a grubby old bathrobe with stars glued to it, right?

This ain't that kind of headmaster.

He's younger than me, slim and all dressed in leather, sporting a neatly trimmed goatee, and dude! ...about as benevolent and jolly as Genghis Khan. This man is serious, hard as nails, and ready for any shit that might come down the pike. He had combat blades strapped to his legs and an attitude that was...well....let me put it this way: when I offered that I had heard that he had something of a sense of humor (not sure where I got THAT from) he stared at me for a minute and then said flatly that he "was not aware of having anything like that."

Damn. If Dio wasn't a tough ol' kakootza herself, I think she'd have crawled under a rock and waited for dark to fall so she could escape unnoticed.

But don't get me wrong -- I thought this was really appealing and engaging. You have to keep in mind that this version of Hogwarts is set about 10 years after the last of the Harry Potter books ends. It is a new world, and still certainly dangerous. I have heard from several people, including the headmaster, that there have been bad things happening, people getting attacked, and that many of the students--being the children of the deatheater generation--have some pretty intolerant tendencies going. It really struck me that this was a headmaster who would NOT put up with any nonsense or folderol, and who would kick asses and take names if he had to.

And yet, at the same time, he told me his main goal was to encourage "the students to learn from one another."

Fucking fascinating...

Canon is there, it is respected--but it is just a starting point. What is being done here feels like "Potter: The Next Generation." Hell, I seem to be oldest person in the goddam castle, at least so far as I can tell (though I am still meeting folks). Most of the staff are in their 20's and 30's. Look at the picture of Sio, the head Librarian: she's a very attractive young lady, dressed in a sleek but practical pants suit, nicely coiffed and with cool glasses. Lots of the other folks are a bit more traditional in gowns and pointy hats, but damn...it's not your granddaddy's Hogwarts. The castle itself has the elements you would expect--great hall, towers, moving staircase, cloisters, dungeon like classrooms--but it also has a clean and slightly modernized feel to it. It's not all dark and cluttered, which in reality is probably a function of keeping prims under control, but mentally, it's easy to think that it's all an aspect of this "new Hogwarts" way of doing things. You can also imagine it is perhaps the result of the general clean-up and repairs that had to be done after the big battle that happens in the last book and which undoubtedly did a good deal of damage to the castle.

The approach that is taken by the players is admirable. There are classes that the students attend, uniforms are worn, and points given and taken from the various houses. Intrigue and rivalries abound. The teachers have to make syllabi, recommend books, and present lectures and demonstrations. The students are given homework, and come into the library complaining about it. The school administration clearly has planned out what they need and what they can manage from a practical standpoint, and when they had all their staff slots filled, they sent out an announcement saying that no more new staff would be hired until next term.

This is really well thought out and people have made a commitment that is impressive.

Is this for everyone?

No, of course not. It is rather demanding of time and energy. I imagine a lot of people burn out pretty quickly. Casual guests cannot wander in and ramble about the castle (though they can in the adjoining Hogsmeade village). And it takes awhile to get into this. I think of myself as a pretty experienced and adaptable roleplayer, but when I first got in, I felt constrained to quietly go about my assigned tasks and at most, give or respond to polite greetings. I observed and listened, and people pretty much left me alone until I was ready to begin getting to know them a bit and engaging them a little. It all felt very very real in terms of how people adjust to new situations.

My guess is that you need to be one of those in-between personalities. If you're really shy, you might get into this and go for weeks or months without talking to anyone very much. Or if you're a rampaging psychotic attention whore, you're probably going to bump up against the wall of the existing community culture, and burst into a mass of flaming farts, after which you'll go back to your usual haunts and whine about how insular and "cliquish" those people in Hogwarts are.

But hey, that's life on the grid, right? Me, I'm going to keep at this and see where it goes. Like I said, I love exploring, but sometimes, you really can't learn much by just visiting a culture for an hour or two, and then hope to come away saying you understand it. When it is this complex, you have to live in it and try to be a part of it. And so far, I am really enjoying living in this environment, and I am grateful to the Hogwarts United folks for opportunity to try to be a small part of it and understand their rp community a little better.

~~~