Blog Banter #1 – Ambulation

Posted by Roc Wieler on

Welcome to the first installment of the EVE Blog Banter, the monthly EVE Online blogging extravaganza created by CrazyKinux. The EVE Blog Banter involves an enthusiastic group of gaming bloggers, a common topic within the realm of EVE Online, and a week to post articles pertaining to the said topic. The resulting articles can either be short or quite extensive, either funny or dead serious, but are always a great fun to read! Any questions about the EVE Blog Banter should be directed here. Check out other EVE Blog Banter articles at the bottom of this post!

This month’s topic comes to us from PsycheDiver: Ambulation: What are your hopes for your avatar and new functionality of stations?

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Things had changed again recently. The stations are more crowded. There are more and more capsuleers crowding them. More and more immature egos to deal with. I am sure it’s just a phase. It will pass.

To be fair, I can mostly ignore the newer pilots swinging their genitals around, virtually pissing on themselves and each other to mark their territory. I think it’s good that things have gotten busier.

I love women. All varieties: fat, thin, short, tall, fair, dark, doesn’t matter to me. What amazes me is that I’ve never noticed how large breasted and perfectly built most capsuleers are before. 

I finally have gotten to put faces to names, especially of those I’ve killed. It’s a helluva lot more satisfying than simply watching their ship break apart. It bothers me a little though, that even in the midst of this war, stations allow any race, any faction to dock and enjoy their hospitality. It makes me sick to see Amarr in a Minmatar station. Send them to their own bloody space.

If I really need to get away and am not assigned to active militia duty, I retire in the new Freeform Industries Corporate HQ. The contractors they hired really did a nice job renovating the place. They even put in a private bar. I like to think it was for me, but know better.

And I suppose more people around has brought better shopping. You should see some of the clothes I’ve bought recently. I mean, do you have any idea how hard it is to find soft leather assless chaps?

Yes, things have changed. But the more things change, the more they stay the same. I’ll still be sitting here, enjoying my drinks, enjoying this life of mine, hoping not to scare away all the ladies.

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Participants:

Mistaken Identity

Posted by Roc Wieler on

Was out shopping on the weekend, something I tend to do far too much as a healthy hetero male, when I saw a friend I hadn’t seen in a while walking the other direction with her husband. Being the social butterfly I am, I thought it would be nice to catch up to them, and say hello to her, so I did just that.

I reached for her arm, gently saying her name, a huge smile on my face, and was actually excited about seeing her again, until she turned around, and was someone else.

She looked confused, but friendly. “My apologies. I thought you were someone else.” I said.  I let go of her arm, backing up slightly so as to be non threatening. A simple case of mistaken identity, until her boyfriend started in.

“You got a problem, Minmatard?” he started, obvious hostility in his voice. Before I could even reply, which we all know I was going to do, his girlfriend interjected, pushing her arms against his chest, standing between him and I. “Stop it. Please, you just got out of jail. You don’t need to go back. He didn’t mean anything by it. You don’t want to do this.” 

My heart went out to her in truth, from superficial judgement it didn’t seem a healthy relationship. Then again, how many really are? Being helpful by nature, I added my two isk worth. “She’s right.” I began, trying to form the words with enough sarcasm and vileness as to bait him into the desired result, “You don’t want to do this.” I don’t know if it was the giant smirk on my face, the effect of my words, or some other factor beyond my influence, but he pushed his girlfriend aside violently, and telegraphed a right hook towards my head that a Brutor infant going through his first combat lessons would’ve seen coming.

I stepped into the punch, instead of jerking away, the common, untrained response when someone swings at you. I caught his elbow under my armpit, his fist and forearm uselessly passing me by. Wrapping my own arm around his now snagged limb, I used my forward momentum, as well as his entire mass driving forward towards me, to drive my elbow square into his nose. At the same time, I smashed my heel down on top of his foot,  with the outside of mine braced against his ankle, and using that same driving forward motion, pushed my knee against his. This would snap his knee. I saw the look on her face; the look of confusion; the look of fear. I quickly stepped off of his foot. It saved his knee, but with all my force pushing forward, and him now pulling backward from the blow to his nose, he fell.

As he dropped onto his ass in a most undignified fashion, two local Concord Enforcers were already racing to the scene. I put my hands up in surrender. “What’s going on here capsuleer?” One of them demanded. “I thought this lady was a friend. I was mistaken. Her boyfriend didn’t appreciate me talking to her I guess, and assaulted me. I defended myself.” And it was actually the truth. That felt weird.

The boyfriend was groggily standing to his feet, with the help of one of the enforcers, blood splayed across his face. He held the fragments of his nose in place, cursing incoherently. The enforcer questioning me turned to the lady. “Is this true, ma’am?” 

She stood shock still, wide eyed at the entire proceeding. It had happened in less than two seconds. I don’t think she knew what to make of things. “Ma’am? Did this happen the way he said?”

She snapped back to attention, nodding. “Yes, yes it did. He did no wrong.” Her boyfriend reached for her, but she pulled away from him, her face flushing, her eyes darting away from my stare in embarassment. 

I heard a beep as the enforcer scanned me. “Colonel Roc Wieler, eh? Well Colonel, you’re free to go about your business. Sorry for the inconvenience. Hey, can I get your autograph for my kid?” I signed the paper he handed me, and happily put on a show, though not for him. I could see her staring at me.  I smiled a genuine smile, winked at her, then started to walk away to go about the rest of my day. 

I overheard one of the enforcers talking to the boyfriend. “Seems you’ve violated your parole just now. Looks like you’re going back to jail. You think you’d learn to control that temper.” 

I snickered. Then I felt a tug on my arm. I figured maybe he was anxious for round two, but I would’ve heard him running at me, would’ve heard the enforcers yelling after him. 

So I turned, hands relaxed, to find myself looking at the girlfriend. She didn’t say a word, just simply slid me a piece of folded paper, then quickly walked away, taking an entirely different path than that of her boyfriend.

I unfolded the paper. On it were her name and phone number. I shook my head, laughing to myself.

Women are crazy.

Commute

Posted by Roc Wieler on

My crew really was getting out of hand as of late. I was trying the gentler, more patient approach as recommended from some fellow Liberation Force Fleet Commanders. They aren’t Brutor, nor Matari for that matter. Not all of them at least. Kind and nice doesn’t always work with us. Sometimes you just need to knuckle up and splinter some skulls. 

“Why do you even take public transport? You have a personal hangar full of ships worth more than they could ever dream of earning in a lifetime!” He grabbed his stomach and doubled over, his own amusement uncontainable. 

“Seriously, Colonel Roc Wieler, ‘hero’ of the Republic, taking the magrail across Matar with the common people.” He slapped his knee repeatedly, mimicking that he was close to wetting himself. They didn’t even hear my grunt of displeasure.

“That is exactly why I do it.” I said with menace in my voice. It was a tone used when challenging another Brutor for position within the tribe. Or in my case, the alpha male warning the young ones to settle down or someone would die. 

“They are common people, just like us. They are the reason we fight. We are all Matari. How can you be so blind? So ignorant?” I let the last question drip off my lips with disdain, seeing how far they would push it. I didn’t blink. I slowly took my sunglasses off so they could clearly see the sincerity and intensity in my gaze. They both backed down.

“It seems to me, you both need to be reminded of how very common you are.” I pointed one finger at the blade commander. “You’ll be polishing the latrines until I get back, with your toothbrush, and I will be eating off of those floors, so they better be spotless.” He opened his mouth to sass me, but I growled under my breath and he promptly shut the hell up.

“And you,” I moved my finger to point at the mid level mechanic beside him. “You will be cleaning the entire engine room until not a drop of grease remains where it shouldn’t.” He had no fight. He didn’t even have bark.

I saluted them both, waiting for their quick return salute. “Dismissed” I said with disgust, releasing them from my presence.

That incident had bothered me all the way to the surface of our homeworld. I was in a much better mood now though. I had just spent the last few hours shopping, and was sitting on the magtrain from downtown to the eastern suburbs. 

I made some interesting discoveries about this thing they call the “commute”. Just thinking of the name makes me chuckle, as I am constantly yelling at my pilots during combat “COMM! MUTE!”, and honestly as I look around, I can see it applies here too. People are crammed in like sardines in a can two sizes two small yet nobody says a word.

Of course, the other meaning of the word commute was first used in my life when I was much younger and in trouble with law. The judge “commuted” my sentence, meaning it mysteriously vanished. I could see how doing this commute every day would be like a sentence; how you could vanish into the faceless crowd.

I also discovered mag trains weren’t built by brutors. They were built by some miraculous race of engineers whom couldn’t have weighed more than 120 lbs, or been taller than 5’2″, not to mention they had never been to a gym in their lives, nor wore a jacket. I mean, I’m not huge by Brutor standards, I’m a runt 6’1″, 220 lbs. I am broad across the shoulders, and wearing my insulated flight jacket isn’t helping; my shoulders are crunched up as bet they can yet still I am spilling over into the seats on either side of me.

And yet they do this everyday, just sitting there, plugged into audio devices, reading the dailies, some just sleeping, their heads bobbing back and forth like a children’s toy. And how is it not a single person snores? They go about their trip completely unaware of anything around them, not a care in the world.

I wish I could experience that.

And why will nobody look me in the eye? Or anyone else for that matter? With this many people around, where exactly are you supposed to look? Ah, the advertisers got it covered. There are small video monitors on all the upper walls of the magtrain. Smart.

It was right about then I got the urge to go to the washroom, and by urge, I meant it was happening right now one way or the other.

“Excuse me, pardon me” I tried to say politely in my bassy voice, as I forcefully shouldered my way down the aisle towards the incar restroom. Again, these magical engineers really need an ass stomping. I could barely fit down the aisle sideways, or inside the half width door to the lavatory.

I looked down at the small hole. How was I supposed to sit there? Where would I hang my jacket? Shit. Literally.

At first, I decided to make the herculean effort of holding it and just relieve the pressure on my bladder. One quick shake of the train midstream quickly stopped that exercise. I HAD to go.

Without going into detail, I finally worked it out. 

A few more apologies, and I had made my way back to my seat, only to discover someone had sat there in my stead. Didn’t really surprise me any. Nor did the fact they wouldn’t make eye contact. So I decided to stare. That’s right, stare. 

As a child I learned it’s important to always be dominant. My buddies and I used to hang out at the local malls, just staring down people. Never blinking, never looking away, no matter who it was. The best part was, once you got the hang of it, 99% of the time you would  “win”, and that other 1% percent, you were glad you had your buddies with you. My mother used to slap me silly for the fights we would get in.

I kept staring. The train jostled again, and a woman bumped up against me, making that “sucking” sound with her lips, as she looked in disdain at my jacket. By the planet’s standards, it was late summer, and nobody was wearing an outdoor jacket except me. Granted, I spend a lot of time in space, and tend to feel cold most of the time without it. Just a habit I suppose.

I switched to staring at the woman instead. I felt a childlike immaturity and glee to my actions. There was a certain freedom to be experienced by just losing yourself in the commute I discovered. You were just another nameless worker on their way home. You could be exhausted and let your guard down. You could find comfort crammed up against everyone else with their body odour. You could simply be.

In the end, that is why I take public transport. It reminds me of who I am. Not some hotshot pod jockey, too big for his own britches. I am a Matari, like so many others, who just wants to make a difference.

It felt good to be reminded of my place in the grand scheme of things, and as the doors opened at my stop, I was at peace, at least until someone yelled “Look! It’s Roc Wieler! Can I have your autograph?” The crowd quickly turned my way. I scoured the direction the voice had come from, but they had ‘commuted’ and were just a nameless face in the crowd.

I really need to have something done about these commercials.

Virgin Rebirth

Posted by Roc Wieler on

We all remember our first time…

For me, it was 30 months ago, almost to the day, that my true destiny began. I was working as a freelance shuttle pilot back then, and was damned proud of it. Having the skill to fly any sized ship required a great deal of proficiency, and I seemed to take to it with a shine.

I had even applied for capsuleer training. After several months, I was accepted. It was the most intensive training I had ever undergone. The physical demands were exhaustive, even to a Brutor, while the mental stresses left me clutching my skull some nights. Even my emotions would escape me at times, leaving me curled up in a ball on my dorm room floor, weeping. That particular experience happened after I was fitted for a pod.

It was my first assignment. I was given a brand new Reaper class ship, and assigned an escort duty of some low ranking diplomat across seven high security systems. I accepted with great enthusiasm of course, thankful to be moving forward in my life. I had come from a hard upbringing, but had made myself into the man I am today through consistent effort, strong self belief, and natural abilities I thank God for everyday. 

Thirty seven minutes later, we were ready to depart. 

It was an expectedly boring trip. Just the same, I wanted to make an impression with my passenger, who could potentially refer me to better paying gigs. I wanted a Rapier Covert Ops vessel, and those weren’t cheap.

We were two uneventful systems away from our destination system. Still nothing. There was the usual local traffic in each system, but nothing of note. I could see them out there, other capsuleers, in their magnificent ships. I wanted to touch them, be like them, be recognized by them. They were so close. So close. Close.

I was too slow on the uptake back then. A frigate was hurtling towards us at a velocity I couldn’t escape. I did my best to react, but I froze up. I didn’t know what to do. This was completely unexpected. I finally managed to get the guns online, but it was too late.

I was tumbling through space in my pod. My ship was destroyed, my passenger killed. I hadn’t even been able to give the warning call to abandon the small craft. I had failed.

I watched Concord warp into the exact point of our engagement, and quickly destroy my attacker. That gave me no joy at the time. I was too busy trying to figure out what to do. We had done pod training of course, but I couldn’t remember where I was supposed to go or how I was supposed to get there.

After ninety seconds of mental debate with myself, the proximity alarm sounded. The same class of frigate was within attack range. I saw the autocannons firing in quick succession. I was boned.

My essence was painfully torn from myself. My soul forcefully torn from its shell. I screamed until I went hoarse, and even then, continued to scream in silence for four additional minutes.

The first time hurt like hell.