#but they still have obvious primarily metal bits . some of em just have more of that stuff ig

[attex]

fuckign love drawing him doing this (smoke machine)

[supposed2bfunny]

Yoo it’s me & you got me thinking. So 2D,spoiled only child,not real thoughtful(prob didn’t realize his mum did his laundry til he moved out and his laundry wasn’t magically clean anymore) & Murdoc leaves little candies and things in his pockets/around the house for him. Phase 5, Murdoc’s in jail. Suddenly there’s no candy around for him all the time. He’s confused about this until Noodle is like “who do you think did all that stuff for you?” What do you think that realization is like for him?

Uhhhh this may have expanded beyond anything I had in mind when you sent this ask hours ago, nips. Short ficlet under the cut!

It’s the second or third day after Ace moves in and the band moves forward with the new album that 2D finds the last vestige of Murdoc lurking on his things like a smelly miasma. He pulls on a worn sports jacket, a gift from FILA from 2013 or 2014, slips his hands into the pockets, and finds something heavy and metallic lurking in the right-side pocket.

Pulling it out, he beholds a silver ring bearing a skull, the sort of thing Marilyn Manson would have pulled off well in the 90s, that gothic bulkiness in which Murdoc has always aspired to look cool in and has never quite succeeded.

After a moment’s inspection, 2D does the logical thing: he hurls the ring down the staircase of the Spirit House, grinning with satisfaction at the sound of it bouncing off the wooden floors below and rolling away to be forgotten amongst debris and clutter and apathy.

“Tosser,” he mutters to himself.

The weeks wear on. Recording goes well, the band gets on just fine, and 2D does not think about Murdoc. 

However, he does suffer a few completely unrelated hang-ups that put the faintest damper on his otherwise now-near-perfect and tosser-free existence.

Primarily in the loss of surprise candy.

He wonders for the first time where all the sweets have gone.

And this leads him down the rabbit hole of wondering where they came from for the first time. For as long as he can remember, 2D has always been pleasantly surprised by hard candies, lemon sherbets, blue-raspberry lollies, Jelly Babies, even the rare Cadbury Creme Egg in the pockets of his jackets, or in his jeans, sometimes tucked into his beanies or even shoved into his pillowcases. Sort of like a tooth fairy has graced him at random times, leaving behind his preferred snacks. Good omens, if ever there was such a thing. 

It’s always reminded him of the way his mum used to leave Flake bars on his pillow after doing her weekly shopping, even when his dad went through his health kicks and tried to ban sweets from the house. 

He doesn’t exactly notice the loss until he’s standing in line at the market one day, purchasing several boxes of his preferred frozen chana masala dinners, when he impulsively grabs a few chocolate bars on his way to check out.

It’s only then that it occurs to him he hasn’t found any mystery goodies lying around for him in several weeks. Where had they come from in the first place, he muses. Noodle? Maybe Russel?

It doesn’t seem likely that Russel was giving them out, since he prefers to cook whole meals himself to serve the band. That leaves Noodle. And why wouldn’t she be sharing candy with him these days? Are they having a row?

As he makes his way home, he ponders what he could have done wrong to upset Noodle. She’d seemed perfectly fine the other day when they went out for bubble tea. She’d even laughed when he’d sucked the boba through the thick straw by sticking it between the gap between his front teeth. Things had seen positively chilly between them!

Being the brave, no-nonsense man that he is, and the de facto leader of the band now that the tosser is locked up for lord-knew-what, he figures he ought to confront her about it straightaway.

So he gives it a couple of days, in case she needs to blow off steam or cool down. Then a few more days, figuring she can approach him first to apologize, he should really be the bigger man. Then he gives it yet a few more days, just to be sure they are in fact having a row. Because rehearsals seem normal. Noodle’s spirits seem as high as ever, her Instagram posts emoji-saturated, her smiles genuine, her laughter nonstop as she develops a close bond with Ace and the two become inseparable. 

Finally, he bumps into her one night: they’re nothing reaching for their preferred coconutmilk ice cream sometime past two in the morning.

“Great minds think alike,” she smiles. “I’ll grab the bowls.”

“Hey, Noods,” he says, leaning back against the counter casually and popping the carton open. “Can I ask you something?”

“What’s up, Dee?”

“Are you...aw, it’s gonna sound so silly! You ready to laugh? You’re not cross with me, are you?”

She hands him a bowl and spoon and gets scooping. “Cross with you? Not at all--” he nearly drops his bowl in relief--”why do you ask?”

“Nah, forget it. What’s Ace say? Fuggeddaboutit?”

She pulls a face. “That was a really shitty accent.”

“Aint that the point?”

“I guess,” she concedes. “Anyway, I want to know why you thought I was cross with you: just tell me!”

“Well...I guess I kind of miss the candy you always shared with me.”

Noodle pops her spoon into her mouth, sits on the kitchen table and crosses one leg over the other. “Huh? What candy?”

“I mean, you’re the sweet tooth queen, Noods! You always have candies on you, and you used to share ‘em with me. And I guess I miss it a little bit.”

“When did I last share candy with you?” she asks. “It’s been like, a million years since I placed one of those bulk orders of the good stuff from Japan that I like.”

“No, no, not any Japanese candy. I just mean like, Jelly Babies and stuff. You used to leave ‘em in my coat pockets, or sitting out on my keyboards to surprise me. Like, rewind a month or so ago, you’d do it all the time.”

“No I wouldn’t,” she answers, looking thoroughly perplexed. 

“But...” he frowns down at his ice cream. It’s too cold still, hasn’t begun to get all good and melty the way he likes it. Just a lump of chill and ice. “Then who did?”

“You mean the little presents Murdoc always used to leave out for you? 2D, that was all Murdoc.”

There’s a pause as 2D continues to leer down at his bowl, almost forgetting that he’s not alone in the room. He remembers the skull ring he’d found and thrown. He remembers the candies sitting on the bench by his piano in the basement, the comic books rolled up and jammed into the case of his acoustic guitar, the comic books he has no memory of purchasing though they feature his favorite heroes. He remembers the fidget cube he’d found one day in his sock drawer, and the Cadbury Creme Eggs next to his condoms by the bedside.

“Hey,” Noodle’s voice draws him back out. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Everything’s fine, luv.”

She arches a brow at him; she knows he only calls her that when he's unfocused. “It’s okay to miss him, you know,” she says gently. “Sometimes I do too. He was pretty indulgent towards you, when he wanted to be. Can’t blame you for missing that.”

“Yeah right,” he forces a chuckle. “Think we’re all doing better with that sod out of the band for a bit. I’m having a nice time stretching my legs, so to speak. Really, I’m much happier these days, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

“Okay,” she responds, and she sounds patronizing, but maybe it’s just his imagination. “I’m gonna go finish the movie I started,” she hops off the counter, leaving him to his thoughts. “G’night.”

“’Kay, night!” He sits down at the table properly, intending to finish his dessert. But while it melts, he figures he has time for a smoke. He pats his pants pockets, realizes he doesn’t have any cigarettes on him. Murdoc always had ciggies with him, no matter where he was, no matter what level of dress or undress he was in. These days, 2D often finds himself with smokes but no lighter, or playing with a lighter but lacking in smokes.

Not in the mood to get up to find some, he instead sits there, fiddles with his spoon. It seems wrong to qualify Murdoc’s behavior as kindness, given that the word is so contradictory to his entire persona. Murdoc is not kind. Never has been. Murdoc is a tosser, a criminal, an impulsive crackhead with a tendency to make decisions that hurt those around him.

A selfish prick...whose arbitrary actions have unwittingly brought him joy for months, years, shit, he can’t remember when he first started noticing these little treats and presents left out for him, like a corvid collecting bottle caps for a preferred human companion. 

He hates Murdoc then, not for his cruelty and nasty behavior, but for his capacity to defy his own constructed persona. 

Sometime deep into these thoughts, he realizes that his ice cream has melted beyond the point of being softened and melty: it’s just a puddle of coconutmilk soup with a caramel swirl. It’s also lukewarm. It’s also approaching four in the morning.

Joints cracking as he stands, 2D brings his bowl to the sink, then approaches the bottom of the staircase. He pulls up the flashlight on his cellphone, casts it around the foyer and the living room, peaks under unpacked boxes of records and ottomans collecting dust and many, many, many pairs of shoes.

He doesn’t find that ring he’d thrown. Eventually, he gives up looking and heads to bed.

For the first time since he’d received a phone call from the local police station, he dreams of Murdoc, wakes up with crusty eyes and tight lungs and stares at the ceiling for a long time. He feels less like the leader of the band then, and more like a wayward child. A runaway. A vagabond. Directionless.

Eventually, he reaches out an arm, fumbles blindly till he finds the notebook he’s been writing lyrics in. With a sigh, he hoists himself up into a sitting position, rolls his shoulders; a joint cracks somewhere in his neck.

His pen scratches dryly a bit against the blank page at first, reluctant to share its ink with him. The hiss of nub against paper, friction. Then, the ink floods out, all at once. 

[ashlynncoy-blog]

Misfire: Critical Condition Part XVIII

Just when you thought it was safe to come back to the Misfire Verse....

Han wasn’t in her apartment when Leia woke up the next morning. He’d left her a message saying he’d stayed until he was sure the second dose of narcotic was wearing off but that he’d had an early morning appointment he couldn’t postpone. He said she should call him if she needed anything.

She did not.

The message also said he’d be checking on her.

He did not.

A few times she was tempted to go by the Falcon again, but she decided she’d better not. It was one thing to stop by with a thoughtful gift but another thing altogether to drop by for no reason.

The burn on her hand had been well healed for three weeks when an opportunity presented itself.

Luke had dropped by unexpectedly, his search for the things of the Jedi having once again brought him close enough to Coruscant that it seemed unreasonable not to stop in for a visit. He came by her office just after breakfast and seemed possibly more excited than he should have been.

He wanted to go help Han work on the Falcon.

“If you want to go,” Leia said, “go.”

“Only if you’ll come with me.”

“I think if Han wanted me to come by his ship, he’d have said so.”

“But he did say so,” Luke insisted.

Leia was dubious.

“Han said that?” she asked. “Han Solo? The same Han Solo I used to be involved with—he said he wanted me to come by and see him?”

“Well, not exactly,” Luke answered her, “not in so many words, but…”

“What were his words?” she asked, “exactly?”

“He said, um,” Luke paused and shook his head. “He said, ‘Heya, kid, glad to hear you’re gonna be in town. The Falcon’s got flight trials comin’ up and there’s a whole lot of work to do and I’d really appreciate havin’ your help. Bring your sister with you if she’ll come.”

“Wow,” Leia said back. That sounded a whole lot more like an invitation than she’d expected. “Okay.”

She was impressed at the condition of the freighter when they arrived. A lot had been accomplished since the last time she’d been in the hangar bay. The hull was all back in one piece with no obvious signs of having been recently welded back together. A brand new hyperdrive had been installed in the aft cavity they’d last used for ingress, and a working boarding ramp had replaced the crude ladder at the ship’s usual entrance.

Chewie waved from a perch on top of the ship, a polishing rag in one hand and his safety goggles still on his face. Leia waved back with a smile. Han had told her that Chewie was primarily responsible for the reconstruction of the old ship, and she was more than a little impressed with the progress he’d made since her last visit.

“Luke!” Han called out as he bounded down the ramp toward where Leia had parked the speeder. “Great to see ya, buddy! Thanks for comin’. And, your highness,” he said, turning to Leia as she walked around to join them, “boy, am I glad to see you!”

“Really?” Leia asked.

“How’s the hand?” he asked her, ignoring her remark entirely.

“It’s good,” she replied, showing him her fully-healed palm and trying to figure out why he was suddenly so happy to have her around.

“Good,” he said, “Look,” he began then, his demeanor becoming much more grim and serious than it had been a moment before, “I’ve got an inspector coming tomorrow. They’re either gonna certify the ship can fly or they’re not. Now, I got ahold of one of those diagnostic computers—the same kind they’re gonna use on the Falcon tomorrow morning. And… and I don’t know if it’s my brain injury or just my nerves—probably a little bit of both, to be honest—but every time I start in on the procedures my eyes start to cross. And I don’t know anybody who’s better at fine detail stuff than you. Do you think you could…”

“Say no more,” Leia interrupted. “Is it all in the cockpit?”

Han grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her firmly on the forehead.

“You’re the greatest, princess,” he said. “Everything’s set up in there.” Then he turned and grabbed Luke by his shoulder. “And you,” he said, leading him by the shoulders toward the boarding ramp, “Boy have I got a job for you.”

Luke went with Han into the crew lounge while Leia headed for the cockpit.

“So what’ve you got for me, General?” Luke asked.

“I’m getting ready to wire in the last few components,” Han answered, “but the only cabinets we’ve got left are salvaged from the crash, and they’ve all got some damage or another keeping them from being usable. You and me are gonna clean ‘em all out and get those last pieces hooked up so I can bring the rest of the old girl online before tomorrow.”

Han hadn’t been exaggerating about the damage to the console cabinets. He explained that Chewie had sourced a few new ones, and how they’d started the installations with those. But the new pieces hadn’t been enough, and not all of them had fit into the Falcon’s unique configuration.

The few cabinets that had survived the crash relatively unscathed had been put to use next, leaving only a few pieces of radio equipment and a very fancy multiband code converter that was either a gift from the New Republic or the Royal House of Organa—from Han’s description of its origin, Luke couldn’t really tell. Although, when he’d suggested to Han it was perhaps a gift to him from Leia personally, Han had been quick to change the subject back to de-scoring electrics racks.

It had taken Luke a good hour to get through the first one, but Han had been more than pleased at its condition when he took it to begin the installation of his new rectenna displays. The second cabinet had seemed more damaged on the surface, with coal-black scoring on all sides and twisted metal covering the slot rails. But the carbon had proven itself quickly to be totally cosmetic, and the metal appeared to be pieces of something else—blown to pieces and wedged into the cabinet by force and heat. Luke had an easier time than he figured getting it into shape.

He was nearly done, save for one stray bit of metal wedged firmly into the rear of the main cavity.

“How’s it comin’?” Han asked.

“Good,” Luke replied, “almost done. It’s just this last piece, it’s wedged in here real good.”

Han crossed to stand behind Luke, who was continuing to work with a hot iron and pliers to try and pry loose the offending item.

“Let me see,” Han said. Luke nodded and got up from his seat. Han slid onto the bench and stuck his hands inside the cabinet. With a liberal application of the heat tool and a final, mighty tug on the flotsam, he pulled it loose. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “here ya go.” He turned in his seat to show the hunk of metal to his friend.

And felt his heart jump into his throat when he realized what he was looking at.

“Wow, Han,” Luke said. “What do you think it is? It kind of looks like…”

“Yeah,” Han interrupted. “That’s exactly what it is.” He looked closely at the battered ring of gold. It had a fracture in the band and was definitely missing one of the opalescent gemstones that had once graced its head, but it was otherwise intact.

“How did it…?”

“I carried this thing around in my pocket the whole time I was away on campaign,” Han explained. “I wanted to come home and propose to your sister. But I got here just in time to see that someone else had beat me to it. Not long after Leia left with the royal son-of-a-Hutt,” he continued, “I found it—still in my pocket. I got mad and I threw it; it fell between the deck plates and I thought I’d be done with it forever. Of all the blasted things to have survived the explosion…. I lose my avionics and my hyperdrive and my radio and my tactical computer—but thank the Force I got back this kriffing engagement ring!”

Han stood up and threw the ring with all his might, aiming for the open hatch he couldn’t see but knew was there. He hoped that this time the damned thing would stay gone.

[sjrresearch]

Building a Miniatures Wargame Army Part 2 - Preparation!

So, it’s time to buy some miniatures, and as I said in my last article, I went with Peter Pig and a little Khurasan. The Khurasan are a bit bigger than the Peter Pig fellas, so I may use them as Russian Guardsmen and just live with it. 

So, we start with an unopened pack of miniatures. I  wanted to show how miniatures are typically packed, usually in a plastic bag of some sort, with a backer card describing the contents. In that regard, Peter Pig bags are minimalist, with only one number for the range and another for the figure pack in that range. I’ve taken to writing on the back of the pack in sharpie what’s in the bag, so I don’t go insane trying to figure out what the hell it contains!

Pictured above are two bags of Peter Pig figures and some metal files I will use to clean up the miniatures. This is really the first thing you should do once you remove the miniatures from the package. It’s important to examine the miniature for extra burrs of metal or mold lines that will detract from the look of the miniature. 

The good news is, while it may be a chore to find the flaws in the miniature, it’s not as hard to remove them with a few good strokes of a metal file. In the two pictures below, I examine this Peter Pig flag bearer for any such flaws. I only found some small burrs on the base, which is about right, along with a mold line on top of the hat and along the flagpole. Take note of the detail and expressiveness of the miniature as this is what makes a good miniature! 

After you’ve spent time filing and checking over the miniature, it’s time to give them a bath. That’s right. A bath. 

I have a small Tupperware container that I use, and all you need is a bit of hand soap or dish soap to do the job. Why are we bathing them, you ask? One of the things that goes into the production of metal miniatures is a mold release agent that’s meant to ease the removal of the metal figures from the mold. It’s hard to see once it dries, but its residue is there, trust me. And you’ll notice and curse it when your paint doesn’t adhere to the miniature as well as it should. So, a bath with some soap and water clears that small problem right up. I simply dunk ‘em, soap ‘em, and agitate the water and soap with a bit of a shake, then time it for two minutes.

After that, you simply put them out on a paper towel to dry. That usually takes about ten to fifteen minutes or so. You can do several sets of figures at a time and have one set you’re filing and cleaning, another set bathing, and another set drying. When you’re a wargamer, every step with your army is an assembly line!

Also, you will notice that I’ve laid the figures out in pairs. This allows me to visualize the unit I want to create and how they’ll be organized for eventual basing and play. It helps me because then I know:

I’ve got a suitable variety of miniatures on a base, or that the similar miniatures look good enough

I’ve made sure there are a commander and flag bearer for the unit command stand

What you see pictured here is a basic unit for my rules, For the Proletariat. I designed the size of the battalions around the bag size of the Peter Pig range. And so far, so good. Any extra figures from a given pack (I end up swapping out a rifleman for one of the flag bearers) should be put aside as they can be swapped into other units. Remember, the Russian Civil War had both armies, especially the Reds in the early part of the war looking like a motley crew. But even the Whites had a variety of uniforms and sources of equipment.

The next step is to prepare your miniatures to be painted. This is also a relatively easy task. The first step is to use white glue or a sparing amount of super glue to put the figures on a temporary base, like a popsicle stick. I mount a battalion of eight miniatures to a stick, which works out to a battalion of infantry or a squadron of cavalry, as they will be mounted two to a base in their final form.

After that, take them outside and put an undercoat on them! Some notes about spraypaint The first is obvious: 

BE CAREFUL WHERE YOU SPRAY AND SPRAY IN A WELL-VENTILATED AREA!

I really cannot stress this enough. Spray paint has chemical propellants that aren’t good for you if you breathe them in, and you can do a lot of unintentional damage if you spray the wrong way. It’s also good to wait until the day is calm, sunny, and the temperature is between 60-80 degrees Fahrenheit with low humidity. It means that for me, being in the DC area, I have two narrow windows to spray up my miniatures - spring and fall. So, I take advantage of it when I can for as long as I can. 

Some may ask, why do you undercoat your miniatures? Metal, by itself, isn’t a great medium for most acrylic paint to stick to, but specially made primers do an awesome job of giving the paint a layer to adhere. 

Two pro-tips: One, I buy most of my primer at the auto parts store and Home Depot. Rust-Oleum brand does as well as specially made hobby primers for about half the cost. And second? If you can’t paint outside, use artist’s gesso. You can pretty much glop the stuff on, and it will shrink as it dries.

Now, what color do you prime? There are many schools of thought, but I tend to prefer black (for most paint jobs) and grey (for lighter paint jobs, such as primarily yellow, or white, or smaller scales, like 15mm and below). These miniatures are small enough, so whatever colors you put down, you want them to “pop!”

So, when you spray them, shake the can vigorously in accordance with the directions on the can. Spray in quick, even bursts, and make sure you don’t spray in one place two long, or you’ll put too much paint on the figure!

See, all ready to be painted, I’ve since done at least half of my Reds, and I am still working on the Whites! So, it’s not hard if you put your mind to it to get an army done relatively quickly. The main thing you need here is focus! Focus and you can do it too!

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At SJR Research, we specialize in creating compelling narratives and provide research to give your game the kind of details that engage your players and create a resonant world they want to spend time in. If you are interested in learning more about our gaming research services, you can browse SJR Research’s service on our site at SJR Research.

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(This article is credited to Jason Weiser. Jason is a long-time wargamer with published works in the Journal of the Society of Twentieth Century Wargamers; Miniature Wargames Magazine; and Wargames, Strategy, and Soldier.)