#you'd be shocked how often this exact situation plays out with my friends

[niuniente]

So I have just read your response about how to approach story telling, or at least how you do it specifically. And I just want to thank you for point eight, about 'It's not that deep - unless you wish it.'

I've always been ashamed that I made ocs but couldn't produce plot points for their personal stories. Like people talk about breaking their characters to make them develop, but I could never do that. Because I struggle so often, I didn't want my characters to. I just wanted my characters to live the life that I can't. But I also wanted to overcompensate because I felt like I wasn't doing them justice.

While it's not the popular opinion to have that be the way I approach creation, I do appreciate that you don't say it's a bad thing to not want things to be deep. So thank you, really.

You're welcomed!

I think the people who are very interested in character development typically either enjoy it tremendously or are (intentionally or unintentionally) using their art as a self-therapy. Both valid ways of doing art, as well as not being interested in character development or therapy art.

Sometimes the character development is and can be small and it's OK. People tend to call just finding new things about the character also a character development. Put them in new situations and see how they react and act.

Some characters are iconic for what they are and you don't even expect deep character development from them. Terminator is Terminator and you know with 100% certainty what to expect when you deal with Terminator - sure, he can be programmed differently for different needs but it's not exactly character development on its own if you ask me. Dracula is Dracula, Rambo is Rambo, Predator is Predator and Morticia Adams is Morticia Adams.

It's nothing unheard of that trying to develop the character because you should makes the character unrecognizable or OOC regarding what has been going on until now within the story.

In Nemesis the Warlock comic, the protagonist Nemesis is pictured as a good willed man, who does his best to resist racist humans and save other alien species. He doesn't really care about humans per se but is fine with a human being his right hand helper. His intentions are to save alien species from humans and bring peace to the universe. He's a liked friend and a loved husband and trying his best as a father.

This is about the half way of the series until creator(s) decide to develop Nemesis more. Turns out that Nemesis is actually just a bored demi-God who loves to play hide and seek with his human enemy. That he doesn't care about anyone or anything else but his own joy and boredom. He isn't interested in saving anyone and he literally manipulates his human friend, too, for his own benefit. This is explained as "Well, I'm just a chaos's being, deal with it, I never said I was good".

See what I mean? Go to far, try to force the development (and explain everything) and you can, without wanting it, break your character or the story - or both! If you make a character go a complete opposite of themselves, there has to be a reason for it. Not like in Nemesis "Well, I'm just like this". No, dude, you were literally the exact opposite for years and still just a second ago. What happened? Well, nothing, creator(s) just decided to add a shock value and develop the character because?????

You want your character to live the life you'd want? Wonderful, that's enough! That's how Sailor Moon was born and is all about. The creator was lonely, so she drew a comic of girls being friends, that kind of friends she wished she'd also have.

It's a valid reason to make a comic. Or anything! Nothing needs to be deep but it can be if wanted.

[gwydionae]

You'd Be Surprised How Much Pain Can Help With That

A/N: Just had some thoughts on Paultin in 94. Because of course I did. No excuses - just thoughts.

Posted on fanfiction.net >here<. Posted on AO3 >here<.

Teaser: Paultin knew exactly what kind of drunk he was. These weren't the signs of a cheerful, pleasant drunk. No, he was definitely the loud, crass, disorderly sort. And this time he was going to use that to his advantage.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dice, Camera, Action or Dungeons and Dragons. Takes place during episode 94. Title and dialogue taken directly from the show.

You’d Be Surprised How Much Pain Can Help With That

When it came to pain - especially the sort that couldn't be healed with rest, bandages, or spells - alcohol, even copious amounts, could only do so much to dull the effects. Paultin knew this all too well. He might grow numb for a while, his mind blank while the ocean waves blurred past the small ship, but eventually that would wear off, usually upon waking from a nap or full night's rest to a pounding headache. And somehow, since the storm, with each passing day those moments of lucidity grew more and more painful, his conflicting desires each screaming at him to listen while the very fiber of his being felt torn between the dull comfort of apathy and the extreme highs and lows that came with having actual emotions. The wine would always help apathy win in the end, but every moment of sobriety piled more guilt onto him for ignoring the increasingly loud cries for action echoing within him.

That trope about the little shoulder angels and devils might have been one of the oldest in the book, but the idea wasn't too far off from the war waging in Paultin's mind. On one hand, there was a part of him that thought perhaps he should offer an apology for snapping at his travel companions, use it to calm them down so he could try to explain in simpler terms that not dying was the ideal outcome of any given situation. He really wasn't sure why something like that needed an explanation, but then, after the whole mess with the Storm Giants...

And that was where the other, louder, nastier side of him would chime in. He'd been no better. By putting a stop to the giants' magic, he had endangered everyone on the ship, condemning Captain Ortimay to a watery grave and nearly losing Strix and Evelyn. His fellow party members had never listened to him before, and proving himself deaf to his own words only made it less likely they'd listen to him now. Not that he blamed them. He wasn't a natural leader, he didn't have incredible strength, nor could he shoot fireballs from his open palms; he was just your average bagpipe playing drunk incapable of keeping those around him - his "new family" - safe.

That little devil inside of him sneered at the title, chastising him for admitting such a thing, especially out loud for anyone to hear. Evelyn, Diath, and Strix had become something he could only barely remember having in what felt like another life, something he'd been so careful to never have again. Because having something meant that it could be lost, and while the loss of friends was certainly undesirable, the loss of a second family wasn't a loss he was confident that he was capable of dealing with. But they were a part of him now, so it seemed his only option was to sit back and watch uselessly as they each burned out in one blaze of glory after another.

Unless...

Usually this was the part where Paultin forcibly shut both sides of his brain up by drowning them in alcohol, the possible solution to his dilemma one that he was sure to both hate and consider with far too much interest. But after his most recent little chat with Evelyn ended with her again cherry picking which words of his she wanted to hear, the desire to at last indulge his more selfish side, a side he'd been trying to suppress for the sake of everyone around him, finally won out. But while Evelyn may have gotten him to at last listen to this selfish plan of his, it was Captain Ruddell handing him a key to his private store of the finest wines that pushed him into action.

Paultin knew exactly what kind of drunk he was. Sure he didn't often remember what he'd done or said afterwards, but he'd found himself waking up in back alleys face down in vomit - as opposed to in a bed at the inn he could have sworn he'd been playing at - enough times to have a pretty clear idea. The occasional bruises and bloody lips helped to fully flesh out the picture. These weren't the signs of a cheerful, pleasant drunk. No, he was definitely the loud, crass, disorderly sort. And this time he was going to use that to his advantage.

If there was one thing he had come to learn about the colorful group around him, it was the lengths they each would go in order to protect each other. Whether that pain be physical, emotional, or otherwise, all three of them were ready to defend against it, no matter the cost. He was going to exploit those instincts, using a simple enough plan involving the two things he was best at: drinking and being a complete asshole.

After the first several days, things seemed to be going well, as far as he could tell, anyway. Paultin was far too drunk to actually remember a whole lot of what he'd done or said exactly, but both Evelyn and Diath were noticeably shooting him disapproving looks, and Strix, well, she couldn't even get within ten feet of him without jumping and scampering off in a random direction. No one confronted him about his destructive behavior, either, preferring to deal with the issue by keeping a wide berth, probably hoping they could ride it out until he regained his senses and composure.

But the reality of the situation wasn't what they were hoping for; all of this was the plan working as it was designed. He'd allowed himself to get too close, dooming himself to a life of helplessly watching a bunch of catastrophically selfless people die, and the only way to correct that oversight was to disconnect. Unfortunately, however, he had become too attached to simply leave, and even if he could have, they likely would have attempted to drag him back. Unless, of course, he gave them enough reasons not to.

A sober Paultin could never have carried out such a plan. Diath's disgust, Evelyn's disappointment, Strix's distance, all would have compounded painfully until regret settled in and his normal behavior did in fact return. But a thoroughly, utterly plastered Paultin? That fancy wine of Ruddell's made him numb to such pain, and even when it temporarily wore off, he generally found himself in the lone company of the ever stalwart Simon, free of the obvious signs of his forgotten cruelties.

He would force their hand, persuade them to finally give up on him and move on. After all, you can't lose what you no longer have, and he'd rather they cut him off then be pulled along behind while he watched their corpses pile up. Again.

After nearly three weeks of this, he'd lost a drinking buddy, found a hippo spaceman, and had rudely eavesdropped on more private conversations than the number of missions the four of them had managed to botch thus far, a fact that made it all the more shocking they hadn’t threatened to throw him overboard yet. They had also, however, gained one Zhentarim ship, too far to be an immediate threat, but close enough to know that it was indeed following them. The desire to help that he knew would probably never really go away made the absence of the mandolin with its Fly spell gnaw at him. Combo that with Invisibility and at the very least he could have found out exactly what they'd be up against upon finally reaching Waterdeep. But as usual he remained the helpless drunk who got to sit back and watch as -

"Paultin, you're the best to do this."

Having paid such little attention to the worried mutterings going on around him, it took him a moment to realize not only that his party was discussing a possible recon mission, same as he had been, but also that for the first time in weeks someone was directly addressing him. Strix, to be exact. Flinch-at-his-every-glance Strix. Strix, who had a flying broom, wanted him to go to the ship nearly a mile away. Even sober he would have had trouble keeping the irritation out of his response.

"No problem, I'll just fly over there on my mando- oh wait."

"I'll give you my broom!"

"I dunno know how'da use that thing!"

"You just point and go!"

Strix was now shoving her magical flying broom in his direction, glaring at him pointedly to take it. Blinking down at it with far more interest than he wanted to admit, Paultin glanced from the broom to her face and back before finally reaching out. As his hand curled around the handle, he could feel a familiar hum of magic against his fingertips and palm. It was wild and thrilling, and even as he slowly attuned to it he had a sense that it was something he'd never fully be able to tame. It took him a second to refocus on Strix as she spoke again, wringing her hands nervously. Her eyes, however, were clear and serious.

"I'm sorry that we all try to kill ourselves... all the time... And that's not smart, but it's because we all care very much about each other. And I'm sorry that I was a bad friend, and I care about all of you..."

Paultin was sure he had responded, probably in a suitably off-handed sort of way that wouldn't reveal his feelings on the whole exchange too much, but as his slightly-more-terrifying-than-he'd-expected mission concluded and everyone went back to busying themselves on the ship, he found that the bottle in his hand seemed to reach his lips less and less. The entire conversation with Strix nagged at him, but it wasn't until late that night, a time he'd normally be passed out on the floor too drunk to climb into his hammock, that he stumbled upon why. And as the rest of his companions slept, his eyes remained open and unclouded, that little angelic voice in his head finally gaining his attention for the first time since he'd put this whole plan into motion.

From the depths of his memory sprang a scene on another ship, one flying high in the sky rather than sailing the seas. He’d been drinking heavily then, too, doing his best to forget the fifty odd years he’d spent wandering the Mists. But a voice had interrupted his nonexistent thoughts, the sound of his name carrying through a nearby doorway as hushed voices discussed a different recon mission.

“ – have Paultin make one of us invisible. Not him – he’s too drunk. We can’t trust him to listen to anyone.”

Looking back, it was hard to blame Strix. He hadn’t truly appreciated his friendship with all of them until he was forced to go so long without it, and his decisions up to that point reflected as much. His self-serving actions really gave her no reason to believe he could be trusted with something so important. But now, months upon months later, that scene played out differently. They were still on a ship, there was still an intelligence gathering mission, and he was still drunk. The only real difference was that they had put their faith in him to handle it.

The dawning realization of the uncanny parallels between the two moments in time combined with Strix’s heartfelt apology to a man that had been nothing but antagonistic toward her for weeks caused an unfamiliar ache in Paultin’s chest to blossom. It wasn’t a new feeling, but it was certainly one he generally did everything in his power to prevent. Pain wasn’t something he was fond of, and caring about people other than himself had introduced him to some of the worst pains of all - guilt, fear, anxiety, grief, loneliness... Instinctually he took a sip of wine.

He knew, though, that this ache didn't only promise pain. Despite the countless horrors they had all lived - and sometimes died - through, still the first visions that sprang to his mind when he focused on it were of the calmer moments. Evelyn's bright-as-the-sun smile as she watched him play his mandolin, Simon on her lap. Strix excitedly baking everyone pies and cookies whenever she got the chance. Even the usually broody Diath standing at the ship's wheel with his shirt off, probably thinking no one was noticing his occasional glances over at Strix to see if she was watching. Peace, joy, affection - emotions he had faked his way through plenty of times, but somehow this ragtag group of misadventurers had caused him to experience all of them in very real ways.

The plan, however, had already been set in motion. Even if he wanted to put an end to it now, he wasn't sure if he could. Strix may have forgiven him and promised to take his words of caution to heart, but Evelyn and Diath's cold stares held a look of a trust broken, and he wouldn't blame them if such a thing was too utterly mangled to be fixed. But still that annoying little voice in his head told him that he should try, the ache in his chest begging him to fill it with more of those happy moments.

Paultin took one last drink from his half full wine bottle before setting it down, laying down next to Simon, and closing his eyes. He honestly wasn't sure which side he would listen to tomorrow as they continued their long trek or what he would do once they finally reached Waterdeep. Planning had never been his strong suit, a fact emphasized by how much one, small conversation had derailed his most recent agenda. He would wait and see, let the actions of others spur him forward as he usually did, remaining just tipsy enough to dull the guilt, but not enough to hold his tongue if need be.

The final thought that drifted through his mind before sleep at last overtook him was that, perhaps, he could maybe try to lighten up a little on Strix. Just a bit. Maybe.

A/N: The parallels - and differences - between the recon missions in 94 and 59 really struck me. Paultin's grown a lot since then, even if, looking at 94 on its own, it might not seem like it.

As always, critics and grammar police are appreciated!