LURPS: The Aftermath

My first LURPS meeting as Tabletop Rep went well.

- We started at 6.05pm and were done by 6.30pm. 25 minutes for a start-of-term meeting's not too bad.

- I didn't make any really obvious ballsups.

- The back of the room was quiet, so no need to throw things at them.

I later realised that the room list Luke gave me didn't include the one we were already in, so I was working on the assumption that there were five rooms, rather than six. D'oh!

Oh well, that's my little secret. No one will ever find out about it.

And then I got confused about which room I was meant to be in, but hey.

I'm playing Feng Shui (finally), as a 2056AD super-soldier sent back from the future to save the past. I arrived about a week late and George W Bush has just been shot in the head by Dick Cheney. Oops.

-----------------

Anyhow, I fall from the sky over Washington DC and onto the bonnet of a car driven by Anny's character, Natalia. She brakes. I fly off and roll along the road, the guns in my hands clinking as I roll, in a T-1000 style.

Did I mention that I'm naked?

So I stand up, she offers me a lift, and a blanket. I hesitate to take the blanket, because the only way I can envisage of wearing it would be in the style of a "skirt" or "kilt", which, when worn by a man in 2005 means that he is a "homosexual". I squeak onto her leather upholstery and simply drape the blanket across my lap.

We stop off at a late-night clothes store and I go in and pick out a pastel blue suit jacket, a Michael Jackson T-shirt, jeans, a shirt, a pair of boxer shorts, a pair of socks, trainers and a necktie. (All men in 2005 wear neckties, despite their utter pointlessness. I must attempt to blend in.)

For the sake of public decency, I am now wearing the blanket as a "kilt", although I loudly and repeatedly reassure all the men in the building that "I am not a homosexual," and "I am as heterosexual as you are, sir."

I see no reason to buy multiple sets of clothing, as the self-cleaning capability makes it redundant, right?

I take my purchases up to the counter and hold up my thumb when the guy there asks for money. He stares at me for a moment before reaching for an inkpad and piece of paper. I helpfully provide the shop guy with my thumbprint. Presumably their thumbprint transaction machine is out of order.

I look very swish and dapper in my jacket, and I roll up the sleeves, as I saw in the Orientation Training Video "Miami Vice".

I leave and join Natalia in her car, and she takes me to the poker night she was on her way to. I explain that I am not from this area, I am a foreigner from foreign lands. I am from France, yes, France.

We arrive at the poker evening and I learn the rules of the game - we all hold up cards, then give our paper to Natalia. When I run out of paper, I offer to put my shoes up as part of the stake, at Natalia's suggestion. I feel that Natalia and I may become close friends.

Eventually, through smalltalk, I realise that the President has been murdered. After establishing that they are referring to the President of the United States, I try to find out his name. It takes some time and confusion (the Secret Service agent told me it was Reagan, which made me believe I was perhaps 20 years early, but this proved to be some kind of joke). The next difficulty is finding out which President Bush has been assassinated.

Bush II. Not Bush III.

That's reassuring. I'm in the right time period, if a little late.

For some reason, I am asked if I have been in a coma recently. I state that I am from France, and, yes, yes, I have been in a coma. I have a brain injury.

After I leave the house, I notice lots of small purring animals following me along the street. They seem interested in the crustacean-based chi-mapping device implanted into my shoulder.

I later procure lodgings with a welcoming inventor who is working to develop a light-weight foil helmet for preventing mind control rays. After I prevented the EMP field from switching off his brain every time he wore it (the batteries were in the wrong way round), it did indeed appear to block any mind control rays that were being used against him.

Unfortunately, my animal friend (who introduces himself as Miaow) is not welcome, but the inventor informs me that Miaow has a home already, and lives with one of his friends. He gives me coffee. Although I have been informed that coffee in 2005 is bland, tasteless and, indeed, in some cases poisonous, I cautiously try it. I lie awake for several hours, contemplating the flavour of the coffee, and twitching.

My secret mission into the past is going well. No one suspects that I am a time travelling super-soldier out to ensure that the future is brighter for all mankind.

Ru4S, signing off.

Ahem, I mean: Rufus, signing off.

--------------------

It's the first time since Douglas Smythe-Holmes that I've played a comedic character. As much as I like gritty, grim and nasty RPGs, it's refreshing to play something lighter for a change, even if it is a super-soldier rebel from a fascist police state future, who has a shellfish chi-mapping device plugged into his left shoulder.


Now, I need to work out plot for Smog & Mirrors (or at least, a first encounter, since I have no idea what the party composition's going to be like). I could at least do with a basic starting scenario, and some summary sheets (with the last rules revamp, such as the complete jettisoning and replacement of the damage system, all the old ones became obsolete).


Oh, and the newly elected Pope? He's spent the last twenty-four years as head of the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith, also known as...

(wait for it)

The Inquisition.

Well, I laughed anyway.

On the downside, he's a hardliner, worse than JP2, who at least was edging towards tolerance.

On the upside, he's 78.