#and not everyone is educated in the same manner. so for porter to go hard and fast on it is not the way with Gorgug.

[ultimateinferno]

In today's Adventuring Party it's mentioned that Fabian's first experience with the other dance bards was basically a sink or swim acceptance of their Thespian Energy™. The only way to survive was to embrace the shameless absurdity of the situation or be destroyed. Fabian succeeded.

As I thought about the Gorgug's talk with Porter , it might be a similar situation, but with Barbarians. Porter outright told Gorgug that he doesn't embrace his own rage, and it's self evident throughout their conversation. No well worded argument as to why Gorgug should multiclass would have ever convinced him, I think. When Porter mishandles Cloaca, Gorgug tries to politely correct him before simply giving up.

In this instance, Porter has made himself a massive wall blocking Gorgug's desires, and is being incredibly unfair to Gorgug. What does Gorgug do? He simply accepts it. Gorgug will rage and put his blood on the line for his friends, but has some issues with standing up for himself. I can think of two, maybe three instances where he has. 1) The first fight with Fabian. 2) When he slams Ragh into the lockers. And 3) when he tries to correct Telemaine on how to pronounce his name and that one was a purely verbal conversation that went nowhere.

In short, I think the correct answer to the conversation was for Gorgug to get mad. To respond to the clear unfairness and go "Hey fuck you!!" To punch through that wall and go "This isn't a fucking question, I'm going to multiclass." In the end, Gorgug still has yet to embrace being a barbarian.

#now is this a good solution for a teacher to be teaching? #probably not! solving solutions with pure aggression is a terrible way to go #and not everyone is educated in the same manner. so for porter to go hard and fast on it is not the way with Gorgug. #but simultaneously gorgug did give up way too easily throughout the conversation. #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #dimension 20 #d20 #i don't think porter is a good teacher #i don't think he's a bad teacher #he's just unfair. #is that on purpose? potentially

[davidastbury]

jan 2020 b

I know a man, not actually a friend but we are on friendly terms and occasionally come across each other socially. Years ago, when we first met, someone told me that he was an accountant. It fitted perfectly with the man’s appearance and manner - he looked the ideal accountant. So to me he was an accountant and that is how I thought of him and that is how I described him when mentioning him to others. Sometimes we found ourselves sitting next to each other at dinners and the like and by way of conversation I mentioned, in the broadest terms, things like income-tax and the upcoming budget etc. He always gave, in the broadest terms, his general opinion on these matters.

On one occasion I asked about his accountancy firm - he smiled and said that he wasn’t an accountant. I said - ‘But I thought you were!’ He replied - ‘I know, a lot of people think I am an accountant, but I’m not’.

I still think of him as an accountant.

Alone

I could hear them getting closer - a group of young people, singing loudly. It’s that time of year. And this is their territory; new-build blocks of flats, warehouse conversions, boutique hotels - all very nice. I couldn’t recognise the song but the females were giving it all they had - the men were pretty useless. It wasn’t a cold night; the girls in sleeveless, backless dresses; the men casual and cool. I suppose they were going from one party to the next in this dreamland of tall buildings and coloured lights.

How the drinks had freed them from themselves! How they radiated friendship and randy goodwill. And then they passed me and for quite a while I floated in the slipstream of their happiness.

St. Patrick’s Day ... 1965...

It was raining heavily and he rushed through the hotel double doors. Squinting at the brightness, dripping, shouldering his way into the crowd of drinkers, through to the area where the bar curved and you faced the drinkers on the other side. And she was there ... with a group of college friends.

He hadn’t expected to see her although for the last week he had imagined it happening. He had hoped for an ‘accidentally-on-purpose’ meeting where surprise disarmed her; where she fell silent and serious and listened to his apology and gradually (blissfully!) forgave him.

She was with friends and that was strange to him. All their time together had been private - just the two of them. He had never seen her as one in a group, laughing, and now, it felt as if they didn’t know each other - even the way she was standing was new to him - head cocked, holding a glass in both hands.

So he waited. Eventually she looked across the bar, her eyes skimming the room, her glance flickered across his face and was gone. Her expression was neutral but he knew she had seen him. She had seen him and turned away.

So that was it. He didn’t stay any longer; he pushed his way through the crowd and out into the rain.

Frank and Jane ... 1965

They made a dreadful mess of things - twice! I must say that what I’m writing is conjecture - neither Frank nor Jane discussed their relationship with me; I wasn’t even very close to the story as it dragged out - I was shocked like everyone else. The only merit in what I have to say is the softening remoteness in time past, where the playful mixture of ambiguities of true events is stirred with a fanciful fascination and cries out to be told.

I was there when they first met and I made the mistake - and so did one or two others - in thinking that they already knew each other. It was at a friend’s house; a small party; music and drink, a lot of talk - some of it aggressive, hardly any food, bedrooms occupied, people sprawling on the stairs, all the usual things that young people get up to.

So Frank met Jane and it was the start of the most intense pairing I’ve ever seen. I won’t go into the harm they caused each other - the sheer destructive intensity of their feelings - and the way it overspilled into the lives of others. My interest is in the cause of it. Individually, they were both fairly normal - where did all that wildness originate?

When two people meet - in the context of a possible relationship - there is the charm of natural restraint - of ‘getting to know’ - of exploration - of testing humour - of appraising attractiveness - of imagining how the other might be in day-to-day situations - of checking out interests and so on, and so on.

I don’t think Frank and Jane had any of that - to them it had no relevance. There wasn’t any of the natural barriers - inhibition or shyness or plain good manners, whatever you call it, they didn’t have it. There was no slow burn - no development. They instantly recognised and understood the other person with a lethal insight, as if coming face to face with their own selves; as if each enabled the other to bring out the force of ferocious banked-down energy and cravings.

I saw them and I didn’t know what to think.

As Told To Me ... #33

‘My trouble is that I cannot flirt. You probably think that is trivial, but to me, it’s been a problem all my life - much more when I was younger but sometimes even now, I have the old difficulties and I feel the same as I did when I was seventeen. You see I cannot flirt; I cannot make small-talk with the opposite sex. I cannot do what most males can do and that inability to banter has hung like a great weight - socially I was a disaster- it stopped me enjoying myself - I was tongue-tied and clumsy - I couldn’t say the right things - I couldn’t be ‘engaging’.

‘ My pals found it natural and easy to talk to girls and I envied them. I was gauche and awkward. I have never been able to insinuate or imply ‘double meanings’ or talk the way that seemed to impress. Instead I was literal and heavy and I frightened them - they didn’t want my seriousness. The fact that my pals were insincere didn’t matter - they liked that type of focus; that tingle of audacity and that’s something I cannot manage.’

The Student

His room was always a mess but he couldn’t face the effort of tidying it. He could never find his study notes when they were needed but they clattered down on his head when searching for a jumper. His life was equally chaotic - missed appointments, registration fees, return of books, canceling of subscription and so on - and so on.

The weekends were different; they were lagoons of peace in the troubled ocean of his life. All the anxieties faded away - he didn’t have to respond to anything - the jumble of demands became a soft blur and when meeting his girlfriend at Victoria Station and when in her arms, breathing in the joy of her loveliness, he didn’t even know what day it was.

Only Connect

He: I wish I’d known.

She: Yes.

He: I wish someone had told me.

She: Yes.

He: I would have come. I would have helped.

She: No one could help.

He: I would have tried.

She: Yes.

He: Was it very bad?

She: I don’t know. I don’t remember.

He: You have no memory?

She: No.

He: You can ask me! I’ll tell you.

She: Okay.

He: You can ask.

She: Were you nice to me?

Hotel Restaurant

She’s a hippy! Well, not a real hippy but a neo-hippy, and the look suits her. Long and lanky, vintage Levy’s, beads and denim jacket. Face like a haggard saint, stoned eyes, cheek bones, beautiful smile.

Tonight the restaurant is in full banqueting mode but I don’t know why - chairs covered in white fabrics tied at the back with a bow, gleaming ice-buckets, masses of cutlery and glasses, sculptured napkins, the lights dimmed and each table illuminated with candles.

The guests have also made an effort - everyone looks smart. I look around the room for our hippy friend and see her at the corner near the door. Same jeans and strings of beads but her denim jacket’s open, showing a glitter T-shirt.

The Waiter’s Belt

Plastic ages badly and the belt has long since abandoned the pretension of leather. The outer laminate, thin as paper, is peeling away and showing an off-white stringy interior.

There’s a chunky steel clip hooked into a belt loop, from which dangles the tool of his trade - a multi-function gadget boasting a knife blade, corkscrew, bottle opener etc.

His clothing is smart, no doubt supplied and laundered by the hotel - but the belt is personal - it belongs to him.

Early Loss

Somewhere between John Dalton Street and King Street (South) he lost a glove. He was annoyed; it was an expensive pair from Kendal Milne (as it was then known). He rushed back, looking for the glove, hoping to see it in the snow; but it wasn’t there. It should have been easy to see - like a black kitten - waiting to be rescued. But he couldn’t find it; he doubled back to check a second time.

The loss of the glove bothered him - it stayed in his mind and he thought about it nearly every time he wore gloves - in fact he never had another pair of gloves that were as nice or comfortable or meant as much to him.

Tunisia ... December 2019

It’s very hot and if I fall, helpless and gasping, onto the sticky airport tarmac and my condition is beyond the scope of the local medical facilities, the presiding pathologist will note that my last food was a large bag of ‘Chips Up’ (‘Tasty And Crunchier’) manufactured by Groupe Souani inc. Tunisia.

Heartbreaking to see the poverty in Tunisia. Not the simple ‘hard up’ type of poverty you come across in Britain, but the harsh, stomach turning, leaden-weight of hopelessness; of struggling to survive, to just get through the next few days.

The county is bristling with talented, educated people. One of the government’s policies was to extend education, which is laudable, but sadly there aren’t enough career opportunities.

We are hurt by the contrast between the opulence of the hotels and the lives of ordinary people who live in the surrounding towns. Our response is to do everything we can to show our gratitude and respect for the workers who service the hotels; the people we see every day - the waiters, room-maids, chefs, porters, receptionists, taxi-drivers, gardeners, maintenance workers, cleaners - and show our appreciation by giving them the biggest tips we can manage. This is where our money is going - we aren’t bringing presents home and there is very little that we ourselves need, so our money - as much as we can manage, goes towards making life easier for them.

Met up with ‘Madame’ today. She looked at me, stepped back, blinked a few times and said - ‘Goodness! You’ve put on weight’.

And so the day wore on.