Rakghouls! No!

Uh oh. Jessica discovered the magic of Steam.

So, Valve, a game developer who created such lovable classics such as Left 4 Dead, has this wonderful website/software called Steam. Steam has PC games with beautiful prices, that download and install directly onto your computer. I’m a PC convert, and I’m learning how helpful PC gaming can be, especially compared to console gaming. I mean, I love xbox, always will, but really? Everything PC is better.

I’m prepping for Skyrim when it comes out this Friday, and my life goes to ruins, and in order to do so I have to learn how to use keyboard and mouse instead of controller and thumbsticks. Also, my brother and I wanted to see how beast the predator drone is when downloading and running games. So we installed Steam and went to the $10 and under games. Lo and behold, what should I find but one of the glorious, nostalgic games of my childhood that introduced me to the magic of the pre-movie, ~4000 BBY EU?

That’s right – Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, made by Bioware (luv!) and LucasArts.

It’s an old game. Very old. My childhood was defined by my old Star Wars games for the original xbox. I missed Revan, Carth or Kaidan, amirite? Bastila, Mission, Zaalbar, Canderous, HK-47 and the good o’ gang. I didn’t know how much I missed it until we finished installing it (in record time, thanks to my boss computer) and I heard the stereotypical IM DED scream for the first time.

Then, I found myself able to quote even the random Tarisian strangers Carth and I came across as we frolicked through Sith quarantine zones, giggling at the jokes, and just all around loving every minute of it.

I’m never going to finish NaNoWriMo at this rate. I’m going to play KotOR until my wrist falls off, and then Skyrim is coming out, and oh Jesus. Sorry, Stride and Carol. This is consuming me. Although, I’m only a few thousand words behind the daily par of NaNo right now, which isn’t too bad. I’m not too concerned about finishing it on time, since it’s not really an important competition. Do you even win prizes? I have no idea. It’s pretty much just a big writing prompt to me.

More importantly, I have KotOR again, and I get to become a Jedi. Life goal = complete.

I should probably go get my lightsaber and frolic around now. brb.

His father pressed his fingers into his forehead and sighed heavily. The papers laid out on his desk rustled and one nearly fluttered away; Stride nimbly caught it before it could, and delicately set it back where it had been. “Was I? I must have been. It seems I am always looking for you.”

“What’s it for this time?”

“What do you think it is for? I know you will not want to hear this, Stride, but it feels that ever since your mother passed away—”

“Oh, Father, must you?” Stride groaned, leaning back and clapping his hands over his face. If it wasn’t the rage, it was the guilt…

“—you just don’t care about anything anymore,” he finished solemnly. “It feels as though your mother gave you purpose. You know, putting slugs in my sheets and my inkwell is the first time I have seen you actively pursue botany since she passed. It feels as though you are avoiding it, as you avoid your classes, as if it causes you pain.”

“You think I want to do something she did? It’s only been four years since she died. You can’t tell me you don’t miss her. Even you must have a heart. Or was she just a place for you to stick—”

He slammed his fists on the table, and Stride immediately shut his mouth. “Do not think to preach to me about the immorality of lust!” he roared, leaping to his feet and leaning over the table, nearly nose to nose with his son.

Stride’s face contorted into a livid snarl. “And who do you think I learned it from? It couldn’t possibly be Mum now, could it? No, she was the perfect image of holy devotion, wasn’t she?”

“You learned it from no one! You are acting like a child, Stride, not a man! You are so clearly disturbed and immature that you think your relentless jokes and promiscuous nature are going to rebuild shattered confidence and insecurity, but you are sorely mistaken. It will only cause you more pain.”

Stride scoffed and brought up his knees, resting his feet on the lip of his father’s desk. The Master moved back, still glaring daggers into his son. “What would you know of what I think, or what I go through? You don’t care enough to ask. You only assume. Mum always made sure she knew what was going on,” he spat venomously. “You’re a sad excuse for a father.”

“And you would know better? You’ve never been anywhere but here. You have never seen the world. You know nothing of what exists beyond these walls.”

“Whose fault is that? Thanks for knocking up the botany teacher, Dad. Just brilliant.”

The Master’s dark eyes narrowed, and he stood from his chair, pressing his fingers on the desk as if to keep steady. “Do not patronize me, Stride. You think you can keep secret from me the midnight escapades you hold? This is my school; I know of every single thing that goes on within its walls, no matter how devious students think they are. You are my son, so of course I am going to keep close tabs on you.”

Stride rolled his eyes and looked away from his father’s heated glare. “Good, my own father is spying on me. How lovely is that? Can you tell me what time I took a shit today?”

“Do not be petulant with me.”       

“Do not do this, do not do that,” Stride muttered with a long sigh. “Encourage me, for once.”

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