By Becky "Sha" Shamen
Among the LMs that Bixyl sent me recently, there is one for a sim called Tableau. I stopped here long enough to set our own LM and then headed to
Creation's for Parkinson's
, to write about it first. My first impression of Tableau
was
that although it was in ways ugly to me, it was also, somehow, very
interesting and might even be a fun adventure.
Before we begin our
adventure, our readers must understand the language being spoken.
Mediators know that disputes often arise between two parties that both
want essentially the same thing, because of not knowing the other
party's definition of the principles in question. If we tell readers
that Tableau is a fun adventure, they are probably going to disagree. To
get on the same page, let's sit in on the first lecture given at Clown
College.
The Professor wears a silly looking cap, called a mortarboard, and a
bulbous red nose and is explaining why people laugh. Laughter is a
release of tension. If you are struggling to figure out something, when
you finally get it, you say "Aha". Other jokes are funny, because the
teller uses a different meaning (double entendre), which is known about
but not expected in the story. Another useful way to make us laugh is
called "Slapstick." When we see a one ton weight, thrown off a cliff and
heading down towards our position on the ground, we laugh with the
relief of seeing it flatten the coyote, instead of us. OK, we can now go
to Tableau and have a better idea of why we think this is a fun
adventure.
Arriving on the sim, we are in a desolate town, in the middle of a
desert. We wonder if there are any people that live here, if so, why. A
sim surround adds to the impression that we are in the middle of
freakin' nowhere. If I was a child, growing up in this place and was
asked, what would I like to be, when I grow up, the answer would be,
"I'd like to BE.......any place but here."
It seems that, to save a dwindling economy, the town created a tourist
attraction, called "Dinosaur Park". The three dinosaurs are impressive
in size, but lacking in realistic detail. Perhaps they were made from
sheet metal, salvaged from the many vehicles found dead in the desert. The town budget couldn't afford a sign painter, but some old weathered boards and a black crayon let us know which way to go.
Down the road, we spot an earlier attempt to draw tourists. It
is called Fun Time Park, but something evil has destroyed this place.
At the mouth entry to the park, outside authorities have blocked entry,
with signs saying Closed, Condemned, Quarantined and Infectious Virus
Area.
Sha is here for a story, not the rides, so, pulling out her Press Pass,
walks boldly through the gate to the middle of the park. There is a
black hole and signs of toxic waste. A Newser Press Pass will also
shield you from harmful radiation. Sha marches straight into the black
pit and drops into a glow in the dark, day-glo chamber.
Naturally, Sha loved the pretty lights, but wouldn't stay long, not
having her Geiger counter or a sonic screwdriver in her pockets. One
can't help but begin to think that this poor town is ripe for a take
over by some crazy gang of hippies, ha, ha, he, he, ho, ho. Is there a
secret gang, calling itself "SLUG," that is responsible for the tagging
on the local walls?
Passing by a news stand, the headlines show that the residents are very
concerned about the identity of SLUG and a dead lady, found inside one
of the dinosaurs. Perhaps they should be more concerned with finding a way to remove the
two giant, rusted atom bombs from their town, but maybe they are saving
them to make some new dinosaurs.
So now, as we wrap up this tour, we count the hands of the readers that
got their eyes poked, hair pulled out and pianos dropped on their heads.
None? I guess you all had a fun adventure. We send it off to print and
close the light for a rest. Hmmm, are bunnies supposed to glow in the
dark?
"Sha"
There were a few places mentioned in the notecard that I'd gotten on entry, such as the Dead Tree where a number of corpses hung, "The Motel From Hell" in which the beds were bloody mattresses and the "bathroom" was a bucket with flies buzzing over it, the hull of an old Russian submarine that had somehow washed ashore and repurposed, and others. There was one not mentioned that Rebel wanted to show us: The Bunker.From the outside, the place was concrete and steel. Inside, there were bunks, machinery, and what looked like some kind of control center with access to satelites, "Some of us survived the nuclear winter in here!" For some reason, there were warheads of small missiles in there.
After a while, the party moved to what passed for a high class club around here, "The Loser's Club." Advertised as a "notorious dive bar where survivors barter their favours in return for liquor and cigarettes," the peace was kept by a burly-looking NPC acting as a bouncer standing watch just outside the front door. "Dont mind Ivan outside," Rebel told us, "he just looks mean!" Another NPC, a waitress, handed out drinks on request. Those not dancing could sit on an old couch or one of the barstools. One seemed a little woozy from the gas earlier, "I may pass out soon."
