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April 4, 2003 - As we've stated in several previous diaries, getting
a game design from drunken pub conversation to supermarket shelf is a staggeringly
difficult task. Anyone who says it isn't is lying, stupid or ripped to the tits
on methadone. In addition to the usual stresses and strains, we're now a mite more
paranoid than a hamster being marched back-stage of a Pet Shop Boys concert with
an 'Access All Areas' pass. This stress and anxiety is due to one man whose name
we shall not mention to maintain his dignity, and to avoid costly lawsuits. In true
Christmas spirit, permit us to regale you with the 'Tale of Mr X'.
Mr X is, like many of the people we're fortunate enough to work with at The Box,
an extremely talented individual. He's an artist, and is at the top of his profession.
When the lights go out, and night roams the streets, he turns into The Shite Magnet;
a superhero who would attract lightning from the most cloudless sky, who can become
lost for days in half a mile of open scrubland, and will frequently find himself
in police custody for no discernable reason.
For example:
Episode 1: The Thumb
Upon arrival at work...
Mr X: "Oh... erm, you got any sticky tape... er... you know..."
Us: "Certainly, it's in the cupboard with the novelty... erm... what's that?"
Mr X: "Oh, just blood."
Us: "Blood"
Mr X: "Oh aye. Y'see -- I was cutting stuff when I was drunk last night and
I chopped off the end of my thumb."
Us: "!"
Mr X: "Aye... I was reeeeally drunk. Vodka. And I cut it off. And I think I've
stuck it on the wrong way round."
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Episode 2: The Back
Ring ring...
Mr X: "Oh. Hi. It's Mr X."
Us: "Hi Mr X. What's up?"
Mr X: "Well, I can't move. I've pulled the muscles in my back really badly..."
Us: "Gosh. Ow. That sounds painful."
Mr X: "Yeah, and I've, like, been on the floor in the flat for two days by
myself, and I've only just managed to reach the phone. I feel really weak. I think
I dehydrated about 18 hours in."
Us: "...um."
Mr X: "And the real pisser is that there's a stack of comics 4 meters away,
and I can't reach them. I've been so bored. Anyway, I need to phone my girlfriend
so she can help me to the hospital."
Us: "'kay..."
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Episode 3: The Washing Machine
Ring ring dooooom...
Us: "Oh crap. It's him again isn't it."
Mr X: "Hi, it's Mr X."
Us: "Oh sh** oh sh** oh sh..."
Mr X: "Are you sitting down? Cos..."
Us: "...oh sh** oh sh..."
Mr X: "...a washing rolled over me on the stairs and I've broken both wrists,
and I've cracked two ribs, and... I can't come in and finish that village 'cos I've
got to get my arms pinned. I might not need a full body cast, so that's okay, eh?"
Us: (sounds of weeping and banging of heads on tables)
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Every time Monday morning comes around, every time we hear the phone ring and he's
not in the office, each time he says, "Can I have a word?" our bowels
liquefy, and beads of sweat pepper our brows. We're a small team, and Mr X, like
every other member of the team, has a huge impact on the development of
Fable.
Don't misunderstand us: He's the poor chap who has to put up with all the immediate
effects of his luck, it's just that he's so blase about it. His response to disaster
is, "Oh well..." YOU'VE BROKEN EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY, WHAT DO YOU MEAN
"Oh well..."?
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