Sunday, September 25, 2011

Can I see the menu, please?

Be my guest:

The Menu of 
The Criminal Countdown Lounge

A fine selection of Opinions, Judgements and Greetings
from other capsuleers sprinkled with a touch of pride.

Main Course
The Log
Hearty Fights and tender Chat Logs from Flying in Space
served with Moustache Mojo Sauce.

Cheese Plate
The Library
Heavy tools, light and smooth tips and tricks
followed by strong guides.

Sweet numbers of ISK collected by violent persuasion. Melting fast.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Steamy Rifter Windows

Me and Lady Shaniqua in local. Alone. I did not manage to come up with something smart to say, and she left. Of course. I am a nobody compared to her. Did she at least notice my moustache?

Thankfully she appeared again a few systems further down my route. In that same system was also my corp mate Lhorenzo with his wonderfully wierd trippel propped Dramiel. But he was not there for long and Lady Shaniqua judged his fit in typical fashion: “Two afterburners? That is DUBBALY KRIMINAL!”

Could I avenge my poor corp mate, who also has a crush on the lady? After a long and hard think, I proposed a Rifter duel. The Lady did not let me down and told me to meet her in Ardar, where she had a Rifter “of some sort”. On my way there I had to consider what kind of Rifter to bring as I had a stack of them nearby. It was clear to me that my only chance was to avoid a close up fight. It was time to fly the 280mm Howitzer Fit, stolen and refined from my corp mate Tomba, who again stole it from the late Sobczynski. I named it Moustache Man and warped to the Ardar gate.

Lady Shaniqua instantly invited me to a Bunker in system and I warped to 100 km off the warp-in point, but via a safe spot in system in case she had outsmarted me and was waiting 100 km off the bunker aligned to the gate I was coming from. It worked. She was 47 km away. Perfect. Last time I fought with this arty fit I got too close and an overheated web killed me. I was not going to make that mistake again. I aimed for a slightly wider orbit than last time. Every module was overheated. My heart was overheated. My fingers were overheated. The pod goo surrounding me was boiling.
Lady Shaniqua > I knew you would bring one of those annoying arty Rifters. 
And I knew I had to bring one to have a tiny little chance to VIOLENCE HER BOAT.

End note: With everything on fire - my hands, my ship, my modules and my mind - I ended a great night out with the signature action of an overheated hothead: Making a stupid mistake. Moustache Man was supposed to ornate my hanger, heavily damaged with only approximately 15 % hull left, as a reminder for me to always keep trying the impossible. It ended like every other Rifter I’ve owned: As a wreck in space. I had warped to a gate and only then noticed I had a Global Criminal Countdown going on. And so ended a night of great achievements for a humble Rifter pilot.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Moustache Mojo Level V

It started with a long and hard look in the mirror. Once again I was about to clutter my handsome looks with nasty pod goo and go look for trouble in my Rifter. I told the man in the mirror that this messy affair would have to better be worth it, or else I would have to just start walking in stations instead of flying in space. This time, I said to myself, I will kill something, and, I will survive.

I'm looking at the man in the mirror.

With my moustache ruined once again by the pod goo, I undocked and fired up the directional scanner. Thrasher on 360. Hmm. Mostly nasty pilots in local, but one fresh recruit. If he is the Thrasher pilot, then maybe Old Man's Rifter stands a chance. It was him.

Refreshed by an ice cold body in the cargohold, I headed towards newly scouted systems, still eager to kill — and survive. I found a Punisher lurking at a planet, and since he was having trouble with his ammo loading system, I took him down with ease. Lady Luck was smiling to me. I smiled back.

I gave the Punisher pilot a few tricks on how to hack the ammo system by manually overriding the weapon systems grouping computer, as I just had learned myself from my corp mates. We departed on good terms and the hunt for other flying objects continued.

I headed for a pocket. I have good experiences with pockets. You can find a lot of interesting stuff if you stick your hand into a pocket: Fresh recruits with a false feeling of safety. Naive miners thinking this is off limits for flashy red scumbags. Mission runners with no clue that they have left CONCORD protected space. And other lone hunters like myself. You very seldom find blobs of "elite" fighters.

In this very pocket I poked around for a bit and a Dramiel appeared. That usually means I am moving on. But, as I was in a low populated pocket, I could be very certain this Dramiel was piloted by a fresh pilot. He could very well be feeling safe and invincible in his ├╝bership of awesomeness. I narrowed him down to a belt, but when I landed I was alone among the asteroids. Strange. Was he at a safe close to the belt, but off the grid? I started scanning the nearest celestials while sitting still at the central warp-in point. I did not have to scan for long. He came to me.

I was wrong: He wasn't feeling safe. He was feeling cocky, that young, spoiled and rich brat. But youngsters tend to be a bit too eager and never have the stamina for keeping it up long enough. And sure enough, 30 seconds later his shiny Dramiel was a pile of junk just like any other exploded frigate. God damn! The Old Man was feeling sexy tonight!

Now, this would have been a great ending of an explosive night out with Old Man’s Rifter. But there was more to come: Lady Shaniqua! In local!

To be continued.

Friday, September 2, 2011

Moustache Mojo Missing

I have been far too busy lately. My junior crew has been demanding, and so I have spent more time than recommended by the health authorities, on paper work and administration. My doctor has ordered me to get at least one kill on average per day, and keep my 3:1 kill ratio in order to keep my blood pressure down and endorphin production on a healthy level. I have failed on this. And the result is devastating.

I am supposed to feel sexy and deadly when grooming my moustache and boarding yet another Rifter. Instead I feel insecure, nervous and not at all in tip top shape. My mojo is missing.

On the other side of things. My time spent on administration of my little gang of culprits (not the Rebels, they manage very well on their own and under Miura Bulls inspiring leadership) has led to new opportunities in ISK-making activities, and hopefully it will culminate in a decent heist making me enough ISK to keep Rifters exploding for a few months.

Now. I just have to find my mojo, and I will be back with more tales of moustache powered battlecruiser take-downs. Or just a mining Navitas. There will be pod goo.