The Criminal Comeback Timer

The last post I wrote before I unplugged from my pod for an extended planetary vacation was about patience. I feel it is a very relevant read as I am now returning to the New Eden space lanes.

I am trying to take it slow. Not to burn the candle in both ends - or dual prop as we capsuleers call it. I spend more time ordering my associates around. Making an effort to get a feel for all the aspects of capsuleer life. I have also moved all my associates into low security space. My uncle Earl is busy shutting down his shop in Aeschee and my more clandestine industrial organisation started the low sec move over a year ago. Inspired by my CSM representative, Sugar Kyle, I have embraced the low sec lifestyle for all my pilots. But all in slow motion. There is no rush.

I have liquefied my assets and I am in the process of training up for more jump clones. A big shout out to Suleiman Shouaa's jump clone service in Hevrice. A great place to reinvent yourself when flashing red without any standings to speak of. The plan now, is to operate from one location and only buy a few ships and fittings every time the hangar is empty.  New Eden is changing faster than ever and almost 90 percent of my ships was utterly useless when I came back. Hence the liquefying process.

There are interesting events in low security space as well. With the very profitable Mordus Legion lurking combined with the security tag carrying clone ships, there should be more bounty hunters scouring the belts. I know I will spend more time in belts. And one of my associates have already lost a ship to the Legion. Fascinating. I almost got the shakes from that experience. With a belt rat!

Some colleagues have also reported that the militia pilots have hardened up and swapped the warp core stabs with damage upgrades. And it seems so, as I have had a few good fights in factional warfare space as well the last few months. Although, I still prefer the untainted free-of-politics-low-sec-space.I feel there is more potential for adventure there. Like finding a stranded whale. Or kill Santha! Hunt down a battle sheep. Make a shake. Have some sexytime.

Well. Finding adventure takes time. Be patient and there might come a new tale from the travelling moustache wax salesman.

Making A Name For Myself

The Moustache Mystery Man

A questionable scumbag with the name of Rixx Javix has included me in his Pirate Trading Card collection. I must admit I feel more honored than I had thought I would. To be honest I did not believe I would make it into the collection. I sure was hoping. I have to admit that, even though I tend to look to Rixx more for popcorn-friendly drama than honorable recognition. But he sure is one hell of a contributor to the general capsuleer population and I am one big sucker for compliments and recognition. 

And Rixx really deserves recognition for his work. Relentless provider of content. Both for planetside and in-capsule consumption.

So. I would love nothing more than to give Rixx Javix a well deserved armortherapy and some deep structure peeling. Free of charge with love from Upper Lip Finesse. I'll probably end up with a sore clone, though.

And my name? It sure is a mystery.

Upper Lip Finesse

An era is over. I have left my beloved Black Rebel Rifter Club and all the R1DERs. There is no dramatic rage or intrigues involved in this, it is rather a result of a slow enlightenment process and a lot of looks in the mirror. Who am I? The Rebels have shaped me into what I am: The most handsome scumbag New Eden has ever seen. 

And a loner to the bone. Even when I could join fleets in R1DER I often chose not to. But now I cannot even turn them down, because of the new schedule and timezone of my favorite holoreel show “Real Life”. So I came to realize that I had little reason to stay in R1FTA. My friends in R1FTA is in all my public communication channels anyway.

It was time put my perfectly haired clone into some good use. To give back to the community in low security space. To help their clones to achieve the same level of sexiness as yours truly. I had to do it. Open up my own beauty shop. So, welcome to:

Upper Lip Finesse [WAX3D]

Beauty Parlor for the Low Sec Gentleman.

Special services:

• Shield and deep structure peeling.
• Laser removal of unwanted hairy fittings.
• Armortherapy.
• Express tanning at zero at the sun.
• Pedicure for nail biting frigate pilots.

Free Moustache Waxing and Trimming for every appointment. We recommend using Saftsuze’s Special Nanite Wax™ with Energized Pro Nano-Vitamins Formula® for extra shine and volume.

Hope to see you around!

Inner Beauty

Dr Wilson > Saftsuze I love you

Dr Wilson > Fucking love you

Saftsuze > Hmm, I'm not sure I am ready to return such words already, but thanks!

Dr Wilson > You have the best mustache ever!

Saftsuze > I am pleased with my facial hair, myself, yes, so thanks for that!

Then I docked up and cried a little. Nobody sees my inner beauty. I am just an object. I refuse to be objectified!

Bad Facial Hair Day

"Hell, yeah! That Dramiel douche bag is going down! Sweet sexy super-slicer, I love you!"

Yeah. I was excited. I had managed to catch a Dramiel inside a deadspace complex fighting the Amarr militia. Or most likely, just running from them in a wide orbit. That seems to be the winning strategy among the different militias.

But now, this Dramiel was going down fast.

The micro-warp drive made a terrifying sound. I had not been following it's indicators for a while as I was too busy managing the intricate navigation needed to keep my target within optimal range of my lasers. Now there was no more indicators. A sure sign that the micro-warp drive had burnt out. I sighed as I watched the Dramiel slip out of disruption range and then warp away to safety with shields and armor totally stripped off.

The super-sexy slicer really isn't much worth when it can't get the speed up. I aligned towards the nearest station with repairshop services and initiated warp.

The loss of a Dramiel-kill had clouded my mind.

"Mr. Saftsuze, due to your recent acts of aggression towards a certain pilot of a Dramiel-class frigate, we can not allow you to dock in our station. You know the rules."

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

I knew the rules. I knew the rules very well. And I closed my eyes, sent a heartfelt "sorry" to my newly fitted Imperial Navy Slicer, and accepted the next incoming message. I just hoped the security officer on watch was of the dry and bureaucratic kind. I was not in the mood for Mr. Fun Facts.

"And as you also probably know, Mr. Saftsuze, since your security status reading shows a history of a rather excessive use of force against neutral targets, you have also been tagged with a "shoot on sight" order for the next 15 minutes. Or was this news to you? Please ready your capsule for space travel, we have now ordered our sentry guns to relieve you of that ship you have wrapped around you."

He didn’t cut off the sound at once. He probably wanted me to hear the laughter from his entire staff melt in with the sound of my exploding Slicer.

But worst of all, the Dramiel pilot got credit for his meager effort in the official report of the incident.

Yeah. It was one of those days. An Amarr station shot me down for shooting at one of their enemies.

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.

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 übership 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.

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.