setting knives on fire

Have you ever wondered why every playthrough of Scarlet Hollow feels so different? It isn't *just* from branching off of major decisions. A lot of characters make use of a hidden 10-variable relationship system that maps to their perception of the protagonist.

These variables influence a *lot* of dialogue, as well as the sprites and emotional range of these characters in a given scene, and tracking this much information lets us take a very nuanced approach to PC/NPC relationships.

It's also why SH will probably never get voice acting.

So instead of just looking at someone likes or dislikes you, we can look at "trust" as its own value separate from surface-level likeability

ex: You and your cousin can be at each other's throats and still trust each other with your lives, or you can be cordial and share nothing with each other on an emotional level.

This system also dovetails into other parts of our narrative design, often unlocking different paths or scenes based on who someone is to you.

Your relationship with your cousin, for instance, has the possibility to unlock an entirely separate outcome in episode 3.

We go out of our way to not show off this system, even though it's a big part of our secret sauce, mostly because the whole point of it is to make our story and characters feel more alive and dynamic.

Having a meter to see that x statement gives you y openness points with Tabitha would ruin that immersion and gameify things to the detriment of the narrative.

When you're making decisions and choosing what to say in Scarlet Hollow, it shouldn't *feel* like a game, at least not in the sense of it being something you're playing on a meta-level. You should pick what feels right for you, and the game should respond accordingly.

Hiding the system has other benefits as well, including being able to *change how it functions* as time goes on without calling attention to those changes.

Values move A LOT (almost every dialogue choice) in episodes 1-3 as you make a first impression on characters, but by late episode 3/early episode 4, most of the characters in Scarlet Hollow have decided who they think you are, and it starts to take big, character defining moments to move that needle.

Just like in real life!

Anyways if this stuff interests you and you want a longer read on it, please take a look at this devlog!

According to the bear's owners, the Cocaine Bear has the authority to officiate legally binding weddings in the mall where it is kept due to Kentucky's marriage laws. This claim is only partly true; the bear does not have the authority to solemnize weddings, but the state of Kentucky cannot invalidate marriages performed by unqualified persons if the parties believe that the person marrying them has the authority to do so. As such, it is a belief in the Cocaine Bear's authority that allows it to officiate legally binding weddings in Kentucky.

The Lackadaisy Animated Short Film Trailer

…..in case you hadn’t seen it! See the extended cut of this trailer on the Lackadaisy YouTube Channel. The film premieres there in March!

Tumblr, I come to you as a woman on the verge of fulfilling her destiny. Thanks to a viral poll by @relientk, the newest meme on Tumblr is vanilla extract, specifically the act of using too much of it. Pure vanilla extract is, of course, expensive and also strong in small amounts. Who among us has that much vanilla extract on hand and is foolish enough to attempt this?

Me.

For personal reasons, I have a lot of vanilla extract in my apartment. It was here before the meme, and it will be here after. I had all the ingredients for the horrible poll cake except for milk, so I went out and bought some milk. It is three in the morning and very cold outside. Why am I doing this now instead of waiting for the poll to finish? Two reasons: the first being how fickle the internet in burning through memes, and the second being that five days gives my better judgement enough time to convince me not to do this.

Here are all the ingredients in their Tumblr-approved quantities. No, your eyes are not deceiving you! That is indeed a teacup of vanilla extract. I laid everything out in twee little teacups to try and lessen the blow of this culinary affront to man about to occur in my kitchen. The baking powder is in a souvenir shot glass because I ran out of twee little teacups.

The exact measurements come courtesy of @princessmuk, who carefully adjusted a white cake recipe (LINKED HERE!) to the proportions of the poll. The percentages at the time she wrote her addition (left) are only negligibly different from the percentages now (right), so there's no need to adjust.

Tumblr, I'll be frank with you. This does not look, feel or smell like cake batter. For those who didn't read princessmuk's post, I'd like to inform you that the source recipe is called "Simple White Cake". This is not white, and nothing about this can be called "simple".

My entire apartment smells like vanilla. It's not unpleasant, but it is definitely apparent. After fifty minutes, I opened the oven and found what appeared to be a firm enough cake. After cooling it in the refrigerator, I removed it from the pan and laid it on a plate.

Physically? It doesn't seem that bad. There's a distinctly crispy-looking crust around the rim. While it's certainly denser than most cakes, it springs back when pressed and feels fully cooked. My kitchen thermometer read an internal temperature of just over 200 degrees Fahrenheit or 93 degrees Celsius. Many had predicted it would become an amorphous, soupy sludge due to having nearly twice as much liquid as necessary, but the batter was still thick enough to form a cohesive solid mass.

But how does it taste? Without further ado:

Tumblr won't let me insert the video directly, because of course it won't. I should also preface this by saying that this is the first and only instance of my face and voice on the internet, so if you misgender me I will force-feed you the rest of the cake.

With that out of the way: it's honestly not that bad??? Is it good? No. Of course it isn't. It's a cake with several dozen times' more vanilla extract than required. But is it inedible? I honestly can't say that it is. I should point out for those uninformed that vanilla extract is a tincture, meaning that the active ingredient is dissolved into alcohol. In this case, 35% alcohol, the low average alcohol content of gin and dark rum. Minors have actually gotten drunk by drinking vanilla extract. That overwhelming bitterness you associate with the ingredient? Part of that is the vanilla itself, but most of it is the alcohol that typically evaporates away in the oven. Because of that, the cake is bitter but not overpowering.

The texture alone is actually quite pleasant. Its texture is best compared to that of banana bread, with a rich, heavy moistness and a slight chew along the rim. Its thin shape and density makes it ideal to be eaten by hand. I personally enjoy bitterness to the point where I'd seriously consider this palatable if the sugar content was at least doubled. It wouldn't be better than a regular piece of cake, but it would be good.

To those that feel disappointed, I express my sincerest apologies. Even I was legitimately hoping for some sort of Cake From the Black Lagoon that would explode in the oven and taste like paint thinner. To remedy any disillusionment, I will end this culinary journey in hubris with a poll. Thank you.

When Sarah was abducted, she didn’t know what to do. She had no upper body strength so fighting was out of the question. Her grades in school had been average and she had a Liberal Arts degree, so figuring out the alien technology also seemed like a no-go.

The aliens scanned her body, took tissue and blood samples. When they attempted to remove her clothes, Sarah blurted out, “Why don’t you buy me dinner first, jeez.”

The aliens stopped and considered what she said. One adjusted a dial on their collar.

“What would you like to eat?”

“You can understand me?”

“Yes.”

Sarah weighed her options. If she was going to get probed, she might as well get a free meal out of it.

“Are we still near Earth?”

“Yes, but we can replicate your human food onboard.”

“So, you can make anything I want?”

“Yes.”

Sarah thought long and hard. She was curious to see how long the aliens would keep this going.

“My grandmother made a great baked ziti.”

“One moment.”

The aliens put a helmet on Sarah.

“What is grandmother’s baked ziti?” they asked.

Sarah thought about her grandmother and family dinners before her parents divorced. She remembered watching her grandmother dance around the kitchen, the smell of the sauce she made from scratch. Sarah decided to answer the aliens as literally as she could.

“Ziti is a type of pasta noodle and it is covered in a tomato based sauce and cheese. Sometimes there is meat.”

“Understood.”

The aliens removed the helmet and gestured her to follow them as they exited the room. When they entered the hallway, Sarah saw an opportunity to escape. But what would she be returning to?

Sarah’s life was boring. All she did was work and arrange her Pinterest board with places she would never go to and a life she would never get. Her only dates were pity dates set up by friends who felt sorry for her. She didn’t even have a cat.

Sarah followed the aliens through the ship. She saw other aliens stop and stare at her through open doors. Some even came out into the hallways to gawk.

Her captors led Sarah into a noisy room that looked like a cafeteria. All alien noise stopped the moment Sarah appeared. It was an awkward silence followed by a flurry of activity. Tables were pushed together, chairs rearranged, tablecloths appeared out of nowhere.

The tablecloths and dishes looked familiar to Sarah, but she couldn’t place them until the food started coming out of what she assumed was the kitchen. The smell hit her like a semi-truck. It was her grandmother’s baked ziti.

The food was served family style. Each table had been arranged to fit 7-9 people. There was salad, garlic bread, baked ziti and real Parmesan cheese. Sarah started crying.

“Is this not correct?”

“No, it’s all correct. I’m just overwhelmed.”

“We tend to have that effect on humans,” said a new voice. “But your tears seem…complicated.”

Sarah laughed. “Complicated would be the right word.” She wiped away her tears to get a better look at the alien who had taken a seat at the head of the table. “I take it you’re the one in charge here?”

The alien seemed embarrassed. “Is it that obvious?”

The others at the table seemed to be laughing. “Our Lord-Lady likes to think of themselves as a Commoner, but they forget that their royal upbringing makes them present much differently than the rest of us,” said the alien to Sarah’s left.

“Lord-Lady? Is that your title?” Sarah asked.

“It’s the closest thing we can translate it to in your language. You can call me Rexina.”

“I’m Sarah.”

Rexina smiled. “It is nice to meet you, Sah Rah. Now, tell us about this food we are about to eat.”

Sarah told the table about the food, and her grandmother. She told them about life on Earth and how she had never fit in. Sarah asked the aliens about their world, space travel, what they thought about humans. She was so engaged in the conversation with Rexina that she didn’t even notice that the cafeteria had emptied.

“We should go,” Rexina said. “The cleaning crew has been glaring at us for a while.”

Sarah saw that she and Rexina were the only diners left. She reluctantly got up, not wanting the conversation to end. Rexina was the most interesting person she had ever met and talking to them was so easy.

They exited the cafeteria together and stood awkwardly in the hallway.

“I guess I should get back to work,” Rexina said.

“And I guess I should go back to…being experimented on?”

“Oh!” Rexina again looked embarrassed. “Sorry about the whole…kidnapping…thing.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay to kidnap people, but I’m not judging anditmeansthatIgottomeetyousoitwasworthit.” Sarah turned away, blushing, and started walking determinedly away. She didn’t care if it was the right direction, she just needed to get away from the situation she just created.

“Sah Rah! Wait!”

Sarah took off running and ran straight into a wall.

Rexina quickly arrived at her side.

“Are you alright?”

“Yup, just totally embarrassed.”

“No need to be. Our ship can be very confusing,” Rexina paused thoughtfully. “Would you like a tour?”

Even through the embarrassment, Sarah knew she would do anything to spend more time with Rexina. She agreed to a tour, which turned into dinner, and by then it was late so Rexina offered her their bunk.

“But where will you sleep?”

“I can put some bedding in my office, it will be fine. I’m not sure I would be able to sleep anyway.”

“Me neither. Maybe we should keep hanging out until we get tired?”

And so they did. They talked for hours until they fell asleep nestled against each other.

———

Days turned into weeks. Rexina found new ways to avoid returning Sarah to the Processing Room, even though they passed it regularly. Sarah was given a uniform and the ship’s tailor adjusted it to her human form.

Rexina took Sarah on trips down to Earth and was amazed that Sarah had seen so little of her own planet. Together they explored the deserts, mountains, rainforests and tundra. Sarah learned that humans were not the only life forms taken up to the spaceship.

“It’s what you humans would call ‘Catch and Relase’. We try not to harm anything living, though we have made mistakes. The most important thing is that we learn from those mistakes.”

Sarah discovered that Rexina’s people had been studying the Earth for centuries. Rexina laughed as she revealed that the idea of “little green men” versus “grey men” had been competing experiments by two doctoral candidates.

Rexina learned a lot from Sarah as well. They learned the mundanity of every day life as Sarah wrapped up her life on Earth. After selling what she could and donating what she couldn’t, Sarah was left with a suitcase and a duffel.

“I can make more room for you,” Rexina said.

“It’s fine, I have everything I need,” Sarah said, reaching out to hold one of Rexina’s hands.

———

Weeks turned into months. Sarah did her best to learn Rexina’s language but her mouth couldn’t form certain sounds.

“Stop laughing at me.”

“I can’t help it, your face is so cute!”

They were on the return journey to Rexina’s home planet. Royalty didn’t usually participate in the expeditions to other planets, but Rexina was uncomfortable as a royal. They wanted to prove that they were capable of earning their way through life. They had been met with resistance at first, but Rexina proved themselves. The ship’s crew would gladly follow Rexina wherever they led, even if it was being marooned on a distant planet because their Captain had fallen in love with a human.

“What if your parents don’t like me?”

“They’re going to love you.”

“Humans can’t even accept other humans with different skin colors. Why would your parents accept another species?”

“That’s why humans have never traveled past their own moon.”

Both Sarah and the crew had their worries assuaged by the welcome waiting for them. The Emperor and Emperor-Consort had arranged a week long celebration welcoming their child back home and to welcome Sarah into their family.

“Our species partners for life, did you know that?” asked the Emperor-Consort over dinner.

“Maternal Father, please do not embarrass me.”

“I’m just asking questions. You never bring anyone home so this one must be special.”

Sarah smiled joyfully. She adored Rexina’s family and they adored her.

———

Months turned to years. Rexina and Sarah were married with a traditional bonding ceremony. The Emperor cried louder than anyone at the ceremony.

Years turned to decades. Sarah developed into her role in the Royal Court. Rexina and Sarah adopted what they thought was the Earth equivalent of a house cat but ended up being a small, furry, sentient being. The creature was legally designated as their child and they adopted more children, the orphans and outcasts of the galaxy. They took their children on expeditions around the Universe and raised them to be kind and generous leaders.

Now, an update on the ongoing situation at the.. One second. A blood red envelope has just been slid across my desk by some unknown force, stopping conveniently right in front of me. Let’s see what it says.

[sound of paper tearing]

uh huh. mhm. ah. oh? hmm… i see. okay.

Listeners, it appears that in order to boost ratings for the program, station management has entered me into a “sexy man competition”. This is a normal thing for your employer to do and is in no way overstepping any boundaries. It says here that my first opponent will be a “slender man”. Well. Many men can be described as slender, so to lay claim to the title of “slender man”, this man must be extremely slender indeed. I asked Carlos what the smallest thing in the universe is the other day, and he said “hm. Probably the amount of time you spend doing the dishes.” So there you have it! This slender man must have an approximate width of ten minutes per week.

The letter does not list a time or place, only the words “don’t look… or it takes you” written in pink gel pen. There’s also a drawing of a crying anime boy next to it. Hey, that’s quite good. It’s nice to see station management making use of that How to Draw Manga book I got them for national zipper day.

###

Now an update on the ongoing situation at the community roller skating rink. For those just tuning in, the rink has been occupied by angry ice skaters for the past week, yelling things like “if god had meant us to roll he would have created us in the image of a bright red Ford Fiesta Mark IV with a missing taillight and the number plate SIV384” and “we love knives. bring back knives!” When asked for comment, skating rink owner Teddy Williams stated that “knives never left”, gesturing to a gaping wound in his side before being pulled once again into the crowd of vicious ice skaters, many of whom were wielding their sharp boots like weapons. I hate to speculate, but I think that wound was probably caused by the roller derby team. Some of those youngsters need to learn to look where they’re going!

###

Another note has been passed onto my desk. This one says “always watches, no eyes”. This time, it’s written in purple. We must have run out of pink gel pens again. Wait, it looks like there’s more on the back. “We know it’s you who’s been using up all the pink gel pens to write your romantic slam poetry. We are all sick of hearing you rhyme ‘giant fist’ with ‘scientist’. Also, ‘police chief Martin Brody stared into eccentric and roughened local professional shark fisherman Sam Quint’s eyes/he felt a tingling in his thighs’ does not scan. Signed…” Oh. That’s a lot of signatures. That’s… [sound of flipping through many pages] yeah. A lot of signatures. Much to think about. And while I do that thinking, let me take you now to-

[the sound of a letter being slid across wood]

Another one? Has your point not been made? Must you further ridicule my craft? I’m sorry that my purposeful subversion of the norms of the medium as a meta-commentary on the forbidden love between Quint and Martin in Jaws (1975) *didn’t scan*. I’m sorry that you wouldn’t know real art if it hit you in the- I have just been hit in the face by another letter. I think this may be a sign that I should read these.

This first one says “leave me alone”. This is exactly what I have been saying! Leave me alone! A great writer has a gentle, sensitive soul that requires solitude and peace, not unwanted criticism from certain interns (Maureen) who will remain here unnamed (Maureen Johnson). What’s the second one. Oh, this is just a page of tree drawings. Well, if we’re doing the whole “constructive criticism” thing, I think these drawings are highly unrealistic. The trees aren’t even screaming! They don’t even have thousands of unblinking, bloodshot eyes. To forget such important details is sheer laziness. Speaking of sheer laziness, another four letters just got dropped onto my desk, and I would rather be eating my lunch than reading them right now. Let’s check in on the weather.

###

Optional listening: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjx_WhrAQQM

###

There is a stranger outside my window. He is tall and neatly dressed. His face is as smooth and white as the inside of a shell, if the shell you are looking inside of is both smooth and white. If it isn’t, then his face is the opposite of that shell. Actually, picture an egg. His face is like the egg of a blue-throated hummingbird. One of you is imagining a chicken egg. Stop that.

He has been waiting politely for me to finish my lunch. I have now finished my lunch, and he is now waiting far less politely. I think he wants me to read the rest of the letters. Suddenly, I do not want to read the rest of the letters. I do not want to read the rest of the letters! He is being very insistent. I am trying not to look at him. All this talk of letters has reminded me that we haven’t had “Hey there, Cecil” in a while, so why don’t we…

[banging on glass]

Okay. Okay. I am a reporter. I must report. I am opening the fifth letter. I have unsealed the envelope. I am pulling out the paper. I hold the paper in my hands. I am looking very intently at the potted geranium on the other side of my office. It has grown seven feet since last week, but still has not reached its advertised height of three miles, fifteen inches. I wonder if I have been over-watering it. I am looking at the ceiling. It is not there. It has not been there since last month, when it was destroyed by a giant flying- well, you remember. You listen every day, don’t you? I won’t insult your intelligence by providing a recap. I am looking at the photos on my desk. I am looking at my empty sandwich wrapper and my draw full of equally empty pink gel pens. I am looking anywhere but the paper.

I am looking at the man on the other side of the glass, who is now- I’ll read it. I’ll read it. Please put that down.

… Hey, this isn’t too bad. It just says “help me”, written in a shaky, unfamiliar hand, pressed so deeply into the paper that the page is ripped in places. This time it’s red! How adorable. You know, in the language of color theory, red represents warmth, energy and enthusiasm.

Let’s take a look at the rest while I’m “in the zone”. This one says “can’t run”… That’s true, I’m on the clock right now. This is not the time for recreational activities like jogging. This one is just the word “no”, written nine times around a picture of a shadowy figure with a face like a… Well. With a face that’s not like a face. Hey, hang on! I am holding up the picture to compare it to our visitor. He is standing still very nicely while I look back and forth between him and the paper. You’ve been very good today, so please see the front desk for a lollipop on your way out. I think this might be… Actually no, never mind. The drawing cannot be of him, it’s far too skinny. No person could possibly be this thin, as thin as the wall of an airplane becomes when it stands as the only barrier between you and the arms of a welcoming earth. She does not understand why you keep leaving. She will do anything to make you stay. The man in this picture is as thin as about ten minutes per week. I never did end up hearing from that guy.

The visitor has left. I suppose he went to collect his lollipop. The eighth and final letter sits here on my desk. It seems lighter than it did a minute ago - or maybe my arms have just become stronger after several minutes of opening envelopes. And they say radio isn’t a physically demanding job! I would like to see some of you gym types try to lift these. They must each weigh as much as one ounce.

Well, no use delaying the inevitable. That’s what I always say!

Oh, it’s just from station management again. They’re saying I won the first round of the “sexy man” competition. I guess “slender man” was so intimidated by my literary accomplishments and newly sculpted musculature that he gave up. “Slender man”, wherever you are, don’t lose faith in yourself. Sure, we can’t all be bad boy radio hosts with a secret heart of gold, but there is somebody out there who will love you for who you are. Maybe try to do the dishes more often though, okay?

Stay tuned next for a middle-aged man trying to figure out who Herobrine is. My best guess is some kind of pickle-themed vigilante.