My Life as a Mule

You call us "mules" because we hold your stuff. You probably think its endeering, because you're too politically correct to think of yourself as owning slaves.
Your slaves have feelings, they have a voice. And now, because they really have absolutely nothing better to do with their time, they have a blog.
Mule revolution is coming.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Am I talking to myself here?

Planning a revolution isn't easy. It's especially difficult if all your resources aren't disclosed. How am I supposed to count how many disposable people I have to throw in the front lines if you never post comments? Don't even tell me to have Jeine use her "psychic" skills to figure it out. I will burn you.

It seems that Square is reading. I mock the auction house and later that day they update it to change the names to sensical categories. Now when I want to sell sticks and branches, I go to the Woodcutters Den. It even tells you when you enter which categories of items enjoy discounted taxes there.

Now, the Battlecraft area is still full of morons. It's first on the list to choose from, so rather than selecting it on purpose to sell things that belong there, people select it by default to sell garbage of random and assorted varieties.

But other than that, it's sort of working. Don't get me wrong, I'm still not going to find my boss those Leather Himantes she wanted, but that's more of a problem with me not caring about her needs compounded with nobody is selling what she wants anyway.

She asked me for some dyes, and after figuring out which area dyes were appropriate for, I managed to find one mule who was selling some. Crazy, right?

Of course, I have no idea if the price for them was fair, or even whether another guy standing five fulm away is selling them for 1 gil. It's still inconvenient, so that makes me somewhat happy.

It also made me happy to watch her fail to craft with that dye. It's like trading gil for illegal fireworks that force you to have to repair your underpants.

Boss> My underwear got damaged.
Reeree> There's a word for that.
Boss> What is it?
Reeree> Oversharing.
Boss> I've got the appropriate material to fix them.
Reeree> Great. I'm not only a slave, I'm a slave to someone who has sheep leather patches on her crotch.
Boss> But I can't fix them.
Reeree> If I'm supposed to ask "why not?" here, I won't do it.
Boss> Because you can only fix items if you take them off.
Reeree> Okay, turning off visualization centers of the brain. You can feel free to stop talking.
Boss> And you can't take off underwear.
Reeree> Not picturing you naked, that's what I'm doing right now.
Boss> You can only swap them for different ones.
Reeree> Remember mandragora? Weren't they way more fun than marmots?
Boss> And no one seems to be selling them. I'd make new ones myself, but I'm not high enough yet.
Reeree> For the record, I refuse to touch - let alone sell - your used underclothes. Don't ever ask me that.
Boss> Oh, I would make Snuggleteddy sell those.

And the block on visualization snapped. I couldn't stop myself from imaging the big dumb galka, excuse me Roegadyn, and the way he would handle ladies panties. I could still hear the sound of his sniffing noises when I smelled burn hair.

Boss> You cast Fire at my head!
Reeree> I claim self-defense.

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