skidcrow

Mahz's Dev Journal

a current rpg bug i've just encountered in the last 2 minutes: if you click on a thread containing multiple unread mentions, you can't then click the x on the remaining mentions in your notifications and have to go back to the thread to clear them

Mahz's Dev Journal

@nodogs Can you give me more info about how tables broke (re: your status).

@Mahz

yeah basically what kuro said. before tables in bios used to have no solid background (ergo the page matched the darker bio background) and now they're the same color background as regular forum posts

Mahz's Dev Journal

Hey everyone.

After almost ten years in Mexico, I've finally moved back to the States .

New city, new Mahz.

Last night, I started the process of dusting off the Guild's cobwebs after about three hours of emotional evasion.

@LegendBegins has been trying to contribute to the Guild's code for years. Much like the Guild, years of neglect wasn't enough to completely lose him, so I've finally merged some of his fixes into the software. But seriously, I'm thankful and frankly in awe.

Some things I've started working on for the next few days:

- Clean up the Guild. Hide dead forums like Persistent World. Hide dead features like the Arena leaderboard. Like, why is there still a message from 22 May 2017 above the reply box announcing the autosave feature?
- Update the server. Both the database and the forum's platform are out of date. It makes the system harder to work on. This will probably result in some downtime.
- Fix the Discord link and other assorted bugs that have cropped up over the last year.

I've also wanted to put some time into thinking about the Guild's future. What's next for the Guild? A slow death? Just the same ugly taxi cab yellow clashing into the same nauseating gray over and over again until there's nobody left for it to offend?

Is it too late to do something better? How much gas is left in the tank? etc.

@Mahz

i am so astronomically hard it is making me nauseous

OBLIVION

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Had the booze been on her tab, Jack might not be so drunk right now, even despite her current circumstances. As it is, she’s floating through a sea of people to get to the front of PJ’s, vision significantly tunneled by the fermented poison swimming through her blood. She probably should’ve eaten before she started drinking, but sacrificing her lunch break was the only key leverage she had in ending her shift at the Bistro early. Take notes—not even familial nepotism can get you your own free time at work. Hanna looks to be at the same level drunk-wise, maybe even a little worse, stumbling and screeching all the way to the rental. Jack guesses it’s lucky that Ivy’s got a respectable amount of cash too, though after eavesdropping on the group’s total tab she wonders if Hanna’s bank account even dips below triple digits. Once outside and free to feel the cold air on her skin, Jack double-checks her bike and then peels into the car, pushing herself into a far corner and nursing her half-empty beer bottle. With the state of one half of their de facto chaperones, she spends the ride in weary anticipation of some impromptu group carpool activity that never comes. It’s quick enough to drive to Ritman from Main Street, anyway, and the car rolls to a stop before she can blink. It starts again after Ivy unlocks the gate, the engine finally cutting dead once the field’s opposite them. “Don’t tempt me,” she mutters at Ivy’s comment, filtering out behind the rest of the group and trudging through the turnstile. She bounces from one foot to the other throughout Ivy’s spontaneous speech, the air having shifted from soothing her flushed cheeks to chilling her bones. She’s not sure if a Class President’s responsibilities extend to playing personal therapist to a group of melodramatic teenagers, but she can imagine the existential terror raised by realizing you’re not as outwardly fucked up as the rest of the people you spent your formative years with. She’s not even sure if the faculty could’ve changed a thing, as Lucas suggests in all his therapized wisdom. There’s no cure for Delton, Jack concludes, watching as Hanna paws away at fresh tear tracks. The floodlights looming above light the scene with perfect clarity, leaving the empty main building shrouded in complete darkness. Its black outline looks far larger than Ritman had ever felt during her time there. The capsule, even while dwarfed by the scattered circle surrounding it, casts a harsh shadow on the dyed grass. Jack allows it to capture her attention, the long huff of breath that escapes her nostrils turning into steam against the nighttime chill. Jack had left nothing in there, as if the lack of physical evidence would absolve her of any connection to Ritman High. Instead, she remains tethered by the memories of others, unable to escape Jack Carpenter just as much as Jack Wilkerson. Maybe graduation isn’t where it was supposed to end. Maybe once everyone else finally feels like they can put their high school lives to bed, Jack can take hers out back and shoot it, too. Once the first wrecking ball slams into the faded red bricks, this weight that’s been pushing against her whole life will finally crumble, and she can get the fuck out of here forever. In another five years, Jack Wilkerson will be gone for good. “If we find secret love letters in here or some shit, I’m out,” she almost-slurs, taking a triumphant final swig of her beer. She drops the empty bottle at her feet. “Or we can burn ‘em.” ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

█ #1.01 WAY DOWN WE GO on we march — trent reznor p. johnson’s ▸ ritman high [football field] interacting with: class of 2017 ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

Imgur to Delete Archive of Images

*leans* Why not use the image space on here? That's not even off-grid proposing other caches. Atomic is solo, yeah, but it's not a spectrum - first you gotta represent the Underground; That's this turf here, that other stuff's in anarchy.

*flicks open a zippo off his pants leg, and returned the movement up the pants leg to get the flame* Heh, if you don't know the entertainment value of a Computer at least as a Party Junkie then now's the time to become a real Harbinger, People.

@Zmija Sebastian

dude you're not meant to be roleplaying 24/7 on here

OBLIVION

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Jack snorts derisively at CJ’s response, folding her arms as she’s all but slumped in her chair. She doesn’t break the other girl’s gaze. The air crackles with unspoken tension, and Anni’s presence does little to help. It’s probably a funny sight; Lucas looking woefully out of place while the rest of them have a verbal Mexican standoff. You know what I wanted, you bitter fuck, she thinks as she watches Hanna and Ivy appear at the bar over CJ’s shoulder. At least it looks like her score isn’t being topped. Yet. “Yeah. It’s Delton. It sucks,” Jack concurs with Anni’s response. “Everyone wants to leave but we’re all trapped under the fucking dome. That fit your neat little narrative, C?” She fishes in her pocket for her phone and switches it back on, slipping out of her jacket and letting it fall against the back of the chair. The screen lights up to show 3 missed calls and several texts from Erica, which she immediately swipes away, scrolling through her contacts to find Casey’s number. Jack: beer on the same tab From where she’s sitting she can’t see him above the heads at the bar, but she can probably imagine the exasperated look on his face anyway. The servers that swarm on their table when Hanna and Ivory return have about the same expression. She scoots her chair back as they sit down, placing her phone face-down on the table before she realizes the picture of her and Erica taped to the inside of the case. Quickly, she slots it back in her pocket, leaning forwards slightly to rest an elbow on the table instead. “Just the riveting life and times of peaking in high school.” Someone comes to collect the empty glassware and deposits her beer along the way. Jack takes the opportunity to grab a slice of pizza. “So, food and then we roll?” ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

█ #1.01 WAY DOWN WE GO morning terrors nights of dread — shilpa ray p. johnson’s [ritman table] interacting with: class of 2017, casey [npc] ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

OBLIVION

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One benefit of Jack’s passivity? Sitting back and watching the dominoes fall. Ivy indulges in her little reference, and she can’t help the smirk that tugs at her lips at her own classification. She hopes Ivy won’t be disappointed to discover that she isn’t the type to leave good weed unsmoked. CJ’s straight in after with the nihilism, naturally. Jack can’t tell if it’s an unconscious remark, or if her mission is to make sure the night is as miserable as possible. She still doesn’t know why the fuck she even came back here. After that point, Jack’s eyes become a cartoonish display of flicking back and forth between the conversation’s participants while she slowly makes her way through her drink. Hanna shepherds the poor bastard of a waiter who chose the worst table to take an order from; CJ prods Lucas about his religious guilt; Anni chooses pizza, not war; Lucas takes the same remark he’s heard a billion times in stride; Ivy looks like someone just kicked a puppy—welcome back to Ritman High, Jack Carpenter. Sincerely yours, the Batshit Club. The tsunami builds and builds until it hits the floodgates, and before they can open Ivy excuses herself, Hanna following soon after. Jack watches her walk to the bar, then to the bathroom. Smooth. Jack places her now empty glass on the table and scoffs, leaning back in her chair. “So everybody’s having fun, I figure,” she snipes, managing to hide the gloat in her voice. A small part of her is grateful for not being the source of tension as she was so many times as a teenager. The rest of her knows exactly fucking why. Drama’s less entertaining when it means her night could be cut short, of all the shitty nights for that to happen. She stares CJ down with intent, all prior reservations washed away in two cocktails flat. “If someone starts crying before we’re all even drunk, is that, like, a new record for you? I lost track around a decade ago.” ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

█ #1.01 WAY DOWN WE GO intermission — blur p. johnson’s [ritman table] interacting with: @Gowi, @Kuro, @Mao Mao ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

OBLIVION

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Jack hadn’t expected her little toast to turn into one of those feel-good movie moments, but she won’t complain for now. There’s enough people around to diffuse Ivy and Hanna’s aura of good deeds between the group, so she won’t become too suffocated by it. Hanna’s compliment on her attire for the night is received with a slight nod of her head before she goes to sip her drink. She doesn’t need to tell people she wasn’t even dressing for the reunion. Once conversation turns to the time capsule, Jack takes the opportunity to settle into the humdrum of P.J’s on a night with people she hasn’t seen in years. She never bothered with extracurricular stuff if she could help it, and especially not a time capsule. At the back of her mind, she’s interested in what everyone else locked away in there, but she’ll find out once they crack it open anyway. The whiskey’s helping to keep her drinking pace steady. She guesses she doesn’t have much reason to kill Casey after all. It’s a good drink to get herself acclimated to her current situation—each burning sip of the whiskey notes mixed into the cocktail gets her used to the bitter taste she feels in her mouth every time she catches a glance of CJ. A snort abruptly escapes Jack, her face dropping back to its neutral state not long after, and she readjusts in her seat. She doesn’t know how many songs have played since she got here, but there’s some real nice high tempo rock screaming over the swell of conversation right now. “I totally would’ve tried to smuggle my stash into the capsule. Like, a next level Breakfast Club.” ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

█ #1.01 WAY DOWN WE GO nobody really cares (...) — courtney barnett p. johnson’s [ritman table] interacting with: class of 2017 ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

OBLIVION

<Snipped quote by Kuro>

@nodogs did you type your latest post with a 360 controller

@Kuro

i started it with the controller but i had to do formatting with a keyboard

OBLIVION

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Wow, CJ, real funny. Jack can bet money staying away from blondie here helped to ‘keep her alive’. Even with what it cost her. Her golden ticket to getting out of Delton, washed away down the drain amongst streaked mascara and boxes of hair bleach. How does Ivory think she’s holding up? Jack’s still as stonefaced as she ever was in Ritman, but she can feel the evident lines of a scowl tugging her eyebrows. She can’t turn her back on the conversation now Ivy’s stood right by her, so she tries her best to divert any murderous looks past her shoulder and hope they aren’t misinterpreted. She’s still trying to compute what’s happening on what is probably the worst night of her life, so she just sits back and lets CJ get her licks in. ‘Jack’s holding off on an anxiety attack.’ That pulls her back together somewhat. Anxiety isn’t a word anyone has ever associated with Jack, and they’re not about to start now. (CJ’s dropped the ‘Jackie’ and she doesn’t know whether to be relieved or pissed.) She grabs her own drink while CJ gulps down the last of her whiskey, catching Casey’s attention before he can even think about pretending to be busy with something else. The staff member refilling CJ’s glass side-eyes her and she shrugs before finishing her drink. “Is it ‘holding up’ if you’re not really, like, holding onto anything?” Jack wonders aloud, facing neither of them while she keenly watches Casey mix her a fresh drink. He takes his sweet time walking down the bar, and when he places the card machine in front of her Jack waves him off. “Nah, you’re not extorting me anymore. Crazy lady somewhere over there—” she jabs a thumb in the direction of the Ritman table, “—opened a tab. Drinks on her.” Wordlessly, Casey glances between Jack and her company before he slides the drink over. “Go easy,” he warns. Jack raises the glass and nods, turning back to Ivy. She quickly becomes acquainted with how the far left wall of P.J’s looks. Anything to stop her glancing at the shadow on her right. “So, you ordering anything? Rush hour starts pretty—” Sweet fucking jesus, was Hanna Whittle born with a megaphone in her throat? Jack all but hides her face in her drink, not willing to be associated with the e-girl bastardizing Mortal Kombat quotes in her general direction. The incident seems to dissipate as quickly as it began, and the hushed voices around the group steadily rise back to a normal volume. “Well, you heard the lady.” Jack pushes away from the bar and gulps down some of her drink, wincing slightly. Fucking whiskey. She’s gonna kill Casey for this one. “See you over there.” It should be directed to the both of them, but Ivy’s the only one Jack even glances at before she navigates through the crowd waiting at the bar and plants herself in the first empty seat she can find at the table. Lucas is sat with his order from earlier—breadsticks, apparently—and Hanna’s surprisingly quiet for now, so Jack assumes she just missed a torrent of word vomit. The surprisingly bitching red leather jacket she noticed earlier now has a face attached, and it’s admittedly a surprise to find out that face is no other than Anni Simcox. Besides her, the table’s empty, and it seems like about the turnout Jack expected, so she doesn’t prepare for any more surprises tonight. “Thanks for the drink, Hanna,” she raises her glass in a mock toast. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔

█ #1.01 WAY DOWN WE GO ubu — methyl ethel p. johnson’s [bar ▸ table] interacting with: @TGM, @Salsa Verde, casey [npc], @Prisk ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔