coworker asks if i like harry potter and i have to make a disco elysium skill check to come up with a response
CIS COWORKER — Hey you seem really into wizards and stuff, I bet you love Harry Potter :)
EMPATHY — He’s just trying to be polite and make conversation. He doesn’t know about JK Rowling’s opinions on trans people. Let’s politely change the subject.
COMPOSURE [Trivial: Failure] — “Kill yourself.”
Jean reckons with The Psionic Eyebrow for the first time
im so mad that one of the best dialogue exchanges in disco elysium is something the vast majority of players will never find on their own because the requirements for it are ridiculous
harry getting hatecrimed by a mysterious pair of eyes should be mandatory to the disco experience
im going to fucking die
I will reblog this ever damn time I see it because it is my favorite thing anyone has ever made
one of the Disco Elysium animators loved this video so much he recreated the whole thing using the game’s character models
literally wake up some nights in a cold sweat thinking about this
PROBLEM
The world is ending. You know it, your neighbor knows it, the dealer knows it, the jailer knows it, the king and all his men know it. All one has to do is look around to see it— the future is curdling into something pale and incorporeal. The infernal machine that is this stupid world is going to blow, sooner rather than later. So what are you doing? Why are you still here? Why is anyone still here?
SOLUTION
You are doing the only thing worth doing. You are living. *Why,* you ask? Try and remember now. Remember your mother’s hand on your shoulder. Remember the taste of a fresh catch. Remember the times when you were kind to the dogs in the valley and they did not bare their teeth. Remember the weight of a child on your shoulders. Remember the stars throwing their light against the wall of sodium and smog. Remember singing until your throat was raw. Remember crying just as loudly and publicly, and the gentleness with which someone opened your curled fist and pressed a handkerchief into your palm. Crying, laughing, running, eating, screaming, haunting, loving, fighting, fighting, fighting. The fight fuels you, and you fuel the fight. You run yourself ragged just for a chance to keep running. You never stop. You cannot stop. The world depends on it. *You* are the infernal engine. You are the world. And, simply put: you want to live.
case that keeps him awake all night
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hello again, gendarme.” He smiles at you— not from his usual post, but from one of the cafeteria tables. A small sketchbook is laid out in front of him, along with some odd gray sticks.
ENCYCLOPEDIA — Compressed graphite. Not quite as bold or blendable as charcoal, but certainly less messy.
EMPATHY — Garte will appreciate it.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “That’s the question, isn’t it?” His smile turns a little rueful. “I found one of my old sketchbooks and thought I’d like to fill the last few empty pages, but I’m finding myself a little… uninspired.”
CONCEPTUALIZATION — The accursed artist’s block. Staring down an empty page only for it to stare back, mocking you.
EMPATHY — He is unsure of himself. He said this was an old sketchbook. Maybe he’s afraid of drawing something new beside his old work and seeing that nothing has changed.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “A life drawing exercise, huh? And who would you pick as a subject, gendarme?”
KIM KITSURAGI — “No.”
He has nothing more to say on the matter.
KIM KITSURAGI — “I do not get paid to model for portraits. I get paid to solve murders. Such as the one we came here to investigate. Several days ago. Which has not been solved yet, for some mysterious reason.”
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — In case you couldn’t tell, that was sarcasm.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He shrugs. “Sorry, gendarme. It’s not right to use someone’s image without permission, you know? Maybe some other time.”
KIM KITSURAGI — “No.” And then, a little awkwardly, “But thank you.”
CHECK SUCCESS
YOU — “Why not me?”
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He considers you with some amusement, but still, he does consider. “You’re not too busy?”
KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant sighs audibly.
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — What did I *just* say?
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He chuckles to himself, apparently quite tickled by the little comedy act you two are making of yourselves. “Beautiful. Why not? Have a seat. I’ll try not to keep you too long.”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Much appreciated,” he says drily.
YOU — [Take a seat.]
SAVOIR FAIRE — Time to strike a pose. Let’s go with something cool. Something that really captures what you’re all about.
ENDURANCE — But make sure it’s something that you’ll be able to hold comfortably.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He looks you up and down, thumbing his bottom lip. His eyes look brighter and more alert than you have ever seen them. And then, he picks up his graphite and begins to work.
His eyes dart between you and the page, his hand sweeping across the page in bold, practiced strokes. All traces of his earlier hesitation have vanished.
VOLITION — Sometimes, a little push is all we need.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — Every now and then, he pauses to look up at you, and it’s almost unnerving to be the subject of whatever calculations are going on behind his eyes. He holds out his graphite, squinting just slightly.
VISUAL CALCULUS — This is called sighting. He’s roughly measuring the relative proportions of your figure and checking them against his sketch.
KIM KITSURAGI — Even the lieutenant is watching now, interested in spite of himself.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hmm…” He ponders this for a moment, not looking up from his work. “Not exactly. I’m more interested in the graphic arts than this sort of thing. But it’s best to build a strong foundation before branching out, you know?”
YOU — “Graphic arts? Like what?”
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Printmaking.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he speaks, seemingly without him even noticing. “Monotype, especially.”
ENCYCLOPEDIA — Monotype is a printmaking technique that is singular from other techniques, in that it produces only *one* unique print, rather than an edition of multiple prints.
YOU — What, really? What’s the point of printing it, then?
ENCYCLOPEDIA — I don’t know. I didn’t invent it.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He shrugs slightly, smudging a bit of graphite with a bare finger. “Depends on how you define practical, I suppose. If I had my own studio, and I was selling my prints, then maybe. But we make do with what we have, gendarme.”
EMPATHY — And what he has is very little.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Besides, I think monotype has its charms.”
The young man does not elaborate, instead focusing on the work at hand. He picks up an eraser that has been shaved down to a point for fine detail work, and begins on what are likely the finishing touches.
EMPATHY — He has already talked at uncharacteristic length about this. It’s making him a little uncomfortable.
SAVOIR FAIRE — He doesn’t like to share too much about himself because it makes him feel *uncool.* He prefers to maintain an air of mystery.
RHETORIC — It’s safer, too, that way. He’s learned that passion exists to be exploited. False promises and admiration are the offerings of Sunday friends.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — His eyes flit back to you, sizing you up now in a different way. And then he looks back down at the page with a quiet bre ath.
“Well, it doesn’t take as much time or labor as other methods. Or expensive tools, or dangerous chemicals. Just paper, a plate, ink, and something to apply it with. And I can use the same plate over and over again, even use it to create different layers for the same print.”
RHETORIC — In other words, it’s cheap and can be done from home. An attractive option.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “And with monotype, it’s not so hard to go back and change your mind. You can start over as many times as you’d like, right up until the moment you lay the page on the plate.”
INLAND EMPIRE — That really does sound attractive. To be able to wipe the slate clean, over and over again…
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “There aren’t as many limits on what kind of textures you can create, too. Brushstrokes and fingerprints… They can really come out beautiful.”
His brow creases a little, and he picks his graphite back up to rework a particular area.
DRAMA — He’s still holding out on you, sire. Too self-conscious to admit what he really likes about the medium.
YOU — Which is what?
EMPATHY — Fragility.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — An image which is only complete after being mirrored and translated, never to be recreated except as a ghostly afterimage. An exercise in surrendering to chance. What will be, will be. And then the moment will pass, and it will be time to start the next piece.
VOLITION — This man knows disappointment intimately. It is his closest companion. He has learned to make peace with it. He passes the time with his Sunday friends, lays his paper on the plate and hopes, despite himself, for the best.
YOU — Is that… a good thing?
VOLITION — …It’s hard to say. But we make do with what we have.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “There.” The young man sits up straight, and it’s only now that you realize just how close he brought himself to his work.
DRAMA — His face may not betray him, but the body does not lie. He was having *fun,* my liege.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “All done.” He tears the page from his book and holds it out to you with a small smile.
ITEM GAINED: Portrait of a Disco Holdover
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hope I didn’t keep you too long.”
KIM KITSURAGI — “Don’t worry about it,” Kim says, rather resignedly.
ESPIRIT DE CORPS — If you’d declined, the lieutenant thinks, my partner would have just found some other way to get sidetracked.
KIM KITSURAGI — Still, he cannot stop himself from glancing at the portrait over your shoulder.
PORTRAIT OF A DISCO HOLDOVER — It’s you! Unfortunately. Not even the most masterful hand could make the Expression less unsettling to look at. Your posture is poor, your face is swollen and blotchy, your hair is thinning, your clothes are shabby and out of place… I could go on.
PORTRAIT OF A DISCO HOLDOVER — But, you know… it’s nice. The smoker’s technique is bold and rather lovely, broad strokes of graphite intersecting in just the right places to create surprising depths. Somehow, even though it’s you… it’s not hideous.
EMPATHY — Because you’re seeing yourself through another person’s eyes.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — There is an odd tenderness to the portrait. Something amusing in your grimace, a touch of sympathy in your hunched shoulders. With the eraser, he has lifted small spots of pigment from your face, as if it were illuminated by flecks of light from the karaoke disco ball.
There are no disco lights tonight, but still, he sees them when he looks at you. Your moment has passed, but it left quite the impression. A ghost print, superimposed over you.
SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — His smile climbs up into the corners of his eyes, warming his entire countenance.
CONCEPTUALIZATION — If you were to capture a portrait of him in this moment, it would be beautiful, too.
wrong format, but I think I might make more
I think there's no greater indication that disco elysium is sympathetic towards communism when it literally says "communism is failure" and then the literal gameplay itself rewards trying and failing. The most obvious one being the Shivers check at the FELD mural, which is an Impossible 20 check BUT opens itself up again and again the longer you spend in the world doing things, but even just looking at sheer probabilities, for any given white check, rolling first and THEN putting a point into that skill upon failure is more likely to grant you success than putting a point first and then rolling, but that would require failing first.
Other things too: Precarious world saying you'll 100% fail red checks no matter what (not necessarily a bad thing, btw!! throwing the boule into the sea is a success but like. in some other ways one would want a perfect petanque throw instead. but people wouldn't typically assume that failure is desirable sometimes from the start) persuading you to accept that you'll fail some things that is irrevocable, for a world where everything is just a tiny bit easier.
The faux game over screen when you faint after reading Dora's letter— emulating a sense of failure on the scale of the entire game. When it rolls up most people go "What?? Game over?? No way, what did I do wrong!!" and waking up after that, with no huge or lasting impact on Harry's health or morale really tells the player, "Sometimes things will seem so bad that it all seems like it's coming to an end, but it's not the end, it's really not the end, go drink so water, you can still go on despite this failure"
I'm sure there are other things as well that are eluding me but like. The literal gameplay rewards failing and succeeding far more so than simply succeeding every single time, and I think you get a fuller experience of Elysium that way too
has this already been done
that post about kim kitsuragi only looking cool because he's standing next to harry seriously changed my read of his entire character. like he actually is just a weird nerd who finally gets to experience being cool because his partner is the most fucked up guy alive
your nerdy pilot cosplay starts looking a whole lot cooler when you're walking around with a guy whose pants have visibly been pissed in at least once
kim on his own: quiet nerdy glasses guy who wears old clothes and only cares about his car
kim when he's with harry: distinguished gentleman with an impressive knowledge of history and mechanics. also a master of personal hygiene
I hope in the disco elysium sequel they reveal that Kim has a normal boyfriend named like Steve
Also harry needs to take it badly it needs to be like
KIM— “His name is Steve. He is my fiance.”
LOGIC (failure)— You guys are best friends and you haven’t met steve yet? This guy is NOT real.
HALF LIGHT— Kill steve.
(NEW TASK: KILL STEVE)
VOLITION— What? No!!
HALF LIGHT— okay.
(NEW TASK: KILL YOURSELF AT THEIR WEDDING)
Disco Elysium's setting was formerly the site of a communist revolution that established the Commune of Revachol. It didn't last long. The Coalition of Nations brutally put the communists down, divided the city among themselves, and enforced a free market capitalist system. The results are depressingly apparent in Revachol's dilapidated district of Martinaise. "The literacy rate is around 45% west of the river," Joyce Messier, a negotiator sent to parley with Martinaise's striking union, tells our protagonist. "Fifty years of occupation have left these people in an *oblivion* of poverty." This state of affairs is overseen by the Moralist International, a union of centre-left and centre-right parties that professes to represent the cause of humanism, but whose primary concern is transparently the preservation of capitalist interest – a Coalition official happily tells us that "the Coalition is only looking out for *ze price stabilitié*", arguing that inflation in Revachol must be prevented, comparing it to a heart disease that could block the "normal circulation of the economy". The people of Revachol don't matter. Their suffering and oppression is only significant as a necessary symptom of the system functioning as intended. The most biting aspect of this critique of capitalist exploitation can be found in the cynicism of those who represent Moralism, or at least, its interests. The aforementioned Joyce Messier is its perfect embodiment. She does not believe in the facade of humanity Moralism presents to the world, and is under no illusions about what it has done to the people of Martinaise. She tells you how bad things are, freely admitting that the pieces of legislation put in place by the Moralist Coalition to govern Revachol are there to keep "the city in a [...] laissez-faire stasis to the benefit of foreign capital". This corrosion of belief via cynicism, this depiction of a system that continues to operate unimpeded despite few believing in it, feels all too familiar. This critique of liberal capitalism's hypocrisy, cynicism, exploitation and deep-rooted connections to colonialism, is particularly powerful in recognising the precarious position it finds itself in. It has reached a stasis that seems, paradoxically, both insurmountable, and on the verge of collapse. Moralism relies on this contradiction. It's unofficial motto, "for a moment, there was hope", underlines the degree to which its dominance depends on the preclusion of the idea that a better world is possible, that there is no alternative, echoing the End of History sentiment that created the (rapidly disintegrating) political consensus of our lived reality. Despite growing dissatisfaction with the status quo in the real world, it has, indeed, proved difficult to imagine an alternative. The oft-repeated phrase attributed to literary critic and political theorist Fredric Jameson, that is is easier to imagine the end of the world than it is the end of capitalism, has almost become a cliché. However, the mistake Joyce makes, and one that we should avoid, is to assume that this means an alternative won't emerge nonetheless.
[...]
In a world where everyone is encouraged to look out for themselves, Disco Elysium suggests we should remember the value of collectivity, camaraderie and community. The Deserter has forgotten that though the communism he identified with is dead, the values that brought people to its cause in search of a better world remain as valid as ever. Bleak as it is, those values exist in Martinaise. They exist in us. Their latent power has the potential to lead us towards better horizons.
