I only got four hours of sleep. I need at least eight, but who has time for that? I had everyone else’s problems to solve, diary. When I left the inn, it was fucking raining again. It rained for two hours before it tapered off, and guess who was outside that entire time? At least I was finally clean — there aren’t any baths around here. Or bathrooms for that matter. It’s highly inconvenient.

After the storm cleared, it turned into a beautiful sunny day, and I spent it doing my favorite activity. No, not that. I’m a recapper, but I have other interests besides whacking off, you know. Nope, I once again spent time wandering aimlessly around the countryside, collecting ingredients. Hey, who needs a job when you can sell your drugs homemade potions? Somehow I don’t think the Recapiere name is going to be restored to its former glory anytime soon.

But diary, I know you’re not interested in my collection of herbs and shrooms — you want to know all about my adventures with the Gay Fox and my spy mission with Agarmir. Since it wasn’t anywhere near midnight, and Armand Christophe was most likely asleep, the lucky bastard, I decided to check in on Agarmir instead. It turns out he hadn’t left his house yet — what a lazy piece of shit. Of course, I would probably be just as lazy if I had a freaking house. I guess I can’t really judge.

The gayest guy I’ve seen today.

While killing time, I sold some of my mind-altering potions to Jensine and gave her an update on my progress. She said that her “sources” told her that no information exists on Agarmir — thus, he must be using a false name. This was the first time I even mentioned Agarmir to her — how did she know about him in advance? Did she have more than one person on this mission? I felt just a bit insulted. Yeah, I’m not exactly speedy, but it’s not like I’m totally ignoring the task either. Not like that unimportant little matter of the Amulet of Kings.

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Well, this is just fucking bullshit, diary. I had a new entry almost ready to go, and some ball-licker made off with it. Who in Cyrodiil would want to steal pages out of my personal journal? There’s nothing remotely interesting in it at all. You’d have to have a serious screw loose to spend time reading any of the stuff I write in here. Uh, no offense diary.

This is a guy.

Anyway, I’m sure you’re feeling just as violated as I am, so let’s move on. So what was contained inside those thrilling pages I lost? For starters, I’m still dealing with that dumb bastard Agarmir and his apparent refusal to leave his house. I probably should stake out the place just so I’ll know when he leaves, but that’s boring. I’d rather explore the rest of the city, you know?

Speaking of which, I discovered the arena, a place where…well, shit, diary. You’re inanimate, and you probably know what the arena’s all about. Not only can I watch people and monsters brutally kill each other, but I can participate. Yeah. That sounds like a great idea. I’ll just go battle minotaurs with my fur armor and shitty skeleton summon. Don’t get me wrong, though — I’m definitely filing this away for later. There’s probably money involved. And money can buy alcohol.

The other gayest guy I’ve seen today.

I also discovered a mysterious plant called a Nirnroot. As soon as I plucked it from the ground, I had a strong feeling that I needed to bring it to a knowledgeable alchemist (read: not me) to find out more about it. Hopefully it’s not an illegal substance, and if it is, hopefully it’s one in high demand.

Wow. Just rewriting that makes me realize how little I’ve really accomplished since my last real entry. I should get crackin’!

After some more schmoozing the random buttholes around the city, I discovered a scary looking elf woman who offered to give me lessons in Security. For a price, of course. Hey, I had money, and I figured some lockpicking lessons would come in handy when I had to break into Agarmir’s empty house. If he ever freaking left it.

I wasn’t quite as rich afterward, but I’m sure my lockpicking skill would cover that at some point in the future. What? Don’t look at me like that, diary. Some of these people are real jerks. They don’t deserve to have nice stuff. Don’t judge me. Continue reading →

Dear Diary,

I have been so busy, I can barely stand it!

I was really quite tired when I left the sewers — can you blame me? I’m used to recapping, which involves a lot of sitting on my ass. I guess I shouldn’t complain, since I managed to not die horribly. I took a look at my map to double-check the location of Weynon Priory, and immediately changed my plans. No way was I going to make that trek at night with nothing but some crappy armor and spells to protect me. I decided to find my way into the Imperial City proper and sleep at an inn for the night. Then I could spend some time working on my skills so that I wouldn’t be tragically killed by a mud crab on my way to drop off the Amulet.

Did not need to see that.

To my great chagrin, it took me hours to find a gate that led into the city. Just what I needed — more damn walking! It was the middle of the night by the time I got there, which is probably a good thing, because I was half-expecting to be recognized by someone as a criminal. You know, because of that whole getting thrown in prison incident? Well, the city guards were courteous and polite to me, so that was my giant hint that I was probably safe.

PENIS!

I suppose I should describe the Imperial City. It is the Imperial City, after all. A normal person might describe the way the city is laid out in a circle, divided up into sections, much like Midgar. Or a pie. (Note to self: Find something to eat, preferably not mud crab.) A normal person might also mention the fact that the city was built by the Ayleid civilization and as such, is constructed from assloads of whitish-gray stone. But I am not a normal person — I am a recapper. Therefore, I must comment upon the absolutely huge Imperial Palace tower thrusting upwards from the direct center of the city. That is one massive penis. In fact, I have renamed it in my sick mind to the Imperial Phallus. I should probably be careful not to mention that in casual conversation.

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Dear Diary,

You know how some days just really, really suck? And just when you think things can’t get any shittier, they do? Well today was a prime example of that kind of day.

First of all, I woke up in prison this morning. And not just any prison — the Imperial Pound-Me-in-the-Ass Prison. The sad thing is, I can’t even remember what I did to get there. None of the guards saw fit to enlighten me either, the jerks. Since I had a lot of free time on my hands and not much else to do for the rest of my life, I made a mental list of the most likely possibilities:

1) Drunk and disorderly
2) Playing the Penis Game too loudly

Really, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were both. Such is the life of a recapper.

So I sat around for a while, feeling sorry for myself and wondering why no one bothered to pick up the last occupant’s skeletal remains from my cell. My pity party was constantly interrupted by the asshat in the cell across from mine who kept yelling random shit and racial slurs at me. Just because I’m a Breton, he thought that was cause enough to call me a “stuck-up harlot” who uses “cheap parlor tricks.” Whatever. The daughter of the great Recapiere family is immune to such insults. Besides, he was a Wood Elf (or Bosmer, if you want to use the PC term), so I’m sure the fact that I have a vagina automatically put me on his shitlist, if you follow me.

Me!

That fucker shut up really quick when some new figures approached. One of them was a guy in fancy robes and jewelry. My heart sank — with that getup, he could only be the one they called “Lord Rapinator.” As if my day couldn’t get any worse! Lord Rapinator had two guards with him — a talky chick and a black dude. Sorry, “Redguard.” As I huddled fearfully in the back corner of my cell, the whole crew entered. The cell, that is.

Then, Lord Rapinator — an old guy with gray girl hair and Captain Picard’s voice — started talking like he knew me and that we had met by fate. Like it wasn’t bad enough that I had to deal with his…attentions…I had to play along with his weird romantic fantasies, too?

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