Every Friday a few of my GameStop peeps and I get together to jam out on Rock Band. We have been doing it for a couple months now, and it is definitely one of the high lights of my gaming week.
Anyways, this is not a blurb about Rock Band; this is, in fact, a gripe about Assassins Creed and how its absolute fantastic-ness kept us from our weekly jam.
We, my best friend, Anika, and I, arrived at Mr. N's house at around 8pm. That gives us enough time to have a shot or two of whiskey (my best friend prefers her wine coolers) before turning on the Xbox360 and having a night of Rock Band mania. Sometimes, I admit, we may watch a movie or two to evade the drudgery of too much Rock Band. Impossible, I know, how can anyone possibly play too much Rock Band?! But, oh, sometimes, on a blue moon, we need a break. This week was not a blue moon.
Mr. N opens the door, breathing heavily, " Be right back ladies! Have to finish something real quick. I will only be a minute, I promise. " Bf and I nod politely and proceed to the kitchen to fix a couple drinks, and pop some lasagna in the oven. After all, rocking out is hard work. With the lasagna safely in the oven, and a nice warm shot of Jack in my tummy, I began to wonder what became of Mr. N.
"Mr. N?" I call down the hall. (Obviously, I do not call him Mr. N; though it has a catchy ring to it.) "Mr. N?!" No answer. . . Where oh where did our host go? Humph. I began the eerie walk down the hallway to his room. This being a bachelor's pad, I am ever weary of what I might step in as I walk through their all too manly apartment. Eureka! I have found Mr. N. " Cough, cough, . . . COUGH!" He turns briefly, acknowledging my existence for the first time since our greeting at the door. At this moment, my Anika is probably cleaning the kitchen. She does that.
"So, whatcha up to, buddy ole pal?" I ask the back of Mr. N's head. A moment or two of silence passes before I realize he has fallen back into his trance. Oh bullocks. My best friend reappears, smelling of dish washing detergent. She, being much more forward than I, barges in to his room, pops a squat on the floor, and taps Mr. N on the shoulder. Tap, tap, TAP!
" Damnit!!" The loud outburst from Mr. N startles us. It seems Mr. N has failed to kill the last boss in Assassins Creed for the tenth time. He grows angrier with every passing moment. Angry Mr. N is a scary thing. Somehow, this 5'11 guy, weighing in at no more than a buck 50, has this uncanny ability to scare the living hell out of me.
Best Friend and I grow bored of watching him fail miserably to the throngs of apparitions sent in to thwart his eventual encounter with Al Muallim. Restless, and entirely not entertained, we depart to the living room to see about rocking out with only half the band.
It only takes a few songs for us to grow tired of the monotony. Anyone who plays party games knows that they really are not as much fun unless you are actually playing with multiple people.
Finally we decide to take matters in to our own hands. If he cannot beat him, then we sure as hell will. We stomp down the hallway, guns blazing, ready to drag Mr. N from his chair, but we are taken aback when we see him lounging calmly in his computer chair, surfing the internet.
"Did you beat him?! "
" Oh. . . yeah. About 10 minutes ago." We stare blankly at him for a moment before he continues. "There were these runes all over the ground. I had to Google them to see what they meant. "
He proceeds to tell us for the next 15 minutes all about these runes, and the last boss, and how awesome the game was. (Some of you may know my plight. I do not own a 360, or have a PC good enough to run Assassins Creed. I cry a little inside as he retells some of the amazing story line, and goes in to the kind of detail that only Mr. N can. He is infamous for being the go-to guy for any and all random video game knowledge - All the most interesting goodies I know about Wrath of the Lich King, I learned from him first.)
By now it is nearly midnight. Anika and I have been twiddling our thumps, eating lasagna and drinking for about four hours waiting for Mr. N to come down from his Assassins Creed high. Usually we have a few other people to entertain us, but last night, by some terrible turn of fate, all of them had other plans. A couple people trickled in around 11, but they proceeded to go MIA shortly after arriving.
Eventually the N-meister surfaced, ready, at last, to enjoy the sweet sweet sounds of Rock Band; but before I can strap on my guitar, I glance over at one of their leather couches. There, sleeping soundly is Anika. It seems the boredom finally caught up with her.
So, I say to you Assassins Creed, curse thee for being so damn awesome. Curse your amazing graphics, and fantastic story line. Most of all, curse you for not being available to me.
Someday, oh creed of the assassin, you will be mine. Yes, you will be mine.
