tanze bravopueblo / w.s. healed

@tattletale.bsky.social

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🛸 tanze, she/her, mid 20s, born under a meteor. a very very smart girl with something like a university degree in Truth and a tactical goodness confidence queen 🛸 games: thehorizonmachine.itch.io poems: rosequarterdrifting.itch.io

All that in mind, we’d like to acknowledge this game’s inspirations, both the positive and negative. So a huge ‘thank you’ to the XCOM games (both the original and the reboot series) and Seth Dickinson’s Exordia for inspiring the game’s tone, and to Peach Garden Games’ Blazing Hymn and Jesse Ross’ Trophy Gold for inspiring its mechanical skeleton. Because we’re honest, we also owe equal and opposite ‘fuck yous’ to Spielberg’s War of the Worlds, Edge of Tomorrow, Battle for L.A, Independence Day, and Denis Villeneuve’s Arrival, for getting it horribly wrong in a way that made us want to get it right.
a Spanish style tortilla
"Fix her!" said Tide. "She's having a seizure!" "Of course she is," said Mr. Bucket. "It is hard not to when you press the Sugary Seizure Button." "Stop it," Tide said. "Make it stop! She's in pain!" "Keerthi's fatal flaw," said Mr. Bucket. "It was the seizures! She must have been a secret seizure addict. She could not hold back her demons. How sad."
To The Court Astrologers (thicker than water ‘cause water don’t dry) Locked up in your wizard tower you disdain the haruspex & I sneer too but you still kept the altar. Guess the real power is they know you have it. Stained with rust & leaking corpse-rot onto all your new age slogans. As you write our names into your spells and pack the stars back into boxes I think I know it’s over. (The type chart hasn’t changed in generations if you just ignore the changes--rake in money selling plushies from a perfect world in stasis.) A crueller month in winter, you ran your simulation. it had just one thing to tell you: PRAISE THE DARK IN ALL ITS COLOURS You laughed, and went on with your day. (behold, the prancing galli! o catullus, we love your pity trample trample trample over caltrops)
To The Court Astrologers (thicker than water ‘cause water don’t dry) Locked up in your wizard tower you disdain the haruspex & I sneer too but you still kept the altar. Guess the real power is they know you have it. Stained with rust & leaking corpse-rot onto all your new age slogans. As you write our names into your spells and pack the stars back into boxes I think I know it’s over. (The type chart hasn’t changed in generations if you just ignore the changes--rake in money selling plushies from a perfect world in stasis.) A crueller month in winter, you ran your simulation. it had just one thing to tell you: PRAISE THE DARK IN ALL ITS COLOURS You laughed, and went on with your day. (behold, the prancing galli! o catullus, we love your pity trample trample trample over caltrops)