While waiting, take your marijuana or hashish and break it up into small balls, a millimeter or so in size. Don’t make them too big, unless you fancy coughing. Lay them out on the stovetop, or on the bottom of an overturned ceramic plate.
Once the knives are hot, take one out of the coil and touch the hot tip gently onto your product. Then, quickly bring the second knife over and use it to press the ball of product between the blades. Do this as your raise them near your mouth (not close to, don’t want to burn your lips) to inhale. Exhale, and return the knives to the element coil to heat up as needed again. Finally, the third PS2 game where fantasy collides with game development reality. Neopets: The Darkest Faerie is unassuming, unfinished, and sneakily compelling. It's reminiscent of the period when computer games were only games. The future was interactive entertainment, where you were grudgingly allowed to solve tiny puzzles between grainy video clips. Cynical developers made perfunctory rubbish because children didn't matter.
Others used that indifference as an opportunity to make what they liked: under-resourced, but relatively free from creative interference. Neopets was big business in 2005, but this game is quite intimate. It feels like something that people wanted to make. Overcome some accidentally horrific cutscenes, and you'll soon discover if you're on their wavelength. The opening gives the dream of heroism with extra cheese, then lets the inquisitive explore a little. Like the mandatory chores, there's nothing spectacular, but the gentle fun is in harmony with the story. It's a cartoon of uncluttered consistency, symbolic objects and elementary concepts. Follow the path between the trees to the flowers, take the fork to the barn, climb the ladder, then see the mountains. Restrained details make focusing on what matters simple. Early cutscenes are populated by the nightmarish puppets of an incompetent taxidermist. Things improve considerably with shiny characters, who merely resemble action figures come to life with their stiff movements. The direction and writing picks up too, with neat emphasis on implied menace rather than PG-rated fighting. The game itself moves almost as smoothly as possible. The animation, free of tedious photorealistic pretensions, snaps to attention. Simply moving around is immersive, finer texturing would be a shimmering distraction. There are subtle details, like leaves and petals, while backgrounds that are more than set dressing give a grand sense of scale. After the lecture about using weapons responsibly, I instinctively blitzed all the domestic breakables to see what happened. Nothing, and friendly characters can't be damaged, so there's no chance of cutting a deal with the Darkest Faerie. However, another instruction is to run away if threatened. Returning home after the first fight, rather than continuing to your destination, gives first the clue that this game thinks beyond set pieces. The early promise is never quite realised, with an increasing sense of development burdened by the options of an open world.
Still, doing the unexpected works often enough to make the world feel alive, ticking over regardless of your actions. You are mugged on arrival, and the residents range from gracious to rude in their treatment of a nobody. The characterisation is delightfully consistent, with fresh rounds of encouragement and abuse as you progress.
There's an undertone of becoming an adult, not through car-jacking or magic bullet wounds, but persistence and responsibility. Tor, the first controllable character, must brave bureaucracy, harsh training, and the worst jobs for a whiff of the dream. Which stinks of the old guard shirking, but it's convincing when fate steps in to guide him. There's enough nastiness, and mere cranks or eccentrics, to make the nice believable.