I think I'm a reasonable fellow.
Okay, I might be occasionally described as grumpy at times, and somewhat forthright in my opinions, but all in all I think I'm a pretty well-balanced guy.
There are times when even I have to count to ten and pour myself a stiff drink. Last night was one such time. Picture a fellow, relaxing in front of the fire, painting the finishing touches to his latest model. It's a wonderful moment, holding the brush, checking the model over and sighing contentedly: "Aaah, that's done." The model in question was my fimm standard bearer, and I had just the base left to paint, then the varnishing.
If you are squeamish, you might want to stop now.
I lay down my tray on the wee side-table beside the sofa I hide in when I'm painting in the living room. Upon my return, I move my lamp and reach down to return the tray to my man-cave.
I only barely tipped the guy.
The sound as the model hit the wooden floor would turn your bowels to water. So much cracking and the ticking of small bits of plastic skittering away under couches and book cases. From the noise I knew there was more than a single break. At this point I just left the room for a bit. You know when you've hurt yourself badly and you're afraid to look at the wound? A bit like that.
Upon my eventual return, I peer into the shadow and retrieve the fallen fimir. The standard is gone. That was expected. I look the guy over. "Well" I think, "At least that's all the dama...oh. Where's his other hand?" More frantically now, I re-check, discovering the weapon hand is missing, the tip of the standard is snapped off also, and the raven attached to the banner is chipped in three places. For a fall of just over 2 feet, the damage was catastrophic. After moving a couch I retrieve his missing weapon hand. More calmly than I would have expected I assess the toll of repair work, put the now multi-piece model on the tray and leave the lot in the cave.
So. He needs his hands pinned back, some paint repair to wrists and hands, the standard top needs re-pointing, the raven needs a cup of tea and a hug, and I need a drink. This time, the hands are getting pinned on. To be honest, I don't know how they weren't the first time, as my ocd leads me to pin all flat joins, be they metal, resin or indeed, plastic. This combined with two coats of varnish on every model has meant that I have had a bare handful of casualties in all the years I've been playing, and this includes one model dropped almost a storey. Not a scratch did the zombie sustain. So, it's filing and pinning for this poor fimir later. Here's the sorry state he's in right now...
So I think I'll use this disaster as an excuse to ask the hobbyweb, what stories do you have of models suffering horrific accidents? Also, is your reaction to:
1. Finish the job with a hammer as froth boils from your rage-distorted face?
2. Carefully gather the pieces and immediately set to repairing the damage?
3. Gather it up, put it in the 'to do' pile and never look at the forlorn mini again?
I'm a 2 man, every time...