NOVEL NEXT Chapter 15: After-Action
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Harry: I figured I'd just kind of pick up the sword as I go.
Everyone: NO!
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Saturday, November 9th, 2091, about 7:00 pm MST, Ghostlands, Kingdom Server, Wuutar City, The Drunken Fish
Harry's hedge knight loomed in the darkness of the virtual tavern, a towering presence of tarnished steel. A thick red-tinged beard bristled through the port in his helmet, woad-dyed features thunderous behind its bars. The woad was a nice addition. Harry'd gotten fancy in honor of his tier-up.
He'd gone ahead and committed, too: no more arming sword scabbard. Gordon found himself approving. The original sword was probably still stuck in the ice in Mournhollow—he suspected Harry had forgotten it in the scramble—but he'd never been great at sword and board fighting. His 'board' was way too big.
"He fights well," Harry said, his voice a young-sounding tenor, jarringly at odds with his disreputable, dangerous-looking avatar. "But why is he so… handsy?"
Gordon's heart sank.
Gallant, looking every bit Gordon's twin, ran a finger over Harry's virtual shoulder lightly, the touch fleeting and casual. Gordon had spent hours perfecting that gesture—months, actually, if you counted the state machine which told it when touching was or wasn't appropriate. A touch like that was meant to say, I see you, you're important, without saying anything at all. A tender, humanizing moment of connection.
She'd love it.
Now, if only he could stop it from doing that to everybody.
"You haven't skimped on the effort," Harry acknowledged. "Marie's a lucky lady."
Gordon nodded, hesitant.
"But seriously, man: If Karen logs on and your avatar does that thing—" Harry gestured, metal-plated fingers brushing his own avatar's shoulder—"she's gonna think it's for her. And when she finds out it's for Marie, Claire will wait till you log out, and Claire will skin you. And you'll deserve it."
"It's not like that," Gordon mumbled, banishing the avatar to his inventory space. "I'll fix it. I'm almost done."
Harry wasn't satisfied. He folded his knight's arms, the massive plates grinding like tectonic shifts. "I'll be honest. About half of what Claire says goes in one ear and out the other—but I gotta admit, this feels… too intimate. I know how you and Karen develop your move sets—making this with her is like you're leading Karen on."
Gordon's eyes widened. "No, no, no, no." He shook his head so hard his VR helmet slipped slightly. "It's not like that. I don't practice with Karen. I practiced with myself."
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Harry tilted his head. "Come again?"
Gordon winced. "That came out wrong."
He stood, pushing his chair back and gathering his things. The avatar pushed the chair back under the table.
"What I'm saying is she's not part of the process. I've got my avatar—it pets me tenderly, stares at me lovingly. It even pulls out chairs for me. It was honestly really awkward to set up and record."
There was a pause.
Harry burst out laughing, his massive knight doubling over in a clatter of armor. Then he straightened, looked Gordon in the face, and laughed again. "That's a better excuse than I expected."
"See, this is why I don't tell you guys stuff." Gordon crossed his arms. "You just don't get it."
"Oh, I get it." Harry wiped a tear from his eye. "Picturing you stroking yourself is—" He broke off, unable to finish as another round of laughter overtook him.
"Oh, okay, laugh it up," shot back Gordon. "I'm glad I entertained you."
"More than entertained," Harry said. "But seriously, if you're gonna pour your heart into things—well, I get it, that's something you've always done. But maybe try pouring a little into your actual friends once in a while. You've been half-present at best for months. Some of us have noticed. Karen."
"Marie is the only one I—"
"I know," Harry said, cutting him off. "But that doesn't mean Karen doesn't matter. Claire wouldn't mind a little more appreciation, while we're at it. She runs interference with your father more than you know. You've got tunnel vision, that's all I'm saying."
"How about you? Need more snuggles and affection?"
"I'll get by, thanks."
Gallant evaporated like a mirage—dismissed, for now. Gordon stretched his back with an audible series of clicks, then picked up the two-handed sword in a light, sure grip. The zweihander was a practice weapon, made from the lowest tier of wood, but something about the way he held it made it look dangerous. Harry grimaced and pulled his own from his horse's sheath, taking his own, somewhat less practiced-looking, ready stance. His character was a head taller than Gordon's, a reverse of their real-world statures, but something about the way Harry held his enchanted steel blade, better in every way than Gordon's, projected uncertainty completely at odds with his performance in faerie earlier in the afternoon.
"Ready?"
"Hang on—okay, we're recording RAWs, let's go."
Gordon's sword zipped down, nearly clipping the ground, even as he pushed off with his right foot, ducking his body slightly to the left, shoulders canting as his arms rose with the strike, his left arm rapidly crossed his right and shoving the pommel quickly past the center of rotation and causing the huge sword to oblige by rotating faster than the strike strictly seemed to warrant. Harry's guard was an inch shy, and the wood clacked with authoritative inertia against the inside of his right elbow.
"That's one," said Harry. Gordon nodded. He stepped back to his starting position, five feet distant. One sword-blade length.
Harry's sword whistled in a circle, left hand guiding it in a circle over his head like a sling while his right hand moved beneath his left elbow, ready to grab the handle and continue the strike, spinning on his left foot like a ballerina. Gordon stepped left, also turning on his left foot, right arm arcing up and down, left nearly steady as the sword followed through a brief, chopping motion. The blades clanged, deflected, and Gordon's sword clipped off Harry's helmet. "That's two."
Gordon disengaged more widely. "Karen would have also taken your leg at the knee. Two feet on the ground, Harry. You're a tank."