Player vs Player Read online

  “Oh, great,” Rosie muttered as the line continued to shuffle past, rubbing her temple where it felt like someone was trying to drill into her head with an ice pick. Her senses were kicking into overdrive. The smell of the place was turning her stomach, and the flickering of the overhead lights had her eyeballs ready to crawl out her skull. “I never got a chance to tell Jordan to bring us some water. Where’s he off to now?”

  “Prince Valiant, you mean?” Niles chuckled, flashing her a characteristically wry smile. It always astonished her how two identical men could have such different smiles. Same olive-brown Mediterranean complexions, same dark hair and startlingly contrasting pale gray-green eyes, but Niles’s smile was gentle and sweet, Jordan’s sharp and wicked. There was no way to confuse the two.

  “Hunting down some con officials to report the harassment to, if I had to guess,” Niles said. “If he catches another glimpse of those kids that bothered Charity, he’ll make sure they’re kicked out. He probably also wants to keep negative incidents like that from affecting the studio’s public image.”

  “Ouch.” Rosie lifted her eyebrows at the harsh assessment, and Niles gave a self-effacing shrug.

  “You know Jordie. He defines enlightened self-interest. He’ll always do the right thing, but he likes it better when the right thing happens to also have a pragmatic upside.”

  She considered it a moment, conceding the point with a small nod. “Well, where’s your intern, then?”

  “You mean the one you told to go have fun?” Niles snorted, and Rosie rolled her eyes at her own about-face. This headache was screwing with her memory—and her ability to think rationally. “Probably panting at my brother’s heels,” he continued.

  She gave him a pointed look, and Niles waved a hand at her. “C’mon. You know Jordie better than that. He’s not going to mess with an intern. Patrick’s virtue is safe, and his crush doomed to pass by unrequited.” He lowered his voice. “Especially since I’m reasonably certain he isn’t even out yet.”

  Another pause for autographs, then Rosie murmured, “How do you know?”

  “That he’s not out or that he’s pining for my brother?” Niles shrugged and stretched, nodding as their handlers approached the table and a con official announced the autograph session was over. “Just a feeling. He winces every time I ask him about his family.”

  Rosie dropped the subject as their handler escorted them away from the table and to the conference room where she and Niles would be doing a Q&A next. Outside the door, they were stopped by a trio of college-aged guys. In addition to the casually sexist and homophobic slogans emblazoned on their T-shirts—seriously, did anyone even make that “fake gamer girl” joke anymore, much less the “back to the kitchen” schtick?—they had an air of nervous bravado, as if they were girding their loins for a confrontation. Apprehension masked with arrogance. One of them had a cell phone out, apparently taking a video.

  “Excuse us. Rosie, could we talk to you for a moment?”

  She cleared her throat, trying to ignore the spike of pain in her temple. There were times she wished she didn’t have quite the level of notoriety among gamers that she had. Most gaming studio CEOs wouldn’t be recognizable on sight, but then, most gaming studio CEOs were cis men who had never had to deal with their faces being plastered all over sexist and violent internet memes. “Do I know you gentlemen?” she asked briskly.

  The one who appeared to be the ringleader hesitated for a moment but charged on. “No, but we’ve got this pet—”

  Her face stiffened. Jesus, she needed some water. “If I don’t know you, then it’s Ms. Candelaria. Now what can I do for you?”

  The three didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, trapped somewhere between indignant defensiveness and embarrassment at being called out on a breach of simple courtesy their mothers should have drilled into them. It took one of the silent pair nudging him to get the ringleader to continue.

  “Um, actually, we were hoping to present the petition to Mr. Lott, since he’s the producer on Age of Valiance,” he said, referring to Third Wave’s low-fantasy single-player RPG, the first game of a new franchise still in development.

  The bottom dropped out of her stomach at the first surge of adrenaline, which wasn’t helping the nausea any. Years of practicing, years of studying the societal and cultural scaffolding that taught women not to make waves, and it was still a daily effort to force herself not to retreat. Be conciliatory. Head off a confrontation. “Drew Lott is the lead animator and concept artist for AoV, not the creative producer,” she corrected them, her voice and smile brittle. “And he couldn’t be here today. Now, I’m about to be late for our Q&A, so if you young men could get to the point . . .?”

  The spokesman glanced at his companions, as though looking for moral support, and then the set of his jaw became more belligerent. “It’s just that we’d be more likely to get an unbiased hearing from him.”

  Another spike of pain. It wasn’t doing much for her temper. “Drew Lott works for me. I am his boss, not his coworker or subordinate, which means whatever your issue is, any decisions made regarding it will have to come from or be approved by me.” She crossed her arms over her chest, turning her wrist to check her watch before tucking her left hand into the fold. “Now, your choices are to present your petition to me within the next ninety seconds, or email it to Drew, who will then bring it to me. Which will it be, boys?”

  Another exchange of glances between them all. In her peripheral vision, she saw Niles cover a smile. How likely was it that these guys’ worldview would adapt to the idea that, yes, a woman did actually run the show at Third Wave Studios? It wasn’t a secret by any means, but these sorts of situations came up with exhausting regularity: fans assuming that she either had someone she answered to or that some male would know better than she would about issues pertaining to her studio and game franchises.

  Finally, the spokesman held up a sheath of papers. “All right. Rosie, this is a petition—” her jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing “—signed by five thousand seven hundred and fifty-three loyal Third Wave fans—both online and here, today, at the convention—requesting the removal of Niles River as a writer from Age of Valiance and as a writer at Third Wave entirely.” He glanced down at the papers, clearly reading the petition’s text. “There are rumors that there are going to be gay characters in AoV, just like there are in Phoenix Force. It’s clear from the direction Third Wave’s titles have been going that Niles has an agenda he’s trying to push with the writing he does on these games. We feel Third Wave is neglecting its largest paying demographic, which is the straight male gamer. We’re determined to boycott AoV if Niles continues to write for that game and forces more gay characters on us.”

  Rosie stared at them silently, one after another, and they began to squirm when she refrained from speaking. They kept peering at Niles as if they expected him to jump into the conversation, but he took a step back. His mien was sober, but Rosie could see the small sparkle he was trying to mask, the slight crinkle in the corners of his eyes, the twitching at the edges of his lips. He knew what was coming, and he was more than pleased to let Rosie handle it.

  “What’s your name, young man?” Rosie finally asked the ringleader.

  “Jeff Whitfield,” he answered, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

  Rosie saw their convention handler step close and murmur to Niles that they needed to get going to the Q&A, but at least the poor guy had the sense not to interrupt.

  “Well, Jeff.” She heard the coldness that imbued her tone and wished she had the patience to extend civility a little further. But she didn’t. “I’m curious. Which part of what you just did do you think was okay?” Except for the one with the video camera, the boys began stammering, and Rosie could see the defensive bluster gestating on their lips. She didn’t give it a chance to birth. “Was it the part where you completely disregarded my request not to address me familiarly? The part where you intimated that because I’m a wo
man, you wouldn’t get an unbiased hearing from me? Or the part where you attempted to undermine my authority at the studio I created by assuming that decisions there regarding our game franchises are made exclusively by men—both Niles and Drew?”

  The boys shot more glances at Niles, but he merely shrugged, the gesture clearly saying, You’re on your own, dudes.

  “Or was it the part where you presumed that you, as cisgender, heterosexual, white male gamers, could tell me how to run my business?” Rosie drew a breath, and the boys swallowed, hard, in unison when her lips curled in a particularly nasty smile. “At any rate, in this case, Jeff, your arrogance is only outpaced by your ignorance. Niles River is not, and never has been, a writer for Age of Valiance. He’s far too busy as the lead writer for the Phoenix Force franchise, where he—with my full and enthusiastic support—oversees the development of storylines that represent the entire gender and ethnic spectrum of the actual gaming audience. He’s presently at work on a collection of downloadable content expansions that will be coming out after PF3’s release. And because I do not and never will make my staffing decisions by committee or public referendum, you may be assured that he will continue in that role until I, and only I, decide to use his talents elsewhere. Now, you’ve wasted enough of our time. Get out of my way.”

  When she’d brushed passed the boys to enter the conference hall, and their handler had closed the door safely behind them, Niles finally spoke. “You okay?”

  “Hm? Yeah.” She pressed her fingers against her temple and rubbed so hard her short nails dug into the skin.

  “You have your migraine meds with you?”

  “Why do you think I wanted the water?” She opened her eyes to look at their handler. “If you don’t mind?”

  “I’ll get you a bottle,” he murmured as he led Rosie and Niles backstage. He disappeared into the conference room that was gradually filling and returned with the water. Niles sat beside Rosie silently as she downed the pills and prayed the headache would dissipate before she had to face the Q&A.

  “Fuck,” she muttered finally. “I think I almost preferred the tumor in my skull to the headaches after having it removed.”

  Niles offered her a crooked smile. “I think I prefer you alive and capable of speech.”

  Someone came backstage to speak with their handler, who warned them they would be introduced in ten minutes and left again. Rosie sat up, her energy lifting at the prospect. Public address was where she shone. She could have made a mint on the lecture circuit if she hadn’t decided to develop video games.

  She tapped her fingers on her chair while they waited. “You know, I keep thinking back to the Star Trek conventions and such I went to when I was a kid, back when conventions were run for fans by fans and weren’t such a huge corporate affair. And I don’t remember shit like that happening.” She chucked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction they’d entered from. “Guys groping women, calling everyone fags and bitches, trying to push women around. Was I just too young and ignorant to notice, or has it actually gotten worse?”

  “I’m not sure. I think maybe the attitude was always there, but that internet culture and the anonymity it affords have amplified everything. Lack of accountability has given those sorts of people the idea that it’s okay to behave that way, so they maybe don’t have the filters they used to?” Niles shook his head and sighed.

  “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just getting to be a tired, old, bra-burning bitch ready to yell at kids for walking on her lawn.” She snorted. “What the hell possessed me to prance out of college with my women’s studies and computer programming degrees and decide to reform video game culture?”

  Niles grinned. “The fact that no one else was doing it and it needed to be done.”

  “True, that.” She closed her eyes and fell silent a moment, then asked, “Vault of Reminiscence raid tonight, since we’ll be out of here early enough to sync up with the guildies on the East Coast. You in?”

  He nodded eagerly, but before he could say anything, their handler appeared again, and Niles stood. Rosie could see the effort it took for him to suppress his urge to offer her a hand up, because he knew she wouldn’t want it.

  “Come on.” She rose on her own, squeezing his elbow in passing. “Let’s go enlighten some of today’s misguided youth, then kick some undead ass.”

  They didn’t catch a glimpse of Niles’s twin until later that afternoon as they were about to leave for the day. As she scanned the crowd, she saw their intern in the company of a young man who was probably about Patrick’s age and a slightly older man with a camera. The stepbrother and guild-mate, she assumed. They were with Charity Anspach and Lakshmi Agrawal, the stepbrother laying an arm around Charity’s stiff shoulders and mugging for the shot. Lakshmi and Patrick stood beside them, but Patrick carefully kept his distance from her. He looked distinctly uncomfortable in the company of the androgynous young woman cosplaying the unapologetically gay video game character, reminding Rosie of Niles’s assertion that Patrick was in the closet. Was his reticence due to the fact that Gairi was actually a girl, or was Patrick keeping his distance because the character was gay? He could apparently devour Jordan with his eyes, but only when people who knew him weren’t around.

  She was debating with herself about interrupting to say goodnight to their intern when Jordan caught up to them.

  “Hey, we going to dinner?” he asked, looking every bit as fresh and polished as he had when they arrived at the convention that morning. Rosie envied him that. She felt greasy and exhausted from too much exposure to too many people in too close of quarters.

  Niles glanced at his watch. “Actually, Jordie, Rosie and I have a raid forming up in about a half hour.”

  “Seriously?” Jordan rolled his eyes.

  “If Rosie wants to bring her laptop over to my place,” Niles said with a flick of his eyes in her direction, “we can all order pizza.”

  “Right. And I’ll sit there watching TV while the two of you are on raid chat with your guild. No, thanks.”

  “You could always play with us,” she taunted.

  Jordan snorted. “Thanks, but I have better things to do on a Saturday night. I’ll go out and get laid, like people with lives outside a computer sometimes do.”

  “Grotesque stereotyping!” Niles elbowed his brother in the ribs.

  “Which happens to be true. When’s the last time you picked someone up?”

  “When’s the last time I wasn’t working eighty hours a week?” Niles shot back.

  Jordan turned an arched eyebrow to Rosie, and she held up her hands. “Don’t look at me. I’ve been trying to get him to go dancing for months.” The arched eyebrow shifted in Niles’s direction, and he shrugged helplessly. Rosie smirked. “Okay, here’s the deal: if I score the killing blow on the last boss in the Vault tonight, then tomorrow night you go out to a club with me and Jordan for a few hours.”

  “Wait a minute!” Jordan protested. “You know Niles and I don’t go clubbing together.”

  Rosie narrowed her eyes at him. “You want to get him out having fun for a few hours? Deal with it.”

  “It’s not exactly a fair bet—for you,” Niles taunted, laughing. “I’m your healer. I can make sure you don’t live to make that killing blow.”

  Rosie narrowed her eyes. “Hey, I’m the tank that keeps your acolyte ass alive in your tissue-paper excuse for armor. Remember that if the temptation to play dirty gets to be too much to handle.”

  Niles sighed. “Fine. It’s a bet.”

  Jordan fist-bumped Rosie and led the way out the door. When she turned to make sure Niles was with them, he was watching the cosplayers. Charity was putting some distance between herself and Patrick’s stepbrother with a smile that looked a little forced. Another unwanted advance? She almost asked Niles if he’d seen what had preceded it, but he just shook his head and turned, following them out of the convention center.

  Jordan smiled at his brother as Niles juggled three bottles of beer from
the bar to the sofa where he and Rosie sat. They were shouting a conversation at one another above the driving beat of the music, which pulsed through them so heavily Jordan could feel it rattling in his lungs.

  “Bless you!” Rosie yelled as Niles set the bottles down. She abandoned her empty to grab one and took an enthusiastic swig of the cloudy microbrew. “Isn’t this better than sitting around moping?”

  “I don’t mope!” Niles denied, grimacing. Jordan could practically hear his twin’s internal mutterings about how ridiculous it was that simply carrying on a conversation was going to strip his voice hoarse by the time they left the club. After the convention on Saturday and now the club tonight, his introverted brother was no doubt reaching the limit of his ability to cope with the unwashed masses. Jordan, on the other hand, loved the noise and the activity.

  “Speaking of last night’s raid, what did you think of our new off-tank?”

  Jordan rolled his eyes and tried to tune them out, but Niles squirmed uncomfortably beside him. “Bolment?” He cleared his throat. “After you logged off, he made some remarks on voice chat that required me to give him his first, last, and only warning about slurs and hate speech in guild spaces. I don’t think he read the guidelines very well before he applied to the guild.”

  “What did he say?” Rosie’s eyes narrowed. Never a good thing for whoever was the cause of that particular expression. Jordan spared a moment of sympathy for whoever or whatever the “off-tank” was.

  Niles sighed. “When I mentioned that our raiding schedule isn’t particularly demanding because of the hours you and I work. He apparently thought we’d raid more frequently than that, and complained that his last guild didn’t have a tight enough raiding schedule because it was run by a bunch of ‘pussy-whipped faggots’ with ‘family obligations.’”

  “Seriously?” Rosie’s thunderous expression lightened a little bit, and her mouth lifted in a sardonic smile.