Concordia discors

News: temaris has created a podcast of Mina de Malfois and the Young Blood..

Disclaimer: Mina de Malfois is an original fictional creation. These stories and characters are the sole property of the author, but she lends them out for fanfic and fanart. A list of Mina de Malfois/Sanguinity things by other people can be found here. This is a work of fiction. No resemblance is intended to any person or persons living, dead, or online. No BNFs were harmed in the making of this fic.



When I returned to the computer I checked in at the Manor and found Liz in the kitchen, making tea. ‘What’s up?’ I asked, happy to see her, and settled myself at the kitchen table with a contented wriggle back in the real world.

She shrugged. ‘There’ve been pro- and anti-chan rallies in the park every day,’ she reported in bored tones. ‘You’ve received a few invitations to Otakukin Awakening events--I left them on your desk.’

‘Oh, and I ran into Warr1or earlier,’ continued Liz, pouring tea. ‘He seemed slightly agitated. He told me to warn you against spending too much time alone with Josh Amos.’ Back in the dorm room I started guiltily, but my avatar remained outwardly calm. ‘I tried telling him that it was highly unlikely you’d be spending any time alone with Josh Amos, but it didn’t really seem to penetrate. You know Warr1or: he only hears what he wants to.’

I nodded and changed the subject. ‘Are you and Stasia coming along on the Patricic Rim trip?’ I asked.

‘I am,’ Liz said, ‘but Stasia can’t. She blew her in-game allowance and a bunch of day-off credits on some new friend. Something about a bad break-up, and a broken heart, and tearful late-night IM conversations.’ Liz shrugged again. ‘I couldn’t follow the whole thing, but the upshot was that virtual jewellery and presents were needed to convince the new friend that life was worth living, so Stasia chipped in to buy something pretty for her avatar to wear.’

‘That was kind,’ I said dubiously. ‘Kind’ is so often a useful word substitute for ‘stupid.’ Of course, the smooth running of my own Sanguinity Online life owes much to the kindnesses of fans and strangers, so it didn’t exactly behoove me to critique other people’s gift-giving--but at least I never resort to tears. That’s the kind of cheap emotional blackmail I can’t stand. ‘Pity she’ll miss out on the trip, though.’

‘I suppose she decided friendship took priority,’ Liz said, but her voice held a note of doubt, too.

It was with a sense of great anticipation that I logged in on Friday evening. The night stretched out in front of me, gloriously devoid of responsibilities or the necessity of a reasonable bedtime. Tomorrow I could sleep ‘til afternoon, and then do homework; tonight was made for Sanguinity. I had bottled water, snacks, and freedom.

The chan debate, I noticed, was still spread across Sanguinityspace. The harbour front was plastered with banners. ‘Think of the children!’ shrieked the anti-chan signs, while the pro-chan ones leered suggestively, ‘Think of the children.’ There were also, I noticed, far more than the usual number of drooling idiots about the place, and for once that isn’t meant metaphorically: there were avatars staggering around or slumped against the walls. I didn’t have time to waste on idle speculation, though, so I ignored them for now.

When I reached the dock where the Honey’d Briar was berthed I saw that Xena and Arc had already arrived. Stricken by inexplicable shyness, I ducked behind some crates, and then found to my mortification that I was close enough to ‘hear’ their conversation--the game had assessed my proximity and brought the tickertalk lines at the bottom of the screen into focus accordingly.

‘Why is it,’ Xena was saying, one hand disarranging her already wild hair, ‘that when I try to take two young things out for a swift canoe ride Eva leaps in to prevent it, but no one bats an eye when you take an entire barque-load out for an extended cruise?’

‘Xena,’ Arc said reprovingly. And Xena tossed her head back and laughed.

‘It must be your spotless reputation for Girl Scout virtue,’ Xena went on. ‘I was always better at the practical skills than the vows. Ropes and all that. What did you see in me?’

Unexpectedly, Arc answered, ‘Bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.’ There was an awkward pause, during which I died a thousand embarrassed deaths, and then she went on in a more normal tone of voice, ‘Any message to pass along to the Patricians, Xena?’

‘Dear Goddess, no,’ Xena said firmly. ‘I can’t stand those females.’

‘That sounds...personal,’ Arc remarked.

‘I wasn’t unlucky enough to pony up money to support them,’ Xena said grimly, ‘but I knew them just well enough to know they’re worth avoiding. I’m the first to respect an honest pro, you know me, but layer on too much hypocrisy and pseudo-philosophy and it just irritates. And I hate bullying, particularly the kind that disguises itself as friendship. I’d prefer to avoid that group in future. Though if Miss Hoar still has the good leather belt she ‘borrowed’ from me, you can steal that back.’

‘What’s going on?’ said Liz, right in my ear, and my avatar leapt about a foot.

‘Nothing,’ I said with quiet dignity, straightening up, and we strolled onto the ship together. In actuality my heart was pounding with well-concealed excitement at the realization that Xena had been the gorgeous stranger I’d seen at camp. Now that I’d figured it out, the resemblance to her avatar was obvious.

I felt a distinct pang of nostalgia as we sailed past the Produce Isle, and wondered how the Cultists and Tartanists were making out. Liz loaned me her telescope, and I caught a glimpse of the Gay Unicornists flagellating themselves on the beach. Still imperfect, then. I shuddered.

We sailed on, past the emerald-green isle where many of the NPCs reside--Liz, poor overwrought dear, fell into a swooning heap in inadvertent reaction to our proximity to Pierce and Jab, even though we didn’t actually see either of them. Eventually we landed at a small, tidy, domesticated island featuring what looked like a boarding school, or perhaps a summer resort. A tall, tweed-clad woman came out from the main building. ‘The Directress,’ RowanMarlow explained to the rest of us. ‘The blonde maid behind her is her sl--uh, servant.’

The Directress stepped down from the veranda, a wooden cane swinging at her side and a riding crop held in the other gloved hand, and came to greet us. ‘Welcome to the Patricic Rim!’ she said, inclining her head courteously in a way that quite made up for her inability to shake our hands right now.

‘Hello,’ we chorused, sounding ludicrously like schoolgirls.

Arc, cautiously eyeing the Directress’ accessories, introduced herself and Rowan.

‘I know who you are,’ the Directress graciously assured them both. ‘Many of our girls frequent the Girls’ Dormitory.’ Arc looked unsurprised.

‘How many girls are there?’ she enquired politely.

‘The dormitories can only house forty residents at a time,’ the Directress said regretfully, ‘but of course, we have hundreds of non-resident members.’

Arc glanced casually around the otherwise empty island. ‘Of course,’ she said, polite but sceptical. She and Rowan exchanged glances. I would have exchanged glances myself, but I wasn’t standing near enough.

‘More and more pettes are attracted to our philosophy every day,’ the Directress insisted, ‘though of course the sweet blonde things may not grasp every complicated point--but the corps of brunettes that daily swell our ranks do their gallant best to explain things!’

The heads of all of us from the Honey’d Briar swivelled, as discreetly as we could manage the swivelling, as we all looked around the clearing for signs of habitation. No corps of anything, blonde or brunette, was in evidence.

‘Wait,’ said Liz slowly and dangerously. ‘You think brunettes are more intelligent than blondes?’

The Directress smiled indulgently at her. ‘Not at all, you dear young thing,’ she said. ‘We merely notice that brunettes have a better grasp of complicated and technical matters, while blondes are more ethereal and spiritual. You needn’t worry your head that we look down on blondes--quite the contrary! We adore and idolize them, and turn to them for spiritual direction.’ Liz’s face had assumed the distinctly non-spiritual look of someone reining in the urge to give out explicit directions.

The Directress’ daintily-clad maid, who was still standing at the top of the stairs, smiled at us shyly and nodded enthusiastic agreement as the Directress spoke. ‘I feel happy and fulfilled,’ she began.

‘Silence, child,’ the Directress interrupted sharply, and the maid stopped speaking and threw us a trembling smile. The Directress gestured towards Arc, and continued smoothly, ‘Your captain, here, for example, looks to be the quintessential brunette. I can tell just by looking at you,’ she said, beaming at Arc, ‘that you are organized, intelligent, and thoroughly sensible.’

‘How kind of you,’ Arc said icily, but the Directress seemed oblivious to the chill.

‘And yet I bet the girls you like are, shall we say, fluffier and rather endearingly silly,’ the Directress concluded smugly.

‘Not at all,’ said Arc.

‘Because,’ the Directress said triumphantly, and then seemed to hear what Arc had said and wilted a little. ‘What do you mean, ‘not at all?’’ she asked.

Arc shrugged. ‘I like intelligent women,’ she said.

‘But,’ insisted the Directress, ‘surely you’re instinctively drawn to feminine, sweetly silly blondes?’

‘Femininity is wonderful,’ Arc said dryly. ‘Idiocy isn’t.’ I cheered inwardly. I despise silly women.

The maid had been listening raptly. ‘You mean you’re a brunette who…who likes other brunettes?’ she gasped now, sounding both shocked and fascinated. ‘That’s perverse!’

‘Molly,’ the Directress snapped. ‘We do not speak of such things!’ She resumed a diplomatic smile. ‘So, what other questions can we answer for you?’ she asked.

‘So how many women are resident here right now?’ Arc asked. All the friendly had gone out of her voice.

The Directress looked uncomfortable for the briefest of seconds, but quickly regained her poise. ‘Would you care for a tour?’ she asked gaily. ‘The dormitories can house forty!’

However many people the dormitories could house, the only people we actually saw for most of that day were the Directress and her maid, although after dinner, when we joined them in the cinema, they introduced themselves as ‘prefect Flora’ and ‘schoolgirl Molly,’ and pretended not to have met us before. The cinema itself was the same room as the dining room, but they made us go out and then come back in by another door once they’d changed costume. All of this made me intensely uncomfortable, as barking madness tends to. I mean, role-playing is all well and good I’m sure, but dragging others into it makes for much social awkwardness.

It was a relief, really, when a large hairy man dressed in S&M fetishwear burst into the cinema right in the middle of the first ‘talkie.’ ‘Let’s get this session started!’ he bellowed, and then came to an abrupt stop when he saw all of us. He blushed, all four cheeks pinkening, which we couldn’t help but seeing as he was wearing chaps. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t realize you had company,’ he said. The Directress affected to ignore him.

‘You have a gentleman caller,’ Rowan said, in the strangled tones of one trying not to laugh.

‘Men aren’t allowed here in the Patricic Rim,’ the Directress said calmly. One almost had to admire so complete a break with reality.

‘But I have an appointment,’ the poor guy said, brandishing a ping-pong paddle hopefully.

‘Disciplinary problem?’ Arc asked. The Directress shot her a hostile look, then struggled to resume smiling.

‘Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no,’ she said, playfully brandishing her riding crop. ‘We are not a spanking group. Molly,’ she continued, ‘see to things, will you?’ The maid leapt up and coyly but speedily beckoned the intruder out of the room.

By then it had begun to rain in the Patricic Rim, and, more to the point, in the cinema. Looking up, I saw that the ceiling was constructed entirely of flowers, and it was dripping rather badly.

‘Your ceiling is made of lotus blossoms,’ Liz said disapprovingly.

‘Isn’t it lovely?’ the Directress gushed. ‘Impractical, I know, but the blondes insisted--and how can I, a mere brunette possessed of common sense, overrule the ethereal spiritual wisdom of a blonde?’

‘You know,’ said Liz, ‘your society might run more smoothly if the silliest and most delusional members didn’t have the final say.’

‘Silliest? Delusional?’ gasped the Directress. ‘Are you referring to the blondes?’

‘No,’ said Liz pointedly, looking at the Directress. Shortly thereafter we were denounced as heretics and asked to leave--a not uncommon occurrence in fandom.

The night voyage back to the mainland was nearly uneventful, except for a conversation between Arc and Rowan that I chanced to overhear. They were leaning against the railing, gently illuminated by the moonlight. I slipped behind the lifeboat to listen.

‘No,’ Rowan was saying, sounding as if she was agreeing with something Arc had just said, ‘it’s not cross-gen I object to; it’s the idea of a relationship between the staff and students who are still in school. It spoils one of the most important aspects of the school story genre: the idea of a space where girls can mature and develop the capacity to monitor themselves, without interference from males or adults. The guidance from the faculty should be meaningful but subtle, and romantic relationships would trample on that. It's not that I object to sexuality in the genre, it's more that I think it should be confined to peer-to-peer power equivalent relationships. There's no reason authors can't simply set cross-gen fics in the future, when both people are independent adults.'

I saw Arc nod. 'And their time at school is so fleeting, anyway,' she said wistfully. 'It would only be a matter of a few years, after all. If the subtextual relationship was strong enough, it would easily survive a delay--and love and respect would be reason enough to wait.'

I snuck my avatar back to my bunk before logging out, chilled by a strange apprehension. Penn'd Passion needed a firm policy re: chan, I knew, but for some reason this conversation worried me. I couldn't place my finger on just why, though.



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