Concordia discors

Something dead disturbing had popped up in-game. Well, I say dead disturbing, but as in actuality the questionable behaviour was being enacted by the powers that be, utilizing NPCs who were all either Vampiric or Angelic, technically I suppose the dead weren’t so much disturbed as willing and complicit.

But everyone else was disturbed: variously aghast, pleased, titillated, indignant, empowered, or in my case confused. I didn’t know, offhand, what I thought. I’d need a consult before I made up my mind. I mean, people had naturally been asking what I thought, but I was maintaining an aloof distance while assuring them I was giving careful consideration to the deeper implications of Sanguinity’s Vamps and Seraphs tonguing and mounting each other in displays that were either culturally-condoned mock transgression or else important and meaningful gestures towards something-or-other. I wanted, I assured everyone in a cautiously worded post, space for independent thought so I could reach my own conclusions.

‘Arc,’ I messaged her as soon as I had an idle moment, ‘do you feel oppressed by comfort-licking?’

There was a longish and, I fancied, contemplative pause, or possibly just a puzzled one. It can be so difficult to read aporias, or aporii, or whatever they are. And I didn’t, I realized belatedly, have any idea how much if any of the supernatural performative in-game sexuality Arc had been exposed to.

‘We’re putting on coffee here at the archive,’ she responded finally, shocking me to the core with her blatant acceptance of beverages nearish the documents. ‘Why don’t you join us?’

I got there seconds later, and Arc was gone. ‘She’s stepped out in search of real cream,’ Xena explained, looking thoroughly amused by my dismay. ‘I’m here to keep the coffee drinkers well clear of the stacks.’ She grinned wolfishly at the nervous huddle of assistants, who were pressing themselves more or less into the wall nearest the percolator in their eagerness to display non-spilliness. I was beginning to be able to differentiate some of them now (Melissa was the one whose t-shirts bore a username I was almost sure I recognized from somewhere, for instance, and Moselle Greenberg was the one who dressed almost as retro-ly as Arc), but their universal Xena terror had temporarily eclipsed their individuality, such as it was.

Seldom had come in right behind me, and his low appreciative whistle expressed at least half my reaction to the sight of Xena’s bare back as she whipped off her jacket and slung it over a chair. The other half of my reaction was a degree of aghastness no sound could convey: her very-nearly-backless halter top revealed, or quite possibly displayed, two sets of long, vivid scratches. I shut my eyes for a minute, willing myself not to have seen that.

Seldom, damn his eyes, wasn’t helping. ‘Did Adage scratch you?’ he asked, his every word dripping with false innocence.

Xena smiled a disconcertingly informative smile. ‘Adage?’ she said. ‘No.’ I could cheerfully have choked Seldom for giving her that opening.

And I wasn’t, apparently, the only one. One of the senior assistants, Mary Santecristo--usually addressed as ‘Dark Mistress’ by the others, for reasons I hadn’t entirely fathomed yet--glowered at him. ‘Why are you even here?’ she asked peevishly. ‘The St. Scholastica campus is meant to be a safe female space; why’ve we got you working here? It’s intrusive.’

‘You know as well as I do that St. Benedict’s has a reciprocal agreement with St. Schol’s,’ Seldom purred, and looked to me for confirmation. He faltered slightly when he saw I was giving him my most withering of looks, and went on in a far more conciliatory tone, ‘Anyway, I came in especially to share some fannish gossip.’

‘Is this about performative queerness?’ I asked, unable to resist upper-handing.

He gave me a pretty damned queer look in return. ‘I hadn’t thought so,’ he admitted, ‘but that might make sense, yes. It’s about the Princely Plots fanfiction archive--do you know it?’

I warily admitted I did.

‘Well,’ Seldom said gleefully, ‘the owner’s just thrown a major public tantrum, and booted his chief moderator off the editorial board.’ That boded ill, for me particularly: if Seldom was aware, however tangentially, of Warr1or, then Seldom was one alarmingly short step from bumping up against my own online self. The horrendous possibility that he already knew perfectly well who I was presented itself in all its stomach-dropping nerve-jangling glory.

And, hold on: wasn’t PrinceC Warr1or’s chief mod? Worlds threatened to collide; mere anarchy was etcetera’d; I suddenly knew exactly what This Was All About, or thought I did. If Warr1or was pitching a fit in PrinceC’s direction, then I’d be willing to bet cash I didn’t have that this was about either That Kiss or Those Dollfie Pictures. This was Very Bad Indeed. It was indicative of my pronounced mental strain that I’d suddenly broken out in capitalization. It would never do, though, to reveal my rising stress levels to Seldom, whom I sensed would be rendered only more interested if he scented the connection between his fannish gossip and his real-world acquaintance.

‘I can’t say I’ve been following it,’ I said coolly, but found myself unable to resist adding, ‘Any idea what the spat was about?’

‘The archive owner accused the moderator of supporting immoral behaviour through his choice of friends,’ Seldom said, sounding gleeful. ‘I’ve been hoping for significant developments ever since I first heard there was going to be a male-run archive. I may be able to get a substantial footnote out of this, if the ‘immoral behaviour’ turns out to have been linked to gender roles or identity...’ He slipped into thesis-dronage, and I tuned him out accordingly, limp with relief and absorbed in my own thoughts. I couldn’t possibly be that lucky, could I? I mean, if Seldom was right and Warr1or was merely upset over the latest perceived immorality, this probably had nothing to do with me at all. It could be something perfectly ordinary setting him off, like noticing PrinceC had furries on his friendslist, in which case I could stop worrying and maybe even empathize a bit. After all, far be it from me to dissuade potential furries from following their incomprehensible bliss, but I did wonder sometimes if they leapt right in at the anthropomorphic cat level, or if they tried assuaging their no-doubt-okay kink with intermediate steps first. Buy a teddy bear, possibly, or try dating Italian men. I don’t want to be intolerant, but if Warr1or balked at discussion of yiffing, I felt for him.

‘Nancy,’ said a cool voice from the doorway, and my heart skipped a beat. Arc didn’t sound angry, or reproachful, or anything but calm, really, and yet Xena picked up her jacket and slung it back over her shoulders. Everyone else evinced a sudden all-consuming interest in their own shoes, their fingernails, or the ceiling.

‘Mina,’ Arc went on, just as calmly, ‘you wanted to talk to me about something?’ I nodded mutely. ‘Step into my office, then,’ she said kindly.

‘May I?’ Xena asked as we passed her. Arc glanced at me, and I blushed and nodded, pleased and astonished to have been consulted. And really, Xena’s input would be valuable here, provided I didn’t actually die of embarrassment whilst trying to solicit it.

‘So what’s up?’ Arc asked cheerfully, once she’d shut her door.

‘I don’t know if you’ve been to Sanguinity Online lately,’ I began, and they both shook their heads. ‘There’s been a lot of...uh...sexual activity from the angel and vampire NPCs. In public, I mean. Same-sex sexual activity. They’ve been licking and humping each other, and greeting each other with sort of tongue-intensive kisses, and, well, groping.’ I glanced up from my feet to see how they were taking this.

Xena looked thoroughly entertained. 'O battered vegetables! o eels!' she said, which I’m sure meant something, but I’d be pressed to say what.

Arc still looked as if she were taking me at least moderately seriously. ‘Is that a problem?’ she asked gently.

‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. There was no way I was going to discuss my private visceral reactions to the S.O. exhibitions, so I rushed straight on to meta matters. ‘There’s a lot of debate over whether this is progressive. I mean, what does it mean? Are the NPCs challenging gender roles and expanding tolerance, or are they fetishizing and trivializing other people’s sexuality, or what?

‘And you expected me to know what their motivations were?’ Arc asked. She sounded slightly amused herself, now, but she was also watching me very closely, in a way that made me wonder if there was some reason why she’d have access to that information.

‘No,’ I said, which had been the absolute truth until a second ago. ‘I just wanted to ask: does staged homoeroticism oppress you at all?’