Concordia discors

[This was to have been a Valentine's Day episode (I've often found it a depressing holiday, and hoped to cheer up any of you who might be feeling the same way). But I'm too limp with relief right now to delay any longer; one of Warr1or's real-life inspirations has "met" Warr1or, and with laughter rather than outrage. My admiration for gentlemen who can laugh at themselves is boundless.

Since I find myself blessedly unstrangled (one of these days, someone is probably going to, and I'll probably deserve it--but I'm glad it's not today): here, please accept this early Valentine--with one last subtle nod in the direction of the source of Warr1or's early ranting.]



I snuck glances to see how Arc and Xena were reacting. They appeared to be carefully avoiding looking at one another, while also trying not to stare at me. This was getting damned awkward. For one thing, we were running out of directions to gaze in.

‘I’m not sure I follow you,’ Arc said after a moment, her voice flat with a kind of careful calm.

‘Me, either,’ said Xena merrily. ‘What exactly have you been witnessing, Mina? Perhaps you could demonstrate.’

‘Nancy,’ snapped Arc, and Xena fell to silent smirking.

‘How,’ Arc went on quietly, ‘would it oppress us, exactly? It’s not as if licking is rationed, after all.’

‘Yes, but,’ I struggled to express what I’d seen better expressed elsewhere, ‘the angel and vampire avatars get to play at homosexual behaviour without having to carry the burden of being labelled gay in a heterosexist world.’

There was a blankish pause. ‘They’re characters in a game,’ Arc said after a bit. ‘Playing is what they do.’

‘But it’s a display devoid of repercussions,’ I argued, having triumphantly seized a direct quote from the jumble of meta sloshing around in my brain. ‘It’s just a performance.’

‘They’re pixels on a screen,’ Arc said, now sounding distinctly amused. ‘‘Display’ is all they can do. And unless you have direct access to the innermost souls of the players behind the performance, I don’t think you can say it’s ‘just’ anything.’

‘"But men must know, that in this theatre of man’s life it is reserved only for God and angels to be lookers on,"’ Xena agreed. ‘Or not even angels, in this case.’

‘Or vampires?’ I said, feeling more lost than ever, and I must have looked it, because Arc kindly footnoted the conversation.

‘The point is, Mina, that any performance is to some degree a lie, but it still might be holding a mirror up to nature in a larger sense. I wouldn’t worry, if I were you, about whether a generally positive portrayal of affectionate sexuality is an exactly-accurate reflection of the performer’s private life.’

I looked at Xena--Nancy--and she nodded. ‘It’s very Elizabethan of you to worry,’ she said, still sounding slightly choked with laughter. ‘Or possibly Platonic. But really: I’m cool with the tonguing and humpage.’

I thanked them and backed quietly out of the office, shutting the door behind me, or technically in front of me since I was facing it. I still felt faintly unsatisfied. I mean, I respected and appreciated their thoughts, but for some reason I couldn’t quite pin down the whole subject left me feeling disturbed and unsettled.

Out in the archive life was imitating art again, with one or two subtle displays of affection from which I averted my possibly-oversensitized eyes--I mean, maybe all library staff plait each other’s hair, who knows; I might be reading meaning into random gestures now. That can happen, if you think about things for too long at a time.

And Seldom had his laptop open, and was beckoning me over. ‘This is a statement from the Princely Plots’ owner,’ he said, and sure enough, there it was: Warr1or’s journal, ‘Ironclad.’

Over time I’ve come to admire Warr1or’s willingness to state his opinions boldly and without flock or screened comments. His insistence on carrying out conversations where anyone can read them is admirable, in its own way, don’t you think? But I admire from a distance: I’ve no intention of arguing with him in the full glare of public attention. I saw at a glance that this was another of those instances where any support or opinion I offered would best be offered discreetly, quite possibly via email. To do otherwise would be to risk forever linking us in the public mind, such as it was, of fandom.

I read a few paragraphs over Seldom’s shoulder, cringing internally, and then did my best to look bored, but I don’t think Seldom was entirely fooled. For one thing, he offered to let me know of any further developments, which he’d hardly have done unless he thought I was interested. Then again: grad student. He might just have been seized by one of those untreatable compulsive urges to tell someone about his research.

I hung around long enough to have a coffee with Monica, deep in romantic agonies over some guy named Viggo, and Ceswyn, who was once again on the brink of flunking out, dropping out, or staging a sit-in to express her displeasure with the entire school of Library Studies. People’s real lives are so complicated. It was sort of a relief to head back to the safety of my computer to deal with Warr1or.

Well, a relief until I was actually sitting there pondering his communiqué, anyway. It was less and less reliefy the more I absorbed it. ‘I’ve been thinking about this for a while now,’ his post began, ‘and I’ve had to reach the unavoidable conclusion that one’s shipping preferences reflect on one’s real life moral standing. And clearly anyone who calls a Resonant a “semi-literate thug” or accuses them of cowardice, while secretly shipping Pierce and Jab, might be capable of the grossest misreadings and vices.’

Thinking about it ‘for a while’ was an understatement; it had been well over a year since he’d had that conversation with PrinceC. The thought of Warr1or brooding all that time rather gave one pause.

‘As you probably all know,’ he continued, ‘the creators of Sanguinity have made it clear that they despise the moral purity admired by their Resonant fans. Their scorn for our values is obvious. Why else would they have altered their own canon, rejecting their own earlier and better symbolism to allow the debased displays of lust and perversion we have lately witnessed in-game? Their hatred of Resonance is both obvious and puzzling, but one thing is clear: truly talented creators would never have trivialized romance in this way.'

'Added to the profound disappointment we all feel at how Sanguinity canon has turned out, I have a more bitter personal betrayal to endure. I had thought PrinceC was a decent, moral person. It seems I was wrong: in several discussions I have seen him defending the unspeakably vulgar displays condoned by the S.O. creators, and what is worse, joking about Resonance and our stated disapproval of canon. I should have paid greater heed to my initial reservations about him. To protect the sanctity of the archive, I have removed PrinceC from his position as a moderator of Princely Plots. I don’t entirely blame him for his failings and shortcomings; I suspect his friends are at least partly to blame for leading him astray. Lately he’s been much in the company of a group of “historically-minded” Aesthetes, whose shallow grasp of history and willing embrace of the most disturbing perversities can only have had a negative effect on him.’

I sighed heavily, and wondered how to proceed. Obviously I couldn’t be too supportive of Warr1or, since I didn’t actually agree with any of this and knew full well that whatever PrinceC had been doing, it was bound to be saner than devout resonance. At the same time, though, I suspected that Warr1or was really upset; I could sense the hurt feelings behind the crazed anger. And he had been kind to me--they both had. Bugger.

I left a cautious comment. ‘Warr1or,’ I typed gently, ‘I’m sorry you’re upset, but I’m sure PrinceC didn’t mean any harm. After all, I’ve written femmeslash myself, remember?’

‘That’s entirely different,’ he snapped back instantly; obviously he was online. ‘Femmeslash has a sweet purity and innocence about it, and is based on underlying tender friendship, not lust. It isn’t like slash at all.’

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. It took concentrated effort to keep from replying with a sarcastic question as to whether this meant he approved of the staged homoerotic excesses of the female angels and vampires. I decided to step away from the computer before I said anything I’d regret, and I stayed away until the next day, hoping things might magically sort themselves out in my absence.

The next morning my inbox was, naturally, full, but there were only two really important items. The first was from Jen, and contained several of the photos she’d taken of me--and these were, I saw with a slight thrill of pleased gratitude, quite attractive--along with some she’d altered. She’d displayed a disconcerting degree of skill in photoshopping herself onto the bed next to me, arms variously wrapped around me or tangled in my hair. She looked friendlier and more feminine than I’d ever before seen her. In the final shot she was actually licking my neck. ‘Not to worry,’ her message said. ‘I wouldn’t dream of posting those last shots--unless you say I can, Cara Mina.’

I decided it was the better part of valour not to answer her immediately; I needed time to regain the requisite coolth before attempting a reply. So I continued clicking through my inbox, and soon fetched up against the next significant item, which was a notification that Ciyerra had updated her livejournal. So of course I went to read the entry--there’s no point in putting someone under quite justified observation if you don’t make a minimal effort, after all--and a bloody good thing I did, too. She’d weighed in on S.O.’s performative sexuality, only instead of clearly stating her own position, she’d coyly sidestepped and spent the entire post sneering at mine. I hadn’t even voiced an opinion yet! But there was Ciyerra, attributing reactionary views to me, and announcing to the world that anyone could deduce from my continued association with Warr1or that I was hysterically heteronormative and probably wildly anti- staged homoeroticism.

Well. Obviously I was going to have to act decisively and with dignity. I stormed back to my email account to answer Jen’s message. ‘Darling,’ I told her, ‘you have my full and complete permission to post those photos, unflocked, and I’d frankly prefer you didn’t waste time explaining any of them have been altered.’ And I hit send. Defiantly.