1331: Not That Irish Band

Been a while since I talked anime (relatively speaking, anyway) so, well, here we go.

I finished watching the second season of Haiyore! Nyaruko-san recently and enjoyed it a great deal — perhaps not quite as much as I liked the first season, but certainly enough to regard it very fondly — and have now moved on to a series I’ve seen a lot of people mention in the past, but have never checked out myself: Clannad.

I know very little about Clannad save for the fact it was originally a visual novel (that, to my knowledge, never received an official English release, nor a complete fan-translation — do please correct me if I’m wrong) and that it was a show with a certain degree of notoriety for being emotional and moving. As those of you who have been following me a while will know, I have a real soft spot for emotionally engaging media, and take a perverse pleasure from works that are genuinely “harrowing” in some way. I liked Corpse Party so much, for example, because I found it genuinely horrifying, disturbing and upsetting — you might think that would make it unappealing, but in my mind it was just a sign that it was achieving exactly what it set out to do. I think fondly of To The Moon because it legitimately made me properly full-on cry at the ending, and I feel the same way about Kana Little Sister. You get the idea.

So I was always going to check out Clannad sooner rather than later, despite knowing next to nothing about it. And after four episodes, I still know next to nothing about it, but I do know enough to talk a little about my first impressions and what I like about it.

Clannad initially appears to be one of the many slice-of-life high school comedy dramas that make up so much of the modern anime landscape. I’m a big fan of this style of thing, so I have no problem with this, but I’m also conscious of the fact that some people don’t like it quite so much.

Where Clannad differs from your usual slice-of-life business is in its atmosphere. On the surface, it’s the usual sort of high-energy, high-intensity chaos that this type of show is known for, but there’s a very peculiar atmosphere overlaid on the top of it all. Specifically, despite the show’s initial impression of being colourful, vibrant and full of energy, there’s a very clear sense of melancholy about it, too; a feeling of loneliness.

This is partly personified by the character Nagisa, a lonely girl whom the protagonist comes to befriend. Exactly what Nagisa’s deal is hasn’t quite been revealed yet, but it’s clear that she’s a sickly girl — she missed a year of school and had to repeat, and in one early episode she just collapses in the rain without explanation. I have the distinct feeling that Things are going to Happen with Nagisa at some point in the series, though exactly what I don’t know just yet — and I’m avoiding spoilers like the plague for the moment.

Nagisa isn’t the only source of this loneliness, though; occasionally, the show cuts to a seemingly completely incongruous sequence where a young girl lives alone at the end of the world, and ends up building herself a mechanical friend out of junk. I have no idea of the relevance of all this, yet, whether it’s real, dream, metaphor or all three, but it’s certainly got my attention.

There’s not a lot more I can really say about the show as yet, save for the following opinions: 1) The art and animation is gorgeous. 2) Its visual novel roots are obvious, what with the protagonist’s recurring encounters with the female leads. 3) It has the most irritatingly catchy ending song ever. (Dango, dango, dango, dango, dango daikazoku!)

More to almost inevitably follow once I’ve watched a bit more.

1330: Closed Book

Andie (and some of you, I’m sure) will undoubtedly be delighted to hear that I finished Corpse Party: Book of Shadows last night, which means I will no longer be sitting in the dark before going to sleep with the sounds of Japanese schoolgirls screaming emanating from my headphones.

So what of Book of Shadows as a whole? Well, I enjoyed it — as much as it is possible to “enjoy” a Corpse Party game, anyway — and, as I noted the other day, I particularly appreciated its unconventional narrative structure. For those who didn’t read that post the other day and are too lazy to click on that link, Book of Shadows essentially acts as a collection of “deleted scenes” and alternate endings to the original Corpse Party for the most part, with each chapter focusing on a different group of characters and either exploring “what if?” scenarios if things had gone differently in the original game, or acting as a means of expanding on and exploring the stories of a number of incidental characters who were either already dead by the time the first Corpse Party’s story unfolded, or who showed up in the game’s “Extra” chapters after you’d finished it.

One of the strengths of the original Corpse Party was how well-realised all of the characters were, and this continues in Book of Shadows, even in the chapters that explore characters other than the main cast of the first game. Each character is an interesting person to spend time with, and the fact the game is structured as more of a visual novel than the original game was means that there’s a lot more in the way of narration from each chapter’s protagonist than there was in the original. This lets you get inside the head of these characters to a much greater degree than previously, and this, coupled with the again fantastic Japanese voice acting, makes for an experience where you really get a strong sense of who these characters are, what they’re like and how they’re handling the horrific situation in which they find themselves. And, as I noted in my previous post, there’s not usually a happy ending, since by the time the cast of the first Corpse Party arrive at Heavenly Host Elementary School, most of the people they come across are dead.

Once you’ve worked your way through all the main chapters of Book of Shadows, you unlock a hidden final chapter called Blood Drive. (If you’ve finished the game and haven’t unlocked this, you either need save data from the original Corpse Party on your memory card or to see all of the Wrong Ends from all the previous chapters before it will unlock.)

Blood Drive is the “true” sequel to the original Corpse Party, following on directly from where the previous game left off. Unfortunately, the chapter Blood Drive is but a preview for the game Blood Drive, which is not yet even out in Japan, meaning that the game ends on one hell of a cliffhanger that won’t be getting resolved in the immediate future. Still, the amount of “oh NO!” I felt as the credits rolled for the last time is testament to how engaging I found the game as a whole — I liked these characters, enjoyed spending time with them and felt bad for them when they suffered, and I really, really want to see how the story continues (or ends?) in Blood Drive.

Unfortunately, I’ll be waiting a while yet. Still, it’s not as if I’m short of other things to play right now — not least of which is Idea Factory’s Sweet Fuse, which I’ve been looking forward to for a while.

Sachiko-san, onegaishimasu. Sachiko-san, onegaishimasu. Sachik– shit, how many times was I supposed to chant it again?

1329: Day After

It was the wedding of my good friend James to his good wife Charlotte yesterday — an event which, apparently, had been a very long time coming. (I’ve only known James for a relatively short period of time and only met Charlotte once or twice, so it felt like a perfectly reasonable amount of time to me, but judging by the jokes in the speeches, it was, as I say, apparently a long time coming.)

In stark contrast to my friends George and Mitu’s wedding the other week, which was a vibrant, multicultural affair that must have cost a fucking fortune to put on, James and Charlotte’s wedding was a much more traditional British affair: church service, followed by retiring to a stately home for afternoon tea (including an astonishing variety of finger sandwiches and cakes), barn-dancing, a selection of meats (beef, lamb and pork — with crackling) and, of course, various types of booze on tap.

I must confess to having had a little too much to drink yesterday. I don’t drink a lot these days, you see — Andie doesn’t drink, and I normally join her on that, since the last few times I’ve drunk I haven’t really enjoyed it all that much, and I don’t tend to “go out” to occasions that involve imbibing vast quantities of alcohol very often, either. As such, my tolerance is considerably less than it was when I was at university and drinking fairly heavily on a regular basis. This makes me a cheap date, of course, but also means that I have to be somewhat… careful, particularly when strong drinks are involved.

The reception began with some Pimm’s, which was flowing pretty freely and getting regularly topped up by some ninja waiters and waitresses — the moment your glass was less than half-full, someone would appear as if from nowhere with a jug and refill it. Pimm’s is delicious, too, of course, and so it’s perfectly natural to just keep drinking it if it keeps coming.

Then there was champagne during the toasts and speeches. I’m not all that fond of champagne these days, to be honest — not that fond of wine in general, in fact. I had a bit of a “wine phase” at one point, but have since gone off it somewhat so I was rather underwhelmed by the champagne, even though I can probably safely assume — judging by the rest of the day, anyway — that it was probably quite expensive.

Later in the evening came the real killer, though — there were two different types of scrumpy, one of which just looked like orange squash, and the other of which was called “Bee Sting” and looked a bit like elderflower cordial. I tried some of the latter and it’s some of the nicest scrumpy I’ve ever tasted — very sweet, not at all “alcoholic-tasting” — but by golly it had a kick and a half, and you didn’t really notice until it was too late. In my case, it was looking up at the stars outside the venue and staggering unsteadily around that made me realise that yes, I was, in fact, a bit pissed. Not overly so — certainly not enough to make me want to take to the dance floor or do anything particularly outrageous — but enough to affect my balance somewhat. I felt all right, though.

That is, until about 2:30 in the morning, when I woke up to an unpleasant feeling and an accompanying mental image of an army advancing on my position. As the army got closer, I started to feel worse, and attempting to distract myself from the encroaching horde only made me pay more attention to it. Eventually, as the sound of marching boots was bearing down on me and mental pikemen started clashing with mental knights, I felt that there was only one real explanation for the battlefield in my head and stomach, and there was probably also only going to be one resolution to, it, too.

I was correct. Afterwards, however, I felt considerably better and have remained pleasantly hangover-free, too. Which is nice.

1328: Saturday Morning Ramblings

Look, I managed to blog in the morning rather than last thing in the evening! This is probably a mistake, as we’re supposed to be heading out to a wedding in about half an hour and I still need to have a shower and get dressed, but I have coffee to drink and I shower quickly. Yes, I bloody well do. So there.

In lieu of anything particularly massively exciting happening in the intervening hours since last night and this morning (largely sleeping) I thought I’d mention a peculiar dream I had. It is one of those ones that was very vivid but didn’t really make much sense, so as such I found it quite intriguing.

The main gist of it all was that I was using a computer of some description. For some reason, the casing for the computer (which seemed to be some sort of strange hybrid between a desktop and a laptop system) was open, and I could see into it. I dropped a piece of chocolate (I don’t know) onto a vent on part of the casing that was still covered, and I could see it was seeping in, so I wanted to do something about it. I opened the case further and saw that there was, for some reason, a screwdriver that had been left inside the machine. Against all of the advice people give you when you’re learning about computers, I reached inside to grab it, when…

ZZap!

I felt a slight electric shock, and the display on the screen went what can only be described as “wrong”. If you’ve ever seen what a graphics card with a loose connection does, it was that. Wrong colouring, fuzzy bits, pixels where they shouldn’t be. I hastily switched off the computer, removed the screwdriver, gave it a moment and then turned it back on again.

Instead of booting up normally, the computer switched to a second display that invited me to fix the problem with the main screen by drawing straight lines across photographs of walls. Except after I completed the first one, I somehow found myself actually drawing paint lines across a real wall with my big toe. I couldn’t make it all the way across one of the walls, so I gave up, turned the computer off and back on again. It went back to having broken graphics, and then I saw a leaflet on the desk explaining the wall-painting thing — it was a piece of software you could install to randomly pop up the wall-painting game randomly whenever you turned your computer on. It had no discernible benefit whatsoever, and certainly couldn’t fix a fried graphics card.

I have no idea what all that means. It’s probably some sort of metaphor for some sort of dee-seated anxiety or neurosis. But I don’t really have time to think about it now. Coffee. Shower. Wedding. Later!

1327: Friday Night Ramblings

Blergh. End of another week and my brain has just pretty much switched off altogether, so you’ll forgive me if I indulge in little more than a stream of consciousness for the evening.

Today’s been another week that feels like it’s dragged a bit. Not sure why, really, because nothing especially out of the ordinary has happened — though that might, in itself, be the cause of the week dragging somewhat. Very little of note has happened, really, though I did my tax return earlier. Tax returns are shit. I am looking forward to not having to do them any more, though I will have to do one more next year to cover the last two months of payment from when I was self-employed. How irritating.

Anyway, you don’t want to hear about that. What do you want to hear about? Oh, you can’t respond. Never mind, then.

I was idly musing during a quiet moment earlier and had an interesting idea for what I might do for my not-NaNoWriMo month of creative writing this coming November. I’m actually quite pleased with the idea, but as with many of my ideas I find myself wondering if I’ll be able to spin it out into a complete story. We’ll see. I’m not going to share anything about it for now, but I might actually make a note of it. There are few things more frustrating for a creative type than having a really amazing idea (or at least an interesting idea) and then forgetting to make a note of it anywhere, so that by the time you actually have the time to do something about it, you’ve completely forgotten the cool thing you were going to do.

Fortunately, over the years I’ve discovered that I have a pretty good memory for fairly useless crap, including a host of half-finished stories — many of which I’ve been carrying around in my head since school. I really should actually make an effort and get some of them written; in fact, I have started writing some of them several times — one of them in particular — but often find myself getting a little hung up on the middle bit.

This may sound like a strange thing to get hung up on — surely the beginning and ending are more important? — but it’s something that tends to bug me. Often I know where characters are going to start and what the finale is going to be; the difficulty is in determining how they are going to get from one place to the other, because those two places are often very different from one another. Obviously. (Or perhaps not, I don’t know.)

Anyway, as you can probably tell, my mind is continually drifting at the moment so I think I’m going to call it a night for now. Andie and I are off to a wedding tomorrow so I almost certainly will be tired out by the evening, which means you can probably expect something similarly stimulating from tomorrow’s post, unless I remember to write something in the morning which is, let’s face it, based on previous experience, fairly unlikely. (I wish I would remember to write a bit earlier, though; it’s nice to be able to wind down for the evening and not have to worry about writing this… though at the same time writing this forms a nice “end point” to the day where I can collect my thoughts before going to sleep.)

Anyway. Yeah. Whatever. Have a good weekend. Good night.

1326: Books with Shadows In Them

I have — I believe — two more chapters to go on Corpse Party: Book of Shadows, the sequel to one of my favourite PSP games, and, like its predecessor, one of the most emotionally engaging games I’ve ever played.

Book of Shadows is much more of a visual novel than its predecessor was — the RPG-style wandering around and pressing X on things is all gone now, to be replaced with either straight-up “read many, many pages of narration and dialogue” or, slightly less frequently, with some first-person perspective wandering and mild point and click adventuring.

The change in gameplay style isn’t the most interesting thing about Book of Shadows, though; instead, it’s the narrative structure. Rather than telling one continuous story like its predecessor, Book of Shadows is more of a spin-off than a true sequel — at least, as I understand it, anyway, until the final chapter — and instead chooses to spend its time telling self-contained stories that are either prequels to the events of Corpse Party, or “alternate universe” tales that answer a number of hypothetical “what if?” scenarios. For example, one scenario explores what would have happened if a character who died in the original Corpse Party had instead been rescued; another fleshes out one of the original game’s “wrong ends” by showing you exactly what unpleasantness happened to a particular character; another still looks at the story of some incidental characters from one of Corpse Party’s “extra” scenarios.

The fact that the game is being so experimental and exploratory in its various “short stories” is, in itself, interesting, but an even more intriguing thing about it is that the “correct” ending for each of the chapters is not necessarily a “good” one. Indeed, in many cases, all of the possible outcomes are filled with death, pain and suffering, but only one of them is the “correct” one that allows you to proceed to the next chapter. It’s honestly surprising to see something really quite horrible happen to a particular character — even though I was expecting it, given the context — and for the game to then cheerfully announce that I had “cleared” that particular chapter.

This idea of a conclusion to a chapter not necessarily being a happy one is something the first game played with — the “true” ending to the first chapter of the original Corpse Party often has people reaching for the “reload” button the first time they see it — but Book of Shadows really runs with it. It’s something that it’s interesting to see games experimenting with, since most games still take the “happy ending” as the default, “best” or only option, and it’s pretty rare to play something that genuinely ends on a downer. (Of course, I don’t know how Book of Shadows as a whole concludes, but I have the distinct impression that at least one or more of the characters will probably not get out unscathed.) There are a few exceptions, of course — Conker’s Bad Fur Day being one of the most surprising, best examples I can remember — but for the most part it’s still quite rare to come across something deliberately designed to bum you out. (You have achieved a trophy: “Pass the Kleenex.” Wait, that sounds wrong.)

Anyway, two more chapters and I can stop freaking myself out with this game — there’s a deliciously uncomfortable, oppressive atmosphere about the whole game that makes it quite “hard work” to play, but it’s enjoyable in that perverse sort of way good horror is. Next on the agenda, portable-wise, anyway, is Sweet Fuse, aka That Game Where You Play as Keiji Inafune’s Niece.

1325: Focal Point

I’m sure any writer pals reading this can probably relate, judging from some things I’ve read recently: it is infinitely easier to focus on negative things than it is about positive ones. And those negative things absolutely dominate your thoughts, almost completely obliterating any good work the positive things might have done.

Let’s take an example. Recently, I wrote a lengthy article about “otaku games” — that particularly misunderstood aspect of Japanese gaming where people who don’t play them constantly judge them as being nothing more than pervy fanservice. To be fair to their opinion, there often is a fair amount of pervy fanservice in them, but it’s pretty rare that is the sole or even the most important part of them. Check out the piece here.

On the whole, response to the post has been very positive. I’ve been very happy to hear from a lot of fans of Japanese gaming who thanked me for giving a reasoned, rational take on the subject — with input from people who are actually involved in bringing these titles to the West — and for treating both the games and their fans with respect. I’ve had people tell me it’s a wonderful article, compliment me on covering something that other sites don’t bother with (or take the more common “This is Bad and Wrong, LOL JAPAN” stance on) and generally express a very genuine-feeling sense of appreciation for something I worked hard on.

So what do I find my brain focusing on? The guy who tweeted at me saying “TLDR” (seriously, that is pretty much one of the most disrespectful things you can say to a writer, especially when they’ve worked hard on something — try giving some constructive criticism or, even better, actually engaging with the points made in the piece), and the commenter who complained about me “not talking about the game” in my Tales of Xillia review and lambasting me for promoting an “incest simulator” in an article about visual novels. (Said “incest simulator” was Kana Little Sister, an incredibly moving work which I’ve written about at length in a number of places on the Internet; to refer to it as an “incest simulator” in a distinctly Daily Mail/Jack Thompson-esque way shows an astonishing lack of understanding, my keen awareness of which was what inspired me to write the “otaku games” piece in the first place.)

I wish I didn’t feel this way, but it made me feel somewhat better to read this piece over on Hookshot, Inc recently. Here’s what was, for me, the most pertinent part:

“Reader feedback is, in many ways, wonderful. It pulls writers down from pedestals and/or ivory towers, and it democratises a whole medium. Every voice is heard, and charlatans are uprooted. A culture of reader-fear has, arguably, been fostered – but ultimately people raise their game, and those much-suspected dirty deals are (by my reckoning) far less likely to occur today than they were five years ago.

“The problem is that all this is incredibly unhealthy for writers with… what you might call an ‘amiably complex psychological disposition’. I’m one of these people (it’s hugely common in my field – and indeed any creative arena) and I couldn’t even count how many of my working days have been ruined by an angry person venting steam beneath a piece I’ve written. The black dog starts barking, and your creative mojo runs away.

“Sure, the trolls are generally a minority – but when your mind has been built to concentrate on negativity rather than happy, happy, joy, joy (and you work at home, on your own) then comments threads are a mental plague pit.

“As a writer – what can you do about this? Well, you can start making your review scores more conservative for a start. Oh, and you can definitely avoid rocking boats that contain angry devotees of certain platforms, genres and franchises. Oh, and how about excising all humour for fear of miscomprehension from angry dullards you’ll never meet?

“OMG HANG ON GUYS OUR COLLECTIVE INSECURITY JUST BROKE GAMES WRITING.

“So basically: say what you want to say, and suck it up. There’s no wrong opinions, only a lot of people who think you should be fired for having a right one.”

I was simultaneously surprised, delighted and slightly depressed to read that. I wish it didn’t have to be that way, and I wish it was possible to train oneself to be more like, say, Jim Sterling — someone whom I greatly admire for his no-nonsense attitude and at least outward appearance of having thick skin. (For all I know, Sterling might finish his day job and cry himself to sleep over the torrents of abuse he receives on a daily basis, and I wouldn’t blame him if that were so — but I somehow doubt that’s the case anyway.)

Ah well, as Will Porter writes in that excellent Hookshot piece — seriously, go read it if you have a few minutes — the only real thing we, as writers, can do is say what we want to say and suck it up somehow. If we start sanitising our own opinions, thoughts and even writing styles to appease the lowest common denominator in the comments threads, then the world of writing would be a boring one indeed.

1324: Fury

I hate anger in all its forms — whether it’s directed at me, coming from me or going on around me.

I’m not entirely sure where this feeling comes from — perhaps there’s some sort of deep-seated trauma from some event in my past that I’m repressing — but it means I’ve always felt enormously uncomfortable whenever there’s any sort of anger present near me, whether “near” means physically close to me or simply within my frame of awareness thanks to the Internet.

I remember getting extremely upset any time my parents would have an argument when I was little. However much I was assured that it was a natural part of any relationship, it still always filled me with anxiety. I felt that same feeling of anxiety whenever I got angry at school — usually the result of being bullied — and fearing that I’d lose control. And I feel the same thing today whenever there’s anger around me — or coming from me. I get uncomfortable, restless — even physically shaky at times if I’m the one expressing anger — and I hate it.

Consequently, I find it increasingly difficult to deal with the seemingly-constant fury that comes from certain quarters of the Internet. If it’s not one thing, it’s another — there’s always something out there pissing someone off, and they always want to talk about it at great length, usually with some sort of public shaming involved. And I just can’t deal with it, frankly.

The natural response is, of course, to simply switch off, walk away or unfollow these people altogether but that brings with it a whole host of modern etiquette questions that we simply didn’t used to have to worry about. If I unfollow, for example, a Twitter user who is mostly a decent person but who occasionally descends into mouth-frothing zealotry any time certain topics come up — to what I consider an unreasonable degree, regardless of how valid their points are — what will they think of me? What do I say if I ask them why I unfollowed them, assuming they notice? Am I honest about it? Or do I make up some lie about that probably fictional Twitter bug that makes it “randomly unfollow” people every so often? (Oh shit, did I let the cat out of the bag? Sorry.)

I am overthinking this issue, I’m sure; if people make me uncomfortable, I should just take myself out of that situation and prevent myself from getting drawn into something that would make me even more uncomfortable. The consequences I worry about might not even happen at all; if they do, I just have to deal with them. The fact I’m unable to participate in some discussions as a result is probably a good thing in the long term — there are plenty of other things out there that I can engage with, so I should focus my attention on those rather than things that make me anxious or uncomfortable.

This self-indulgent stream of consciousness brought to you by Internet Rage. Now I’m off to go and play Corpse Party in bed. Good night.

1323: PAX Pox

Another Penny Arcade Expo (aka PAX) is coming to a close, and once again I find myself sorry I wasn’t there — though perhaps not quite as sorry as I’d be if I wasn’t working in the games press and would not therefore be obligated to, you know, write about stuff if I was actually there.

That said, attending an event like PAX as a professional is pretty exciting, too — though for different reasons to if you’re going as a “civilian”. I haven’t covered a PAX as a professional since I’ve worked full-time in the biz, but I did attend a Gamescom for GamePro a couple of years back, and that was oddly thrilling. It was also completely exhausting due to the fact that I’d spend all day zipping between appointments and all night writing up the things I learned in said appointments, leaving approximately three hours for sleeping per night — no, I didn’t do any socialising whatsoever, but you know me; that was, to be honest, absolutely fine by me.

Gamescom is a bit of a different setup to PAX, though — at least in my limited experience having attended one of each. While PAX is a sprawling consumer show that occupies convention halls, theatres and corridors, and at which you generally have to make some very tough decisions about whether to wait in line to see panels and/or concerts or actually brave the show floor, Gamescom has a very clear divide between the “consumer” bit and the “trade” bit.

The “consumer” part of the Gamescom I attended was even more chaotic than PAX. Several huge halls of the Kölnmesse were devoted to the event, and for some reason the organisers seemed to think that turning the lights down low would be a really good idea. The floor of all the exhibition halls was literally (yes, I mean literally) carpeted with discarded flyers and other rubbish, and it was noisy, crowded and difficult to get around.

Contrast with the “trade” part, which was over on the opposite side of the Kölnmesse, and was the complete opposite — in fact, much more what I expected from a games industry show, based on my extremely limited experience from attending ECTS once back in the ’90s. A sense of calm; companies showing their products privately in booths, many of which had refreshments and comfortable chairs; a feeling of organisation rather than chaos. (Much more stereotypically German, to put it another way.) I vastly preferred the “trade” side of things, because it meant I got to see lots of cool stuff without having to fight my way through hordes of people who just wanted to stare at other people playing League of Legends on a big screen. This was largely because I had appointments to see specific people in the trade bit, whereas the consumer bit was pretty much a free-for-all.

That said, on balance I think I preferred my trip to PAX East to my professional engagement at Gamescom. At Gamescom I didn’t feel like I was “at home” or “among friends”, largely because I was just there to do a job and didn’t really have time to enjoy anything. At PAX East, meanwhile, I was among friends — many of whom I was meeting in person for the first time after many years of communicating on the Internet — and I had a real sense of “belonging”; of being among people who understood the same things I was passionate about.

One day I’ll make it back, and I’ll make a point of making some time to hang out with cool people. Until that happens, though, I’ll just have to gaze jealously from a distance at each PAX that comes and goes — and at my friends and colleagues who attend them.

1322: Online Gamers Aren’t Always Jerks

People who play games online are always dickwads, right?

Wrong. For starters, if you’ve ever taken that attitude, it’s entirely possible that you aren’t a dickwad yourself and just simply find the prospect of coming face to face with a dickwad distasteful — and thus it stands to reason that there are probably other people out there like you. (You may also take that attitude because you’re a dickwad yourself, and use it as an excuse to behave like a dickwad. If that is the case, I’d encourage you to take a good, long, hard look at yourself, and perhaps indulge in some self-flagellation until you see the error of your ways.)

Anyway, I have a specific story that happened today — one that filled me with a pleasant amount of hope. It was only a little event in the grand scheme of things, but it was one where I felt happy after it had transpired.

A little context, first: Final Fantasy XIV allows you to play cooperatively with other players in one of two ways: either forming a party with them manually, or by letting a mechanic called the Duty Finder match you up with people who are looking to complete the same challenges. The advantage of the former option is that you can get together with people you know, or at least people on the same server with whom you’ll be able to communicate with afterwards. The advantage of the latter option is that it allows you to play with the entire player base of the game, rather than just the 5,000 (maximum concurrent players at the time of writing) present on your specific server. Both approaches have drawbacks, though: in the former case, it can often be difficult to find people who are available at the same time who want to do the same thing; in the latter case, you’re usually paired up with complete strangers, with all the inherent risks that carries.

Earlier today, I took on one of Final Fantasy XIV’s dungeons with a party of random people found through the Duty Finder. Things were going reasonably well to begin with — though I would have preferred that the tank mark targets to help mages like me know what order to set fire to things — but after a while I started to notice one of the players behaving a little strangely.

Her in-game name was “Amelia,” and she was a black mage like me. She’d obviously run the dungeon before, as she was regularly charging ahead well before the rest of us had got our bearings — sometimes even causing enemies to start attacking before we were ready. Partway through the dungeon, I could see her continually running off in the opposite direction to us, only to come running back when the tank started the next combat. I could tell she was getting frustrated, but she wasn’t saying anything for some reason. So, once the next combat had finished, I spoke up.

“Amelia,” I typed. “If there’s something you’d like to show us, please say something rather than just charging off by yourself. Thanks!”

I gritted my teeth and was prepared for a barrage of abuse. A lot of online players don’t like being told how to play the game and get very defensive if someone criticises them. I was all set for “Amelia” to start yelling at me, or even to quit the party in a huff. It wouldn’t be the first time I had seen something happen.

What happened next surprised me.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I was just thinking that myself.”

The rest of the party stopped — the tank hesitated before pulling in the next group of enemies — and I could feel virtual eyes on me.

“Communication helps,” I typed. “Is there some treasure down there or something?” I asked, referring to her continual attempts to run off to the south.

“Yes,” she replied quickly. “There’s two chests down there.”

“Okay,” I typed. “Let’s go get those before we go any further then.”

After that, we followed Amelia’s lead and, sure enough, found our way to some extra enemies and some treasure chests. I was sure to thank her for her help, and when it came to time to fight the boss at the end of the dungeon, she volunteered some helpful information that ensured we were able to take it down without too much difficulty.

Ultimately, a bit of communication helped rescue a party that was at serious risk of falling apart. I’m not-so-secretly quite proud of the fact that I was the one to initiate communication and help hold things together — and I was very pleasantly surprised to discover “Amelia” was receptive to the things I was saying, and apparently knew she wasn’t handling things as well as she could have done.

So wherever you are now, “Amelia,” thanks. And I hope we get the chance to play together again soon.