We’re Back to 1982

The aristocracy of the Caerleon Empire had more than the Royal Ball to look forward to. The weeks leading up to the ball were filled with modest soirees and humble parties, almost like the imperial scene was warming up for the grand event. Here, the nobles and heiresses of this world mingled under bright chandeliers, their glasses topped with champagne and lips sweetened by carrot cake.

The Greymoors attended a good number of these events, with each member of the family pursuing their own motivations for attending. John Greymoor was intent on forging political alliances in the face of the vote on the Peace Decree and spent time building solidarity against the feverish war fervor gripping the empire. Meanwhile, Eleanor dressed and presented herself with lavish appeal as a reminder that the Greymoors still retained the social standing to be accepted into high society.

Stefan and Vladimir were the life of every party they attended. Stefan held down alcohol better than any of the other attendants and Vladimir, as the preeminent magic scholar in the empire, had every academic for miles flocking to these events to ask him questions.

In the midst of all this hubbub, Vivian Greymoor stood out like an ugly duckling among her otherwise affable family. She acted as an unwanted outsider and from the distance of second story balconies, observed her better halves thriving in the chaotic social hierarchy of upper class parties.

At first, I convinced myself she was the designer of her own demise. After all, had she invested enough points into her personality, she would have gained abilities like Attraction, which increased her general likeability by a whopping twenty four percent. Or, had she spent more points in willpower, she would have acquired Confidence, which added a fifteen percent bonus to initiating a successful conversation with a stranger.

Instead, Vivian found herself leaning over ivory balustrades, watching the attendants of festive parties with the eyes of a circling vulture.

But then, at each party, there appeared the callous whispers spoken just in earshot, meant for Vivian to hear but never to confront.

“That’s her,” someone would say, “The Witch of Caerleon.”

“Losing the crown prince to a peasant, the poor girl,” someone else would chime in.

I realized then that the aristocracy played an ongoing dance at these parties, and not of the musical variety. It was a dance of mockery with Vivian at center stage. The court had found its unwilling jester and helped themselves to all sorts of crude humor and play.

I began to see why Emily had felt such a heavy conscience, even if she was not deserving of any blame, for nothing the maid did could wash away the shame of the prince's scorn. Prince Pendragon attended none of these parties, and yet his presence was felt in every ballroom and even every cup of tea.

Each outfit that Vivian donned would be met with its own disparaging remark. People asked "how has she moved on so quickly" when she wore her beautiful crimson fit or "is she imagining herself the bride” in response to her more modest frilly white dress.

I felt indignation at this unwarranted attention. Sure, I thought not acquiring the skill Sympathetic (which bestowed a buff that increases the chance someone would see her side of the story) had set Vivian up for failure, but this wasn't too different from someone making fun of a member of my family. Yeah, they might be an idiot, but only I was allowed to say that!

It also occurred to me that it was precisely because of this bullying that Vivian’s solitude was perhaps a matter of choice. She chose not to involve her other family members and, by acting like the odd one out at these parties, allowed them to still participate without receiving any residual attention.

“Viv, you’re free to join us downstairs,” Stefan mentioned once, “you don’t have to mind any of them. Vladdy will soak up all the attention anyway.”

“It’s all so tiresome,” Vivian waved Stefan away, and that was the end of it.

But this self-sacrifice also bothered me unexpectedly. I found myself thinking, what happened to standing together as a family? Were they happy with this arrangement, of blending into a culture that disparaged one of their own? I fully expected Vivian's mother to have happily opted into this, but I would have hoped that Stefan and John would have known better.

Instead it was only Emily who stood silent by Vivian's side, choosing each dress for each event and attracting the same kind of insidious vitriol from the shadows of wealth and prestige. As close as Vivian felt with Stefan and her father, it was these moments of unquestioning loyalty that made me realize that perhaps there was an even more unbreakable bond in the Greymoor family.

“The watermelon punch tastes delicious,” Vivian would say, “You can leave me for a while and get some for yourself.”

“No my Lady,” Emily would respond.

“Em, the chef is serving a delicious pound cake,” Vivian would say.

“I prefer the fresh air up here,” Emily would respond.

And, for how little it was worth, I also stood by Vivian’s side. One might have scoffed at the idea of my digital presence being any help, but I could have simply hidden within my techno labyrinth, where I could not see nor hear the outside world. To invest myself in Vivian’s situation, in spite of all she had done to reject all semblance of reason with respect to her stat growth, was nothing but a gesture of my good faith.

But Vivian’s social isolation was also an opportunity for me to test the next idea I had cooked to grab Vivian’s attention.

I had thought long and hard over the last few weeks about universality, the idea that across human cultures and societies, there might be some kind of symbol or gesture that was recognized by most, if not all, peoples. For example, sure, much of it was socially learned but most people understood what holding up two fingers to form the shape of a “v” meant.

That’s when it hit me, a universal expression that I could use to signal to Vivian notions of my approval and disapproval. One that did not rely on any formal language system and could be interpreted easily even by children.

I implemented the feature the night of yet another party, this time hosted by the Astral Viscount. I remembered him because of the long nights that Vivian spent with her father exploring the financial dealings that Viscount was brokering in the town of Morovia. While I wasn’t great at recognizing faces, it occurred to me that many in attendance at the Viscount’s party I certainly hadn’t seen anywhere before. Many wore tough, tanned features and looked like they worked the fields too often to be considered aristocrats.

As usual, Vivian stood from afar watching Stefan and Vladimir entertain a long line of spectators. That’s when I struck. Vivian’s bracelet brightened and she paused her observations to turn to the latest update that I had pushed to her user interface. Her hand jumped forward instinctively to select a new attribute to improve, and that’s when she paused.

“Wait a second, what’s with these faces?” she asked.

Yes.

I had, in fact, implemented a new emoji system besides each attribute. After all, emoticons weren’t a part of any language, they were an expressive force unbound by cultural barriers. So, for each negative attribute, I attached cautionary and disapproving faces.

(－_－) zzZ

(ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

And for the attributes that I preferred like personality or intelligence, stationed besides them was a positive expression incredibly common from my home world. With a wry smile to match its highly suggestive ethos, it stood beside those preferred attributes like a call to action, a beacon that drew Vivian’s attention with its irresistible charm.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )