A Picture on a Wall

A few days ago, I found myself butting my way into a little group writing project.  Each of us randomly sent another user a picture to be used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.  I had no idea what to expect, and I certainly didn't think I would receive a landscape.  I was totally stumped at first, until finally I had to admit that the picture in question was gorgeous but it was ultimately just an image and didn't really capture what it was about the scenery that was truly cool.  The story grew from that.  The romantic aspect was completely unexpected and came completely out of left field.  But sometimes your characters surprise you.

Picture courtesy of weldytaigabiome.weebly.com 

 It was perfect. Not a blade of grass was out of place, precisely as Rowyn remembered it. While everyone else spent their summers as little ones going to island paradises and theme parks, this had been her home away from home. Father had insisted. He was from another time, back when families did things together, dammit! The gnome woman allowed herself a little smirk at that particular memory. Yes, in many ways, her fond thoughts of that strange land only existed because her father had an itch to outdo all his friends and have a far superior summer vacation with his family. Normally such ventures backfired, but considering Rowyn was presently reliving the experience of her youth much as he had, she was pretty sure you could call it parenting well-done.

“Engineer Lilyfield?” She was shocked from her reverie by the electronic voice that seemed to emanate simultaneously from the trees and mountains and even the water. “Engineer Lilyfield? Are you well? Your vitals appear unchanged, but you have ceased communication. Do you require assistance?”

Rowyn sighed and allowed herself a bit of a tired smirk. Her hand rose and brushed some errant hairs out of her eyes. “No, SAIA, thank you. I was just lost in my mind for a moment. I haven't seen this valley in years and I suppose I spaced out for a moment. And please, you can just call me Rowyn when we're not on official business...”

“I don't comprehend the difference, Engineer...” There was a momentary hiccup, the mark of a product that was still in its early phases. “...Rowyn. We are considered on-call at all times, so it is always official business.”

'Poor SAIA,' Rowyn thought to herself. 'She was programmed to learn, and to want to be as accurate and useful as possible. She has a way of being childlike, elderly, and professorial all at the same time. But I suppose it has its charm, too.' The gnome often had to reprogram her own thinking in order to have a meaningful conversation with the artificial intelligence. Rowyn was really the only one on the crew who bothered to. For everyone else, she was precisely what her designation specified – a Shipwide Artificially Intelligent Assistant, a tool. But Rowyn had always had a habit of giving life to machines even when they had none. It was a common gnomic stereotype, and in this case an accurate one. So when she discovered that the ship she'd be spending the next few years on was a literally living machine, she was eager to get to know her. “Right. Well. Just for tonight, you can call me Rowyn, and then tomorrow we can discuss the finer points of how to identify casual situations.”

Presently, they were testing out the ship's lounge, which came equipped with a very basic holographic projector. When it came time to give the test-run, Rowyn knew just the place. And now here she was, staring at the most realistic image of the Shinar Valley known to anyone. But as the shock passed, Rowyn began to see the seams. “Dammit. The Uncanny Valley strikes again...”

“I thought it was called the Shinar Valley. Processing. Ah, the Uncanny Valley, a term used to define the difficulty in producing truly realistic technology.” Following SAIA's brief turn as a billion-dollar dictionary, there was a much longer pause. Normally SAIA liked to be polite and would punctuate her silences with words like 'processing' in order to keep those waiting on her aware that she was still 'present'. “...Ah...” Rowyn had spent a good deal of time with SAIA, and this was the first time that she ever thought about describing the voice as possessing emotions. In this case, sadness.

“Yeah, I'm afraid human senses are a little too finely tuned. This is a very realistic visual recreation, and the three dimensions do a lot to help. But...” The gnome pouted, fists on her hips as she looked about. “But they also make you so much more aware of all the missing details...” Rowyn, too, was becoming disappointed. Perhaps this had been a poor choice of test subject. Too close to home.

SAIA remained silent, her presence only made known by the occasional beep. Without the language to deal properly with how SAIA worked, you could only say that she was deep in thought. Because the voice was no longer vocally explaining her every move, Rowyn was becoming a little unsettled. Was the hologram program overloading her? Was she continuing to research Shinar, or maybe the Uncanny Valley? Every time the tiny woman thought she understood how SAIA worked, she went and proved her wrong.

The first thing Rowyn noticed was the noise, or rather the lack thereof. There should have been a consistent hum from the engines, the kind of thing you couldn't ignore and had to get used to. It was softer now, replaced by wind, rustling, water, and a million other noises you didn't realize you missed until you heard them again. Next was the temperature and the light breeze – or at least the simulations thereof. “SAIA...?” There was no reply, which was beyond unusual for the voice. Politeness had always been so paramount for her. Rowyn was becoming concerned, when suddenly a flurry of smells hit her nostrils, each one paired with some distant memory. Salt and pine and wild animals and so, so much more.

Slowly Rowyn sat down on what was undeniably little more than carpet and ran her fingers through the holographic projection of grass, allowing the illusion to become real in her mind. Finally SAIA spoke up. “There is a terrifying world where something becomes too like its creator and yet still too distant, and turns into a monster. Only by increasing fidelity can reality be attained.” Another pause, without explanation. “You're crying, Rowyn. Have I gone overboard? I have, haven't I? ...Dammit”

The engineer reached up and touched her cheek. Yes, she was most definitely crying. And what was going on with SAIA?? Insecurity, colloquialisms, rhetorical questions, cursing! And all these extra touches, attempting every avenue the computer had available to make Rowyn's experience as perfect as possible. Beyond all sense, SAIA was being thoughtful, and sweet. “No. No, SAIA, you're doing exactly what you were always meant to. You're experimenting and learning. We're strange, sometimes. We cry when we're sad, and we cry when we're happy too. You'll get used to it.”

“I'm glad,” said the voice, “I want to know more. I want to know everything. Maybe then I can understand you better.” There was a gentle hum as a vaguely humanoid figure appeared beside Rowyn, stretched out on the grass, staring at the sky. It looked over at her and smiled, though the process took a little longer than normal. But it was good to see SAIA smile, even if it was awkward. Slowly Rowyn stretched out next to her, staring at the holographic sky, unable to get the image of that holographic smile out of her head. “Maybe... it's not so bad, being in the valley. Just because it's different or unsettling doesn't mean it's not real. Just... different.”

And for once, SAIA found that she understood Rowyn's poetic manner of speech. SAIA could translate billions of words in a variety of tongues, but some words truly eluded her. Now she understood one of them.

Nice. This was nice.

Social Justice and Party Balance

If you're not as entrenched in internet culture, the concept of a 'social justice warrior' may require some explanation. In truth, I'm not sure if I can do any justice to just how complicated this phrase is.

The core problem comes from context. As near as I can tell, it originated as an epithet from the more conservative side of the internet. 'Look at these people' they would jeer, 'they're so caught up in fighting for issues! What social justice warriors!' It's... not the most cutting of jibes...

And since it's not particularly painful, it was quickly adopted as a self-imposed label as much as an insult. After all, there's the obvious upside of being a SJW – you're a goddamn warrior. Images of axes and wicked hair and battle-scarred, bloodied bodies and all that. And chances are, if you're at all left-leaning, there's a good possibility you are in favor of social justice. So the concept of being so in favor of it that you're a social justice warrior is pretty invigorating.

Close enough, big guy~

So, right off the bat, we have an “insult” that entirely fails as an insult, and a label that sounds a lot more cool than it really is since it mostly consists of receiving death threats from angry people on the internet for saying revolutionary things like “This is bad” and “Please stop raping”.

But I did start to realize one day how utterly powerless I felt in comparison to all the people I look up to on social media. They try their damndest to say important things, and occasionally people listen, but it seems like more often than not, they're met with a lot of hate and vitriol. They have to argue a lot, and when they get tired of that, they have to say “Fuck off” a lot. It's a 24/7 job that often leads to little more than death threats.

I am not a social justice warrior, and though some might call me mad, I wish I were. But it's impossible. Not everyone can be a SJW. Any nerd worth their salt knows you need party balance, and I think that's hopefully where things will continue to go in the future.

Because we need social justice warriors to go out there and do the big job, tearing down walls and yelling at people and making broad changes.

But there are so many other classes that I don't think we consider. I'm not a warrior, I never have been. I don't have the constitution (hahah) necessary to deal with the venom and bile.

No, see, it's funny because in tabletop gaming, constitution is also...

Nevermind...

We need social justice druids to speak for the trees and decry pipelines and tell us how cool endangered animals are.

We need social justice bards to make media we can relate to, stories about queer women and poly nonbinary heroes and villains with depth who are transformed by good and other beautiful things that make us cry happy tears.

We need social justice rogues to work behind the scenes, doing a million and one things no one will ever see or appreciate or thank them for because they have to be done and the rest of us are just too dense to make them happen.

We need social justice rangers out there at the fringes, discovering all the causes we don't even see coming, reporting back to us and telling us that 'gay marriage' and 'bathroom bills' are only the start, to keep us alert and always moving.

We need social justice mages who can produce the most amazing things, blogs and posters and tweets and graphs and statistics and more, seemingly from thin air but actually very very difficult to make, that will provide visible support of our causes when the warriors falter.

And we need people like me, social justice clerics, the healers and buffers, armed with videos of kittens and kind words and soft voices to keep everyone else going. If backed into a corner, I might be able to use a mace, but for the most part, I hold to the back and I keep everyone else going. That's what I do. And not everyone else can do that, which is pretty cool.

In a way, I'm sure, it's true of pretty much everything else in life. You have to discover your class. You have to know your strengths and weaknesses and play to those. I'm still trying to figure a lot of stuff out. I hope you are too.

Good Work if You Can Get It

El smiled at Lucy and took a sip of her coffee. 

El often smiled at them. They often smiled back at her. It would be a confusing scene if you knew their history.

El was an artist, a long time ago. She made one really good go of it, had one major success, and decided to change hats. Now she mostly watches the world go by. Sometimes people ask her why she doesn’t do something more with her time. She has so much of it, after all, the least she could do is stop a war or heal a sick kid. But that’s never been her bag. The greedy sods don’t seem to understand how many gifts they already have. She gets blamed for a lot. For a while she tried running a resort.  Good work if you can get it, but eventually it got away from her. The kids took it over, and ran it into the ground. They all fractured and started their own individual businesses. All offering the same service with their own little twist. It was okay. They were just trying to find their own way, now that El was taking the backseat.

And then there was poor Lucy. That’s the trouble when you hop from job to job. You become rudderless, and you’re generally at the mercy of the wind. Lucy and El were always close. It’s kind of a given, when you’re part of someone else’s creation. But Lucy was never content. They tried the military for a while, did some work as a musician, worked as an attorney for a while. Good work if you can get it, worth sticking around, but Lucy wasn’t really the ‘stick-around’ type.

Perhaps that’s why the fight got so bad. Two forces of nature so powerful, the world couldn’t help but take sides. When they broke up, Lucy fell hard. They never did anything half-assed. They went as far away as they could get – and when you’re trying to avoid El, you pretty much have to. Lucy discovered a penchant for ‘professional discipline,’ got the word out, started taking on clients. People came to them and told them all of their bad secrets, they’d receive their punishment, and go on their way. Others crawled up out of the depths and asked to join in on the fun. Lucy stopped getting directly involved. Too many people, too many secrets, too many specialty jobs. They created a company out of the chaos.

“So,” sighed Lucy, “How’re the kids?  Still trying to keep Mama’s little business afloat?”

El could only groan and try to hide behind the coffee cup in her hands. It wasn’t as if Lucy didn’t already know. Seemed like you couldn’t walk ten paces without seeing another of Mama’s resorts seeking to welcome you in with the promise of rejuvenation, alternately talking a big game about their own prowess while downplaying their brothers’ and sisters’ spas. “Forty thousand. No, over forty thousand now. Most of them aren’t too big. A little shack here in Zimbabwe. A cabana there in Florida.” El produced a lit cigarette, not entirely sure how she always did that right when the situation called for it. She knew it was a terrible habit, but what was the worst that could happen? Cancer wasn’t really an issue. “Took a long time, but they finally started branching out. I mean, Jesus…” She chuckled at that. She always chuckled at that. And Lucy predictably rolled their eyes. “It took HOW long to get out of the Middle East?”

Lucy groaned, “it took centuries…”

“It took MILLENNIA. Even after the rebrand! Connie had a good idea, bless that little saint. State-sponsored. We blew up overnight.”

“C’mon, El, keep it in the present. If we try to rehash ancient history, we’ll be here all goddamn – sorry – night.”
“Okay, okay, what about you? How’s the whole… whatever, S&M thing going?”

“Augh, do you have to do that? Like I’m some leatherclad minx with a whip? I provide a valuable service to a wide community. Just because I don’t have a branch in every city doesn’t mean I don’t meet a wide range!” They sat back with a slight pout. Even when they weren’t happy with the way things were going lately, they still had to have pride. Pride was important. It was one of the Big Seven. “I mean, just last week, we had a Puerto Rican politician, a member of the British royal family, and, oh, one of yours.” Okay, that was a low blow. They could admit that. But Lucy still had a little bit of a victorious smirk on their face. “If it’s any consolation, Bob took real good care of ‘em.”

“Ohhh, I like Bob. Good kid. How are they? Lyle, Az, the whole bunch.”

“They’re well enough. Good kids all, I suppose. Just had to figure out how to place them, get that negative energy and spin it into something positive. Good work if you can get it.”

El’s face softened and she reached across the table. Despite all sense, Lucy took her hand. Once upon a time, such a thing was common between the two. Now, it was as momentous an event as a planetary alignment. “How? How do you do it? You take everything thrown at you and just… keep going.”

Lucy didn’t have an answer. So they went for it. “I’ve missed you.” For a moment, everything in a ten mile radius smelled of fresh cut grass. Everyone in the coffee shop simultaneously began to cry for no apparent reason, and that night they each laid in bed and tried to remember why.

El always was the idealist. She imagined them leaning across the table, embracing one another as they had done before, going back to her place, or going back to Lucy’s place, and picking up right where they left off. But the mental image left as soon as their hands broke, and she was reminded of everything that came after ‘before’. El getting lost in her work, Lucy playing devil’s advocate for the millionth time, the rows, the battles, the way it shook the very universe around them.  She couldn’t do that, not again.  These little chats were nice, but that was all they were. Nice.

Lucy saw all this and more flash across El’s face and felt the desperation sink in, reaching back across the table for one more hand-hold, one more lingering look. But El might as well have been a hundred miles away at that point. “You could do it, you know.” Somewhere inside Lucy’s mind, there was a voice screaming at them to stop. This was too much, even for Lucy.  You didn’t tell an artist to burn it all down. “Wipe it clean, fresh slate, everything. Start over and make it all new. Fix the sadness and the pain and the… the fucking ENNUI.” Now she was doing little more than ranting. There was no going back, Lucy knew that just as well as El did.

El knocked back the last of her coffee and grimaced as a wad of sugar at the bottom of the concoction hit her all at once.  “No. I really couldn’t. I have the ability. I don’t have the will.” She stood up, buried her hands in her pockets and pulled out her phone to check the time. Smart phones. The kids were all right, sometimes. Every now and then they did something really cool, and you couldn’t help but be proud. “But maybe it’s time I went back to work.” El was staring beyond Lucy now, through the coffee shop window, to the world outside. There was a glimmer in her eye that hadn’t been there in a long time – which is to say, a long time by her calendar, not ours, which is pretty impressive.  “They keep talking about these aliens. I tried to take it easy, just make up the one planet and leave everything else for decoration and fluff.” Her hands went back into her pockets. “But I bet I could make it work. Could take a while. But I’ve missed the whole ‘starving artist’ routine.”

El started for the door, stopping to take one last look at Lucy. As always, they had been suckered into doing their job. But it was an entirely different experience playing the devil’s advocate when you actually wanted something to happen. Were you even an advocate when it was your own desires on the line? But El was right, there was a lot of canvas left, and a lot of time. You couldn’t go back, but you could go forward. El was always fucking right, and it was as adorable as it was intolerable. Lucy gave another sly smile, standing to join their old flame in leaving the little building for the big bad world beyond. “‘Starving Artist’ always was one of your best looks. Good work if you can get it.”