[chapter_3]
"Dad tells me you're starting your own company."
Masen flicks his eyes up, gauging his brother's expression, before looking back at the virtual chess game displayed on the tablet sitting in the middle of the table between them. "Mm." He moves his knight, setting a trap for three moves from now, then pulls his hand away from the screen.
Carlisle, eternally patient, takes a moment to assess his white pieces, weighing the options that are left to him. He sighs, taking the only course he has with great reluctance. "Without the family's help," Carlisle adds belatedly, pointedly. There is a shade of reticence in the deep blue of his gaze.
His brother feels like he needs to say something, but he doesn't want to step on Masen's toes. The burden of being the older brother - of being the older brother by eight years - is one that Carlisle has always felt keenly. His need to take care of people has thankfully been diverted to his patients, but Carlisle has never forgotten that the first person he ever took care of was Masen, which is what leads to careful conversations of cloaked censure.
Masen's natural reticence has probably not helped curb this habit.
"Starting your own company without the family's help will be hard," Carlisle says. Harder than it has to be is not said, but Masen hears it anyway.
"It's more fun this way," Masen tells his brother.
He has his own silent words that he does not add for the sake of Carlisle's compassionate heart. Carlisle has never seen it, but Masen has always carried the weight of knowing he is the adopted son of the great Cullen clan. He holds his tongue so that he does not draw attention to the unspoken truth - namely the fact that he doubts Grandfather Cullen would be willing to spare the adopted son the capital required to start a business. Masen is perfectly aware he is fortunate his education is paid for and that he is lucky his adoptive mother had managed to wrangle post-graduation living expenses from Grandfather Cullen's elitist, penny-pinching hands. Carlisle can and should remain blissfully aware of all of this. He isn't the type that suffers injustice happily, and he has enough to stress about between his residency at the hospital and his grooming as heir to the various Cullen enterprises.
"You always did like a challenge," Carlisle acknowledges. He loses his bishop, moves a pawn, and furrows his brows at the tablet.
"Mm." Masen shuffles his knight again, then adds, "I have business partners."
"That's great, Masen," Carlisle says warmly, his shoulders relaxing, losing the tension worrying over Masen had caused. "I'm glad to hear it. This all sounds very exciting."
"It is," Masen agrees mildly. "Checkmate."
"Ah, you win again. I'm not surprised. I haven't won in years," Carlisle muses as Masen closes down the app and flips the suede cover over the face of the tablet. "I can't decide if I'm just terrible at chess, or if you're really just that good."
"Both."
Carlisle lets out a soft laugh. He spins the mostly-empty ceramic mug on the table, the dregs of his ridiculous triple-shot espresso sitting dark at the very bottom. Carlisle glances at the fine watch on his wrist. "I have to get back to the hospital."
Masen nods, standing when his brother does. He has one more midterm to sit later this afternoon and probably could have utilized this time to study - but he and Carlisle both have busy enough schedules that this is the only time this week to squeeze in their meeting. These weekly meetings began as a way to stay connected when Carlisle went off to college and maintain their spirit nearly a decade later.
Maintain the brotherhood; maintain the lifeline.
Carlisle leads the way toward the front of The Coffee Circuit and Masen intends to follow - but halfway into weaving between square, mostly empty tables, he sees a familiar flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. On impulse he pauses, turns to look.
The first thing he notices are the hands. Slender fingers, plain fingernails, no ornamentation. Both hands move quickly, a rapid well-practiced rhythm that happens without pause, without hesitation. His eyes shift upward, to the left - and yes, he was right, that's unmistakably a screen displaying Dawn of Warcraft. He notes the playing as commendable, considering this girl is easily overcoming her opponent using only a trap pad, something which can make maneuvering awkward for less experienced players.
But the girl uses the walk-on-air feature flawlessly, even with her avatar shifted into cat form.
Mason's interest is piqued. What's her handle? He has to know, and that has his feet taking two precise, quiet steps forward - just near enough to clearly read the screen, but not close enough to loom. As he does, his eyes cannot help but rove over the side of the girl's face. Peaches and cream complexion, a generous smattering of freckles, the slope of a high-bridged nose. Her hair, a nutty shade of cinnamon that is only just tinted red beneath the warm café lights, is tucked neatly behind her ears, the length waving gently to her waist. She wears a plain white t-shirt and a woven bracelet on one wrist, the kind that children make and give to their friends.
Simple. Modest. No fuss. From the little he can see, he surmises she is attractive. She is certainly clever, that much he can glean from her handle. Ensnared, for the first time in his life, Masen wants to see a girl's face, wants to talk to her.
This girl might be interesting enough to hold his attention, something that only his ambition has held before.
But of course Masen's abrupt preoccupation doesn't escape his brother's notice. Carlisle follows his gaze, an earnest expression on his face once he connects the dots. Masen straightens, turns to retreat, the tips of his ears red at being caught - and at being so easily read.
"You should go talk to her and ask about her game," Carlisle encourages lowly, a gentle prod from a caring sibling who only wants the best for his brother. But as Masen passes him, heading directly for the door, he notably does not push any further, merely accepting what Masen is willing to offer, which, in this case, is a muted bashfulness.
Masen steps out into the warm California sun, his brother right behind him, and thinks, Serendipity. He knows himself well enough to know - right now, at this very moment, and with little doubt - that something has just started. The low coil of his ambition, usually banked on honoring his family and his birth family's name, has loosened, reached, tugged in a new direction.
A thin tilt of a lips, a smile just barely not a smirk. Swansong, huh?
Google Search
swansong
About 5,970,000 results (0.69 seconds)
The swan song is a metaphorical phrase for a final gesture, effort, or performance given just before death or retirement. The phrase refers to an ancient belief that swans sing a beautiful song just before their death, having been silent during most of their lifetime.
Google Search
swansong dawn of warcraft
About 1,540 results (0.13 seconds)
Dawn of Warcraft - Forum - NorCal Server - Dueling Rankings
Updated Dueling Rankings
Posted 12.27.2019
Top 10 Duelers on NorCal Server
It's that time again! Before we start the new year and the new decade, we curious netizens have gathered an updated list of the top duelers on the Northern California server. There have been some changes since the mid-year update back in June, and a surprising black horse has joined the ranks. Take a look at the top-rated players who will give you the biggest challenge - if you dare throw down the gauntlet.
1. Master Culler
2. Amuunn
3. Grevious
4. Swansong
5. Ole Ole
6. Reed Reeves
7. Valkner
8. Nash
9. Aggrego
10. K.O.
Discussion
Nussun
Ngl today I dueled with Valkner and lost my actual life this is my ghost haunting the forum
GoGoGadget
Valkner earned that spot and your life
Nussun
You wont hear me arguing
PipPippin
Not surprised Swansong is on here. She's been on the ranking forever
Laurr
You mean shes been 4th forever
PipPippin
Spoken like someone whos been trashed by Swansong.
Janeway
I remember Swansong's duel with you Laurr. I still laugh about it when I'm feeling sad.
Fils
Who the hell is K.O.
Weavel
Not a noob that's for sure
View More Comments
Emmett McCarty barges into their dorm the same way he barges through life - loudly. He opens the door briskly, takes stock of Peter and Alistair huddled over a laptop, spares Masen sitting at his desk half a glance, and then clears his throat. Repeatedly and until he is satisfied he has grasped the attention of everyone in the room.
Emmett stands up straight, pushes his chest out. "I have been approached," he announces with pride, the faintest tinge of Tennessee in his voice.
Masen, sensing the chaos about to be unleashed in his dorm, turns his chair a quarter, and crosses his arms over his chest to settle in for the show.
Emmett, naturally, does not disappoint as he swaggers further into the room, sitting heavily on his unmade bed with a sprawl of long limbs. The bed being unmade isn't anything out of the ordinary since Emmett's half of the dorm is similarly untidy, papers full of math equations littering the floor and a pile of laundry spilling out of the hamper tucked into the closet. By contrast, Masen's half the room is clean, everything precisely where it needs to be. It's the difference between night and day, as well as the product of a year's worth of compromises. Much of the time Masen misses rooming with Alistair. It was much less headache-inducing, and not only because Alistair is a quiet person in general.
Peter has turned toward Emmett, brows drawn up, while Alistair reluctantly looks away from his computer. "By a cult?" Peter asks, searching for clarification.
Emmett scowls at him, clicks his tongue. "No, not by a cult." A wide grin, stretching ear to ear, dimples on both cheeks. "By some pretty ladies."
Peter is unmoved by the wiggling eyebrows, Alistair merely blinks at the tone, and Masen is unfazed by it all.
Emmett straightens from his lazed sprawl and gestures broadly, wide palms sweeping through the air. "I was approached by two of the Denali sisters! Do you have any idea what a big deal this is? Irina Denali wants me to fix Tanya's computer!"
Peter's eyes go wide, warm maple glittering with interest. "Really?" he asks keenly.
Emmett nods emphatically. "Really."
It's Alistair who sucks his teeth, casts a doubtful glance through the lax flop of platinum blond hair falling across his pale forehead. "Are you sure they were asking you, or were they fishing for a bigger catch?" he wonders, and none in the room fail to notice that his eyes flick pointedly to Masen.
Emmett rolls his eyes. "I'm not stupid," he says bluntly. "I know they're using me to get to Masen. But the point is that they are using me, and that I fully intend to accidentally forget to mention Tanya's computer problem to my roommate."
Peter makes a noise of comprehension. "Ah, I see. That is an improvement. Usually girls don't even talk to you for longer than necessary."
"I can't help it if I'm too much man for a woman," Emmett tells them seriously.
Peter does a piss-poor job of hiding his snort, so Emmett throws a dirty sock right in his face. What follows are several minutes of Peter and Emmett roughhousing, Peter getting himself caught in a headlock, and Peter shouting Uncle! Uncle! until Emmett releases him. When Peter is set free, he catches his breath and then says, "You're absolutely right! You're always right! I was just kidding! The-the ladies are lucky to even look in your direction."
"Feeding his delusion isn't helpful, Pete," Alistair mutters.
"Better than dying between those trunks he calls arms," Peter mutters back.
Emmett ignores them. "This is my chance. My dream girl doesn't even look in my direction - yet - but Tanya and Irina Denali will serve as good practice," he says seriously. "I'll talk in complete sentences to Hale before I graduate even if it kills me."
Ordinarily it's entirely possible Emmett is exaggerating how tied his tongue gets when Rose Hale crosses his path, and even Masen might not have believed that his loudmouth roommate could ever balk socially if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. Unfortunately, he is perfectly aware that Rose Hale is Emmett's one Kryptonite - he's been on the receiving end of more than one rant balanced between frustration and lust. If he finds private humor in Emmett's struggle, well, Masen is only human.
"Not sure if that's ethically sound, but okay, good plan," Peter says. His face lights up as a thought occurs to him. "Do you think they really have computer issues, though? Why not take it to a repair shop? Or - hey, if you can't fix it, give me a call! I've been itching for a new challenge!"
"Ah, Peter. Poor, naïve Peter," Emmett sighs, shaking his head in mock sadness.
"They don't have any computer problems. It's a fabricated, shamelessly thin ploy," Alistair says flatly. "And a dumb one, too. Masen isn't even interested in people, let alone girls."
All three of them look at Masen who has been nothing more than a silent observer the whole time. He considers Alistair's assessment, weighs the truth of it, sees if it fits.
And then he smirks.
Emmett pops to his feet, points an accusing finger at Masen. "What the fuck does that mean, Masen? Why are you so smug?"
"I feel like I just walked through a graveyard," Peter says to the room. "I have chills. My soul has left my body."
Alistair rolls his eyes, turns back to his computer. "My soul left my body long ago."
Turing Is Our Hero (Group Chat)
Em Likes Pi
So the Denalis are not what I expected
Peter Panda
What happened
Em Likes Pi
Tanya took one look at me and went to pout in a corner
like an actual corner
With an actual pout
Squidward
Normal reaction to your presence
Em Likes Pi
Go get some sun Al the lack of daylight is getting to your head
Anyway
Irina legit interrogated me about Mase
She used the word whereabouts
In an actual conversation
With another person
Peter Panda
Shes intense
Damn dude
Em Likes Pi
Right?
I played dumb
Squidward
Not hard for you
Em Likes Pi
Then I fixed a computer that wasn't even broken
Also fuck you Al
Squidward
No thanks
Peter Panda
BURN
Em Likes Pi
And then they chased me out of the room
Almost literally
Now I'm just standing in front of the humanities building
Mad Hatter
Outstanding afternoon
Em Likes Pi
Don't worry bro I covered for you
Youre safe from those crazy girls
Mad Hatter
Your sacrifice is appreciated
Peter Panda
Wow almost a thank you
Em Likes Pi
Mase my man what would you do without me?
I'm your best bro right?
Of course I am
Mad Hatter
(Read at 3:51)
Em Likes Pi
That's cold
So very cold
Peter Panda
rip Em
I'll bring a pretty girl to your funeral
Squidward
Stop clogging the group chat I'm in class
Dumbasses
It doesn't take long to find her in the game. Swansong is well-known in Dawn of Warcraft, a seasoned player with a high seating in the dueling ranking that hasn't slipped for at least two years. He thought the handle seemed vaguely familiar - he's seen it a few steps below his own any time Peter prods at him to check the rankings.
Masen recalls the girl's expert maneuvering, the way she so thoroughly thrashed her opponent with such ease, as if she were merely playing with him - a cat with a mouse. He thinks the ranking is well-earned. He can't imagine many people being able to best Swansong, not in one-on-one duels.
Masen spends a few hours shadowing Swansong's journey through the game, staying just far away enough that the system won't detect him and notify her. She goes on her daily quests with a certain diligence, stays far away from the public areas unless strictly necessary, and plays with a deft talent.
The girl he saw in the café - her skills weren't a one-off and that makes him inordinately please. Eager. Impatient, even.
But Masen has spent a lifetime harnessing his patience, a byproduct of surviving Grandfather Cullen's scathing comments. Masen believes in delayed gratification, knows rewards are all the sweeter when they come after a calculated victory.
He knows what he wants. He just needs to wait for the right opportunity.
And so he places his attention on other things while he exercises his patience. The weekend after midterms are over he gathers his business partners to his dorm and they all sit around a cramped card table with their laptops out. "We have five weeks until the end of the quarter," he begins, pulling up the right programs on his screen. "Which means we have six weeks until the Emergent Games Conference in San Francisco."
"That's so soon," Alistair comments blandly.
Emmett smiles, happy and simple. "How exciting!"
"How nauseating," Peter manages, looking vaguely queasy.
Masen briefly stops navigating through his computer, flicks his eyes between his friends, and resigns himself to a meeting delayed by at least ten minutes. As the conversation blooms around him, he runs through a diagnostic test of their product, searching for flaws that might have developed between their last meeting and now. He might as well be prepared when he drags them back into focus later.
"Shouldn't Alistair be saying that?" Emmett wonders.
"Alistair doesn't have a fear of public speaking," Peter shoots back.
Emmett snorts. "Yeah, because he hates people."
"What do I have to fear from those I loathe?"
"See?" Emmett gestures triumphantly at Alistair's monotony.
"Yes, I see he's inhuman," Peter retorts, lifting his chin. "And I also see its inhumane to make me, the one with the soul crushing phobia, be one of the presenters at the conference."
Emmett raises his eyebrows, gestures to Masen. "What, like we're going to send that robot out to make a good impression?"
"He's the CEO!" Peter cries.
Emmett doesn't appear convinced by this argument. "Yeah, but he's also C3PO. Someone capable of a facial expression needs to be the speaker."
"Then why not you?" Peter challenges.
"Me? I'm CFO. I only talk in numbers."
"This is bullshit," Peter hisses, appearing very harassed with his curly fawn hair fisted between his fingers.
"I think it's fair," Emmett disagrees, sitting back in his chair. He casts his blue eyes around, innocuous. "We did play for it."
"We played rock-paper-scissors and I am not convinced there wasn't any cheating!"
A thoughtful expression crosses Alistair's face. "Can you even cheat at rock-paper-scissors?"
"Masen can," Peter declares heatedly. "And I wouldn't put it past him if he knew he was causing unspeakable misery if he lost and someone else won."
Three pairs of eyes rest on Masen, with wonder, with skepticism, with accusation. Masen stares back, lifts a single brow.
"Yeah," Emmett sighs out, nodding to himself. "You're probably right, Pete."
"We live with actual Satan," Peter tells them seriously.
Unruffled, Masen glances at the data on his computer screen, then asks, "Where are we with the progress for the mobile game?"
"He doesn't even try to deny it," Peter says under his breath. "Just moves right on to business."
Peter is summarily ignored.
"I've almost finished the digital rendering for all the characters," Alistair offers. "Pan is last. His hooves are giving me trouble."
Masen knew this, of course. While they're each in charge of a specific portion of their mobile game, Masen has the final approval on all aspects of Pagan Immortals. In fact, the majority of the base coding for the game was created by him, and he continues to streamline it, striving for perfection. It's absolutely vital that Pagan Immortals is flawless - if the reception for their slash-and-hack mobile app is good at Emergent Games, then they can easily snare the investors they need to really start their business. There's only so far the revenue from the software Masen has independently released and the old money from Alistair's family will get them. Their goals require real money, and more than that, their start-up needs a sparkling reputation for innovation.
Masen will not accept anything less than perfect. Not with this. Not with anything.
"Will it be finished by the deadline?"
Peter waves his hand, nudges Alistair with his elbow. "I'm helping him code it all in. Don't worry, it'll be ready."
"Optimization is almost done, so I can pitch in where I'm needed," Emmett adds.
Masen nods, calculates it all in his head, compares it to the timeline he's designed for this project. They still have a mountain of work to get done, but he isn't worried. Having goals, working toward something like this, is a challenge he relishes.
Yes. This is a good way to bide his time until other opportunities turn up.
A/N: Yes, Masen is Edward. Yes, I have a reason for it. Yes, I did do a poll on Facebook for it. Fight me.
Let's see, technology related things to explain in this chapter. Ah. So, the mobile game they're developing, Pagan Immortals, is based on Diablo Immortal, which is a mobile game developed by the same company that developed World of Warcraft. It's a pretty nifty game. A "slash-and-hack" game is exactly what it sounds like - tons of slashing, lots of hacking. I think that's everything that isn't immediately obvious from context.
Handles:
Mad Hatter is Masen
Em Likes Pi is Emmett
Peter Panda is Peter
Squidward is Alistair
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~Rae
