Cory Doctorow/Little Brother/100
trove of never-before-seen works in a dizzying array of
languages, from graphic novels to thick academic treatises,
presided over by good-natured (even slapstick) staff who so
palpably enjoyed their jobs that it spread to every customer who
stepped through the door.
Sophia Books http://www.sophiabooks.com/ 450 West Hastings
St., Vancouver, BC Canada V6B1L1 +1 604 684 0484
There was a time when my favorite thing in the world was putting
on a cape and hanging out in hotels, pretending to be an invisible
vampire whom everyone stared at.
It's complicated, and not nearly as weird as it sounds. The Live
Action Role Playing scene combines the best aspects of D&D
with drama club with going to sci-fi cons.
I understand that this might not make it sound as appealing to
you as it was to me when I was 14.
The best games were the ones at the Scout Camps out of town:
a hundred teenagers, boys and girls, fighting the Friday night
traffic, swapping stories, playing handheld games, showing off
for hours. Then debarking to stand in the grass before a group of
older men and women in bad-ass, home-made armor, dented and
scarred, like armor must have been in the old days, not like it's
portrayed in the movies, but like a soldier's uniform after a month
in the bush.
These people were nominally paid to run the games, but you
didn't get the job unless you were the kind of person who'd do it
for free. They'd have already divided us into teams based on the
questionnaires we'd filled in beforehand, and we'd get our team
assignments then, like being called up for baseball sides.
Then you'd get your briefing packages. These were like the
briefings the spies get in the movies: here's your identity, here's
your mission, here's the secrets you know about the group.
From there, it was time for dinner: roaring fires, meat popping
on spits, tofu sizzling on skillets (it's northern California, a
vegetarian option is not optional), and a style of eating and
drinking that can only be described as quaffing.
Already, the keen kids would be getting into character. My first
game, I was a wizard. I had a bag of beanbags that represented
spells -- when I threw one, I would shout the name of the spell I
was casting -- fireball, magic missile, cone of light -- and the
player or "monster" I threw it at would keel over if I connected.
Or not -- sometimes we had to call in a ref to mediate, but for the
most part, we were all pretty good about playing fair. No one
liked a dice lawyer.
By bedtime, we were all in character. At 14, I wasn't super-sure
what a wizard was supposed to sound like, but I could take my
cues from the movies and novels. I spoke in slow, measured
tones, keeping my face composed in a suitably mystical
expression, and thinking mystical thoughts.
The mission was complicated, retrieving a sacred relic that had
been stolen by an ogre who was bent on subjugating the people of
the land to his will. It didn't really matter a whole lot. What
mattered was that I had a private mission, to capture a certain
kind of imp to serve as my familiar, and that I had a secret
nemesis, another player on the team who had taken part in a raid
that killed my family when I was a boy, a player who didn't know
that I'd come back, bent on revenge. Somewhere, of course, there
was another player with a similar grudge against me, so that even
as I was enjoying the camaraderie of the team, I'd always have to
keep an eye open for a knife in the back, poison in the food.
For the next two days, we played it out. There were parts of the
weekend that were like hide-and-seek, some that were like
wilderness survival exercises, some that were like solving
crossword puzzles. The game-masters had done a great job. And
you really got to be friends with the other people on the mission.
Darryl was the target of my first murder, and I put my back into
it, even though he was my pal. Nice guy. Shame I'd have to kill
him.
I fireballed him as he was seeking out treasure after we wiped
out a band of orcs, playing rock-papers-scissors with each orc to
determine who would prevail in combat. This is a lot more
exciting than it sounds.
It was like summer camp for drama geeks. We talked until late
at night in tents, looked at the stars, jumped in the river when we
got hot, slapped away mosquitos. Became best friends, or lifelong
enemies.
I don't know why Charles's parents sent him LARPing. He
wasn't the kind of kid who really enjoyed that kind of thing. He
was more the pulling-wings-off-flies type. Oh, maybe not. But he
just was not into being in costume in the woods. He spent the
whole time mooching around, sneering at everyone and
everything, trying to convince us all that we weren't having the
good time we all felt like we were having. You've no doubt found
that kind of person before, the kind of person who is compelled to
ensure that everyone else has a rotten time.
The other thing about Charles was that he couldn't get the hang
of simulated combat. Once you start running around the woods
and playing these elaborate, semi-military games, it's easy to get
totally adrenalized to the point where you're ready to tear out
someone's throat. This is not a good state to be in when you're
carrying a prop sword, club, pike or other utensil. This is why no
one is ever allowed to hit anyone, under any circumstances, in
these games. Instead, when you get close enough to someone to
fight, you play a quick couple rounds of rock-paper-scissors, with
modifiers based on your experience, armaments, and condition.
The referees mediate disputes. It's quite civilized, and a little
weird. You go running after someone through the woods, catch up
with him, bare your teeth, and sit down to play a little roshambo.
But it works -- and it keeps everything safe and fun.
