MMORPG—massive multiplayer online role-playing game.”
The way she avoided my eye said a lot. “I see. That would be the same online game that I forbade you to continue playing because you did nothing else but pretend you were a pirate for three solid months?”
Belligerent blue eyes suddenly met mine. “You didn’t forbid me to play. You just stopped paying for it.”
I thought for a moment, mentally reviewing the latest credit card statement. “Ah. That would explain the rash of phone calls to your father when we moved here last month. You talked him into paying for that game.”
“It’s not just a game,” she said, her hands on her hips. “It has layers . And it’s about to become virtual reality.”
“Uh-huh.” I turned back to my desk. “As I recall from what you showed me, it was simply a simulation of some vaguely Caribbean pirate setting with a lot of murder and mayhem.”
“That’s only one part of it. Most players think that the goal of the game is to go pillaging—that’s attacking other ships to take their money and goods—but really the game is a complex social infrastructure of colonization and world building. Right now my crew is about to go into defense mode to protect our island from the evil Black Corbin, who wants to take it from us.”
“Your crew?” I asked, making a mental note to talk to Bill about feeding Tara’s unhealthy addiction to online games.
“Yeah, I’m the crew wench.”
My eyebrows rose as I envisioned the letter I’d send to the game’s creator about putting a minor in an adult situation.
“You can just stop with the Mom Brows. It’s nothing like that,” Tara said, the disgusted tone in her voice doing much to reassure me. She hadn’t yet expressed an interest in the opposite sex, something I was all too happy about. “Our crew is led by Bartholomew Portuguese. He’s based on a real pirate, by the way. PC Monroe said he did tons and tons of research on him to make the character believable.”
“I see. Still, I told you two months ago that schoolwork took precedence over world building. Playing a pirate won’t get you into college—”
“PC Monroe says the economical model that the game uses is a real one, and that to understand and be successful at it means I have a good head for business. I have a weaving shop. I sell cloth. I make money at it, Mom.”
Her calculated dig hit pay dirt, despite my better intentions. “What sort of economic model? How much profit do you make?”
“A lot.” The smile that blazed across her face was rife with pure satisfaction. “Enough to buy me three sloops. I even have a spreadsheet that I use to keep track of costs and profits.”
I narrowed my eyes at her again. “That was a low blow. You are an evil child to use my love of spreadsheets against me like that.”
Her grin turned up a notch. “You always say you have to be ruthless in business, and this is all economics. Buying and selling and profit margins and supply and demand. Only it’s set in a pirate world rather than this one.”
“Hmm.” I wondered for a moment what pirate finances would look like. How much would monthly grog expenditures run, and could you depreciate the costs of storing it?
“ You’d make a killing there,” my little rat-in-child-form added in a persuasive tone of voice. “With your business degree and stuff, you’d be rich in no time. I bet you could even have your own crew.”
For a moment an image flashed on my mind’s eye of myself standing at the helm of a tall ship, the sails fully rigged, the bow of the ship cutting through the azure waters, salty sea air brushing my face as I ordered the cannons to fire on some helpless ship. A little voice deep inside of me let out a cheer, but it was quickly squelched as another rumble brought me back to the present and reality. I turned back to my computer. “Good try, Tara, but not quite good enough.”
The teasing light in her eyes died. “Dad would do it.”
I
The way she avoided my eye said a lot. “I see. That would be the same online game that I forbade you to continue playing because you did nothing else but pretend you were a pirate for three solid months?”
Belligerent blue eyes suddenly met mine. “You didn’t forbid me to play. You just stopped paying for it.”
I thought for a moment, mentally reviewing the latest credit card statement. “Ah. That would explain the rash of phone calls to your father when we moved here last month. You talked him into paying for that game.”
“It’s not just a game,” she said, her hands on her hips. “It has layers . And it’s about to become virtual reality.”
“Uh-huh.” I turned back to my desk. “As I recall from what you showed me, it was simply a simulation of some vaguely Caribbean pirate setting with a lot of murder and mayhem.”
“That’s only one part of it. Most players think that the goal of the game is to go pillaging—that’s attacking other ships to take their money and goods—but really the game is a complex social infrastructure of colonization and world building. Right now my crew is about to go into defense mode to protect our island from the evil Black Corbin, who wants to take it from us.”
“Your crew?” I asked, making a mental note to talk to Bill about feeding Tara’s unhealthy addiction to online games.
“Yeah, I’m the crew wench.”
My eyebrows rose as I envisioned the letter I’d send to the game’s creator about putting a minor in an adult situation.
“You can just stop with the Mom Brows. It’s nothing like that,” Tara said, the disgusted tone in her voice doing much to reassure me. She hadn’t yet expressed an interest in the opposite sex, something I was all too happy about. “Our crew is led by Bartholomew Portuguese. He’s based on a real pirate, by the way. PC Monroe said he did tons and tons of research on him to make the character believable.”
“I see. Still, I told you two months ago that schoolwork took precedence over world building. Playing a pirate won’t get you into college—”
“PC Monroe says the economical model that the game uses is a real one, and that to understand and be successful at it means I have a good head for business. I have a weaving shop. I sell cloth. I make money at it, Mom.”
Her calculated dig hit pay dirt, despite my better intentions. “What sort of economic model? How much profit do you make?”
“A lot.” The smile that blazed across her face was rife with pure satisfaction. “Enough to buy me three sloops. I even have a spreadsheet that I use to keep track of costs and profits.”
I narrowed my eyes at her again. “That was a low blow. You are an evil child to use my love of spreadsheets against me like that.”
Her grin turned up a notch. “You always say you have to be ruthless in business, and this is all economics. Buying and selling and profit margins and supply and demand. Only it’s set in a pirate world rather than this one.”
“Hmm.” I wondered for a moment what pirate finances would look like. How much would monthly grog expenditures run, and could you depreciate the costs of storing it?
“ You’d make a killing there,” my little rat-in-child-form added in a persuasive tone of voice. “With your business degree and stuff, you’d be rich in no time. I bet you could even have your own crew.”
For a moment an image flashed on my mind’s eye of myself standing at the helm of a tall ship, the sails fully rigged, the bow of the ship cutting through the azure waters, salty sea air brushing my face as I ordered the cannons to fire on some helpless ship. A little voice deep inside of me let out a cheer, but it was quickly squelched as another rumble brought me back to the present and reality. I turned back to my computer. “Good try, Tara, but not quite good enough.”
The teasing light in her eyes died. “Dad would do it.”
I