Page 22 of Anti-Player

My laptop on my coffee table is open to the Fawn of the Dead channel. It pings as it switches from a generic flat black screen to a red dot with the word LIVE beside it. I'd tuned in to watch her channel the first day she'd reviewed my Secret Reader. I haven't caught her live since then, always just re-playing her old videos instead.

Sitting up straighter on the couch, I lean between my knees to get closer to my laptop. To get closer to the cartoon girl with her bouncing pink hair and green deer antlers that appears with an excited wave. The image isn't Paige, but the voice is, and when it enters my ears I wallow in it.

“Hey everybody, Fawn of the Dead here! Hope you're ready to watch me poke at some new gifts that were sent to me today!”

The chat-box fills with rapid messages and emojis that fly by so fast I can barely read them. Sometimes they spam a weird inside joke: it thinned a tortoise? They follow that with tons of turtle emojis. Quickly that shifts to a little green and pink deer. I've never seen it anywhere else before, it has to be custom to Fawn's chatroom.

You seriously are so lost with this stuff, huh? I ask myself with a wry smirk. How pathetic to be a tech designer with a blind-spot for social media. Sitting there sipping my beer, I try to get a feel for the culture of Fawn's live-streams. This is different than rewatching old videos. Her subscribers come to engage with her. Realizing that is helpful. I understand why people want to connect with Fawn. She might look like a 3D girl from something like Sailor Moon, but she's still Paige, and Paige is special.

“This,” she says, holding out a blue package, “is something called Hyper Candy.” She peels the wrapper, brings the shimmery little balls in their deep-set grooves closer to the screen. “The company who sent it is called Banger Bangs. Yes, you heard me.”

The chatroom becomes a wall of frantic text. I hesitate, then type into the chat-box: Looks like a jaw breaker. I hit enter—a box pops up, warning me I'm not logged in so I can't participate. Frowning, I quickly fill out the registration form with an email and username. I'm not very creative, I choose MikelH.

That time, when I hit enter, the words go through. My delight evaporates—the chat is such a blur I don't even see my words, how can Paige notice?

Fawn bounces up and down in her chair. The cartoon's hands clip out of view at times, like she'd complained about. She says, “They're supposedly 'designed for pro gamers to be super epic' which I guess means they're packed with sugar and caffeine.”

A chorus of EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT appears in the chat. I type a few things but they're swept away. Each attempt to message Paige is futile.

:

EAITEAITEAITEAITEAIT

EAITEAITEAITEAITEAIT

????????

EAT IT EAT EEAAAAATTT

:

“It never ends!” I huff. “How does she notice anything or make sense of this mess?” I can't imagine sitting where she is, being in her shoes, face to face with all this pandemonium while keeping her cheerful, funny demeanor.

Suddenly a little animated cartoon of a coin appears on the screen—big, bright, musical, impossible to ignore. Someone named BigDawg19999 has tipped her ten dollars. His message floats next to the coins— Hi Fawn do you like gummy candy?

Fawn stops what she's doing to read. “Thanks for the tip, BigDawg! To answer your question, yes. I do like gummy candy and I hope this little guy is chewy!”

I cup my chin in wonderment. The obvious para-social nature of her relationship to her viewers and the cost to partake clicks in my head. It's so damn obvious. I know exactly what to do and feel a bit foolish for being so slow to get it.

Fawn is chewing the candy, reporting on the taste, making hilarious faces that her cartoon avatar is able to exaggerate like a real human never could. A few more people send her tips as she begins reviewing the Hyper Candy. She thanks each of them, reads their comments, and when someone tips her one hundred dollars she cheers and throws up cartoon stars.

With a sage-like nod, I hit my enter key.

“So anyway,” Fawn says, “these taste like pop-rocks. They're really really sweet, like my teeth ache, I don't know why I'd pick these over, say, an energy drink or—” The treasure chest that suddenly covers the screen silences her.

My face hurts from my proud grin as I look at what I've done.

:

MikelH has tipped ten-thousand dollars!

:

The message beneathstates: Don't fill up on candy or you'll have no room for dinner.

Fawn is gaping with wide eyes. She's frozen on the spot so nothing but the wavy ends of her animated hair sway. I know her video camera is tracking her real-life expression; she isn't faking surprise.

The messages in the chat are flying by, a whirl of nonsense and caps-lock. I don't read any of it; I'm focusing on the VR figure who is a stand-in for the woman I'm addicted to. Any second now she'll clap, cheer, squeal... some sign of joy. My big cash tip won't just be a funny inside joke between us, it will also grow her subscriber numbers. Who else got tips like this? Fawn—no, Paige—has to be thrilled.

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