I think these characters would demand their paychecks.
Sigh.
They kinda look like the characters I saw on the frozen screen in the office. And for a minute, I’m wondering if me and my dad have something real in common. It’s not like we’re wildly different or something, one of those estranged father-son relationships where all the communication happens over the course of a few head nods and handshakes. We talk all the time—about school, home, whatever nonsense we’re both watching on Netflix together.
But this. This is something we’ve never talked about, for some odd reason. And I can’t quite figure out why that would be. We’d stopped talking about video games and playing them together when I was younger, so the idea that he’s still at it surprises me—and leaves me feeling a little sad.
Laura makes her way back over to the table, two cups of coffee in her hand, just as Jason bounds through the café entrance, pure energy and smiles. He waves to a few people, who he probably doesn’t even know, and makes his way over to us. He pulls out a seat next to Laura and kisses her on the cheek a little too long, while Ryan kicks me under the table, a reminder to “stay out of it,” no doubt.
Jason rubs his hands together.
“Alright, you guys.” He nudges his chair closer to the table. “I have some news. I’ve entered Thundertail into the GamesCon Indie Game Showcase. They started accepting submissions just two days ago, and I presented some of the concept art and the basic story in the proposal last night. Had a great screen-share call with them.”
Laura grabs Jason’s hand, smiling at him, and then gives us an equally excited smile.
Ryan glances over at me, worry washing over his face.
Screen-share? What could he even show them?
“Jason, the game isn’t done yet,” Ryan says, his tone stern and concerned. “How can you submit an unfinished game to the showcase? What assets can you share with an unfinished game? Also, you haven’t paid for any of—”
“It’s not a big deal.” Jason waves him off. “All we needed to show them were some bits and pieces of what we produced already, like the art, which you’ve been working on, and some loose concept of the story—that’s you, Aaron—and a tiny bit of gameplay.” He glances at Laura and then back at us. “The two of us have been coding all week and created some early concept dungeon-crawl levels.”
“What!” I exclaim, trying to hold in the excitement washing over me, which is at war with the slight feeling of irritation at him showcasing our work this early without telling or paying us. “It...you... We can play our game?”
“With my characters and designs?” Ryan asks, his tone still sharp.
“Technically, yes.” Jason shrugs, grinning. “It’s just a very, very rough demo. The purpose of the showcase at the convention is to ideally get an investor. Someone who will jump on board, fund the game, and take a share of the profits. Maybe even a publisher bigger than...well, me. Someone bigger than ManaPunk.”
“Oh,” I say, all that excitement fading away. “What happened to—”
“Doing it ourselves? Being indie? Making it our own? Getting paid for our work?!” Ryan interrupts, glaring at Jason and closing his notebooks. “You want to go with a publisher, with a bigger company, who owns all this? Someone other than me who can put a trademark on my art, Jason? Other than us?” He points at his closed-up drawings, and I see worry flicker over Jason’s generally carefree face. “I didn’t sink days and weeks and months of my life into all of this only to have some asshole be able to make action figures or crappy Candy Crush–style games using my work down the line. Especially with no contract or paycheck on the horizon. Furthermore—”
“That...that’s not what’s happening here, Ryan,” Jason says calmly. He glances at Laura.
“Tell them,” she urges.
“Tell us what?” Ryan demands.
My phone chimes, and I flick it to vibrate, but not before seeing it’s another message from D1V, sent to me through the game’s chat app. A bit of tension seizes up in my chest as I reluctantly put the phone down on the table.
Jason sighs.
“Look, I know I’m late on your checks. I know. But the thing is, ManaPunk isn’t doing so hot,” he says hesitantly. “Mobile games...well, even when sales seem amazing—and they are pretty good—sometimes it’s only just enough to keep me afloat. Never mind the freelance publicist and marketing team we have on board to support the earlier games, or the tech support I source out to keep them updated every time the iOS or Android systems roll out another update. There are a lot of working gears in the machine that none of you have to deal with, and I’m running out of oil to keep them going smoothly.”
“Running out of money,” Ryan says, and I can feel the glare in his voice. “That’s what you mean. Say it like it is. Money for us.”
“Yeah...but...finding a publisher, that’s the best way to wriggle out of this.” Jason reaches out and puts his hand on one of Ryan’s notebooks, and Ryan grabs it, holding firm. There’s an awkward silence in the air between the two of them, as Ryan stares down Jason, and Jason continues to look at Ryan like he’s his only hope in all this. Like maybe the both of us are, at this point.
And it strikes me that maybe he is. We are.
Which is terrifying.
I glance down at my phone. Three more messages. I bite my lip.
“I’ll need to see contracts,” Ryan says firmly, breaking the silence. “Contracts that I’m going to run by my family and my father’s lawyer.”
“Of course,” Jason says, the words escaping with a breath.
“I need to know where my art is going, how it’s being used,” he presses. “Every single step of the way. The second you try to convince me to port it over to some match 3 game bullshit—”
“Ryan, come on, man,” Jason says, his hand still on the notebook.
“I know my worth,” Ryan says sternly. “You best know it, too.” He exhales and finally lets go of his notebook.
Jason starts flipping through it and quickly reaches the end, the finished illustrations. Full color and glorious. I can practically see his eyes lighting up from across the table, a beaming smile on his face. He looks up at Ryan.
“This,” he says, closing the notebook and shaking it at Ryan and me. “These finished illustrations. And with your story, Aaron? This is going to save me.” He clears his throat and quickly adds, “Save us.”
I try not to smile too hard at this, hearing him say my story will save the company. I think that’s the first positive reaction I’ve had from him about it.