Summer sighs nostalgically. “I admit it, I’m shallow — my other main objection to WoW is that I don’t like the way it looks. It’s not pretty enough.” She laughs at herself. “But then, my first was City of Heroes, and there was so much about it that’s different than the standard, from the teaming to the complete detachment of appearance from stats.” She scratches Helios’ head and goes on, “Most of the games where accessibility is a problem don’t last long out of beta — though there’s always Final Fantasy XIV, where they actually scrapped most of the game and started over. But, you know, the thing about the builds and theorycrafting applies to Rift, too, and they’re doing pretty good. Even if they did have to put in autobuilds for stupid people.” It’s obvious she doesn’t think much of players who aren’t into at least some theorycrafting.

“Theoretically I get the concept about not being able to appear outside your armour type, but it /still/ annoys me. The only point in the game where it makes that much difference is PvP, and honestly PvPers who are that anal can suck it. I hate that kind of player. So what difference does it make, in a world-setting with magic, if you make your plate look like leather? Or hell, your mage robe look like plate mail?”

Something in Stiles’ attitude prickles, a little, and his shoulders hunch, spine straightening. They’re almost to the clinic already, but that doesn’t stop him from giving Summer a few glances, sharper in a mild way, like cheddar that’s almost to medium. “Hey. No. Sometimes it isn’t about stupid. Sometimes it’s about…time, or dedication, or, I don’t know, not wanting to have to take a stupid Adderall to play a video game, it’s just a game.”

The vague insult in his attitude fades a little, and he goes back to his normal hunched stance, peering at a light as it goes yellow and he starts to slow for it. “I can’t really get that engaged. My stuff looks like my stuff, it’s not—I mean when I am literally running for my actual life in the woods four days a week I guess my priorities shifted.”

Distracted, Summer asks, quietly, “Is it really that bad? I had thought things were getting better … is there any way I can help?” She lifts a hand from around Helios’ middle to put it on Stiles’ knee, a little frown creasing her eyebrows. Helios hunches down into cat-loaf mode, picking up on the mood change. He’s really quite sensitive to that sort of thing, for a cat.

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