False Prophet — Roleplayer Guild

Time: 10:30 A.M. - 12:15 P.M. 
Loc: Elliot Bay
@: @Mole@miztli@Lucky
Interactions: King Tal, Edward D’alessio, Annie & Bianca, Bailey, Alejandro
Equipment: Several bags of dice, gummy bears, and a portable toolkit

10:30 AM

Right on the dot. Punctual. Perfect. That was what was expected of the Netters. The car ride and subsequent blimp ride were uneventful. When Toby stepped foot into the magnificent bubble hosting the event, it was a bit sparse on people- of course it would be. From what Toby understood, his father had to show up early to prepare for a speech. He caught onto this by overhearing a voice call (or bits of it). In his personal opinion, unprepared speeches were the best kinds. They were always from the heart. If there was one thing he'd ever learned from Dungeon Mastering for the past three years, it was that nothing ever went as planned. Sometimes it was irritating to deal with, but there was usually some value in the chaos. There was no chaos here, though. In this dome, the prim and proper atmosphere of high society reigned supreme. There was no room for error. Despite having grown up like this, even he found it suffocating. 

Or maybe that was his bowtie. He subtly tugged at it but didn't dare remove it. That would be rude. Even he wasn't immune to embarrassment. Sort of. After checking in and joining the well-mannered frivolity, he kept the dark green beanie atop his head. There were several buttons and pins, some animated, of game emblems and Nintendo characters. The beanie was going to stay on the entire time if he could help it- just to spite his dad. Also, he wasn't too enthusiastic about his new hairstyle. Although it was mildly tamed, the dusty gold ringlets were still trying to fight gravity. Why not just cut his hair? Because he liked how it wiggled when he shook his head. It was his most recognizable feature- or was it his freckles?

People were beginning to filter into the party. The decor, as always, was forgettably dazzling. These things blended together in his brain. One fancy thing after another. Toby had better things to focus on. He longed to sit down somewhere and type away at his campaign notes, unfortunately, his father kept dragging him around to exchange unenthusiastic hellos with his fellow members of high society. He couldn’t remember half of these people if he tried. It was all Senior Executive This and Chief Advisor That. Business stuff. Gross. They were all the same type of person that all asked him the same questions. How old are you?Twelve.What grade are you in?Seventh.What’s your favorite subject?Science. Not like anybody asking ACTUALLY cared. It was all just formalities, or a gateway to start speaking about how great they are and what their life was like. And that’s why these gatherings always ate Toby up from the inside. 

11:00 A.M.

Toby’s respite came in the form of the Silent Auction. His father wished to participate, and even he had enough emotional intelligence to recognize that such an activity would bore his little son to death. So long as he was accompanied by King Tal, Toby was finally permitted to go run off and do whatever it was children did to have fun. His father sent him off with a small word of advice: “Stay on your best behavior, Tobes.”

Best behavior, my ass!

It was a rebellious thought that Toby had no true desire to act upon. He didn’t have it in his heart to cause any lasting trouble towards anybody. Even with his gaggle of tween besties, they generally stayed in line- even with Marylin, who was more of the rowdy and rebellious type. He wished her, Noah, and Yu were here. It'd stave off the boredom. But alas…they were summoned to be with the people, mingling in school instead of a fancy luncheon (as if their private school was any less elitist). Toby stopped to get a look at the Surplus performer. Compared to everything else he could look at, this was by far the most interesting thing in the room.

"Hey, King, record."

The cybercom focused its attention towards the performer. A blinking red dot in the center of the dragon's left eye signified that it was recording. The entire ordeal was rather doglike- but that was how the world functioned. The Surplus begged for scraps of money from the Netters. Toby was too focused trying to decipher the tricks, though. Was it sleight of hand? Holograms? Both? It was on the table. The mechanical hands of the performer were quick and laser accurate. This was far too complicated for a "regular" human to accomplish on their own. Would he get any cool augments when he got older? He was on the fence about it. Yeah, they were super sweet, but that usually meant getting a body part lopped off. He'd had enough surgeries already!

"Send that to The Bitch Hunters."

The Bitch Hunters was a group chat consisting of all of his aforementioned best friends. Toby was, obviously, phenomenal at nicknames. The Bitch Hunters was a reference to his last campaign and it sorta...stuck. It was a play on the witch-hunting theme and teenage vulgarity. 

God Himself
[Video Attachment]

Knight Knight
Dude where are you?

God Himself
some luncheon for my dad lol

Totally Not A Cultist
are you gonna be here for the game??? 

Rageclub
@God Himself LAME lmaoooo

God Himself
yeah I'm gonna be there dont worry about it

Toby was worrying about it. Technically, he still hadn’t begged his father to let him leave early. He’d get to that eventually, right?

12:00 PM

Oh boy, FOOD. With the help of his clunky headphones and the internet access provided by Tal, Toby barely noticed the hour tick by. He pulled the headphones (which matched his at-home gaming rig) and trotted over towards the meticulously decorated tables. The swan napkins were so unnecessary- but they were cute. They only lived to die, as pretty soon the fabric water fowls would be unfolded, effectively killing them, and their remains would be used to wipe up the messes of human existence. It was a sad way to treat a corpse. But there were no corpses here. Hopefully. (That’d be very awkward.) Like everything else regarding the Netters, their existence was artificial. Birds aside, Toby was one of the last to be seated at the table. Naturally, he had to scoot past several attendees, including another woman with several augments and brightly colored hair. 

“My bad, sorry- cool hair,” he apologized to Bailey as he accidentally bumped into her chair. He didn’t recognize her. He sat himself next to his father, who was currently having a few polite words between two younger women he didn’t know very well.

Toby wouldn't really catch on to why his dad was always flocked with women. Bianca and Annie were far from the first to lay their eyes upon the man. The semantics of romance were beyond Toby. Indeed, the senior Da'lessio was a rich bachelor, and he was only 40 years old. With his wealth and status, of course people wanted a piece of the pie. Edward seemed a bit out of his element. He was far from awkward, but he was distant. Regardless, he raised glasses and exchanged plenty of handshakes with anybody who spoke to him. He did the very same with Bianca and Annie.

He’d ordered himself a helping of the more breakfast-based meals. He had a personal goal to try any and every variety of French Toast he could find. Why? Because why not. So far his favorite was the kind he ordered from Moe’s Diner- It was a giant little place themed off of  a romanticized 1950’s pre-AutoAmerica. Apparently the waitress cybercoms delivered food on roller skates- but Toby didn’t know that. He’d only ever ordered from the menu online. Delivery was the safest option. The mention of a book burner made Toby swivel in his chair, disturbing his train of thought about all-day breakfast. Really? Here? COOL. He’d never seen one up close before. They were like real-life paladins- sorta? His green eyes fell upon Alejandro, but they widened with surprise when they caught sight of his K9 Cybercom.

"Your dog is badass! What's the PSI on that thing?" Toby blurted this out without thinking. His dad gave him a look. Oops. Holding out a polite hand to shake, he quickly corrected his behavior by introducing himself. "Hi. My name’s Toby D’alessio. What’s yours?"

Toby was a kid and still not completely corrupted by classism. In fact, he didn’t fully understand the weight his surname carried. He spoke with the Surplus because they tended to look more unique than Mr. & Mrs. Perfect with their identical suits and dresses, all styled with the same amount of creativity used to draft an algebra PowerPoint. The only reason anybody bought them was because the price tags screamed "I'm Money!". This was why Toby stuck with his beanie that screamed "I Like Video Games!" After all, games were more important to a 12-year-old boy than money. For once, he was actually enthusiastic about making small-talk with a stranger.

12:15 P.M.

The banquet went silent as Edward D’alessio, who had a microphone clipped to the lapel of his blazer, stood up and raised a glass of some kind of sparkling liquid Toby was unfamiliar with. Ah, it must be time for his speech.

“Before we begin, if I may have your attention,” his father started, “I would like to raise a toast towards all of you in attendance. Friends, acquaintances,” his eyes fell upon Toby for a moment, “family. Sincerely, thank you for making this event a reality. And to our sponsors, donators, and supporters, I thank you personally with all that I am.”

“Twelve years ago, I was blessed with my son, Toby. A parent wishes nothing but the best for their children, and I am no different. But my son was born with Cleidocranial Dysplasia, a bone disorder that affects the development of skeletal tissue. With the exception of resequencing the genetic structure, there is no known cure… However, he successfully received clavicle implants last September- and it was all with the help of people like you. I am truly grateful for the opportunities presented thanks to charities such as these. My son can now stand tall and smile amongst his peers. May you all continue to bring light into the lives of those around us.”

He was neither standing tall nor smiling. Toby pulled the seam of his green beanie lower and lower as he shrunk into his chair. This was utterly humiliating. Even if his gaze was transfixed on the floor, he could feel the stares of strangers boring into him. Eugh. The way his father played up his condition made him feel…gross. Really, it wasn’t that bad- funny, even. If this ended up in the news, he’d be the laughing stock of the entire academy!
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