Work Text:
we got a number one victory royale
yeah, fortnite, we 'bout to get down (get down)
ten kills on the board right now
just wiped out tomato town
The gaming room has absorbed everything inside into complete darkness, an intangible and fearsome force that has humanity frightened of the unknown. Darkness is natural concealment for all nocturnal predators lurking in its gloom, where candlelight can only scare away a feeble amount of monsters, and only then – nobody knows how long light can defy dark, luring out nightmare-ish creatures beyond living imagination and those who think they can comprehend the maddening darkness are brought to their knees, wishing that they’ve never challenged an impenetrable force of nature.
Clive Dove sits comfortable in his gamer chair, grinning from ear to ear as he feels it barely swivel around. Resting his posterior against its cushioned backrest, he’s adjusting his two-hundred dollar cat ear gaming headphones, its three-dimensional sound system causing his ears to vibrate and in return, his brain wrinkles are tingling underneath its powerful massage. Active noise reduction, dual-channel stereo, customizable lighting and effects in which his LEDs are constantly switching from multiple colors of the rainbow. He has never regretted buying anything that makes up his rig, but the cat ear headphones are delightfully welcomed into his room. They made up his gamer persona, if anything, the Twitch community knows him as ‘The Twink Pretending To Be A Catboy.’
Of course, it didn’t help that his streamer username is Xx_Nyalbatross_Clive_99xX and how he’s dressed up in a catboy maid costume for reaching his thirty-thousand subscription goal. Everybody has clipped him in the maid outfit, fuck, the clip is everywhere; from the greasy depths of Reddit to the cringe-coated paws of Tiktok influencers. People has made it a point to laugh at Clive Dove, the King of Streamers and ex-Journalist that knocked Bill Hawks off from his short, stubby shins with the face=cam on.
He yells into his Blue Yeti USB microphone, RGB lighting reflecting onto his skin from the gigantic three-computer gaming rig currently heating up his room. It’s fucked up how he’s living in the United Kingdom, of all places, and the cooling liquid isn’t enough to stop his machinery from spotaneously exploding. There’s some feedback from Emmy’s microphone, she’s probably trying to talk to him – but, she’s obviously on the shitty Alienware laptop that her uncle bought her. (Who the fuck names their child Bronev?)
“Emmy! Pandaemonium Savage, are we ready to climb the tier?” Clive snickers, ignoring his chat for a second. They’re all spamming frogs and laughing at him like he doesn’t know how to run a Savage tier. It’s the first part, anyways. How bad can it be? “God, you know how cool it is? That we’re finally gaming, after so many months of you not wanting to?”
Emmy banters, “Oh boy, I couldn’t wait. You’re fully equipped with the crafting gear I bought you, I hope?”
Clive pulls up his character profile screen – not the adventurer plate, that one’s a joke and a half. “Certainly am. I suppose, we won’t need a static for this one.”
“Streamer privilege?”
“Streamer privilege.”
Now, Clive Dove isn’t registered into the game as his real name. He needed something lore-exclusive for immersion, something that brought out the Dove branding while being recognizable to where people on his server can point at him and say ‘Oh shit, it’s Clive Fucking Dove!’ That’s what he expected for gaining clout over Twitch, but the main issue that comes with being a famous streamer are snipers and Clive doesn’t enjoy having those at his stream. They aren’t usually funny, actively grief their raids, and the Gamer Vibes are generally off when they’re hovering near him.
That said, Clive’s immaculate, handsome character is a Seeker of the Sun named C’lhea Nunh with a highly-descriptive biography linked in his search information consisting of forming his catgirl harem, leading his tribe to glory, and the downfall proceeding his victory against the last existing nunh. He ended up in Ishgard, welcomed into the Skysteel Manufactory as a brand new machinist and wielding a cool-looking gun that he accidentally needed on. It turned out to be dope as hell, so Clive didn’t mind glamouring it onto his gear and, well, he is an absolute chad holding it. No need for using the inferior pretty boy faces, when he looks like a Carteneau veteran that spent five years walking from hell and back.
C’lhea poses with his gun, a stance that he’s about to pounce. Clive clicks on his hot-bar, pulling up the party finder icon and setting everything up. Once that’s finished, Clive has it up and he’s instantly flooded with notifications. A full party in a few seconds. This is the gamer dream.
He queues them up for the Third Circle, smelling Kentucky Fried Chicken and the spiciness that’ll soon fill his lungs.
…
Luke Triton is, what everyone calls, a zoomer. Raised in the information age, he’s an ample time on his father’s computer downloading viruses and malware without knowing what those things are. He tried downloading Zoo Tycoon for free, only for their family harddrive to harbor shittily-written ransomware that held their countless files hostage when it activated. Everything was encrypted, Clark initiated the fresh re-install of their operating system, and then scolded him for wanting to simulate a zoo in his computer. Silly zoomers, am I right?
He’s arrived home after school, setting his backpack down on the bed and walking over to his computer. The thing automatically boots up, Luke logs into his account, and opened a browser to check out what’s currently happening on Twitch. He isn’t too fond of gaming, the most he does is play Animal Crossing: New Horizon and anyting else that doesn’t require a monthly subscription. Bugsnax? Yes. Stray? Fuck yes. Splatoon? Absolutely.
Luke barely understands a single thing they say in Splatoon, but that’s on purpose. Fictional languages and all.
His finger doesn’t touch the scroll wheel, witnessing the most cursed thing Luke has ever seen.
“… Clive?”
Ever since he moved to the United States, Luke hadn’t seen Clive ever since he pretended to be his older counterpart for the Tiktok bucks (and he was supposed to be in prison after the first atttempt at assassinating Bill Hawks, but that’s not important right now). Was he bailed out with his family inheritance or something? If so, that’s definitely why he’s on the front page of Twitch – gaming and rattling on to his chat about whatever.
Luke thinks of Hershel’s words, that he should be a true gentleman. Sorry, Professor. He’s not a true gentleman, yet.
He logs into his Twitch account and enters Clive’s chat.
...
Clive is fucking tilted. These people already somehow cleared the tier and have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about when it comes to party finder strategies – this is why he shouldn’t ask viewers to rely on pick-up guides, because they barely comprehend what the fuck is going on even if they had. He clicks over his keybinds, performing the same opener and rotation that’s remained untouched ever since the latest patch dropped. Nobody is changing machinist, because machinist has already been ruined. Job identity? What the fuck is that! He watches as his party wipes for the twelth time with Clive reaching for the Duty Leave button and promptly exiting. That was their sixth lock-out, anyways.
He stares at his in-game private messages, hearing the ding that comes with it.
Senryo Aogane: ahaha, hey clive :)
Senryo Aogane: you’re looking pretty red on stream
Senryo Aogane: are you a tomato? Lol
Of course, it’s Randall. The guy who faked his death and started playing Final Fantasy XIV all because he glanced over Clive’s shoulder one time and asked what the fuck’s that. It’s technically his first video game, after spending multiple years amnesiac and farming crops at a remote village. What types of shenanigans are Layton’s friends roped up into? This is not who he expected to be associated with the man that comforted him upon his parents’ death.
He wrinkles his nose, typing back a /tell at Randall.
C’lhea Nunh: randall r u fucking stupid? shut up
C’lhea Nunh: ur hair looks like a frozen ketchup bottle
It takes a while for Randall to type back.
Senryo Aogane: ok :(
Senryo Aogane: btw you might want to look @ chat
Senryo Aogane: i don’t know what’s going on, but your mods suck
Proceeding to look away from the gathering crowd of Limsa Lominsa AFKers, Clive glances down at his chat and has a double-take. Good lord, all of the emote spam is from one person? What the hell is going on?
whisper2animals: PepeLaugh
It’s a constant stream of this, plus other chatters joining in on the fun. Clive’s left eye twitches, the one that isn’t burnt, and he pulls up the chatter’s logs. They haven’t spoken in the chat since March 5th, 2021 (nearly an entire year ever since he tried assassinating Bill Hawks) and had followed today. It’s an obnoxious stream of PepeLaughs, but Clive doesn’t want to ban someone he can content farm off of. Hell no, that means losing revenue and followers from raging at a shithead chatter.
How old is this motherfucker, anyways? Can’t be older than ten.
Clive disbands the party, recoupling with Emmy and then gathering everyone in his typical static into one group. He watches as Randall’s Au Ra White Mage sprint into his view, spamming emotes and petting his catboy. Again, why are all of Layton’s friends like this?
Senryo Aogane: you’re gonna let them spam?
C’lhea Nunh: yea
Senryo Aogane: well, ok. so, hey. clive.
C’lhea Nunh: ?
Senryo Aogane: need a healer? :D ^_^
Clive temporarily blacklists Randall, then queues his entire static for another round of the Third Circle. It’s a desperate attempt to finally get his armor pieces for the next tier and meld materia into them while he’s able to. Prices are barely affordable on the marketboard, not even Clive’s Paypal Legend ass can buy countless materias without becoming dirt broke.
The new raid leader, someone actually competent named Jean Descole, activates his macro and asks everyone to read it. Nobody understands a fucking lick of raid macros in these servers, they’re obviously ignoring the entire thing and going straight into the usual strategies – ELMO, be damned.
He slams his Cheeto-dust stained, white boy fingers on his RGB mechanical keyboard and begins furiously clicking the MMO mouse. The party ends up wiping again, but a certain immature chatter is pulling his punches and constantly spamming the phrase:
whisper2animals: S OMEGALUL BAD
At this point, Clive lifts up his keyboard and tosses the entire thing into his third monitor, breaking both items like as if he’s able to afford buying another one. He can, because gamer money. But, that’s not the point.
“Who the FUCK do you think you are, coming into MY chat—“ Clive points at the chat, looking like an outrageous, bizarro version of unhinged Jerma. “You’re saying I’M bad? Fucking look at YOU, idiot. I’m, perhaps, the greatest genius who has stepped onto Twitch and the general gamer community. I’ve brought nothing but the best strategies now used by other players and look at you! You’ve been following for, what, a whole fucking HOUR? You’re fucking ridiculous if you think…”
Everyone, including the chatter, is now spamming babyrages. Clive, in all of his glory, babyrages.
“All of you, shut the fuck up or I’ll start BANNING. I’ll get out the BANHAMMER.”
Nobody gives a shit, but Dimitri is currently doing his job as an underpaid (read: not paid) moderator and swiftly banning messages from left to right. He’s doing a terrible job at it, since Clive is still catching messages and yelling at people.
In the Clive Dove fashion, he leaps up and kicks his gamer chair across the room. He lets out a guttural roar, exiting the gamer room to stomp downstairs and chug a Monster cocktail.
As Clive leaves, the chat is left to emote-only mode and people are still spamming their babyrages.
Senryo Aogane: clive? :( are you ok?
Senryo Aogane: … i hope he doesn’t try to kill the prime minister again
…
Somewhere in Boston, Massachusetts – Luke Triton is smiling as soon as he’s banned and he sits in his cheap office chair, swiveling around like a ferris wheel.
“You’re already a true gentleman, Luke.” He repeats from memory, siging and picking up his Nintendo Switch to play Among Us.
“Yeah, right.”