The Gamer Chapter 1273 – Gala Date 4 – Bad and good things to do at an event (Patreon)

John did enjoy that he could strong-arm these people into talking to him. The influence of Fusion was world-renowned at this point, even greater nobles paid him some manner of respect. Sure, they insisted that their ancient bloodline gave them some manner of authority, even over him, but they had no way to actually assert that, while John was stronger, richer, and more influential than them.

The Gamer was halfway certain he could have undermined the power of 70% of the attendees and gotten them put on the street within a week, and that was without getting Lydia involved at all. Fusion was a large importer of finished goods and a massive exporter of raw materials. In basic economics, that was pretty terrible, because it meant he was selling low and buying high, creating a trade deficit that should have been worrisome.

With the advent and growing influence of the Token, that was way less of an issue. A deficit was barely anything to worry about when one created the printing press of the money. Obviously, inflation needed to be watched, but that was a whole different confrontation. The point was that Fusion could sustain that economic strategy for as long as ample amounts of metals for currency could be mined.

Great Britain had needed to start the Opium Wars because they were terrified they would run out of silver for the Pound. That wouldn’t have been an issue if they had a literally bottomless silver mine in the middle of London.

With the primary drawback of a trade deficit nullified, the primary benefit surfaced. Economies the world over were prospering because cheap raw materials arrived on their shores, allowing people to put down the dangerous and often low-skilled jobs of finding and plundering Natural Barriers and instead concentrate on crafting. Said crafted items were then dependent on the international market, Fusion’s most of all, to be sold.

What level of power did the head of a government have that controlled the flow of raw materials in and refined goods out of a foreign nation over that nation?

A massive level of power was the answer. ‘Soft’ power, sure, but power nonetheless.

All of this was a temporary state of affairs. The majority of John’s economic policy was focused around having his Federation be self-sufficient. Optimally, in everything, realistically, in all things that mattered. That meant giving up a share of that soft-power down the line, as domestic production would demand more raw materials and make imports less desirable. That was a sacrifice John was willing to make. Foreign goods were a means to an end after all.

Fusion would be the greatest guild on Earth, his pride demanded it, and the greatest Federation would not be reliant on foreign goods to fuel itself. Providers of these goods also had soft power over Fusion, albeit John was careful to keep their trade dispersed enough that no one could tank his economy in a moment’s notice.

Well, Scarlett had an eye on that. Obviously, John’s hyper-capitalistic redhead didn’t care who traded with whom, as long as her wallet got thicker, but she recognized that she needed to have a strong domestic market so her companies wouldn’t go under if someone placed an embargo on her. Much as she wanted to be an internationalist, she had tied herself to a head of government and that came with certain drawbacks.

The short of it was that John had indirect influence over much of the world economy. A bit of pressure on key locations that were reliant on Fusion’s economy to keep its people prosperous and he could have many a family removed from its position, just so people in power could avoid the angry mob. It was all a question of framing and the severity of the economic downturn.

Obviously, John would not wield such a tool lightly. To take the livelihoods of a vast number of people in his hands just to remove someone he didn’t like from office was widely recognized as a corrupt enterprise. That being said, he could do it. He knew it. They knew it. Therefore, he could strongarm his way into conversations whenever he wanted. Because he had power.

‘It’s no wonder Suel is such a dick,’ John thought, trying his best not to abuse his influence. ‘Could I get away with just stealing the drink of a lesser noble? I probably could… shit, now I want to do it… I need to distract myself.’

His eyes wandered over the crowd, trying to locate anything that promised to be more entertaining than upsetting a bunch of aristocrats by breaking their etiquette. That was a tall order. John loved few things more than to show arrogant people just how little influence they had over him. It was oh so seductive.

‘You should do it,’ Siena whispered into his mind.

‘You usually have terrible ideas.’

‘But when I’m right it just feels sooooo gooooooood, doesn’t it?’ she moaned into his mind.

‘Metra, please give me a conscience?’ he requested.

‘Honestly? Fuck all of these people. You’re the king around here; I won’t mind if you throw your weight around.’

John could practically feel the progress bar above his head. ‘Committed to a mistake 70/100’ it would have said, as it gradually worked to tear down his Wisdom. Those two did not give good advice when it came to getting along with society. They gave fantastic advice when it came to having selfish fun.

‘Where’s Lydia?’ John wondered, trying to find his stone in this flood of bad influences. He spotted the queen – standing behind a window in the mansion. She stared at him with deep grey eyes. It was as if she could see he was about to do something stupid. He waved with a charismatic smile and her gaze narrowed. John could see the Harem Comms open.

Lydia: You are not socializing. What is meandering its way through your brain?

John: Nothing bad, I promise.

John lied as naturally as he eyed up the champagne glass of Bertrand. The host wasn’t nearly drunk enough to do anything yet and the Gamer still wanted to have a second conversation to properly gauge the man. He was occupied though. ‘Maybe I should go talk to Suel?’ The Lord of Pontis was chatting with some poor young lad who barely seemed 18. Just like John would have around that age, he seemed rather nervous at the public event. The not-vampire cornering him certainly didn’t help. ‘…I’d actually rather cause a minor scandal.’

The figurative progress bar advanced to 80/100.

‘Where’s Nightingale?’ John thought. It had been nearly an hour since he had arrived with her and twenty minutes since he had last talked to her. It was overdue and her proper demeanours certainly would put him back on the floor of reality. He desperately needed that advice; while he was looking around, entirely elsewhere, he was having a conversation.

________________________________________________________________________

“I’m telling you, it’s not easy!” the Creator Puppet, or Jake as they had come to refer to it to fit in with John and Jack, was complaining to Claire. “All I want to do is leisurely take a glass of champagne from someone.” Claire grinned manically, while playing with his short hair. “Are you listening?”

“Hm? Oh, sorry, Master, I think I may need to clean my ears,” she responded, the broad, borderline creepy, grin still on her face. “I was so absorbed by your wonderful voice I forgot to listen to what you said. Feel free to punish me, I deserve it.”

Jake sighed. “All I’m saying,” he repeated slowly, “is that I really want to do something I shouldn’t.”

Claire tilted her head and moved to tracing the form of his ears. Her thighs shifted slightly under his head. Suddenly, her expression darkened. “Lords deserve anything that’s coming to them.”

“These aren’t Ironborn.”

“From the whole ‘privileges by right of birth’, they sound worse than some Ironborn. At least we… they had to be powerful for it. They can give a glass of champagne to the world’s most handsome, kind, awesome, great, fantastic, wonderful… Well, I could keep going all night. Well, there’s too many words. Well, you should just go ahead and fuck me. Yes, yes, I know, I’m way too needy, but you try being in love with someone this perfect.”

________________________________________________________________________

‘Why am I surrounded by enablers tonight?!’ John thought, reminding himself to line all of these girls up later and spank them until they begged for more.

The progress bar was at 91/100 when he finally spotted Nightingale.

Located among a circle of peers, out in the garden, under a tree and the roof of the now night sky, the black feathered harpy stood at the centre of a congregation of gala attendees. As John approached, he realized the notable factor was that this was a mixture consisting not only of the, majorly present, traditionalists, but also of the, scarcely present, unaffiliated and reformist nobles. The vapid were not just present among those that held onto the past; depending on the society, the vapid were more commonly found among the new money, but there were also those who, like Lydia herself, were present only for the sake of socializing. Many a relationship needed to be maintained.

The interest in what kind of gathering, exactly, Nightingale was part of succeeded in freezing the motion of his pride and instead coaxed forth one of the few parts of himself that were larger than his need to assert himself: his curiosity. The lavender eyes of the harpy spotted his approach swiftly and a smile beckoned him closer. She spoke softly and with purpose and everyone hung at her lips.

“It has always been my opinion that we share more than separates us, Lord Lambert,” she finished up whatever response she had been formulating at that moment. “I do not pay much mind to the form of government, monarchy, republic, oligarchy – certainly there’s dangers and seduction in power of all kinds. However, kings and presidents, nobles and public servants, those roles are more alike than different. Should not all share in the purpose of prosperity and justice? Why squabble over optimization of systems meant to serve the common good?”

“You give me much to think about, Lady Nightingale. It would be prudent of me to present that we squabble over systems so the wrong ones don’t procreate. Traditions should be defended, for they are what worked before.”

“Shouldn’t we ask ourselves if they ever really worked?” one of the reformists threw in. “You traditionalists alwa-“

“Patience, Duke,” Nightingale interjected. “The aim is to exchange, not to debate – and it seems you will have to strike that balance on your own for a time. My suitor calls.”

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” John assured, while the circle of about ten people let him walk in. Smiling, the pale harpy under the tree stepped towards him. She truly looked like the goddess of the night. Darkness decoratively pulled from the nocturnal air and was woven into strands that followed her hair, her feathers, and the rim of the skirt as she moved. Her grace was all-consuming. John felt how it managed to even overpower his paranoia. He forgot all of the world but her.

Nightingale stopped in front of him. It was a terrible formulation, but John loved looking down at her. She was not that much smaller than him, but enough that the difference counted, when the lady half-hid her black lips behind her wing. “It is unbecoming to stare, my suitor,” she whispered.

“What else can I do but stare? Like the full moon, you shine bright and leave my eyes yearning for more.” John knew he sounded corny as all hell, but he did not care. He reached up and brushed some of Nightingale’s hair behind her ear. She slightly tilted her head, leaning into the gesture. Aside from that, she was stunned into silence. As was the rest of the circle. This was, John realized, exactly the kind of crowd that would appreciate such elaborate compliments. Maybe it was just his tone. He hadn’t even considered how to deliver that line. It had just slipped out.

With that realization, his paranoia snapped back into reality and he took a few covert glances. Just to make sure there was no one around. Feathers rose to either side of him. Nightingale’s wings walled him off from the surrounding world, as she straightened her digitigrade legs to reach his ear. “I preferred it when you stared,” she whispered, before pulling back and resuming her ladylike pose. “We were discussing what common sense proposals could be formulated, between traditionalists and reformists,” Nightingale explained, as if none of that had just happened. “You are so welcome to join, dear John.”

The Gamer felt his heart skip a beat. ‘Sometimes, good things happen when I forget myself,’ he realized. “That sounds like an interesting conversation, but I wouldn’t want to annoy anyone with my presence. Unlike you, I haven’t grown up in Romulus’ Empire. I have only one stake in this.”

Although they were nods, they were in service to what one woman said in response, “Queen Lydia’s interest in the health of the realm cannot be denied, neither can be your love for her nor that you, for all misgivings some might have about you, are a brilliant young man. Insights from an outsider might also be interesting.”

“That so?”

Everyone except John and Nightingale jumped when Suel suddenly stepped out behind the tree. ‘What is he?’ John asked. ‘The guy is mysterious enough that I might bite the bullet and ask Richard about him… or maybe he is Richard… I’m not even sure if I’m joking to myself, it’s a possibility. Wouldn’t Luna have found out though?’

“Would you allow this little man from the outskirts of the empire to join?” the Lord of Pontis asked, bowing like a diligent butler. “This sounds most stimulating.”

“A lack of manners for the talk will not be tolerated,” Nightingale asserted. “If you partake, you swear to the night to keep peace.”

“I swear to the vast black between the stars,” Suel said with unnerving seriousness, “and all that can spawn from it.” The red eyes of the man jumped around, coldly analysing everyone’s reactions.

A pair of talons gripped John’s leg. For support, perhaps. That made John feel like he should have lunged himself at Suel, but the man was actually standing there with complete neutrality. It was just that him looking any serious at all was creepier than him being joyful.

In the name of peace, John cleared his throat and tried to lift the mood a little bit. “Well, sombre conversations don’t need to be had completely sober. If I’m welcome here, maybe I can bring you all a fresh round of drinks? My inventory is useful that way.”

“Please do,” Nightingale requested, her foot gradually relaxing, “and tell the servants to provide a table and a straw.”

John gave a slow nod.