Post by andyg on Mar 25, 2016 17:11:33 GMT
Thank you for letting me arrive late to this party! Here is a piece of fiction that I've prepared for the prompt.
Beta Testing Notre Dame
Brian and I stepped out of my Nissan and looked at the dark typeface that ran vertically along the building’s exterior. Roulette Games. I had never tested a video game before, nor have I owned anything more complicated than an Atari. If I had to guess, it was the same with Brian, maybe catching a glimpse or two of the screen while his kids vanquished monsters on the latest and most expensive console. We were both out of our element. Rather than meeting to discuss what essays to include in the forthcoming issue of Late Gothic Architecture, we were at Roulette Games to playtest an upcoming release that featured one of these great historic sites--a game that our organization was funding.
The studio was nestled in the middle of a corporate park. It shared an eggshell-colored wall with busy testing center. Together, Brian and I approached the front door of the office, listening to the taps of our worn derby shoes against the cold asphalt.
“Well, it’s not another sit-down with cheese and chardonnay,” he said. “This could actually be fun.”
“I don’t think so,” I answered, looking into the glass of the front door. I pulled open the door and gestured for Brian to enter. “My ex-wife works here.”
******
I was the sitting president of the Institute for the Education of Historical Architecture, a non-profit founded by some retired Ivy League grads. The mission of the organization was to channel grant money into museums visits and international field trips for the underprivileged. Our organization has sponsored visits to the Coliseum and various cathedrals throughout much of Western Europe.
I’ll be the first to admit that when I heard that Lee Ann was working in the area, I began to brainstorm ways for a casual meetup, something that would hold the guise of a coincidence. However, as I had been made aware, there’s little overlap between the worlds of programming and art history. It wasn’t until I was walking by a game store and noted a group of teenagers huddled around a screen that an idea began to percolate. These teens were enamored by some fantasy game wherein a group of knights were fighting their way through castle. It seemed to be another generic product of the gaming industry, but they found something alluring in it. Awkwardly, I peeked into the window and began to note the brilliance in the design of the castle. The players traversed stone cascades where a statue of Jupiter held its majesty at the top of the ever-flowing fountain. The game itself meant little to me, and maybe to them, but the setting brought the experience to life.
I left the window and returned to my condo, ready to draft a project outline for the upcoming staff meeting. We were constantly tasked with modernizing our approach to incite the interest in historical architecture. A video game, I thought, would be the perfect way to fulfill this need. We can only bring a sliver of the kids who apply on these trips each year, I told myself. But what if there were a way to bring the great cathedrals to them? At the staff meeting, I would to steer the discussion, casually suggesting an interactive game series. The project got the council’s support, but not without hesitation. They wanted us to have some oversight into the architecture within the game, and I couldn’t have been happier to agree.
******
Melvin, the lead designer, led us into a conference room. Lee Ann stood before a large cork board with a painting of the Notre Dame bell tacked onto the surface. She wore a long, floral skirt and wool sweater. When she noticed that it was me walking through the threshold behind Melvin and Brian, her arms crossed and she let out a gasp that seemed to fill the room.
“Richard,” Melvin said. “Lee Ann would like to show you both some concept art before we get to testing.”
I shook the man’s hand and turned to Lee Ann. Her hair was much shorter now. The shoulder-length locks that I remembered were now trimmed to a point just above her ears. She looked baffled to see me. I approached her, holding out my hand. She still smelled of cucumber melon.
“It’s good to see you,” I said.
After much pause, she muttered, “Same,” diverting her attention to posters of the cathedral. “These are concept pieces prepared by our art team.”
“We’re very excited to be here,” Brian said, extending his hand to her. He looked around at the large cork boards containing stills from their design team, each frame a unique piece of the soon-to-be game.
“We have incorporated themes from the novel, Disney’s adaptation, the art books you mailed us, and the original game,” she said. “Of course, the primary focus has still been introducing players to this historical site.”
“There was another game?” Brian asked.
“Yes,” Lee Ann said. “It was an arcade game back in ‘83 with a similar platform design. The game was called Hunchback, and it recycled sprites from an abandoned Robin Hood game.”
“Oh. So I wasn’t the first one to come up with this game?” I asked.
“No Richard,” Lee Ann retorted. “You were not the first.”
I locked eyes with Brian who now stood behind Lee Ann. She turned toward another art panel, and began talking about the idiosyncrasies of the gargoyles.
Her? he mouthed.
I nodded, and began to examine the concept art that was pinned to the large corkboards. I was genuinely impressed by the detailed work their art team had prepared for the game. Paragraphs from Hugo’s novel were juxtaposed with images of the cathedral walls, their sharp contours matching those of the late gothic era. However, this spark was dulled by Lee Ann’s cold and calculated responses. She was always quick to react when something went wrong. I could never catch her off guard.
**********
I have never tested a video game before. In fact, I haven’t spent much time in virtual worlds at all. Thus, I was entirely surprised by the level of immersion created by the game. After Lee Ann had gone over the art with us and talked with Brian at length about the development process, we were taken to a game room. There was a small crowd of Roulette employees gathered around a large LCD screen. The introduction for our game, Notre Dame, was playing.
I watched as the camera panned throughout the interior cathedral, a near three-dimensional replica of the tower building. Once the camera was done scouring the near-crumbling walls, the view seemed to flatten and the game maintained a two-dimensional design. The format was easy enough to grasp: up to two players at a time could try and traverse the cathedral—only the structure now seemed more expansive and more intricate when its dimensions were flattened.
Melvin and Brian were the first to play. Their characters entered the first level, The Cathedral Garden, and they tried to evade the plant monsters and chapel guards. Brian died frequently, assuring the team that if his kids were here, they could show all of us a thing or two about “platformers.”
I turned my attention to Lee Ann, whose earnest attention was focused on the game. She must take pride in this, I thought. It is her job.
I too found myself spellbound when Brian handed the controller over to Lee Ann. Her and Melvin entered the cathedral and began to progress quickly through the level. It was clear that they had some former experience testing the game as they seemed to know just when the stones would fall or when the paintings would come to life.
Underneath the great stone arches of Notre Dame, the players jumped from platform to platform, slowly making their way to the bell tower. Gargoyles were perched atop the cathedral wall; unmoving, these stone demons were careful sentries, guarding what secrets are stored within the higher reaches of the tower. Bolts of lightning broke the black sky into haphazard fractals--each strike set to a pattern that I couldn’t quite pin down. Of all the features I noted within the game, the lightning appeared to be the only thing independent of the great cathedral. Even the players moved, jumped, and attacked in a pattern that coincided with the level. But the dark sky cycled through different weather simulations of its own volition.
Melvin raised his controller up and shouted, “Okay, my hands are getting tired.”
“I need a second player,” Lee Ann said, looking hopefully into the crowd.
I raised my hand and watched the color drain from her face. “I’d like to give it a whirl.”
Melvin passed the controller to me and I approached the screen. The controller fit awkwardly in my hand as it maintained a wireless connection to some console hidden within the glass case below the screen.
“Jump is X,” Melvin said.
I pressed the X button and watched the animated character jump and fall off a platform into some off-screen oblivion. The viewers laughed. My character fell to his death repeatedly as I mistimed by jumps between the distant platforms. Animated suits of armor dropped their axes on my character from atop the high walls, leading to more deaths.
“This game’s a little hard,” I said. “Are we sure it won’t frustrate the kids?”
“We’ve already had a young focus group alpha test these levels,” Lee Ann said.
“And they didn’t have any problems with the difficulty level,” Melvin added. “It’s modeled after classic platformers. Just like the original Notre Dame game.”
After a few deaths, I became agitated.
“I’m not very good at this,” I said to the room.
“No,” Lee Ann said, laughing. “You’re really not.” She smiled to me with the distance of a stranger.
“Can I get a different teammate?” she continued. “I don’t want to fail because of somebody else’s mistakes.”
Members of the small crowd cackled, and I handed the controller back to a Roulette employee.
Brian patted an empty seat, and I happily obliged.
“Hugo’s great work,” I said. “Reminding us that it was under these tremendous archways that the dramas of the modern world play out.”
“Or in a conference room,” Brian answered.
Beta Testing Notre Dame
Brian and I stepped out of my Nissan and looked at the dark typeface that ran vertically along the building’s exterior. Roulette Games. I had never tested a video game before, nor have I owned anything more complicated than an Atari. If I had to guess, it was the same with Brian, maybe catching a glimpse or two of the screen while his kids vanquished monsters on the latest and most expensive console. We were both out of our element. Rather than meeting to discuss what essays to include in the forthcoming issue of Late Gothic Architecture, we were at Roulette Games to playtest an upcoming release that featured one of these great historic sites--a game that our organization was funding.
The studio was nestled in the middle of a corporate park. It shared an eggshell-colored wall with busy testing center. Together, Brian and I approached the front door of the office, listening to the taps of our worn derby shoes against the cold asphalt.
“Well, it’s not another sit-down with cheese and chardonnay,” he said. “This could actually be fun.”
“I don’t think so,” I answered, looking into the glass of the front door. I pulled open the door and gestured for Brian to enter. “My ex-wife works here.”
******
I was the sitting president of the Institute for the Education of Historical Architecture, a non-profit founded by some retired Ivy League grads. The mission of the organization was to channel grant money into museums visits and international field trips for the underprivileged. Our organization has sponsored visits to the Coliseum and various cathedrals throughout much of Western Europe.
I’ll be the first to admit that when I heard that Lee Ann was working in the area, I began to brainstorm ways for a casual meetup, something that would hold the guise of a coincidence. However, as I had been made aware, there’s little overlap between the worlds of programming and art history. It wasn’t until I was walking by a game store and noted a group of teenagers huddled around a screen that an idea began to percolate. These teens were enamored by some fantasy game wherein a group of knights were fighting their way through castle. It seemed to be another generic product of the gaming industry, but they found something alluring in it. Awkwardly, I peeked into the window and began to note the brilliance in the design of the castle. The players traversed stone cascades where a statue of Jupiter held its majesty at the top of the ever-flowing fountain. The game itself meant little to me, and maybe to them, but the setting brought the experience to life.
I left the window and returned to my condo, ready to draft a project outline for the upcoming staff meeting. We were constantly tasked with modernizing our approach to incite the interest in historical architecture. A video game, I thought, would be the perfect way to fulfill this need. We can only bring a sliver of the kids who apply on these trips each year, I told myself. But what if there were a way to bring the great cathedrals to them? At the staff meeting, I would to steer the discussion, casually suggesting an interactive game series. The project got the council’s support, but not without hesitation. They wanted us to have some oversight into the architecture within the game, and I couldn’t have been happier to agree.
******
Melvin, the lead designer, led us into a conference room. Lee Ann stood before a large cork board with a painting of the Notre Dame bell tacked onto the surface. She wore a long, floral skirt and wool sweater. When she noticed that it was me walking through the threshold behind Melvin and Brian, her arms crossed and she let out a gasp that seemed to fill the room.
“Richard,” Melvin said. “Lee Ann would like to show you both some concept art before we get to testing.”
I shook the man’s hand and turned to Lee Ann. Her hair was much shorter now. The shoulder-length locks that I remembered were now trimmed to a point just above her ears. She looked baffled to see me. I approached her, holding out my hand. She still smelled of cucumber melon.
“It’s good to see you,” I said.
After much pause, she muttered, “Same,” diverting her attention to posters of the cathedral. “These are concept pieces prepared by our art team.”
“We’re very excited to be here,” Brian said, extending his hand to her. He looked around at the large cork boards containing stills from their design team, each frame a unique piece of the soon-to-be game.
“We have incorporated themes from the novel, Disney’s adaptation, the art books you mailed us, and the original game,” she said. “Of course, the primary focus has still been introducing players to this historical site.”
“There was another game?” Brian asked.
“Yes,” Lee Ann said. “It was an arcade game back in ‘83 with a similar platform design. The game was called Hunchback, and it recycled sprites from an abandoned Robin Hood game.”
“Oh. So I wasn’t the first one to come up with this game?” I asked.
“No Richard,” Lee Ann retorted. “You were not the first.”
I locked eyes with Brian who now stood behind Lee Ann. She turned toward another art panel, and began talking about the idiosyncrasies of the gargoyles.
Her? he mouthed.
I nodded, and began to examine the concept art that was pinned to the large corkboards. I was genuinely impressed by the detailed work their art team had prepared for the game. Paragraphs from Hugo’s novel were juxtaposed with images of the cathedral walls, their sharp contours matching those of the late gothic era. However, this spark was dulled by Lee Ann’s cold and calculated responses. She was always quick to react when something went wrong. I could never catch her off guard.
**********
I have never tested a video game before. In fact, I haven’t spent much time in virtual worlds at all. Thus, I was entirely surprised by the level of immersion created by the game. After Lee Ann had gone over the art with us and talked with Brian at length about the development process, we were taken to a game room. There was a small crowd of Roulette employees gathered around a large LCD screen. The introduction for our game, Notre Dame, was playing.
I watched as the camera panned throughout the interior cathedral, a near three-dimensional replica of the tower building. Once the camera was done scouring the near-crumbling walls, the view seemed to flatten and the game maintained a two-dimensional design. The format was easy enough to grasp: up to two players at a time could try and traverse the cathedral—only the structure now seemed more expansive and more intricate when its dimensions were flattened.
Melvin and Brian were the first to play. Their characters entered the first level, The Cathedral Garden, and they tried to evade the plant monsters and chapel guards. Brian died frequently, assuring the team that if his kids were here, they could show all of us a thing or two about “platformers.”
I turned my attention to Lee Ann, whose earnest attention was focused on the game. She must take pride in this, I thought. It is her job.
I too found myself spellbound when Brian handed the controller over to Lee Ann. Her and Melvin entered the cathedral and began to progress quickly through the level. It was clear that they had some former experience testing the game as they seemed to know just when the stones would fall or when the paintings would come to life.
Underneath the great stone arches of Notre Dame, the players jumped from platform to platform, slowly making their way to the bell tower. Gargoyles were perched atop the cathedral wall; unmoving, these stone demons were careful sentries, guarding what secrets are stored within the higher reaches of the tower. Bolts of lightning broke the black sky into haphazard fractals--each strike set to a pattern that I couldn’t quite pin down. Of all the features I noted within the game, the lightning appeared to be the only thing independent of the great cathedral. Even the players moved, jumped, and attacked in a pattern that coincided with the level. But the dark sky cycled through different weather simulations of its own volition.
Melvin raised his controller up and shouted, “Okay, my hands are getting tired.”
“I need a second player,” Lee Ann said, looking hopefully into the crowd.
I raised my hand and watched the color drain from her face. “I’d like to give it a whirl.”
Melvin passed the controller to me and I approached the screen. The controller fit awkwardly in my hand as it maintained a wireless connection to some console hidden within the glass case below the screen.
“Jump is X,” Melvin said.
I pressed the X button and watched the animated character jump and fall off a platform into some off-screen oblivion. The viewers laughed. My character fell to his death repeatedly as I mistimed by jumps between the distant platforms. Animated suits of armor dropped their axes on my character from atop the high walls, leading to more deaths.
“This game’s a little hard,” I said. “Are we sure it won’t frustrate the kids?”
“We’ve already had a young focus group alpha test these levels,” Lee Ann said.
“And they didn’t have any problems with the difficulty level,” Melvin added. “It’s modeled after classic platformers. Just like the original Notre Dame game.”
After a few deaths, I became agitated.
“I’m not very good at this,” I said to the room.
“No,” Lee Ann said, laughing. “You’re really not.” She smiled to me with the distance of a stranger.
“Can I get a different teammate?” she continued. “I don’t want to fail because of somebody else’s mistakes.”
Members of the small crowd cackled, and I handed the controller back to a Roulette employee.
Brian patted an empty seat, and I happily obliged.
“Hugo’s great work,” I said. “Reminding us that it was under these tremendous archways that the dramas of the modern world play out.”
“Or in a conference room,” Brian answered.
