For his part, Sam enjoyed the process of building out Mapleworld, and he wanted to work on another Ichigo. “We’ve got so many eyes on us right now, Sadie. Imagine what we could do with the resources we have. It’s the perfect time to do a new Ichigo.”
“I don’t want to be making Ichigo until I’m forty, Sam. I’m not like you. I don’t get off on doing the same things over and over again.”
“Why do you always want to cast off our successes? Why does something have to be new for it to interest you? It’s almost pathological.”
“Why are you so afraid to do anything else but the things we’ve already done?”
And so it went.
The game Sadie wanted to make was Master of the Revels. Master of the Revels was a simulation set in the theater world of Elizabethan London, centering on solving the murder of Christopher Marlowe. Sadie had been inspired by a comment Marx had made about how there weren’t ever any good games about theater.
From the moment Sadie described it, Sam detested Master of the Revels. He felt it was pretentious and not likely to be embraced by a mass audience.
Still, Sadie kept insisting that Master of the Revels should be their next game.
“You can’t be serious, Sadie. People hate Shakespeare. People hate history. And the world you’re proposing is so dark. What are you even trying to prove?”
“I don’t want to make bubble gum like Mapleworld forever.”
“Mapleworld is not bubble gum. But it’s like you took the experiences we had on Both Sides, and you want to repeat the worst parts of it,” Sam said. “It’s perverse.”
“That’s a shitty thing to say,” Sadie said. “And is the point of everything we do to reach as broad an audience as possible? Is that the only reason to do anything? I’d like to know.”
“It is, if we’re going to spend millions of dollars on it. Not to mention, the limited time of our very finite lives.”
“Not every game has to be Mapleworld, Sam. Not every game has to appeal to everyone.”
“I’m so bored of having this discussion with you.”
“I’m bored of having it with you.”
“You’re pretentious, Sadie.”
“You’re a pandering asshole.”
At this point, their conversation was audible to all who worked on the second floor.
“If you’re going to work on this,” Sam said, “you can work on it alone.”
“Fine. I will, then. I was praying you would say that.”
“You can’t work on it alone! I still need to sign off on it as a producer,” Sam said. When they had founded Unfair, Sam, Sadie, and Marx had agreed that every game they made needed to be approved by at least two of them. “You can’t unilaterally decide to work on it.”
“Marx’ll back me.”
“I bet he will.”
“He’ll back me because it could be a great game, Sam.”
“He’ll back you because he takes your side in everything. Because he’s screwing you.”
“Get out of my office.”
“No,” Sam said.
Sadie physically pushed Sam out the door.
“GET OUT!”
“No, let’s go see the Tamer of Horses,” Sam said, “and settle this once and for all.”
Sadie pushed past Sam, and they both went into Marx’s office.
“I assume she’s told you her idea,” Sam said. “Masturbator of the Revels.”
“Screw you,” Sadie said.
“Yes,” Marx said.
“Well, I think it stinks,” Sam said. “It’s like a multimillion-dollar version of EmilyBlaster.”
“If this was anyone else’s idea but mine,” Sadie said, “you would talk about it with more respect.”
“I’m refusing to work on it with her. I don’t think we should do this game at all,” Sam said, to Marx. “Every penny we spend on it, we’ll lose. But you’ve got the tiebreaker, so…Not that you’re exactly objective.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Marx said.
“Surprise, surprise,” Sam said.
Sam walked out of Marx’s office. He went into his own office and slammed the door.
“It’s settled,” Sadie said. Her face was flushed. “If you agree to it, I’m making Master of the Revels as my next game, and I’m doing it without Sam.” Sadie nodded to herself. “I’m so done with him.”
She, too, left Marx’s office and returned to her own office.
For a second, Marx debated about which of them to follow. He took a right and went toward Sam’s. He knocked on the door.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Marx asked.
“You’re pussy blind,” Sam said. “This is exactly why I told you that you shouldn’t date Sadie back in 1996. It throws the balance of power, or whatever, off.”
“I’m not going to dignify that,” Marx said. “You’re being childish and insulting, Sam. Unfair is my company, too. I wouldn’t say we should do this if I didn’t think it was worth doing. Master of the Revels has intrigued me since the first time Sadie told me about it. The Elizabethan theater world. The murder of Christopher Marlowe. I think these are interesting details and an interesting world could result. Even if two high school kids at a game jam showed up with a demo of the game Sadie described, I’d be tempted. And honestly, I’ve always wanted to make a game about theater.”
Sam shook his head and he sighed. “Marx, don’t you think I know Sadie a little? Master of the Revels is all of her worst instincts. I told her it was like EmilyBlaster, but honestly, it’s Solution.”
“We both loved Solution,” Marx said.
“Solution is awesome for a college kid. Solution is awesome if the idea is to piss off your classmates, and if it costs no money.”
Marx pondered Sam’s point. “I don’t think it is like Solution.”
“Sadie wants to make something dark and intellectual so that people will take her seriously. She’s trying to impress people like Dov. She’s trying to win back the people that wrote bad reviews of Both Sides. The best colors of Sadie are not her darkness.”
“I don’t know, Sam. I think all her colors are worth exploring. Professionally speaking. And this game could be great. If you could have seen the way Sadie looked when she first described it. She was so excited.”
Sam looked at Marx, and for a second, he despised him: You, who could have anyone, why did you have to pick Sadie Green?
Sam could imagine them in bed, in Clownerina. Sadie wakes up, and she turns over to look at Marx, and she says, I’ve had an idea. And she describes the idea for Master of the Revels to Marx—her hands flying through the air the way they do when she is excited, her words rapid-firing. She gets out of bed, and she has to pace around the room, because when Sadie has a great idea, she can’t stay still. Sam couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been the first to know about one of Sadie’s ideas.
“You know what? It’s fine, Marx,” Sam said. “I don’t care what she does.”
* * *
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