Dearest Rachel -
On what I expect to be my last walk through the corridors of the Hyatt convention center, I found myself pausing at the sight below:
It might be a more common sight at an anime convention than most times and places, but it was a new idea on me. I decided there was nothing to be lost by stopping to see what side quest she might send me on; presumably it was something reasonably doable.
Mutely, she pulled out a deck of 3x5 notecards, inviting me to select one. I pulled it from the middle of the desk: "Take a picture with a hero." An odd request, but I suppose it was doable. After all, titles like My Hero Academia and the like are still in vogue; I should have no trouble finding someone dressed as Deku, perhaps, or maybe Saitama from One Punch Man. Those would be heroes worthy of the search-and-capture (if only metaphorically)
But while I was pondering how to go about satisfying her request, she gestured at a small crowd of cosplayers walking by (not that there wasn't a constant flow of such attendees, even as things were winding down as they were). She was indicating a fellow dressed as Luffy, the main character – the 'hero,' if you will – of One Piece.
So I took a picture of myself with him. Mission accomplished.
And what was my reward for completing this quest for this random NPC? Nothing more than a tic tac. Huh.
Well, it wasn't as if I'd expended a lot of effort in accomplishing the quest; the reward was more or less commensurate with the risk.
***
Such was the final day – or more to the point, the final hours – of my time at AnimeIowa; just a series of side quests and random encounters with no more meaning than any others one might encounter in life. And yet, there was a certain poignancy to them that I couldn't quite explain – or maybe, I've explained all too much.
It shouldn't be so wrenching an experience; after all, I've been doing this now for twenty-five years, since 1998. There's a certain routine nature to the last day of the convention. You pack up and check out of the hotel, stuffing what you can in the car, and keeping what you shouldn't (I was lugging my computer around for the day, as I didn't want to subject it to the heat of the day in the car – it gets hot enough when it's used; I don't want to burn it out when it's not even functioning), wander over to and around the convention center for whatever you might want to see – and once you've done all that (which, in your case, would have not been until the closing ceremonies, but I've lost my taste for those), you head home.
But then, there are the non-player characters along the way; those you interact with, but don't ultimately affect your character arc (assuming you believe the simulation theory of existence, which posits that we're all just characters in a literally cosmic video game, made for the Programmer's amusement. Honestly, it doesn't necessarily contradict the main tenants of conventional religion, if you think about it). They usually don't identify themselves as such (because, after all, each of us thinks of ourselves as the main character in our own story, rather than the side character – or even less, an incidental cameo – in someone else's), nor do they present you with quests (unless they has a certain superiority over you, like a boss) for you to either accept or reject.
And yet, life is like that, with these little interactions for us to take in, should we ever think to. So today, as it is likely to be my last time here, I take in a few of these brief cameo appearances for your amusement.
***
As I wander through the marketplace, a girl in a black baseball cap and shirt emblazoned with the word "DEAD" on it approaches. She holds up a small beanbag of Chiyo-no-chichi, thrusting it forward at me, and tells me how she always looks forward to seeing our immense version of him every convention. She's been wondering where he's been hiding all this time, and I mention how it's my tradition to take him around the convention on the last day. I offer him to her to hug, which she does enthusiastically. Even as she does, I warn her that this is likely to be the last time she'll have the chance, explaining how it's just… different… attending these thing on my own. "All good things, I suppose…" She gives him one more hug for good measure, and bids me farewell.
I tell her to say hello to the dead for me as she departs. So, honey, if you happen to see a girl in a black top and white skirt, greet her warmly. She brings my best regards.
***
Since I don't see any panels after the sponsor brunch worth devoting time to – there was one beforehand that I thought would be interesting, but it seems as if the people hosting it couldn't make it, which also scuttles the plans for someone else at my table, who had hoped to go to a panel scheduled near the end of the brunch – I'm already debating whether to head home already. I've gotten a text from the folks, asking if I'm on the road, and I tell them I'll probably be home before dark in any event (of course, this being summer, that probably would allow me to stick around through closing ceremonies after all, and I still could manage that. So I'm not lying, even though I've no idea when I plan to head out).
The one thing holding me back (along with the need to finish and send out another letter to you) is whether I should hang around to pick up another commission I'd made of you. Most of the artists, while willing to hear me out (that's the nice thing about AnimeIowa as opposed to Anime Central), aren't really able or willing to do such work, it would seem. But there was one I talked to on the first day, who, upon accepting the challenge, also insisted that he would get it done before the end of the convention; it would seem he really would rather not have to mail it to me later.
And even as I respond non-committally to the folks as to what time I expect to leave, I get another text, this time from the artist to whom I have been the one handing a side quest to. It would seem he's finished, and ready for me to pick it up from him:
It also seems that he saw you as more short-haired than I've generally had you depicted. Considering how you would often tie it back – and how you never wore it long as a child, or even in college – it's not really all that out of character. You also look a bit boyish, but as you were often able to act like "one of the guys," that's more than reasonable, too. I think you'd like that scarf, and the fact that the coat is second-hand from Rakka herself would probably please you.
So, at this point, I no longer have any further reason to stay. I finish your letter, and make my way to the convention center hotel lobby.
On the way out, I see the familiar sight of the TARDIS by the entrance of the hotel; I've commented before on how I would wish it were real, so I could enact a sort of "Father's Day" event (and never mind the Reapers). This time, I'm not thinking about that – at least, not immediately – because I'm distracted by who's unlocking it.
It's Batman. Well, of course, it's someone dressed as Batman, but still...
I can't help but ask; "The latest technology from Wayne Enterprises?" I actually have to repeat himself to him before he realizes what I've asked. I think he was grinning at the reference once he got it; the real Bruce Wayne would have probably gotten angry at being recognized behind his cowl.
Either way, it's not likely Wayne Enterprises is going to be putting this into mass production any time soon, so you're stuck where you are – and probably just as happy for it.
***
Anyway, it's time to go. Since the view from the parking lot isn't all that impressive – all the buildings are clean and new, but they are just the back sides and all – I leave you with a shot of the Riverwalk Landing drive, heading up to First Street, where I can get on the interstate, and make my way home.
Goodbye, Iowa. It's been fun, your people are lovely... but the time has come for now and forever. It's the sort of moment that might leave you crying, if you were here – but if you were here, I wouldn't consider not returning. It's time.
Anyway, keep an eye on me, honey, and wish my luck. I'm going to need it.
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