“But it’s what my character would do.”
A phase that vexes people. The argument is that the player is in control, not the character — that the statement is used to justify acting like a dick, because, “It’s what my character would do.”
What’s Going On?
When you sit down to play an RPG, in a way, there are two of you sat in one chair. It’s literally in the name of the game — role playing — you are playing a role. The game invites you to imagine yourself in a different role — a different you. This is what makes roleplaying games special. But it can cause complications too.
When is it an Issue?
One time it can be an issue is when a player wants to engage with a game, but their character doesn’t. Another is when the player does something that negatively impacts other player characters — the player doesn’t want to do it, but states it’s what their character would do.
I think the two issues are related. Let’s focus on the first one — which is to do with engagement.
So, John wants to play Call of Cthulhu. Go John!
The Keeper says the game is set in modern-day Oxford. John creates an investigator, a librarian, and establishes how he knows the rest of the group. Together, they discover there’s a monster in town that sucks people’s brains out — argh!
Stuff happens, and now the monster knows where John’s librarian lives — double argh!
The rest of the group want to deal with the monster — hooray!
John’s librarian is leaving town and going to stay with his mother in Bridlington… wait, what? We’ve only been playing for an hour. Is that the end?
Then we get the analysis / bickering:
“You didn’t engage with the scenario.”
“Why would my character want to stick around for that?”
“I thought you wanted to play a game?”
”I did, but the scenario doesn’t work.”
“There’s the social contract!”
“There’s what now? I didn't sign any contracts, what you talking about?”
Hands up if you’ve ever been John. I have.
What’s Going On?
The common solution I hear is a somewhat aggressive argument that John was at fault: his character isn’t a separate entity; John wanted to play the game so he should have engaged with the scenario properly.
I can kind of see it, but I don’t feel it helps much.
I think there are several things going on here, and to work smoothly everything needs to fit together like a jigsaw. But what are the pieces of this jigsaw?
One is you, the player.
Another is you, but your character.
Then there’s the GM, the other players, their characters, the scenario, the setting, the rules. Lots of jigsaw pieces.
If all those elements fit together well, you got magic.
A Second Look
Let’s take another look at what happened. The Keeper had a scenario and invited the players to make characters, telling them the game is set in modern-day Oxford.
So John did as asked. He made a librarian — that’s good, a standard occupation for Call of Cthulhu investigators. After all, Henry Armitage, the guy who defeats the Dunwich Horror was a librarian. So far, so good. As a jigsaw piece in the game, John’s librarian fits perfectly with the setting.
Can you see what went wrong?
John was asked to do the wrong thing — to create a character who lives in ‘real-world’ Oxford. If I were living in Oxford and there was a monster that knew my address and wanted to eat me, I’d probably leave town too — just like John’s librarian.
Fix 1: the GM’s Side
Don’t misrepresent the setting. The GM presented John a with a square hole, so John made a square peg. Like the GM said it was real-world Oxford — if your game is set in real-world Oxford, you don’t get to use the supernatural and play with monsters.
It might seem redundant, given the players have signed up for a horror game, but when asking them to create characters tell them the game is set in “what appears to be modern-day Oxford”, but add that they are going to meet monsters and must be someone who wants to confront that in some way.
Sometimes as GM we want to surprise our players. I’m all for that, in which case, see the Back-up Fix, below.
Fix 2: the Player’s Side
Your character may start off as a regular Joe, but think about what they might become. When trouble rears its head, the character needs to be one of those people that step up. If this were Jaws, and I’m playing Chief Brody, it’s no good me saying I don’t like boats and I’m going to stay on solid ground thank you very much.
Fix 3: the Back-up
Whatever we do, at some point we may find our character looking at the cost of a train ticket to Bridlington — meaning, somehow, the player is struggling to fit their character into the scenario.
This is where the back-up fix comes in. It’s time to take a short break. The player can do this solo, or in conversation with others. It’s up to the player to discover (create) a new side to their character, or negotiate some kind of hook with the GM. The player has to ask themselves, what would make my character want to do this thing? It’s about revealing character through play. Just like what happens in stories. Remember Bilbo Baggins — the last thing he wanted was to go on an adventure!
Here’s a few suggestions in which I’ve highlighted where you have to make something up / reveal something new about your character:
Is there a promise of financial reward? If so, maybe (make it up) my character is deep in debt and this a chance to fix that.
Are people endangered? Could one of those in danger be someone my character cares about (make it up)? That can be negotiated with the GM.
It this the moment my character becomes a hero? Maybe this is the moment that my character just decides to fight to save humanity because of some reason (make it up), even if it is pure heroism.
Has that helped?
I don’t know. You tell me. It was just something I was turning over in my mind and writing about it seemed like a way to process it. Thanks for reading.
This puts me in mind of the Principles for Facilitators and Principles for Players from Liminal. The Horror Contract from Kult: Divinity Lost is more for the GM; I've never been all that clear why it's called a 'contract' because it's more a set of instructions. Anyway, another excellent article, Paul. See you in a few days!
Well done, Paul.