This choice: Try selling the book to these guys • Go Back...Chapter #6The Roleplayers by: Seuzz   "If you guys need a new magic manual, I got one I could sell you," you blurt out.
"A private sale in my shop?" Eric says.
"We could do it outside," Christian says. "Next to those junkies you got dealing--"
"I'm just givin' shit," Eric laughs. "Anyone wanna buy some chips?" He jerks his chin at the counter where a bored-looking guy in tattoos is reading a graphic novel. "Give you a twenty percent discount 'cos they hit their expiration date a week ago."
"I didn't know potato chips came with an expiration date," Darrell says.
"This campaign's hit an expiration date," Christian grumbles. "When're we supposed to finally meet Count Douchebag?"
"Count Dragu Descoigne," Howie says through gritted teeth. "You know, I went to the trouble of making some actual, memorable character names after-- Where the hell did you find some of those names on your last campaign?" he demands of Christian.
"I made 'em with a randomizer. Ninety percent of the fun was watching you try to remember and pronounce them. What's this magic manual you speak of, Prescott," he continues, turning to you. He shuts one eye and glares hard at you with the other from under a sharply arched eyebrow.
"I got it out in the truck," you say. "I found it at Arnholm's a few days ago."
"Arnholm!" Eric laughs long and loud.
"What's so funny?" Darrell asks as they all stare at him.
"Oh, nothing. Ted Arnholm!" Eric laughs again. "Now, there's an asshole who knows how to move shit. Price it high so people think it's actually worth something, and watch it sail off the shelves. Meanwhile, I'm stuck-- Someone want an Italian sandwich? Last week I noticed the salami was about to turn."
"Jesus, Eric, I've never known a guy who could so helplessly talk customers out of a sale," Howie says.
"I'll take it," Christian says, raising his hand. "If I should die before I wake, that's one less saving throw I have to make, and then maybe we can start up a new game."
"Are you serious?" Eric asks.
"Yeah," Howie echoes in a wounded tone. "Because we're not even halfway through the--"
"Oh, now I am serious," Christian exclaims. "So far, Lady Moonpussy's been the only--"
"Lady Montpelier!"
"Christian. Dude," Eric says. "If I thought the meat was turning a week ago, can you imagine how bad it is now?"
"Can't be as bad as this campaign. We're heading into a bog."
Howie snatches up his notes. "No peeking, Christian. The Marshes of Melancholy were supposed to be--"
"What system does this magic manual use?" Darrell asks you.
"It's not part of any system," you have to admit. "I found it in the special collections case. It's like an authentic grimoire. A real old book."
Eyes widen: Howie's and Hugh's and Darrell's and Eric's in surprise; Christian's in skepticism. "If you got it out of that case," Eric says, "how much did you--?"
"Well, it was priced at two hundred and something," you say. "But, uh, it turned out there was something wrong with it, so Arnholm discounted it. Discounted it a lot."
"Dude don't discount," Eric says. "What's wrong with it?" He laughs again. "Is it cursed or something?"
"It's pretty freaky," you admit. "Wanna see it?" The chorus of "Sure!" sends you back out to the truck.
* * * * *
The tome elicits a wide range of reactions. After a brief glance at it, Darrell turns bored ("Shit, I didn't flunk Latin so I could buy a book in it"). Hugh stares at the shifting images on the title page. Howie grumbles over the pages that seem to be glued shut. Eric chortles and bubbles at the 99% discount Arnholm gave you. Dane chills silently, as he's been doing all this time. Only Christian keeps quiet, and his eyes dart sharply over each page as he examines them. "If you're looking for new material, you're not going to find it in there," Howie tells him.
"I'll still buy it," Christian says. He again he peers at you hard with a single clear eye. "You take two bucks for it?"
You hesitate just a fraction, but it's enough to bring in another bidder. "I'll pay five," Eric says.
"Seven," Christian snaps.
"Ten," counters Eric with a grin.
"Twelve."
"You bought yourself a book," Eric laughs. "If your friend here will take it. Did my best for you, dude," he adds, turning to you.
"You were just trying to screw more money out of me?" Christian demands of Eric. "Fuck that, now I won't buy that sandwich."
"Two good deeds done with one blow," Eric retorts. "I didn't want that on my conscience either."
Christian snorts, and pulls a dirty five-dollar bill from his pocket and scribbles you out an IOU for the balance. "Come find me next week," he says. "I get paid Saturday."
Done and done. You slap Dane on the back. "You're quiet. Ready to go?"
"Huh? Oh, I'm havin' fun listenin' to these guys." Certainly he's been too slow to get a word in edgewise.
"Well, if one of 'em will give you a ride--" You start. But then the bell on the door rings again, and you turn to look. And you stop.
Ah, there's the kind of girl you were hoping to run into.
Gillian Kiefer, in torn jeans and a sleeveless, tie-dyed top that she's sewn tassels all over. Leather bracelets. Her eyes twinkle mischievously in her chipmunk face, and her thick, dark hair is unkempt in a way that just begs to be combed out with loving fingers.
Too bad there's another guy with her. Braydon Delp, in jeans and a thin, v-neck t-shirt. His thick, dark hair is also unkempt and sticks up in odd angles, but you've no desire to sort it out. His arms, like Gillian's, are decked out with leather wristbands, and the sense of slightly Goth androgyny is only enhanced by the mascara on his lashes. His eyebrows peak with weary skepticism as his gaze lights briefly on you, but he and Gillian turn their attention to their friends. "Guys," he says in the soft tones of someone who doesn't give a shit and doesn't give a shit whether you give a shit over his not giving a shit. "Sorry we're late. You get tired of carrying my carcass around?" He slouches into a chair.
Puzzled glances from around the table, except Christian, who is utterly absorbed in the book. "Don't tell me we're still at that campsite," Braydon says.
"No, we've been marching for--" Hugh starts.
"So, last thing I said was that I was going to sleep. I even made a roll for it," Braydon says, giving Howie a sidelong glance.
"Shut. Up," Darrell growls at him.
But Howie is now pulling at his lip. "That's right. And house rule is no one else plays for an absent--"
"Oh, come on!" Darrell shouts. "So he woke up and has been walking along all quiet like. Nothing's been happening except--"
"Except that fight we've been in for the past twenty minutes," Christian says without raising his eyes from the book.
"Whose side are you on?"
"And Tiny's a deep sleeper," Braydon says laconically. "Half giant, too, so you guys woulda had a hard time carrying him."
Groans from Darrell and Hugh, and a hissed laugh from Eric, as Howie keeps pulling at his lip. "Yeah," he says slowly. "I forgot about--" He pushes some dice at Braydon. "Lessee, twelve hour march-- I'm gonna need you to make a dozen saving throws against--"
"Aw, lookit that," Braydon says as he carelessly lets the dice fall. "You guys dropped me."
"So you woke up?" Darrell asks hopefully.
"Nah, it means you gotta do a throw against being able to pick me up again."
"Well, then we should've done that first when we tried picking you up in the morning!"
"You guys fight about it," Gillian laughs. "I'm gonna see if there's anything worth buying." She sways off into the main shop.
Well, she's a lot more interesting than listening to these guys arguing about who gets to roll for picking up a deep-sleeping half-giant, and you follow her. But without making it look like you're following her, so while she heads over to the newest releases, you sidle over to the graphic novels while still keeping her in sight.
You don't really know her, and can't even remember having had a class with her. If you had, it would have been your freshman or sophomore year, and you wouldn't have been sitting close to each other. In fact, it's entirely possible that she only moved to town recently. It sucks that she hangs around with Braydon and Christian and them. But given the way she dresses, she wouldn't be hanging around with you and your friends anyway.
So you watch her out of the corner of your eye, wondering how to approach her in a way that won't make you look like a freak or a stalker or some pathetic creep. She has a lovely profile, which she keeps turned to you as she picks up a series of titles and glances through them. She smiles over them--a deep dimple flashing in her cheek--and a couple of times fights to suppress a laugh. Which is odd, because she's not picking up "funny" comics. Girl must have a bizarre sense of humor.
You keep in motion, picking up a succession of graphic novels and putting them back. When you reach the end of the bookcase you have to go around to the other side, losing sight of her. You aren't there long, and when you reemerge you find her directly opposite you, walking her fingers through the boxes of used comics. You step out and glance around for a new vantage point, but Gillian speaks first. "You disappeared on me," she says, and looks up at you from under her bangs with an impish smile.
"Huh?" Your brain freezes. "What do you mean I--?"
"Do you have trouble talking to girls?"
Your cock springs almost straight up.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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