_The_Cleveland_Heights_LGBTQ_Sci-Fi_and_Fantasy_Role_Playing_Club_-_Doug_Henderson
the cleveland heights LGBTQ sci-fi and fantasy
role playing club
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the cleveland heights LGBTQ sci-fi and fantasy
role playing club
by Doug Henderson
University of Iowa Press
Iowa City
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University of Iowa Press, Iowa City 52242
Copyright © 2021 by Doug Henderson
www.uipress.uiowa.edu
Printed in the United States of America
Cover design by Holly Dunn; text design by Omega Clay
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means without permission in
writing from the publisher. All reasonable steps have been taken to contact copyright holders of
material used in this book. The publisher would be pleased to make suitable arrangements with any
whom it has not been possible to reach.
Printed on acid-free paper
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Henderson, Doug, 1972– author.
Title: The Cleveland Heights LGBTQ Sci-fi and Fantasy
Role Playing Club / Doug Henderson.
Description: Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 2021.
Identifiers: LCCN 2020039792 (print) | LCCN 2020039793 (ebook) | ISBN 9781609387563
(paperback) | ISBN 9781609387570 (ebook)
Classification: LCC PS3608.E525858 C54 2021 (print) | LCC PS3608.E525858 (ebook) | DDC
813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020039792
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020039793
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For my mother
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Contents
acknowledgments and thanks
the summoning
the fellowship of the room
the sacrifice
thrift store hero
sneak attack
treasure hunters
return to the underworld
the enemy revealed
altered beast
the horny homunculus
devil horns to the ground
there is no escape from the city of the dead
north coast festival
valerie and polly
the grimoire of erotic deeds
welcome to midnight
the shambling horror
the die
albert
the thing in the cellar
peering through the oculus
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acknowledgments and thanks
To the MFA program at the University of San Francisco, where the first true
draft of this novel was completed. To K. M. Soehnlein, Stephen Beachy,
Lewis Buzzbee, Lori Ostlund, and Nina Schuyler for their workshops,
guidance, and advice. To Lynne Nugent and Kate Conlow for their editorial
feedback and for believing in this book. To Elizabeth Bernstein for so much
encouragement, and the San Francisco Writers Grotto, where the early
scenes for this novel were developed. To PEN America and the Robert J.
Dau Foundation for supporting emerging writers. To the amazing and
talented Bay Area Manuscript Group for work-shopping so much of this
novel. To the Bay Area gaming community for so many adventures, and
stories, and laughs. To Melanie Samay, who read every draft and still asked
to read more. To my husband and family, without whom this writing life
would have never started. To my mom, for everything.
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the cleveland heights LGBTQ sci-fi and fantasy
role playing club
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the summoning
Ben stood in the basement and called upstairs, “Mom, have you seen my
dice bag up there?”
“What dice bag, sweetheart?” his mother replied from the kitchen.
“My only dice bag.” He’d been using that same dice bag since high
school. “It’s made of purple velvet. Ties with a string.”
“Where’d you leave it last?”
“I thought on my desk but—”
“Oh, well, that explains it.” His mother stepped into the doorway. She
wore her glasses around her neck on a silver chain. “That place is such a
mess down there, it’s a wonder you can even find your desk.”
“Mom, please, I’m in a hurry.” Ben slid on his yellow windbreaker. Of
course she would bring this up now, as he was rushing to get out the door.
“Can you help me look?”
“It’s not up here. I can tell you that.”
“Mom, please, just look.”
As Ben turned to continue his search, his cat, Onigiri, slipped through his
legs and ran ahead of him.
Ben kicked past piles of dirty clothes, dirty dishes, and empty beer cans.
He pushed aside stacks of books and comics on his desk. He dug past his
pencil cup, crammed full, and moved around the dusty model of the Death
Star he’d made in the seventh grade. But no dice bag.
Last Thursday after gaming he had come in through the front door, not
the cellar door, because he was starving, and he wanted something to eat.
He had slipped into the kitchen, warmed up some macaroni and cheese, and
then crept downstairs without turning on a light. He’d dropped his backpack
by the La-Z-Boy, put his books on the desk, his wallet by the empty
aquarium, and his dice bag?
Ben closed his eyes. He felt through the air with his fingers and stretched
out his mind, expanding it into every nook and corner of the basement,
under the bed, behind the bookshelves, through the dark and musty shadows
of the storage room.
“Little dice, lucky dice, where art thee? Manifest before me on the count
of three. One, two, three.” Ben glanced at the floor between his feet.
Nothing. He looked at his desk. Onigiri looked back, blinking, as dust was
settling upon the Death Star.
God, he was an idiot. What was he thinking? Magic doesn’t exist. Those
dice were just dumb pieces of plastic. He knew that and still he was such a
weirdo all the time. No wonder he couldn’t get a boyfriend. Ben collapsed
onto the La-Z-Boy.
Above him, the basement door opened with a squeak. “Ben, honey, are
these them?” From the top of the stairs came the sound of dice shaking in
their bag.
“Yes!” He dashed up the steps and his mother dropped the velvet pouch
into his hand. “Thanks. Where were they?”
“They were on the floor, next to the couch.”
“But I looked there.”
“Sometimes when you’re in a rush, you don’t see things that’re right in
front of your face.”
“And sometimes,” Ben said, “objects of power don’t reveal themselves to
the mortal plane unless called forth with a summoning spell.”
His mother tsked. “You’ve been playing too many of those games.”
“But, it worked,” Ben said as he headed downstairs.
His mother called after him, “I only say that because I worry. You have to
think about the real world too, you know. Think about your future. You’re
almost thirty after all.”
“Mom, I’m twenty-five.”
“That’s almost thirty in my book.”
“Mom, stop.” They had already talked a million times about his future.
“I’m going out the back. I’ll be home later.”
With that, Ben climbed up the creaky ladder, through the cellar doors,
and set out.
…
Coventry Road in Cleveland Heights was a power ballad, a nap, a
rainbow, a dull noise, a cluster fuck, a nostalgia, a dream. Coventry Road
was coming and going, brick and steel and rust and graffiti and gum-stuck
pavement, and tattered awnings and trash in the gutter. Mom-and-pop shops
of eclectic attractions, bookstores, restaurants, head shops, and a lonely
record store and noisy poetry readings and bars, taverns, pubs. Its
inhabitants were, as the story goes, hippies, punks, dropouts, and deadbeats.
Had the story been turned to another page, it might have read yuppies and
hipsters and heroes, and it would have told the same tale.
Valerie propped open the front door of Readmore Comix and Games and
pulled the large signboard in from the sidewalk.
Comics! it announced in big white letters with a yellow arrow
underneath. Games, toys, collectibles, trading cards, fun!
Long into old age she would remember the sound and feel of that board
scraping along the cement, so many times had she heard and felt its
vibrations as she dragged it along. She propped it against the front counter
with a thud.
Valerie was short, with thick brown hair that curled at the ends,
especially if she didn’t wash it. Although she’d switched from glasses to
contacts back in ninth grade, she still felt like she had glasses-face, which is
to say the kind of face that looked like it had been wearing glasses all day
even when it hadn’t. Working in a comic bookstore and reading all day
probably didn’t help.
Polly, standing behind the register with Kyle, asked, “Will someone make
the call?” She was wearing her foxy nurse outfit, which was the same as her
regular nurse outfit but with fox ears and a tail.
“We’re closing in five minutes,” Kyle yelled at the three customers still
slumped around the store reading. None of them moved an inch. It was well
understood amongst employees that customers had the worst sense of
hearing.
“Make that four minutes,” Valerie said, looking at the wall clock.
Valerie was ready to call it a day. She’d arrived a little late, just past ten,
because she’d run up to the corner cafe to get a coffee and a Danish.
Luckily, Kyle had arrived on time and already opened the shop.
Kyle was alright. He had worked at Readmore longer than Valerie or
Polly. He had long black hair that he tied in a ponytail, and he somehow
managed to be skinny and yet have a belly, which Valerie assumed was
from drinking beer, because if he wasn’t talking about comic books, he was
talking about micro-brews. He usually wore a green army jacket over T-
shirts with random sayings like “Make Tea not War” or “Rogues do it from
Behind,” and while Valerie didn’t hate those shirts, they didn’t make her
laugh either, which generally summed up everything about Kyle.
Aside from arguing with a customer over the near-mint rating on an issue
of The Amazing Spiderman and trying to recommend a graphic novel with
strong female characters, the day had been uneventful. Walt, the store
owner, had called around three to ask if any good mail had come in, and
after a brief discussion of what exactly qualified as good mail, Valerie was
disappointed to learn that the party supply catalogs she so fondly flipped
through did not make the list.
Valerie had only started working at Readmore at the beginning of the
summer, straight out of high school. She’d decided to give herself a year off
after graduating as she wasn’t sure yet what she wanted to do about college.
It was so expensive. And student loans were so intimidating and depressing.
She had no idea what she wanted to major in, or what she was good at. And
to make matters worse, her older sister Katie was studying abroad at
Cambridge, sucking up all their parent’s adoration and being generally
impossible to compete with. Valerie decided, after several heated debates
with her parents, to take some time off and decide what she wanted to do
with herself.
“Would you ever have sex with an alien?” she asked Polly and Kyle.
They were standing behind the counter drumming their fingers on the glass
and waiting for the last customer to leave.
“Haven’t we talked about this already?” Polly asked.
“Let’s say you met someone, and they were cool and attractive, but they
told you they were an alien. Do you think they’d be dateable or would you
think they’re crazy?”
“No, Valerie, no.” Polly had red hair, blue eyes, and lots of freckles. She
wore vintage cardigans and canvas shoes, liked indie comics, the more
obscure the better, and when she played board games, she played them to
win. She and Valerie had been friends in high school but didn’t start fooling
around until Valerie began working at Readmore.
“This question is more for Kyle than for you,” Valerie said.
“Why?” Polly asked.
“I already know your answer.”
“What are you saying?” Kyle asked. “You think I’m into freaky shit?”
“For the record,” Polly said, “I could date an alien. I could date anyone as
long as they were a nice person.” She motioned toward Valerie with a flick
of her hand.
“Then why did you say no?” Valerie asked.
“I said no for you. I don’t think you could date one. You couldn’t handle
it.”
“Why not?”
Polly and Kyle exchanged a look and then Polly said, “I’m going to go
count down this second register.” The cash drawer snapped open with a
clang.
The clock struck seven and the last customer shuffled out.
“We open again tomorrow,” Valerie called. “Ten a.m., bright and early.”
The door swung shut and the bell above it dinged.
As Kyle began counting down the last register, Valerie pulled her
Player’s Handbook and her character sheets for her bard, Theegh, out from
behind the front counter. She’d been flipping through them all day.
When Celeste had first cornered Valerie back by the military strategy
games and asked her to join the LGBTQ Sci-Fi and Fantasy Role Playing
Club, she had answered, “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Celeste asked, giving her that quizzical look she always
does. “I thought you loved D&D. Don’t you wanna fight monsters and
decimate the forces of evil?”
And of course she wanted to, but it had seemed like such a commitment.
She’d have to stay late and hang out in the back room. And work was
already so long and boring.
“But what?” Celeste asked. She clutched her medallion. She always wore
these medallions around her neck, gold ones, silver ones, sometimes they
had a fake gem in the center. “Don’t tell me you’re too cool or something.”
“No,” Valerie had been quick to say, insulted by the suggestion.
“Then who cares?” Celeste threw up her hands. “You don’t even have to
tell people it’s a queer group. Just tell them you’re playing D&D on
Thursdays, that’s all they need to know.”
“I guess, but is it really going to be every single week?”
“Look, this group is gonna die unless more people join, and then what?
The city will have one less D&D group going. One less group for people
who wanna roll a twenty-sided die and get their game on. And quite frankly,
one less safe space for queer people to be themselves and have fun. Is that
what you want?”
“No, of course not.”
So, Valerie had finally given in, especially after Celeste added, “I’ll let
you pick a magical weapon with either a bonus to hit or a bonus to
damage.” And that had sealed the deal.
Before Valerie could come around and lock the front door, Mooneyham
pushed it wide open. The bell dinged.
“What’s up fudge nuts?” Mooneyham said to Kyle. “And lady fudge
nuts,” he said to Valerie. He dropped his black leather bag on the counter
with a thud. “Although I understand your nuts are neither fudge nor nuts.”
Mooneyham was the other reason Valerie had avoided joining the group
for so long.
“I’ll count down the register in the back,” Kyle said as he slipped past
Valerie and headed to the office.
Mooneyham tossed his suit jacket onto the counter, loosened his tie, and
unbuttoned his collar, revealing his hairy chest. Mooneyham was tall,
broad, and dark haired. He worked in finance and made more money than
everyone else in the group combined. With a sniff, he surveyed the store
and the rack of new titles. “Anything good come in this week?”
“Not really.”
“God, this place sucks. Why do I come here?”
“I don’t know,” Valerie said.
“Of course you don’t.” Mooneyham rolled up his sleeves with his thick
fingers. His arms were hairy as well. “Who’s bringing snacks tonight—and
don’t say Ben.”
Valerie’s hesitation was all Mooneyham seemed to need.
“Fuck! He better not bring some crazy shit like last time. Christ. I hope to
god I still have a protein bar in my bag. I’m gonna get set up.” Mooneyham
collected his bag and jacket and made his way toward the back room,
toward the curtain that hung in the doorway and separated the gaming room
from the rest of the store. “In the meantime, you should consider what your
nuts are made of. No need to report back to me, but it’s probably something
you should know, in case you ever decide to use them.”
With a sigh, Valerie turned to lock the front door when she noticed some
movement in the toy section, behind the stuffed dragon puppets. There was
a man, dressed in black, standing in the corner.
“Hello,” Valerie called out as she approached. The man was wearing a
short top hat, tattered and frayed along the edges. How had Valerie not
noticed this guy earlier? She must have been reading her Player’s
Handbook more often than she thought.
“Um, excuse me.” Valerie tapped the man on his shoulder. “We’re
closed.”
Slowly, the man turned. Wavy blond hair hung from beneath the top hat.
His skin was pale but good looking, almost pretty, in an unsettling way. He
might have been wearing makeup, but Valerie couldn’t be sure in the dim
light. He smiled just enough to reveal pointy incisors.
“I wish to purchase this multi-paged pictographic amusement,” the man
said in a low voice, as though he hadn’t spoken all day. His lips moved in
such a way that it was difficult for Valerie to tell if the fangs were real or
plastic. His short fingernails were painted black and the edges were
chipped.
“Sorry, but we already closed down the registers,” Valerie said. “Come
back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” The man’s smile disappeared. “Did you say the word
tomorrow? You apparently fail to understand the long, slow tediousness of
the night that lies before me.”
“Sorry,” Valerie said again. “But we’re closed.”
“You dare deny the High Lord Varnec!” He revealed his fangs in full.
They were not the cheap fakes that kids wore; they were the expensive
fakes that adults wore.
“The who?” Valerie asked. “Varnec?”
“The High Lord Varnec.” He tossed back his head. “Brother of Darkness,
Champion of Despair.” He straightened his shoulders, ascended to his full
height, and glared down at Valerie with icy blue eyes.
“Well,” said Valerie, “we’re still closed.”
Varnec blubbered before blurting, “I’ll devour your soul!” He tossed his
comics onto the floor, and pushed past Valerie, knocking over a spinner
rack of Disney comics. It crashed to the floor as Varnec flew out the door.
“Whoa,” Polly said, coming out of the office to investigate. “What the
heck was that?”
“Just some customer who wants to devour my soul,” Valerie said as she
straightened the spinner rack. “Same old, same old.”
…
Ben arrived at Readmore apologetic and sweating, bags from the grocery
store swinging from his hands. It would be so nice if he could arrive at least
once without being all sweaty, but that seemed to be impossible.
The back room was small and had no windows. The walls were covered
up by shelves of books and graphic novels, the tops of which were crowded
with figures and statues of various sizes: knights, warriors, and superheroes
side by side, fighting monsters and dragons and each other. Once brightly
colored, they now wore helmets and shoulder pads of gray fuzz.
In the center of the room two quivering card tables had been pushed
together without a tablecloth, so as not to interfere with the rolling of the
dice. A mismatched crew of worn and broken chairs, recruited from
kitchens and dining room sets, surrounded them like a skeleton army
closing in for the kill.
Old floor lamps in two corners provided warm amber light. Another lamp
stood darkened and dusty in a third corner, apparently broken, although Ben
had never seen anyone attempt to turn it on.
Celeste, the dungeon master, sat at the far end of the tables, peering over
the top of her dungeon master’s screen, a fold-out panel of cardboard with
fanciful depictions of dragons and orcs and creatures unknown. The screen
allowed Celeste to roll her dice in secret. Her braids were pulled back, and a
large silver medallion hung against her chest.
“What’s this shit?” Mooneyham asked when Ben set the bags on the
table. “Dr Pepper and mini-donuts? Yes! You came through.”
“I was in a hurry, so I just got whatever.” Ben had a different concern
now—someone new was sitting in his seat.
This new guy had short dark hair and blue eyes and wore a heavy metal
T-shirt that Ben figured would have been blacker if it hadn’t been washed
so many times.
“This is Albert,” Celeste said from the front of the table. “He’s joining us
tonight.”
“Hey,” Albert grinned, and Ben couldn’t remember the last time he’d
seen stubble parted by a smile quite so nicely.
There was no way, an absolute zero percent chance, that Ben was sitting
next to this guy.
Ben could take the seat next to Mooneyham, but Mooneyham had
already put his jacket and heavy bag there and Ben couldn’t ask him to
move them now. If he did, Mooneyham would say, “Why don’t you sit over
there?” and point to the empty seat next to Albert.
He could sit between Celeste and Valerie, but that chair was missing an
arm and one of its legs was shorter than the others. It really served best as
an ottoman for the person sitting across from it. Ben couldn’t survive an
hour in that uncomfortable chair, but if he complained, Valerie or Celeste
would just point out the empty seat next to Albert.
Ben started to circle when Mooneyham said, “Would you just sit down
already so we can start?”
So, Ben turned toward the only option still available: the empty seat to
Albert’s left.
“Hey again,” Albert said, as Ben dropped into his chair. “I’m Albert.”
“I know,” Ben mumbled into his backpack and pulled out his pens and
character sheets. “Welcome to the group.”
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the fellowship of the room
As Ben straightened out his character sheets, and shook his dice out of his
dice bag, Celeste clapped her hands from behind her dungeon master’s
screen. “You should all introduce your characters. Albert, since you’re the
newbie, why don’t you go first.”
From a black folder with a sticker of a red pentagram on the front, Albert
pulled out his character sheet. He had filled it out by hand and covered it in
scribbles and doodles of weapons and monsters. “His name is Godson
Flamebender and he’s a neutral-good paladin.”
“How can a paladin be neutral-good?” Mooneyham asked with a snort.
“They’re a holy order. Don’t they have to be lawful?”
“Typically,” Albert said. “He’s still a goody-goody knight-in-shining-
armor type, but let’s just say he has fallen to certain temptations.”
“What kind of temptations?” Mooneyham asked.
“Sexual temptations,” Albert said.
“What? There’s no sex in D&D,” Ben said. “At least, none that we’ve
ever played.”
“Exactly. It’s a lack of sex that’s causing all his problems, especially the
kind of sex he’s interested in. He has to take all his frustrations out on the
battlefield. Why do you think he named his pole arm ‘the Rammaster’?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said.
Mooneyham snorted. “You wouldn’t.”
“What about you guys?” Albert asked. He pulled a small plastic food-
storage container from his backpack, and wrapped in toilet paper inside was
a small painted metal miniature of a paladin in heavy armor carrying a pole
arm. He placed the miniature on the table in front of his character sheet.
“What are your characters like?”
“I’m playing a wandering bard named Theegh,” Valerie said, gesturing at
her unpainted miniature of an elf singing and playing a lute. “And
Mooneyham’s a dwarf fighter named Gunther.”
“A wandering bard and a dwarf fighter? That’s it?”
“What more do you need?” Mooneyham asked. His miniature dwarf, no
bigger than his thumb, had a giant axe, a big black beard, and red armor. It
was meticulously painted, complete with a golden trimmed base with fake
grass and rocks.
“Well, I always like a good background story,” Albert said. “That’s my
favorite part.”
“Mine too,” Ben said.
“What’s your character like then?” Albert asked.
Ben picked at the corner of his character sheet. “His name is Bjorndar
and he’s a druid.” Ben placed his miniature on the table: a hooded half-elf
with red hair, a dark green cloak, and a longbow on his back. The paint was
chipped on the edges where the cloak swirled around the boots, but Ben
was proud of the paint job nonetheless, since he’d done it himself. Unlike
Mooneyham, he couldn’t afford to pay someone to paint miniatures for him.
“Bjorndar was raised as an orphan by a traveling circus, but not really a
circus like we think of a circus. More like a traveling performance group.
Like medieval vaudeville or something like that.”
“Yeah, that sounds way better,” Mooneyham said.
“Just listen,” Celeste said, giving Mooneyham a look.
“One day, when he was in his teens, he went out into the woods to fetch
some water from a mountain stream and there he saw a boy, about his same
age, watching from between the trees. The next day, the same thing, and the
day after that too. How strange, he thought, why is this mysterious boy
spying on me? Until finally, he called out to the boy. Tentatively the boy
came out from the trees and introduced himself. His name was Peeko. His
skin was as pale as moonlight on water and his eyes were big and dark like
caves just waiting to be explored.”
“Yeah, we got it,” Mooneyham said.
“Just keep going,” Albert said. “It’s good so far.”
Ben’s throat was dry but the Niagara Falls of his back sweat was flowing.
From the corner of his eye he could see Albert’s blue eyes watching him
attentively, and he wasn’t sure if that made telling the story easier or harder.
“Eventually Bjorndar befriended this strange boy. More and more with
every day he looked forward to their time together, climbing trees and
playing in the river, and when the circus left, Bjorndar ran away from his
family, who wasn’t his real family anyway, and he stayed behind with
Peeko, who took him to his home, an all-male druid retreat hidden deep in
the mountains. There Bjorndar lived amongst the druids and learned the
druidic arts, earth magic and all that kind of stuff. Until one day a group of
marauding orcs came through and raided the entire village. Bjorndar alone
survived.”
“How?” Albert asked.
“I imagine he was out hunting and then came back to find everyone
slaughtered. Even his dear Peeko, who by now was his lover. Of course.”
“How’d he die?” Albert asked.
“I don’t know,” Ben said. “But they must have gutted him or done
something horrific, because it sent Bjorndar into a painful and heartbroken
rage. He gathered what supplies were left and went off into the woods,
taking up a life of solitude. Only now, at last, is he heading out into the
world to take his revenge against the orcs and find a way to mend his
broken heart.” When he finished, Ben kept his eyes on his character sheet.
He didn’t look at Albert. He didn’t look at anyone.
“Pretty good,” Albert said.
“I don’t know,” Mooneyham said. “That story makes me a little
uncomfortable.”
“What? Why?” Ben asked.
“’Cause it does.”
“What about his?” Ben nodded toward Albert. “Flamebender the
Rammaster?”
“His is sweet. A gay paladin that spears people up the butt? That’s
awesome.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“It’s better than an escapee from a nudist colony.”
“They’re probably all vegans,” Valerie added.
“He’s a druid! That’s how they live!”
Everyone burst out laughing. Ben stood up and announced he needed a
break. Celeste quickly followed after him as Ben headed to the front of the
store, near the windows and the racks of hand puppets. This was the furthest
spot from the back room and there was a sense, although unproven, that the
puppets would dampen the sound of any arguing.
“I don’t like him,” Ben said.
“He’s just being Mooneyham.”
“I mean Albert. He makes me nervous. He’s not a good fit.”
“Are you serious?”
“I knew from the beginning, with the very first glimpse. He’s not like us.
Just look at him. He’s too good looking to play D&D.” Ben paced amongst
the puppets. “Who is this guy, coming in here all cool and good looking?”
“Regardless,” Celeste said, and Ben could tell by the look on her face
that she was trying to be patient, “he told me he loves gaming, and it sounds
like he’s a real geek at heart.”
“Yeah, right. No geek, at heart, or at who-knows-what, has ever looked
that perfect and joined a group like this.”
“He’s not perfect. He’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans. And he didn’t even
bother to shave.”
“Exactly! He’s perfectly unshaven. If I don’t shave, I look like a crazy
person.”
“You are a crazy person.”
“I certainly don’t look like that,” Ben motioned over his shoulder to the
back room. “I just don’t get what he’s doing here.”
“I told you, he just moved to Cleveland and he’s looking for a new group.
He wants friends. Did you see his character sheet? I can tell he knows what
he’s doing.”
Ben laughed. “Who moves to Cleveland? And people that good looking
don’t need a fantasy role playing club to find friends. They can be running
around in the real world, having sex and breaking hearts and doing
whatever they want. He should be at some party right now getting wasted
and doing whatever. I don’t get it. Plus, his character is stupid.”
“Stop.” Celeste grabbed Ben’s shoulders and put a halt to his pacing. “It
doesn’t matter if you think his character is stupid. It doesn’t matter if you
think he’s amazing or a dud. I just got the group back up to five members
and I’m not going to let it fall apart again. Look at me. Are you listening?
I’m going to ask you to pull yourself together and get back in the game. Do
you think you can do that?”
There was a stack of dusty board games on the floor, and Ben found them
far more interesting than looking Celeste in the eye.
Celeste was the reason Ben had joined the group. They went back to
college, before she had transitioned, when she still went by Ronald.
Although even then she’d begun growing her hair out and tentatively
presented as a woman. Ben knew with Celeste DMing he wouldn’t have to
worry about anything with the group. He wasn’t expecting someone like
Albert to join though.
“Ben, are you listening to me?” Celeste shook him by the shoulders. “Are
you going to come back to the game with me or what?”
So, it had come to this, either go home and endure a night alone with the
cat or stay and endure who-knows-what while sitting next to a guy far too
good looking.
“Alright, I’ll do it,” Ben said. “But I’m not sitting by him next week.”
They returned to the back room and Ben tried to act as though nothing
had happened.
“Thank you everyone for waiting.” Celeste retook her spot at the head of
the table and smoothed back her braids.
“For what it’s worth,” Albert said, as Ben sat down, “I think an escapee
from a nudist colony sounds pretty hot.”
Ben’s face went red and he turned his focus to Celeste, who was leaning
over the gridded dry-erase map that she laid out across the tabletops, one
hand clutching her silver medallion against her chest. If she had also heard
Albert’s comment, she didn’t respond, but she was smiling.
“Adventurers,” Celeste said, with a clap of her hands. “Let’s begin. As
usual, you’re at the Cod and Piece.”
“What’s that?” Albert asked.
“The ye old gay bar in town. You stumble into the bar, out of the cold,
rainy night, shaking off your coats and boots. The barkeep, Jasper
Whistletooth, leans over the countertop and says—”
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