As we all huddled in the dark lounge for aThe Lord of the Ringsmarathon; she’d started singing the remixed version of “they’re taking the hobbits to Isengard”, and I’d admitted to myself that maybe she did have taste after all.
And not only had I been thinking about emotional XP, but also about the fact that I’d somehow ended up offering to be her adventure buddy over the summer and had to now come up with beginner-friendly stuff to do together.
* * *
Fatima had immediately started askingcampaign-related questions as we tucked into breakfast. In direct contrast to me, she’d barely touched the food in front of her.
“I have this arc all planned out already,” she said, “but I’m starting to think about what comes next so I can start planting some seeds now. So if you want something in particular, or if you’re not sure about your character, I can make sure we move in the direction you prefer.”
“Maybe everyone can be a little less cliché with the tragic personal histories?” Grey said, and everyone groaned. Sure, it was a bit of a stereotype that every D&D character was an orphan with a tragic backstory. But I wasn’t the only one who’d played into that stereotype.
“I mean, I feel like I get a pass,” Phil said. “Actual trauma earns you the right to create whatever backstory you want, I feel.”
“At least you’re not all murderhobos like in the last campaign we did,” Fatima said. “Well, except maybe Calamity, but you all keep her in check.”
“I love my character,” Chloe said, sitting across the table from me, flicking her red hair over her shoulder to get it out of the way of her breakfast. “She’s so chaotic.”
“So just a natural extension of you then?” I muttered, and Chloe punched me a little too hard on the shoulder.
“Hilarious,” she said. “Says the guy who named his character after the worstLord of the Ringscharacter.”
“Don’t you disrespect Sean Bean like that,” I retorted, pronouncing it likeSeenBean, which was half inside joke and half instinct at this point. “Also, we’ve been over this; I didn’t mean to do it. If I had meant to make an LOTR reference, surely I would have gone with Gimli? Or Thorin? Something more suitable for a dwarf?”
“Well at least you didn’t give your character your exact name plus a single letter,” Morgan added, and everyone laughed.
“I just assumed you really liked rum,” Phil offered. “Captain Morgana?”
“I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea,” she said. “It was my first time, and I was worried if I zoned out a bit I wouldn’t know you were talking to me unless it was basically my name.”
“Well, I’d love to do some more spooky stuff,” Chloe said, bringing us back to the actual question. “I loved all the eerie bits with the necromancer, so more creepy shit please.”
As soon as Chloe said “spooky stuff”, I saw Morgan’s face drop.
“I can do creepy shit,” Fatima said, “but only if everyone else is okay with that.”
She looked around the table at everyone one by one, and everyone else nodded or voiced their assent. Morgan tried her best to nod casually when it was her turn, but Fatima narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side, her DM/teacher intuition kicking in.
“Not a fan of creepy shit?”
Morgan inhaled sharply and winced. “Not really,” she admitted. “Not actual horror, anyway. The necromancer stuff was fine, but anything starts to feel like a haunted house and I won’t manage.”
“Do it,” Chloe said, rubbing her hands together. “I love freaking out the scaredy cats.”
“Not a chance,” Fatima said. “Otherwise I’m going to start using all those character voices you hate again.”
As she started in with the horrible Australian accent she’d used for an NPC one time, I got up to get seconds. Phil stood and followed me.
“Wanna tell me why you’re so fixated on that end of the table?” he asked quietly as he came up next to me in the kitchen. I’d come to get seconds of the French toast.
“Fuck off, Phil,” I muttered in what I hoped was a casually dismissive tone, but I could feel a pink flush rising up my neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yeah? How was your little swim yesterday?”
“Nothing happened, I’ve told you. We mostly just sat on the rocks and talked.”
“Please,” he said, keeping his tone low but mocking. “I was watching from the window from the moment you left the house. I saw your little face-off in the water. The only thing that was missing was a bunch of crabs and fish singing a daytime rendition of ‘Kiss the Girl’.”
I looked up at Phil’s smiling face – he really did mean all this in good fun – and I saw when he realised I was growing genuinely annoyed.
