“I mean, I’ll want help with material costs,” he said. “But I’ve got plenty of time this summer. Honestly, I’ve been looking for a project.”
“I mean, if you’re sure,” Grey said. “It sounds incredible.”
“Right then,” he said, bringing his hands down on the table in front of him. “It’s settled. Start thinking about what you want to wear so I can start.”
“I can help with that,” Morgan said, and everyone looked from Phil to her. Maybe it was just that we’d watchedThe Lord of the Ringsyesterday, but it felt like an “and my axe” kind of moment.
“I mean, I can draw people’s characters so you have something visual to work from if you want.”
“Is that what you’re always doing under the table during games?” Chloe asked. Morgan nodded. “So exciting!”
“It’s just a hobby,” she said, backtracking a bit, clearly trying to manage our expectations. “But it might help you visualise what you want. I’ll show you next week.”
“Sounds like a plan coming together,” Chloe said. “Should we make this shit official and pick a date that we want to go to America? And, you know, actually choose which faire to go to?”
“Well, not to be that person,” Fatima said, pointing to herself overhead, “but I’m a teacher, so it’ll have to be half term.”
“Don’t you fancy private school teachers get two weeks?” Phil asked.
“Yeah, but only one weekend in between them,” she said. “I assume these are weekend affairs?”
Things got very official very quickly, with Grey producing a sticker-covered laptop seemingly out of nowhere and starting a spreadsheet. There were dozens of Renaissance and medieval festivals in America every year, but only a handful that were really big and had autumn dates. We narrowed it down quickly to one in North Carolina, with direct flights, proximity to an airport, and our target weekend available. And by the time nine o’clock rolled around, we had to scramble to get our things, but we had something resembling a plan in place.
“How much XP do you reckon?” Morgan asked me as we reconvened outside to load the cars. She leaned into me conspiratorially, and I had a flashback to pressing against her on the rock yesterday morning. I had to step away slightly so I could focus on literally anything else.
“For the Ren Faire?” I frowned as I considered the question. “Two thousand?”
“Is that a lot?”
I nodded. “Worth a level-up all on its own in some games.”
As she walked away and loaded her bag into Grey’s boot, I saw a huge grin on her face, which made me grin, too. As annoying as I’d found her line of questioning yesterday, I enjoyed putting a smile on her face. And I figured that, if the next few months could help do that, then maybe I should actually try to make them worthwhile. For both of us.
Chapter9
Morgan
Tuesday brought with it the rudest awakening possible in the form of a performance review at work. At least I’d got to go play with Pablo over lunch; his pal Percy had been adopted as soon as the website had been updated to reflect that he was a Lhasa Apso puppy, which was much rarer. I’d come to terms with the fact that I probably wouldn’t be able to find a pet-friendly place in my budget, but at least I could make sure he wasn’t lonely in the meantime.
I dropped my sunglasses at my desk in the “fundraising corner”, as it had been dubbed, which was made up of four desks smushed together into one big table. The six of us in fundraising – well, now five without Cara, as her role still hadn’t been filled – took turns in each spot so no one would be permanently stuck in the seats that straddled two desks, or the “manspread desks” as we called them.
I grabbed my laptop and exchanged loaded glances with Chloe before heading to my boss’s office; her review was later in the day. Simone was waiting for me, scrolling through a document on her computer that I recognised as my review form. I’d filled out the self-reflection a few days prior, not sure how to professionally say “I meet my quotas, but I also couldn’t give less of a shit as long as I get paid, and I’m sure that’s clear to everyone around me.”
“Have a seat,” Simone said, tilting her head down to look at me over her reading glasses, pointing to the chair opposite hers at her desk. Her tone was casual enough, but I still felt like I’d been called into the headmaster’s office, causing me to perch nervously on the edge of the chair rather than settling into it like I normally would.
We went through the form together in a way that told me she could tell I didn’t give a shit, but she also didn’t give much of a shit, so it was fine. I would be getting a pay rise in line with inflation, and my quota was going up by ten percent like it had every year since I’d joined. It was the world’s most monotonous performance review, which was fitting for what felt like the world’s most monotonous job.
Until it wasn’t.
“What’s your vision for your future here, Morgan?”
I actually blinked, trying to figure out if I’d heard her correctly.
“You mean for, like, my career?” It was the most idiotic thing I could have uttered, but my brain hadn’t processed the break in status quo yet.
“Yes,” she said, a twinge of exasperation in her tone.
“I’m not sure,” I said, sitting forward, wracking my brain for anything at all that would be professionally appropriate. But the only thing I could find for several seconds was “I have no vision for anything in my life, much less this dead-end job.” Thankfully my still-mildly-hungover brain managed to filter that one.
