by J. P. Oliver
Roux rolled his eyes. “You already know how it went,” he said bitterly. “Inter-kingdom bickering killed any chance of a real strategy for the Alliance, just like we thought it would. Ended in a big win for the forces of evil, but the twins’ group apparently managed to pull something off that prevented everything from being completely botched.” He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wish you were there, man. You could’ve talked some sense into them.”
“I had soccer practice,” Nicole said matter-of-factly, now busy with coloring in a unicorn in her coloring book from her place on the floor, lying on her stomach with her princess shoes in the air.
“And we weren’t going to miss it. Again,” I said, the memory of the passive-aggressive chewing out by Nicole’s coach making me grimace. “Besides, while I’m flattered you think I could negotiate between the six grand nations of the Southern Continent, I really doubt anyone would’ve listened to me.”
Roux shrugged. “Hey, people like you, Raine, whether you believe it or not. And they’d definitely listen to you over Gregory, who apparently thought he was going to be in charge.”
I grinned, feigning an insulted gasp. Greg was a well-known quantity both in and out of the game. “You dare slight the integrity of Ulthro, the King of Talron?”
“Yeah, I definitely dare,” Roux replied, snorting. Then he snapped his fingers, running around the counter to pull out a drawer, retrieving and then dropping a small stack of letters on the counter’s surface. “Almost forgot! I picked these up out of the PO box on the way in. Haven’t had a chance to look at them yet.”
“Thanks.” I took the bundle of mail out of his hand, flipping through it. Another bill, some junk, a new catalog, and --
“Oh, shit,” I muttered. In my hands was a gorgeous, artistically weathered silk envelope, the other letters quickly forgotten.
“Swear jar!” Nichole chirped from her place on the floor.
“Sorry.” I pulled a ready pair of quarters out of my back pocket and plinked them into the nearby plastic jar, and then quickly returned to the envelope, holding it up close to my face.
“Is that what I think it is?” Roux whispered, his voice soft with genuine awe. I didn’t answer, enraptured by the feel of the wax seal under my fingertips. I flipped it back around to re-read the return address, just to make sure. The Wargaming Society of the World of Juhanis. The official headquarters of our fictional world.
“Open it already!” Roux urged. Nicole, now distracted from her coloring, walked over to the counter, standing on her tiptoes to look, frowning.
“What is it, Dad?” she asked, curious.
I broke the wax seal and took out the letter inside. Heart hammering, I scanned the ornate calligraphy, probably written with a real quill and ink, reading its contents out loud. It started with a brief recap of the most recent large event Nicole and I had unfortunately missed, and didn’t offer much more information than Roux had told me: the Last Alliance of free Juhanis nations had failed, but the evil armies of the Yaltinian Empire had not yet succeeded in their plans, thanks to the daring efforts of a small group of adventurers. There was one battle yet to be fought to end this year’s campaign, and the society was looking into locations that were both large and well-equipped enough to handle it.
“...and so we are pleased to inform you, Mr. Raine Meyer, that Lochmire Castle is one of our top candidates for a potential host location for the culmination of this year-long campaign, the final conflict where the forces of the Dark Wizard Tiberion and the last remaining free people of Juhanis will draw steel to decide the fate of the world!”
Nicole clapped her hands together in front of her face, her eyes wide and glittering in excitement. Roux was practically bouncing up and down, hands on his head, a huge grin stretching from cheek to cheek.
As for me, I could only stare at the letter, reading the paragraph over and over again, hardly able to believe it was real.
Hosting the final battle wouldn’t just mean a great local turnout -- it would put Lochmire on the map for one of the largest LARP communities in the country. Visitors from every state would fly in to participate, and, if we pulled it off right, they’d talk about the event for years to come. Lochmire Castle wouldn’t just be famous. It’d be legendary.
“Holy crap,” I said, breathless. “We’re in the running.”
That meant preparations, and plenty of it. Building up forts, setting up various quests, seeing if I could get that smoke machine working, maybe even look into some pyrotechnics --
“Just in the running,” Roux reminded me gently. “Doesn’t mean that we’ve gotten it yet.”
He was right, of course, and it was just the kick I needed to get myself back to earth.
“Yeah,” I said, abruptly somber. Then I turned away from the letter to shoot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “Wow, you’re the one reigning in my expectations?”
He shrugged, his earlier grin reappearing. “Hey, someone has to do it.” He pointed over at Nicole, who was performing an elaborate and enthusiastic early victory dance in the middle of the store. “Your usual voice of reason is busy.”
“We’re gonna be the battle place!” she sing-songed, practically bouncing off the walls. “We’re gonna be the battle place!”
“Maybe,” I told her.
“We’re maybe gonna be the battle place! We’re maybe gonna be the battle place!”
Roux laughed. “Seriously though, they’d be crazy not to pick Lochmire,” he said, peering over my shoulder to read the letter for himself. “Fifty acres of fields and woods? An actual, real life cave? A working dragon?” He shook his head. “Nowhere else even has a chance.”
“Working” was a stretch to refer to our “dragon,” a large, clumsy amalgamation of three pieces of control operated hydraulics covered in costume fabric, but I let it slide, favoring Roux with a curious look.
“You know getting picked means actual work, right?” I asked. “Like, a ton of it?”
“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, sounding comically resigned to this potential fate. “But for some reason, me and my big mouth solemnly swore I’d always stick around to help you out.”
I waggled my eyebrows. “Regretting that now, huh?”
“Yeah, sure. Now.”
I laughed, and, unable to help myself, read over the letter yet again. It still didn’t feel real. “What exactly did the twins pull off at that last event, anyway?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Roux admitted. “I wasn’t in their party. But they said they were going to stop by sometime today for some stuff. You could ask about it when they come in.”
As if on cue, I heard the bell above the entry door jingle. Too early for the twins, though, who typically slept past noon on their days off with a determination I had rarely seen before.
“Ho, Alfrim!” I said, loud and lofty, calling Roux by his character’s name. He rolled his eyes at me, smiling and shaking his head. “I’ll greet our newest guest to Lochmire Castle.”
I rounded the corner, a gaudy smile on my face and mentally preparing the typical Lochmire spiel...and stopped dead in my tracks, my brain screeching to an abrupt halt. He was tall, dark-haired, and a solid block of tanned, trim muscle, looking like he was about to burst out of his shirt at any second. He studied me, his features chiseled and imposing, with a steely gaze that felt like it was pinning me to the wall, even though stark confusion was written all over his face at the moment.
This guy was, without a doubt, the hottest person I had ever seen in my life.
3
Quinn
I blinked. The man in front of me blinked, too.
There was a long, uncomfortable pause, giving me plenty of time to think long and hard about how I had made the conscious decision to walk into a building that was made up to look like a castle.
He stared at me for a long, awkward moment, and then gave himself a little shake.
“Uh, welcome to Lochmire Castle!” he said brightly, the nervous tension i
n the air cracking apart alongside the silence. “And your name is…?”
“Quinn,” I told him, more out of reflex than anything else. “Zander Quinn,” I amended, “but just Quinn is fine.”
He leaned against the wall, quirking his head to the left, the corner of his mouth pulled into a small grin. Dressed in a white collared shirt and a well-worn pair of khaki pants, he was shorter than I was, pale, with a mop of unruly brown hair, his face narrow but pleasant, his features soft. There was a genuine warmth in his smile, a glittering mote of mischief in his eyes.
Cute, my brain supplied, unbidden, and I immediately tried to shove the thought out of my mind. Finding him attractive didn’t bother me -- I’d long since figured out I was checking out the football team as much as the cheerleaders way back in high school -- but cute caused Grace’s face to flash in my mind’s eye, the brightness of her smile, the way she used to hold her hair between her fingers, the quiet intensity behind her eyes. Grace, staring up at me from the asphalt, her breathing growing slower and shallower with every passing second, no matter how tightly I held her, tried to keep her with me. My stomach lurched, the pit of it feeling like it was dropping out, but I forced the feeling down, fought to keep my face carefully neutral.
It worked, apparently, as he didn’t seem to notice my internal discomfort. “Nice to meet you, Quinn,” he said, still favoring me with that affable grin. “I’m Raine Meyer.”
“And I’m Princess Elora!” thundered a small yet triumphant voice. A girl, no older than ten, rapidly rounded the corner where Raine had arrived from. She was wearing a haughty expression as well as an elaborate sparkling purple dress and white shoes, a crown resting slightly askew on the top of her head. The shades of both her brown hair and amber eyes were a perfect match for Raine’s. She peered up at me, her hands on her hips.
Raine looked both mildly exasperated and utterly fond, an expression I’d seen well-worn on the faces of most parents. “Also known as Nicole Meyer,” he clarified.
“Nice to meet you, Nicole,” I told her, trying for my friendliest smile. Nicole pursed her lips, her brows knitting together. I glanced up at Raine. Wordlessly, he held up his arm, miming a regal bow with his hand, raising his eyebrows.
Ah.
“Princess Elora,” I tried again, this time with a small bow. She seemed mollified by that, nodding in satisfaction.
“You may enter,” she said, holding her chin high and elegantly turning on her heel. She walked back around the corner and into the rest of the building.
Raine glanced back at me. “Princess Elora is very fond of decorum,” he said wryly. He lifted himself from the wall, moving to round the corner himself, gesturing for me to follow. “Come on in.”
I hesitated, seriously considering beating a hasty retreat back to my car. But seeing this through now felt like an obligation at this point, if even just to satisfy my curiosity. Trying to prepare myself for whatever awaited me, I followed Raine.
The interior was a fairly typical storefront: brown carpeted floors and grey walls painted to mimic the stone construction of a castle, a long counter with a register and a computer in the corner near the back wall, plenty of shelving and even a few mannequins. But the inventory inside wasn’t like anything I had ever seen before. The racks in the middle of the main room held suits of armor made of leather, metal, and even what looked like chainmail. Nearby, an adjacent display was lined with shields of varying sizes and heights, and yet another separate rack held a surprising amount of clothing, tunics, and hooded cloaks, all in an impressive array of colors and sizes.
“Hey, welcome to Lochmire!” a new voice greeted me. A youthful looking man with dark brown skin, sporting both an impressive afro and a friendly grin, stood behind the counter. “I’m DeMarcus Leroux: Roux for short.”
I nodded, stepping forward to give his offered hand a quick shake. “Quinn,” I told him.
“Nice to meet you, Quinn.” He looked over at Raine, amused. “A newcomer, huh? Guess getting sucked into buying a billboard wasn’t a total waste, then.”
Raine cleared his throat, shooting a pointed glare at Roux before settling his eyes back on me. He clapped his hands, rubbing them together vigorously. “So, Quinn, what can we do for you? Armor maintenance? New LARP duds?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “We’ve even got a combat practice room in the back, if you wanted to try out a new weapon or something.”
I blanched. “I, uh, don’t actually know what any of this is,” I said, looking from Roux to Raine, watching their eyes go wide with surprise. “I came in primarily for information.” And then, maybe a little desperately, I added, “I saw your billboard.”
Roux laughed, Raine giving him a haughty glare with his arms crossed over his chest. Roux threw his hands up in surrender. “Well, that’s definitely the guy you want to talk to,” he said, pointing at Raine.
Raine shrugged. “Sure, I could give you a quick rundown, Quinn. If you want one.”
“It’s pretend for grown-ups,” Nicole explained from the floor, concentrating on a coloring book in her lap. Raine smiled down at her.
“Well, that’s the really quick version,” he said, and turned his attention back to me. “Uh, you ever play Dungeons and Dragons?”
“No.”
Raine winced. “Right. Well, uh, the basic idea is you make up a fantasy character. Like a knight, or a wizard, or a bard, even. In D&D, you’d just roll dice to see how you did, with a narrator describing the world around you, but you’d be sitting a table. When you’re LARPing, you actually walk around as your character. Act like they would, dress the part, like you’re portraying them in a play someone else puts together for you. And the setting is everything around you, what you can actually see: a forest, a battlefield, or an ancient ruin. Though something like an ancient ruin requires a little imaginative effort on your part.” He winked. Something in my chest fluttered. I did my best to ignore it.
“So,” I said, frowning in thought, “you walk around dressed up pretending like you’re someone from Game of Thrones?”
Raine’s face brightened. “Yeah, sort of like that. Though our setting is closer to something like Dragonlance.” He scanned my face for any kind of recognition, and, seeing absolutely none, added, “More magic and elves and dwarves. Stuff like that.”
“I see,” I replied. This was an awful lot to take in. “Well, wait. If you’re actually doing all the stuff your character would do, how does fighting each other work?”
Raine grinned. “Glad you asked.” He darted out of the room for a moment, returning with a long foam covered cylinder in his hands. “This is our version of a sword,” he said, holding it out towards me. Feeling more than a little ridiculous, I grabbed the thin, rubber end of it, holding it up in front of me. It had more weight to it than I expected. Practicing with it, especially if I was wearing some kind of armor, would probably be a fairly decent workout.
“You use that to whack at orcs, dragons, other people, whatever,” Raine said.
“It’s really fun!” chimed Nicole. The coloring book was off her lap, next to her on the floor with several loose crayons, seemingly forgotten in favor of the spectacle I was making of myself.
I couldn’t resist swinging it around once it was in my hand. Nicole giggled.
“See?” she said, bouncing slightly.
“How do you know if you’ve successfully hit somebody?” I asked.
“The person you hit calls it out,” Raine explained, “We abide by the honor system. Jerks who don’t call out their hits don’t last long.”
“And don’t feel like you have to use a sword,” Roux said, “There’s battle-axes, arrows, and daggers, too.” He hefted up a small, bright red object in one hand for me to see. “You might even want to be a spellcaster. Some of us are better at chucking beanbags at people than swinging foam around.”
“Interesting,” I said. I could feel Raine’s eyes on me as I continued to wave the sword around in the air.
“Hey, loo
ks like you’re a natural,” he said, sounding pleased, and I did my best to fight against the sudden warmth crawling up the back of my neck.
Cute, my mind whispered, again, and I wondered what Grace would’ve thought of me, waving around a foam sword in front of two grown men.
“Thanks,” I replied, hastily shoving the foam sword back towards him. He took it back, appearing slightly confused.
“No problem.” He studied my face, like he was trying to see if he had done something wrong and I felt a guilty twinge.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m just a little short on time.” Can’t miss my appointment with that same five pages of that book I’ve been trying to get through for three weeks now, I mentally kicked myself, And that news won’t watch itself alone in my apartment. “I’m definitely interested, though.” That much was at least true.
“Well, there’s a ton of info on our website, if you haven’t been there yet. You should take a brochure, at least.” Raine walked over to grab one behind the counter. “And let us know if you ever want to try something out.” He grinned again. “Or take out some frustration on a combat dummy.”
“I will,” I said, taking the brochure from his hand. Our fingers lightly brushed against each other, a little jolt of electricity lancing through my hand at the contact.