by Sarah Daltry
George
“You’re playing a soldier? Cowardice, I say.” I mean it, too.
“I think what you’re looking for is thanks,” Seynar says. “Seynar the Unyielding has saved you again.”
“We just started playing. You have saved us for the first time,” corrects Lanyon.
“Yea verily. The first of many. At your service, my dear.” His soldier moves over to Katie’s druid and begins to squat and stand in rhythm. Seeing no other option, Lanyon and I join him and the three of us surround her in a squat and stand circle of glee.
“What the hell is happening?” she asks.
“Victory dance. Brum ba dah doom!” Lanyon sings with manic joy. Then he picks Seynar’s pocket. The thiefy bastard.
“Ha ha ha,” shouts Seynar. He’s so loud that my headset warbles with the feedback. “Now, let us sojourn on to the Mountains of Glarova. There, we shall face the ice beasts of, uh, Glarova. What say you?”
“Haven’t you played this part already?” I ask him.
“Why, yes, but Seynar the Unyielding loves to help the little people.”
“Midgets?” asks Lanyon.
“No,” Seynar sighs. “Not midgets.”
“Racism. Don’t be a part of it.”
“It’s sizeism,” Katie corrects me.
“That either.”
I play a little lute and, soon, we are hot stepping at triple the walk rate toward yonder mountains.
“Hey, Katie,” Seynar breaks in. I wonder how he knows her real name. “Are you excited for Thursday? A little Seynar and The Hobbit make for a perfect evening.”
“Hey, look, a goat,” Katie shouts. There is a goat, but it’s still an obvious attempt to distract us from Seynar’s rambling about going with her to The Hobbit.
“Are you guys going together?” I ask.
“That goat is blue. And winged,” Katie says, not answering my question.
“Balls in caviar. It isn’t a goat; it’s a chimera,” Lanyon shouts.
“Ha ha. Seynar the Unyielding does not fear chimera. I shall pulverize him with my level twenty pulse rifle.” He fires, but some kind of shield deflects the blast. “What the hell?” His voice cracks with whining.
“Chimera don’t have force fields. There must be something helping it,” Lanyon says. “I shall disappear into the shadows and discover our hidden foes.”
“There are no shadows. This is an open- Oh, what the hell? Where did he go?” Katie asks.
“Prepare to fire again, Seynar. My plucky lute shall boost your weaponry and hopefully cause the creature to reveal itself.” I strum and he fires. The field warbles and then the earth shakes. My controller rumbles like a million ants are tap dancing inside it.
“I feel as if this is bad,” Katie says.
“Ah, don’t be so pessimistic. How bad can it be? I don’t remember chimera in the earlier games.”
“Then the mountain opens up with a thunderous tearing, as though the world were being ripped asunder.” Lanyon’s voice comes from nowhere.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I have the captions on. That’s what they say.”
“Where are you?” Katie asks.
“Behind this tree.” He pokes his head out to wave and is liquefied by a bolt of blue fire.
“Zounds. That doesn’t seem to be level twelve,” I point out.
“Sweet baby lizard Elizabeth. It’s probably the hidden boss,” Seynar says.
“What hidden boss?” Katie’s excitement is obvious. I’m really starting to like her. Good gamer, cute, doesn’t seem overly troubled by my frequent bouts of random stupidity.
“Really?” Seynar can be a condescending bastard. “Didn’t you guys read all the rumors about FDX?”
“It would seem no. Now get to the point before we all die. Lanyon,” I shout into my mic, “where are you?”
“Not sure. I spawned near a grove of some sort. The ground is shaking.”
“Same here. You must be close. Spill it, Seynar.”
“Rumor has it that there is a giant, nigh unbeatable hidden boss who appears randomly in the game. He shows up and just whoops your ass. Supposedly to dissuade grinding and such, I guess.”
“So how do we kill it?” Katie asks.
“There are supposed to be some Easter eggs for it and eventually some kind of special level. But it’s all still rumors. Nobody’s found anything for sure yet. I don’t think. I wonder if-” He’s eviscerated by another bolt of blue flame. Static rages in my headset. Then, quietly, Seynar’s voice returns. “I appear to have been killed.”
“It’s just you and me, Madame Druid.” I pluck my lute in a menacing fashion.
“I can animate plants and you can play songs. I think the uber secret death boss may be too much for us.”
“Never. Fortune favors the bold. Let us charge yonder goat and I shall play him a rousing tune.” I move forward, but pause. “Odd, though, that we haven’t seen this thing yet.”
“Yes. Well, it’s probably the much, much larger goat currently climbing out of the mountain,” she says.
“Ah, yes. That.”
Katie
My mother is never going to hear the end of it if the crappy laptop she claimed was good enough fails me now. I balance the controller on my knee, programming a list of spells, and scroll through Google for glitches. Cheating? Yes. But we are level twelve. Also, hidden boss means possible hidden achievement. And I’m an achievement whore. Shame knows no place in my heart.
“Hey, George, do you have Obfuscate?” I ask.
“Why, yes. I chose it when I opted for Stealth.”
“What level?”
“Nine.”
“Nine? What are you doing?” The bonus attributes only give you a bonus of +3 and a bard cannot possibly start with any points in Obfuscate. Which means George has used half of his levels on Obfuscate. Why in the name of Gary Gygax would he do that? Is he trying to lose?”
“Aristophanes of the Verdant Voice cares not for measly level points,” he says. “He and his lute bring the pain to all of their foes, even with a character sheet of nothing but goose eggs.”
Through a mouthful of something, Lanyon kindly reminds everyone, “Aristophanes of the Verdant Voice did a jig while that tree wasted us all.”
“Silence. Thou shalt not mock Aristophanes of the-”
“Game FAQs says that anyone with Obfuscate of at least seven can trigger a glitch,” I interrupt. “Good thing I found this incredibly obscure tip, Seynar, right here at the top of the message boards. I mean, clearly, you have scoured the internet in its entirety at this point, huh?”
“It’s not on the blogs I read,” he explains.
“Well, anyway, the glitch is apparently a possible way to take down this fucker.”
“You are not a bard with such language,” George says.
“Shut it. Okay, so here’s the plan. You need to run up to it and, when it turns away from you and raises up on its hind legs, jump on its back. Apparently, it can’t read hidden foes.”
“Awesome,” Lanyon says. “Except we can’t ride it to death.”
“Well, no, but it will cause it to glitch and keep the boss on screen, meaning we can just keep spawning until it’s dead.”
“As long as Bardy McBardums doesn’t let go, right?” Seynar confirms.
“Yeah.”
“Victory shall be ours!” George decrees and, as Lanyon enters the field again and is beamed into goo, the beast stands and George gets on its back.
Forty minutes pass. The health bar of this monster has gone down a nanometer, but it’s going down, so I guess it’s progress. Each of us unleashes our strongest attack, is gooified, spawns, and repeat. George just rides the thing and asks Seynar about his blog.
“Hey, Katie?” Lanyon asks.
“Yeah?”
“Does Game FAQs suggest anything to actually kill this whore in less than seventeen days?”
“Um, well, yeah. Flame Force, the G99 Phaser, or the Necromancer B
lade.”
“Do we have any of those things?”
“Um, no. In fact, MasterChief1194 says they don’t really exist. But they sound cool.”
“Awesome,” Lanyon says and shoots an arrow. 17 HP float over the beast’s head as Lanyon returns to his near-permanent corpselike state.
“Does anyone think Smaug will get more backstory in this installment?” Seynar asks randomly.
“Why? Why would Smaug get backstory? He’s a dragon. He’s scaly, collects gold, and breathes fire. Character development complete,” George argues.
“I don’t know. I feel like maybe Smaug is supposed be like an allegory for something.”
“You’re an allegory for something,” George replies.
Seynar sighs. “Fine. What am I an allegory for?”
“Balls. You’re an allegory for sweaty, shriveled balls.”
“There’s a girl here,” Lanyon reminds them.
“I know about balls,” I point out. “I’m a girl. I’m not six.”
At minute 207, the beast is nearly down to 80% health. It’s almost midnight. While I spawn, I take a huge sip of my now watered down Dew. I’m not sleeping again.
“Hey, guys?” George says.
“Uh huh,” Lanyon replies, as he spawns next to me.
“I have to pee.”
“What?” I ask.
“I have to pee.”
“Well, you can’t pee,” I tell him. “If you pee, Aristophanes of the Verdant Voice becomes Aristophanes of the Verdant Plasma and we just wasted three and a half hours of our lives.”
“Was it really wasted? I mean, is the true aim here to beat the boss, or to enjoy the journey?” he asks.
Seynar explodes in a bloody firework. That’s a new move. The boss is getting tricky. “Fuck you,” Seynar says.
“Can’t you hold it?” Lanyon asks George, as he lets an arrow fly. It goes wide and then Lanyon fades from the screen. “I hate this guy.”
“I don’t know. I really need to pee. I haven’t peed all day.”
“Listen, George, I think you really need to ask yourself. What’s more important? Your kidneys or the hidden achievement?” I ask.
“Just pee your pants,” Lanyon tells him. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Seynar laughs and shoots a couple lasers at the boss before dying.
“Shit,” George says.
“What now?” Lanyon asks.
“I dropped my lute.”
George
I look down at my fallen lute and then I notice that the boss is healing itself.
“Um, why is the health bar filling back up?” Katie asks.
“Healing? Healing?” yells Lanyon. “That shit will not fly. The power of the thief compels you.” He throws a dagger at it. Two points of damage are done. Then he is obliterated again. “I don’t like this.”
“Death be not proud – or fun,” I offer.
“Easy for you to say,” says Seynar. “You don’t have to keep running up that hill by those trees, then across the plain here, just to get one or two hits in, and then get popped.” He’s then melted.
I really have to pee. I cough and a little squirts out. “Shit.”
“What?” Seynar asks.
“Nothing. Just luteless.”
“Well, you can’t play it up there anyway,” Katie tells me as her druid’s body is dispersed.
“Hold on. The Unyielding has a plan.” Seynar’s soldier charges onto the scene. “I found this artifact on my travels to Ningmore’s Caverns. It looks like a pulsar grenade that could augment my other powers.”
“Why didn’t you use it before?” asks Lanyon as he appears and dies nearly simultaneously.
“It could augment my powers. Could. Get ready; here it goes.” His character crouches down and a blue and black swirl enrobes him.
“Boom goes the dynamite?” Lanyon asks.
“Indeed.” Seynar explodes. I don’t know if that was his plan. But the shockwave blasts all the trees over, takes a depressingly minuscule four thousand HP off the big bastard and, oh yeah, it also knocks me off of it.
“Fuckaroni and cheese. I fell off.” There’s a flash. “And now I’m dead.”
“We’re all dead.” Katie says.
“Where is the hidden bitch?” Lanyon asks.
“It’s gone. Well, that was a good use of four hours,” Seynar complains.
“I think so. At least we can go up the mountain now.” Lanyon’s smiling. I can hear it in his voice.
“I’m gonna pee.”
“This game fucking sucks,” Lanyon says. “But it’s also awesome.”
“I’m off to blog about this. I’ll see you Thursday, Katie.” Seynar disconnects. My headset’s still on while I pee so I hear this.
“You’re going to The Hobbit with that guy?” I try to sound all suave and disinterested. Pretty sure I don’t pull it off.
“Yeah. But I was sort of tricked into it. I don’t really want to go.”
“What?” Lanyon gasps. “You don’t like Tolkien? Heresy!”
“Heresy,” I join in.
Lanyon keeps shouting heresy. Finally, Katie breaks in. “I like Tolkien just fine. I just don’t want to go out with the soldier guy.”
“Oh. Is it because you love George? He is pretty sexy,” Lanyon says. I cough and gag on nothing.
“What? I, uh, oh, no. I have to change my shoes. Talk to you later.” She disconnects.
“Well, that was great, you bony lummox. You might as well have spit at her,” I tell him.
“Hey, you were the one yelling heresy at her,” Lanyon argues.
“No. That was also you.”
“Oh, yeah. That was pretty funny.” I hear him jostling his headset about. “It’s getting late. Like three.”
“No, that is the nightingale, not the lark.”
“Stop hitting on me,” he says.
“Fine, go to bed, you dopey bitch. But don’t scare off Katie next time. She’s cute, good at games, and she doesn’t seem to hate me yet.”
“That’s odd. She seems smart otherwise.”
“You’re a comic genius, you know that? Do me a favor and help me keep the fact that I’m a loser a secret as long as possible?” I ask.
“The secret is out, sucker. It’s all right, though. I don’t think she cares. I’m out. I’ll send you a bizarre text for no reason in the middle of the night.”
So, it’s just me, FDX, and a big ass mountain. Should I go it alone or pack it in? It just doesn’t seem fun to play all alone after the group breaks up, so I shut it down. I mosey on over to my computer to see if anybody’s remembered I exist before I go to bed. My Facebook has about twenty invites to play goddamn Candy Crush. Fuck candy. With nothing else to do, I kill the lights and go to bed.
I spend some time staring at the wall, thinking about how our faces mashed together in the car. My blood runs a bit warm and I decide to go to sleep with her eyes floating above me along my ceiling. Right next to the glow in the dark X-wing mobile. I am one pathetic dude.
Katie
Seynar sends me a message on Live telling me he’ll be over at 4:00 to pick me up. What the hell am I supposed to do with him for eight hours? I just send him a response of “k” and play a little of the main storyline. It’s not much fun without George, though. Even if all he does is play the lute and fall off secret bosses.
At 3:45, I brush my teeth and change my shirt. I grab a rubber band from the junk drawer in the kitchen and yell to my mom that I have a date. As expected, she barrels down the hall and nearly tackles me.
“You’re not wearing that,” she says.
“Why?” I look down. My jeans are mostly clean. There’s a random stain on the thigh, but I’m pretty sure it’s just popcorn grease from another movie I saw with Anna over the weekend. Some romance thing about a couple who both got amnesia and forgot they loved each other until their puppy found them both wandering on the beach alone one night. I still don’t really understand why they – and t
he puppy – were all just randomly roaming around the beach. But the puppy apparently had magic amnesia-erasing powers and they lived happily ever after or something. There was a lot of swelling music and kissing. Anna cried. I tried to keep the “butter” from leaking through the napkins. I guess I failed.
“What kind of shirt is that?” my mom asks.
I roll my eyes. “You cannot be serious.”
“What does that even mean? What is a +20 shirt of smiting? What is smiting and why are there twenty of them?”
“I hate you.”
She sighs. “I’m never having grandchildren.”
“Can I go now?”
“Can you please put on a little makeup?” she begs.
I check myself out in the microwave door. I look fine. “Whatever,” I concede and take out my Burt’s Bees lip balm. I run it over my lips, pucker up, and smack my lips together to blend it.
My mom looks like she’s going to cry. “What’s in the bag, Katherine?”
“Katie. Don’t call me Katherine. Girls named Katherine wear dresses.”
“Girls named Katherine have boyfriends,” she replies.
“Yeah, with names like Todd. Katherine and Todd. Ugh.” I shiver a little.
“What’s in the bag?” she repeats.
“My dress.”
She just stares at me.
“My costume. For the movie. I’m going as Arwen.”
“What’s an Arwen?”
“She’s an elf, Mom. Do you seriously never listen to me?”
“Why don’t you just wear the dress to your date? Why wait?” She looks hopeful.
“Because the ears are crappy and will fall off. I didn’t buy new ones. I want to wear them for as little as I have to. I’m hoping they’ll make it one more night.”
She doesn’t say anything, just takes money out of her purse, puts it on the counter, and goes back to her room.
Seynar, whom I guess I should refer to as Jeff now that we’re on, like, a date, honks at ten past four. I take my bag and grab my Deadpool hoodie. The car is not a Geo Metro. It’s actually kind of nice. A Nissan Altima and it looks new. It’s probably his mom’s. I peer into the driver’s seat, but I can’t really see him. Still, I’m nearly confident he doesn’t look like Thor.