Chapter 5
mei
Two Weeks Later
The convention hall throbs with a sea of creatures that never existed until now: elves with ears sharp enough to draw blood, vampires with teeth that would make dentists weep, warriors wielding weapons forged in imaginations more vivid than reality.
Wyvern’s Dawn Regional Cosplay Convention doesn’t mess around. These aren’t the plastic swords and polyester capes of a college LARP event. This is serious artistry where months of work culminate in sixteen hours of fierce competition and green body paint that stains everything it touches.
I elbow my way through a cluster of what I think are supposed to be Shadow Realm assassins but might just be theater kids with access to an elaborate face paint kit, scanning the crowd for one specific face.
Sunny’s supposed to be here by now. The competition registration closes in forty minutes, and if she’s not there, her chance at Best in Show goes up in smoke.
The last con party ended at 3 AM last night, and I’d been sure she’d be there, would’ve saved me from awkwardly nursing a drink while a man in a fur loincloth detailed the nuances of his character’s backstory for forty uninterrupted minutes.
I just hope that Sunny couldn’t get away from her work function, rather than being kidnapped somewhere in New Vegas.
Visions of goblin loan sharks dance in my head.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, slipping between a hulking minotaur and a petite figure in what appears to be a full-body mermaid scale suit.
I’ve already sent her eight messages and called three times, with no response.
I text her one final “WAKE UP YOU OVERSLEPT,” attach three crying emojis and a skull, and shove my phone back in my pocket.
The best I can do now is check her in at registration and hope she makes it before judging begins. I weave through the crowd toward the judges’ table, apologizing as I bump into a woman with a complicated headpiece made of what looks like actual metal.
The registration area is marginally calmer, just a long line of cosplayers clutching their entry forms and shifting from foot to foot while trying not to mess up their makeup or knock over their props. I join the end, taking the time to scroll through my photos from last night.
Even without Sunny, it’s been an impressive show.
Costumes that must have taken months to create, elaborate makeup that transforms ordinary humans into otherworldly beings.
I pause on a photo of a woman whose arms have been painted to look like living wood, bark etched into her skin with such precision that I could count the rings.
My phone buzzes with a new notification. Not Sunny this time.
Tovek
How’s the convention?
I smile despite myself. It’s the third text he’s sent since I left the bar yesterday.
The first checking I made it safely to my hotel, the second asking if I’d found the extra power bank I’d been hunting for in the apartment.
Small things, but the kind that matter when you’re used to being the one who remembers them.
Mei
Chaotic. Sunny’s MIA.
She didn’t show to any of the con parties last night.
I have the sinking feeling that she might not have been able to sneak away from her work function which is literally across the street.
Three dots appear, then vanish, then appear again. I imagine him in our kitchen (his kitchen, technically, but the possessive feels right after three weeks of shared meals and late-night prep sessions), frowning at his phone, trying to figure out what to say.
Tovek
Do you want me to call her hotel, see if she’s okay?
I ignore my fluttering heart. It’s rare that someone could care so much for a complete stranger.
Mei
No, thank you.
I know she’s alive, proof of life and all.
I just think she didn’t get to sneak out like she’d planned.
Sunny’s the kind of person who throws herself completely into everything: work, play, friendship, the elaborate fictional universe that has become Wyvern’s Dawn.
It’s part of why we get along so well. She understands what it means to be passionate about something, to build a world with your own hands and imagination.
Mei
I’m probably just being dramatic.
Tovek
Wouldn’t be you if you weren’t.
Mei
Be at the ready if I for real need you to save a damsel in distress.
Tovek
Always. It’ll be on brand for me.
My cheeks warm. I’m saved from having to respond by my phone buzzing with a new message, this time from Sunny herself.
Sunny
HOLY SHIT I’M SO SORRY. Khanner insisted on having tea with me last night to make sure I wasn’t too sick, and I ended up passing out!! I’m leaving RIGHT NOW
Oh no. It turns out the “call in sick” ruse she devised worked too well.
I text back a thumbs up and a heart, then send Tovek a quick “She’s coming!” before I reach the front of the line.
The registration attendant, a tired-looking man with a lanyard that reads “WYVERN CON STAFF” in block letters, barely looks up from his tablet. “Name and category?”
“Sunny Adlawan. Fantasy. Seria’s Final Battle, Warrior Priestess.”
He types, nods. “She’ll need to be here for judging by 1 PM. No exceptions.”
“I’ll make sure she knows,” I promise, then step aside to let the next person in line forward.
I text Sunny to let her know that she’s got time, I handled her registration.
With the registration handled, I have a little less than two hours to kill before Sunny arrives.
I grab a coffee from a vendor near the entrance and make my way to the main exhibition hall. The place is packed, a maze of vendor booths selling everything from handmade jewelry to prop weapons that would definitely get confiscated at airport security.
I stop to admire a collection of dragon figurines, each one rendered in such detail that I can count the scales, and end up buying a small jade one that reminds me of Tovek’s eyes.
Mei
Found something that made me think of you.
I attach a photo of the dragon, tiny enough to fit in my palm, its wings spread in mid-flight.
Tovek
Because I’m scaly and breathe fire?
Mei
Because it’s green and looks grumpy.
Tovek
Accurate.
I’m still smiling at my phone when someone calls my name.
I look up to see a familiar face. Lira Santiago, who worked the front desk at my culinary school and who I’ve kept in loose touch with through occasional Instagram comments.
Today, she’s dressed as some kind of forest spirit, her dark hair woven with tiny lights that flicker when she moves.
“Mei!” She pulls me into a quick hug, mindful of the coffee in my hand. “I thought that was you. What are you doing here? I thought you’d be buried in your kitchen.”
“Weekend off,” I explain, though “day off” feels like too simple a term for the elaborate schedule Tetris I had to play to make this happen. “My best friend’s entering the costume competition. I’m moral support.”
Lira’s eyebrows rise. “That’s a long way to come for moral support.”
“Actually, not far at all. I live in New Vegas now, so just on the other side of town.”
I give her the highlight reel of what’s been going on, minus the goblin loan sharks and playing up my transition from the Pharaoh’s Palace to The Drunken Dragon as a completely intentional bid for my own creative vision.
“Well, I’m glad.” Lira squeezes my arm. “You deserve a win.”
We chat for a few more minutes. She tells me about how she’s gotten into food styling and has a bunch of new clients rolling in that will keep here in the area before she’s pulled away by a friend in an elaborate plague doctor costume.
After a hurried rush of exchanging our updated contact info, I wave her off.
I swipe up to a missed notification and find a new message from Tovek.
Tovek
Greta says hello and also that if you don’t bring her back one of those t-shirts with the dragon smoking a cigarette, she’s putting pickles in everything for a week.
I laugh out loud, drawing looks from a nearby group of what might be pirates or might just be people who really like hats.
Mei
Tell her I’m on it. And that pickles in the mapo tofu would be a crime against humanity.
Tovek
She says “Good. That’s the idea.”
My phone buzzes again, but this time it’s Sunny.
Sunny
TEN MINUTES OUT. I’m coming in hot with my costume.
I text back a quick “see you soon” and make my way to the entrance, positioning myself where she’ll see me the moment she arrives.
Ten minutes later, I spot her. Or rather, I spot the massive garment bag she’s wrestling through the doorway, followed by a smaller duffel and what looks like a prop sword in a protective case.
“Sunny!” I wave, then hurry over to help with the garment bag. “You made it.”
“You have no idea what I went through to get here,” she says, but she’s grinning, her eyes bright with the particular excitement that comes with bringing a creation to life.
“Khanner kept insisting on me resting, and I ended up taking the long way around the hotel to get here, and then...” She stops, taking in my expression. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“You look happy,” I say simply. It’s true. Despite the stress of the morning, the circles under her eyes from too little sleep, there’s a lightness to her that makes my chest tight with something that isn’t quite envy but lives in the same neighborhood.
“I am.” She hands me the duffel bag. “Now come on. We’ve got exactly forty-five minutes to get me into this thing and make it to judging.”
We find a relatively quiet corner in the changing area.
Not easy, given that half the convention seems to be using the space to apply last-minute touches to already elaborate costumes.
Sunny unzips the garment bag with the reverence of someone handling a religious artifact, and even knowing what’s inside, I catch my breath.