8. Jack
Chapter 8
Jack
W hen Monday came, we were all sat around the kitchen table for a too-early farewell breakfast. Seriously, what sort of rental made the guests vacate by nine?
We were all a bit worse for wear, but Phil had rallied us all for the 7am wake-up by promising us French toast. I was usually the rise-and-shine type, but even I needed bribery. And now, as I shovelled the fried, ricotta-stuffed goodness into my mouth, I suddenly felt capable of facing the drive home.
Morgan had fully, annoyingly wormed her way into my head. It hadn’t helped that I’d been shitting myself the entire time we’d been in the water, with her floating so close to me we were practically pressed together. And then on the rock, with our shoulders touching almost the entire time. I’d felt my guard go up so fast that I’d been surprised we’d been able to have a conversation at all.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d kept insinuating that my decision not to date anymore was some kind of emotional hangover. Was it nice to know she thought I could pull women if I wanted to? Sure. But I didn’t love the implication that it was all some post-Aria defence mechanism. I’d worked really hard to get over Aria, and to build the kind of life I wanted. The kind where I didn’t need relationships like that to feel fulfilled and accepted and supported. And the implication that I wasn’t emotionally self-aware because of it? Fuck that.
So why had I kept playing the conversation on repeat in my mind since then? I’d thought about Morgan and her emotional XP nonsense all over this stupid cottage, including:
When I was wedged against Phil in Chloe’s wardrobe for almost an hour during an intense game of hide-and-seek
At lunch, as I’d watched her build an absolute monstrosity of a sandwich – chicken, blue cheese, honey, and English mustard – and determined she had disgusting taste and I didn’t need to listen to her
As we all huddled in the dark lounge for a The Lord of the Rings marathon; 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 asking campaign-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 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.
“Hey, sorry, man. It’s just banter.”
I sighed. “I know. It’s fine.”
“But if it weren’t,” Phil said, “that would be okay, too.”
I turned my glare back to him. “She’s lovely. But I’m not interested.”
“Or you won’t let yourself be interested,” he said. “In her, or in anyone for that matter.”
“I’m not having this conversation,” I said, finally putting another piece of toast onto my plate and walking away. I had to walk behind Morgan to get to my seat, and I saw that she had a video pulled up on her phone of someone in a very historically inaccurate suit of armour.
“Whatcha looking at?”
She looked up at me and then shrugged. “Just some cosplay stuff.”
“Ooh, I love cosplay,” Chloe said from the other end of the table. “I do a killer gender-bent Milo Thatch.”
“Oh, I don’t do it,” Morgan said. “Or at least I never have. This is someone at a Ren Faire.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to one of those,” Grey said. “They look so cool.”
“Well,” Morgan said, “I was actually supposed to go this autumn, but my friend bailed.”
“Aur naur!” Chloe shouted in a parody of Fatima’s bad Australian accent. “Cara?”
Morgan nodded. “It’s okay though, we hadn’t booked anything.”
I could see in her face that it wasn’t okay; she was actually disappointed. And maybe after what she’d said at the riverside, I wanted to push her a bit. But I was still willing myself to shut up even as I started speaking.
“We can go with you,” I said. “I know Chloe’s always looking for the chance to throw on a corset.”
“Are you airing all my kinks, Evans?” Chloe asked, but she looked genuinely thrilled by the idea.
“Oh no, that’s okay,” Morgan said, waving her hands in front of her. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, sorry, I was kidding,” I said, instantly backpedalling. Because I didn’t actually want to go to this thing, did I? It was certainly an escalation from agreeing to take her hiking.
But Morgan glared at me. “Well, hold on now,” she said, clearly determined to catch me out. “Maybe I do want some travel buddies.”
“Really?!” Chloe squealed.
“Really.” She was calling my damn bluff. I glowered at her, but she just smiled wider. “Let’s go to the Ren Faire.”
“Wait, we’re going to a Ren Faire?” Fatima asked.
“I’m so in!” Grey added.
“Fuck it,” Phil said, sauntering over from the kitchen, “I’m in, too.”
Chloe smacked my arm, as if waiting for me to agree. I sighed and nodded. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
I could tell from the way Morgan lifted her chin that I’d live to regret this. And to add salt to the wound, Phil had a smug look on his face, too.
“Great,” Morgan said, settling back against the cushion. “Let’s fucking do it.”
“I can make costumes?” Phil offered, and everyone gasped in excitement.
“But won’t that take you forever?” I asked. “And, you know, cost a fortune?”
“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 watched The Lord of the Rings yesterday, 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.