So, I got to play Marcus. It was interesting, because E. was there, and like she said, “Me and Marcus go way back.” She also asked how my wife was doing. I held up my left hand and said, “I don’t know.” That was followed by a very awkward and genuine moment. Not like the book store at all. More like a “That’s so awful, and I just don’t know what to say.” The kind of, “We used to be close, and we used to be real close, and now, I want to say something, but I’m not sure what’s appropriate.” Her eyes were kind and sad. I thanked her. Maybe not enough.
But, I got to play Marcus. Trekhead helped with the make-up. No, that ain’t right. We went into the little costume shop right next to Decipher and picked up what we needed. It was pretty cheap, all told. Cost me a dinner, but that’s okay. The effect would be worth it.
He put it all together, had me sit very still in a chair. Let me borrow his coat. I put the teeth in my mouth and went to the mirror. I looked awful. And I dispelled any notions of shaving my head.
We went to the game, met up with the St. Claire crowd. Trekhead got whacked with a stupid discipline from an assistant storyteller that knocked him out of the game. Five minutes after the bell sounded, he’s sitting in a chair for four hours. And some NPC did it to him. A storyteller. That ain’t right.
Marcus had Rose with him, and that made the night fun. Behind all those black curls and brown eyes, she’s a pretty smart cookie. And she knows how and when to say the right things, and when and how to say the wrong things — when she can get away with it.
Sigh. All the good ones are taken.
(Actually, that doesn’t really bother me much. It’s that all the good ones have boyfriends that could kick my ass all the way to Sunday that bothers me. And when their boyfriends are actually pretty cool Joes, that’s a good stopper, too.)
Marcus killed my voice. Knocked it right out. Didn’t even get up after the ten count, had to get pulled up off the canvas. Got a costume nod. Trekhead deserved the xp for that, not me. “Yeah, but you played him,” he says. “He’s the best Nos ever!” Yeah, well. Maybe. But he can be better.
And the next time he shows up, he won’t be so pretty. I can assure you of that.
(He wanted to hear the Daughter of Cacophony sing. He loves music. It’s the only thing he loves in his black little heart. Well, maybe someday.)