End Game: A Gamer Romance Page 5

  Thorsday: I thought you’d be in bed?

  Sinestre: Couldn’t sleep

  Thorsday: Again?

  Sinestre: Dealing with assholes again.

  Thorsday: Why let him get to you?

  I rub my eyes. We are not having another conversation about me.

  Sinestre: What time is it there?

  Thorsday: Six. Shit.

  Sinestre: You’re up early.

  Thorsday: Didn’t sleep.

  Sinestre: Maybe you should.

  I pause. Occasionally guild members are online when I indulge in my late night/early morning sessions and we throw a ‘hello’ to each other and carry on our individual, insomniac gaming. Recently, every time I’ve played late, Thorsday is online too. This is the first time in a few days it’s just been the two of us. I expected him to ignore me after a hello but maybe he wants to talk?

  Sinestre: Are you okay?

  Continuing my character’s journey, I glance between the message box and the path I’m following, waiting for his response. Thor doesn’t reply so I shrug him off. Evidently, he doesn’t. No voice chats tonight then.

  The virtual landscape switches from desert roads to a jungle thick with trees, tropical birdsong chirruping in my ears. I ride straight into a pack of tigers and blast the hell out of them with ice. Corpses litter the floor, which I check for loot. Claws and meat. Of course. No sought-after yellow items to sell to other players.

  To make the quest harder, tigers fill this area and the rare one could be with any pack, or alone. She can also prowl, making her less visible onscreen and the player’s job harder. If a prowled Raavea sees and attacks you first, game over and a trip to the graveyard.

  I stand in the midst of the tigers’ corpses and search my screen. Four packs roam nearby and I’m confident no other players hunt Raavea right now, otherwise more would be dead.

  Score.

  Following five minutes running in circles and decimating the local tiger population, I spot Raavea. The beast prowls through the trees, metres from me. I’m positioned in range but not close enough for her to detect me.

  Raavea

  Elite Beast

  Hostile

  Level 30

  HP +500

  I’ve waited one month, and many wasted hours, and finally she’s here.

  Leaning closer to the screen, shoulders hunched, I take aim and conjure my highest damage spell. Once I hit this baby, I need to kill her fast or she’ll annihilate me. As the magic builds in my character’s fingers the adrenaline grows in my veins. Come on. Why does this spell have a 2 second cast time?

  A blurring figure crosses my screen and whirls around, sword drawn, before slamming into the tiger.

  What. The. Fuck?

  I stare incredulously at the Orc Warrior hacking the tiger to death with his broadsword. Cancelling my spell cast, I wait, fury mounting. The tiger doesn’t last long; falling in less than three seconds. To add insult to injury, he skins her, no doubt to trade the pelt for a nice profit later.

  I slam my keyboard:

  Sinestre: wtf?

  The player turns to me.

  Pwnyurass laughs at you.

  You make a rude gesture to Pwnyurass.

  The asshole begins dancing with me.

  Sinestre: why did you do that?

  Pwnyurass: u were 2 slow

  Sinestre: I’ve waited here for ten minutes

  Pwnyurass: Sucks 2 b u

  I watch incredulously as the dick rides off on his rare and coveted gold lion mount, then type furiously into guild chat.

  Sinestre: Fucking asshole just stole my kill.

  Thorsday: Ouch. Which kill?

  Sinestre: Raavea.

  Thorsday: Oh. Yeah, I’d be pissed off too.

  This isn’t over. One scrub player won’t stop me. I sit under a tree, away from reappearing packs of tigers, and tab between my Facebook feed and the game, waiting for Raavea to reappear.

  She does. And so does bloody Pwnyurass. Straight in, sword drawn, kills her again.

  Sinestre: What the actual fuck, man?

  Pwnyurass laughs at you.

  I slam words into guild chat again.

  Sinestre: I don’t fucking believe this

  Thorsday: ?

  Sinestre: Raavea spawned and he killed her again.

  Thorsday: Want me to help?

  Sinestre: No.

  Pwnyurass remains opposite me, and the name badge on screen above his head changes colour. He’s chosen to become targetable—and killable—by other players.

  By me.

  Don’t bloody tempt me.

  I’ll wait this out.

  Sinestre sits.

  Pwnyurass sits.

  Why do people behave like assholes?

  We stand—sit—off for another half hour. Raavea reappears. Pwnyurass is quicker than me, again. The angry adrenaline grows—and the birdsong from the game is matched by the magpies’ early morning calls outside my bedroom window.

  Sad bastard.

  Pwnyurass flexes: Bring it on.

  Head propped in one hand, elbow on the desk, I fight to stay awake and blink at the screen.

  Chat pings again.

  Thorsday: Are you still waiting? You’ve been in Aleria for nearly two hours.

  Sinestre: This douche won’t beat me. He’ll get bored if I don’t attack him.

  Thorsday: You’re one determined lady. I like that about you.

  Sinestre: I had one guy behave like a dickhead tonight, I won’t let another get to me.

  Thorsday: I’m surprised you let anybody demean you in real life.

  Demean?

  Thorsday: Or are you less confrontational in reality?

  Sinestre: Ask Tyler.

  Thorsday: I did.

  Thor asked Tyler about me?

  Sinestre: And?

  Thorsday: I’m looking forward to meeting you.

  I pause, fingers hovering over the keys.

  Sinestre: That’s cryptic.

  Thorsday: Like I said, looking forward to putting faces to names.

  Sinestre: You surprise me. You hide.

  Thorsday: Don’t we play to escape? Why would I want you to know who I am in reality?

  Sinestre: I’ll see who you are at the Con.

  Thorsday: But only what I look like.

  I’m dragged from the conversation by a commotion onscreen in front of me. Thorsday appears from the right and charges towards the grade-A asshole waiting to steal my kill again. The poor bastard doesn’t know what hit him; Pwnyurass a corpse in seconds. I bite back a laugh.

  Sinestre: Why did you do that? I said I was okay.

  Thorsday points at Raavea.

  I turn to face the tiger. At bloody last.

  Three thunderbolts from Sinestre later, the tiger dies and the glorious quest complete chime sounds. I slam my desk and breathe out, “Yes!”

  Pwnyurass reappears as the player finds his character’s corpse and revives himself. Five seconds later, he’s a corpse again thanks to Thor’s skill and Fabled level weapon.

  Sinestre: Thor…I’m okay. Thanks for helping but I’ll deal.

  Thorsday: How many times did he steal your kill?

  Sinestre: Four.

  Thorsday: Cool. Two more deaths for him to go.

  Pwnyurass’s figure reappears in the same spot again, two sets of skeletal bones on the forest floor marking where his corpse was. Before anybody else can move, the guy summons his mount and rides away.

  I laugh.

  Sinestre: I should be mad with you for interfering.

  Thorsday: I’m your knight in shining armour. Literally.

  Sinestre: Of course you are /rolls eyes

  Thorsday bows before you

  You thank Thorsday

  Thorsday: Anytime

  The chat box remains quiet for a few minutes and, with heavy eyes, I head to the quest giver to collect my reward.

  Quest complete:

  You receive Raavea’s Fanged Choker


  +5 All Stats

  Thorsday: Hey, Sin.

  Sinestre: ?

  Thorsday: You have to admit, despite your intense dislike of me, we make a great team.

  Sinestre: Dislike? Don’t you remember? Your reputation with me moved to Friendly a couple of weeks ago.

  Thorsday: Hah. True. Although somehow I don’t think I’ll ever reach Honored level with you.

  Sinestre: You got it. And you can forget ever reaching Exalted.

  Thorsday: Damn. I bet the rewards would be great.

  Sinestre: Unparalleled.

  Thorsday: I guess I’ll have to try harder for that Exalted status then. I think the challenge would be worth the rewards.

  Do I wish I was talking with Thor on the chat server? Yes and no. There’s an added distance between us that comes from words typed into a screen between a Sorcerer and a Paladin, rather than spoken between a guy and girl. Would I hear undertones in his voice? Do I want to hear him say these things in the smooth, calm tones I increasingly lose myself in when listening to him talk in raids? Yes—and that’s the worry.

  This man rarely speaks to me, but when we’re alone in our virtual nights together, his real side sneaks out. The ring. The help tonight. The banter.

  Sinestre: And what’s my reputation level with you?

  Thorsday: Friendly and edging towards Honored.

  Sinestre: Useful since we’ll meet and need to talk to each other civilly.

  Thorsday: Yeah. I’m intrigued to meet the person behind Sinestre.

  My stomach flutters at his admitting he wants to see me. Do I reply? I glance at the clock in the game. Four a.m. I’m facing one long day.

  Sinestre: I need to go. Work soon.

  Thorsday: Cool. One more thing.

  Sinestre: What?

  Thorsday: I like our late-night adventures. How about we knock out some quests together tomorrow night? If you’re up late.

  Sinestre: Sure. Though I expect I’ll be sleeping.

  Thorsday: Okay. Well, enjoy your day and don’t let the assholes get you down.

  Thorsday has gone offline

  8

  “Aren’t you a tiny bit curious?” asks Erin.

  “Yes, but not exactly hanging out to see what he looks like.”

  Big, fat liar.

  We stand in line, jostled by people passing. OzSupaCon grows each year, and this year has more press attention because the event is no longer a day filled with a handful of geeks—or nerds, and don’t get me started on the difference between the two. So-called ordinary people also attend, many find the whole dressing up and congregating idea amusing. Me? It’s one of few times my fantasy and real worlds intersect.

  “Love your costume,” she says yet again. “I feel a bit overshadowed by all of you.”

  Tyler’s ‘secret’ costume was revealed this morning, when he strode in wearing a maroon leather jacket, black cargo pants and black boots. I knew straightaway who he was, but he needed to don his Star Lord mask for Erin to spot who.

  “Oh! The movie with the talking rat!” she exclaims. “I don’t understand how the rat can be a superhero.”

  Tyler pushes the mask away from his face onto his head and pouts at her. “He’s a raccoon.”

  She looks at him with the blank look she saves for any geek-style discussions. I guess Cole dragged her to watch Guardians of the Galaxy.

  “Looks good,” I reply. “You even make a halfway-attractive Star Lord too.”

  “Really?” asks Tyler.

  “Yeah. Like this.” I push the mask back across his face and laugh. “Perfect.”

  “You’re not as funny as you think, Elf,” he mutters.

  “Cute, you chose a TARDIS dress to go with your Tenth Doctor partner,” I remark to Erin.

  “He’s not my partner, or boyfriend, or anything like that. Why don’t you guys just leave it?” she bites back.

  Whoa. Sore spot. “Sorry, Erin. I just meant cosplay partner.”

  “It pisses me off when people think a guy and girl can’t be friends and not have ‘extras’ attached.” She makes quotation marks with her fingers.

  I glance back at Cole in his Converse and trench coat, hair styled to look like his Doctor Who idol, and he’s watching us. Well, looking at Erin in an odd way. The feelings might not be mutual between them, but something exists.

  “I apologise. Seriously.” I touch her arm. “Ignore people, it’s nobody’s business but the two of you.”

  “Thank you.” She nods at my costume. “You looking ah-mazing and beautiful. I love the red and gold.” She points at my face. “Apart from the weird ears and freaky contact lenses.”

  The scarlet-red costume stretches across my chest, midriff bare, with the long skirt cut high up my leg. Women in more revealing costumes pass by. I may have a large amount of skin on show, but at least I don’t look like I’m strutting around in a bikini. My make-up finishes the elven transformation; I even found bright green contact lenses.

  “Told you, she looks like her character,” pipes up Tyler.

  “Keep a tally of Princess Leias, please,” says Cole. “Later, at the party, we can have a shot for every one we see.”

  “And Harley Quinn,” I reply as the sixth girl with blonde ponytails and a baseball bat passes me. “You’ll be paralytic in ten minutes.”

  “Heh.” Tyler’s phone beeps and he checks the screen. “My cousin’s inside already. Thor’s with him.”

  “Weird he still hasn’t told us his real name,” remarks Cole. “Has he told any of you?”

  “No, I think he likes to keep the role-playing going. Said he’s dressing up as his character too,” replies Tyler.

  “Which one? Norse god or human Paladin?” I snark.

  “Game character. I’m looking forward to watching you two clash in real life. You could duel it out—hit him with your stick.” I poke Tyler with the staff I created, a metre and a half high with a red, crystal ball on the top. “Ouch!”

  “It’s not a stick, you cheeky bastard.” I scowl as he rubs his arm. “I bet Thor hardly says a word, and if he does it will be about the game.”

  “Whereas you always have plenty.”

  We finally break through the crowds and into the convention centre entrance hall, with our lanyards proudly around our necks. Through a nearby double doorway, our lanyards are checked again by security as we step into the main area.

  Stalls cram the huge hall in front of us, people crowded around buying everything from T-shirts to comic books. I freeze, stunned by the number of people. We’ll hardly be able to move through them.

  “Did you know Star League has a competition this year, and they have people competing live?” asks Cole. “They’re broadcasting the gameplay on big screens for people to watch.”

  “Not interested. I don’t play that game,” I reply. “I’m here for the atmosphere and a chance to check out some live panels. I’ve booked the one to see the guys from The Occultists.”

  “That room will be full of girls and awash with saliva,” says Cole with a laugh.

  “Says you, checking out people like her.” I point at yet another Harley Quinn passing by, tight shorts halfway up her backside.

  “I’m not. I can’t help my eyes being drawn to fantasy women. It’s in my biology.”

  Erin watches her too. “I’m glad I wore this, I don’t want people staring at my tits all day.” She adjusts the dress upwards. Again, I swear there’s too much interest on Cole’s face. Poor guy.

  “Where are we meeting the others?” I ask as we push through the narrow space between the stalls. Bodies jostle each other despite the attempt to weave around, and I’m shoulder to shoulder with Erin. The shop I work in sells much of the merchandise on display here; the new manager suggested we book a stall for the weekend, but luckily we’d left things too late to book. Plus, I know I would’ve been the one working here and I’m happier on the browsing side of the table.

  Tyler halts by a stall adorned with genuine knives and swords; rep
lica weapons from TV shows and games.

  I grab Tyler’s arm as he reaches out to touch a Valyrian steel sword, awestruck look on his face. “Come on, we can take a look around later.”

  “They’re fucking awesome,” he says. “Imagine one of those on my wall?”

  “I hope you brought plenty of cash.”

  “Hmm. Yeah. Maybe a plastic replica…” His face falls.

  I tug at his jacket. “Let’s go. We all need to meet up first.”

  Okay, I lied to Erin about my mild curiosity about Thorsday. I need to see him and satisfy myself he’s as ordinary as he doesn’t sound.

  “We’re meeting him near the food place.” He grins. “Look out for a guy dressed as uh…Thorsday.”

  “Food? We just got here!” I protest.

  “Yes, why there?” replies Cole, “I want to head to the Doctor Who panel; that’s in ten minutes.”

  Air rushes back into my lungs as we step into the emptier, open-plan eating area, but the table are jammed with people: superheroes, Stormtroopers, Japanese film and TV —or anime— characters, and more. I smile as a woman passes dressed as Daenerys from Game of Thrones, her two toddlers dressed as baby dragons sit with her, drinking from juice boxes and eating hot chips.

  “That’s clever,” I say to Erin.

  “Who is she?”

  “She’s the Queen of Dragons. Game of Thrones?”

  “Oh. Don’t watch that.”

  “I’ll add that to the next box set binge,” says Cole. “You seriously need to up your TV show viewing quality.”

  “I told you, only if you watch my shows too.”

  “Which are?” I ask as Cole pulls a pained face.

  “The Bachelor. Masterchef…Anything with real people in.”

  I laugh. “I’m surprised Cole doesn’t run screaming from the room.”

  Tyler scans the tables and a guy sitting across the space lifts an arm to wave at us. Tyler strides over and I negotiate a path through the crowds.

  The guy at the table matches one of my two imagined versions of Thorsday. He’s short, the black and silver armour smothering his frame. A fake sword rests against his chair and a metal helmet on the table. As I approach, he grins and gives me the thumbs up. I can hardly see his eyes beneath the mop of brown hair. Yep, definitely not a Hemsworth. What was that sound? Just my secret fantasy he’s a hot guy to match his sexy voice exploding.

  “Awesome costume,” he says.