The Night Before - Chapter Two
A story influencing the genesis of the narrative Sunset High -- *MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD*
She stepped out and breathed in suburbia. The one benefit of endless miles of asphalt of four laned boulevards and baked parking lots allowed one to witness the spectacular displays of the heavens. The sky was blood orange as clouds and setting sun rays did the day’s final dance. The hum of traffic enveloped her as obsolete, styrofoam fast-food receptacles tumbled on by like tumbleweeds of yore.
Her meeting with The Mage was at 11pm. A couple of hours needed burning. Her mind turned to the slackers, who hung out behind HaBiBi-Q after school. She had no beef with them – yet. Rather, she usually enjoyed overhearing their austere pontification of mundane matters such as which Halloween candies were elite.
“Double stuff reigns supreme,” proclaimed Bobby. The derelict, forever-beanie-wearer, head-in-the-clouds ruminator.
“It’s all about fudge dipped.” Rebuked Plink, who the entire school knew as a walking encyclopedia of film.
“Blonde Oreos are my pick. The harmony of the vanilla-on-vanilla flavor is akin to the finest sopranos”, argued Chili, who one day woke up as a roly-pollie yet was completely unphased – it helped they were always lost in the tunage.
With a sentence, the debate came to an end, “It has to be Oreo Ice Cream Sandwiches.” The leader had spoken. She was famous throughout sunset high for loving the gray sweatpant so much, she had become consumed by them.
With the proclamation, the others began nodding in agreement having not even considered other Oreo flavored desserts.
“Oh, hey K______,” they greeted in unison.
“Hey all, I have a few hours to kill mind if I join y’all?”
“Not at all.”
~
After twenty minutes turned to forty and forty turned to sixty, she felt a buzz in her jeans. Finally, Fern had hit her up.
Hey soz I’m late. Smthn came up.
No problem
Meet at the arcade?
Omw
Glitch Gorge was the local arcade. Mixing in classics such as Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, with newer titles like the latest Mario Kart, even a Fall Guys cabinet row. It was one of the few places in town where everyone seemingly got along. You’d see a jock playing Ocean Hunter, with a member of the Nerds right next to him putting up hoops in the NBA Game Time cabinet. Punk & Prep playing Contra, the neon lights dimming the social strata people built up while the blue glow of the screens highlighting the contours of each individual face.
“Hey,” K___ said.
“Hey.”
“What were you up to?”
“Sorry, I’m late. Was caught up on my next hit.”
“What are you planning?”
“I can’t say, sorry K____, you know how it is. A single word gets out, and I can get in a world of shit,” Fern said, “sometimes I wonder how people can just live their lives without seeing all the waste we use. We pick up our dog’s shit with plastic bags, put them in plastic bags, send them to a mountain of plastic which will stay there until the end of time. Imagine an alien civilization finding our remnants of compostable organic matter seran wrapped to preserve it until the heat death of the universe, they will think we are insane. Some society that dictates our waste be placed in a sarcophagus. Guess that’s what video games are here for. Wana play a round of Street Fighter?”
“Yeah, for sure,” she chose Chun Li.
Fern, like Dee, was also a wildfire. Both of them ran with the Punks. Whereas Dee let her fire touch whomever was in proximity, Fern had focused the flame with a laser-like precision. Her passion was climate change, and doing anything possible to raise awareness, no rule, law, moral would stand in her way. Last year, the school’s air conditioning combusted on the rooftop. As the school gathered onto the football field as the many fire drills prepared them to do, the field had a message burned into it, “LIVE WITH YOUR ENVIRONMENT.” The students & faculty had to sweat through the rest of the school year.
“So, what did you do to get in trouble with the Jocks?” She chose Blanka.
“Haha, I can’t say, you know how it is,” she blocked the electric double knee bomb Fern sent her way.
“Touché,” she replied, “Must have done something fierce to have the whole punk clique acting as your personal bodyguards,” as she dealt with the spinning bird kick.
“Thanks again,” she was losing momentum, Chun Li was at the corner of the screen.
“Don’t sweat it, I don’t think anyone would dare cause a ruckus here. It’s like the watering hole in those nature documentaries, no matter how big or small, lion or gazelle, elephant or hyena, the watering hole is sacred ground. A good place to lay low,” round two had begun.
“You think The Mage will make one of their item drops today?” K_____ asked. This is how The Mage communicated with the masses. Suddenly, you’d find cryptic flyers advertising a traditional video game shop with items. Gaia Blades, Stardrops, Boots of Blinding Speed, Estus Flasks, on and on, all code words for what was in stock.
“It does seem extra lively in here today, doesn’t it?” And so, they let the hours tick by, in between punches and kicks, rounds and races, the neon lights rained upon them at the arcade.
~
The Mage was odd. They were a centerpiece of the flow of drugs through the town, yet money never seemed to be their true modus operandi. Seemingly, it was storytelling. The Mage ran the highest stakes Dungeons & Dragons campaign in town. The players served as unsuspecting drug mules – fetch quests would spill over to reality where item shaped satchels would require delivery from point A to B. Payment was managed via in-game currency, a crypto called Mana. Every campaign session would have a guest player, this would be a prospective customer. The choices made within the campaign affected whether The Mage would deem them trustworthy. Sure, there were other dealers in town, but no one dealt in the same quality The Mage offered. Fortunately, K____ had met the leveling and reputational threshold to make deals directly.
Deals still only occurred in the building the campaign ran. A dark room in some rent-a-space. The Mage had an eye for theatrics – obviously. The room had black walls, floors, ceilings, and at the center, a spotlight illuminated a table. On one side, four chairs, on the opposite side behind a dungeon master’s screen, the DM’s chair. There, robed, lay The Mage themselves.
“Ahh, Alumandi of the Rolling Hills,” The Mage only ever called people by the name they used on their character sheet. Around The Mage, the name you chose on your first encounter would be yours for life. K____ had made the name up on the spot, having chosen a rogue as her base class.
“Do you need a replenishment of the same potions and elixirs, O Tactful Alumandi?”
“Aye, I do.” She always attempted to keep up a high-fantasy tongue around The Mage.
“It was less than a fortnight since your last visit to my humble apothecary, dearest Alumandi,” K____’s eyes shifted to the side, “Yet, I must remember, it is not in the realm of a humble shop keep to question a client,” K____ wanted to exhale but couldn’t, “It is; however, my business when one stirs the pot, as they say, fair Alumandi. Be weary of this business you have found yourself in. I know you have undercut the Jocks and taken advantage of the Nerds. I do not appreciate undue conflict outside the realms of the narrative I wish to tell, for what narrator would I be if I did not understand the scope of a toil. Resolve this, turn to your wits, or this tale may not lead to a happy ending” K____’s tongue was at the back of her throat.
A green velvet pouch slid across the table.
“My calculations estimate a charge of 312.7 mana, wise traveler,” K____ exhaled.
She pulled out her smartphone and with a couple of swipes and taps made the transaction. The idea of snagging the satchel and running skipped through her mind, thinking of the possibilities of such an action. Most likely, one of the constant players of the campaign would come after her. Unknowingly perhaps, of just what real life actions were involved, the deed probably framed as some sort of bounty quest to slay a beast. Around the quest, narrative adornment would be just enough to give the player the rationalization needed to come after her. The reward would probably not even be money or anything tangible, rather a special item or mythic-rare weapon for the character to use within the campaign. The buzz from across the table signified the transaction had processed.
“May your journey be as sweet as a babbling brook, Alumandi the Rogue. Until our fortunes cross again.”
The deed was done.
Time now to be consumed by herself.