“Come, adventurers! Try your hand.”
He approached the jovial shill and his questionable shell game. Six glittery red bowls, a green ball dead center on the table. The gamemaster balanced on a three-legged stool, garish grin highlighting crooked yellow teeth, patchy stubble, and a glass eye.
The man rolled up his sleeves, spindly fingers dancing innocently. “Find the ball and win a prize. Fail, and I take a reward. Accept my terms?”
He nodded.
The con artist smiled. The bowls flipped on the table, the second covering the ball. Pottery rattled as his sly hands shuffled randomly. Within moments, they rested. “Which bowl?”
He tapped the left one nearest him.
The shill lifted the bowl, revealing the ball. “Very good. Two more.” Sunshine reflected glittery red across the dirt paths of the fairgrounds. Children squealed and coasters roared, hints of butter and pipe smoke wafting on the breeze.
But the player ignored the colorful tents and cartwheeling clowns.
The bowls stopped. He picked the rightmost nearest the gamemaster. The ball was revealed.
“Very good. One more.” The shuffle picked up pace, not that it had been slow before.
His eyes tracked the glittery pottery, catching the real trick.
Everything settled, the con artist’s hands on the table. “Which bowl?”
He smirked despite himself. Rather than picking a bowl, he tapped the lanky man’s right hand.
Without qualm, he lifted his arm, revealing the ball. “Very good. Pick your prize.” The six bowls were replaced with weapons, potions, and life.
The blank stare of the shill kept Trevor grounded.
He selected a potion, his character unable to cast spells. Didn’t seem important until he appeared in a realm that practically ran on magic. The same sounds danced across his ears. The same smells tickled his nose. The same people walked past. The world on repeat.
Rising, he stuffed his prize in a worn knapsack. Heavy trench coat sweeping around his legs, he hobbled into the masses. Why had he chosen a peg leg?
People, no more than NPCs, walked along the dirt path. He’d liken the atmosphere to It’s a Small World, everyone a puppet forced to conduct the same motion over and over. No free thought, no purpose. Just set pieces to build a world.
A woman cut across the sea of drones. Dark wavy hair, amber eyes. Laced boots, cargo pants, and a green jacket gave her the appearance of the forest. A hunter. But her eyes.
Another player.
Trevor followed her between a couple tents. Over the years, he’d sought friends and foes. Sometimes his friends became foes. But which would this woman be?
The silent hiss of steel gave him pause. “Why are you following me?”
He raised his hands in surrender. “I seem to be walking amongst the living dead, so forgive me if I follow someone who moves of their own accord.”
Silence. “Turn around.” He faced her. Despite being a head taller than her, she didn’t seem concerned about him attacking. Her short blade rusted in places, but he caught his brown-eyed reflection in the metal. “Eyes up.”
He stared, unsure where this conversation was going. She seemed just as confused, balancing the slim thread that was trust.
She dropped the blade. “Guess we are alike. How’d you get here?”
“Not sure. You?”
“Beats me.” They stared silently. “So, what’s next?”
Before he could respond, a hunched figure crawled out of the darkness. Worried eyes and caved shoulders emerged from under the hooded cloak. “Are you adventurers?”
Trevor and the woman shared a glance before nodding.
The man seemed pleased, yet still wary. He scanned the path as he said, “You must come with me. We don’t have much time.” He shuffled into the shadows, sliding between buildings. Leaning back, Trevor spotted the old man descending into a musty cellar.
He glanced at the woman. Brow quirked and expression taut, she didn’t need to answer.
“What do you mean you’re not following him? That’s the quest!”
Trevor blinked. Sets of colored dice, notebooks, character sheets, and bowls of candy and popcorn cluttered the dinner table. The large TV displayed a gridded map of the fairgrounds, the shell game clustered with ring toss and other assorted misadventures. A portable speaker blared a repetitive carnival tune, laughing children included.
Wendy threw her cropped red bangs back, glaring. “You follow, the quest begins. That’s how it works.”
Beside him, Renee leaned into her seat while crossing her arms. She’d been sketching her character during the exposition and his shell game, the pencil drawing a near likeness to her. “Common sense says you don’t follow weird guys into basements. Not to mention every horror film and crime show.”
“Those don’t exist! You’re not Renee, you’re Iris. You’re not in my apartment, you’re in the fairground. This isn’t that hard!” Wendy continued her rant, Renee’s grasp on reality taking its toll.
After hours of creating characters and getting a rundown of how to use the dice, spells, skill points, and so on, Trevor preferred real life as well. Yet the scene he’d envisioned amidst Wendy’s explanations and his dice rolling took hold of his conscious mind.
He nudged his fellow first-timer before whispering, “This would probably be cooler if it were real.”
Renee grinned. “Now you know why I write.”