Roll The Dice

“One of Mitch’s boys has the door covered, and he looks nasty.”

“How nasty?” Tristan asked.

“Somewhere between a mangy dog and a freight train,” said John

“Right. There has to be another way in. Aren’t there any windows?”

“They’re all barred and look like they are hooked up to battery packs.” answered John.

“Probably fry anyone that tries.”

“Is this a nightclub or a fort?”

“Knowing Mitch, both.”

Taren spoke, “I could try to-“

“It’s not like there are other options. Let’s just force our way in. It’s just one dude,” said Tristan.

The others shared a glance.

“We’re goin’ in,” Tristan commanded.

“You ain’t on the list.”

“And I told you we’re going in.”

“Get lost.”

“Maybe this will help?” Taren rubbed her forefinger and thumb together.

“Don’t be stupid, Taren,” said Tristan.

After an uncomfortably long pause under a stoic gaze, someone whispered, “He looks mad.”

“He can look how he wants. I’ll smash his face in,” said Tristan dryly.

“Did you actually just say that?” John asked.

“Yeah.” Tristan answered.

John shook his head. “Okay guys, roll initiative.” The table exploded in an uproar with papers shuffling and dice rolling. The players readying their character sheets for combat.

“Do we have to fight?”

“Who’s asking, Taren or Corrinne?”

“Oh, I am,” Her lips tightened, “No actually, Corrinne is. Do we have to fight? The guys just doing his job. Corrinne turns to the bouncer, ‘You’re doing a great job by the way.’”

“He nods to you, but it feels more like a roll of the eyes,” said John.

“I position Corrinne between the bouncer and our party. Can I do that before the initiative roll or do we need to do that first?” Taren asked.

“It’s fine as long as you’re talking, but if anybody takes anything that could be seen as an action, then we’ll use the rolls.” Said John.

“Okay, cool, I stand between the party and the bouncer,” said Taren

“Does the movement not count as an action?”

“Dude?! Helping or hurting?”

“I think it’s more interesting to let it slide for now. Remember your initiative rolls and let’s try and keep in character for the moment. I like the tension,” said John.

“I hate it.”

“In character now.”

“Okay, so. It’s been a long night, I get that, and you are just doing as ordered, we totally understand that. Right guys?” Taren looked around the table.

“Totally.”

“Yep.”

“No.” Everyone turned sharply toward Tristan. “What?”

Pointedly ignoring his comment, Taren continued, “I get it. This is just a job, and you seem like a good guy, so let me run this by you.”

“He crosses his arms, tucking his hands into the folds of his unnaturally thick arms,” said John.

“How unnatural?”

“Extremely.”

“Stim-pack unnatural?”

“Could be.” He added.

“I want to check that out. Can I do a medicine check and use streetwise as my secondary?”

“Sure, go for it” the dice clatter.

“14. ”

“What were you rolling under?” John asked.

“17.”

“Oh, nice. You spot a faint puncture mark part way up the right side of his neck and his veins are a slightly bluer shade than they should be.” John said.

“Bluer?” A nod confirmed the answer, “I silently gesture towards his neck and mouth the word Ice towards the rest of you.” The players nod in acknowledgement.

“Here’s what I am proposing,” Taren picked up where she had left off, “I may have had one or two too many shots. You, being such an astoundingly caring fellow, are duty bound to take me to the first aid station.”

“He stares blankly,” John said.

“She continues. ‘One of my friends comes with. Two wait here and keep an eye on the door for you. Stop any of the riff raff getting ideas.’”

“’Money ain’t good enough.’ He looks over your head at a newly forming queue of patrons.”

“It ain’t bad money either, but here’s the other thing. You could easily take on little ol’ me and with those kinds of muscles, probably even my loud-mouthed friend, too.”

Tristan shot daggers across the table.

“Me?”

“Obviously.”

“'Probably even him, but all of us? I pause for dramatic effect. Maybe, big man, but is it worth it? I certainly don’t wanna fight such an upstanding gentleman as yourself.' I touch his arm carefully.” The table briefly laughed and clapped in reverie as she mirrored her character’s action with mime.

Tristan glared.

“Okay, let me ask for clarity. Are you trying to flirt with or threaten the guy?” asked John.

“Yes.” Four fifths of the table laughed again.

“I say we just kill him.” Tristan interrupted the reverie.

“Dude seriously?”

“What’s your problem?”

Tristan stood up from the table, his chair rumbled a shrill shriek, and his papers and dice flew in a mess across the table. Taren darted from her seat and stood between Tristan and the rest of the table.

“Give me the keys. We’re going.” He said flatly.

“Tris, ho-“

“KEYS!” His shout cut off all other noise in the room.

The players sat around the table looking down at their papers. Taren holding a fragile fortress between Tristan and the group.

Calmly, the heavyset John at the head of the table rose. “Taren,” he spoke quietly, “you are welcome to stay for a while.”

“Who th-“

John didn’t break his gait. “If you need a place to stay the night, you are welcome here, or we can call someone. If you prefer.” He folded his arms, “Tris, you aren’t welcome here. Doors over there,” he gestured.

The table all stood as one.

“Stay Taren.”

“Please, stay.”

Tristan looked at Taren, who flinched at the initial intensity of the gaze. She looked at the group, then back to Tristan. Silently she handed him the keys and stepped away with heat infused cheeks and swollen eyes as she held his gaze.

Tristan locked with her for a beat and then looked at the others before breaking contact and looking down at his seat. “You coming?” Taren barely shook her head, but he saw it. He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and left without another word.