Day 4: My Touchstone
I had seriously debated cancelling on my friends, walking away from our weekly Dungeons and Dragons games when my schedule flipped to working the nightshifts as Alistair’s scribe and assistant. Though I had been able to finagle my schedule to be off the nights of our games. Especially since they were biweekly, not weekly.
After I had been Embraced…well, I considered it even more so.
I wasn’t the same person. The insanity of being a child of Malkav crept in, staying in the corners of my mind more often than not. The shadowy hat man in the corner though it was just Sybil trying on hats or mimicking the horror games I consumed vicariously through youtubers.
Note to self, stop showing her that and maybe consider more story driven cozy games.
But it would have raised more questions if I just stopped coming after five years in one of the campaigns. It would have made more alarms. Especially since I was the notetaker. And it was for our long standing project. If I backed out, my friends would have started asking questions-which of course they would- and when they did they would be in danger.
I couldn’t have that.
I had tried talking with Alistair-Gandalf about it, and he had suggested I keep mortal ties. To remind myself about my humanity.
As if I actually had any left.
He said it was what made the difference between us and the real monsters. We drank blood, we couldn’t be out in the daylight, our skin was cold-and yet we weren’t real monsters?
Who was if not us? The implications of that were quite frankly, terrifying to consider.
I didn’t let myself dwell on it too much.
So here I was, drumming my fingers idly on the keyboard as I waited for my turn in initiative. I had woken up shortly before the game, fed a complaining Sybil in an effort to make the night be as easy as possible. I had even put some make up on-blush mainly so I didn’t look like a ghost. Good thing, since we actually had our cameras on tonight.
My eyes flicked over to my phone, roving my character sheet. I could heal, I could help.
‘Or we can bleed it dry. I wonder what it tastes like’ Sybil mused. ‘I hope it’s not chicken. Chicken blood is so thin. Is thin still the desired body type? Ooh for the typed notes what if we tried a different typeface. There are some really pretty ones-’
I closed my eyes, trying to block out her voice. I muted my mic, muttering to myself. “I thought I asked you to stay quiet until this was over.”
“You did.”
“So shut up.” My lip curled a bit.
“Morgan? You there?”
I took a breath and unmuted. “Sorry, voice to text message with my boss.” I motioned to my phone.
“It’s your turn.”
These were my friends.
My friends who had been there for me in life when I was struggling. When mom was going through cancer, when we were all terrified about the pandemic, the job changes, the whole thing with JJ.
A familiar ache was in my chest as my thoughts went to him. Of how we had a cute dinner and monopoly date night, of playing whatever card or board game that he had brought up. Of being on the phone with him for hours trying to convince him to put the razorblade down. Of the tears and numbness, the worry after calling 911 on him.
How was he doing? I hoped well. I always hoped well.
I felt wetness gathering in my eye, threatening to fall. I dabbed at it with a tissue before going back to my spell list.
“How are you looking Luis?”
“I have 13 left.”
They were there for me, they were loyal to me, and I was there for them.
Loyal to them.
It was why I fought for them in our games and in real life. Why I couldn’t let them know what was going on. Telling them would bring danger.
My gaze flicked over their faces, taking in details. Matt was sipping at his whisky, Andrew was shirtless- as per usual with him, Matt the younger’s camera was off, and Bryan was leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled as he waited for my move.
I nodded, my decision was made. I dropped a decent sized healing spell, and thanks to our cleric and paladin’s clutch tag team survived by the skin of our teeth. That was where we called it a night.
It was almost a relief when we started trailing off for the night, most of them going to bed, to work normal hour jobs. I bid them good night and signed off.
My night had only just begun.
“Cassandra.”
“You do know that’s not really my name right?” Though sometimes it was hard to remember who I was before this. Nights with my friends helped of course.
I padded down the hall to the office. Maybe some mindless games would help spend the night. Or maybe I should write.
Sybil, as always, ignored me when I corrected her.
“Beware the beast in the speech.”
I stopped. “What?”
“Beware the beast in the speech. Beware the beast in the speech.” I felt something cold run down my spine. Heed the warnings that are spoken in threes. I asked her to explain.
She refused to elaborate.