Mike Boorman shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to another. He moved his steel helmet from under one arm to the other. “So,” he said, “are any of these freshmen worth their salt?”
His companion scanned the crowd and shrugged. “Who knows?” replied James Mitchell. “It will be entertaining to watch them try.”
At that moment, the early morning sun came over the roof of Newman Library and bathed the drill field of Virginia Tech with light. It was a Saturday morning, in early autumn, and the college chapter of the Society of Creative Anachronism was holding their annual “Year Opening” tournament. People who were members of clubs elsewhere and had come to Tech as students were allowed to compete; a rite of initiation for many into the club at their college.
Among the challenges those applicants would face was Mike Boorman. He was the Tech chapter’s champion, a big hefty man in his early 20s. He was strong as an ox and scary looking to boot, half white and half black, with dark skin, black hair, a goatee, and ice blue eyes. He dressed for battle in replica chainmail, with a steel helmet under his arm, and a rattan sword by his feet.
His friend, who most everyone just called “Mitch,” could have been Mike’s brother, they looked so much alike. Same color hair and eyes, even the goatee, although Mitch lacked Mike's dark complexion and was also much more lanky. He seemed about half the size of Mike in his armor. He, unlike most of those present, was not even costumed, but wore regular street clothes.
“You know, you could try to get a bit more into the spirit of things.” Complained Mike.
“You mean dress up?” said Mitch. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s not exactly easy to find medieval style clothing at J.C. Penny.”
“Mail order.”
“I have better things to spend my money on.” Replied Mitch as his attention wandered over to a petite costumed blond. Her corset was tightly fastened and it was obvious that Mitch’s eyes had been drawn to her ample cleavage.
“So I see.” Mike nudged Mitch with his elbow to regain his attention. “You know, that could be your incentive.”
“Welcome to all you lord and ladies from the Barony of the Black Diamond.” Came the voice of the herald from the center of the tourney circle. “Today you will see a spectacle of arms and valor on the field of battle. For here, those men-at-arms who have come to this place for study may prove themselves worthy to fight among us by challenging our own champions on this very field….”
“You’re up first.” Said Mitch, taking the helm from Mike’s arm and placing it on his head and then tightening its strap. With a quick smack on the side of his head for luck, Mitch sent his friend out into the field.
The herald continued. “Our first champion is Ragnar, a Northman of great stature and prowess.” He had introduced Mike by his SCA name and would do so with all those in the lists. “And his challenger, coming to us from the Barony of Marinus is Emile duLac of the English Normans.”
A thin blond in glasses stepped forward. He was a good head above Mike in height, but looked to have about half his breadth. Mike smiled. This would be easy.
“Emile” gave Mike a steely gaze and put on his helmet. “He’s not intimidated easily.” Mike observed silently. Mike picked up his shield and moved to the center of the tourney circle.
“Begin!” barked the herald and Mike did not hesitate. He surged forward and swung his rattan sword with great strength. Emile raised his shield and the sword struck the shield with great force.
Mike did not let up. He swung again and again, harder each time. Yet despite the blows he rained down upon his opponent, Emile’ shield did not buckle, nor did he strike a blow himself. With each strike, Emile gave ground, moving closer and closer to the edge of the tourney field.
Growing frustrated by his opponent’s seemingly impenetrable defense, Mike brought his arm back for a might blow and flung his weapon forward with all his might. It was the opening Emile had been waiting for. As Mike threw all of his strength and weight into this death blow, Emile’ own blade snaked out at last, striking Mike across the shin and knocking Mike’s leg right out from under him. Off balance, he found himself unable to react in time and found himself crashing face first to the ground.
Mike immediately rolled onto his back, but he was not fast enough to get back to his feet in time. Emile’ rattan sword smacked down hard on Mike’s chest, giving his opponent the victory.
“And the victor is….Emile!” declared the herald. Mike sat up, a bit surprised. He had lost. He hadn’t lost a tourney match in years, and yet here he was.
Emile removed his helmet. He was young, younger than Mike, perhaps 18. He had long blonde hair and dark eyes. He stared momentarily at his opponent and then offered a gauntleted hand to Mike to help him back to his feet. Mike accepted the help (getting up in chain mail is never easy.)
“Been a long time since I’ve gotten an ass whuping like that.” Said Mike. “Real name’s Mike Boorman, but most folks call me ‘Boar.’” Mike offered his hand to his opponent.
“Michael Allens.” Replied “Emile,” taking Mike in hand.
“Freshman?”
“Yeah, just started here last month.” Replied Michael.
“Then you’re going to need someone to show you around. There’s a lot more to Blacksburg than just that school. We can get started. Mitch and I and a lot of the others in the chapter usually hold an after-party at my place when the tourney’s over. Would you like to come?”
Michael nodded.
“Excellent. Things start at seven.”
“I’ll be there.”
-----
“…Something's wrong, shut the light. Heavy thoughts tonight. And they aren't of Snow White…Dreams of war, dreams of liars…”
It was some hours later and Michael had made good in accepting Boar’s invitation to the SCA after-party. The two were standing in the kitchen of Boar’s apartment, getting beverages for themselves. Most everyone else at the party was out in the living room, listening to music and chatting up a storm.
“I was a bit worried there at first.” Said Michael as he poured himself a Coke.
“Worried?” replied Boar. “About what?”
“There is great fury and passion in your fighting style. In many ways, that’s playing to your strengths and I imagine it’s appropriate that your SCA alter ego is a Viking. But after I won, I wondered if you’d take it personally.”
“Maybe just a little.” Chuckled Boar. “Nah, that’s not me. When I’m out there, I fight like a demon. Once the fight is over though, no hard feelings.” Boar gave a glance to Michael’s drink. “You want anything for that? You’re more than welcome to my stock.” He pointed back at the bottles of liquor that were also on the counter.
“No thanks.” Said Michael calmly. “I’m underage.”
“I’m not carding, but suit yourself.” Said Mike. “So tell me, where you learn to fight like that?”
“I was the class nerd in grade school and high school. Got tired of being everyone’s punching bag. So I took some martial arts classes. Taught me to fight, how to watch for openings, and to wait for those openings. Most of those lessons applied nicely to sword play when I joined the SCA my senior year of high school.”
“You’ve only been in SCA tourneys for less than a year?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Boar whistled. “I’ve been in three and no one has ever kicked my ass as easily and as quickly as you did.”
“Your style is to batter your opponents down, using your greater strength to overpower your opponent’s defenses. I’ll admit, one more blow and you probably would have had me. But there’s very little finesse in your style…..”
“She’s here.” Interrupted Mitch, sticking his head into the kitchen.
Boar smiled. “She?” inquired Michael.
“You’ll see. Come on. Someone I want to introduce you to.”
Boar led Michael from the kitchen into the living room. There was a new arrival. In the center of the room, still wearing her leather jacket from coming in from the evening air, was a teenage girl, probably 16. Her hair was short, colored a deep red. Her most striking quality was her height or rather lack thereof. Michael guessed she couldn’t be even 5 feet tall, probably 4’11” or even 4’10”.
It didn't end there, though. As Michael took more of her in, everything about her was striking. Her eyes were ice-blue, as pale as any he'd ever seen. There was something else, something about the look of her face, round and pale like porcelain. She was one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen.
The girl turned and behind those pale eyes Michael could tell she was older than her appearance suggested. “So, Boar,” she said. “Is this the one who finally kicked your ass?” Her voice matched her appearance, melodic with an very mild but very unique accent Michael couldn't place.
Mike laughed, “Yeah, this is him. Michael Allens, meet Deborah Means.”
“Call me Deb.” Said Deborah. “I’m sort of the chapter tavern wench.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Teased Mitch from where he was standing near the kitchen door.
“Shut thy mouth and get me my usual.” She snapped teasingly at him.
“As you wish, mi’lady.” Mitch gave a mocking curtsy and headed back into the kitchen.
Deb took off her jacket and tossed it in the corner where most everyone else had also placed their coats. Underneath the jacket, Michael could now see that she was dressed in a black tank top with a denim mini-skirt. Her clothing was revealing in all the right places. His eyes were drawn almost reflexively to her bust; her cleavage was on open display and Michael could see the hints of an elaborate tattoo on her chest. Everything about her it seemed was meant to provoke a reaction. Michael found he could not take his eyes off of her.
Boar chuckled. “Yep, just like the rest of us.”
Michael turned to him. “Huh?”
Deb walked up to Michael and slipped her arms about his waist. “What he means, mi’lord, is that, like everyone else in this room, you can’t resist me. The wench has trapped the heart of another helpless lord with her charm and grace.” She pressed against him, mashing her ample bosom into his belly. Michael felt a certain uncomfortable tightness in his jeans.
Mike chuckled again. “Is that what you call them? So which one is charm and which one is grace?”
To that, the room burst into laughter. Deb stepped back and joined the fun, clearly appreciating the joke as well. After a few seconds, she looked at Michael. “I’d like a smoke. Care to join me?”
“I don’t smoke.” Said Michael flatly.
“Then keep me company.” She purred seductively and headed for the door.
At first it seemed that Michael wasn’t going to follow. Boar moved up behind him. “Well, time for the champion to claim his prize.”
“What are you talking about?”
Boar chuckled as Mitch moved up beside him. “You’ll see.” Said Mitch, giving Michael a little wave as if to dismiss him.
At that moment, the music changed from Metallica to Rush, playing “Modern day warrior…Mean, mean stride…” Michael turned and headed for the door, only to see Deb standing in it, waiting for him.
“I suppose the fact that one of my favorite songs started playing isn’t going to matter to you?”
“What do you think?” She smiled and headed outside into the night air. Michael followed. He shivered, more from nerves than cold. He could now guess what was going on here.
“You know,” she said as she put a cigarette into her mouth, “No one’s ever beaten him before.”
“I find that a little surprising. Boar’s strong, but he’s sloppy.” Replied Michael flatly as Deb lit her cigarette and took a drag from it. Discussing battle strategy was calming to him, a realm he was much more comfortable in.
She gave him a long look. "You have an eye for sizing up your opponents. That’s good.”
“You’re not really interested in my battle prowess, are you?”
"Actually, I am, but that's not all." She said slyly. She turned and headed down the stairs to the sidewalk below.
“I thought as much.” Said Michael with a tone of annoyance. “I’m not that kind of guy.”
Deb kicked off her shoes and walked out into the grass, glancing back to see if Michael was still following her. He was not and was still standing at the top of the stairs.
“You’re an odd one, Michael. Cute girl comes on to you and you react like it’s an insult and an inconvenience.”
“Not an insult, but definitely an inconvenience.”
“Oh?”
Michael scowled. “There’s someone else.”
“And is she here?”
“Why would that matter?”
“High school romances tend not to last long into freshman year.” She took a drag off her cigarette and looked at him seductively. “You here, her there. One of you will go astray, I guarantee it.”
“You seem determined to make that me.”
“You can either control your destiny or be carried along like the tide. Your choice.”
“And yet you don’t respect my choice to say no.”
“Loyalty isn’t what’s holding you back.” Deborah eyed the growing bulge in Michael’s pants. “Why cling to it? Are you afraid?”
“I’m not.” Said Michael defensively. “It’s…complicated.”
“Virgin.” Said Deb flatly. She finished her cigarette. “Ah, that explains much.” She moved closer and ran her hands up his thigh. Michael grabbed her arm and pulled it away.
“The answer is still no.”
Deb shrugged. “You really are one for firsts. First you beat Boar on the tourney field. Then you turn me down. That's never happened before either.”
Boar let out a loud guffaw. Michael and Deb both spun toward the noise, only to notice both Boar and Mitch watching from the apartment doorway.
“Spies.” Said Deb disparagingly. “Not a moment’s privacy.”
“Oh,” chuckled Boar. “Itt was worth it to see you get turned down.”
“First time for everything.” Said Deb nonchalantly.
"You people are something else. Booze, parties," he looked at Deb. "Sex?"
"Of course." Deb nodded. “Welcome to college.”
"Not exactly my kind of thing." Michael's hand went almost reflexively to the gold cross necklace he was wearing, as if trying to remind himself of his beliefs.
Deb reached up and took his hand in hers. She looked at the necklace with great interest. "We'll see about that, Churchboy." she teased.
----
Boar marched across campus towards the theatre building. It was a sunny but cool day and it had been three days since the tourney and the party. Life in the real world had once again asserted itself. The school term had begun and there were classes to be attended.
Boar’s dedication to his schoolwork was often less than enthusiastic. But during the first few weeks of term, attendance was largely mandatory. So here he was, on his way to his third class of the day.
As he drew closer to the theatre building, he noticed Mitch on the sidewalk ahead of him. With Mitch was Michael and another friend of theirs named Karl.
“Hey, Churchboy.” Said Boar teasingly.
“Don’t start with me, Boar.” Said Michael with annoyance.
“You know you’re not going to live it down.”
“I’d like to think I hold myself to a higher moral standard.”
“Sounds to me like a lousy excuse to avoid some nooky.”
“Or rather, if my guess is correct, it’s a good reason to avoid your sloppy seconds.”
“Touché” said Mitch.
Karl spoke up for the first time with a chuckle. “Got you there.” Boar just shrugged.
“Anyhow,” interjected Mitch, giving Boar a playful slap on the shoulder “found out our friend here is into more than just SCA. Michael says he has a Shadowrun decker from his game back home.”
“So looking for a gaming group?”
Michael shrugged. “It would be kinda nice. Went to the BRPA meeting last Friday. Wasn’t impressed.”
“Some good folks there, but they tend to be D&D or GURPS obsessed. Looking to play a different game? Best look elsewhere.” Said Karl. “We’re probably getting together tonight. You guys available?”
“Should be.” Said Boar.
Mitch also nodded.“Your place again?”
“Yeah. Come around 6. You too Michael. Bring that decker of yours.”
-----
Michael marched into his dorm room in Thomas. Thomas was part of a section of dorms known on campus as the Upper Quad. They were run down and dirty, but tended to be the rooms taken by the more studious and serious of students. A far cry from the often raucous environment of Pritchard across campus.
“So, I found another group of gamers.” Michael announced to his roommate.
Corwin Morse turned away from his desk. “Which game this time?”
“Shadowrun”
“Good for you. Just hope you’re not going to shun our BattleTech throw-down this Saturday.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“You know, is there any game you don’t play?”
Michael sat down at his own desk and turned on his Amiga computer. “Shadowrun is about as close to the old wizards and sorcery style game as I get. More into sci-fi than fantasy.”
Corwin shrugged. “And yet, you’re in the SCA.”
“Fantasy is one thing.” Said Michael, giving his rattan sword a little tap. “History is another.”
"Let me guess." supposed Corwin. "Overly conservative parents didn't go for the whole D&D thing, but you could sneak in Star Trek, Star Wars, and the like."
"Yeah. Something like that."
"Your parents aren't here." reminded Corwin. "You don't have to play by their rules anymore."
"That's the second time in the last week I've had someone make commentary about my upbringing and beliefs." growled Michael.
"Dude, all I'm saying is that you don't have to live in their shadow anymore. This is college. You can find your own way now. Explore, experiment, try new things. What are you afraid of?"
"Who says I'm afraid?"
"It's written all over you, Michael. What do you think's going to happen if you try something new?"
"There's a difference between testing the waters and jumping in whole hog. The first lets you navigate through life safely. The other makes you a headline. Freshman found dead from alcohol poisoning. Like that kid on Saturday."
"And you truly think that'll happen to you if you play a game of D&D?" joked Corwin. "Oh, no, magic, and wizards, and demons. Call the Church Police! We've got a future Satan worshiper here."
"No, not Dungeons & Dragons." Deb's face came into Michael's mind. "Other things on the other hand..."
-----
“Alright, that four karma points for stealing the formula. Good job everyone.” Said Karl.
Boar sat back, scribbling on his character sheet. “And thanks to Edge, we had our best haul in a long time.”
“Knowledge is power. Knowledge is money.” Said Michael. He jotted a few notes on his own character sheet.
“No one ever wants to play a decker in this group.” Said Mitch.
“That’s a lot of money you’ve not been making.” Said Michael, finishing his character updates and taking a swig of a Coke. “A lot of money you won’t be passing up in the future.”
“Sounds to me like he wants to sign on.” Said Mitch. “Join the club.”
“Who? The Edge or his player?” said Geoffrey, another player in the group.
“I’d have to say it might be hard to get my character without me.” Said Michael with a sly smile.
“True that.” Said Karl. “So, I guess we have a decker.”
“Thanks guys.” Said Michael. “Nice of you to let the freshman in. Anyhow, I’ve got an 8am tomorrow, so I need to get back to Thomas.”
“I’ll drive you over.” Said Mitch.
“Thanks.” Said Michael, gathering up his gaming books and dice.
The two wandered outside to Mitch’s car. It was a rather beat-up light blue Chevrolet Camaro.
“It’ll make point 5 past light speed.” Said Mitch, quoting Star Wars in anticipation of Michael’s thoughts.
“Dude, I wasn’t going to say anything. It’s a car. Four wheels and it runs is still better than what I have.”
“Well I do call it the Millennium Camaro for a reason. Hop in.”
Michael went around to the passenger side and got in. He shuffled his feet amidst the rather sizable pile of soda cans on the floor.
“Hey, I deliver pizza.” Explained Mitch. “Those late shifts require much caffeine.”
“I can see that, but has Han Solo gone from smuggling spice to smuggling aluminum?”
Mitch laughed and started up the car. They headed from Blacksburg towards campus. Even at the late hour, an orange haze could be seen on the horizon in the direction of the university.
“Be easy enough to walk home. Just go toward the light.” Said Michael.
“Yeah, but it would take time.” Said Mitch. “Hey, look there. It’s our favorite camp follower.”
“Deborah.” Said Michael flatly, spying the figure Mitch was pointing to.
Mitch slowed the car and pulled over towards the left-side curb. He stuck his head out and called out, “Hey, Deb.”
Deb turned. “Evening, Mitch. Out on delivery?”
“Off tonight.”
“Who’s that with you? Oh, hi, Churchboy.”
“Would you please stop calling me that?” complained Michael.
“There’s an easy solution to that.”
“You said yourself that there’s a lot of fish in the sea. Why chase the one that doesn’t want caught?”
Deb flashed a devilish smile. “I like the challenge.”
“I need to get back.” Reminded Michael.
“Yeah, early classes tomorrow.” Explained Mitch. “See you around, Deb.”
“Indeed.” Mitch slid back into the driver’s seat and drove off.
“Dude, she’s got the hots for you, you know?”
“Look, I’m just a conquest, a note for the record books, and you know it.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“I’d like to think of myself as something more than a piece of meat. Save that part of my life for someone worthy of it.”
“So what’s her name?”
“Excuse me?”
“You already have that someone in mind. High school girlfriend? The one got away? The one pined for from afar? Has to be one of them if you’re so determined to avoid our Deb like the plague.”
“Rebecca.”
“Ah, the Mitch strikes again. I knew it. Must be something special to keep you out of Deb’s pants.”
“Dude, given how many times around the block she’s probably been, it wouldn’t take much to keep me out of there. But, yeah, Rebecca is something else.”
“Blonde, brunette?”
“Redhead.”
“Ah, the best kind.” Said Mitch, pulling in behind the Thomas Hall dormitory.
Michael dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He yanked out a photo and handed it to Mitch. On it was a picture of a lanky redhead with glasses.
“Cute.” Commented Mitch. “She here at Tech or…”
“Senior year back home. She’s a year behind me.”
“Ah. Well, good luck with her.” He gave the photo back. “What Deb said is true. Most high school romances don’t last through the freshman year. Especially when she’s there and you’re here.”
“We’ll be different. Thanks for the ride.” Michael stepped out and grabbed his gaming materials.
“Sure thing. Any time.”
Act One Chapter Two
No comments:
Post a Comment