Chapter 3

Lesley Brown was never, ever going to bad-mouth the history department again. Professor Igglebod's lecture on the origins of the Court, coupled with a few loose-cannon speculations concerning the nature of the Void, put just enough spring in Lesley's step that week to make everyone around him stop and stare. He made no notice of the attention he was receiving as he floated up the stairs of the inn towards his bedroom, humming Albion's traditional funeral dirge in a cheerful b-major all the way. After all, what was so unusual about a man being put in his best spirits after a two-hour lecture on the topic of tyranny and mass-murder?

There were only two things which managed to put a damper on the young student's mood: for one, it was Friday, which meant his classmates had the whole weekend ahead of them to attempt to pull Lesley into that awful hodgepodge known as the social fray. Second, they had finished up with the history of the Court that week and were moving on to the rise of William Black, which, for Lesley, meant an entire weekend of reading up about that goody-two-shoes Will.

Perhaps getting to know the social climate of Brightwall wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Contrary to the sense of 'dusty, haven't-been-outside-in-over-a-decade' that people seemed to get a whiff off from Lesley, he wasn't entirely a lame duck in social situations. In fact, he even prided himself on a certain sense of polite humility in conversation. Where his mother had failed at keeping the drawing room free of dead bodies, she had certainly succeeded in raising a son with a well-bred tongue.

Of course, the real trouble lay in falling in with the right sort of society – a trouble which Lesley was not looking forward to tackling, given the overall eager-but-inescapably-dull disposition that plague Brightwall's population. It would be a dark day in Bowerstone when a loose chicken or two made for the most interesting thing to happen all day, which is exactly what had occurred to him in while in Brightwall. In fact, vandalism by poultry made up for the highlight of his day twice this past week, thank you very much.

Fortunately for Lesley, he was sparred the ardor of tracking down the right sort of society when one of the roleplayers he'd encounter earlier that week (Ben, maybe?) stopped him on his way out of class and invited him to a little hurrah back at the house he and the other two blokes were renting out for the semester. It sounded all very provincial to Lesley, of course, but given the choice between that and settling in to six chapters of William Black, a little bit of provincial flair could be just what he needed.

Spurious Nuttock, settled just outside of Brightwall's gates, wasn't exactly the ideal student home. It was roomy, yes, but its location put it as far away from the Academy as one could be without leaving Brightwall altogether. That, and there was always the off chance of getting munched on by a pack of ravenous wolves on the way to class.

But at least the rent was cheap.

At the Nuttock's front door Lesley waited, a chill running down his spine compliments of the icy fog rolling up off Mistpeak Valley. It certainly was eerie out here, this late at night. He wondered if the gamers ever saw Balverines this close to the village – now that would be exciting!

Probably more exciting than the festivities in which he was about to partake.

Also, there was that little matter of whether or not one was expected to bring a housewarming gift to a college party, especially in light of the fact that he had never been invited to the Nuttock before (or to anywhere else in Brightwall, for that matter). Was the presentation of a gift customary? He had never been to any parties in Bowerstone either, but whenever his parents had company, some form of tribute or another was always presented, and Lesley certainly wasn't one to risk social offense over something so petty. What exactly an acceptable housewarming gift consisted of, he wasn't sure, but he was keeping his fingers crossed that the bottle of ale purchased at the inn would fit the bill. It had been a bit of a last minute dilemma, really – none of the other shops had been open.

It was Mark who answered the door, a smile on his face and telling flush across his cheeks. "Ah, Lesley!" he exclaimed. "We weren't sure if you would make it out. Come in!"

Then Lesley, before he could protest, was dragged inside, and the dark chill of the night shut out behind him. Mark, of course, neglected to tell him where he might put his housewarming gift, so Lesley was left to awkwardly cradle the bottle of ale under one arm as he was led to one of the many tables set up around the cottage.

For a student's dwelling, Spurious Nuttock was relatively clean, if one were to overlook the temporary appearance of empty bottles on various surfaces throughout the space. Two grand bookcases housed a lifetime's worth of books – to which Lesley's attention was instantly drawn. Had he not been in company, he and those bookshelves would doubtlessly become very intimately acquainted. The books weren't the only thing which caught his attention, though. Several other shelves lined the living area, upon which were displayed carefully rendered, disturbingly detailed models of various buildings and towns.

One such model had been taken off its shelf and placed in the middle of the table to which Lesley had been dragged. He recognized it immediately from the river painted down the middle and the little wooden bridges that humped over said river – it was a model of Bowerstone market.

Now, Lesley could not say for certain – after all, this was his first college party – but he had a very distinct notion that most other college parties did not, in fact, involve elaborate models, character sheets, and impassioned roleplaying. What he had been expecting, he could not exactly explain, other than his certainty that alcohol would somehow be involved… which it was. Beyond that, however, the difference was startling.

Jim polished off the rest of his pint and growled in his direction. "Do you plan on sitting down any time soon, Lisa? Pull up a chair already!"

Ben, who had been absently playing with a tiny model Hobbe, suddenly appeared mortified. "Jim! His name is Lesley!" he then turned to Lesley with a timid smile. "I'm glad to see you, mate. You didn't look so certain when I asked you to come."

So it had been Ben that invited him.

After a moment's hesitation, Lesley found a chair and joined the trio at their game table. There were other people here he could talk to, of course – but they were all equally involved in their own games and drinking, and Lesley wasn't in the mood to make any more introductions than necessary.

Mark and Ben had reassured him that he would catch on to the rules soon enough. Just watch us play, they said. We'll explain as we go, they said. Well, thought Lesley in a huff, that went well – it was only a matter of minutes before the gamers were entirely absorbed in their game and forgot entirely about their guest. Something about needing to find the +4 Dildo of Impaling in order to defeat the Dread Dragon attacking Bowerstone Market. On the surface, he shrugged it off as uninteresting. Internally, he prayed this wasn't another historical re-enactment because… well, that went without explanation, really.

Housewarming gift or not, he eventually grew fed up and began taking swigs from the bottle of ale he'd brought. As he did so, he allowed himself to lean back in his chair and take in the rest of the "party". From what he could tell, there were several different kinds of games being played – a couple other groups were using models and figurines like his trio was, while others were playing with cards and dice. He even saw one group with a chess board, the only game here he knew how to play. Briefly, he considered joining in on the chessplayers' game, but he wasn't drunk enough for that… yet.

As much as he hated to admit it, it was… nice, just to sit back and relax like this. Not that he was making conversation with any of the persons present – but just being there technically counted as socializing, didn't it? Mother had told him he needed to get out more. Part of him supposed that, by just sitting there, he was soaking up all the conversation around him in a vicarious form. A social osmosis, if you will.

Okay, so maybe I do need to get out more, thought Lesley as he took another gulp of ale. The bottle was half-empty by now. He had never been drunk before. What did being drunk feel like? Was it a tingling sensation? If so, he was definitely drunk.

Just then, he heard the door behind him open. As it did, he felt the telltale breeze on the back of his neck, waking him up just enough to remind him that he had six chapters to read for Monday, and that yes, he probably should go home and get some sleep now.

With a groan, Lesley extricated himself from his chair and prepared to excuse himself – when he caught sight on the young man who'd just entered.

He was wearing his hair tied in the same black velvet ribbon as he had been wearing on the day Lesley had accidentally knocked him down. With unmasked curiosity (hell, he was too drunk to care if anyone noticed him staring anyway), he watched the young man proceed directly to the table of chessplayers and take a seat.

"Are you leaving us now, Liz?" Jim garbled.

"Lesley!" both Mark and Ben corrected him this time. The other game rolled his eyes.

"No, I think I'd like to stay a bit longer," Lesley replied. He pointed out the man with the ribbon in his hair to them. "That chap there – what's his name?"

Jim squinted at the young man and frowned. "Chap? I thought he was a lass."

"Jim! And that's… Timmy, I think. I don't know his last name though," said Mark.

"Oh, him!" Ben too was gazing at the stranger now, plump mouth twisted into a frown. "I've heard he's strange…"

At precisely that moment, Timmy glanced up from the chess board to find all four men staring quizzically at him from across the room. He froze, eyes bugging out like a Hobbe caught at sword point.

Lesley clucked his tongue thoughtfully. "Look now, I think we've startled him. Let me go over and talk to him – apologize, maybe?"

"That'd be good," Ben said, before adding, "and tell him I'm sorry for calling him strange, yeah?"

"He doesn't even know you said that, Ben. Stop being an idiot!"

"He's just trying to be polite, Jim."

Ignoring the gamers, Lesley strolled over to the chess table. As he drew near, the players' chatter ceased. Lesley swallowed back a growing bundle of anxiety as he suddenly became very much aware that everyone at the table had their eyes on him. Timmy, for his part, watched him silently from beneath his choppy, too-long bangs. Expectation was written in the tension at the corners of his mouth and in the furrow of his brow.

"Um, hi," Lesley stuttered. He briefly considered offering his hand to shake, but quickly retracted that idea. "You're… Timmy, right?"

Timmy's mouth shrank into a hard line. "Yes."

"I'm Lesley. Lesley Brown."

Timmy dipped his head, eying the chess board. "Are you here for a game?"

In all honesty, it had been years since Lesley had played chess, and he was never any good at it to begin with, but for the sake of not coming across as a creepy, socially-awkward neophyte, he decided now might just be an ideal opportunity to hone his skills. "That would be… lovely."

The other players cleared a spot for him, and Lesley sat down directly across the board from Timmy. The other man was sizing him up now with – much to his dismay – a skeptical look. "You're white – make a move."

"Ah. Yes. Move… right."

Lesley blinked at the pieces in front on him and suddenly wished that he hadn't drunk that half-bottle of ale. It certainly didn't help that Timmy was watching him like a hawk now, judging his every move.

Eventually, he decided to move one of his pawns forward one space, if only because he was positive that at least was a legal move.

At least, he hoped it was.

Timmy screwed up his face. Reaching out, he advanced one of his own pawns two spaces ahead – the one directly in front of his queen.

"Is this your way of apologizing for knocking me over the other day?"

Lesley let out a startled sound.

"You don't have to do this, you know."

"I thought it'd be a nice gesture," said Lesley, once he'd gotten his wind back. When he moved his next chess piece, he barely glanced at the board. "I don't know many people here, see. You seemed… interesting."

"You can't move that piece there."

"Why?"

"Rooks can't jump."

"Oh."

He could tell he was flushing now, though he wasn't sure if it was brought on by the alcohol or the situation he currently found himself engaged in.

Definitely the alcohol, he told himself as he took another drink.

"You're a student."

It was a statement, not a question, but Lesley couldn't help but think there was a question in there somewhere. Whatever it was, though, went completely above his head, and all he could do was dumbly stutter, "Y-yeah."

"What subject?"

Oh.

"I'm just taking Old Kingdom History at the moment. Not my choice – I wanted to do anatomy."

As he put his bishop into play, Timmy asked, "And what do you think of Old Kingdom History?"

"It seemed a bit boring at first, but…" he paused, waiting for his brain to catch up with his words. Yup, definitely drunk. "But I did enjoy the bit with the Void and the Court. Dark stuff... I like that kind of thing, you know?"

When he amassed the courage to look up, he was shocked to find Timmy smiling at him. "I enjoy it too. 'Dark stuff', I mean."

Definitely a sociopath.

Lesley chuckled, secretly pleased that his suspicions were being confirmed. "Yeah, well we're onto new material now. William Black, I believe. Got six chapters on him for Monday. Seems like a bunch of goody-two-shoes nonsense to me."

"Oh, it is."

When he made the next move, Timmy leaned forward, so close that Lesley could feel his breath on the bridge of his nose – hot and wet and heavy with the reek of alcohol, like he pictured his own breath to be at that moment. "But you should do the readings anyways. You'll find it… informative."

"How so?" Lesley asked, wondering if Timmy planned on pulling away any time soon.

He wasn't. In fact, he seemed intent on leaning in even further, until he was close enough to whisper into Lesley's ear.

"Do you believe in magic?" murmured Timmy, voice slightly raw and slurred around the edges.

It was then that Lesley realized his opponent was every bit as drunk as he was.

Drunk or not, Timmy had him beat in less than a dozen moves.

Before he could so much as congratulate Timmy on his win, Mark, Ben and Jim were there to whisk him off. They wanted him to play some minor character or another in their game, and refused to take Lesley's blatant protests as an answer.

Somewhere along the line (though he didn't have a bloody clue when), he realized that the bottle of ale was empty and that they were not, in fact, playing Hobbes and Hallowmen anymore. His memory of the rest of that night – and for that matter, the following morning – was a bit vague. 'A bit vague', of course, meaning 'non-fucking-existent'.

He did, however, hear reports of the party the following week. Apparently, Jim had chased him around Spurious Nuttock wielding the Dildo of Impaling, shouting that only he could slay the Dread Dragon. Mentally, he made a note to have words with Jim over the incident.

Angry, stern, disproving words.