Attack of Opportunity
I was recently exploring Anne Lamott’s conception of Shitty First Drafts™, and needed something to experiment with.
Having discovered Dungeons & Dragons later in life, I had this idea for a nerd who was so committed to the game that he couldn’t see the interested woman right in front of him.
It’s more absurdist portrait than story, but for RPG fans, it may bring a lighthearted break to your day.
"Do you wanna come up?"
Of course he did. He was also, unfortunately, exhausted.
"You probably hear that all the time," she said.
No. This was a rare invitation. It's just, he was up for the morning shift. And tomorrow would probably be a doozy too, with the Super Bowl and everything.
Not that he'd be watching. Adult men wearing tights, chasing a little ball? Grow up.
"Tomorrow's Sun-dayyy!" Her voice went up at the end.
A day for sleeping in. He hadn't even planned to do anything tonight. He only answered the phone because his brother owed him for the Paladin cards. He really should update his caller ID.
So here they were. Her, with eyes like gravity wells. Face and hair optimized for attraction. A mind begging for a challenge.
And him.
“I’ve got key lime pie upstairs.” Her manicured eyebrows bounced.
He'd have to say something soon. Her gaze was soft, expectant. It said, "I've never tracked an owlbear under a new moon on my favored terrain."
She kissed him. Caught him by surprise. He leaned into it.
Damn.
He'd forgotten that everyone leveled up last session, and he hadn't even looked at his new spells.
What am I thinking? he chided himself.
"What is it?" she said, smiling, and fluttering her lashes. "Am I silly?"
How could he explain that, though scorned in Fifth Edition, a Ranger -- especially one bonded to a hawk like Meadowsbane -- was a devastating presence on the battlefield at any level?
"Sandy's going to be out aallll night." She bit her lip, then climbed the stairs to her apartment, shoes in hand. Halfway up, she turned, and mimed hauling in the rope that connected them. An impressive feat of Acrobatics.
It had been a while since he’d eaten. "I do like key lime pie."
Upstairs, he sat at the counter and surveyed the modest two-bedroom she shared. Typical Human female. He sensed no other Humanoids nearby, but then, he didn't have Detection. Yet. He kicked himself again for forgetting the homework.
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” she said, opening the fridge. "Aww," she pouted. "I must have eaten it. Guess we'll have to make dessert," she said, winking. She hung up her jacket and disappeared into the bedroom.
There was no way they had time to make key lime pie. It has to chill for like four hours. That's a Short Rest, at least.
The lights went out. "Did we lose power?" she called from the bedroom. "Can you see?"
Obviously. Half-Elves have Darkvision. Even Meadowsbane knew that.
Candlelight filled the room. She walked out in silk pajamas. His trousers suddenly tightened, clearly bewitched with a Spell of Greater Enchantment. He didn't need Guidance to see events unfolding according to the will of an unseen agent. A Long Rest now would cost him half a day tomorrow. He'd miss the rendezvous at Beaner's. His trousers begged him to stay. Be Human. His mind flayed.
What do I do?!
And then, his finger found the edge of destiny.
"Wisdom saving throw!" he yelled, mining a D20 from the deep pocket of his cargo shorts and rolling it right there on the counter.
"Saving what?"
Critical hit! He could easily escape without risking an Opportunity Attack. He Dashed past her, knocking her Prone. Flying down the stairs, he unlocked the car remotely, and was gone.
Back home, he threw his keys on the table. Phone. Wallet. In the wan light of the chandelier, he saw the dice, too, cast down. Only seven dice to create worlds, shape them, and bring them to their knees.
Or six dice. Wait, six dice? He took a frantic tally. D4, D8, D6... He stared at the empty space where the D20 should have been.
He tossed couch cushions. He raided the car, flipping the mats and rummaging the center console. He turned out the pockets of his cargo shorts.
The twenty-sided die. The arbiter of chance. The determinant separating a life of will from a life battered and adrift in a sea of misfortune.
Gone.
He picked up his phone.
u up?
had a great time tonight
i’m up
oh cool
what do you want
i think i left something at your place
ru for real right now?
a twenty-sided die
i don’t have it
oh
ru sure
jk i found it
AWESOME! can i come get it?
not now. monday night?
i really need it tomorrow
can’t. super bowl
u could comeHe stared at his phone. Of course. Other people might actually be watching the game. With chips. And beer.
His character sheet lay on the coffee table, beside his copy of _The Player's Handbook_. He thumbed idly to the pages on the Level 15 Beast Master while he considered his next move.
Tomorrow’s session would be fraught. Enemy warlords. Booby-trapped temples. Critical fumbles and saves. And no die to guide his fate. Maybe football's not so bad. Maybe Sandy would be there.
The words "Share Spells" caught his eye on the page below.
He sat in silence for a moment.
cool
have funHe walked to the game cabinet. He pushed aside the tabletops and party games, revealing a small bag. Its embroidery read, "Friendship is Critical". He sighed. The bag had been a gift from his brother on his 28th name day. He stuck his hand inside, and withdrew an oversized pink D20. It glittered in the light, and had ponies where the numbers should be.
He kissed the die, then held it up to his minifigs so Meadowsbane could see.
"Sleep well, friend. Tomorrow, we fly!"