Ancilla

Kether (part 3)

   It was around the time of my twenty-sixth birthday that I made the decision that I was ready to rejoin the human race.

   I had managed to secure a house-sitting job for the duration of the summer, so provided I found somewhere to store my books and miscellanea after that situation ended, I had no need to worry about the logistics of studying abroad, at least not regarding my worldly belongings; meanwhile, my bank account was slowly starting to fill from a part-time evening job that I had taken with the symphony. It involved using the telephone. Unlike my other telemarketing jobs, though, the people I called to renew lapsed subscriptions or to solicit donations were mostly happy to take the call, even when they had no money to spare, which in itself was a pleasant surprise – but even better, working for the symphony meant I got free tickets. They weren't seats in the best parts of the concert hall, but still, they meant I could attend performances every other weekend or so for free. I thought I could get used to that.

   I was even able to attend concerts in that building and enjoy them for their own sake without being consumed by the memory of the first concert I'd ever heard there, and the man I'd sat next to throughout the performance.

   I was returning from the calling room and was about to make for the elevator that would carry me to the floor my dorm room was on when my attention was distracted by the smell of fresh pizza. I hadn't had time to eat much before I had to go to work, and that had been a few hours ago. I started trying to identify toppings by smell. Pepperoni, I thought, and onions. Mushrooms? There were probably green peppers on there, too, and whatever cheese was used, there was a lot of it. Just thinking about it made my mouth water.

   Then I heard a voice say, "Roll for initiative."

   Given that I was living on the geek side of campus, the chances of my stumbling into a campaign in progress in my own residence hall were pretty high – I'd probably passed the gamers before, come to think of it, but was too wrapped up in my angst to take notice. I wondered what game they were playing. I also wondered if I could spare ten dollars or so to order myself a pizza when I got back to my room. By now my stomach was growling.

   I wandered over in the general direction of the gamers.

   "Oh, no! No way. I don't believe it."

   "What did you roll?"

   "Three."

   "Uh-oh. Attempt at stealth failed miserably there. Well, we'll see. Maybe the balrog will have a bad stumble or something."

  "An Elven thief against a balrog? How could things get any worse?"

   The die hit the table again, three times in succession, making a clattering sound.

   "I'm doomed!"

   "Well, Kiera's doomed, anyway. Probably. Sorry."

   "Hah. He likes being doomed by dungeon masters," one of the other gamers piped up.

   Really.

   My stomach picked that moment to growl exceptionally loudly. To this day, I have no idea if it was the pizza that it was growling for, or something else, but whatever triggered it, it was apparently loud enough to be heard, as I found myself invited over to help finish off the pizza.

   "Is this a closed group, or do you have room for any other players?" I asked between bites.

   It is a truth universally acknowledged that every all-male group of role-playing gamers must be in want of a tall, redheaded female geek, especially if the female geek in question plays the game the group is playing and expresses interest in joining the campaign.