The Grim

Ill Met by Moonlight

     The smoke from the bonfire rose and filled the air, followed closely behind by the sounds of drunken teenage debauchery. Music from a speaker thudded on, shaking the ground and giving Marc an even worse headache than what he had to begin with.

    Was he even sure why he was here? The liquor in his cup was yet to give him an answer, though his (admittedly, more reliable) friends hadn’t either. Most of them were busy dancing or yelling obscenities or some other stuff he hadn’t really bothered to consider, mainly not wanting the images in his head. He traversed through the party, parting crowds with little effort. That was the easy part. The hard part was finding where Jace went.

    Upon scanning the crowds for a familiar dark grey beanie with a yellow pin, Marc came up with nothing. He glanced around a few more times, though nothing had changed, except for the level of liquid in his cup. He tapped someone’s shoulder. “Hey. You know where Jace is? Wears that raggedy beanie with a smiley face pin. About yay high,” he said, gesturing a few inches above himself. “He told me to come meet with him, but I don’t know where his ass went.”

    At first, the stranger scowled, though their expression quickly melted into that of sympathy and concern. From what Marc could see in the dim firelight, the stranger was definitely a girl. Or at best, a very feminine guy. He knew a couple of those; one was annoying and flamboyant, but the other was pretty chill. But that was besides the point. “Jace? The only time I saw him was when the party started, I think. He avoided setting up anything, saying he “didn’t want to mess it up”. My nonexistent ass. He’s just lazy,” the unnamed person said. From the tone of their voice, Marc had finally determined he was speaking to a girl. Well, he had that going for him. “Do you want me to go with you? Safety and numbers and all that. Or is it “safety in numbers?”

    “Safety in numbers,” Marc replied. “And yeah, it’s chill if you wanna come with. Just try to keep up, alright?”

    “Jesus. This feels like a reverse escort mission.”

    “Escort mission? As of … Prostituting?”

     “OH MY GOD -- no. In video games, when you have to bring somebody to a specific point, it’s called an escort mission. There’s typically a lot of danger involved and essentially suicidal people of which you’re escorting. I don’t know the word for that. I like to call ‘em losers, though, because they’re all so weak and whiny. A god has way better things to do, you know!”

    Marc didn’t know what to say. Instead, he conveniently avoided the conversation by taking a long draught from his cup and walking forward, hoping Stranger Girl couldn’t walk and talk at the same time.

    Unfortunately, that was far from the case. She managed to match his pace (though she occasionally had to jog to catch up), and continued to chat. Initially, Marc had managed to drown it out along with the other noises, but now it was getting difficult to ignore. “So, how d’you know Jace, anyway? Secret gay lovers? Boy next door situation?”

    He could feel his face start to heat up, either from the effects of alcohol or something entirely else. “No and no. Definitely not. He’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were in diapers, really.”

    Stranger Girl seemed interested. “Oh shit, man. That’s neat. I only know him because once he fell asleep and drooled all over my desk in third grade. There was so much drool. So much. It was like a wave of --”

    “I get it, I get it,” Marc said, putting his hand up. “As gross as drool is, that’s kinda a funny story. You have any more of those?”