Two Guys, a Goth, and a Pyromantrix

Before the three grown men get ready to dive into a world of fire lizards and damp subterranean rooms, Martin and Ian get their smoking out of the way. Gay Martin hangs out in the kitchen until the boys are finished with their preparatory bong rips.

“Alright, we’re finished, you big, mopey queen,” cries Martin from the living room, and GM soon returns to the area looking especially sullen.

“Is this how it’s going to be all day?” asks GM with an appropriate amount of guilt-inducing self-righteousness.

Ian shakes his head wildly; his eyes are closed the entire time. “Don’t worry, silly. He just thinks he’s funny.” A nasal screech builds before Ian breaks into open-throated laughter directed at Martin.

“Fuckin’! Ian! You!” cries Martin before flopping his head back onto the couch. He frowns emphatically in an attempt to inspire pity. This only causes Ian to laugh harder. Gay Martin, entirely sober and annoyed at this point, is finding it hard not to leave.

“Can we just get started? You guys are being ridiculous.”

Martin’s head snaps upright, and he begins smiling a scrunched smile. “I totally see what you mean about this guy’s mudstick.”

“Dude,” Ian mutters at Martin. “That was private.” GM doesn’t even understand what a ‘mudstick’ is supposed to be.

“Ian, hey.” GM has to work for a second to get Ian’s attention. “Do you have the books here?”

It takes a second of wide-eyed, unfocused existence for Ian to attempt to figure out what books GM is talking about, abandon that thought process and then come up with a totally inappropriate adapted movie quote. “Books? Where we’re going, we don’t need books!” Ian won’t remember this very well later, but at this moment he experiences the most pride he’s ever felt.

“Do you have dice? Pens? Pencils? Paper? If we don’t have those, this is just going to end up being an approximation. Do you want me to call Leanne?”

“Uhhh, yes. Call the little one and have it bring forth the tomes and trinkets,” mandates Ian, now up and marching about the room triumphantly, though he’s not sure over what exactly he’s triumphed.

“Little one?” asks Martin.

“A miniature woman. A pocket-sized female human,” says Ian. “Dude, I hope you can not make fun of a midget.”

Martins mind reels. “WHAT? She’s a…an actual little person? I thought she was just short.”

“Well, she is short,” GM says condescendingly. “I mean, she’s a dwarf.”

“You…son of a bitch. I know.” Martin struggles to get to his feet, manages, and then walks off to the kitchen. Ian still seems quite triumphant.

A short time later, Leanne arrives with the appropriate equipment. Ian glances at her awkwardly and flips through the books. Gay Martin chats with Leanne about Ian and Martin being obnoxious. Martin wanders back from the kitchen.

“JESUS CHRIST, IT’S AN ELF!” he yells upon seeing Leanne. She’s a diminutive blonde woman, and not bad-looking considering she’s a foot and change shorter than Martin usually likes his women. Gay Martin looks up with disgust. Ian shakes his head and smiles. Leanne looks as though she’s mentally adding Martin to a list of people to murder.

“Excuse me?” she says with expected sass.

Martin approaches her cautiously, occasionally turning away from her and then back to see if she’s real. Once he gets close, he leans down to her. “How’d you make your way down from the North Pole, little lady?” Martin asks, his voice reaching as high as it can while his throat is scratched up from all the smoking. “Jeez, at that height you could probably give a standing blowjob!” His eyes meet hers; bloodshot meets steely conviction.

Her fist is a meteoric blur that rises quickly from her side to his crotch, sending Martin crashing and folding into a pathetic heap at the foot of the couch. This is the first time that Gay Martin laughs since his arrival.

While Martin recovers pathetically on the floor, the rest of them discuss the game. Ian usually serves as the Dungeon Master, but he claims to need a few more turns with the bong to be appropriately inspired. Leanne shares it with him while GM retires to the kitchen again.

“Okay, they’re finished, you big gay bastard!” yells Martin from his position halfway back onto the couch. GM comes back and sits down. The group is now gathered around Ian’s low coffee table with sheets of paper and books spread around.

Despite Gay Martin being the only coherent one, Ian is leading the show. He has his guests prepare their characters.

“Well you know I’m gonna be a pyromancer,” says Leanne. “Fweeeoooo!” She pretends to be blasting Martin with fire, but the sound effects are too terrible for anyone to really take notice.

“Why?” asks Martin.

“’Cause fire’s just…my thing. I think my dream job is…there are things. I set them on fire, and then someone has money for me! ‘Good job with the fire, Leanne!’ And then I buy things and set them on fire.” It’s at this point that Martin feels blessed, to a certain extent. He is currently doing one of the nerdiest things imaginable with a goth, a midget, and one of the craziest people he’s ever met. Martin only wishes another reliable party were present to corroborate this story later.

“But what do you actually do?”

“She’s also an accountant at my firm,” replies GM. Ah, the standard workplace comedic relief.

“During the day,” Martin narrates in his best movie trailer voice, “she’s an accountant in the city, hiding her identity by never crossing eye level. But at night! At night she transforms into the incinerator, the cleanser of evil, burning away the city’s sins. She is…Supermidget.”

“I hate you.” Leanne looks at her character sheet quietly.

“Whatever, pyromidget.”

“Maybe Martin can pretend to be a decent person. Is that a class?” Martin does not appreciate humor coming from some deformed excuse for a comedienne.

Ian flips frantically through the pages, checking out the different types of characters. He’s very worried that he’s forgotten something. “I…don’t think there’s just a ‘good person’ class. He could be a paladin or something. I’ll keep looking.”

“And what does the gay me usually play as?” asks Martin.

“Vampire war princess, motherfucker."