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"There are too many fucking people in this game. I'm kicking someone out." Church tosses his bag onto the table and sits heavily in the chair at the head, scowling across the room.
"Question. Why the fuck are you dungeon master every week?" Grif's been there an hour already, leaning back in his chair, waiting for Simmons to finish his shift so they can get this stupid game over with and actually do something fun. "It was Simmons's idea."
"Simmons couldn't run a game to save his life. And I don't see you volunteering for it, dipshit." Church empties out his dice onto the table, spreading out his map and the night's game. Grif glances around, watching Simmons lock up the store and pull down the shades, "CLOSED" glowing in reverse on the other side. He's here because Simmons asked him to be, and part of being supportive of his boyfriend or his partner or whatever stupid word his mother is using in her social circles these days requires him to attend asinine nerd events run by dickheads like Leonard Church. Who is a dickhead, if anyone was fucking wondering.
"I think Simmons would do a great job."
"Caboose, no one asked you." Church flicks one of the six-sided die at Caboose, who is trying to figure out where to sit -- he knows if he sits close to Church he'll get in trouble for being annoying, but Tucker is already taking his customary seat at the end and if there's anything Caboose hates, it's sitting next to Tucker. Donut files in a second later and Caboose looks relieved, sitting between Donut and Simmons, leaving Grif unfortunately exposed on his right side to Church, which is about as fun as breathing in asbestos.
"Fuck it, let's just start."
Grif had made the mistake of not giving a shit when it came to making a character for this stupid game, so the amount of work Simmons put into it is both mind-numbing and annoying. And, he figures, kind of endearing, in like a nerdy, stupid way. Which is sort Grif's main descriptor for all the things Simmons likes in general -- comics, re-runs of Heroes, Dungeons and Dragons, Magic -- that shit. Simmons had spent an entire evening they could have used for the useful shit in life, like ordering Chinese food and making out and fucking, if he was in the mood -- instead, Grif came out of it all with an awkward boner and a level one high-elf fighter named Tharivol.
So whatever.
"Caboose, it's your turn."
"Ah, okay. So I would like to ask the nice bartender lady if she has seen anything suspicious. I think." The d20 rolls out of Church's hands.
"Mmkay, success. You ask the bartender if she's seen anything--"
"And I also tell her how nice she looks this evening, since, you know, she's probably been working a long shift--"
"Caboose."
"Sorry."
Grif lets his head fall back and sighs heavily. Caboose and the bartender start chatting it up while Church tries to keep the exchange short -- once they lost track of a game because he kept figuring out more questions to ask some rando they met in the woods. He nudges Simmons with his elbow. "I'm hungry."
"You're always hungry, pay attention."
"No, but like I skipped lunch." Simmons tears his eyes away from Church to give Grif a whithering glance. "Okay, so I ate lunch. But I'm still hungry."
"We'll eat when we're done."
"They're gonna be pretending to hit on a bartender for like an hour. We could be hitting on real bartenders and getting free drinks."
"You said you wanted to be here."
Oh, this again. Grif sighs and nods. "Yeah, yeah I did." He glances down at his character sheet, decorated with bored, senseless doodles around the edges, much to Simmons's annoyance. "Okay, but like--"
"I don't have Cheetos here. You ate them all last week and you said you'd buy some more."
"Fuck this."
"You didn't kill the dragon, Tucker, you were burned and now you need to find the healing salve created by the elves who live in the--"
"Fuck that, you botched my roll!"
"No, I didn't. You're just a dick."
"Fuck you, dude, I'm out of here."
"Tucker, we aren't--"
Tucker groans and stands up. "Church, it's like ten on a Friday. I'm gonna go. Caboose, you comin' or not?"
Church laughs. "What? You're bringing Caboose with you? Okay, you're either actively trying to die alone, or you're an idiot. Either way? You fucking suck."
"Nah, man, having Caboose around is like having a puppy. Chicks eat that shit up."
"They buy me rootbeers and I am okay with that."
Church scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. He's a fucking dork like Simmons, but at least Simmons can enjoy what he does. Church approaches everything with the kind of oxygen-sucking aggression that makes it hard to even tolerate him, let alone like him. "Fine. Whatever. I'll just go home then."
"Yeah, dude, you have fun with that. Let's go, Caboose." Tucker pulls on his jacket and he and Caboose head out the backdoor of the comic shop while Church starts throwing things into his bag. Donut's trying to save the game, playing even as Church tugs the d20 out of his hand.
Grif stands. "Hey, dude? Maybe you should chill the fuck out."
"Maybe you should shut the fuck up."
"I'm just sayin', we'd all probably be up for this more if you didn't turn it into a flipping biblical trial every time you ran a game. This is like laying brick or something, man. It's supposed to be fun."
"Yeah, because you always have a blast."
"No," Grif admits. "But I'd enjoy it more if you didn't call me a garbage swilling asshat every five minutes, just because you feel like it."
Church is headed toward the back door, his bag already on his shoulders and his hand on the knob. He looks like he's about the say something, maybe flip them all the bird or bark out something snappy, if he could think of it, but instead he just shoulders out of the room, heading toward his car. Grif watches him go, half-pleased the game is over, and half feeling sorry for the guy. Simmons wraps a hand around his elbow. "Come on, let's go."
"Yeah...yeah okay."
They don't go out, but they do the next best thing which is order pizza and get each other off. Grif only puts on pants long enough to buzz in the delivery guy and get their dinner, shedding them once the door is locked. "This is so much better than that stupid fucking game."
"If you don't want to play then don't come." Simmons dabs his pizza with a napkin. "You just bitch the whole time anyway."
"The game is fine, it's Church who's annoying."
"Tucker says he doesn't have many friends."
Grif laughs. "Ha. Yeah, I fuckin' wonder why."
Simmons shrugs. "I guess he's got a girlfriend, but she's in Iraq. They were together a long time and she was pretty much his social circle." Grif thinks feels a little guilty, but swallows it down with his pizza. "He and Caboose went to high school together and Tucker is his neighbor,." He shrugs again. "He's just kind of got people to hang out with by default. I mean he's still a dick, he's just a dick who can't get over himself long enough to make any friends." He reaches out for another piece of pizza. "Wanna watch Buffy?"
Church, unlike the rest of them, actually has a real job. He went to college and graduate with a human resources degree, if you can fucking believe it, and he does something at a small company downtown. Whatever it is, it's apparently the most fucking boring job in the world, because when Grif goes in to see him, he looks fucking ecstatic to have a break. Not that he talks like it.
"What the fuck are you doing here, asshole?"
"You make it so fucking hard sometimes, you know that?"
"Don't hit on me."
"Look, I came here to say I was sorry." Church frowns. "For acting like a dick? At like, every game we play?"
"I just figured that was how you treated everyone."
"Dude."
"Okay, okay." Church leans against the wall, looking down into his coffee cup, seeming more melancholy than Grif can remember. "She's just been gone a long time, you know? And I mean, like, Caboose and Tucker are cool and everything, they just...Tex and me didn't need other people, really."
"That doesn't sound super healthy, man."
"No, I know that. And we've talked about that before, too. I just..."
"You miss her." He nods. "Dude, it's cool. You got a girl and she's not here. That fucking sucks. You just don't have to be an asshole to everyone."
"I've always been an asshole," he deadpans, and Grif laughs. For real this time. "But I see what you mean. Sort of."
"I'm not asking you to be fucking Mother Theresa to everyone. I mean, shit, I could be nicer, too."
"How about I'm still a dick to you, I'm just a dick less often. Or maybe I'm, like, a nicer dick."
Grif nods. "Okay. Fair enough. Guess I wouldn't want you to lose out on that special dipshit charm thing you've got going on there."
Church laughs now, too. "Sounds good." Then: "See you Friday?"
"Yeah, man. See you Friday."