Chapter Text
Vegas finds the main family bodyguards utterly dull. They look like they’ve been picked out of a catalogue – bland, run-of-the-mill, mass-produced pretty boys with no personality to speak of. Where the secondary family goes for threatening, intimidating, and rough-edged men and women who are experienced and savvy with a dramatic background, Kinn chooses his staff with only one criteria in mind: Does their face fit my aesthetics? The latest addition to his roster of glorified copy-pasted cheerleaders is called Porsche and looks at least somewhat intriguing. Still, a nice ass might capture Vegas’ attention, but it alone does not suffice to keep it. Porsche is noisy and, honestly, seems kind of dumb, which might be Kinn’s type (Tawan can attest to that); but Vegas has higher, more exquisite, and unfortunately very rarely met standards, and he’s firmly convinced that those won’t even be scraped by any of Kinn’s boy toys. That’s why he stumbles when he overhears a very surprising conversation one day.
Vegas is on his way to a meeting when Porsche’s volume-control fails him yet again and Vegas hears him loud and clear behind a closed door he passes by.
“-really want to get started, but Pete still hasn’t found a Dungeon Master.”
“Are you alright, Khun Vegas?” his bodyguard asks worriedly when Vegas has to catch himself against the wall. Vegas bats his hand away and straightens up. He must have misheard. Yes, Porsche’s uneducated country-boy accent can be difficult to understand. Vegas makes to continue when another voice, equally loudly, answers Porsche.
“I didn’t know Pete was this heavily into roleplay.”
“Are you sure you’re alright, Khun Vegas?”
Vegas clears his throat and gets his breathing back under control after that short coughing fit.
Inside the room, Porsche laughs. “Yeah, Pete doesn’t look like it, but he’s intense when it comes to roleplaying. He gets deeply immersed in the space and doesn’t emerge until the Dungeon Master tells him it’s okay to do so.”
“Khun Vegas? Khun Vegas, the meeting is about to start.”
But Vegas stares blankly at the opposite wall. Looks like somewhere among Kinn’s brick-shaped bodyguards, there is a polished diamond called Pete who meets the most important of Vegas’ standards.
-
It’s child’s play, finding Pete. All he has to do is march up to the one token dilf among Kinn’s bodyguards, put on his most pissed expression, cross his arms, and demand to see Pete because he has insulted Vegas on a personal level.
“What did he do, Khun Vegas?” Chan asks with that stoic demeanour of his.
“Oh, he knows what he has done. He’s been very bad,” Vegas snarls and makes sure to look extra intolerable. He doesn’t have all day and would rather not bother with repressed middle-aged men.
“Maybe I can talk to him first before-“
“I knew Kinn trains his attack dogs poorly, but I would have expected them to know that they have to follow the demands of the family, no matter how minor.” Vegas says with a poison-sweet smile.
Chan sighs. “Of course, Khun Vegas. I will get Pete.”
The man he returns with looks even more bland than all the others – if they come from a catalogue of Boring Bodyguards to Book, then Pete is on the cover. He has a bowl-cut that does absolutely nothing for his somewhat delicate face, a wide, exaggerated smile plastered on as if he’s going for the title of Mr. Affable, and an ill-fitting suit that hangs over broad shoulders. Maybe Chan got him the wrong guy.
“Are you Pete?” Vegas asks to make sure. Because if he isn’t, then the conversation they’re about to have is going to be a lot more awkward, and Vegas would prefer to not be the subject of ridicule among the main family goons.
“I am, Khun Vegas. And I apologise if I have insulted you, even though I am not sure on what occasion.” Pete bows respectfully, smile still in place. He’s right, of course, Vegas has never taken note of Mr. Affable here before, but now is the time to find out if that was a gross neglect on Vegas’ part. He adopts his most bored look and goes to test the waters.
“Straighten up.”
Pete does so immediately.
“Look at me.”
Pete looks him right in the eyes without hesitation. Alright, Vegas can work with this.
“Very good,” he says in a low voice.
And there it is, that little hitch in Pete’s breath and the way his eyes glow with subdued pride. Well, well, well. The rule is validated yet again – it’s always the unassuming ones that are the freakiest.
“Follow me. We will talk privately. This is, after all, personal.” He throws Chan a pointed look and then turns around, marching towards a hallway he knows leads to a rarely used storage room. With growing satisfaction, he hears Pete follow without needing another order. He’s even more satisfied at the insecure little tinge in his voice when Pete asks him:
“Uhm, Khun Vegas, where are we going? If you have an issue with me, then-“
“Quiet.” Vegas demands without turning around. It turns quiet.
When they reach the storage room, Vegas pulls the door open and then steps to the side, giving Pete a sharp smile as he indicates for him to enter. He sees Pete’s throat work on a heavy swallow, but, like the obedient little dog he is, Pete heeds the unvoiced order and enters the room.
Well. Time to see whether Pete’s obedience has its source in the internalised hierarchy, or in something else entirely. As soon as Pete crosses the threshold, Vegas follows and slams the door shut, then locks it. Pete whirls around with alarm at the sound and Vegas is right there to shove him backwards until he hits the wall. He crowds Pete against it and takes in wide, startled eyes and parted lips.
“Khun-“
“So.” Vegas says, cutting Pete off. “I’ve heard a little something about you, Pete, and I’m here to confirm it.”
Pete presses himself against the wall as tightly as possible to somehow get space between himself and Vegas, and manages to look like a proper damsel in distress right there. Vegas wants to eat him up like the evil dragon he is.
“Khun Vegas, I promise I’ve never insulted you behind your back. Whatever you’ve heard-“
“I told you to be quiet, Pete. You can do that, right?”
Pete clamps his mouth shut and nods.
“Very good. Now, Pete, the thing I heard about you surprised me quite a lot, and even more so after I saw you. But I’m the last person to judge a book by its cover. And when I turned the book around just now to read the synopsis, I found it quite interesting.”
Pete looks understandably confused, but he remains quiet. And so Vegas opens the book.
“I heard you’re looking for a Dungeon Master.”
It’s the way the breath Pete lets out relieves his entire body of tension, the way he relaxes and slumps forward, inadvertently bringing his body closer to Vegas’, which tells Vegas he’s in the right company.
“Khun Vegas, are you…” Pete averts his eyes almost bashfully. “I mean, I also don’t judge a book by its cover, but I wouldn’t have expected you to…” he clears his throat, “to be a Dungeon Master.”
It’s not what Vegas usually calls himself, or what any of his partners have ever called him, but he’s willing to adjust if this is what gets Pete going. And so he smirks, deliberately pursing his lips and successfully pulling Pete’s attention to them.
“I even have my own dungeon,” he purrs.
“You do?” Pete asks, eyes turning wide. “With one of those super expensive custom-made tables?”
That’s very specific, but Vegas is kind of amazed that this unassuming guy knows so clearly what he wants. And Vegas’ dungeon does, in fact, have an expensive mahogany table that is great for bending people over.
“Indeed,” he says and allows his eyes to roam Pete’s face. From this close, where the bowl-cut is mostly out of view, Vegas has to admit that he’s sort of pretty. His eyes are dark, framed by long lashes, his slim, pointed noise is almost cute, and his shapely lips look quite kissable. Those lips suddenly pull into a wide smile that looks entirely different from the false one Pete had presented earlier.
“That’s so amazing! I- sorry, Khun Vegas, I just can’t believe this! I’m kind of speechless.”
Ah, the words of a man who is desperate for someone to understand him, who he can finally be himself with. Vegas can relate. He reaches up and strokes Pete’s cheek.
“Don’t worry. It’s not something I tell many people. It’s rather…unconventional, wouldn’t you agree?”
Pete looks startled for a moment and his cheeks turn slightly red as he turns his head away from Vegas’ hand, but the smile remains. “Oh, definitely. I imagine even more so for the heir of a mafia empire. Since when are you into roleplaying?”
Vegas is yet again surprised that Pete seems so shy on the one hand but then talks so openly about these things.
“I think I first discovered that I have certain preferences at around 16?”
“Oh, nice. It was earlier for me, my friends and I tried it out during middle school.”
Vegas stares at him. Pete beams back.
“We tried various systems, but eventually settled for the classic. I tried being a Dungeon Master several times, but I’ve always been better at following than leading. But you seem like a natural leader, Khun Vegas.”
Vegas pushes down the many questions he has, the surprise bordering on shock, and the intense want that increases with each of Pete’s words, and pretends to be normal about this.
“Oh, I enjoy leading very much,” he says with a smirk. “Leading and mastering.”
Pete’s eyes curve with how widely he smiles. “And you would DM for me?”
Vegas wonders what exact circle of the scene Pete comes from that has him omit the O, because Vegas hasn’t really heard this slang before.
“I would be honoured to,” he says in the sultriest tone he can muster.
Pete lets out a laugh, a bright and warm little sound that startles Vegas with how pure it sounds. Where the fuck did Kinn net this fucked up, affable guy? “Great! That’s so great, really, thank you, Khun Vegas. Finally! I’ve been searching for so long and almost gave up hope. You don’t know how difficult it is to find a Dungeon Master.”
“Oh, believe me,” Vegas says, his sultry tone dropping for some reason, melted into something softer by Pete’s open enthusiasm. “I’m just as glad to have found a fellow companion.”
“Do you already have a campaign in mind or should we choose one together?” Pete asks. Campaign is a strange word for it, but maybe it’s normal in Pete’s circles.
“Well, I’ve got a lot of scenes in my repertoire, but maybe it would be better if we make sure it’s one we both enjoy.”
“Oh, don’t worry!” Pete says brightly. “I’m up for literally anything. I love trying new stuff I’ve never done before and I really don’t have any limits. So I’ll let you choose and surprise me.”
Vegas can’t help it – he gapes. Where has Pete been all his life?
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah! Although…”
Vegas holds his breath.
“Maybe we could do the first session at my place? Just so everyone can get acquainted. To test the waters, see if we’re a good fit.”
Vegas lets out that breath. “Of course. We’ll do something a little tamer for the first session, an introduction, if you will.”
Pete nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! Is there anything to prepare? Do you need more info?”
“Not at all. I’m great at improvising.”
Pete giggles and it almost breaks Vegas’ self-control to take Pete here and now. “As all great DMs are! I’m so excited, Khun Vegas, I really am.”
Oh, if only Pete knew just how excited Vegas is.
-
They agreed to meet a week later on a Saturday evening when both Vegas and Pete are relatively free. Pete asked Vegas to come to his personal room in the bodyguard’s quarters and Vegas can’t deny that he’s curious as to what his room looks like; whether it reflects Pete’s nature. For someone who appears so tame and unassuming, Pete is very sure of himself. There is no shame in his words, which is a bit of a pity because Vegas really enjoys those kinds of partners. But Pete is refreshing and Vegas can’t wait to discover what their dynamic is going to be like. And there will be a dynamic, that much he is sure of.
So on Saturday, 7:00pm on the dot, he strides through the main family compound yet again, only this time he directs his steps towards the area reserved for the staff. It’s a lot less ostentatious than the other parts of the headquarters, but still a lot more ostentatious than the minor family compound. Pathetic, to feel the need to flaunt one’s wealth like this. Vegas adjusts his custom-tailored silken shirt as he passes by a gym, a swimming pool, a gun range, and a mess hall until he reaches the personal rooms. It’s the fourth to the right, Pete said. Vegas tightens the grip on his bag – he’s travelling lightly today and only brought some basic equipment with him – and knocks. Immediately, he hears steps from the other side of the door that sound very much like they’re skipping, and a second later Pete smiled into his face.
“Our Dungeon Master has arrived,” he announces. Vegas only pauses for a second at the plural since he’s not one to judge little kinks like this, and enters the room.
Then, he pauses for a long time.
Because there are people in the room. Several people. And Vegas has the very distinct feeling that they are not here for the thing he is. Mostly because they’re sitting around a table laden with snacks, papers, and, strangely enough, several trays that have dice in them. And also because he knows them. They’re the main family’s entourage of catalogue bodyguards, including newest addition Porsche, who looks up when he hears Vegas enter.
“Yo, our DM! I honestly never would’ve expected you to play, Vegas. And to own up to it, too.”
“Right?” Pete beams from Porsche to Vegas. “I was surprised, too, but he’s really cool about it.”
There are two other guys at the table, one with glasses and one who’s really tall, both of whose names Vegas never bothered to learn. They stare at him as shocked as he imagines he himself looks staring at them. Vegas has never been more sure that he faces two people who do not like the same things he does.
“Uh, you alright, Vegas?” Pete asks carefully and Vegas slowly turns towards him. Something here is very, very wrong and Vegas has no idea how he got himself into this situation. He was – no is – absolutely certain that he hasn’t misjudged Pete; that all the little signs he read identify him clearly as one of Vegas’ people. The look in his eyes, his body language, the easy obedience – no, Vegas can’t be mistaken. And he’s not going to give up this easily. He meant it when he said he’s great at improvisation. He only has to get through whatever the fuck this is and then corner Pete alone and make sure his sub-dar isn’t broken.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting this many people.”
Pete’s worry evaporates and he grins again. “Yeah, we discovered by accident that we’re all into the same thing. Arm and Pol are in some online groups but never played around a table, and Porsche started with 3rd edition and DMs for his brother and his friends.”
Vegas nods like he has any idea what the hell Pete is talking about.
Arm and Pol look a bit unsure but they still wave at Vegas and mutter a “Good evening, Khun Vegas.” Porsche has less reservations and stands up to stroll over and lay an arm around Vegas’ shoulder like the disrespectful brat he is. If he were Vegas’, he would not be acting like this, but Kinn is known to spoil his playthings.
“And I see you even brought your own stuff. As expected from a well-prepared DM.” He points to Vegas’ bag. The bag Vegas will most certainly not unpack in front of these cretins who are not Pete.
“I realised on the way here that I took the wrong bag, so now all my…stuff is still back at the minor family mansion,” he says haughtily. Improv.
“No worries,” Pete chirps, undeterred by any and all negativity that tends to hang around Vegas, and he and Porsche drag Vegas over to the table where he gets assigned the place at the head. “Porsche brought his DM screen and I’ve got all the rulebooks here, and enough dice to build a hoard with. I’ve got a bit of a dice problem.” He grins sheepishly and pushes a large bag over to Vegas. “But don’t take the teal ones, they’re rolling terribly. Unfortunately, I left the jail at my grandma’s, together with my minis.” He sighs.
Suddenly, it hits Vegas like a full-grown charging beast just what he’s gotten himself into. And it’s even more terrible than anything he could have imagined. He’s surrounded by Dungeons of Dragons nerds. Who mistakenly think he’s one of them.
He knows of the game mostly because of Macau, who insists that “It’s super cool, bro, you’re just prejudiced!” His brother plays together with his friends and always tries to get Vegas to join them. “You’d make a great sorcerer, bro,” he would say, “infernal bloodline, specialised in evocation!” and then Vegas would cast vanish on himself and get away from the little devil. Because the play pretend game seems like the most pointless past-time in existence – Vegas does enough pretending in real life. He tried to get Macau some proper hobbies (like gun practice or human anatomy) that don’t involve him pretending to be some weird fantasy creature, but Macau is, unfortunately, as stubborn as him. And so Vegas continues to do things expected from him as the family heir while Macau continues to befriend dragons and build dungeons or whatever it is you do in that game.
“You said you forgot your notes, can you still run the campaign?” Pete asks. There he stands in his soft white T-shirt and baggy pants, hair parted in the middle and ruffled, pretty eyes wide with worry, and hands kneading each other in front of him. He looks exactly like the person Vegas has been looking for his entire life and Vegas just knows Pete is the half he’s missing. And if he has to get through a session of Dungeoning Dragons to get Pete, then it’s a sacrifice worth making. He’s great at both playing and pretending, this is going to be easy.
“I told you I’m good at improvisation. No problem.”
“Great! You know everyone here, right? Porsche, Arm, Pol.” Pete points at the respective person, then directs his thousand-watt-smile at Vegas. “And I’m Pete.”
He’s a fucking buffet, is what he is. Vegas is very hungry. He takes a piece of candied pineapple from the pile of snacks.
Pete and Porsche sit down on their respective seats and sort through the pile of papers they have in front of them. Vegas glances at them. They seem to be the character files – Macau showed his own to Vegas once. On there are the characters’ attributes, not unlike the personnel-files Vegas keeps. Skills, background, potential blackmail material and whatnot. He desperately scours the corners of his brain for what else Macau told him about the game and regrets not listening more closely to his brother’s ramblings.
“Okay, so we already created our characters,” Pete says and Porsche nods along. “They’re all pretty standard, so we can adjust them if they don’t fit your setting.”
“No worries, I can adjust the setting to make them fit.” Vegas says. It will be very easy, since Vegas has no setting to speak of and will be constructing it around the characters. At least that seems to be an impressive feat because Arm and Pol exchange an admiring look.
“Do you have much experience? Uh, Khun Vegas?” Arm asks, just barely remembering his status.
“You can drop the Khun for the evening,” Vegas says benevolently, and avoids the question. Porsche places a foldable piece of cardboard in front of Vegas that has several notes on it. Abilities, skill checks, difficulty classes, and a whole lot of numbers. Whatever the fuck this is supposed to be good for. Vegas pretends to know exactly what it’s good for and nods to himself. Then he realises everyone is looking at him expectantly. Fuck, does he have to start this thing? Is there some ritual to do beforehand? He should have played a session with Macau.
“So…tell me about your characters,” he ventures.
“Oh! Sure! I’ll start.” Pete clears his throat. “I’m Etep, I come from a peaceful village that was raided by bandits and everyone, including my family, died. I’m a Tiefling Warlock and my patron is a devil. I’ve made the pact to get stronger to protect those important to me. I’ll leave it to you who the devil is, but I thought,” he blushes slightly, “it would be fun to, like, have a romance with him or something. But I don’t have to if you think it’s silly!”
Vegas raises an eyebrow. That Pete wants to romance a devil sounds very promising and like the least silly thing he has heard the entire evening. “You can definitely be involved in a sex- I mean, a romantic relationship with a devil.”
Porsche is up next. “I’m an Elven Rogue called Fiat. My entire family was killed by fucking greedy-ass nobles who think they own everything, and I seek revenge. If your world has a thieves guild, then I’m a part of that.”
So the first thing that pops up in Vegas’ non-existent setting is a thieves guild. “Yeah there is one. You can be a member of the…mafia.”
“Very meta. I love it,” Porsche grins.
“I’m a female Gnome Artificer called Bee Littlethumb. I was thrown out of the academy when I blew up one of its towers and accidentally killed my best friend. Now I want to train to get better so that such a thing never happens again. Does that work?” Arm asks. He has by far the largest stack of papers and Vegas sees several tables and calculations.
“Sure. Coincidentally, my setting has an artificer academy.” Vegas says as he mentally adds it next to the thieves guild.
Pol introduced himself as The Shining Knight, which is a dumb name, but Vegas doesn’t say so. Maybe it’s normal in the world of Dungeons with Dragons. “I’m a Human Paladin of Pelor whose family got killed by an evil cult, and I seek their murderers to bring them to justice.”
Another dead family. There’s a pattern here. “I can work with that,” Vegas says.
His world now has a thieves guild, an artificer academy, a sexy devil patron, and an evil murder cult. That’s a good starting point. Right?
“Just a little heads-up,” Pete says, “We can’t play for too long today because Khun Tankhun wants us to watch the final episode of his drama. But it should still be enough time for session zero. And next time, we can jump right into it!”
Vegas highly doubts there is going to be a next time and almost says Thank fuck! but stops himself just in time.
“Well, if you’re in a hurry, we can also postpone this and-“
“No way!” Porsche interrupts vehemently. “We finally found our DM, so we’re going to use every chance we get to play. Come on, let’s stop wasting precious time.”
Vegas would have loved to waste some more time, but everyone looks at him like they’re children waiting for their birthday presents, and so he relents benevolently. If only he knew where to start this. Okay. This game is called Dragons in Dungeons. Then it makes only sense to start there.
“Alright.” He says. “Well. The group of you is in a dungeon-“
“We’re already a group?” Arm asks. “How did we meet?”
Fucking hell, how is Vegas supposed to know? “You met when you entered the dungeon.”
Pete nods along as if Vegas’ scrambled words are the height of storytelling. “So we all took on the same job and it led us to the dungeon?”
“Right. You were all tasked with finding something in the dungeon.”
“Oh, what am I looking for?” Pol asks.
Vegas resists the urge to roll his eyes. Why don’t they make up the reason why they’re here? But fine. “You,” he points at Pol. “Are looking for a clue to find the cult. You heard there is someone in the dungeon who knows something about it. You,” he points at Arm, “are looking for, I don’t know, ingredients for explosives because you ran out. You,” he continues to Porsche, and does not admit that it’s fun to rule over other people’s lives, “want a powerful dagger or something. It’s poisoned and, like, …powerful. And you,” he finally turns to Pete, “your patron wants you to enter the dungeon because there is something he wants from there. And you would do anything for your patron, isn’t that right?”
Pete nods enthusiastically. “Anything.”
“Good boy,” Vegas smirks. “Your patron is going to be so proud of you. Maybe he’ll give you a reward.”
“Wow, Pete, already getting a new spell at level one?”
Pete’s cheeks have adopted a pink tinge. “Who knows what he’ll give me.”
Huh. Okay, maybe this is kind of fun. At least the parts where he gets to fluster Pete.
“Anyway. You meet in this dungeon and-“
“How does it look?” Arm asks.
Vegas resists the urge to groan. “Like a dungeon. It’s dark. Kind of scary. There are candles standing around.”
“I look at a candle. Is there a symbol on it?”
What the fuck? The candles? Vegas puts them in a dangerous dungeon and they look at the candles?
“Yeah. There’s a skull on it. All very scary.”
“Detect Evil.” Pol says.
“...What?"
"I’m a Paladin,” Pol says as if that’s enough explanation. When Vegas glares at him, he quickly adds, “I can sense evil presences that are close by."
Vegas has no idea if there are evil presences in the dungeon he has only just created. Then he suddenly realises something. He's literally the god of this world, and can simply put evilness wherever he wants to. And because these idiots annoy him, he’s gonna put evilness everywhere. "Yeah, you detect horrible auras.”
“From which way? I go in that direction.”
Vegas is scrambling for content. His mental dungeon turns from a single room to a collection of rooms connected by pathways. “From your left.”
“Wait!” Pete yells, “Before he goes, I ask Sorry, but who even are you? And why are you here?”
Pol turns to Pete and answers in a slightly altered voice. That leads to a sudden elaborate conversation between the four characters who all inexplicably found themselves in Vegas’ dungeon. He stares from one to the other, listens to them introducing each other and explaining the motivation Vegas has given him filigreed with more details. It gives him some much needed breathing space and he realises that he needs to give them more reasons to talk so he can keep his own involvement to a minimum.
“Okay, then we all go to the left,” Porsche announces after they finished their introductions and established that Arm’s character is very cute and in need of protection while Porsche is shady and untrustworthy. Vegas did find it mildly interesting, but he really wants to get this over with so he can ask Pete about whether or not he’s up for the other kind of Dungeon Mastering.
Maybe he can cut this short. “You go and-”
“Check for traps!” Pete yells suddenly and Vegas is proud to say he doesn’t flinch.
“Okay?”
“Cool. It’s perception, right?”
Vegas nods. It’s probably perception.
“First roll of the night!” Everyone leans over as Pete takes a die and shakes it exaggeratedly in his hands. He makes a great show of it and Vegas wants to find it annoying, but only manages to find it endearing. Ugh. Pete finally lets go and the die flies into the tray.
“That’s a 3.” He announces with twitching lips. “Do I see a trap?” The others giggle. A 3. And what the hell is Vegas supposed to do with that information? He pretends to consider and skims the notes on the screen before him. It seems like low numbers aren’t good.
“You see no trap,” he settles on, even though in his mind he already decided there very much is a trap.
“Okay, I enter the corridor.”
“You step on a pressure plate and a spear comes out from the wall next to you and penetrates you.”
Pete gasps. “Not even a Dex-Save?”
“Dude, you already failed the perception check. Just take it like a man.” Porsche claps him on the back.
“Like a Tiefling,” Pete grumbles. “Alright, how much damage?”
Vegas considers the shiny dice in front of him. Macau always speaks of “rolling damage”, so maybe Vegas should let the dice decide Pete’s pain. He’s used to a more direct way of inflicting it, but maybe this can be fun, too. He wonders if there is electricity in this game. Something to find out later. For now, he takes the largest die and rolls it. “19.”
“What?” Pete yells. “19 damage? That much from a spear?”
Apparently that was wrong, but also Vegas is the Dungeon Master, so his word is law. “19 damage.” He insists. “The spear has jagged edges.”
“Well, I’m dead!” Pete throws up his arms.
“Unconscious,” Porsche corrects.
Well, shit. Vegas didn’t mean to kill Pete, he just wanted to hurt him a bit and see how he reacts. And while he did want to cut this short, Pete looks very disappointed, which is the exact opposite from Vegas’ plan. Well, time for more improvisation.
“Yeah, you’re unconscious, but in your mind you hear a voice that says,” he drops his voice and feels utterly stupid about it. The things he does to get into people’s pants. “Pete, you offered me your services, so if you promise to serve me well and be loyal to no one but me, I can bring you back to life.”
Everyone stares at him. Vegas pretends that this is all planned and normal and he’s not lost all the dignity and respect he’s built up in several years by the means of a single sentence.
“Woah,” Pete breathes, then clears his throat and reverently drops his voice as well. “Yes, I promise to be loyal to only you.”
Vegas finds himself the centre of attention again as the rest seems to wait with bated breath on what he has to say. They don’t seem to think him ridiculous, and it doesn’t appear like they want to make fun of him, either. The opposite, really. They look impressed. He slowly continues. “Good. Then I will give you life, but I will also own that life.”
“Sick,” Porsche whispers to Arm, who nods wide-eyed.
“Yes, master,” Pete says and locks eyes with Vegas. There is something very real in Pete’s gaze. Something that can’t be acted. Vegas fucking knew it. Pete is his people.
Vegas’ voice is slightly husky when he speaks. “And you come back to life in the dark corridor.”
“I immediately run over and Lay on Hands,” Pol says.
“And I ask him What was that?”
Like that, they’re back to character talk as they needle Pete for his backstory. Pete doesn't tell them about the voice in his head, or his devil patron, and Vegas prides himself in the knowledge that it's a secret between him and Pete. Then he suddenly realises how dumb that thought is - of course the others know, they literally heard them talk about it! This game is doing strange things to his brain and Vegas doesn’t like it.
"Alright, Insight check!"
Vegas is pulled from his considerations about whether Pete is a good enough reason to have his brain messed with by Dragons amidst Dungeons, when Porsche slaps the table. Pete glares at him and Vegas realises he must have missed something.
"What?"
"I want an Insight check to see if Etep is hiding something."
Vegas frowns - Porsche knows he's hiding something, why would he ask? When he voices as much, he's met with four indignant pairs of eyes.
"I'm no dirty meta gamer!" Porsche proclaims and the others nod solemnly along. "Fiat has no idea what's going on n Etep's brain. So. Insight!"
He rolls his die with vicious righteousness.
"Deception!" Pete announces instantly and rolls as well and Vegas is yet again at a loss. He just hopes Pete's number is better than Porsche's.
"16." Porsche says and Pete's expression turns sour. "14."
Porsche preens and looks expectantly at Vegas. "So? I have all the insight. Do I think he's hiding something?"
"Yeah. You do. But given that you only just met, there are thousands of things he could be hiding. You think he might be hiding something about his family."
Porsche looks disgruntled. "Why does it feel like you're playing favourites?"
"Technically, the DM is right," Arm jumps in and Vegas considers maybe giving him a power-up or whatever people do here to get better at stuff.
"Yeah, fine, whatever. Let's just go and see what evilness Pol has detected."
Vegas has no idea what kind of evils there are in this game of From Dungeons to Dragons. Oh. Well.
"You go through the corridor. It's very d-"
"I have Darkvision!" Three people yell, while Pol mutters something about the light of Pelor guiding him.
"Okay?" Vegas shrugs. "This is special darkness, though. You can't see." He adds, just to be petty about it.
Instead of arguing, everyone nods, as if Vegas' words are the absolute truth. This game does have some positive aspects about it, Vegas has to admit.
"Pete, you can see, though."
Porsche points at him indignantly. "Playing favourites!"
He's right, of course; people Vegas wants to fuck have special abilities in this setting, but he won't admit to that. He ignores Porsche and turns to Pete.
"The voice in your head says I can be your eyes, if you give them to me."
Pete gulps. "Like, literally?"
"Of course not literally, I was being metaphorical!"
"Is this Vegas to Pete or the devil to Etep?" Arm asks and Pol giggles.
Vegas clears his throat. "Anyway. Pete, you see that the corridor leads to a large cavern. And right there in the middle…" he pauses dramatically and looks to those fools (and Pete) in front of him. They stare back, excitement in their eyes. "...you see, shrouded in darkness…" These dramatic pauses are great. At home, Vegas never gets to be dramatic because his dad usually gets annoyed whenever Vegas doesn't talk as efficiently as possible. But here, everyone waits for him to talk. "...a gigantic dragon."
"What!" Pol yelps.
"Oh my god we're literally level one!" Arm frantically leafs through his papers.
"We're gonna get a TPK in the first session." Porsche groans. "Well, except for Pete, who got himself a sugar devil."
Vegas likes the sound of this very much. But also, they're not going to die, right? It's just a dragon. According to the name, they're everywhere in this game.
In that moment, a phone rings and everyone flinches.
"Sorry, that's mine." Pete fishes it out of his bag. "Oh, fuck! I forgot about Tankhun's drama!"
That shocks them almost as much as the dragon did. For once in his life, Vegas is grateful to Tankhun for getting him out of this torment. But on the other hand…he really wants to know how they would have handled the dragon. And what about Pete and his patron? And all those dead friends and families?
"Thank you so much for this, Khun Vegas," Pete says and bows. "It was tons of fun!"
Vegas stared at him. Fun? With how Vegas muddled through this entire ordeal?
"Yeah," Porsche nods. "Very intense. Though that was to be expected from you."
"Thanks, Khun Vegas! You're not as scary as I thought," Pol says and earns himself a slap on the head from Arm.
Vegas swallows heavily. Not as scary. But scary is all he has. If he's not scary, then how are people going to respect him? If he's not feared, he'll lose the one thing that’s truly his. What has he been thinking, playing this dumb game just to get into Pete's pants? If he wants Pete, he can just take him! He's Vegas Theerapanyakul, after all, and Pete is just a little bodyguard. Vegas should have just kidnapped him.
"Yeah." The little bodyguard looks at him with a smile. "I'm so glad you offered to be our DM, because you’re really great at it. I can't wait for next session! Oh, we should exchange numbers for easier planning!"
Vegas, exchange numbers with Kinn's dumb bodyguards? To play Dragon’s Dungeons? No fucking way.
5 minutes later he's in a group chat called "Mansions and Mafiosi".
"Alright! Thanks again, DM!"
"Yeah, thanks, man!" Arm and Pol wave at him before they leave the room. The session is over, but they're still not calling him Khun? The disrespect. Vegas is going to kill them. Or at least their characters.
"Ugh, now I want to watch that dumb drama even less," Porsche groans as he follows them. "It's gonna give me 5d6 psychic damage."
Now, only Vegas and Pete remain. The atmosphere is slightly awkward. Vegas is not used to this - normally he owns the atmosphere, it adjusts to whatever he wants it to be. Ideally, he wants it to be charged with sexual tension right now, but it just won't budge.
"That was really nice, Khun Vegas."
Why is Pete the one to still go all Khun on him?
"It was fine," he admits, and realises with horror that it’s the truth.
"So, uhm…I didn’t mean to pressure you or anything. If you don't want to keep DMing for us, just say so and I’ll tell the others. I would understand."
Thank fuck. Then Vegas can try and pursue Pete in a different way that doesn’t involve Vegas degrading himself by playing a nerdy fantasy game.
"No, I can keep being your master."
Vegas' brain goes ????? at his mouth.
"Really? Great! Because I had so much fun today. I really want to know who my patron is." Pete grins at Vegas. "At least his voice is really hot."
Vegas knows this is a stupid fucking idea, but apparently Pete is a rogue in real life because he stole Vegas' rationality. (He really wants to unthink that thought because it has got to be the worst pickup line in existence.)
"Yeah."
"Cool! Then I'm looking forward to next session!" Pete waves and leaves.
Vegas stares after him. He realises he and Pete were alone and he didn't try groping him. Or at least making him uncomfortable with suggestive words. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a groan of frustration.
Okay. One more session. One more session and that’s it, and if he doesn’t have Pete afterwards, he's gonna give it up. Pete isn't even all that great anyway! No! He’s not! Really!
Vegas stomps out of the room and shoots his brother a message.
Macau. Get out your stupid fucking nerd books and put them in my room. If you don't ask what I need them for, I'm buying you a PS5.