Chương 21: Robin the Prodigy

"Tita, I can't bring these to the game."

"Why not?" Una was shocked. Last night, Una baked a big tray of Lengua de Gato (Cat tongue cookies). She frosted them with little Goblin faces and made eyes with silver dragees. The faces scowled and laughed and stuck out their tongues. She was short one silver eye for the last Goblin. Una had snickered to herself as she squeezed out a licorice eyepatch with her piping bag. The mob of Goblin cookies were carefully layered between sheets of wax paper in her favorite Tupperware. She'd been sure Robin would love them.

"This is kid stuff. Can't I just bring a bag of chips?" Una's glare grew hotter than the oven. Robin was lucky she was even letting him go to the game. Some of those boys were almost out of high school. She'd seen that sour-faced one with the bad haircut smoking outside the store. The 'role-playing game' sounded vaguely Satanic. Still, it got him out of the house. Robin needed friends, and could Una really complain about the occult? She'd spent three days petrified over some silly lotteria cards.

She didn't want to turn into one of those bluenosed old ladies fanning themselves over jazz music and Halloween. That nice boy, Duncan, had even offered to give Robin a ride home. She'd decided he could go and even tried to get in the spirit herself. She used the read-to-tatters copy of BLACK LABYRINTH magazine as a reference for her Goblin cookies. As they baked, she read through a bit of the magazine and wrinkled her nose. The prose was every bit as ham-fisted as the pulps Hector used to hoard. Boys!

Now, after all that, Robin turned up his nose at her special cookies. Una locked her hands on her hips and bore down on her ungrateful grandson.

"Do you think these cookies made themselves? Three hours, Robin."

"Tita, the other guys are gonna rank on me if I show up with grandma's cookies."

"Get over yourself Robin. You're going to go play make-believe in the back of a model train store." Robin's lip quivered. Too far! Una let out a long breath, full of things she wanted to say but would regret.

"You're making a fuss over nothing. No one is going to complain if you show up with cookies, especially mine. I've seen how those boys eat. If there's even one cookie left at the end of the game, you can bring whatever you want next time—as long as you buy it yourself."

"I'll just come with nothing then."

"No, you will not show up empty-handed. Always bring something to a party. Nobody likes a freeloader. You can either take these cookies, or I will go inside the store and present them myself," Una threatened.

"Una, no!" Backed into a corner, Robin quickly capitulated. Una grinned triumphantly the whole drive over. Boys! * The storm rolled in and all was dust and bluster outside the store. Robin couldn't even see the rival strip mall on the other side of Lomas Boulevard. As Duncan closed out the register, his dad pulled up in a midnight blue Lincoln Continental. Mr. Schweizer brought two extra-large pies from Pizza Castle: a pepperoni and a Castle Special with green chile. He knew Chuck, Vlad, and Sandy by their names.

Mr. Schweizer had the same goofy grin and manic energy as Duncan, maybe even more so.

"Dad, this is Robin Martillo," Duncan made the introduction. As they shook, Mr. Schweizer's hand trembled and his grip was weak. Robin wondered if he was drunk. He didn't smell like it.

"Aha! Robin the Prodigy. Dunk says your Dwarves are doing big things in the campaign. I expect to see you on the leaderboard soon."

"Just lucky, sir," Robin grinned. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Please, call me Dougie," Mr. Schweizer insisted.

"It's not luck if it keeps happening. Did you know, we had to rewrite half the campaign after your Prescote slew the Diamond Drake? That was not supposed to happen. But don't worry, we've got more surprises in the works."

"Not one word!" Duncan warned.

"Ha ha! It'll be big! You boys have fun. Roll well, don't break anything you can't fix." Mr. Schweizer collected the deposit envelope from the till and walked off with a limp. Robin noticed a bulge on his hip under his sport coat. The Lincoln's engine roared as it vanished into the dust.

"Is that a gun?" Robin asked.

"Yup. Big ol' forty-five. Dougie's too cheap to pay for the Brinks truck to come," Duncan explained.

"Thinks he's a cowboy."

"Woah."

"Yeah, he's not a bad shot either with his good hand. We go shooting all the time. We took JC to the range once. He couldn't hit the broad side of a barn."" Scoooout-sniper!" Sandy chanted. He pulled a big Haw! from Vlad.

"What happened to your dad? Was he in the military? It's cool if you don't want to say," Robin asked.

"It's no big deal. So in Switzerland, there's conscription. Everyone has to join the militia. He didn't get hurt there, though. He was an electrical engineer working on a big dam in Mozambique. They have chloroquine-resistant malaria there. A lot of people got sick. Dougie was unlucky. He got the cerebral kind and had to retire. That's a big part of why we moved here. The dry air helps. This store is like his retirement project. He loves models but he can't really build them anymore. This is the next best thing."

"That's awesome," Robin said.

"What about your dad, what does he do?" Sandy asked. Robin shrugged, he had no idea.

"Oh. Whoops. My fault, man." Sandy looked pained.

"De nada. (It's nothing.)" People always danced around the topic, but it had never bothered Robin. Back in Amarillo, his friends that still had their dads all wished they didn't. Lucinda brought men around all the time. The best part about them was when they left. Duncan closed up the store and cut the front lights while Vlad escorted the pizzas to the War Room. Robin lingered in the aisle. Everything looked so different with the fluorescents off.

In the dim light, the model train display really looked like a tiny town in the mountains. The wind howled outside and the front door jingled as Duncan locked up. They were sealed in. It was a cool feeling to be behind the scenes. Be cool. Don't screw this up, Robin reminded himself. He hoped everyone liked his parts of the story. The War Room lights were dimmed and a dragon's hoard of snacks was piled on the far table. Checking out the spread, Robin realized he'd made a big deal over nothing.

It wasn't like the other guys didn't have grandmothers too. Everyone had brought something. Sandy's mother had sent him with some kind of sweet baked noodle thing and a tray of cocadas, which he called "macaroons". They all laughed about the Goblin cookies, but in a good way. Sandy asked if he could bring one home to show his mom. Chuck's little sisters were both Girl Scouts. He'd brought Tagalongs and Thin Mints. Vlad brought a cooler full of all the weird sodas that never sold.

Robin had never tried or even heard of most of them. He saw Jamaica Cola, NuGrape, Nehi Chocolate, and TaB. Every time someone opened a new can, they all watched the first-sip-grimace and laughed like mad. After the snacks and chatter, they settled in for the rules explanation. Robin had already read through the handbook. Rapaxoris Adventures wasn't too different from Lords of Rapaxoris and the units used the same stats. There was a big stack of painted dungeon tiles and bits of terrain.

There were archways, broken pillars, skeletons, and treasure chests. Vlad lurked behind a three-panel cardstock screen with an evil grin. The front showed two dragon eyes at the end of a dark tunnel. Vlad's side was covered with charts and tables.

"OK, Robin. Have you got 'em?" Duncan asked. Robin had been looking forward to this. Tucked into his borrowed copy of the rulebook were a set of 3x5" index cards. He'd generated characters based on their hero units from the LOR campaign. The lined side had all their stats: strength, wounds, saves, armor, and experience. On the blank sides, he'd sketched a little insignia and written up a backstory. The guys divided up the characters and passed them around, so everyone could read them all.

"These are pretty good!" Vlad seemed surprised.

"Smart choices on the feats. Check this out: this Dwarf fought in Dagbellow Dell and that's the Elf that zapped JC's Beastmaster at the Battle of Macamill. Where's the Berserker that survived a melee round with Aravitrimore?"

"That's Burbak Breakbow," Robin explained.

"He's still on Death's Door. Maybe next game we can add him."

"It's so cool he survived! Prescote pulling the Black Scroll was legendary," Chuck gushed.

"I'm gonna write up a story like this for my Templars."

"Go for it! It makes the game way more fun," Robin urged. He was deeply relieved that everyone dug his characters. He'd kind of expected to get laughed at. Duncan shuffled the cards up and let each player pick one. Sandy got Yureg the Whirlwind, Chuck got Cinnabinathi the Ranger, and Duncan got Hilg Stonesthrow." Ooh, you're the Purest of the Hawkmoon, Cinnamon-nasty," Sandy trilled in falsetto.

"Cinnabinathi, you illiterate goatherd," Chuck snapped back.

"Bog's beard. How did I get stuck with a bunch of tree-hugging tinkerbelles?" Duncan grumbled in a low brogue.

"Who'd you get, Robin?" Robin held up his card.

"Ha ha, of course," Vlad laughed. He'd drawn Bobbert the Apprentice.

"Don't roll a one," Duncan warned.