Geekhood Read online

  …and wake up on the floor in a heap to the sound of my alarm clock, seemingly trying to eat the pillow that has followed me from the bed.

  IM: Mor-ning!

  At this point, I think I might need professional help.

  There’s nothing like a deadline to focus the mind. But it’s not Precipitation in the North-East and nor is it toiling my way through the text of Of Mice and Men that has my brain working overtime this particular Tuesday morning. And it’s not worrying about why Matt chose a different route to school. No, my waking hours are taken up with thinking about Friday.

  It’s got to be Just Right.

  Just Right means I’ve got to look at the adventure we’re playing that night and find a way of worming Sarah in. I’ve already sketched out her Character Profile in my head and pretty much decided that she’ll be a Level 3 Sorceress. I could have made her a Level 4, but that might seem a bit too much like favouritism; after all, Beggsy and the boys have been playing this campaign for a couple of months and have only just earned their Level 4 spurs. And I’ve got to find a way of getting her in on the Game without upsetting the balance of the story too much. The story which, I might add, was penned by my own fair hand.

  For those of you new to the Game, I’ll keep this simple: I’m the Dungeon Master (hereafter known as the DM) and Sarah and the rest of the merry band of adventurers will be playing the Game in their guises as Player Characters (PCs). As the DM, I decide what they can see and describe it to them. The outcomes of any encounters with monsters, traps and magic spells are determined by rolling different dice – some of which have as many as twenty sides. The score is then balanced out against certain characteristics on their Character Profile, such as Strength or Dexterity, and an outcome is determined, like they kill the monster …

  IM: Win!

  … disable the trap …

  IM: Mega win!

  …or bad things can happen, like a spell backfiring.

  IM: Fail.

  Matt’s Mage has nearly died three times and had to be resuscitated by Ravi’s Lazarus Potion. Ravi’s an Acolyte aligned to the deity G’thraax. Beggsy’s a Dwarf.

  IM: It fits.

  My problem is that Beggsy and the boys have been working their way through my adventure (Tomb of the Sleepless) and have been accruing Experience Points, which increase their abilities. Shoehorning Sarah in as a Level 4 Sorceress might cause some offence, but then I don’t think she’d put up with being a less able member of the group. I think I’ll make her a Level 3 and give her a Summon Greater Demon spell on the quiet. I ought to give her a name as well; we don’t want play to be held up by umming and ahing through names. It ought to be something a bit slinky – but not too slinky – something like… I rack my brains for female names. Nothing.

  IM: It’ll come.

  With that thought settling in my mind and Mrs Hughes blathering away in the background about John Steinbeck’s use of slang, I then consider how much time I’ve got to paint Sarah’s figurine. I’ve done the black wash, so if I put the base colours on tonight, I can do highlights tomorrow, lowlights on Thursday and…D’oh! No time for embellishments. This is going to have to be a rush job. I might have to employ Mum’s hairdryer to help the paint go off quicker.

  Then there’s the Lair. The setting’s got to be Just Right. Normally with the guys, we just sit round my gaming table, stick some background music on and get gaming. But I want to evoke a feeling of something more mysterious for Sarah. I can see us all, huddled over the maps, lit only by candles. If only I had some pewter goblets; that’d be good. And some incense. I ought to buy some incense.

  And I ought to sort my room out, get it properly unpacked and tidied. I suddenly do a mental itinerary of the books that line my bookshelf; not so much mysterious and dusty tomes as a catalogue of escapist nonsense absorbed by a fourteen-year-old whose tenuous grip on reality is getting weaker by the day. When I left it this morning, my Lair looked like little more than a theme park for the emotionally stunted.

  IM: Tony’s got books…

  He has. Some pretty impressive-looking ones too: the big, leather-bound sort. There ought to be a dictionary and perhaps an atlas – might make me look a bit more travelled. I make a mental note to siphon off some of Tony’s library and supplement my own. This whole process is more complicated than I thought, but it’s got to be worth the effort. The bell goes, signalling the end of a lesson I didn’t hear.

  As if in response, my mind gives me a brief but crystal-clear vision of Sarah’s icy eyes glittering in the candlelight, as she drinks in the arcane atmosphere of the Lair, a sanctuary of forbidden knowledge, where dreams become reality and––

  “Dude!”

  Bloody Beggsy.

  “Dude! Didn’t you hear me? I was calling from way back.”

  “No, sorry.”

  As chattering students file past, through and around us, we enter into the midst of what can only be described as an uncomfortable silence. As the guilty party, I’m struggling for words. Luckily, Beggsy’s unofficial position of Peace Negotiator gives him the strength to get the ball rolling.

  “I spoke to Matt last night.”

  “OK… How’s he doing?”

  “Dude, he’s pretty pissed.”

  Anyone who doesn’t know Beggsy’s predilection for Americanisms might assume that Matt is currently reeling around the school, out of his mind on vodka. I’ve never really understood the sense behind that phrase; there’s a difference between being “pissed” and “pissed off” and if you’re going to use expletives for effect, at least use them properly. I’ve said this to Beggsy in the past, but I don’t think that right now is the time to resurrect that conversation.

  “You’ve got to sort this out.”

  For a moment I’m hit by a real sense of injustice; why do I have to sort this out? Why doesn’t Matt have to sort this out? Why me?

  IM: Because you’re in the wrong.

  “We need him for the Game, Dude.”

  He’s right. The Game just wouldn’t flow without Matt there; for all his dry, acerbic wit and apparent pessimism, Matt’s one of the driving forces in the Game. Whatever else I could say about him, his commitment to making the story and his character as real as possible is one hundred and fifty per cent. I’m not even going to mention the time he turned up in a chainmail shirt (it was one of our first games). Without Matt, the evening wouldn’t be the same. We need him.

  IM: And he’s your mate.

  I sigh. It’s not like I haven’t got enough to do, what with buying incense, stealing books and painting slinky witches. Now I’ve got to carve myself a big slice of Humble Pie and make things right with my friend. I’m starting to feel like a plate-spinner at the circus. And if I drop even one of them, I can kiss my paper-thin chances with Sarah goodbye.

  Now would be a really bad time to discover that I can’t spin plates.

  “Where is he?”

  I know the answer before Beggsy replies and so it is with a sense of dread that I head off to the library.

  I think I could probably make a sizeable sum of money renting out my mind to drama clubs: a lot of what seems to go on in there is rehearsals. At the moment, I’m going through my possible approaches to Matt, but experience has taught me that however much you try and second-guess someone’s responses, they’re always going to come up with the one that wasn’t in the script.

  I wander into the library and find Matt poring over a Tolkien bestiary. He doesn’t seem to notice me. I sit in the chair next to him and he finally looks up.

  Me: Put it there, old friend.

  Matt looks at my outstretched palm and a shudder of relief works across his face; the pain of being in exile is too much for him to bear. He blinks a little too much, probably stifling tears, as a cracked smile creases his features.

  Matt: Thanks, mate.

  Possibly a little optimistic.

  I walk into the library, obviously weighed down by the stress of the situation. I sit at a table a
nd place my schoolbooks in front of me, but burdened by the enormity of it all, I can only stare into the middle distance. A hand on my shoulder makes me look up; it’s Matt. He sits next to me.

  Matt: Don’t worry, Archie. I understand.

  This one’s got a whiff of Hollywood about it, but I like the tone. Maybe the “broken hero” stance is the one to take.

  IM: Maybe not.

  Dress rehearsals over, it’s time for the real thing. I open the library door and step inside.

  Libraries are wonderful things. Some people report an enormous sense of peace and well-being when they step into churches: something to do with the silence, the space and probably a feeling of unity with fellow believers. This is what libraries are to Geeks – sanctuaries where we can all lurk, safe in the knowledge that the only other inhabitants here are fellow worshippers. The silence is misleading, though, for if you listen carefully, you can hear nerdy spirits all singing together in a yearning for Something Other – to be like the heroes in books, to win the hearts of simpering heroines, to smite mighty foes. To be anything other than a Geek. But rather than being sad or forlorn places, libraries are the temples in which Geeks can briefly attain those goals, their souls soaring in snatches of printed glory.

  IM: And there are some “well-thumbed” pages in the James Herbert books.

  Matt’s not at his usual table, so I walk silently through the maze of bookshelves – like that bit where Perseus is hunting the Medusa in Clash of the Titans. Except Matt’s hair’s red and not made of snakes. Other than that, the comparison still stands.

  IM: Make sure you don’t look in his eyes!

  Rounding the corner to the Sci-fi section, I see something that didn’t feature in my mental rehearsals at all: Matt and Sarah.

  Talking.

  I duck back round the corner and try to stifle the jealousy that rises like vomit from my stomach. What’s he doing talking to her? What’s my mate doing talking to my…? My…? Can’t say “girlfriend”.

  IM: Can’t even say “my”. She’s not “your” anything.

  Nevertheless … is something going on that I don’t know about? I pull a couple of books out from the shelf and watch them, Gollum-like, from between titles. I know I shouldn’t be doing this – but I just can’t help myself.

  IM: So…The Geek wants the Precious! But we mustn’t let him have it, Precious! Oh no – nasty little Geekses…

  Matt’s not easy around girls and it shows in his body language. His arms are locked tight to his sides and he rocks back and forth on his heels, almost achieving full tiptoe on his forward journey – a Geek to his core.

  Sarah, by contrast, is a portrait in relaxation and even touches Matt’s right elbow during the course of the conversation. She’s doing most of the talking;Matt’s just responding in brief, jagged nods, like his neck’s seized up. Although I feel bad for spying like this, I can’t help but drink in Sarah’s form – but not, I hasten to add, with the same slavering lust exercised by Jason Humphries and his Pack of Grunts. Mine is more of an appreciation, the way an architect might study a fine building. Honest.

  Sarah finishes the conversation with one last smile and a pat to the elbow, before she turns and disappears into the maze of bookshelves. I hold my ground for a moment, watching Matt. He stands, motionless, deep in thought. It’s time to make like a baby and head out. ©Beggsy. I round the corner.

  “Hey.” It’s a multipurpose greeting that gives nothing away.

  “Hey.” A more cunning adversary than I’d expected.

  “Look, mate…About yesterday…”

  He doesn’t give me the obvious way in I was hoping for, just silence.

  “…Well, look … I’m sorry. I was just a bit…”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  IM: And relax.

  “Cool. So, you still coming on Friday?”

  “To your house?” Matt lets me know that I’m still not entirely off the hook. Fair enough.

  “Yeah. The Game.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool.”

  IM: Askhimaskhimaskhim…

  I swallow.

  IM: WHAT WAS HE DOING WITH SARAH?

  “So … what you doing?”

  “Looking for a book. It’s a library.”

  His evasion tactics are spot on. He’s going to force me to confront him.

  “I saw Sarah a minute ago.” Or maybe he’s not.

  “Oh, yeah?” I play it nice and cool, despite the flurry of envy that ruffles in my stomach.

  “Yeah, she told me that she was really looking forward to the Game and was asking me about what we do.”

  IM: And relax.

  “I’ve never explained gaming to a girl before. She’s nice, isn’t she?” And with that, I think I’ve just received Matt’s blessing.

  “Yeah, she’s cool. We’ll see how she gets on; it’s probably a one-night-only experience.”

  “In your dreams.” We both snigger like fourteen-year-old virgins.

  IM: Which you are.

  The bell shatters the beautiful quiet, announcing the start of lunch. We leave the library, our friendship as strong as it ever was. Stepping into the corridor, my shoulder collides with what feels like a passing iron girder. I turn to see what it was and make dangerous eye contact with the rippling, smirking face of Jason Humphries.

  “Friday,” he says and then pistons away, like a hungry lion.

  The colour drains from my face and I turn to Matt, looking for some weighty words of wisdom and support.

  “It’s your house.” He shrugs.

  Getting home and painting the gargoyle gives me release – a respite from the catalogue of problems that my life seems to be throwing at me. I’m not thinking about Jason Humphries or Dad or Matt, I’m just thinking about paint and colours. And Sarah.

  I’ve decided that this gargoyle will be the Greater Demon that her PC can summon. When she decides to cast the spell (probably at the moment when the PCs meet the Earth Elemental I’ve hidden in one of the crypts), it will appear, silent and brooding, ready to do her bidding. However, with Greater Demons, there’s always a price to pay for using them; I’ve yet to decide what that is. Some would argue that playing Dungeons & Dragons with four Geeks might be price enough.

  I’ve also decided that her PC name will be Nox Noctis; it’s the Latin for “Night”. Those online Latin Translators have to be good for something.

  I’ve already applied the base colours to Nox Noctis. The main colour of her costume – such as it is – will be an elegant purple, suggesting the mysterious shades of twilight. When it comes to the embellishment, I’ve got a pot of Elven Silver, to suggest moonlight and starshine.

  IM: *Tosses cookies in disgust*

  I must confess that, although I’m now trying to assume a little more maturity in my approach to girls, I did get a schoolboy thrill when applying the flesh tones to the area of skin between the bottom of Nox’s tunic and the top of her thigh-length boots. Not to mention the cleavage bit. I wonder if those surges ever leave you? Or are all males doomed to spend the rest of their lives for ever waiting on the potential of a flash of flesh? Only time will tell.

  I turn my attentions to my gargoyle, which glowers at me from its base, almost resenting me for bringing it to life. I’m going to give it a drybrushing. Drybrushing is a fantastic little trick; you create your highlight colour and dip in your brush, as per usual. But then you wipe off the majority from the bristles, using a piece of kitchen roll or toilet paper. I always have a roll of toilet paper in my room, purely for this purpose.

  IM: Yeah, yeah … tell it to the judge…

  Once your brush is almost free of pigment, you then flick the bristles lightly back and forth just over the surface of your model. The remaining paint will attach itself lightly to the most raised parts of the figure, but in a faded, patchy, scratchy way that gives an aged and worn look. It’s a great way to paint armour, swords and shields.

  The gargoyle smoulders back at me, no
w looking rugged and old, as if it has seen civilizations rise and fall.

  There’s a knock at the door and I know it’s Mum; only she could knock in a way that apologizes for disturbing you.

  “Come in!”

  She pops her head round the door, briefly scanning the room and her son for, I assume, any signs of me shedding my Geekhood and joining the human race.

  “You all right? What’re you doing?”

  “Just painting.”

  She smiles. Although it’s a solitary pursuit, her son being a Geek does have its upsides – at least I’m not out on the streets, annoying the neighbours or pursuing a career as a costumed vigilante.

  IM: Note to self: must get bitten by radioactive arachnid.

  “There’s a film on the telly tonight – one of those ones you like.”

  “Oh, yeah? Which one?”

  Mum’s face blanks for a moment; she’s not that hot on films at the best of times.

  “You know, that one with all the dwarves running around in the woods…”

  IM: What?

  It takes me a moment, but I finally work it out and can’t help laughing as I tell her the name of probably one of the greatest films ever made.

  “Lord of the Rings!”

  Mum’s laughing too at this point, as though she’s somehow surprised herself with her inability to retain even the most basic information – and I love her for it.

  “That’s it,” she manages between giggles. “The one with all the dwarves running around in the woods!”

  We’re both laughing now and it’s beautiful in its simplicity. But it’s short-lived; my shields kick into action as I resort to asking a question without actually asking it.

  “You and Tony digging in, are you?”

  I think I see a touch of sadness pull at Mum’s eyes; she knows what I’m asking.

  “No. It’s only me. Tony’s gone out on a business dinner.”

  I relax. I can see from Mum’s face that she’d like nothing better than to sit with her son through a film about dwarves running around in the woods. And right now, I’d like nothing better than to watch it with her. I roll my brush round the inside of my water jar and wipe it clean.