Logs:Engine Building

Engine Building
Dramatis Personae Helen, Hive, Polaris
In Absentia	2020-09-25 "You're allowed to be bothered."
Location <NYC> Pandemonium Games - Lower East Side
Two floors of geekery, Pandemonium Games in the Lower East Side is, at first blush, a bookstore rather than a gaming store, small and cozy with aisles dedicated to sci-fi and fantasy books. The glass counter opposite the bookshelves, admittedly, does hold a wealth of cards from various collectible card games, though binders of Magic cards predominate. Bins of dice in a wide variety of colours stand at one end of the counter. It is the lower level of the store that is usually the busy one, though. The stairs leading down to the basement head first into shelves and shelves of games; board games, RPG sourcebooks, Warhammer figurines, battle mats. Beyond the shelves of goods, a much larger room is mostly bare save its many wide tables, filled at all hours with people playing tabletop games of all kinds. It's not crowded in here, yet -- it likely will be, later, once Friday Night Magic rolls around, but at this point in the afternoon only a few people are browsing. One of those is Hive, leaned up against a shelf not too far from the basement entrance, dressed in faded old jeans and a moss green t-shirt with a black graphic of a banyan tree superimposed on the outline of a single banyan leaf. He's holding a colorful box in his hand with several woodland creatures dressed in varying levels of armor; the illuminated-manuscript style lettering on the front says ROOT, A Game of Woodland Might and Right. He turns it over, eyes scrunching as he reads over the back. "Getting real Redwall vibes here." Judging by the strong aroma of coffee emanating from Polaris, she's still in her work clothes: a black t-shirt with a silver graphic of the Tree of Gondor on the chest, black jeans, and black boots heavy with metallic components to match her pyramid stud belt and hardware-riddled wrist cuffs. Her wavy green hair falls in loose waves, and her makeup is striking in shades of green, black, and silver. "Oh shit, I loved those books when I was little." << And Watership Down. And Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. How am I not a furry? >> She tilts her head to check the side of the game box in Hive's hand (<< 2-4? Flexible... >>) then studies the next copy of it on the shelf. "Hmm...maybe a bit Redwall meets Game of Thrones." << Redwall? Holy shit, I haven't thought about that in years. And they would shout-- >> From the other side of the shelf, a voice calls through the shelves and boxes of games. "Eulalia!" Helen cries -- though, perhaps, not with the vigor - or volume - that the hares of the Long Patrol would have used. Poking her head out from the end of the aisle to reveal an orange dyed pixie cut, the edges of flames shaved into the sides, and a dark blue tee. She flashes a grin at both Hive and Polaris, stepping out of the aisle holding a game box of her own (Scythe, 1-5 players). "The background of my childhood for sure." << Except for that one book with the masked fox. That one was fucked up. >> "Edgy Redwall." Hive's brows lift. He glances from the box to Polaris and then to Helen with a soft chuff, a crooked smile. "Shit, I'm sold. Can play it while we watch The Magicians and just have a grimdark childhood fuckuppening." He tucks the box into the crook of his arm and looks back to the shelves, fingers trailing against the boxes there. "Anyway, I think that shit's not like, some all or nothing influence, right? Not like, kids watched Robin Hood or read some Warrior Cats and bam, now they're running around on all fours and purring when they're happy. Maybe you're just -- furry positive." He stops on another -- Everdell, a badger on its front holding a staff and looking off into the woods together with a pair of mice, a small squirrel. "This shelf has a theme. Should I get both? Which is better. Shit. I should look this up." "I'm so here for it," Polaris agrees brightly. She's reaching for Everdell, but hesitates, glancing wide-eyed at Hive. << Telepath. How do you keep forgetting that? >> "I'm pretty furry positive. All the hate about it feels so high school clique-ish." She returns her attention to the game box. "Whoa, this one even looks like a Redwall cover." She plucks up Everdell and studies the back of the box. "Oh! It's like--an engine-builder...sorta?" << Looks slow, but slow is nice sometimes. >> She looks up at Hive, dark green brows hiked up with equal parts intrigue and skepticism. "Good engine-building game's hard to find. I'd Google. it." << Furry positive? What conversation did I walk into? >> Helen blinks several times, hesitating, leaning towards the barrier of the shelf. "Not a long way from sport mascots to furry positivity, I suppose, and no one hates on _that_ clique." << Nice, Helen. Vent your passionate love of high school to random strangers in the game shop. Totally normal non-serial-killer behavior. >> She looks down at the box in her hands, turning it over to read the back, taking a single step backwards towards the aisle from which she came. "Are you kidding? People brawl over teams they don't like and rag on jocks all the time. People find all kinds of dumbass reasons to hate people." Hive is pulling his phone out of his pocket, leaning back against the shelf again so that he can google. He tips the phone towards the game in Helen's hand while he does. "What's that one like? We always need to expand." The corner of his mouth twitches, sharp and sudden. "Fuck. We have a good engine building game, if I could get Dawson's dumb ass to sit and play it." "People brawl over teams they do like," Polaris adds gleefully. A memory surfaces of her father hollering at the Washington--<< Football Team, >> her mind appends with a ripple of amusement--on the television. "Anyway, I've done a cosplay or two--and a sport or two--in my time. I ain't judging anyone." A flush of warmth passes through her at the mention of Dawson, but she cocks her head at Hive. "Can't get him to play a good game? Which one?" In her mind she's already eliminating possibilities. << Seen him play Dominion, Race for the Galaxy...shit, are there any other good ones? God, I'm so out of date. >> A wash of regret and fury, flashes of sterile hallways and meager shelves of ancient boardgames--there and gone. "I meant the mascots," Helen says, laughter in her voice. "They hate on the sports teams, but everyone loves the mascots." She turns the game around for Hive so it's easier to read. "I've played it a couple of times. If you like engine building, it's good -- not much conflict, but you've gotta get everything set up just right and then it all comes together in one turn." << For Rana, anyway. Wins every damn game, her and her longest fucking road. >> Images of a smirking woman in a purple hijab, laughing and drinking, flash briefly through her mind. "Have you seen the fucking monstrosities they trot out onto the field during Washington baseball games? Nightmare fuel." Hive pulls a brief grimace. "Oh, Wingspan, it's this -- bird game. Mnn. Not-conflict is good sometimes. S'good to have a -- range. We get all types coming through. Lotta people just want something more chill." "Ugh, the Presidents are the worst!" Polaris says with mild, if genuine, horror. "And I mean not just cuz of my politics, either." She peers curiously at the game in Helen's hands. "Low-conflict. Not co-op, though? I love co-op games. That--is because of my politics, probably." << Way to be a stereotype, huh? >> At Hive's explanation she only manages, "Huh!" Though beneath this, << Sounds like something he'd be really into! >> A memory of Dawson offering her binoculars, pointing out a distant pair of cormorants; of Dawson's peculiar yet effective species proliferating in a game of Evolution; of Dawson's hand twined in hers, her heart fluttering-- << Yikes, he can hear this just be cool. >> "It's pretty much the best game night I've ever been to, and I've been to a lot of them." "Haven't seen them. I'm not much of one for baseball," Helen confesses, lips quirking into a teasing smile. "Too much time abroad; now it's all about the soccer." << Much nicer looking players, too. >> Olivier Giroud using his shirt to wipe the sweat off of his face flashes through her mind, her smile widening for a moment. "Not co-op, definitely not. It just doesn't incentivize direct combat." The smell of tear gas, the sound of police sirens, gunfire, and her hands supporting a protester's broken arm run through her mind, muting the edges of her smile. "The best, huh? I've been to some game nights in my time -- the _best_ is a high bar." << Though these days, not many. Good thing you can play some board games single player, I guess. >> "We do have plenty of co-op options, though, if that's your jam." Hive is stacking Everdell on top of Root. His eyes dart to Polaris. Linger there several beats too long, a small flush in his own cheeks. He shakes his head as he looks away, straightening up from alongside the shelves. "Abroad -- where? You just move? Tch. Somewhere fucking loud, sounds like." His chin is jerking up to Helen. "-- Don't have a lot of people in town to play with?" "There's soccer here, too. I mean I don't really watch it but I used to play the he--ck out of it." Polaris blushes much harder than Hive, her pale skin showing the color easily. << It's fine just don't think about his perfects lips or that smile or -- ugh sorry! (I'm sure he hears worse) -- but he's Dawson's BFF that's awkward -- oh my God just stop. >> "Y-yeah uh, Forbidden Sky is pretty great! All the Forbidden Blank games, really. Seriously though, this game night has got every kind of boardgame it's amazing. These nerds got some dedication." She jerks her thumb at Hive. << Wait that should have been singular the other nerds aren't here what is wrong with you stop being weird. >> "A couple years back, from Wiltshire." Helen says slowly, a little furrow in her brow as she eyes Hive with a look of confusion. << Sounds loud? What does he mean, sounds loud? >> Her gaze flicks back and forth between Polaris and Hive, but she continues. "Every kind of board game? I mean, I've got some friends who I can convince to play every once in a while, but they're the sort that thinks Monopoly is a fun board game, so, not exactly an 'every kind of board game' night. Sounds like a lot of fun." << What am I missing here? >> "I live in a city. I hear much worse," Hive assures Polaris and, turning to Helen almost immediately on the heels of this probably-somewhat-opaque statement: "Your memories. I'm a telepath. I overhear a lot. It isn't on purpose." This is blunt, almost offhand; he's moving on just as casually to: "But if that doesn't bother you we do have the best game night ever. Every Sunday. My --" He hesitates, eyes flicking abruptly to Polaris with an uncertain verbal stumble that ends in, "-- roommate's been running it for years." Polaris blushes even deeper at this, but she allows herself a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Done overthinking now." She is not, in fact, wholly done overthinking, but does successfully shove it to the back of her mind at least, focusing hard on games, on game night, on the person they're talking to (<< Cool hair! >>) "I like your hair," she blurts. Then, "It's a pretty big and diverse bunch, with regulars and irregulars and people who just tagging along to socialize. Easy to get along with if you're just find your legs by in the states, is what I mean." << Why the everloving fuck would anyone come back now--obviously there's reasons--can think of plenty of reasons I might... >> "Telepath? Oh." << A telepath? Oh god, he can see into my mind. I'd like to see into his-- Oh god, don't check out the telepath. Eyes on the board games. Oh god-- he can hear me thinking this. QUICK, THINK OF SOMETHING ELSE. UH, ELEPHANTS GESTATE FOR 22 MONTHS, THE LONGEST OF ANY ANIMAL. What the fuck -- why that -- god damn it Helen >> Closing her eyes in a wincing squint, Helen gives Hive a sheepish look. "I feel like I should apologize in advance for anything that goes through my head. But... it doesn't bother me." To Polaris, she adds, "I've been here a couple of years now, but old habits hard learned are even harder broken. It sounds like a lot of fun; I'd love to come." She extends a hand to Polaris, then Hive in turn, with a bright smile. "Helen. And I love your makeup." "Was bothering you just now." Hive, though, sounds very unbothered by this. "You're allowed to be bothered. It's weird as hell. I try not to pry, though. And I've heard -- a lot. I'm hard to faze." He opens up the contacts app on his phone, handing it over to Helen. "Put whatever you're comfortable with and I'll send you the info. Food's good and --" He nods to Polaris. "People are chill as hell." His smile is a little crooked. "Small blessing in this trashfire. It is a fucking weird time to come back to this shithole." Polaris shrugs. "I just feel the reflexive need to apologize to anyone who's come to the country recently." << Maybe that should be "ever" instead. >> The discussion of telepathy stirs a wave of discomfort in her, but she pushes it aside, vaguely impatient with herself. << If he wanted to abuse it, he wouldn't just tell everyone about it like he does. >> The compliment draws a bright smile to her face. "Thanks! I'm starting to think it's an insult to trashfires to say that about..." She gestures at--everything around them. "...this, which doesn't provide much light or heat. She hesitates (<< Who the fuck shakes hands? >>) but accepts the handshake awkwardly. "My name's Polaris." "More by my stupidity than your telepathy. Though I bet that happens to everyone. Don't think of the elephant in the room and all that." Helen laughs as she looks down at the phone, typing on it and adding herself into Hive's phone -- 'Helen (Trashfire) (with hair to match)' "Polaris. Great to meet you. And yeah, it's a bit weird. At least I had some time to get back used to the States this time; when the revolution happened in Egypt, I had barely just moved in when the protests and the shootings started." << Of course, things got better afterwards, _there_. >> "Oh, right, names." Hive actually signs his note when he texts Helen with the time and address. "And shit. You seem to have a knack for picking shitty times to uproot yourself. Let's hope --" He hesitates, grimacing. "I don't even fucking know, at this point. Shit." He wraps his arms around the pair of boxes. "I was gonna aim too big. Guess I'll just start on let's hope we make it to Sunday."