Page 94 of Renegade Rift
I straighten in my chair and look over at Ford, who is scraping his teeth over his lower lip in anticipation.
“I would like…to rage?”
The entire table erupts in cheers, and Smitty chants, “She Hulk, She Hulk, She Hulk.”
“What does that mean?” I ask Jo.
“It means you become super strong, and you get to add more points when you hit shit.”
“Well, in that case”—my lips hitch in a smile, and I move my tiny barbarian figure forward—“I run up and hit the eyeball thing with my sword.”
Ford chuckles at my incredibly articulate description. “Go ahead and roll your D20.”
“Ummm.” I wiggle my fingers over my dice until I find the twenty sided one and roll it in the little tray in front of me. “It’s a twenty.”
If I thought the table was excited for me to rage, it has nothing on the chaos that erupts now.
“Ahhh!”
“Natural Twenty!”
“That’s a crit!”
I have no idea what any of that means, but the energy rolling off everyone is infectious, and I can’t help but get hyped. Bouncing in my seat, my gaze darts around for someone to explain to me what the hell just happened.
“That definitely hits,” Ford says. “Roll your damage and double the dice.”
“Uhhh.” I look at the set of dice and my character sheet for help, neither of which has an explanation.
Ford leans over and hands me the twelve-sided die. “This one. Then double it and add your strength modifier, plus two.”
I check the sheet and roll the dice, quickly adding up the amount. “Twenty-six.”
“Dude, barbarians do it better when angry,” Smitty jokes and Espinoza snorts. “Right?”
Ford looks down at his sheet, and when he looks back up at me, there’s nothing but pride in his eyes. “Do your worst, love.”
Again the table cheers, and I’m stuck somewhere between confused at what happened and turned on by the endearment rolling off Ford's tongue.
Dax is the one to take pity on me and explains, “It means you get to tell us exactly how you want to kill this monster.”
“Come on, Etta,” Jo encourages. “Do your worst.”
I look at Ford for guidance, but he only nods. A subtle reminder that this is part of what I’m supposed to be learning. How to be myself and be on a date.
“Okay.” I inhale, looking at the monster. “I crouch down and swing from low to high and cut off every single one of his eyeball tentacles before shoving my sword straight through the main eye.”
It’s silent.
No one says a thing and for a split second, I think I’ve done it wrong.
But then everyone at the table jumps up from their seats and cheers. You’d think we just won the World Series, but no. We just killed a make-believe monster, with make-believe weapons in a make-believe sewer.
And it’s the most fun I’ve ever had on a date.
I’m lost in the moment, chuckling to myself when Jo wraps me in a hug. “I hope you know you’re officially one of us. You have to come back and play again.”
One of us.
