Page 44 of Single-Minded
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“Gunner Starlord at your service, Lady Alexandra,” he says, bowing deeply.
WTF? His face is completely covered in some sort of greenish-black makeup, and he’s sporting a Viking helmet with those little horns on the sides, and black boots caked in mud. He’s draped in multiple brown cloaks and lace-up leather armor, a single fingerless black leather glove, and a red cape draped over his arm. He carries a puffy, oddly shaped sword-like object, and a puffy, oddly shaped shield adorned with a crest comprised of two crisscrossed hammers and a bear eating a lion. Because, sure.
“Robert?” I ask tentatively.Please say no, please say no, please say you have the wrong house…
I’m going to kill Darcy.
He stands up a little straighter, puffs out his chest, and smiles, “Yes, Robert Warren, so nice to meet you, Alex. Darcy has told me so much about you.”
“Ah, that’s so nice,” I say. I wish I could say it was nice to mehim.
“You must be wondering about my appearance,” he says.
“It did cross my mind,” I say.
“I’m Gunner Starlord, Human Warrior of the Isle of Black Elder.”
“I’m confused.” Gunner Starlord?
“I’m a LARPer, and there’s an imperial battle for the realms today,” he informs me. “We mustn’t be late. There is much at stake.”
“I thought you were a congressman,” I say, still trying to wrap my head around the costume. And the foam sword. And the whole“Call me Gunner Starlord”thing. Darcy’s probably laughing her ass off about now.
“LARP means ‘live action role-playing,’” he says.
“You mean like a Renaissance fair? Or one of those historic battle reenactments?”
He sniffs condescendingly. “It’s a littlemore involvedthan that, Alex.”
“Ah, I see,” I say. But I don’t see. I don’t have any idea what he’s talking about. He looks like an escaped mental patient.
“Are you going to invite me in?” he asks. Now, that’s a question for the ages.
“Yoohoo! Hello, Alex!” my neighbor Zelda calls from the sidewalk as she walks her little dog, Gabbiano, past my house. Gabbiano tugs at his leash, wanting to come in to play with Morley. I wave back as she grins and raises her eyebrows at my costumed, shield-carrying date, all decked out in his medieval garb.
“Uh, sure,” I say to Robert/Gunner Starlord. “Please come in.”
He steps inside, and casually sets his sword and shield against my hall table.
I’m trying to keep an open mind, really I am.Really.
Robert/Gunner Starlord explains that we’ll be attending a LARP for our date, that the red cape is for me to wear, and that he’s already taken the liberty of creating a character for me. He’ll explain on the way.
This, I’ve gotta hear.
On the entire forty-five-minute drive to wherever in the hell he’s taking me, Robert regales me with his character Gunner Starlord’s highly detailed backstory, including his family history, epic foam-sword battles, rivalries with other imaginary people, and romantic encounters with witches, fairies, and magical healers.
He’s speaking in vocabulary I can barely follow, a breakneck dissertation on concentrated fire and destroy shields and one-hundred damage or two-hundred damage; levels and points; elves and barbarians and witch hunters.
I’m trying to be a good sport and absorb as much as I can; this feels oddly like one of my weird Voldemort dreams. Robert/Gunner Starlord reaches over to the glove box and pulls out a thick book, hand-bound in an uneven piece of leather, dropping it in my lap. I flip through it, curiously; it’s probably two hundred pages—a highly detailed rule book for the imaginary world we’re about to enter. Oh dear Lord, what has Darcy gotten me into?
We park and once we exit the car, Robert/Gunner Starlord hands me a character card and the red cape, and a small dagger made out of foam and duct tape.
“For your protection,” he says solemnly. “It’s a boffer.”
“Excuse me?” I say.
