Duncan +Theresa // Date Night

[deselfing]

Who: Theresa and Duncan
When: 4/8, Friday
Where: Theresa's apartment
Before/After: N/A
Warnings: Duncan



The city's current state was frustrating and inconvenient. Duncan preferred the atmosphere of a quiet bar over drinking in somebody's living space when 1) it was your first visit and 2) you were still getting to know them, but there were very few bars in the city that remained open, and none that remained open past nightfall. Options were slim.

He'd gone out before the shops had closed to pick up a case of drinks, since he had said he'd pay. Bottled malt coolers, not beer. Theresa didn't seem like the beer type. He also brought his laptop (stowed neatly in a backpack carrying case) and his rifle (slung over his shoulder). It made taking the lightrail to her apartment an interesting experience, but so many people were carrying guns these days that hardly anybody gave it a second look.

He found the place fairly easily, buzzed her apartment number to be let in, and took the elevator up to her floor. She lived in a pretty nice. Not the sort of thing he expected out of a librarian's salary.

He found her door, knocked, and waited.


Once the email conversation was over, she'd simply sat at her desk, hands still poised over the keyboard, trying to think of... something to think about. She looked up, looking at the sparse room that faced her, and realized that there would be someone else occupying that space.

She frowned. She couldn't imagine it.

It was early still. She went and showered and changed. Not everything she owned was skirts and blouses, though most of her wardrobe was. Slacks, a camisole, a cardigan, all covered up by her raincoat as she stepped out.

Groceries acquired, curry picked up from her usual place (just about to close, as well... five-fifteen seemed especially early even considering all the things going on) and returned by way of taxi at five-thirty, giving her time to sort her things and... stare at her apartment. There wasn't much to look at- very few electronics, but mirrors every now and then on the wall, constantly reminding her that she was there. When the call came over the buzzer, she answered it automatically and... and waited.

When the knock came, again she opened it automatically, having stood there, not knowing what to do until that moment. Wordless she stepped aside and let him in. The entryway was simple, opening up into the living room. It was surprisingly bright, everything in soft whites and creams. If there was any colour, it was there purely by accident. Shoes (a surprising number of them) were lined up by the door beside a closet, and after a brief hesitation she said, "I'll put your jacket up," and held her hand out for it, patiently waiting for him to get the rifle and jacket off.


The apartment was bland, but somehow that fit her. Still, he was a little disappointed to see it. The best part about visiting people at home was seeing how they expressed themselves in their own space.

The shoes, though. That was surprising. They weren't terribly varied, mostly simple designs, a lot of them kitten heels, with a few splashes of colour. That said something about her, he felt. She found something she liked and stuck to it, keeping inside a tight comfort zone. (Maybe he was getting a little too psychoanalyze-y over shoes.)

He set his rifle down in front of the line of shoes, and his backpack and the drinks beside it, and then shrugged off his jacket to hand to her with a, "Thanks." Given that she wasn't wearing shoes and all of them seemed to be sitting by the door instead, he knelt down to unlace his boots and set them beside the rifle.

When he stood again, he said, conversationally, "So, you said there'd be curry."


As she opened the closet and took out a hanger to put his jacket on, she kept watch on him out of the corner of her eye, looking relieved as he bent down to take his boots off, an expression that had already shifted back into neutrality when he stood back up.

"Yes. It's spicy, though."

The whole place was very open, without much seperation from room to room. the living room ran seamlessly into the kitchen, what must be the bedroom and the bathroom doors both visible. A couch, a chair, a fireplace and her desk with her computer graced the living room. No television, nothing to suggest a stereo. No paintings, no pictures, but some candles on top of the fireplace mantle. Mirrors, though, of varying sizes and shapes, enough to call attention to a person without being overwhelming. No table, though, as though she had gotten rid or simply never purchased anything she didn't have need for. She went to the island of the kitchen, picking up the two takeout boxes. They'd been generous despite all their troubles, thankful to have loyal customers still. She pushed one over for him, chopsticks over the top of the lid. She opened hers without concern for a place to sit. Normally she ate at her desk, or standing at the island. Realizing this, she looked up again.

"You can eat on the couch, if you like." She sounded uncertain, not because she wouldn't allow it, but because she didn't seem quite able to figure out what to do. "What did you bring?" she asked almost directly after, to deflect that same awkwardness.


"That's fine. I'm from Texas." It has half-joking, but also true. He'd grown up on spicy foods in a way most Americans did not.

He picked up the case of drinks and made his way to the island in the kitchen, watching himself pass through her mirrors as he walked. That was creepy, actually, but he'd always been sort of irrationally unsettled by mirrors. He couldn't imagine walking through this apartment at night, all those reflections in the dark...

What an odd decor choice, especially with a place as Spartan as this. What was the intent behind it, he wondered?

He set the drinks at the edge of the island as she pushed the food at him, paused when he realized she didn't have stools or anything. Did she just eat here, standing? Looked like, with the way she gave him that permission.

"Nah, it's fine," he said. It looked like she was going to eat here, so he didn't want to put himself across the room from her. He could deal with standing for a meal. "Malt coolers. Easier than mixing something, not as big an acquired taste as beer." He opened the case and pulled out two, sliding one over to her. The drink inside was a cloudy yellow colour, the label declaring it an alcoholic lemonade.

He twisted his open, took a sip before setting it down, and then flipped open the takeout box, picking up his chopsticks to start eating.


She watched him without saying anything, before snapping her own chopsticks apart and poking at the curry on rice inside, already comfortable again in her own space when she saw how easily he had slipped into it.

Ah... that was right. He was from Texas. She looked at the coolers and took hers, glancing about before opening another drawer and taking out what looked to be some kind of multitool, a bottle opener and a wine popper. She took a moment to set it properly on the lid, but once down got it off in one smooth motion, then handed him the opened bottle, before doing likewise with the second one for herself.

...did this mean she was going to get to hear the accent again??

It was quiet in her place. Her neighbours were quiet, or the walls were very well soundproofed. High up, the street noises didn't come up so high. If he strained his ears, there was a ticking noise of a clock in the bedroom, or the whir of her PC at the desk, but otherwise it was just them. She read the label off of the bottle while he ate, then took a sip to try. The look that followed indicated success.


He hadn't expected her to take that initiative, and watched her open his drink with a combination of mild surprise and interest. He did, of course, remember to thank her when she handed it over.

The curry was good. The drink was good. The quiet was heavenly. He ate with her in silence for a while, before finally speaking up. "Man, it's nice to be somewhere quiet for once. The dorms are so fucking loud."


"Even now?" She couldn't imagine that many people still being there, and looked somewhat surprised as she dangled a piece of broccoli between her chopsticks before getting it in her mouth, having hesitated awkwardly to ask the question. She'd have assumed most would have gone home, even at a distance.

If she thought anything about his use of language, it passed without mention.

"Why did you stay?"


He hadn't expected the statement to be so surprising. Her reaction garnered a brief moment of confusion, because he was not following the same train of thought that she was that led her to assume students would have gone home. The fact that there was no need to get up early and no homework to worry about had left the ones who'd stayed even louder and more rambunctious than usual.

"Uh. Because I don't want to be in Texas when they decide to start school back up again." As though staying in Fall City, outside the dorms, was not even an option that had occurred to him.


Nevermind that reopening the schools seemed an odd thing to consider at this point in time so seriously. Even she realized it. "Ah," was all she said instead. Of course, they had to open again sometime, didn't they?

"It's always like this here," she said. Having someone else around, she glanced at her wrist- but there was no watch there. She never wore it inside. She frowned briefly, taking the bottle up again instead. "I dislike noise. I lived in the dorms only a week before I moved out." Having had her own funds had facilitated that nicely. She'd preferred the nuisance of a commute to remaining in the dorms, though not everyone had that option.

A moment passed before she said, "you're welcome to return if you like."


Maybe it was an odd thing to consider, but Duncan was pretty focused on school. Without it, he was starting to realize just how much of his life had centered around it. Even his job was working as a lab tech on campus. He was like Theresa in that regard: with the school closed, he had nothing to do.

"Must be nice." Or maybe it'd be maddening after a while, but he didn't think so.

The comment about the dorms got him to arch an eyebrow. "They let you do that? I thought it was mandatory your first ye--" Wait. She probably hadn't attended college in Fall City. She had that accent... "Oh! Shit, wait, did you go to school in England? Sorry, I don't know what the fuck I'm thinking anymore these days."


As someone who didn't listen to music, watch television, or even keep the majority of game noise on when she played Zen, the lack of sound in her apartment was bliss. If she'd had work to do and could have kept to her apartment, she would have been as close to heaven as she could imagine.

Back to her rice, she took a moment to chew, staring at him as he began to ask, then immediately began to backpedal. Wiping her mouth off with a paper napkin from the takeout bag, she looked somewhat amused, if a little concerned. "I only left after I completed my doctorate. The University of London has quite a different stance on housing. Or at least it did when I was there."


Actually, the fact that she didn't even listen to music at home would've driven him crazy. Duncan liked quiet well enough, but when he was alone, he liked to fill the quiet with sound of his own choosing. Quiet was a backdrop for him.

He was surprised to see amusement on her face, however subtle, but it made him feel slightly better for the faux pas and he easily continued the conversation without feeling like a total heel because of that small reassurance. "Yeah? What was that like? I'm working on my doctorate right now--well, masters, but I'm going all the way up--so I'm curious to hear other people's experiences."


She considered the question briefly. "...I completed it my doctorate when I was twenty-four," she said, looking up again. "I took no breaks. I received special permission to increase my workload." Without thinking about it, she had already finished half the bottle. She sniffed- the curry was spicy, and while she enjoyed it, it never failed to make her nose run.

She didn't really seem to have much more to say about it, though she knew he was waiting on more. "I suppose some might call it tedious," she said after a moment, as though she weren't sure if it were or not. "I worked at the library there as well... I had no distractions, so it was relatively easy to accomplish..."

It had been something to do, a stepping stone to fulfill her social obligation and little else, and it was work she found well suited to her abilities. Perhaps now she even found it enjoyable. She didn't know how to articulate that, so she stopped there, looking a little lost.


His eyebrows shot up at that number. For fuck's sake, he was twenty-five and only one year into his masters! How--?!

Theresa was a machine.

"...That's some dedication," was all he could find to say. "I thought I was a workaholic, but damn."


She looked at him over the bottle at her lips, and then away, a confused look on her face. "It was something to do," was all she said before taking another drink. As though it had been nothing at all. But living like that left very little time for anything else. Duncan spoke often of his friends and she had met some of them. Her own past seemed devoid of such irritants, as he seemed to describe them himself.

"I suspect your program has more involved."


It was something to do. "You really have a talent for understatement," he told her, with an awed kind of laughter under the words.

But he was starting to understand what sort of person she was, he felt. She didn't go out much, and she was withdrawn even within the game. She didn't live a cluttered life, if her living space was any indication. Maybe she considered friends clutter. The only way she could have done that degree in such a short span of time was if she had literally no social obligations and absorbed herself only in her work.

He didn't say as much. Implying that she didn't have any friends was rude, even for him.

But she seemed willing to spend time around him and didn't seem too uncomfortable in his presence, so maybe it wasn't a desire not to have friends so much as not knowing where to start? Hm. He'd keep that in mind with the way he approached her. Mostly to remind himself to be assertive about staying in contact; she was probably the sort to let interaction peter out if the other person wasn't the one making the effort. He'd known people like that before.

He tapped his chopsticks against the styrofoam thoughtfully as he chewed. He liked hanging out with her enough to put in the effort, he decided. She was low-key, didn't demand a lot of energy. Almost relaxing, really.

"It's just a lot of researching, really," he said, continuing the conversation. "I almost feel like I'll accidentally end up with a library sciences minor because of how much I have to learn about how to find shit in one."


Actually, he could have questioned it and she would have replied that no, she had no friends, stating fact without offense. That might have been a little too sad, however.

As with their previous conversations, when they lapsed into silence she didn't feel the need to fill it with words or other sounds, and she continued to eat as he considered her, digging at the rice in the bottom of the container to try and gather it all together and scoop it out in one go.

"It isn't that difficult," she said, frowning when it didn't work. "Though inept pages make it difficult to locate some things. Resources are coded for the easiest possible access. Although... I suppose it is also difficult to find a library that can hire someone with adequate coding skills." Two tries? ...nope. Three to get the rest of that rice. "If the webpage and the database are unwieldy, it makes little difference how well the physical copies are ordered." By the sounds of it, she didn't think much of the library technician they'd set to putting together the website, or the program they used to sort their materials.

Not that it mattered. Until further notice, it wasn't as though any of them had a job. Whatever life her small speech had put into her words, it seemed to deflate upon that realization.

"Perhaps I ought to think on that instead of playing Zenderael..."


He listened to her talk, a bit surprised that she had so much to say about it. She had Opinions about FCU's library, it seemed.

"Maybe," he said. "It'd give you something to do that'll be useful once school starts back up. You don't think the database is very good?" (He had opinions too, but they were coming from a different side of the situation.)


It was about the only thing she did have Opinions on, and even then her words were still calm, though at his question, annoyance slipped into her tone.

"The database is poorly coded, and restrictive when searching. They attempted to focus on its appearance than its usability, and failed on both accounts. The voice control misinterprets most of what's said to it. It's almost as though they didn't account for accents." Ah... a bit of a personal grudge, maybe. "And it crashes often. Unbelievable it's used throughout the whole of the state as the standard program."

She looked decidedly put out as she finished off the bottle, setting it back down on the countertop with a soft clink.


His eyebrows rose. He was a little impressed, he had to admit. It was nice to hear her passionate about something--if this qualified as passionate. It was compared to her usual demeanour, anyway.

"Sounds about right to me," he said. "That thing's a bitch and a half to find anything in. It's nice to know at least one of the librarians agrees." He set his chopsticks down inside the empty styrofoam and closed the lid. "Can you do anything about it if it's the statewide standard, though?"


She didn't look at him as she spoke, as though it were simply too much to speak that much, to speak that personally, and to make visual contact at the same time. It took simply too much energy.

"The last conference I went to it was discussed, but not officially. It seems to be a pet favourite, so it would take something irrefutably better to replace it. I haven't done much coding since I came out here, either..."

But she looked thoughtful now, leaning over the island so that she could rest her arms on it, putting her chin in her hand. "It shouldn't be too difficult to do, though," she said... though, knowing her, she would probably lose herself in it as surely as she'd been doing the same with Zenderael.


He finished off his drink and set it aside, pulling a second from the box. He reached across the island for the bottle opener. "Go for it," he told her, popping the bottle open. He took a swig before continuing. "I think it's great if there's something you wanna do, you know? You got time. You got nothing but time.

"Fuck, I wish I had something to do. Mm, well--" he reconsidered, "there's that app I'm helping Mal code, I guess. Doesn't seem like much, though. It's just data entry."


She shut her eyes while she listened to him talk, and she smiled faintly, her mouth still against her hand, head tilting slightly. "It seems all my hard work will pay off to keep me from being utterly at a loss at this very moment. I never would have guessed it."

She straightened again, fingers drumming on the island before she reached into the box for another bottle as well. "An app? For what?"


Was that a smile? He felt like he had to squint to make it out, but it was definitely there. Somehow it felt like a victory to see her smile, however faint. Get Theresa to smile: successful night out.

He was roused from that reverie by her question, pulling the bottle away from his mouth and trying to remember what he'd just said before answering. "It's an app that uses photo recognition for monsters from the game and brings up info on how to defeat them. We thought it'd be useful for people who don't know what they're up against with the monsters runnin' around town."


Bottle opened, she held onto it while he spoke, her expression slipped back into her default expression, a polite neutrality that had the power to make him doubt he'd seen anything at all moments before.

She listened to the explanation, blinking slightly in what might have been confusion, having to work through the necessity of it, or the usefulness of it. After all, most people couldn't do anything about any of them, so what difference did it make to know that?

But, then, there were some you could do something about. He'd proven that with the acird, hadn't he? "Would it include anything useful?" she asked. At face value it might have seemed a rather offensive question, but she continued on, "as most people here can't use magic or weapons, more mundane means of dealing with monsters?" Like cleaning products.


Oh, disappointment. He liked her smile, even if it was a barely there one.

He didn't take offense to the question, since she quickly elaborated. "It'd be pretty useless if we didn't include shit like that," he replied, resting an arm on the island, leaning over it. "Like I put window cleaner or bleach down as a method for fighting acirds, what weak spots to hit if you're using a gun, shit like that. It's intended to help people who've never even see these things figure out how to kill 'em."


His accent was slipping in again, and she listened more intently than she otherwise would have because of it. If she shut her eyes again, it was a voice that could blend into the silence of her apartment without much trouble, perhaps because she'd heard it here before, though over the speakers. It was seeing him there that was so strange.

"Do you have anything set up yet?" she asked, blinking when she realized she had closed her eyes.


Indeed it was, little by little. It was only lazy enunciation right now, but in another drink and a half it'd be a full-blown drawl that would only get worse with each successive bottle.

She looked comfortable here. Was she going to fall asleep? Too comfortable, maybe...

Oh, but she hadn't nodded off yet. "Uh just the basic stuff, it ain't workable yet. I'm doing all the database entry and Mal's doing all the coding bullshit. Hey, you feel like moving to the living room?" Not that sitting would keep her awake any better, but he was getting sick of standing.


Ah... maybe? She'd been sleeping a lot lately in between playing Zen, mostly to pass time. It seemed natural to just want to sleep now. She straightened, nodding. That seemed like a good idea.

Without saying anything, she moved into the living room, though seemed to hesitate as to where to sit. It was natural to go to the computer desk and sit there, though perhaps it would make more sense to take an end of the couch? She did that, curling onto the cushion by tucking her legs underneath her, bottle still in her hands, taking up the least amount of space.

"How many things are there to input?" she asked, curious. There was a lot of Zenderael she'd never seen. She paused and then asked, "will you include plantlife? I'm sure there are some things that aren't safe from Zenderael that people won't know about."


He tossed the bottle opener into the box and carried the drinks out with him, setting them on the coffee table. Walking to the kitchen every time seemed like a hassle. It was all the way over there...

He took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, giving her plenty of space. "Uhh, a whole fuckin' lot," he said, rubbing idly at the bridge of his nose. "I'm including everything in the bestiary right now, so plants only if they count as aggro. I dunno enough about IDing the poisonous shit if that's what you mean."


He had a nice nose. She could appreciate that. Aesthetically pleasing. In a place like this with better lighting and fewer things to drown out, she could notice those details better. "It's probably already been covered by the news," she mused. Making sure no one's children or dogs went about eating poisonous alien plants or anything. The monsters, though...

"Just you two?" she asked, frowning briefly. She didn't know about Mal- didn't think to ask, either- but for Duncan, even being a student with no classes to attend, it would be time consuming.


"Yeah, probably." Well, maybe not, on second thought. He wondered if the people in Bastantown could provide decent information on which plant types to avoid and which were edible? Ah but maybe he was too busy to worry about compiling that information... He had enough on his plate right now. He made a mental note to think about it later, once this database thing was finished.

"Yup, just us two." He swallowed the last of his drink and leaned forward to set the empty bottle on the coffee table. "Ain't bad, though. Gives me somethin' to do when I'm sick of starin' at Arty." He paused, leaning back against the couch, one arm on the armrest and the other over the back. "You know, if he ever crosses over, he'd fuckin' hate it that we call him Arty on this side."


It was strange seeing someone else on her couch, especially someone so comfortably perched there. She tilted her head slightly. "You call him that," she said in a factual manner. And maybe Nova's player, whoever that was. "I don't understand why."

But then, she didn't nickname people or shorten names at all where she could help it. "Ashtaroth is almost thirty... I'll be able to take her into the caves then," she said thoughtfully, referring to the level 30 instance in Pakerion. She couldn't recall if anything good dropped there, though. She reached up, twisting a lock of hair around her finger while she thought. "If you needed some help with setting anything up, I wouldn't mind."


"Same reason my sisters call me 'Dunks'?" He shrugged. "Nicknames're more fun to say."

He leaned over again to grab another bottle and opened it before returning to his comfortable position against her couch. "Arty's near forty, I think we could find a group if you wanted to do that together. Should catch you up to him a bit."

The offer caught him off guard. For a moment he thought she meant with setting up a dungeon group, but then he remembered the app they'd just been talking about. "Uh, well, I can ask Mal if he needs any help with the coding end. I guess I wouldn't say no to some help fillin' out the monster basics, too."


She stared at him blankly, the question hanging in the air. Your sisters call you Dunks? "Oh," was all she said, though, not sure what to make of that, as though the idea of doing something like that was beyond her.

No, no. Not 'as though'. It definitely was beyond her.

She nodded, as though she hadn't noticed the hesitation. "Feel free to send me anything by email." She already had her second bottle down to half, and she looked at it as she saw him take a drink from his... third bottle, taking an almost timid drink from hers. "If only to get it done faster."


Duncan went through them fast, Theresa. Don't feel inferior about it now.

"Yeah, sure, I'll throw you somethin' later. Hey, you feel like playin' now? I brought my laptop." That lazy enunciation was slowly edging its way into a proper drawl. "We could see about gettin' Ash up to thirty and try to get a group together."


Sh-should she be catching up? Is that what this was about? She liked the drink but she didn't feel it necessary to rush drinking it...

Playing? She blinked, turning her head to look to her computer. "Oh... yes, I suppose," she mused, unfolding her long legs and slipping off of the couch, forgetting her bottle on the table, leaning over the computer when she reached the desk to type in her password since the computer had wound down. She'd barely touched it all day, which felt strange. She pushed up the sleeves of her grey cardigan to her elbows, waiting for the screen to normalize before she opened up Zen.

"...do you miss Ravindra?" she asked idly, never taking her eyes from her screen.


While she went to her computer, he set his drink down and dragged himself up to go to the backpack he'd left by the door. He pulled his laptop out, carrying it back to the couch, setting it on the table and opening it up.

The question came as he was hitting the power button to turn it on. He went still, then retreated on himself, elbows on his knees, shoulders slumped, eyes on the carpet. How could she ask that so nonchalantly? Actually, just thinking about Ravindra right now made him want to cry.

Sure, he could get updates from his sister through Iravati, and he had some sort of guarantee that Ravi was doing fine after seeing him (as a her) the day before, but it wasn't...the same. It wasn't the same as knowing all the intricate details of his life, of experiencing Ravi's own emotions through writing them, of getting into his head and knowing exactly what he was thinking at any given time.

It was like losing a part of himself, really.

Maybe the silence answered her well enough, but he still gave a weak, "Yeah," once he reminded himself to speak.


Unfortunately, for Theresa, the silence didn't mean anything, and she waited. Glancing over, surprised by the fact he didn't answer right away, she seemed somewhat startled at his reaction, which only made her more confused.

At his confirmation, she found herself unable to say anything either, his reaction having flustered her. Connecting with people was, decidedly, difficult, and empathy hard to navigate. She had asked the question out of a lingering curiousity, having no one else to speak to of such things, but it seemed she had gone in a direction she wasn't sure she'd intended to.

Login screen ready, she typed her password and security number in, her keyboard making its familiar chunky typing sounds. "I miss Reilanin," she said into the silence, her voice sounding factual, though the uncertainty from before lingering in her expression. "I wondered if I was the only one."


The admission didn't strike him as particularly earthshattering. He expected her to miss Reilanin, because he understood the feeling and felt like that was a normal emotional response to that.

Inasmuch as any of this could be considered normal.

"It's kind of like watchin' your kids grow up, I guess, except worse cuz you never expected 'em to become individuals with their own agency." Not that he had kids, but he'd gleaned from his mother's behaviour that parents had a difficult time accepting their children leaving the nest.

"I miss the fun I got outta playing 'im, but more than that, it's... I'm worried. Is he gonna make the right decisions? Did I set 'im up to be able to handle the world on 'is own? I don't think I did. I think I fucked 'im up, bad."


She could never have articulated herself the way he did on the issue, however, whether or not that articulation was any good. Sitting down slowly at the desk, she watched him as he spoke, his back mostly turned to her, so she could only see a sliver of his face and the expression on it. She ended up having to look away, not knowing what to do with it.

"...but that is exactly what they are doing now," she answered quietly, "so we must trust them with what we have given them." She tapped her finger on her mouse lightly. Of course, she had yet to tell Reilanin of her own nature. That wasn't very fair of her, either. Pressing her lips together, she clicked on Ashtaroth, watching the black-clad cleric go through the cleric animation before the loading screen kicked in.

"...my therapist said that Reilanin was a good means of learning to interact with others," she said after a pause, her eyes never straying from her keyboard or the screen. "I haven't had a chance to speak with her about Ashtaroth..."


"Yeah," he said softly, "I guess so." Ravi would be okay. He'd been okay thus far. He just had to keep telling himself to believe that and eventually he would...

He reached out for his bottle with one hand, the other typing in his computer's login password. He sat back while he waited for the OS to load up and took a swig.

What she said next surprised him, though on consideration he had to agree. Theresa might not have any friends, but Reilanin was ridiculously well-connected. Interacting over text was still interacting. He'd always believed both were just as valid.

He turned to look at her, across the room, isolated. It seemed like a fitting image of her, but a lonely one. "You miss Rei or the people you knew through her?" he asked.


Ah, there she was, in the graveyard still. Ashtaroth was... strange to her. Easy to play. Emotional, questioning, sharing very little in common with Theresa herself save for her stubbornness. Her conversations with Rayu were surprising to her. She was a totally different experience from Reilanin.

At his question, she was silent a long moment, almost as though she hadn't heard him. She didn't know why she'd said anything, but she almost felt, the longer he sat there on his couch, she should say something, offer something. She considered the question accordingly.

"Both," she answered finally. Being Reilanin had been ... so different, yet so much the same. It had been something to pass the time when she had started, but in time it had come to have more significance than anything she knew outside of the game. The outside world had started to become the unreal thing.

She'd taken her hands from mouse and keyboard, resting them in her lap while she thought, even after she'd answered, almost as though she didn't quite want to play.

"And if the same happens with Ashtaroth?..."


He watched her, waiting patiently for an answer. He was getting a handle on what sort of person Theresa was, how she acted normally. The way she sat now, and the duration of that silence, convinced him that she was more upset over this than she wanted to say.

Both. That was an answer he could relate to. He knew most of Ravi and Marlene's CR OOCly, but talking to them over the boards or IM wasn't anywhere near the same thing as interacting with them in the game. He missed raiding. He missed organizing stupid OOC events with the league. He missed just talking to people about their days in league chat.

His eyes lowered at the question and he turned away, looking back to his laptop screen. What if the same thing happened to Artemis and he lost him too? He didn't know what he'd do then. Making another character seemed irresponsible, but he didn't want to give up on the game...

"I dunno," he said, which was a genuine answer and not a cop-out. "I dunno what I'll do if Artemis goes, either." But Artemis wasn't his only link to the outside world like Ashtaroth (and previously Reilanin) was for Theresa.

Maybe he'd start taking her out so she could talk to people in real life? So she wouldn't feel like the game was her only way to interact with people...


She'd played around with other classes idly before they'd found out what was happening, hadn't really considered any of them very special or of interest, had deleted them without thinking about it. But Ashtaroth had been created even knowing what she did, a desperate attempt to keep herself in Zenderael.

No, it wasn't that this world had become unreal. It was that it had never been real to her to begin with.

It took her a moment to put her hands back on the keyboard, not acknowledging his answer. It didn't tell her anything, it didn't help.

But the idea of losing Ashtaroth, too...

"She's got a quarter left until thirty. Where should we go?"